The Forest

A cold wind blew through the dark woods, carrying the smell of the old forest, a coming rain and just a hint of a small campfire that could be barely be seen flickering in a small clearing. Two men sat near it, trying to get as much warmth and light from it as they could. Occasionally one would push a small branch a little further into the fire.
They wore uniforms, the local sheriff and his deputy. The sheriff himself was well past middle age. His gnarled hands held an old rifle and he himself projected an air of confidence even if he was constantly looking over his shoulder at every sound. The deputy was a much younger man, tall and well muscled. He seemed a little calmer, but something snapped in the distance and he had his gun raised in a flash.
The older man looked around and made a lowering motion with his hand. “This is worse than 'Nam ever was,” he said, “I haven't been wound this tight in nearly fifty years.”
“I'd rather be back in Afghanistan then this,” the younger man commented, lowering his gun slowly, “Shouldn't we have more help?”
“We're it,” the older man said, “The rest of the men are too afraid. Can't blame them for wanting to stay with their families though. My old man was the only person to volunteer. The old geezer is pushing a hundred.”
“You aren't exactly a young guy yourself, John,” the younger man said, “What are you seventy?”
“Damn close,” John said, “Say, Mike, was it you or your brother that was the bookworm when you were a kid?”
“Mark was the nerd, not me,” Mike replied, “I suppose I read a fair amount too, usually what he thought was good. Why?”
“No reason,” John replied, looking up at the stars, “nothing worth bringing up anyway.”
Mike cringed and looked over his shoulder again and shivered.
“It's the forest,” the old sheriff commented, seeing his deputy's discomfort, “We shouldn't be out here, no one should. There's a dark presence here, always has been.”
“Superstitions.”
“That's what the first white men who settled here said of the natives when they were warned not to settle here. You know the stories, they even found a better place for the settlers and offered to help move them. It wasn't just superstition that caused them to do that, or to end up dying while trying to kill off those same settlers. The last Indian to die claimed they were doing it out of mercy, you know,” John said, “The place is tainted, cursed and it addles the minds of people who stay out here too long. You can't deny that you feel it too.”
“I will admit that I have never been more scared. But you saw what that man did to those little girls. Raped and killed them, and threw away their broken bodies. God knows what he did to the little boys. Grown men torn in half, women broken,” Mike said, “That's what I'm afraid of.”
“The forest drove him to it, he's no man anymore. Try and calm down though, our work will be over soon enough,” John said, running his hand over his gun, “We'll move in deeper in the morning. Try to get some sleep, I'll wake you a few hours before dawn.”
The younger man nodded and leaned back against a tree and quickly fell asleep, holding on to his gun. The older man glanced at his watch and then stared deep into the forest. Pin points of light stared back. Predators leered back at him from the darkness. He heard a muffled, bestial growling from the woods. John smiled, “I thought you'd be here. Tell him I'm coming for him. Tell those who came before him that I am coming for him. I will finish what was started all those years ago. Tell them that. Now begone.”
There was a piercing howl then silence and the predators vanished. Mike started in his sleep and looked around quickly. John made a reassuring motion with his hand and the young man fell back asleep.