Slowly, Christy opened her eyes.
She wasn’t dead.
In fact, she was very much alive.
She tried to move but couldn’t. Sweet-smelling needles tickled her nose. She was trapped in the great arms of a massive pine tree.
Christy lifted her head. She could just make out the huge boulder that had tumbled the tree. It was wedged against what was left of the trunk.
She wondered how badly she was hurt. She had some scrapes on her face and hands, and her right ankle throbbed, but she doubted any bones had been broken.
With all her might, Christy struggled to break free of the big tree’s grasp. The massive trunk lay just inches to her left. Another foot and it would have landed directly on top of her.
It was a miracle that she hadn’t been crushed.
“Thank you, God,” Christy whispered.
Again she tried to free herself from the piney trap, but it was no use. The tree was huge, and she was not.
Suddenly, to her surprise, Christy found herself laughing. Now that she was out of danger, her predicament almost seemed ridiculous.
She could just see the surprise on the faces of her rescuers when they found her! Christy Huddleston, trapped by a man-eating pine tree. She’d gotten into plenty of hair-raising scrapes since coming to Cutter Gap. But Doctor MacNeill would tease her for weeks over this one.
Unless . . .
Christy gulped. Unless no one found her. Unless no one would even think to look for her here on Boggin Mountain.
After all, she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. All she’d said to Miss Ida was that she was going for a walk. But nobody would expect Christy to have headed for the summit of Boggin Mountain. Nobody.
How long could she last out here without food, exposed to the elements? The awful possibilities marched through her head like an army. What if it stormed? How cold would it get at night? What if a hungry animal found her?
She could scream for help, but what would be the point?
No one came near this place. Everyone in Cutter Gap feared it.
She could scream till her voice gave out, and the only ones to hear it would be the wild creatures hidden in the trees.
And, of course, the Boggin.
“No!” Christy said out loud, trying to calm her frantic heart. “I am going to be fine! And there is no Boggin! The Boggin does not exist!”
Hearing the words made her feel better. She’d come here to conquer her fear, after all. She wasn’t going to give in to it all over again. Especially not now, when she needed to keep her wits about her.
“Well, if no one’s going to show up to rescue me,” Christy said aloud, “I guess I’m going to have to rescue myself.”
She felt a little silly, talking to herself. But the sound of a human voice—even it was just her own—was somehow reassuring.
Lifting her head a couple inches, Christy surveyed her situation. She was pinned down by layer upon layer of branches—some thick, some not-so-thick. Her only hope seemed to be to try to crawl her way out, inch by precious inch.
But that was easier said than done.
As she struggled to move, Christy began to sing an old song she’d loved as a child. It had helped her through many frightening moments. In fact, it was one of the first things she’d taught her students here in Cutter Gap:
God will take care of you
Through every day, o’er all the way,
He will take care of you,
He will take care of you.
She’d just started to sing it again when the loud snap of a twig silenced her. She hadn’t broken it. Someone in the woods had.
“Is anybody there?” Christy called. “Please help me! I’m over here, trapped under this pine tree.”
She paused. Nobody replied. Perhaps it had just been an animal passing by.
Still, Christy had the same eerie feeling she’d had that day on the path, when she’d been certain she’d spotted the Boggin. The sense that she was being watched. The feeling that there was another presence lurking nearby.
“Hello?” Christy called again.
She struggled to lift her head. She looked to the left. She looked to the right. And then she saw him.
He was only a few feet away from her. He towered over the fallen tree like some awful giant out of a fairy tale. He was clearly old. His hair and beard were long and white, hanging in wisps down to his shoulders.
A horrible scar extended from his cheek to the spot where his right ear would have been. Even with his mane of hair, Christy could see that the ear was gone.
But it was his eyes that Christy focused on. They were the eyes of an old man, milky with disease, shining like white moons.
They were the eyes of the man she’d seen that day on the path.
“You’re the Boggin,” Christy whispered.
He came closer in two great strides. Only then did Christy see the gun and large hunting knife tucked into his belt.
Christy stared in horror at the hideous creature towering over her. “Please don’t hurt me,” she begged in a terrified whisper.
He didn’t respond. For a moment, he didn’t even move.
Suddenly, he lunged toward Christy. She let out a scream before realizing that he was reaching for a branch of the fallen tree.
To her amazement, Christy felt the weight of the tree easing. The old man could only lift the branches a few inches. But it was just enough to allow Christy the room she needed to crawl free.
When she was safe, the Boggin released the tree. Christy smiled at him. “Thank you so much,” she said. “If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what I would have done.”
When he didn’t answer, she wondered if he couldn’t speak. He was staring at her with the same curiosity and fear he was probably seeing on her own face.
“You’re the teacher,” he finally said.
“Yes,” she replied in surprise. “How did you know that?”
He didn’t answer. “Can you walk?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think I may have hurt my ankle. Not to mention Miss Ida’s coat.”
Christy tried to stand, but her swollen ankle would not take any weight.
“I’ll help you,” said the Boggin.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“You can come to my hut.”
“No,” Christy said, a little frantically. “I . . . I need to go home.”
“I’ll wrap up your ankle so you can walk on it,” said the Boggin, as certainly as if he were Doctor MacNeill. “It’s a long way down, Miz Huddleston.”
Christy took a deep breath. This was the Boggin she was talking to. The creature of nightmares and superstitious stories. This was the Boggin, inviting her to his hut so he could tend to her ankle. And he knew her name.
“I . . . I don’t even know your name, but you know mine,” Christy said.
For the first time, the old man showed a hint of a smile.
“My real name don’t matter no more,” he said. “Boggin’ll do just fine.”