A Man of the Mountain - Routine

1. Routine

The snow had just begun to fall when Jonas opened the tired, wooden door of his cabin and stepped outside, the warmth at his back swallowed instantly by the chilled mountain air. A pair of massive, fur-covered snowshoes jangled restlessly at his side. The sky had taken on an orange tint as the sun sank low in its arc. It was only half-past three and it was clear the days were still growing shorter.

     In the distance, dark clouds were building. Jonas knew that by nightfall the snow could be several feet deep. While most would have been preparing for the oncoming storm, he felt completely at ease. The worse the weather, the less likely he would be to run into hikers on the upper trails. Tourists tended to turn back at the first sign of inclement weather. Over the years, Jonas had become adept at navigating the mountain through clear skies and whiteouts. He would need to be cautious, but the storm wouldn’t be a problem.

     The cabin he called home for the last five years was positioned five miles off the nearest hiking trail. The terrain leading to it was largely considered impassable. Occasionally there were some overzealous youths who fancied themselves explorers, but Jonas tried to think about them as little as possible. They never made it very far and ended up paying the ultimate price for their foolishness.   

     He took one last look at the warmth of his cabin windows, picked up his pack, and promised to have a good drink by the fire upon his return. The trees around his cabin shook as the wind blew through them with a hollow whine. Jonas popped in a pair of ear buds and put on a classic rock playlist. The foreboding noises of the forest were drowned out by a riff from Rush. It was a song about warring trees, and he chuckled as he began his walk.

     The way to the main trail was treacherous, running the gamut between steep ravines and technical, rocky switchbacks. When Jonas had arrived, the path was nearly impassable. Over the years, he had slowly worked away at it, making each trip a little easier, at least for someone who knew his way. For others, one step could mean the difference between life and death. Spending every waking moment on the mountain made Jonas surefooted.

     Walking through the forest filled him with a sense of pride. He considered how blessed the last five years had been. Back in the city, something as simple as ordering a cup of coffee was a struggle. The navigation of small talk was like strolling through a minefield. Often, by the time he had thought of something to say, minutes had passed and people were staring. As a result, he had made the decision to live reclusively, which, in a small town, wasn’t exactly accepted.  

     While Jonas might have been slightly abnormal in his distaste for conversation, he was otherwise ordinary. He possessed a slightly above-average IQ, moderate good looks, and was tall enough that no one questioned him for long. Overall, he had rolled lucky genetic dice and he hated it. His appearance made others think he was approachable, and that just made things harder.

     Despite his retreat into the mountains, Jonas had still managed to keep himself clean-shaven, resisting the urge to grow his beard out to mythical proportions. Though he never saw anyone, self-grooming had become a ritual and there was comfort in repetition. On most days, his activities followed a set plan and he took great ease from the structure: no interruptions, no distractions, just life.

     By the time he reached the main hiking trails, the clear skies had turned slate grey and heavy white flakes were falling intermittently. He stopped, unshouldered his pack, and took out his earbuds with a sigh. The storm would be good for deterring hikers, but it meant he wasn’t going to be leaving any tracks either. I guess they’ll just have to do with a few slashes and samples. Jonas’s employers weren’t particular about how he worked, so long as he got the job done.

     He unclipped the snowshoes and examined them for abnormalities. They had been specially designed to leave authentic footprints; any variation might tip off an eager cryptozoologist to the fallacy. While they were covered in brown fur, the tread had been constructed from an artificial, semi-soft plastic meant to resemble organic material. Jonas wasn’t sure how closely anyone would check the tracks he left, but his employers’ word was law.

     Satisfied that they were in working order, Jonas strapped the shoes on and pulled the rest of his suit from the bag. To the untrained eye, it might have just appeared to be a bundle of matted fur. To Jonas, it was his second life. With ease, he slipped into the suit, fastened it tight, and pulled up the thick hood. It had been reinforced to make his head appear about twice its normal size and was great for keeping out the chill.

     The finishing touch to the ensemble was a pair of gloves meant to look like large, furry paws. Embedded in the tip of each finger was a long, razor-sharp claw. He slid his hands in and swiped experimentally at a tree to his left, leaving four long gouges in the bark. The claws tore through the wood like tissue paper, sending strips of wood flying. Satisfied, Jonas grinned. In the suit, he felt more like himself than he did anywhere else.

     He buried his pack in the snow beneath the tree he had marked and set off. Even with the empty slopes, Jonas kept his performance authentic. His casual walk became a thick lumber, every breath was a primal grunt. Ordinarily he would have stuck to the higher elevation trails, but the weather provided a unique opportunity. The closer he got to the beginner hiking areas, the more likely his samples were to be discovered. No one makes the History Channel without taking a few risks.

     Once he felt he was close enough, Jonas started the real work. For hours he ran through the growing storm, snapping small trees like twigs, slashing at bark, and occasionally ripping out a chunk of fur to leave on a branch. The samples had been custom-curated by his employer to be unidentifiable and able to withstand harsh conditions. The wind whipped, snow fell in heavy flakes, and Jonas listened gleefully as his howls echoed off the empty forest surrounding him.

     The evening was perfect. He felt a lightness in his heart that was rare, even on the best of days. Jonas turned his head toward the sky to stare into the abyss above and became lost in the snowfall. A blinding white light erupted from the trees, shattering his calm and freezing Jonas in place. Oh no, he thought, feeling the happiness melt out of him, leaving behind a cold lump in his chest.

The light was unmistakably directed at him, and despite the thicket between him and the source, he knew he had been seen. Knowing already what the answer was, Jonas turned his head to look for the source. Not ten feet away was a frost-covered hiker in a bright orange coat, visibly shivering. Shit, and today was going so well.

     “Hello? Thank goodness I found you, I got lost and can’t seem to make my way back to the main trail.” The hiker’s voice quavered.

     How could I have missed him? The answer was obvious. You were careless, you stupid son of a bitch.

     “Sir, I can see you there. Can you please help me? My cell is dead.”

     Turn the light away, idiot. Jonas could only pretend for so long.

“Please help me.” The tremor in his voice grew.

     Should have just walked away. Jonas took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the trees. The white light nearly blinded him and he lifted a massive, fur-covered arm to shield his eyes. At a distance the suit might have seemed intimidating, but in the cold close-up of a flashlight there was no way the hiker would believe it.

     The hiker stared forward, silent, and confused.

     Jonas let out what he intended to be a primal yowl, but it died in his throat along the way. All that practice for nothing. He stamped the large snow shoes, kicking up miniature flurries, adding to the storm.

     It did the trick. The hiker turned and started to run. The light of the flashlight was suddenly gone, leaving the forest in full dark once more. Jonas watched as the cone of light bounced away. Maybe he’ll run off a cliff or freeze to death. It was no use, he was out of options. The risk of the hiker making it back down the mountain was too great, and his employers had been very specific about loose ends. Jonas steeled himself and took chase.

     It had taken a while in the early years, but as time passed, he had become quite adept at running in the snowshoes. In no time at all, he caught up to the man who was stumbling and tripping his way through the growing snowpack. “I’m really sorry about this,” yelled Jonas, and he brought one of his clawed hands down in a sweeping arc. It caught the hiker across the back, splashing hot blood across the snow in garish red stripes.

     The hiker screamed and fell to his knees, clutching where he had been struck. A pool of red began to form around him, melting the fresh snow. Jonas had cut deep. The hiker gagged and spluttered, trying desperately to breathe but inhaling only his own blood. He pressed one gloved hand to the wound and reached out to Jonas with the other as if still expecting help. His eyes bulged, pleading, and terrified.

     “Jesus,” Jonas muttered. “I really am sorry about that.” He always tried to make the end as quick as possible but had missed his mark this time. The end was bad enough when the executioner was a professional. He took aim, careful and precise this time, and plunged his claws through the back of the hiker’s neck, ending his life with a hollow gurgle. Time slowed for a minute and the forest went silent. Jonas was alone once again. Each time it gets a little easier.

     Pulling the claws out, he sat back in the snow, panting and watching the steam rise into the air. Dizziness and nausea swept over him. Botched kills were never easy to look at. Hot frustration bubbled up from inside. “That’s why there are signs, moron!” he yelled to the quickly freezing corpse. “Don’t stay in the park after dark!” If the people of Clearwater just obeyed the rules, there would be far less bloodshed. Their ignorance as always astounded Jonas.

     For a few minutes, he just stood there, next to the body, catching his breath. He might have been good at it but running in the suit was no easy feat. The storm had briefly abated, allowing pale moonlight to illuminate the scene. It was grizzly but looked genuine. Despite the ugly nature of it, Jonas had done his job and done it well. He took off one of his gloves and pulled out a cell phone. With frozen fingers, he typed: “Bigfoot kills again. Third hiker found on the north side of the mountain this year.” He looked it over, added his GPS location, and pressed send.

Some of you might recognize this story. About two years ago, I posted the original draft here on ABCTales. Now I've gone through rewrites, edits, and beta readers and wanted to post the more polished story. I'll be putting out two chapters a week on Mondays and Thursdays. I've always found this community gives excellent feedback, so please, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading :)

--Mac