The Lonely One

The blow struck literally from out of nowhere. Henry was face-down in the dirt, ears ringing, before he even realized something had happened. Sparkling lights floated in front of his eyes. He took a breath, and choked on the dust kicked up by the fall he had just taken. His pack rode up his back. It was heavy, and the fall had jammed it into the back of his neck.

At length, he pushed himself up, and dusted his hands together. Looking down and behind him, he saw his assailant - a twisted tree root thrusting out of the ground. The earth surrounding it eroded by endless footfalls, it had simply waited there for the right moment to trip an unwary foot.

Sheepishly, he looked around to see if anyone had been there to witness the face first dive, but the path was deserted. Thankfully, the birds in the trees kept their opinions to themselves. Shaking it off, he decided to keep going. He had a couple more hours before he needed to be back in the city. Drawing the straps of his backpack a little more tightly, he moved down the path.

He didn’t meet anyone else along the way. Good. By the time he reached a little clearing, the sun was beginning to set. He needed to hurry it up a little. With a sigh, he unbuckled the straps of the pack and let it hit the ground with a thump. The load was uneven, and the pack listed uneasily. Leaning down, he grabbed a bottle of water from one of the many pockets on the back and sat down next to it, draining the bottle in one long gulp. He had four more bottles for the return trip, but going back would be easier. He might not need them all.

He sat the bottle on the ground next to him, and unhooked the small shovel hanging from his belt. He got up and stepped off the path into a more thickly wooded part of the forest. He didn't have to go far before he found the perfect spot. There was even a boulder there to mark it's location. Finding it again would be easy. He jammed the shovel into the earth next to the boulder, and headed back to the clearing for the backpack.

Once he made it back to the rock, he dropped the pack. Leaving it to rest there, he squatted, pulled the shovel out, and started to dig. As he dug, a shallow ditch emerged, running left to right in front of the large gray rock. He paused once to down another bottle of water, ignoring the dribbles escaping down the front of his dirty, sweat-stained shirt. With the trench completed, he holstered the shovel in the ground, and opened the pack. Inside were three black garbage bags. The smell coming from them was atrocious, and he struggled with the urge to puke. At last, he managed some measure of control over his runaway stomach, and began placing the bags into the shallow hole. He handled them with care, not wanting them to shift. They were cool and slippery. He looked around before tossing in a small red baseball cap. “Kevin” was printed on the grubby bill in scrawling, childish letters. He considered throwing the pack into the hole along with the packages and the hat.


The smell emanating from the bags had seeped into the tough nylon of the packsack, and he wasn’t sure he could stand to smell it all the way back to his car. At this time of night, it would be unlikely to bump into another hiker. Nevertheless, a person could hardly fail to notice someone out here without a pack. Remark on to the park ranger, perhaps. Then he might have to...

Ruthlessly, he strangled the panic rabbit trying to break free. I have a plan, it’s working fine, and everything will continue to be fine so long as I stick to the plan. No need to borrow trouble, Henry, he thought. The pack would stay.

His mind a little more at ease, he began the hard work of refilling the ditch. A detached part of him listened to the sound of the dirt hitting the plastic. Little pattering sounds like rain on a tarp. At last he finished, and sat back on his haunches, exhausted. He hadn’t thought it would be so hard to dig like that, and time had gotten away from him. It was full-on twilight, and he felt an urgent need to finish. Feeling a little desperate, he looked around, and his gaze lit upon a big pile of leaves underneath a nearby tree.

Working faster now, he gathered some up and carried them over to the hole. He scattered them all around the area, trying to disguise the turned earth. He made sure to tromp on the ground, but not too hard. He didn't want to feel the lumps of garbage bags under his feet.

He gathered his things, including the empty water bottles, and stuffed them in another black garbage bag he'd brought along in his pocket. He hiked back to his car. He was grateful to be finished, and in desperate need of a shower.

~*~


A few weeks later, Henry found himself sitting on a bench. The playground looked like every other playground he had been at, in every city he’d lived in. The children, so young, so healthy, so vital…they all looked alike, too. He fought disappointment. He had hopes he would find another Lonely One on this trip, but time was running short, and so far, he’d had no luck. No sweet little Kevin or Joey to catch his eye this time. A bit sad, really. He was lonely, and needed another playmate.

At last he conceded defeat and stood with a sigh. He trudged back to his car, staring at the ground while he fished the keys out of his pocket. The raucous laughter of the children covered the soft, dragging footsteps behind him. Perhaps a shadow might have alerted him to the presence of another, but there was none. He got into his car, and buckled his seat belt. He adjusted the rearview mirror, pursing his lips in distaste at the fingerprints on the glass. The detail shop had been sloppy again.


Out of habit, he looked around the cockpit of the car, to see if anything was out of place, and froze, his eyes opening wide with shock. Sitting in the passenger seat was a small, blond haired boy. His greenish gray skin bulged horribly in places, and he had an odd, dark circle around his neck that looked like a cut. Swollen flesh puffed around the ragged, blood-clotted line. It was a cut, Henry realized with dawning horror. The boy stared at him, unblinking. The blue eyes that had so captivated Henry were now clouded, and protruded ominously. The boy kept them fixed on the man behind the steering wheel, as he stretched a decaying hand towards Henry.

“Hat…” he said.

His voice had a peculiar, gravelly quality. Dirt clotted the fine blond strands of his hair, and filled the warped, long nails on the fingers reaching towards Henry. The corpse's fetid breath filled the small vehicle, and the man gagged, recoiling.

"It can't be...you're dead!" Henry gasped.

His heart clanged in his chest as his hands scrabbled at the ignition. The Kevin-corpse's eyes opened wider as the car's keys appeared in his hand. He shook them gently, mockingly. His eyes bulged, and one came out with an audible pop!

"My...hat. Want my...hat...back." the corpse said. It began to grin. The dislocated eye dangled by a shriveled blood vessel and brushed against his dirty, swollen cheek.

"I don't have it!" Henry screamed. "I don't, I don't, I buried it with the..with you!"

His fingers were desperately flipping the lock on the door, to no effect. The Kevin-corpse leaned in, as if to add emphasis to his demand. Henry moaned and scooted back as far as he could, until his back struck the car door. He put his hands out in front of him as the corpse put his face right in Henry's. He opened his mouth, and Henry stared, fascinated at the rotted teeth and mossy tongue. He couldn't move, even when the corpse's hands began scratching at him, then tearing at his flesh.

A silent scream broke in his throat, and Henry's own eyes began to bulge in a terror so huge it seemed impossible. It was all impossible. The playground had begun to clear out, with parents alongside skipping, laughing children, strolling right past Henry's small car. No one heard Henry's screams.