Image by Jay Heike from Unsplash

***

"Fu—" I whirled around to meet Mike's hazelnut eyes. Calming. Loving. Concerned.

"Winston, you alright?"

I caught my breath and spit out the residual vomit in my mouth. Its acidity burned my lips. "She's here. I think."

"Who?" But as his gaze followed my head tilt to the body, he stiffened. "Oh God," he muttered with ragged breaths. "What do, how do..." His hands tugged at his dark hair like removing it would make this scene vanish.

I fought my urge to turn away from the body one taut muscle at a time until Mrs. Crawford was back in my line of sight. I focused on my breathing like when I had to push through the wall during a marathon. Except there were no bloody corpses on those paths. With each exhalation, I closed my eyes to find peace and with each inhale I took in Mrs. Crawford's fate to ground myself in this hell. The putrescent stench of her corpse, the wiggling maggots returning her to the earth, the white of rib bones peaking from the gory, red cave of her chest. I shuddered.

Breathe.

Panic wouldn't help her.

But wasn't that a normal emotion in this situation?

Three deep breaths.

In and out.

And again.

"You okay?" Mike pulled me closer.

Two weeks had passed since the statue was here, and no one had cared enough to discover her fate until now, myself included. It felt like the week my mother had died. When I'd failed to keep her from her delusions. The world watched the aftermath, muttering the obligatory condolences while rejoicing the neighbourhood was free of that strange woman. I had seen the words written in their eyes. The boy's better off. One less burden for the family.

"Why didn't anyone check on her?" I croaked through my burning throat. "We all knew she was missing."

Mike stared at his hands. "I guess we assumed she up and left. It wouldn't have changed anything unless you were there as it happened. Even then, who knows if that would have cost your life too."

Had that hole in her chest caused her death? It bled, so her injury occurred when her heart was beating, not after. Was there something lurking in the forest waiting to rip out our organs next or had she done this to herself? A poison ivy itch spread up my arms to the base of my neck.

Branches cracked near the woman as Milo sauntered to Mrs. Crawford and yowled until my heart ached as much as his did. That blood was dry, parts of her red flesh were missing, and if I believed her last journal entry happened the day of her death she'd been here for weeks. Whatever or whoever had caused this was miles away now.

"Should we call her family?" I asked. Her journal had mentioned Tony but I didn't know of him.

Mike laced our fingers together, pressing his sweaty palm against mine. "I don't know if she has any nearby."

He surprised me by walking toward the bloated woman. He only released me to kneel at her side with an arm over his nose and visually examine her head and torso. I turned away and distanced myself. The feeding flies and maggots made my stomach acid threaten to navigate my throat.

Slow breaths.

After the wind howled, a distant crash and subsequent crack echoed much like when the tree had crushed the shed. We both jumped, and Milo bolted into the forest like he was racing in a 100-metre dash.

Mike stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. He fiddled with his keys. "Let's start with the police." When he pulled out his phone he shook his head. "There's no service back here. She must not have a booster. But there must be some on the road." 

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. "What about Milo?"

"This is bigger than a cat. You don't know what's out there. Let's wait in the car until help gets here."

I squeezed the journal, and a jolt of electricity made me nearly fling it at Mrs. Crawford. This was it. Once Mike called the cops, and they stopped playing poker or 'surveying' the local diner to drive here, the area could be off-limits to the public. What if this wasn't a random animal attack? What if whatever was out there targeted Mike or me next? Mrs. Crawford's theory could be the only way to learn more or at least confirm it was an animal. Cats were intuitive enough to help. Milo had led me to his owner's body and had fled for a good reason.

"You call them. I'll be back as soon as I find Milo."

"Winston, it's just a cat!"

"Like you said, this is bigger than a cat, and Milo knows something. "

"Can't you wait five minutes before doing something reckless?"

"It's the same forest that borders our yard. The longer I wait, the further he could go."

"A forest with a dead body."

I chuckled to ignore the unease in my gut. "Not getting superstitious like the townies, are you?"

Mike folded his arms, making his biceps bulge in his flannel shirt. "Any psycho could lurk in there, or a wild animal, not to mention the danger of these insane winds. Do you think I want my husband's fate to read death by spruce or worse?"

"I run the path through these woods every day. How is this any different?"

"There's a dead woman at our feet."

"She was probably here a few days ago too and I was running then too. If you're so worried, come with me."

Mike looked at the woods and shivered. I'd always been the more impulsive one in our relationship. "The police need to hear about this sooner than later. Just wait to find the cat."

"It'll be fine, Mike. I'll keep the house in sight, and if I can't find him, I'll let it go. That last crash sounded close. If Milo is there, I'll have him in the car before you're off the phone with the cops."

Mike's brow furrowed as he looked from me to the forest. His expression softened. "Okay, but don't be gone long. I don't trust those woods."

I shoved my hands in my sports jacket pockets. "Four minutes tops."

I sprinted toward the area where I assumed another large branch had toppled. The path was easier to navigate than I'd expected. Had this been well-travelled and would I discover Mrs. Crawford's sundial for her full-moon ritual?

The spruce trees grew denser, and the sky shifted from dull gray to a darker, sinister shade that brought wicked summer storms with clouds racing in between the gaps in the treetops. The path veered right, climbing toward the mountain in the direction of our home. Shadows flickered at the edge of my peripheral vision, which seemed impossible since there was no sun to cast them. Must have been the adrenaline.

Strong hissing stopped me in my tracks. Was it a wild animal? It had to be Milo. I followed it to an orange cat who lay near a rustling bush, ready to pounce. Weird gurgles and what I swore was a laugh emanated from behind the leaves. The hairs on my neck stood on end. Had Mike been right about the psycho? I bent down to pick up a dense stick, just in case.

The shrubbery rustled again, and I shouted a resounding 'Hey'. Whatever it was would have sensed my approach and maybe spooking it would help. A loud whistling noise responded along with a large fuzzy rodent who scurried out, glancing back at us momentarily, then it escaped. Even though the marmot was too big to be easy prey for Milo, the cat chased the critter until they arrived at a small clearing.

A table-sized pinkish stone circle sat on a rectangular rock base. Down the middle, a lightning bolt-shaped crack separated the two halves of the circle where a large tree trunk had struck it. I peered up to check the stability of the surrounding trees. The winds seemed to have died down.

Drawing closer, carvings in the granite caught my eye. Symbols of different flowers and leaves. I took pictures of them with my phone while circling around the structure. On the far side, the dial part lay intact after the tree missed striking it by mere inches. It was made of bright copper, like a shiny penny. I couldn't fathom why someone would build one when sunlight was obscured by the vegetation. Perhaps it wasn't a sundial but an innocent map to plants and flowers, and the murder had me losing my mind.

I flipped open the journal and skimming the weeks leading up to her death.

Shoe prints in the garden again.

Overheard muttering about needing more...

Sharpening of blades outside my window... couldn't find any evidence in the tool shed.

A sharp wind blew through the clearing for an entire minute, making me dig my feet deeper in the pine needles. The gusts flung the journal to the ground and a few pages came loose. I sprinted to pick them up and return them to the book. As the gale died down, it carried voices reminiscent of a group of possessed children in a cult, whispering, "Help us, Winston."

I closed my eyes. The lack of sugar in my diet was getting to me. It was time to add it back in. After steadying my breath, I looked around, but only saw the clearing and the busted stone. Mike was right. The police townies would uncover the truth easier since they were born and raised here, and I was hallucinating.

As I turned to leave, a heavy thwack reverberated from the tree to my left. I darted away far enough from toppling range to glance back. A small hatchet protruded from the section, the same height as my head. In the weird stormy lighting, the handle and blade almost glistened with red. High-pitched laughter echoed from behind the busted stone dial.

I cursed, grabbed Milo, and ran faster than I had in any track competition I'd ever won, past the woods, past the crushed shed, past Mrs. Crawford, and into our warm SUV.

"Are you all right? You look like you saw a ghost."

My breaths shot out like geysers. I wasn't sure what the hell that was, but Mrs. Crawford had heard weird things too. Either a sick bastard was messing with people, or I was losing my mind like she had. My gut suspected the latter and the longer I stayed here the more likely I was to end up dead on a forest floor.

"Just drive."

"Where?"

"Anywhere," I croaked and caught my breath, "but here."

"So we're keeping the cat?"

I glared at him as I failed to steady my breathing.

Mike started the engine and shook his head. "We're keeping the cat."