Silas: A Supernatural Thriller Read online

  Grass didn’t grow beneath the canopy, only ferns and a never-ending system of roots. My foot struck one such root as I ran and I fell. My shoulder connected with a rock and I rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. Silas let loose a panicked yelp.

  “I’m okay,” I groaned. He started licking my face. “Okay, okay. I’m fine. No need to panic.”

  I was speaking to myself as much as him.

  When the pain in my shoulder subsided I sat up and watched the rain fall. I hoped the deluge would end, and soon. I couldn’t tell what time it was, seeing as the clouds had turned daylight into an illusion, and there was no way in hell I wanted to find myself stuck out in this strange wilderness after true dark. I’d already heard the bellow of one wild animal, and where there’s one, there’s always tons more.

  Silas cocked his head as if he’d just remembered he left the gas on and then bounded away through the trees, heading deeper into the wilderness. I called out for him to come back but he ignored me. I heard him rummaging through the underbrush, ruffling leaves and snapping twigs, and then a few minutes later he reappeared. He ran with a lopsided gait, carrying a very large square of some sort in his jaws. When he reached me he dropped his discovery at my feet. I couldn’t help but chuckle as he stared back at me, expecting a reward. Even after everything that’d happened, he was still the same old Silas.

  “What’d you get, boy?” I asked.

  I picked up the object. It was about two-and-a-half feet wide and two feet tall, only as thick as my thumb, and seemingly made of fiberglass. It had an old, historic feel to it. I brushed dirt off the surface but it was blank. Silas hunkered down a few feet away, pounding the ground with his tail. “What, you wanna fetch this?” I asked. “A little big, isn’t it? Let’s find you something smaller.”

  I stood up and tossed the rectangular thing aside. It hit on its edge and then collapsed flat on its opposite side. I stopped in my tracks and stared at it, unbelieving.

  There were words on it. Survival Shelter 6 Miles, the square proclaimed in decrepit black letters bordered with fluorescent green. And below that, in even more ominous lettering, it said, Haystack Mountain Refuge – Long Live the Great State of Vermont.

  My body went limp as I stared at the sign. My heart sank and I wished I was dreaming. I opened my mouth to say something to calm myself but only two words came out.

  “Oh shit.”

  23

  That evening, after the blazing red sun set, the cold arrived. I sat beneath the canopy of huge evergreens in the dark as freezing droplets of rain and sleet fell all around me. My tired body implored me to sleep but my mind, alert and on edge in this strange place, allowed me no peace. My bones rattled and every so often I heard strange sounds over the constant patter of rain. They were large noises, like limbs being torn from trees and plummeting to the earth. With fear overcoming me, my only recourse was to close my eyes and wish it all away.

  All throughout that night I tried to stay conscious. My body was numb, and I feared that if I passed out hypothermia would claim me. Silas helped in this regard as much as he could, pressing his warm, hairy body into mine, easing the pain just a little bit. Every so often he would jump up, pace around our resting site, and offer a growl at the surrounding darkness.

  To pass the time I tried to come up with an acceptable explanation for the situation I found myself in. It wasn’t an easy task. Are we in the same place we were? I thought. But if that’s the case, what happened? Did I pull a Rip Van Winkle and sleep a hundred years? No, that makes no sense. Not in reality. Just then I remembered the scene from what only could have been a day earlier, when the wicked Nick Goodman stood above me with his hands glowing. And the words he said – pretty soon we’ll be home. What the hell did that mean, anyway? What kind of guy was he? Some sort of alien? Time traveler? Warlock? Another sort of mystical creature I hadn’t thought of yet? I shook my head. None of this is real, my sanity implored. There has to be a logical explanation for this. You just haven’t found it yet.

  Wasn’t that the truth.

  An ear-splitting howl cracked the night. Silas hopped up. I heard him pacing again, circling our enclave in an ever-widening arc. I wished I could see him. Hell, I wished I could see anything. My heart once again raced as terror overtook me. I just knew a mutant bear or something would come crashing around the bend any moment now, ready to tear me apart. I became faint, so I did the only thing I could. I curled up in a ball on my bed of leaves, whistled for Silas to come be by my side, and started humming.

  That simple act helped to ease my terror. At least a tiny bit.

  24

  I’m not entirely sure when sleep finally claimed me that night, but when it did come it was the blackest of slumbers. There were no dreams at all. The experience was much like simply losing time altogether, as if I’d died for a short period only to open my eyes again to the same strange and hostile world. I experienced the dichotic sensation of uncertainty coupled with the relief that came in the form of a loving mutt who covered my face with wet, sticky dribble.

  After pulling myself together, Silas and I left the forest. Once more we were on the cliff’s edge. Clouds maintained their presence in the sky, painting the atmosphere in dull grays. Their continuation served to hide us from the sweltering, huge sun, making the temperature feel more like New England in the fall, high fifties with no humidity, rather than the tropical rainforest I’d experienced the day before. I wished it wasn’t so, given how cold I was, but at least it was a dry cold this time. That struck me as strange. With as much as it’d rained overnight there should have been at least some moisture in the air.

  I crossed my arms over my bare chest to stave off a chill. No need to dwell on things you can’t understand, Kenny, I told myself.

  We continued our trek along the cliff face. Silas bounded about happily, as if this was the most normal thing in the world for us to be doing. I could only shake my head as I watched him prance. I wished we humans could be as blithe as dogs are able to be. Whatever happens, they deal with it without complaint. As long as their masters are safe they just move along with the innocence of children, always loyal, always loving, always living. Sometimes I think that’s something we’ve forgotten, with all the stresses every day brings – having the audacity to let ourselves live.

  When the soles of my bare feet became irritated from treading across the straw-like grass I sat down on the edge of the cliff and dangled my legs over the side. Glancing down, I saw nothing but sharp, jagged rocks protruding up from the water’s edge. A cool breeze whistled past my ears and I closed my eyes. The air smelled so clean, so pure. Silas seemed to appreciate it, as well. He pranced around behind me, jumping in circles.

  I heard a low grumble. My body shook and I immediately grabbed tight to the rocks surrounding me, thinking it was an earthquake. After it passed I kept my position until it happened again, only this time I realized it was only the grumbling of my own stomach. I frowned and my shoulders slumped. How long had it been since I’d eaten? Hell, how long had it been since I’d even had something to drink? And as I looked at my happy-go-lucky companion, I realized it was the same for him. Though he acted fine, there were little signs – the way his hind legs slumped, the almost invisible tremble that passed over his lips – telling me that he was starving, too. My mouth went dry and my head woozy. The warning signs of starvation, to be sure. Great, I thought. Looks like I have the mother of all headaches to look forward to.

  Screw it.

  I reclined back on the rough grass, my feet still hanging off the cliff, and rested my hands on my stomach. My right hand ached, a leftover present from Nick Goodman, but I ignored it. Instead I stared at the sky, watching as the swirling clouds changed forms, feeling like a kid again. There’s an elephant, a sea lion, two people screwing, a bald eagle. Silas traipsed over to me and sat down. I stopped naming the clouds and looked at him. He appeared tired all of a sudden. His eyes squinted and he breathed in hoarse pants.

  Then,
without warning, he hopped up and landed on my chest. His front paws dug in and he froze. Every black hair on his body stood on end. I heard something big – something really big – moving around in the woods. I craned my neck and tried to see what it was without making any quick movements.

  There was a beast hidden in the foliage, a huge animal covered with white-streaked brown fur. Two yellow eyes stared at me from either side of a long muzzle. Its mouth hung open like a limp tree branch, exposing massive, sharp teeth.

  I flipped from my back as quickly as I could, held Silas tight to me, and never took my eyes off the creature. It didn’t move, instead choosing to stare right through us with its haunting yellow eyes. It was the largest wolf I’d ever seen, but strangely enough, as wild as it appeared, there seemed to be no malice in its gaze.

  I gradually rose to my feet and placed Silas down. My boy stayed frozen, though he didn’t seem to want to let me pass him. I grabbed the thick rolls of flesh on the back of his neck and forced him to back away. The wolf’s shimmering eyes followed us, the being they were contained within motionless as a whisper beneath the cover of undergrowth. I held my breath, fearful that the next time I exhaled the beast would smell my fear and come charging. One step back. Two steps. Three. I hoped the wolf would lose interest in us and just go away, but we didn’t have that sort of luck.

  It slunk forward, one paw at a time, until it emerged fully from the trees. It stood directly before us on the path, and for the first time I appreciated just how large the beast was. On all fours it was at least five feet tall. Its streaked white-and-brown fur rippled as its muscles undulated. It had a circular pendant hanging from its neck by a rope, like a collar, that swung with each step it took. Silas growled and hunkered down.

  This is it, I thought.

  “Go away!” a voice demanded from seemingly nowhere. “Go back home!”

  A small projectile shot from the trees, striking the giant wolf on one of its pointed ears. The wolf shook its head the way Silas did when I gave him a bath.

  “Get outta here!” the voice said again, and another small object hit the beast square on its nose. It snarled and aimed its muzzle somewhere off in the distance, and then locked eyes with me once more. After that it spun around on its colossal hind legs and galloped right by us, headed in the direction from which we’d come.

  I let out a sigh as the creature’s white buttocks disappeared from view. Silas panted as if we’d just finished playing Frisbee on a hot summer day. It took me a moment to realize I was doing the same.

  I sat down and twirled grass between my fingers, trying to slow my heart’s rampant pitter-patter. I thought about calling out to our unseen protector, but decided against it. If whoever it was wanted to make himself known, he would. For all I knew they were just as scared as I was. So instead I simply remained as I was, arms limp by my side, while Silas placed his head in my lap.

  Finally, the bushes rustled. For a second I feared the wolf had doubled back through the trees. Silas lifted his head and let out an inquisitive yelp, the same sort he would offer the garbage men on Friday mornings. I stood up, my jaw clenched, my eyes bulging. I was exhausted and hungry, scared and confused, but I was ready to defend myself, and my boy, with my every last breath if need be.

  It was a child that surfaced from the tangle of underbrush and limbs. The kid was no more than thirteen, with a rat’s nest of stringy hair and an angular face. A thick layer of dirt covered the child, making it difficult for me to tell if it was a boy or a girl. He/she wore a pair of torn-up old jeans and a shirt that looked like it had been sewn together using old burlap sacks. I stared in wonder. There was something painfully familiar about the kid, but I couldn’t put my finger on just what it was.

  The child approached Silas and I, a look of bewilderment on his or her face. I leaned forward, lifted my chin, and held out my hands, gesturing with palms out to show I meant no harm. “How are you?” I asked robotically.

  The child didn’t respond right away, still moving toward me while staring with a tilted head and perplexed expression. It was only when the child stood a mere foot away that he spoke in what definitely sounded like a boy’s voice.

  “Paul? Is that you?” he said.

  That was it. The scene from my many-times-begun-but-never-finished screenplay.

  At that point, I assumed I really had gone insane.

  25

  For a moment the clouds parted, allowing the sun’s potent rays to warm the air and cast everything around us in an orange hue. I don’t know how long Silas and I stood there staring at that primitive, unknown, and filthy young boy, but with the newfound heat came a sense of purpose. As the day’s first bead of sweat dripped off my chin I cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me?”

  The boy shook as if he’d just been woken from a deep sleep, but his eyes never left mine. A frown crossed his lips.

  “You can’t be here,” he said.

  I laughed out loud, lost in the absurdity of the moment. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just trying to break the tension. I should remember that I’m the only one that gets my jokes.”

  That brought a grin to the kid’s face. “You say that a lot,” he said.

  I scratched my temple and muttered, “Thanks…I think.”

  With nimble legs the boy skipped forward and pressed his dirty fingers into my forearm. He seemed transfixed. “I can’t believe you came back to us,” he said. “No wonder the lupine didn’t attack you. He’s very protective of this land, you know.”

  Having no idea what he was talking about and getting seriously creeped out by his touch, I stepped back and threw up my hands. “Whoa,” I said. “Hold on a second.”

  “Paul, what’s wrong?” the kid replied. He looked absolutely dismayed.

  “My name’s not Paul. And what’s wrong? Are you insane? Look around you, kid. Where’s the towns? The stores? The people? And what the hell’s up with the goddamn weather? Oh, and one more thing, how did I get here and where are my clothes? Can you answer that?”

  He stared at me blankly and fell silent.

  “I thought not.”

  Feeling obstinate, I patted Silas on the behind. “Let’s go, boy.” I spun on my heels and started walking away. Silas trotted alongside, seemingly oblivious to my rising anger.

  “Um,” said the boy, his voice small and insignificant. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  I stopped in my tracks and replied without turning around. “Of course not. I just woke up here yesterday. And I had to spend the night out in the woods, which isn’t my idea of a good time. So excuse me if I’m a bit cranky.”

  “You were outside all night?” I peeked over my shoulder and saw the amazed expression on the kid’s face.

  “Yup,” I said, “and like I said, it wasn’t fun. And this isn’t fun, either. So excuse me, but we gotta go.”

  “You shouldn’t go off on your own. Even with your new gi-faht to protect you, it isn’t safe.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “Well, where do you want to go?”

  I sighed, swung my body around, and approached the kid again. “I don’t know. I’m tired and freaking starving. My dog and I need to eat.” I chewed my lip for a moment and added, “If you can get us somewhere that we can sit down and chow, maybe I’ll stick around.”

  The boy cracked a smile once more. “I can do that,” he said. “Follow me.”

  He ushered us onward with a wave of his hand, leading us into the forest. I glanced at Silas, who of course was oblivious of any strangeness, and followed the youngster’s lead.

  When we reached the darkened area beneath the canopy the boy swept aside a thickly-packed thatch of ferns and dead limbs, revealing a beaten path on the other side. He stepped through the makeshift gateway, holding back the brush for us. Once my sore feet landed on the soft dirt, I decided it best to try and make nice with our new guide.

  �
��Sorry for being bitchy, kid,” I said. “Didn’t mean any disrespect. My name’s Ken, by the way Ken Lowery. How about you?”

  The kid nodded. “Kaiser.”

  “Just Kaiser? Nothing else?”

  Again he nodded. “Never needed more of a name than that.”

  “Oh.”

  We kept on walking in silence after that. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but didn’t. Somehow I knew that whatever answers I’d be given would be unsatisfactory, but after a little while I reconsidered. There was one thing that I simply had to know.

  “So, Kaiser,” I said. “That wolf back there – the lupine, you called him – what was it?”

  Kaiser chuckled and spoke while keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. “It’s a he. He’s the protector of this territory, appointed so by his master.”

  “And who would his master be?”

  The kid stared at me as if he was afraid to answer. “You,” he finally replied. “Wait. No, not you. Paul.”

  “And who’s Paul?”

  “My friend. Our father. The one who found us and gave us a home, a purpose. The greatest man I’ve ever met.” Kaiser gazed up at me with tears in his eyes. “I’ve missed you…him so much since he’s been gone. I’m sorry I keep slipping, Mr. Ken. It’s just that you look so much like him.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, trying to be understanding though I couldn’t come to grips with anything that was going on. “What happened to him, to Paul? Why did he go away?”

  “He died. A little over a cycle ago.”

  “And so this lupine was, what, Paul’s soldier or something?”

  “Oh, no,” said Kaiser with a shake of his head. “The lupine was Paul’s gi-faht. His life companion.” He looked down at Silas. “Much like yours.”