Redemption In Appalachia

“First leg of the Appalachian Trail. Y’all ready to knock this off the list?” Amelia asks.

A crisp breeze floats across my face, rustling my hair with tendrils of autumn. The leaves, in their state of red and golden transition, color the mountains with a promise of adventure. An unsettling chill chases the thoughts of our wistful goal and the nape of my neck prickles with eyes unseen between the trees.

“Yeah,” I murmur, sweeping my gaze over the forest. “Do you guys not feel creeped out about this place? There’s something about it I can’t put my finger on.”

Chloe laughs and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you were listening to the spooky stories before we set out. You can’t give too much credit to the local lore; they tell those stories to make the children behave.”

An old woman at basecamp regaled me with stories that chilled me to my bones. My best friends have teased me for my easily scared disposition since childhood. The trees sway, speaking a language only they can hear and I shudder with the secrets they hold. A branch snaps and stutters my steps.

“Iris! We will all be fine, I promise. I’ll fight off any scary monsters creeping around in the night,” Amelia says, jokingly flexing her arms with a wink.

I shake out my hands, hoping my nerves will fade. We have always talked about hiking this trail as a dedication to our friendship. Stretching from Georgia to Maine, the Appalachian Trail offers enchanting views but requires tenacity and commitment—much like aspects of our enduring friendship. A misty blue haze settles over the Blue Ridge Mountains and soothes me with rays of sun peeking through the clouds in illuminating columns. While I have seen many beautiful places from Yosemite to the Arches to the Everglades, there is something special about the Appalachian Mountains.

Chloe holds her thumbs to the sun, measuring its position in the sky. “We should break for camp soon. We only have a couple hours until sunset.”

An arrowed sign lays just up ahead and directs us to the camping grounds. We take the path, dipping under the cover of the trees. Shadows brush against my skin and leave gooseflesh peppered in their wake. I sweep my eyes between the trees again, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. The woman told me to never look between the trees unless I’m prepared for what I’ll see, but my instincts flare along my spine.

The path winds through the woods until we reach a clearing nestled around a lake. The dark blue water laps at the shore, creating a siren song of peace. Maybe I am just in my head and easily spooked by the old woman’s stories. My friends are right. I habitually put too much stock in local lore.

“Okay, let’s set up the tents together facing east so we will wake with the sunrise,” Amelia instructs in the charismatic way she has always taken charge. “We will set up and then go fishing for dinner. Yeah?”

The tent poles stretch in my hands as I fit them together. I’ve always loved the ritual of setting up and taking down camp—home is wherever you make it in the company of good friends. The motions come as second nature and calm me bit by bit. Pitching a tent makes sense, unlike the stories I try to push from my mind. 

Amelia and Chloe head for the lake while I put the finishing touches on my campsite. I switch on my battery operated lantern, lay a mat in front of the entrance, and fluff my sleeping bag into a cozy welcome. They’ve always thrown their items in the tent without much care for where they land, but I prefer to make it a home for the night. 

I revel in the soft green grass between my toes after a long day of hiking under the relentless sun. The field cushions my heels as I walk to the lake. A smile stretches across my face with my carefree friends in nature as it should be. They sway to the music on our speaker and sing Shania Twain off key into their fishing poles. Chloe pulls me into her, shoving the makeshift microphone at me to finish out the chorus. 

“I love these days with you two,” I say, casting my line into the water. 

“Nothing like a girls trip to soothe soul. I can’t believe we waited so long to mark this one off our list,” Amelia says through a toothy grin. 

The back of my neck prickles and I spare a glance over my shoulder to the nearest tree line. My blood runs cold with the moving shadows. My line tugs, spinning my reel, and reclaiming my attention. 

“You got one! You got one! Reel it in!” Chloe claps and jumps in place with the promise of dinner soon to arrive. 

The fish pulls on my line, warring with me for its life. Chloe places her hands around the fishing pole and helps me hold it steady as I furiously turn my reel. With a little more back and forth, my shoulders ache under the weight and my heart skips with the bass now wriggling at my feet. 

“By god, she’s got a record breaking bass sure to feed at least three hungry women. It’s a feat none have seen before in these mountain waters,” Amelia commentates from the sideline like an announcer. 

The sun dips into the sky, casting a golden glow on every surface it touches. I scoop the bass up by its mouth, my arm bowing under its hefty weight and I lift it triumphantly towards the sunset. A crisp breeze caresses my face and brings the thought of watchful eyes back to my mind. Focusing my eyes beyond the fish, my heart drops with a too dark shadow dodging between trees. 

In my surprise, I drop the fish at my feet and jab a finger towards the trees. “There is something out there! Something moved between the trees!” I screech. 

Chloe leaps for the fish before it can take my line into the water’s depths. “Iris, it’s probably just an animal. You’re such a scaredy cat!” she chides.

“And if it’s not, it won’t want to meet me. Let’s get this big boy cooked up,” Amelia says with a wink.

I shake my head in hopes the scarlet in my cheeks will fade. We’ve been on plenty of adventures before and in much more danger than tonight. Why is this getting me so bad? No more boy who cried wolf, I tell myself. 

Amelia and Chloe head into the woods to gather firewood and leave me to clean our dinner. My shaky hands fumble through my pack and retrieve a fillet knife. I force myself to take a few centering breaths—nothing good ever comes from handling a knife with adrenaline filled veins. I silently curse under my breath at the old woman for swarming my head with such nonsense. After years of these trips, I am still a coward.

I lay the bass on a nearby stone and get to work cleaning our dinner. With every backwards pass of my knife on the shiny scales, my fearful mind settles into its scraping rhythm. I’ve always found this process soothing although it grosses out my friends. An apology tumbles from my lips as I plunge the knife into the fish behind its gill plate and make quick work of retrieving the acceptable bits. 

A shriek howls through the woods and my heart stutters with its shrill insistence. The knife comes loose in my hand, taking a painful slice out of my palm in its descent. Crimson pebbles on the wound and brings me back into focus. I open the front of my pack and bandage up my hand, thankful to have refreshed my first aid kit before we left. 

Amelia’s laugh grows as they both cross into the clearing with armfuls of tinder. “Did we get you?” 

“It’s not funny! You made me cut my hand,” I snap at her. She’s always been too playful for her own good—or anyone else’s for that matter.

Her eyes go wide as she drops the wood and runs over to me. “I’m so sorry! We just thought it would be a funny prank. I should have thought about you cleaning the fish before I did that.”

I pull my hand back from her and mumble, “It’s fine.” 

“I’ll get the fire going. It’s almost sundown,” Chloe says. 

Plopping down on a nearby tree stump, I watch her coax a flame from fiber and flint strikes. Chloe’s hands cup around the flame as she blows gentle breaths. Fireflies peek out one by one. My eyes follow individual green glows to soothe my nerves and I finally take a true deep breath. 

Once the fire has reached an amenable height, Chloe adds more sticks and kindling before adding logs while Amelia seasons the bass filets in a pan. Pops and sizzles punctuate the chorus of crickets in our silence. Stars illuminate the sky, nudging out more brightly as the hours pass by. Deep in the mountains and without light pollution, the milky way shimmers a faint light blue and creates a river in the night. I drink in the sight and peace winds itself into my bones. 

“Spooky story, spooky story,” Chloe chants. “Amelia, you first. You’re always the best at these.”

Amelia clears her throat and dusts her hands with a smile. “Has anyone told you the story of the wendigo?” she asks, arching a brow as she scans our faces. 

I shake my head with widening eyes. Here we go. Nerves flutter in my stomach as the back of my neck prickles in warning. 

“Wendigos were not always creatures, but they will always remain right here, in these mountains,” she dips her voice into a haunted charm. “Sometimes people can still hear their howls in the night.”

As if on cue, a wolf howls in the distance, setting my teeth on edge. 

With a chuckle, she continues, “There was once a community of people living deep in the Appalachian Mountains. They placed heavy importance on everyone having an equal share and helping one another, but there were some who felt this was an outlandish expectation. After all, shouldn’t those who deserve the most, receive the most?” She pauses to take in our faces with a grin. “One night, a magical being appeared at the threshold of their community, requesting the audience of the three men who disagreed with the community’s tenets.”

Nearby shuffling in the trees twists my stomach with a jolt of cold fear. I whip around but night has fallen too heavy over the forest to make out shadows of any sort. 

“The being told the men that he could grant them whatever they desired—that they did not have to give up their shares. The men were intrigued, but there was a price to pay as there always was with magic. For every time their wish was granted, they would lose a bit of their humanity. Should they use too much magic in their greed, they would turn into terrifying monsters and walk these mountains for the rest of eternity,” Amelia crouches forward, lowering her voice. “Their skin would slough off and slowly be replaced by patches of fur and alabaster skin. They would never be satiated and live as emaciated beings always hungering for what they cannot have. They would grow claws and jagged teeth. Even with this warning, the men did not listen.”

“What happened?” Chloe gasps. 

“The men asked to be made the leaders of the community. Their wish was granted but their arms turned slick and bone white. The men then asked for all the riches from nearby communities to become theirs. They became the richest men in the mountains but soon grew mouths full of jagged teeth,” Amelia says. “Last, they asked for the affections of every woman in the community. The women became obsessed but the men could not touch them with their hands now turned into claws. The men tried to find the magical being but he had disappeared into the wind and they were forced to watch each member of their community grow old and perish. And when—”

A scream rolls through the forest and cuts her story short. The color blanches from Amelia’s face as she looks at each of us. Chloe holds up her shaky hands. The prickle on the back of my neck turns into stabbing needles with the crickets going silent. In our frozen state, a whistle snakes through the trees, slow and high pitched. 

Amelia lets out a squeak as she looks to the trees. We scramble to our feet, tripping over our supplies and sprint to our tents. My terror is only amplified by my fearless friends running for cover in a way I have never seen before. I dive into my tent, hurriedly zipping the flap shut. My heartbeat thunders in my ears and threatens to explode in my chest through my ragged gasps. The fire glows orange through my thin tent. Hopefully it will go out on its own because I refuse to volunteer. 

I lay awake assessing every sound and I am unsure if I’ve started to hear things. Branches snap. Faint whistles echo. Have we angered the spirits of the land? As time goes on, the adrenaline leaves my body and I grow weary in its absence. My eyes flutter shut but are forced open in remembrance of what we just experienced. This goes on for what feels like hours. 

A low rumble and shuffling footsteps make my heart leap and I sit straight up on my cot. I’m unsure when I fell asleep but there will be no further rest. A massive shadow crosses in front of the fire’s glow and my blood runs cold with the intruder’s presence. Holding my breath, I slowly unzip a window flap; every small movement an explosion to my scared ears. 

I clasp a hand over my mouth to muffle my shriek. The stories are real. There, in front of the fire, stands an enormous creature just like Amelia described. I fear every pounding heartbeat will give me away. With measured movements, I back myself to my cot without taking my eyes from the creature until my lantern clatters to the ground. I curse under my breath. The creature pivots in a horrifying, slow pace to face my tent.

“Come out human. I will not hurt you,” the creature commands. 

I am frozen in terror and unable to move even if I wanted to obey. 

“You come out or I come in. Take your pick,” it says. 

My stomach roils and I take shallow breaths to quell the rising nausea. Tucking my phone into my pocket, I crawl to the tent entrance. I tilt my head upwards, praying to whatever god will deign to hear me in this moment. The cool grass laces between my fingers. I can’t bring myself to look at the monster before me. Every motion of my hands and knees jerks as my instincts scream at me for my stupidity. 

“W-w-what do you want?” I stammer. 

“Help,” the creature replies. “I heard your friend’s story and it was not truthful. I need your help. Everyone runs from me and this is my last opportunity before I give up.”

My body trembles uncontrollably under the power in his voice. Sneaking a quick glance, my stomach drops with his foot long claws and wolf-like teeth. I slam my eyes shut and sit on my heels—an all too vulnerable position in my predicament. 

“What’s the truth then?” I ask, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. 

“Come sit and face me,” he says. “If you are a coward, you will be of no use to me.”

My spine curls into itself with his demand. I am a coward, but I doubt he will let me live if he knows the truth. Pushing myself from the grass, I join him beside the fire and take my seat on a tree stump. 

“She was right that I used to be human, but it was not a magical entity who made me this. It was people like you,” the creature snarls. 

People like me? I haven’t done anything to him. 

As if reading my thoughts, he continues, “It is your fear of me that turned me into this ghastly monster. With every human running from me and spinning tales, I became the monster they made. I had a name once—August—and I was killed out in these woods. No one ever found me and I am slowly losing my memories to the creature I’ve become.”

Shock rolls through my body, simmering every nerve. With a deep breath, I look at him and try my best not to flinch at the sight. “What do you remember? And how can someone like me help you? I don’t know anything about creatures or how to solve your problem.”

“This clearing was my last sight. It was a night very much like tonight—the stars were shining, the crickets were chirping,” he sighs, looking to the sky. “Those were my last senses before the darkness found me. Before the great beyond welcomed me into its arms, I was here. I ventured into the woods to hunt for my dinner and was cleaning it in the clearing when I was struck on the back of my head. I remember being dragged that way,” pointing into the trees, “and opening my eyes one last time to the stars above. Only a blurry image of a man remains in place of my murderer.”

“I’m so sorry.” A heavy pang hits my chest. It could have been any one of us doomed to his same fate. A chill settles into my bones. “What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?”

“My soul must be reunited with my body, but that is not enough. I now seek justice and vengeance against the one who did this to me,” he answers. “Help me find him.”

Silence sits heavy between us as I process what he’s asking of me. I am not the bravest of the group, much less a detective. “I should wake my friends. They could help you too.”

“No!” he shouts. Clearing his throat, he lowers his voice, “No. Your friends are not the kind of people who would help someone like me, but you are.”

Without seeing many options, I nod and walk back to my tent to retrieve a flashlight. I pull on my shoes, tying the laces until they hurt. My thoughts swarm in an overwhelming tempo. I could die tonight. This is crazy. You are too cowardly to do this. This is a trap. What if you find the murderer? Then what?

August waits patiently for me as I walk back to him. The sun should be rising soon and my friends will find me missing. I take off my favorite bracelet and lay it on the tree stump in hopes they will understand I did not venture off willingly. He leads the way into the darkened forest and every part of me ignites in warning. There is no turning back. 

I keep a few paces behind him, casting a wary eye back and forth through the woods. Could there be more of him? Is he telling me the truth? His bone white patches glint in the moonlight between the leaves. With every turn on his trail, August looks over his shoulder to ensure I haven’t left. I sweep my flashlight to the right and jump at a bone protruding from the ground. 

“August, over here!” I call. 

He runs to my side and drops to the bones, examining each. With a heavy sigh, he shakes his head and stands. “Just a deer.” 

“Why are we on this path specifically?” I ask him. 

“Because I remember it was my favorite. There is something about it that tells me it has the answers I seek,” he says. 

I am following a wendigo into the Appalachian forest; I am not one to judge what is and isn’t possible anymore. He wrenches his nose into the air with every turn, scenting what I cannot. A tingle runs down my spine as if I were prey caught in a predator’s crosshairs. I turn to the forest and a shadow runs from my sight. 

“August!” I yell in a hushed voice. “Someone is here. They ran that way.” I jab my finger to where the shadow once stood.

“Follow them,” he says, running ahead of me. “I knew I smelled something familiar but I couldn’t place it.”

I struggle to keep up with his long strides. Every so often, I shine my flashlight to find him in the darkness again. My lungs burn along with my legs with every step we take towards certain danger. A low growl emanates from August’s throat. 

“It’s coming back. The smell. This path,” he snarls before sprinting away again. 

The path feels endless in the great expanse of the mountains and I do not know how I will find my way back. My chest heaves as I slow my steps with August now stationary ahead. He reaches a clawed hand behind him, motioning for me to stop. With my stillness, the terror kept barely at bay returns in full force. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. My heartbeat thumps in my ears. Every hair on my arms stands on end. Most terrifying of all: the forest is quiet.

I creep to August’s side with slow, careful steps. Dull lights shine through the darkness from a cabin up ahead and a shadow moves around its accompanying shed. The sky lightens ever so slightly with dawn’s approach. I look at the creature with the whimper escaping him and a single tear rolls down his face. 

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. 

“I remember now. I was almost gone by the time he brought me here, but I was looking from above,” his voice cracks. “That shed…he does monstrous things in that shed.”

“Can you kill him? I don’t know what to do,” I say. 

I jump back as August lunges an arm to me, his movements so swift I barely register his advance. His claws pass through me. I stifle my scream and fall to the ground. Whipping my head to the shadow, it stills with the sound of my tumble. 

“I can’t touch anything. Your friend was right on that—we cannot have what we want,” he laments. 

“Come with me,” I whisper. 

We slink back into the woods away from the man’s watchful gaze and I round the side of the cabin. While I cannot verify any of August’s information, I need an address. My eyes glue to the ground. I step over branches and scattered debris. Shallow breaths clog my throat with every glance back to the still waiting shadow beside the shed. The front of his cabin graces my eyes and I nearly fall to my knees with relief. 

“Forty-one,” I whisper, straining my neck for the road sign. “Do you know the road?”

August slips away, daring to step out further. I suppose it helps when you look as terrifying as he does and cannot die twice. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dial 911 and hold onto hope that they won’t find me as ridiculous as I feel. 

“What’s your emergency?” the operator asks.

“I need the police. I believe there is a murderer and I’m scared,” I reply.

The operator clears her throat. “You believe there is a murderer?”

“Yes. I know how it sounds. Please just send the police and they need to look into this man’s shed,” I say. 

“Address?” she asks with an exasperated sigh. 

“August!” I yell only above a whisper. “Hold on, ma’am.”

Branches snap behind me, making me jump out of my skin with their sound, but I do not dare to look for fear I will lose my courage. August sprints back to my side and a growl sits low in his throat as he stares behind me. 

“Ridge Road,” he says without looking at me. 

“Forty-one Ridge Road,” I tell the operator. 

“Police are on the way.”

“Iris,” August murmurs. “Turn around. Now.”

“Thank—”

A heavy force hits me in the center of my back, sending me to my knees with a wheeze. My phone flings out of my hand. I turn around and my hands claw into the dirt trying to scamper backwards, but I am not quick enough. The shadow is no longer a shadow. A burly man grabs my leg and drags me to him. He stands over me with a grimace lining his face and ropes in his hand. August leaps at the man but passes through him without a single scratch. 

“Not a very effective attack dog,” the man laughs without fear for August’s appearance. He leans over me, wafting alcohol from his breath, and stares into my eyes. “Green. Yours will do nicely for my collection.”

I suck in a breath but he slaps a hand over my scream. Dirt and salt coat my tongue as I bite down as hard as I can on his palm. Putting pressure on my canine teeth, I continue to clamp down until iron joins the other foul tastes in my mouth from the depraved man. He yelps and pulls his hand back. In the rising sunlight, his face reddens with rage. 

Reaching a hand back, he smacks me across the face. My ears ring in a deafening pitch and drown out August’s scream. White hot pain streaks across my cheekbone. My feet are foreign beneath me as I scramble away from the man and run straight to his shed. 

“You’re making it easy on me!” he yells from behind me. 

Every part of me screams to run away, back to my friends and leave this place forever, but I know he will follow. His shed door is blessedly open as I dart inside. My breath catches on the thick scent of blood coating the air and dried stains on every surface. Casting my eyes to a shelf under a bright light, several jars of eyes stare back at me. I fight the urge to retch at the ghastly sight. 

A tray of surgical tools lay beside a metal table. I swallow the building knot in my stomach and grab the scalpel. Flattening myself to the wall beside the door, my knuckles turn white around the object I cling to for life. The man’s heavy footsteps thud closer and closer to the shed and my lungs heave in tandem. He pauses just outside the door. 

“I know you’re in there, girl! This doesn’t have to be as bad as you are about to make it,” he yells. “If you think I am bad now, just wait until you really make me mad.”

I clamp a hand over my mouth to prevent the scream tearing at my throat. My too noisy breath fills my ears. The man takes one step inside the shed, scanning his eyes around the room. Seeing my opportunity, I leap at him and stab the scalpel into the soft spot between his chest and shoulder. 

He lets out a horrifying scream reverberating into my bones and yanks the scalpel from his skin. Blood pours from the wound, soaking through his plaid shirt. A low, gritty laugh crosses his lips and extinguishes every hope I carry. August runs into the shed with wild eyes. The man takes a step towards me and grabs me by the throat. The edges of my vision darken under his grip before I am thrown to the floor. Placing his knees on either side of me, he sits his full weight on my stomach.

“Hold on a little longer!” August screams. 

The man turns to August and lets out another stomach curling laugh. I reach up and punch him in the throat as hard as I can. He drops the tool and clasps his neck with both hands. The whites of his eyes flare with fury. 

“Police! Put your hands up!” an officer yells. 

One by one, five officers storm into the shed with their weapons drawn. With their focus on the man, August slips outside. Hate fills every plane of the man’s face. An officer tackles him to the ground and I gasp for air with relief. I cough on the blood soaked air before rolling to my knees and crawl outside, never so happy to see the sunrise. 

Human feet stand on makeshift graves and I lift my eyes to look at August, but I do not see the creature any longer. Tawny skin spreads over the patches of fur and alabaster skin. His claws recede into his hands and the once jagged mouth shrinks into a warm smile. He stares at his hands, turning them over. 

Looking up with tears in his eyes, he says, “You believed me.” 

A column of sunlight illuminates his dark hair. With every stretch of golden light across his skin, he fades into the sunrise. A knot builds in my throat with my unlikely friend disappearing before my eyes and I wave as the last of him wisps into the morning sky. 

“We need a statement and then we can take you home,” an officer says, making me jump with his presence. 

Placing a hand on my chest, I am grateful for my still beating heart. Perhaps I am not as cowardly as I was led to believe.