Scratch

Tendrils of fog were just beginning to creep across the trail. The sun had just set beyond the distant hills, and autumn chill was settling into the hollows between the last remaining stands of red and gold.

Kit was peering nervously into the darkening aisles between the trees. It was the eve of Samhain, and he knew that he should have been headed for home hours ago. But then there was Alex. Alex didn’t know fear or caution, and Kit went wherever Alex led. Both nineteen and impressionable. Kit was in his first year of college- electrical engineering, more because it’s what his family expected than out of any real interest in the field- and Alex was still thinking (perennially, it seemed) about getting his GED.

“Hopelessly smitten” was the simplest way to describe Kit’s attachment to Alex, hence the day-long hike- on Samhain- against Kit’s better judgement. Not that Kit had high hopes- Alex was apparently blind to the depths of his follower’s admiration. Kit tried to be optimistic, but after some four years, optimism was wearing thin.

“Shouldn’t we head back,” Kit called out to Alex, who was meandering a few paces ahead on the trail. “Hrm,” rumbled Alex in reply. “Oh- yeah, I guess so.” Kit knew Alex’s moods well enough to see that there was some serious matter on the latter’s mind. They turned back down the trail and headed for the parking lot. Kit was grateful. They both knew the way well, but roaming around Grandfather Mountain after dark on this thinnest day of the year ranked very low on Kit’s list of favorite pastimes.

Alex seemed to be trying to figure out how to pose some question- his mouth was working in that peculiar way that portended some complex question or pronouncement for Kit’s consideration. Kit waited patiently, focused on the rapidly-darkening trail. “Do you have,” began Alex, followed by an awkward pause. “Do you have a thing for me?”

The question was so abrupt that Kit stumbled on a root, and nearly went head-first into the ravine next to the trail. He recovered his stride, despite his racing heart and lost wits. Kit struggled for a minute before finding words. “You must already know, or you wouldn’t ask.” Alex nodded for a moment before nearly causing Kit a second stumble by gently grabbing his hand. The two continued down the trail together, with Kit wondering if he was indeed awake and alive, of if he’d somehow been spirited off to the Other World. Or maybe it was some cruel dream from which he’d eventually have to awaken.

The two were so lost in thought that it was some time before Kit realized that they should have long since reached the parking lot and Alex’s (perpetually troublesome) ’89 Mustang. “Did we take a wrong turn,” Kit asked, though they both knew that was practically impossible.

They had both been hiking these trails for more than a decade, and knew them well. They were just discussing the possibility of looking for trail markers- thought it was nearly too dark to see them- when Alex came to a sudden halt. “What the hell is that,” Alex whispered, pointing up the mountain and off the trail to the right. Sure enough, when Kit looked, he could faintly discern a ring of stones on a short rise just above them. They looked like broken, jagged teeth. Neither Kit nor Alex recalled seeing this peculiar sight on any of their many previous hikes, which would fit well with the “wrong turn” idea, except that they both knew every trail and deer track for miles around.

Before Kit could object, Alex had already freed his hand and was half way up the rise to investigate. A sudden chill hit Kit, making him shudder convulsively. Everything in his lifelong experience with folklore, myth, and the occult was ringing in his very soul with peals of grief and danger. “Wait, stop” he called to Alex at the top of his lungs. But Alex never heard.