One Kilometre

For one heading south through the crumbling forest of Donema, the fear usually sets in when passing the twisted metal road sign that sits about one kilometer outside of the village. Protruding from a body of roadside wildgrass, it creaks with every western gust. Although a dense fir canopy hugs the road for the majority of the trip, the sky opens up here, allowing the pale mid-day sun to greet the traveller from above. His grandmother called them bluffers, or bullshitter’s if the weather dampened her mood. But even the most grounded, deeply rooted men felt a fluttering in their stomach when passing the sign. It’s not unlike a Ouija Board; many scoff at the idea of its legitimacy, and may even label those who use it to be delusioned, impressionable or downright crazy. Yet, if you set said-person in front of the board, they’ll stumble, freeze. Because deep down in all of us, we know the evil is real. Our deepest self rings the interior alarms, and all of a sudden we doubt. So when he saw the sign, his jaw tightened, his shoulders locked and breathing became short, shallow. 

Of course the stories come from bullshitters, get it together you imbecile. He tried again and again to persuade himself that he wasn’t afraid. What was there to be afraid of in an abandoned village? If you put the foot down, a car would rattle through there in approximately twenty seconds. 

His rusted banger coughed along the narrow road, and the village came into sight. The treeline was dim and gloomy, and the sun struggled to penetrate the swaying pines that lay ahead. A collection of wooden buildings, rotten and damp in the scarcely-lit forest. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his eyes darted from left to right as the car disappeared into the darkness once again. Pine-needles crackled and spun under the weathered tires. He rolled the window up tightly, almost snapping the handle from the door. 

The village was overgrown with moss and weaving branches that swallowed the buildings like the slim fingers of a monster. The windows were void of glass, and the blinding darkness of the interiors watched the vehicle, almost humorously, as the white-faced driver ploughed forward. Up ahead, there was something on the road, it was too dark to make out what exactly it was. To his left, a once functioning church now tilted perilously off-balance, and a two-story cottage had collapsed inwards, now just a massacre of twisted wood and rubble. 

As the car approached the block on the road, his heart sank. Through dilating, fear-torn pupils, he saw what it was. The carcass of a full-grown grizzly, torn completely in half. Flies buzzed around it’s head, and the lifeless eyes of the beast gazed into the forest. A mess of intestines and red organs plastered the concrete. With seemingly just enough space to push the car through the torn midsection of the bear, he planted his foot on the gas. A spray of leaves lifted into the air and the car sped through. He changed gears and upped the pace again, and once he saw the bodies suspended in the trees on either side of the road, he screamed.