That Which Should Not Be by Brett J. Talley Read Free Book Online Page B

away.  I went to work clearing a spot for a fire, and soon we had a pretty big one going.  Before the sun had risen too far in the sky, Travis had cooked up some of the rabbit we had trapped the day before.  For a man who had no way with food, I remember thinking to myself that it wasn’t half bad.  I had never thought much of Joe’s cooking, and I reckoned what Travis had made was just as good.  I ate more than I was accustomed to.  I was hungry, and Travis, though he had cooked it himself, obviously had doubts about his ability as he ate almost none. 
    “Not hungry this mornin’,” he said.  Something with his stomach. 
    We ate quickly.  If Joe were still alive out there, we needed to find him and find him fast.  Tom gave us our orders. 
    “Each man take a line and walk it.  Don’t wander off.  We’ll cover the forest close by as good as we can, but I don’t want nobody else gettin’ lost.  You walk straight out and then you follow your tracks and come straight back.  You got it?”
    Each man nodded his assent, and we were off.  Before long, the camp was far behind me, and I could no longer see the man to either my right or left.  The forest was thick, and if Joe had climbed under a bush or a tree for cover in the storm, there would be no finding him now.  With the snow as thick as it was, I doubted I would spot him unless I damn near stepped on his chest.  I began to think back to the night before, the things I had heard, seen.  The thought of it made me stop in my tracks.  If any of it were real, even a fraction of it, then Joe would never have left his tent.  Never willingly, that is.  No man would, and especially not one as superstitious as he.  Joe was no coward; I would never claim that.  But I wouldn’t call it courage that would lead a man to have stepped into that maelstrom.  And that could mean only one thing — someone had taken him.  Someone big — Joe was a strong man.  His attacker had done it without making a sound, without knocking a single thing out of place, without leaving any evidence of his having been there. 
    The forest changed.  I noticed every sound, every twig snapping and every creak of every tree.  Something, and I didn’t know what it was, was out there, and suddenly I felt the cold stare of an unknown pair of eyes on me.  I spun around, peering into the blinding white wilderness that surrounded me.  That’s when I saw Joe.
    He was standing a couple hundred yards from me.  His arms and legs were spread wide, like he was trying to hold up the two trees on either side of him, or like he was trying to hug the world.  His mouth was slightly open, his head cocked to the left.  He was completely naked.  At first, I didn’t know what to do.  He had clearly lost his mind, and I knew he must be freezing.  But I started towards him anyway. He was alive, and I would do my best to save him.
    But as I walked towards him he never moved, even though I knew he had to see me.  Then I began to notice something was wrong.  Joe was a big man, but he didn’t look big anymore.  He looked thin.  He looked small.  He looked . . . empty.  Then I saw the ropes, one tied around each hand and each foot.  They ran to the trees on either side, and there was another rope running to the branch above his head.  I recognized the purpose immediately and wished I could not.  I had done it a thousand times.  Each time I had stripped a raccoon and laid out its hide to tan the pelt.  At that moment I saw the blood, the pool that dripped down from the seams where Joe's skin had been ripped from his body. 
    I didn’t scream.  I just turned and ran.  I ran blindly.  I smashed through branches, slashing my cheek so deeply the blood flowed down my face.  I fell no less than three times, but by some miracle I found myself back at the camp. 
    Tom was the only one there, and I quickly fell at his feet.  He looked at me like I had lost my mind, and part of me wondered