The Beast of Bone Mountain (3 page)

             
Pushing forward, full of rage and hate and loss and desperate loneliness that only occur with the death of anyone close, I started to climb. Progress was slow at first and I discovered that every rock I stepped on was loose and would not hold me. I found myself grabbing at trees nearby and hoping that they would hold as I bent their boughs and ascended.

             
Time passed as I climbed. The rain continued to fall, and among the rocks I found cracked bones here and there: vertebrae of a small deer, a beaver skull licked clean by mites and insects, and other smaller unidentified bones; none of the remains appeared recent.

             
Eventually, I reached the top of Bone Mountain, out of breath, my legs tired, my hands sore form gripping trees, and my back suffering from carrying my pack.

             
The top of the mountain was dense with pines; tall overgrown firs which had grew and spread here for a century. There was no telling what I’d find among their green needles.

             
I found a thick patch of spruce and took refuge behind them. I set up my small tent and quickly got inside with my backpack. Out of the rain, I rested, ate trail mix, drank water, and listened for any sounds of the beast.

             
The rain poured, drowning out any approaching menace.

             
After I’d dried off enough, I took my long knife and left the tent. It was getting darker outside, and above, lightning flashed across a black sky.

             
I cut down a few limbs from pine trees nearby and covered my tent until it was just a mound of green and brown, matching the surroundings.

             
I began my hunt.

             
I pressed through the tall pines, ignoring the storm overhead and searching the ground for any clues; unfortunately, dead pine needles littered the ground, absorbing any footprint that I might find.

             
I walked for a little while, listened, and moved again, going deeper and deeper and finding nothing.

             
It was getting blacker so I decided to go back to my tent to get some rest. The trek back was uneventful, but just a few more steps to my tent I heard a long guttural howl on the wind; it was the same sound that I’d heard all those years ago.

             
I waited in the rain, bracing my knife’s deer antler handle and screaming at the top of my lungs in a roar, issuing a challenge.

             
I waited for a response but none came. Eventually, my feet and legs grew sore and I was forced to return to my tent. Soaked and cold, I stripped off my wet clothes and boots and put on dry clothing.

             
I stayed up all night waiting for that howl to return but it never did. When morning came and the rain ended I drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep.

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              I awoke to something sniffing at the tent; it was still light out but I couldn’t see anything.

             
I slowly grabbed my knife, and I waited for whatever it was to come closer.

             
The ground shook and I heard a snort as it took off running.

             
I got out of my tent in a hurry but didn’t see anything.

             
That night, I cut down lots of pine tree branches and piled them high. When darkness fell I lit a fire; letting the flames lick the night, flashing and blazing. I continued to feed the fire, making it bigger and brighter.

             
That night, the beast came for me.

             
I was standing near the flames, feeling warm and heating my blade in the fire when an enormous figure pushed through the trees. He was tall, maybe eight feet, grayish/brownish hair clung to his body, sharp teeth hung out of his black lips, and dark eyes peered at me, showing a hint of intelligence that only a predator knows.

             
I taunted him and screamed at him.

             
He wasn’t afraid. He offered a single long wail before he charged like a black bear, looping on all fours and baring his teeth.

              There was nowhere to run to or hide. I stood my ground and gripped the knife tight.

             
He slammed into me, tackling me. I managed to stab his chest, but his fur was thick and the knife only went in an inch or so.

             
He was on top of me in an instant, clawing my arms and going for my face and neck.

             
I stabbed randomly, cutting his hand and noticing the small punctured I’d made on it years ago.

             
He growled and grunted, pinning me down and trying to finish the job.

             
I screamed and cursed and cut him with all my might.

             
The fire burned brighter. Our blood mixed. I could smell his rancid breath hot against my neck and rammed my blade deep within his stomach.

             
He gave a wailing guttural cry and stripped flesh away from my forehead all the way down to my neck with his claws, and then sliced open my sides.

             
I jerked my long blade free and stabbed again, this time penetrating his throat, and ending his cruel life.

             
He fell on me, bleeding and heavy as a freight train.

             
I pushed him off of me. The beast was dead.

             
The fire continued to burn, spreading. In the distance I heard a fire truck, but later learned that it was a helicopter.

             
Heather had called them, and seeing the fire they had sent in a rescue chopper.             

             
Before blacking out I saw other forms emerge from the forest, dark, hairy humanoids resembling the beast in nature. I spread my arms out, waiting to be ripped apart any second.

             
To my surprise, the other beasts simply took the one I’d killed, scooping him up and carrying him away from the fire and deeper into the mountain.

             
I blacked out.

March 17
th

              Heather is letting me stay at the farm house until I can get back on my feet again. She cried when she saw what the beast had done to my face and offered to pay for plastic surgery. I turned her down. I wanted to look in the mirror everyday knowing that I’d avenged my wife and son. Those wounds are testaments to my love and devotion of them, and I will carry them with me until all my days have run out and my body cannot sustain my spirit any more. On that glorious day I will be reunited with my loved ones and finally know peace. I visit their graves once a week and leave flowers and promises I hope to keep.

             
There was an investigation on Bone Mountain, but they never found the beast or his brethren. The efforts of police, forest rangers, and volunteers did turn up three, as yet, unidentified human remains.

             
I told Heather once they finished up there that I planned on setting the entire mountain ablaze. I’ve acquired six drum barrels full of gasoline, more than enough to turn Bone Mountain into a smoldering wildfire, inescapable, and set to purify those damned creatures back from the hell they came from. The only bones left on that mountain will be those of beasts: demented, cruel, unforgiving, vengeful, and unmerciful in their cunning. I may deserve to be there with them.

The End