The Texas wilderness was no place for a lone city boy like Hanna. It may have been too cold for snakes and mosquitoes, but a different set of critters came out when the earth moved away from the sun.
The strip of woods that ran alongside the east side of Dogtrot was ran through with tall, skinny pines, scaly barks, oaks, and cedar. The skeleton of a cow fence hung heavy with spiny berry bushes and bordered the field that cut it off from the trailer park. It was also lined with burned garbage and brush piled up by years of mowing and the odd ice storm. But naturally, as there always is, there was a dip in the fence.
Like a missing tooth, the gap in the fence was a dark hole that led down a trail that not only wandered between the sleeping trees, but dipped. It dipped and swooped and led down into the deep guts of the wood. Animal tracks and boot prints could easily be seen in the red dirt between the pine needles. Dozens of people, Maurice himself included, had walked this path.
And like all the others, Hanna found the trail, wandering down it, breathing in the country air, enriched by the trees. It was so different out here than in the city, and the quiet was unnerving. He wished he still had an mp3 player, shitty as his old one used to be and a pair of headphones.
Part of him felt like if you screamed out here, no one could hear you. It was probably true.
"Have you been up late nights? It's okay, it's just been hard to sleep..." He sang softly, adding his own noise to the quiet, continuing on into the night.
The deeper Hanna went into the woods, the more obvious the chorus of the wild would become. Rustling night birds. Mice in the brush. The trees sighed and deer picked their way through the wet places in search of mushrooms. Even the few brave crickets that had survived the winter joined in.
But one sound stood out above all the others, mournful and alien. Not part of the song.
At first, Hanna's murmurs had helped him not notice the sound, but it picked up, and his hands buried deeper into his pockets. His own song cut short as he whispered, "The fuck," under his breath, peering into the night and the brush.
"There's no way...who would leave a baby out here?" And yet...the paranormal investigator with the heart too big for his tiny brain followed the sound.
Shit happens in the woods. Whole civilizations bloom and decay in the shadow of the pines, hardly making a ripple, ruled by their own little gods and strung up in overall snaps.
The pitiful mewling cry, sharp and persistent and choked with phlegm, cried out from a gully off the path, beyond a pile of burned bottles and cans that were barely illuminated by the stars struggling through the branches. Here, puddles stood.
Hanna hesitated a moment, all those years of work, there was something here that didn't feel right, but he took another step forward, calling out into the beyond, "H-hey! You're gonna be alright. It'll be okay!"
His voice broke a little, hands pulled out of his pockets, one hand on a marker.
He jumped, fumbling his marker. It fell to the ground and Hanna silenced himself, slowly crouching down to the ground and trying to feel around for it quietly. His hands touched leaves, grass, twigs...
It was times like these that he wished that he had enough money to get a cellphone, but he wasn't far enough along setting up to get one yet. Maurice was usually clothes at hand. Who would he call aside from him? He swallowed, where was that damn marker?
Suddenly there was a loud whuff, a burst of air from Hanna's left, strong enough to blow his hair. It was followed by heavy foot falls as the cow spooked and lumbered out of the young man's way. Its tail even hit him on the shoulder as it shuffled on down the gully.
The baby started to cry again. It was close and it echoed in a metallic way, as if from inside an oil drum or culvert.
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theattic2014-11-09 07:55 pm
no subject
The strip of woods that ran alongside the east side of Dogtrot was ran through with tall, skinny pines, scaly barks, oaks, and cedar. The skeleton of a cow fence hung heavy with spiny berry bushes and bordered the field that cut it off from the trailer park. It was also lined with burned garbage and brush piled up by years of mowing and the odd ice storm. But naturally, as there always is, there was a dip in the fence.
Like a missing tooth, the gap in the fence was a dark hole that led down a trail that not only wandered between the sleeping trees, but dipped. It dipped and swooped and led down into the deep guts of the wood. Animal tracks and boot prints could easily be seen in the red dirt between the pine needles. Dozens of people, Maurice himself included, had walked this path.
no subject
Part of him felt like if you screamed out here, no one could hear you. It was probably true.
"Have you been up late nights? It's okay, it's just been hard to sleep..." He sang softly, adding his own noise to the quiet, continuing on into the night.
no subject
But one sound stood out above all the others, mournful and alien. Not part of the song.
The piercing wail of an infant.
no subject
"There's no way...who would leave a baby out here?" And yet...the paranormal investigator with the heart too big for his tiny brain followed the sound.
no subject
Shit happens in the woods. Whole civilizations bloom and decay in the shadow of the pines, hardly making a ripple, ruled by their own little gods and strung up in overall snaps.
The pitiful mewling cry, sharp and persistent and choked with phlegm, cried out from a gully off the path, beyond a pile of burned bottles and cans that were barely illuminated by the stars struggling through the branches. Here, puddles stood.
no subject
His voice broke a little, hands pulled out of his pockets, one hand on a marker.
no subject
no subject
It was times like these that he wished that he had enough money to get a cellphone, but he wasn't far enough along setting up to get one yet. Maurice was usually clothes at hand. Who would he call aside from him? He swallowed, where was that damn marker?
no subject
The baby started to cry again. It was close and it echoed in a metallic way, as if from inside an oil drum or culvert.