Exclaimer: The story contains heavy contents of violence, including murder, gruesome descriptions and humiliation. It could be provocative so please, if you are unsure about reading it do not dive deeper. 

* all the names and characters are fictional.

Thomas pushed the door open with his elbow, ignoring the screeching sound of the bell hanging above his head. “Well fuck,” he murmured to himself as his foot almost slipped against the wet tiles of the Shell’s main entrance. He blindly reached up to pull off the hood of his soaked olive-green coat, his dark chocolate-brown eyes scoping the brightly illuminated yet small space. November has almost already passed, leaving behind the sweet memories of warmth that Thomas loved so much. Every year he solemnly watched as the colorful leaves, luscious fruits and succulent gardens turned to dust – their worn-out beauty left behind to rot. And eventually it faded away completely – submerged underneath the silence and seemingly eternal frost which entombed the remaining traces of the once bristling life.

Thomas’s eyes returned to the glassy windows, smeared with traces of raindrops and mud. He drew out a long sigh as he assessed the somber, crooked skeletons of the trees, wrapped up in a misty blanket that seemed to thicken with each passing day. The suffocating steam mocked him, its prying fingers clawing at his restless soul. He felt it inside him – as if it had its own living essence – like a can filled with worms that twisted and turned to free their tiny gelatinous bodies. His fingers unconsciously reached up and pressed against his temples to soothe the sharp pricking pain of the incoming headache, aggravated further by the flickering of bright led lights. The onslaught of a sudden cough forced his body to bend over and the overwhelming ache from his headache shot all the way to his lungs, the fiery burst making him tear up.

“Tom,” the loud knocking against the counter brought him back to his senses and he turned around to face the middle-aged man that addressed him. The old, worn-out Nike baseball cap sat on the man’s balding head, covering the treacherous thinning grey spots. The man’s bushy eyebrows seemed to have a life of their own as they continuously rose and fell when small button-shaped grey eyes assessed Thomas with concern. He wiped his nose against the oil-smudged shirt, leaving greasy traces on his face before he continued. “Jesus Christ, are you all right?” He continued to chew on his gum – the loud smacking sounds causing Thomas’s jaw to clench even tighter. “It’s that time of the year ain’t it?”

Thomas lifted his empty gasoline cans and shoved it toward the obese man who was finally forced to get up from his comfortable seat. “I need them full Rodney,” the Rodney guy grunted, his unremarkable irises still glued to Tom, before he finally wobbled to the storage room.

“Michelle Donavan and Lisa Gunner went missing approximately two weeks ago,” Tom turned his attention to the laughably small screen that flickered to the bad-quality picture of two teenage girls – no more than eighteen years old. “They were last seen at the base of the Big Creek campground, roughly around 5PM where they were spotted partying with their friends. Chief of the county police, Jeffrey Holland announced the wide-spread search across the west side of the Mount Rainer National Park, saying that seemingly intoxicated girls have gone lost, and for the time being excluded any notion of foul play.”

“Damn these kids.” 

Tom jumped at the sudden bang of the cans - a nervous smile bubbled out of his chest as he looked at the older man. “Every God damned hunting season they decide to go hiking – without the proper gear, drunk and stoned out of their minds, stumbling through the slippery rocks,” Rodney shook his head with disapproval. “That’ll be thirty bucks if that’s all you need,” his wrinkle-scattered face was still turned toward the tv.

“Frantic parents are sending rewards to anyone who might have any clues, please we urge you to notify your local police department or dial...”

“That’s another two...” Rodney munched at the inside of his cheek. “Four missing persons in the span of three months. All hikers, all young girls. Makes me want to grab my shotgun and find the fucker, don’t you agree?”

Tom nodded, his fingers drumming against the now full plastic containers. “Any news about what happened?”

Rodney half-shrugged. “Hunters, wild animals, perhaps one of those hermits living up in the mountains... Beats me. They said it could be one of the truckers, you know driving from Seattle down to Portland.”

“Oh? Like one of those up in Canada? What was it again...?” Tom tapped at his chin, appearing deep in thought.

“Highway of tears, yeah. Some sick shit picking up them lonely hitchhikers late at night, no witnesses no evidence just... Puff! And there is no trace of them ever again. Man Tom... I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not on my own two little girls, you know.”

Tom shivered as cold drops of rain somehow managed to break their way underneath the collar. He was more than eager to get the hell out of here. “Yeah, I bet,” he nodded sympathetically and grabbed the satisfyingly filled cans. “Hey listen Rodney, I’m a little strapped for cash right now, ehh, could you maybe...” His voice turned into a hushed whisper as he leaned over the counter, toward the other man.

Rodney finally peeled his gaze off the screen, bobbing his had in confirmation. “Sure thing, I’ll just put in on your tab and you can pay me sometime later.”

Tom let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Thanks man, I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t you ever thank me, Tom. You did more than enough for me and my wife last summer. Don’t be a stranger and come by sometimes, Diane would sure be glad to see you around, all right?”

Tom just nodded and with the last flicker of his gaze toward the news, he hurried outside. With gritted teeth he ignored the pain that radiated from his left calf and threw the cans into the back of his pickup. His trusty white Chevy, albeit covered with layers of dirt was sturdy enough to get him safely to his modest mountain home. Careful not to earn himself any unnecessary ticked he drove past two patrolling cars – a frequent occurrence these days. He only stopped after a good half an hour of a bumpy drive, just beneath the steep serpentine that led one into a dark alluring mouth of a beasty forest. The same forest tourist seemed to enjoy so much, especially amidst hot summer months as a flock of families and students came to unload the heavy burdens of their lives. However, some were daring enough to test their adrenaline-driven side even when the colder season arose. It was perhaps their morbid fascination with darkness as the happy chirpings of the birds ceased and the nature seemed as though it was frozen in time - up until its afresh rebirth.

Thomas took a few steps toward the mailbox he had so kindly assembled by himself, after a tired mailman refused to deliver mail through the steep, rocky terrain. Tom did not complain since he was the kind of man that preferred privacy and solace. He reached into the crack and winced as he was forced to shift the weight onto his unharmed leg. With horror he noticed the blood had seeped through the tight and amateurishly woven bandage, but luckily the red stains were still barely noticeable to any passerby that might have picked up on his wound. Hurriedly he grabbed a single newspaper, sloppily skimming through the content – his eyes making a quick stop at every major headline as he turned over the damp leaves. It was the same every day, only the current was marked with the date of 20th November 1976. His finger traced the headline written in bold font: “Disappearances within Seattle - two more female students went missing in front of their dorms,” he eagerly red forward. “Seattle police department urging all young women not to venture out at night and to move solely in groups.” The next one was quite smaller, as if somehow less significant which made Tom frown. “Disappearances noted as well in the district of Eatonville as four campers mysteriously disappeared in the span of three months. Is it coincidence or could there be a connection?”

Tom tossed the useless newspaper onto the passenger seat before he hopped inside of the car. Oh, how he wished for a Codeine right now. He covered his mouth with the backside of his palm, just before yet another coughing fit violently shook his battered body. The dampness and moisture of the chilly fall air wasn’t making it easy on him either. He allowed himself to just sit there for a moment, to calm down his heaving - with one hand pressed tightly against his chest and another on the steering wheel. After what seemed like an eternity his old Chevy made its way onto the top, stopping right in front of the house that was protected by the veil of thick spruce and beech trees. Once magnificent little home was now a rundown pile of rotten planks, sitting in the middle of the dark forest, alone and abandoned. The glassy windows that had been broken a dozen times, were now covered with simple polyethylene tarps, flapping in the wind like wings of a petrified imprisoned bird. But Thomas didn’t mind it, Thomas in fact didn’t mind nothing at all. The wistful appearance and the state of his home blended with the melancholy of the surroundings like a fitting piece of the puzzle. 

Next to the house stood a similarly weather-beaten shed and a long-forgotten swing he had loved as a small child. The creaking sound of swing chains blended with the trickling of the nearby stream has soon fully wasted away as Tom stepped into the house, the noise replaced by the howling of the wind. The walls strained and wept with the force of each gust of the chilled air and so did the flooring under every step he ushered. Tom remained callous as he moved through each room, ignoring the ever-growing stench. He passed once snowy-white walls, now heavily overgrown with dark, moldy patches that spread all the way to the ceiling, like murky blooming flowers. The sun was long forgotten in this house that once he called home, now set behind the shadows which lurked through the long hours of the night, keeping him awake against his will. The persistent insomnia lasted for more than a decade, filling his mind with nothing but sinful thoughts. The pictures had no shelter in this house, for he wished to drown his memories with a blissful ignorance, only slight shades of the frames were the last traces of the skillfully hidden thoughts of the past. And it was rotten indeed - rotten like plates lying on the kitchen floor, scattered with leftovers, left alone even by ravenous birds that nested underneath the roof. It must have been years since anyone had ever placed a foot inside the house, excluding Tom and a few scavenger animals he shared his home with.

The crosses he left untouched, they reminded him he once too was a man of faith, even if now his loyalty seemed misplaced. The shelves and cabinets were covered in dusty blankets, and like the rest of the house, they were also emptied. Without wanting to spend a minute longer in this wretched place, Tom grabbed a pack of Winston’s and bolted outside. He tucked a cigarette in between his teeth all the while he carried cans of gasoline into the shed. Without even the slightest tremor of his fingers he lit the cigarette and puffed the smoke out of his nostrils as he leaned against the wooden wall - thinking about the bothersome task that awaited him. There, behind the shed was a barely noticeable pile of diverse belongings – two sets of torn backpacks, a flashlight, wallets, spare clothes, some candies and an old map of Washington state. He couldn’t have covered it better himself as the fallen dry leaves landed atop of possessions, cloaking them almost completely over the mere two weeks. He slowly poured some gasoline over the pile and with a bare flicker of the match he watched it burn with a complete detachment. The bright flames danced with the playful breaths of the wind, engulfing the last hint of yet another terrible secret he carried inside his frozen heart.

Without sparing another thought he returned inside, ready to take care of the increased bleeding of the wound. Sitting on the battered sofa he unfolded the bandage and poured Whiskey over the lesion that refused to heal. Knife had cut over his flesh as if slicing through a softened butter and he was lucky it didn’t reach the bone even if it was intended to go as deep as possible. He knew the attacker was far too feeble, weakened by hunger and dehydration. He poured some liquor over a needle his mother used to sew his clothes with and because he sometimes watched her, he knew how it was done. The needle pierced the flesh at each side and the thread tightly closed the swollen gash, stopping the aggravating bleeding each time he bumped against the rough surface. He had done this numerous times - used of kicks and punches not only now, but also at the times that were long past by. 

Tom stood up to wash the bloody smudges that got stuck behind his chapped and unclipped nails. And if he'd only looked closely enough, he might've still seen the long dried out patches of skin and dirt which got caught when he clawed and scratched and the smooth, yet delicate surface of the innocence. He yearned for it – the purity of the sweet summer nights that inevitably turned into terror which ruled over his restless and sleepless nights. No matter how much he tried to drink it in – to steal and suck it off them – the innocence had never returned. And yet his essence remained almost child-like – full of hope, but the sensation of longing seemed to grew distant with each colder season, until he could barely feel it vibrate underneath the darkness of his core.

Thomas lifted his head albeit reluctantly to meet the dark gaze of his reflection. There was an unknown face staring back at him, his dark hair an unkept mess of tangles and dirt, greasy with the lack of proper hygiene. The shadow on the other end was no longer a child but a grown man in his mid-thirties - a sad appearance of an acne-ridden crusted skin that made him look way past his actual age. His figure was slouched, but the mentioned fact did little to cover up his enormous frame that reached over 6’2 feet. The job in the carpentry gave him strength and muscles, however it did not affect his sagging potbelly, protruding from underneath his tight shirt. Thomas scoffed at the disgusting creature staring back at him and popped two Codeine pills into his mouth. The said narcotic aided him with pain that mostly originated from continual wounds hidden underneath his clothes, but what he liked the most about it, was the almost instant suppression of his cough reflex.