The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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mom, but she wouldn’t answer. He called again, nothing. The woman hadn’t set up her
voicemail either. “What’s wrong with her?” He prepared to text her although she never
answered those. She looked, laughed, and promptly forgot. She just joyed in receiving
messages.
KNOCK-KNOCK!
The sound echoed through his brain. Whatever was outside must have heard the
lock squeak into place. Shoving the phone in his pocket to blot out the light, he pressed
against the door and glanced at the window. It shone like a navy blue square in the dark.
Why couldn’t it have had glass in it? If only he had the ax!
A high whining voice began singing outside the cabin door. It circled the small
building, scraping what sounded like a nail across the weathered wood. James clutched
at the hood strings against his chest, heart thumping against his fingers. His wide eyes
followed the awful sound, and then silence fell. Had it gone away? But then the shadow
appeared at the window. James pressed his stiffened frame against the wall. The thing
crawled in head first; its spidery arms reached the floor before half its body had come
through. Pulling its legs in, it straightened up until its head touched the ceiling; it had
to stoop.
Walking to the empty fireplace as delicately as an arachnid on a web, the creature sat
cross-legged before it. James’ breath strained from his throat. His fingers crawled to
the lock. He tugged, but it remained fast. He closed his other hand on the bolt, pulled,
nothing. Frightened sweat beaded his forehead. If he forced it like he did before, the
lock would squeak, and he couldn’t afford to make a sound.
The fates were cruel this night. Heavy Metal music screamed from his pocket. James
fumbled to shut it up. The shadow’s head spun around, but the body remained immobile.
Two glimmering eyes flashed; they rose to the ceiling as the body swiveled to face him.
Screaming, James ripped the lock off the door, slicing his fingers, but he couldn’t
feel it. Shouldering through the exit, he stumbled outside and sprinted into the shadows
behind the cabin—the last place he had seen the ax.
He glanced back for the shadow, but didn’t see it. Looking at the roof, his heart
skipped a beat and he darted behind a tree. The shadow perched on the ridge like
a spindly gargoyle, its orbs gleaming like two red stars. From that nightmarish sight,
James’ eyes roved to the patch of black where he was sure the ax lay. Silver glimmered
just outside the swatch of gloom.
James swallowed. Somehow, he had to get that ax! A plan formed in his mind, but
could he pull it off? There was no time to work out the details. Squaring his shoulders,
he dashed for his salvation. The shadow espied the movement and sprang towards
his running form, limbs stretched out as if it would wrap around him like mummy
bandages.
With an alarmed gasp, James stumbled out of its way and lunged for the ax. His
shoulder knocked what felt like a small aspen tree. Pain rippled through him, but he
paid no heed. His hand closed on the handle near the head. Sinewy arms circled round