Uncollected Blood by Daniel J. Kirk Read Free Book Online Page B

sail on a boat and his eyes seemed deeper set, like his eyelids had fallen back behind his face, unable to be closed ever again.
    I only believe his story because he had never given me any reason to doubt him. What he thinks happened may not have happened, but I believe he believes it happened.
    Now, like any other weekend he left straight from work, driving three and half hours into the mountains, just south of Lexington. He arrived at dark and unloaded tools and supplies as he always did. By this time he had renovated the cabin so that it had working plumbing and a wood stove. But the weather on this particular weekend was going against the preconceptions for December temperatures, as the low was only expected for be fifty degrees overnight. So he had every intention of getting one more night out by the campfire.
    Moments later, he sat by a hot fire, drinking a cold beverage. The moon was particularly bright, but not full. Through the leafless trees he could see just about every constellation. It wasn’t a sight he hadn’t seen before, but that night he said it felt different.
    Like the universe was wide-awake gazing back at him.
    The sensation spooked him. He’d never believed in ghosts or the supernatural, not since he was little. But he didn’t feel alone that night. Every time he brought his eyes down to the pitch-black woods surrounding him, his heart raced a little. The hairs on his neck stood up and his eyes played tricks on him.
    There was something in the woods standing at the start of the trail to creek. He knew it was there. He said he couldn’t really believe his eyes, but he could feel it like its breath had traveled the 100 feet to his campfire.
    He made noise as you should for most bears, but he thought it too small to be a bear. Still he banged on a pan and talked nonsense at it.
    He knew it didn’t move. It had no reaction at all and because of that he was certain it was just his mind playing a trick on him.
    He remembered yelling one final thing at it before dousing his campfire and going inside his cabin. He said, “Come on out, coward!”
    The next day he woke up laughing at himself as he made coffee and breakfast. He figured it was a sign he was getting closer to needing to retire, just a senile old man. To further prove his point, the hook he used to close the screen door was unhooked and he must’ve tracked some mud in as he followed it all the way back to the cot he had set up next to the wood stove.
    He swept it up before he noticed his boots were not muddy. Well he was determined not to believe in anything spooky happening so he chalked it up to the previous weekend and getting in late last night and not taking a notice at all.
    He went about his day working on the cabin, adding a bookcase I believe. So he was indoors most the day, but by lunchtime he had to get out in what was for December, still exceptionally warm weather. He decided he’d investigate his visitor by taking the trail down to the creek.
    There were no tracks to cause any alarm and by the time he reached the creek he felt like he had just been spooked the night before, nothing to worry about at all.
    But he was wrong.
    He told me he had never been more wrong in his life. And he knew he was wrong because nothing in his mind or body prepared him for what happened next. It had told him, everything is okay. Everything is fine .
    That night he even stayed outside again, having a cold beverage or two and roasting hot dogs. Not a care in the world as he waxed nostalgic about his days before having such a fantastic getaway.
    He went to bed around 10 o’clock or at least tried. It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. Something was in the cabin with him. Something mocked him with echoes and stirrings. Every time my friend found the cause of a noise—a banging pipe, a fallen book, then a new sound would occur luring him elsewhere in the cabin until he was certain he had been running around in circles all night. He told me in