halloween story the last
Oct. 31st, 2007 06:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrGhost stories aren't really my thing, for all that I love them - but I gave it a try anyway. Sadly, it remains untitled.
Luke abandoned the campsite in disgust, wishing they were in a house so he could slam a door or something.
Instead he made barely a sound, and even if he'd screamed no one would have noticed.
He so should have stayed at home. Tell ghost stories and make smores, they'd said. Celebrate Halloween properly.
Near as he could tell, they were celebrating the creation of vodka.
What a bust. He should have stayed home and passed out candy; at least the kids would have been cute and he could have scared some of the slightly older ones. His sisters were dressing as faeries, that would have been fun to see.
Maybe he should just leave anyway. He'd probably get home before the entire house went to sleep…
Sighing, he shoved his hand into the pockets of his fleece-lined denim jacket, eyes on the path beaten out by park officials. Here and there moonlight revealed the markers for hikers to follow – he paused as he came to a fork, and finally opted for the red path. He'd been here a thousand times, so it being dark wouldn't make a difference at all.
He walked and walked, until he could almost forget he'd let his dumbass cousin talk him into something that should have been fun and might have been fun except stupid Bradley the Quarterback and his Cheerleader Harem had crashed and turned the place into Mini Motherland.
His foot snagged, and Luke went down with a cry – and down and down, until his head knocked against a tree and everything went starry. Now he knew how all those old cartoons felt when they took a mallet to the head.
Groaning, he tried to untangle himself, but in the dark it was difficult to see which way was up.
Never mind trying to figure out where he was supposed to go.
For the first time he realized how cold it was. Winter was wasting no time in arriving this year; most days it was hard to tell it was still fall. He shivered as he finally righted himself, and swallowed as he pondered just how well and truly fucked he was.
Cell phone!
He fumbled in his pocket – and swore colorfully. He'd left the damned thing in his truck because he didn't want to be annoyed by it while the ghost stories were being told.
Okay. Calm down. Not a big deal. Moving right now would be stupid; he'd get himself completely and totally lost.
Someone would miss him, yeah? But he doubted they'd come this far…and no, if they noticed at all they'd just assume he'd gotten pissed off and gone home.
Right. No rescue.
Door number three – wait 'til morning. Suck ass door, but he didn't have much choice. Shit, he didn't even have his watch on, thanks to breaking it at work. Damn it.
He shivered again and buttoned up his coat, turning up the collar so the warm fleece brushed against his neck.
Now he knew how all the morons in the stories felt when they did this. To think he laughed at them every single time – that would teach him to think he knew the forest so well. How quickly a man is handed his own ass on a platter.
Slumping down against the tree which had stopped his fall, grimacing at his aching head, Luke settled in for a long night.
Despite himself, and knowing it was probably stupid, he began to grow sleepy in the cold. Every sound made him jump, at first, but before long the miserable cold made him stop caring. Let the bears have him. It would spare him the lecture he'd be getting from his mother whenever he finally made it home.
Aw, hell, he hoped he wasn't lost so long he made his sisters worry. He'd hate it if they started crying because he was a dumbass.
He curled up in a tighter ball and buried his head in his knees, willing the cold to leave him the fuck alone, trying to distract himself without actually going to sleep.
But time grew fuzzy, and he knew he was drifting in and out, especially as his thoughts got foggier every time.
When he heard the whistling, he had no idea how much time had passed.
He looked up, wondering if he'd started hearing things, stubbornly ignoring thoughts of ghosts and witches and demons that weren't really such cool stories at the moment.
Slowly he stood up again, hands trembling because no one else should be out here except his friends and they were too drunk to whistle at all, definitely not like that.
The tune was what he thought might be called haunting…or maybe melancholy. Were those sort of the same thing? It was pretty and sad and sent more shivers down his spine, and he braced both hands on the tree so they'd maybe stop shaking so much.
Oh, shit. A light.
It was orange and flickering, like a campfire only too small…a lantern?
He began to tremble as it got closer and the darkness around it took on a definitive shape.
Then suddenly it was right there and he yelped and stumbled back because it was dark except for that orange light that was a lantern, only he couldn't see it well, but he could see everything else well.
It was a man.
He was tall-ish, or at least gave that impression. He wore a white shirt, over which was a dark jacket. The pants were just as dark, the bottoms tucked into heavy-looking boots. His hair fell to his shoulders, black or maybe brown, perfectly straight but rather poorly cut.
His jacket was open, the shirt not buttoned all the way up. Around his throat was a silver chain, from which hung a small silver cross. They gleamed in the flickering light, seeming almost to glow.
It was the eyes, however, which really made him want to turn and run – they seemed too bright to be real, like the way he shouldn't be able to see the guy so clearly but could. All around them the world was dark, but right here and now in front of the guy he could almost see clear as day.
Those eyes, fire orange, not quite glowing but so bright.
"Evening," the man said, and the word rolled off his tongue like molasses, an accent so thick it reminded Luke of his grandmother, who'd moved from Georgia to live with her 'damned Yankee relatives.' "You look a might lost, boy."
"Y-yes, sir," Luke stuttered, torn between running and the chance this weirdo might know how to get him unlost.
The man chuckled, and it was an oddly warm sound. "Bad time to be wandering the woods, you know."
"I certainly know now."
Another chuckle, and a flash of teeth as the man grinned, and the expression was as soothing as the laugh. Luke realized he no longer felt cold, either. If the guy was an ax murderer – well, it would save him that lecture from his mother.
But he just couldn't see it.
"Come along, then," the man said, moving the slightest bit closer, the lamp at his side swinging in time with his movements. "On Halloween Night, there's no harm in we two sharing a path. This way, boy, we'll get you where you need to be."
Utterly bemused, Luke fell into step beside him – and realized suddenly they really were on a path. There wasn't a path this way…was there? Had he managed to fall somewhere utterly convenient without realizing it?
No…the campsite was close to Lake Matilda. That was near the seventh checkpoint for the yellow, orange, and red paths. He'd fallen off the red…there were no other paths.
Maybe it was a ranger path; those were always in random places.
He shrugged it off. Who cared, so long as he was getting out of the forest?
Assuming he wasn't about to be stabbed and made into a late night snack. "Um…thanks for helping me…"
The man turned and offered him another smile, and Luke again stopped feeling afraid. "My pleasure. I always like company when I can get it."
"So, uh, what are you doing out here? Just like the walk? Isn't it dangerous?"
A deep laugh spilled out of the man and seemed to fill the forest, and Luke swore the lantern flickered in time with it. "Dangerous? Maybe. I do well enough. I'm…searching."
Right. Luke decided not to ask any more questions. "You must know this forest really well."
"I suppose I do, after a fashion," the man replied.
Luke shook his head, amused despite himself. No more questions, right. He fell silent, content to enjoy the fact he was moving and hopefully being led back to camp or something and not to his demise.
He looked at his rescuer from the corner of his eye, still wondering how he could see the man so clearly. He was clean-shaven, and his features were sharp. All of him seemed sharp, really, as though he carried only the bare minimum of fat required.
The wind picked up, and the man moved just so, and Luke caught a brief glimpse of something he'd missed before – an earring in the man's left ear. It looked like a small silver medallion…or a coin.
He started to ask about it, but bit the question off. The silence stretched on, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the crunch of their boots on the forest floor.
It was broken gently by the sound of soft whistling, that same strange, haunting tune he'd heard before. Luke was drawn to it; something about it just tugged and he was reminded briefly of the way his mother got whenever she watched one of her sad movies. She always said they hurt so good, and he'd always thought that was dumb…but he thought maybe he got it now.
How long they traveled he couldn't say, but when the whistling stopped Luke stumbled to a halt, startled.
There'd been nothing there a minute ago, but now --- now he was staring right at his beat up old truck.
"How – what – how the hell did you do that, man?"
The man laughed. "If you know the path, the rest is simple. You're safe now, stay out of the woods when it's dark."
Luke looked at him, eyes wide. "Thank you. Um – my name is Luke. Luke Walters. Is there anyway I can repay you? If you ever come into town, man, just ask for me. I think I probably owe you my life."
Those orange eyes seemed to shine even brighter. "I don't go into towns, much. You don't owe me a thing."
"I owe you plenty," Luke replied, still too shocked to really think much. "Whatever you want man, just say. I'll pay."
That soft, warm laughter washed over him again. "Now be careful with such words, my boy. Because even good thoughts are only worth a pence, and talk is cheaper still. First rule is mean what you say, and say what you mean."
Luke smiled briefly. "You sound like my mother. Deeds, not words, she says."
"Sure enough," the man said, making the words long and slow.
"I mean it," Luke replied. "I owe you."
The man flashed a grin. "Second rule – know to whom you speak, for you know not when the devil might be before you, and he deals only in silver and souls."
Luke frowned, and a shiver raced down his spine. He ignored it. "You're not the devil."
"Maybe, maybe not. Still want to pay me for playing guide? I offered my assistance freely. I expected nothing in return."
His frowned deepened, and Luke stared hard into those glowing eyes, and the world around him once more went completely dark. Nothing existed but the two of them, within the circle of the lantern's orange light. "I still want to pay," he said at last.
"Then I will take a bit of warmth," the man replied. "For the devil's fire is bright and drawing, but cold to the touch. I travel long, hard roads, and they are once more growing chilly. A bit of real warmth would do this lonely soul some good."
Luke blinked, thoroughly confused. "O-okay," he said softly, tripping over the word but moving closer, as though compelled, because a deal was a deal and he did want to repay—
Fingers that were both warm and hot cupped his chin, tilted his face up, and then lips brushed over his butterfly soft, barely there before they were gone again. Then his lips felt ice cold, and the chilly wind slipped beneath his collar to bite at his neck.
Then he realized the man was moving away, walking off toward the forest on the other side of his car. "Hey—do you need a ride—"
But the man was gone, almost as though he had never been there. For a moment he heard that haunting whistling, and he started to call out again, but then the wind shifted and there was nothing left but the rustling of the trees.
He stood a moment feeling lost, and lifted a hand to touch his lips.
They were not quite as cold as they had been, but not quite warm either.
Shaking his head, he dug out his keys and unlocked the driver door. Climbing inside, he started the truck, but even the shockingly loud sound of it in the quiet night could not banish the remnants of that haunting melody still echoing in his mind.
Sighing softly, he drove off, wondering if his sisters would still be awake when he got home.
Luke abandoned the campsite in disgust, wishing they were in a house so he could slam a door or something.
Instead he made barely a sound, and even if he'd screamed no one would have noticed.
He so should have stayed at home. Tell ghost stories and make smores, they'd said. Celebrate Halloween properly.
Near as he could tell, they were celebrating the creation of vodka.
What a bust. He should have stayed home and passed out candy; at least the kids would have been cute and he could have scared some of the slightly older ones. His sisters were dressing as faeries, that would have been fun to see.
Maybe he should just leave anyway. He'd probably get home before the entire house went to sleep…
Sighing, he shoved his hand into the pockets of his fleece-lined denim jacket, eyes on the path beaten out by park officials. Here and there moonlight revealed the markers for hikers to follow – he paused as he came to a fork, and finally opted for the red path. He'd been here a thousand times, so it being dark wouldn't make a difference at all.
He walked and walked, until he could almost forget he'd let his dumbass cousin talk him into something that should have been fun and might have been fun except stupid Bradley the Quarterback and his Cheerleader Harem had crashed and turned the place into Mini Motherland.
His foot snagged, and Luke went down with a cry – and down and down, until his head knocked against a tree and everything went starry. Now he knew how all those old cartoons felt when they took a mallet to the head.
Groaning, he tried to untangle himself, but in the dark it was difficult to see which way was up.
Never mind trying to figure out where he was supposed to go.
For the first time he realized how cold it was. Winter was wasting no time in arriving this year; most days it was hard to tell it was still fall. He shivered as he finally righted himself, and swallowed as he pondered just how well and truly fucked he was.
Cell phone!
He fumbled in his pocket – and swore colorfully. He'd left the damned thing in his truck because he didn't want to be annoyed by it while the ghost stories were being told.
Okay. Calm down. Not a big deal. Moving right now would be stupid; he'd get himself completely and totally lost.
Someone would miss him, yeah? But he doubted they'd come this far…and no, if they noticed at all they'd just assume he'd gotten pissed off and gone home.
Right. No rescue.
Door number three – wait 'til morning. Suck ass door, but he didn't have much choice. Shit, he didn't even have his watch on, thanks to breaking it at work. Damn it.
He shivered again and buttoned up his coat, turning up the collar so the warm fleece brushed against his neck.
Now he knew how all the morons in the stories felt when they did this. To think he laughed at them every single time – that would teach him to think he knew the forest so well. How quickly a man is handed his own ass on a platter.
Slumping down against the tree which had stopped his fall, grimacing at his aching head, Luke settled in for a long night.
Despite himself, and knowing it was probably stupid, he began to grow sleepy in the cold. Every sound made him jump, at first, but before long the miserable cold made him stop caring. Let the bears have him. It would spare him the lecture he'd be getting from his mother whenever he finally made it home.
Aw, hell, he hoped he wasn't lost so long he made his sisters worry. He'd hate it if they started crying because he was a dumbass.
He curled up in a tighter ball and buried his head in his knees, willing the cold to leave him the fuck alone, trying to distract himself without actually going to sleep.
But time grew fuzzy, and he knew he was drifting in and out, especially as his thoughts got foggier every time.
When he heard the whistling, he had no idea how much time had passed.
He looked up, wondering if he'd started hearing things, stubbornly ignoring thoughts of ghosts and witches and demons that weren't really such cool stories at the moment.
Slowly he stood up again, hands trembling because no one else should be out here except his friends and they were too drunk to whistle at all, definitely not like that.
The tune was what he thought might be called haunting…or maybe melancholy. Were those sort of the same thing? It was pretty and sad and sent more shivers down his spine, and he braced both hands on the tree so they'd maybe stop shaking so much.
Oh, shit. A light.
It was orange and flickering, like a campfire only too small…a lantern?
He began to tremble as it got closer and the darkness around it took on a definitive shape.
Then suddenly it was right there and he yelped and stumbled back because it was dark except for that orange light that was a lantern, only he couldn't see it well, but he could see everything else well.
It was a man.
He was tall-ish, or at least gave that impression. He wore a white shirt, over which was a dark jacket. The pants were just as dark, the bottoms tucked into heavy-looking boots. His hair fell to his shoulders, black or maybe brown, perfectly straight but rather poorly cut.
His jacket was open, the shirt not buttoned all the way up. Around his throat was a silver chain, from which hung a small silver cross. They gleamed in the flickering light, seeming almost to glow.
It was the eyes, however, which really made him want to turn and run – they seemed too bright to be real, like the way he shouldn't be able to see the guy so clearly but could. All around them the world was dark, but right here and now in front of the guy he could almost see clear as day.
Those eyes, fire orange, not quite glowing but so bright.
"Evening," the man said, and the word rolled off his tongue like molasses, an accent so thick it reminded Luke of his grandmother, who'd moved from Georgia to live with her 'damned Yankee relatives.' "You look a might lost, boy."
"Y-yes, sir," Luke stuttered, torn between running and the chance this weirdo might know how to get him unlost.
The man chuckled, and it was an oddly warm sound. "Bad time to be wandering the woods, you know."
"I certainly know now."
Another chuckle, and a flash of teeth as the man grinned, and the expression was as soothing as the laugh. Luke realized he no longer felt cold, either. If the guy was an ax murderer – well, it would save him that lecture from his mother.
But he just couldn't see it.
"Come along, then," the man said, moving the slightest bit closer, the lamp at his side swinging in time with his movements. "On Halloween Night, there's no harm in we two sharing a path. This way, boy, we'll get you where you need to be."
Utterly bemused, Luke fell into step beside him – and realized suddenly they really were on a path. There wasn't a path this way…was there? Had he managed to fall somewhere utterly convenient without realizing it?
No…the campsite was close to Lake Matilda. That was near the seventh checkpoint for the yellow, orange, and red paths. He'd fallen off the red…there were no other paths.
Maybe it was a ranger path; those were always in random places.
He shrugged it off. Who cared, so long as he was getting out of the forest?
Assuming he wasn't about to be stabbed and made into a late night snack. "Um…thanks for helping me…"
The man turned and offered him another smile, and Luke again stopped feeling afraid. "My pleasure. I always like company when I can get it."
"So, uh, what are you doing out here? Just like the walk? Isn't it dangerous?"
A deep laugh spilled out of the man and seemed to fill the forest, and Luke swore the lantern flickered in time with it. "Dangerous? Maybe. I do well enough. I'm…searching."
Right. Luke decided not to ask any more questions. "You must know this forest really well."
"I suppose I do, after a fashion," the man replied.
Luke shook his head, amused despite himself. No more questions, right. He fell silent, content to enjoy the fact he was moving and hopefully being led back to camp or something and not to his demise.
He looked at his rescuer from the corner of his eye, still wondering how he could see the man so clearly. He was clean-shaven, and his features were sharp. All of him seemed sharp, really, as though he carried only the bare minimum of fat required.
The wind picked up, and the man moved just so, and Luke caught a brief glimpse of something he'd missed before – an earring in the man's left ear. It looked like a small silver medallion…or a coin.
He started to ask about it, but bit the question off. The silence stretched on, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the crunch of their boots on the forest floor.
It was broken gently by the sound of soft whistling, that same strange, haunting tune he'd heard before. Luke was drawn to it; something about it just tugged and he was reminded briefly of the way his mother got whenever she watched one of her sad movies. She always said they hurt so good, and he'd always thought that was dumb…but he thought maybe he got it now.
How long they traveled he couldn't say, but when the whistling stopped Luke stumbled to a halt, startled.
There'd been nothing there a minute ago, but now --- now he was staring right at his beat up old truck.
"How – what – how the hell did you do that, man?"
The man laughed. "If you know the path, the rest is simple. You're safe now, stay out of the woods when it's dark."
Luke looked at him, eyes wide. "Thank you. Um – my name is Luke. Luke Walters. Is there anyway I can repay you? If you ever come into town, man, just ask for me. I think I probably owe you my life."
Those orange eyes seemed to shine even brighter. "I don't go into towns, much. You don't owe me a thing."
"I owe you plenty," Luke replied, still too shocked to really think much. "Whatever you want man, just say. I'll pay."
That soft, warm laughter washed over him again. "Now be careful with such words, my boy. Because even good thoughts are only worth a pence, and talk is cheaper still. First rule is mean what you say, and say what you mean."
Luke smiled briefly. "You sound like my mother. Deeds, not words, she says."
"Sure enough," the man said, making the words long and slow.
"I mean it," Luke replied. "I owe you."
The man flashed a grin. "Second rule – know to whom you speak, for you know not when the devil might be before you, and he deals only in silver and souls."
Luke frowned, and a shiver raced down his spine. He ignored it. "You're not the devil."
"Maybe, maybe not. Still want to pay me for playing guide? I offered my assistance freely. I expected nothing in return."
His frowned deepened, and Luke stared hard into those glowing eyes, and the world around him once more went completely dark. Nothing existed but the two of them, within the circle of the lantern's orange light. "I still want to pay," he said at last.
"Then I will take a bit of warmth," the man replied. "For the devil's fire is bright and drawing, but cold to the touch. I travel long, hard roads, and they are once more growing chilly. A bit of real warmth would do this lonely soul some good."
Luke blinked, thoroughly confused. "O-okay," he said softly, tripping over the word but moving closer, as though compelled, because a deal was a deal and he did want to repay—
Fingers that were both warm and hot cupped his chin, tilted his face up, and then lips brushed over his butterfly soft, barely there before they were gone again. Then his lips felt ice cold, and the chilly wind slipped beneath his collar to bite at his neck.
Then he realized the man was moving away, walking off toward the forest on the other side of his car. "Hey—do you need a ride—"
But the man was gone, almost as though he had never been there. For a moment he heard that haunting whistling, and he started to call out again, but then the wind shifted and there was nothing left but the rustling of the trees.
He stood a moment feeling lost, and lifted a hand to touch his lips.
They were not quite as cold as they had been, but not quite warm either.
Shaking his head, he dug out his keys and unlocked the driver door. Climbing inside, he started the truck, but even the shockingly loud sound of it in the quiet night could not banish the remnants of that haunting melody still echoing in his mind.
Sighing softly, he drove off, wondering if his sisters would still be awake when he got home.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 11:07 am (UTC)Now food and once again train... -__-
no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 02:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 03:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 07:00 pm (UTC)especially thinking that there's a bunch of drunk teens out there.
like the 'celebration of vodka' line.
love it, not as much as i love the 'dtwd' one, and the smp one rocks too!
thankee!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 02:43 am (UTC)Yay, Halloween!!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 01:56 pm (UTC)Luke was a sweetie and I loved him and his snarky getting away from the party of drunks-ness. I also love that he knew all the trails so well to know that the way the ghost was taking him was unfamiliar and off the beaten path. I also loved the fact that while it was spooky, the ghost was totally out to help Luke and that the only thing he took in return was a kiss. <3 So cool! *__*
You totally rock. XD *twirls you about*
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 02:27 am (UTC)