With the full glory of summer lighting the forest, Jon felt all his old strength restored. He now ranged far from the cave, often covering fifteen or twenty miles in a day, but he would leave the cave at first light and turn for home no later than noon. Night still brought the uncontrollable return to his dreams of the horror of that creature in the cabin, and to endure the wearying, trembling hours between fitful shreds of sleep, Jon still needed the safety and familiarity of the cave around him. By day, though, the great forest beyond the cave was his trusted friend once more. By day, Jon was able to push away his nightmares and walk the forest with all his former wonder and take pleasure in its beauty and quiet grandeur.
On one such journey, along the ridge of low hills to the north, Jon could see the buildings of Losien in the distance. The town held no fascination for him. He felt no longing to go there. Quite the reverse; he took pride in his independence from the town and its people. Losien, to him, was an alien structure in the landscape; totally foreign and of little interest. Jon had looked down on the town from this ridge many times, each time grateful that the townsfolk seemed rarely to venture into the forest, into his world. On this journey, however, he saw signs of human activity along the dirt road from town.
Jon had watched the people working at the road’s end in the forest over several recent trips. He had seen a family working to clean and repair a large, disused building. He had watched the father cutting back the scrub and saplings to re-establish the clearing. Over time, Jon had come to feel that he understood these people. He admired their hard work and dogged persistence. To his surprise he also came, grudgingly, to acknowledge an unexpected yearning: he felt drawn towards them. Having been alone for so long Jon was surprised at this sensation. He had never wished for company and felt in no need of the safeguard offered by mutual support, so why did he keep returning to this family? Intrigued, he had trekked the many miles to observe them far more frequently than was warranted by their activities in the forest. Finally, however, he had accepted this need within him; this would be his last visit here.
Soon Jon was heading back to the cave. Again he had taken a route that swung wide of the cabin; he would never go near that place again. Taking his bearings, he followed the crest of a spur that took him down from the ridge. He was back in the cool of the trees, taking a meandering route as dictated by the lay of the land, but basically heading south. Jon felt good, at ease. He had travelled some twenty miles already today but his body made no complaint; his muscles were strong and his spirits high. He would be back at the cave well before the setting of this long summer’s day and, with no need to rush, Jon maintained a steady, unhurried pace. Some distance on, however, he came to a sudden halt. This break in the trees was familiar. He knew this place.
He shuddered. His path had brought him to the spot where, years before, he had smashed that thing’s skull. This was the place and over there was the shallow open grave into which he had kicked that awful body. Jon looked over and froze; the strength and self-confidence draining from his body. Something was lying there.
What was it?
Despite his mounting terror, Jon felt drawn towards the trench. What was in there? Could that shadow thing have found him? Was it in there ready to strike? Terrified; feeling utterly vulnerable and exposed, Jon spun from side to side. Knife in hand, he was ready to strike at every tiny sound: the fall of a twig or the rustle of dry leaves lifted into swirling life by a breath of wind. Tense and alert, heart racing, eyes darting to left and right, Jon moved slowly over to the trench. He had to tear his eyes away from scanning the trees to snatch a quick look down, but what he saw there held his gaze against his will. He couldn’t look away.
A girl, not Suzie but young like her, lay cradled in the rich, brown earth. Her hair had fallen across her face and was clotted with blood. The gash on her forehead was garish against the waxy pallor of her skin. Her hands and arms had been cut many times; her sleeves stained brown, slashed and torn. Jon’s life had taught him to read such signs. This girl had put up a desperate fight; had tried to protect her head and face from her attacker.
She had lost a shoe, leaving exposed a small, bare foot, which was dirty and bruised. That missing shoe gave her the air of a small, lost child, and awoke in Jon the same feelings of tenderness that he had felt for Suzie. He had no doubt that this poor girl had fallen victim to the same killer.
The monster was very much alive.
Jon’s gaze travelled up the broken body and took in the final proof; a small, ragged triangle had been cut from the fluorescent yellow of the girl’s sweater. The monster was still alive.
And still killing.
Numb with sadness, Jon knelt beside the girl’s crumpled body. Tenderly, he leant forward and moved aside the clotted mass of hair that had partially covered her face. She was beautiful, or rather she had been beautiful. Looking down at her bruised face, Jon was suddenly gripped with the awful realisation that he knew her. She was the girl from the big building. He had watched her frequent visits to the falls. She would come to the water and spend long hours lying on the rocks nearby, dreaming. Unobserved, Jon had smiled at her obvious enjoyment of the pools and the sparkling waters. It was clear that, like him, this girl had accepted the forest’s gentle welcome: a welcome quietly extended to any who needed it. She might live in the renovated building but Jon knew that, like him, she felt truly at home here, in the forest. He had finally come to understand that this girl was the reason he had continued to observe the family, the reason he had felt compelled so often to return. He felt he shared with her a common understanding of the wonder of this place. It was the closest he had come to human companionship since his brief time with Suzie.
Jon had last seen this girl at the falls near the building only a few hours ago. Having determined to make that his last trip to the family, he knew he would miss her and he had brought her a parting gift. She had such pale skin and, though her hair was dark while Suzie’s had been fair, this girl had reminded him very much of her, so the gift had seemed appropriate. In any case he had little else that he could have given. In planning this farewell he had once, fleetingly, considered speaking to the girl, but had backed away from such directness. He had been content to silently wish her well and remain unobserved. Seeing her this morning, lying in the sun, Jon had placed his gift to her into the stream above the falls and turned to leave, a contented smile lighting his face. That had been only a few hours ago. She had been a radiant, wonderful creature.
And now, here she was, dead. Abandoned, left lying in the cold earth.
She had been partially covered with branches and earth, but most had already been scratched or dug away. Shaking himself out of his stunned stillness, Jon began quickly to gather ferns and other greenery with which to completely cover her again. Then he heaved heavier branches across the top, in an effort to protect her body from scavengers. Throughout all this frenzied effort, knowing that her dark killer might still be close by, Jon kept watch, frequently looking over his shoulder. It was hard to believe that the creature would not hunt him still. The sun was sinking lower and, as the shadows lengthened, Jon worked with increasing, anxious haste. He knew what had done this to her. On that terrible day, in the shack, Jon had seen what had done this. The evil had killed again and Jon wanted to be away from this place before darkness fell.
He wanted to be far away.
His journey home was terrifying.
Leaving the poor girl there, in the deepening gloom, knowing that what little protection he had been able to give her body would almost certainly not be enough, Jon stumbled through the trees, his eyes burning with tears of bitter frustration. He felt helples; he could not have done more and yet knew that he should have tried. Wretchedly escaping from the pitiful grave, he felt contempt for himself for having done so little. Fear had directed his actions, taken over and made him weak. He was no longer the man who had survived the dangers and privations of years in the forest alone, resourceful, alert and undaunted. He was a pathetic husk, running scared, desperate to get back to the shelter of his cave; no different from any of the animals he had hunted and killed over the years. His mind was overwhelmed with images of the thing that had leapt at him in the cabin. His skin crawled with the scratching of those sharp, grasping claws. Most terrible, in every dark hollow and space between the trees, Jon saw those dark, greedy eyes staring out at him, wickedly savouring his terror. As he staggered onwards, his legs increasingly weak and shaky beneath him, Jon fully expected an attack at every step.
The sky was just beginning to lighten as he finally clambered up the slope above the stream and fell, trembling, into the darkness of his cave.
Jon hid in the cave for several days. He had taken a long detour on his way back here, following the stream as he had all those years before, when Suzie had been killed, and for the same reason. But now even this sanctuary seemed insecure. His mind, denied the peace it craved, turned events over and over. In returning to the cabin he had retraced his steps of nearly twenty years ago and found history being horribly re-enacted.
And now another young woman lay dead in the dark earth.
But, for Jon, the awful image of that poor girl’s dead body kept slipping from his mind; it could not over-lay, or eradicate the earlier, terrible events in the shack which were now back at the forefront of his mind. The man, or whatever it now was, the killer, had leapt at him from the shadows. It had looked right at him. And Jon had no doubt that it knew him.
He shivered.