Fireside Story

Fireside Story

Mournfully, the cold wind howled through the night as Tom Jones hiked his way up the narrow trail. Rain poured down, drenching the man to the skin, and his only source of light was the constant, crackling lightning.

Now, Tom was a practical man and not normally one to panic. He knew well the ways of the wilderness and would not be caught unprepared in the mountains. However, for the first time in a long time, he was more than a little afraid.

Tom had been away from the wagon train for over a day and a night now, scouting out the land ahead. He normally liked being alone, but right now he wished he had someone with him. It was not that he believed the tales told about this area; that the spirits of the dead walked through these woods. No, Tom was not foolish enough to fall for such myths. It was that he kept hearing strange noises mingled with the wind.

"You're just imagining it," Tom told himself forcefully, trying not to think of the bitter screams he had heard at various times during the evening. His hand tightened on the revolver he carried in his pocket as a loud wail echoed from farther down the trail. It's just the wind, he thought and stubbornly trudged on.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed as Tom fearfully scouted out potential routes for the wagon train. He thought of his family, his wife and two little girls. It was necessary for the wagons to pass this way, and Tom wasn't about to stop because of a few strange noises. He came upon a deep ravine in the trail and shook his head. This path would not be suitable; the wagons would never get by this way. He was about to turn back when something on the other side of the gully caught his attention. A wispy, white figure stood there, beckoning him to follow.

Tom was intrigued and terrified at the same time. His instinct told him to turn and run, but for some reason he could not take his eyes away from the strange creature. A ghost perhaps? He shuddered at the thought.

The figure turned and glided away, soon disappearing into the darkness. Tom's curiosity got the better of him and he stumbled down the ravine, then climbed up the other side. His hands were covered with cuts from the sharp rocks but he didn't care. It was as if the ghost had put a spell on him that he couldn't resist. He had to follow it.

Tom realized that he was ravenous with hunger. How long had it been since he had eaten? He wasn't sure. His feet felt numb with cold.

Tom arrived at an old wreck of a house with broken windows and a caving roof. It was completely dark inside. I must be mad, he thought, but he entered nevertheless.

It was pitch black, but he was somehow able to see. The house was full of cobwebs and the ghost sat on a rotting bench on the other side of the room. It was smiling and motioned for Tom to take a seat beside it. On trembling legs, he obeyed, unable to resist the spirit's command.

"Welcome," the ghost said with unmoving lips.

Tom could suddenly tell that she was a woman and that she was beautiful in a haunting way.

The ghost moved closer to him and began stroking his weary hands with a cold touch. "Stay with me," she pleaded.

The wind screamed, battering at the pathetic walls of the hut, creeping in through cracks in the walls and biting at Tom's flesh. The woman smiled, her eyes blank, yet piercing.

Tom found himself no longer afraid. He no longer thought about his family and the wagon train traveling to Oregon. Memories rapidly fell away. He felt cold and lifeless but happy at the same time.

What was life? Death promised so much more, if he would only embrace it.

Tom looked down to his hand and found that it was white and insubstantial like the one that stroked it. He took her hand in his.