On Patrol

            The ground around here was permafrost, and even at noon this time of year the sun was very low. They had about two hours of daylight. Vymer turned on the radio every half hour to check in. They were spread too thin. No one had gone on a ranging for several years, and they didn’t have enough men to do a sweep.

            Nobody really liked to talk about the Forest of Dusk. It was the place you were told held all the creepy creatures your least favorite uncle would tell you about. Rationally, he knew it was a huge forest, and that even if the dead were walking there (and they are, you know that, came a particularly unhelpful thought) it wasn’t all that likely he’d bump into them.

            Mayor Harlaw had ordered regular sweeps as a precaution. It wasn’t unheard of for an occasional nutjob to figure out how to raise a couple draugar, just like other nutjobs would decide to build bombs in their basements. But then, he’d been hearing rumors about a few other towns down the coast. Port Sang was the first one, but not the worst. Hodges had told him that Grissleton was abandoned, and even Port Bronze had lost a few enforcers with another ship full of corpses.

            It had taken him several hours, mostly through darkness, to reach the edge of the Forest of Dusk, but there it was, just like the stories said. There was a clear space of about ten or fifteen feet between the normal trees of the forest outside of Port O’ James and the Thanatos Trees of the Forest of Dusk. The Thanatos Trees almost looked like they were made of concrete. Their leaves only hinted at greenness, and the knots and twists looked disturbingly like human faces, stretched in moans of pain.

            He flicked his radio on. “Far Watch, this is Vymer. I’m at the… I’m at the perimeter.”

            “Copy Vymer, this is Far Watch. See anything out there?”

            Vymer looked up and down the sort of alleyway that cut between the two forests. “Negative. Just a bunch of those damned grey trees.”

            “Ok, Vymer, you can probably come back then. Let’s just… oh, hold on…”

            It cut off. Vymer checked his watch. It should be about another forty-five minutes of sunlight. So why was it getting so dark? Vymer found himself reflecting on the fact that he would really have preferred to go with a partner out here.

            “Far Watch, this is Vymer. You still there?”

            Just static. He shook his head, put the radio back, and started on his way. The roots in the ground were very dense, such that it felt less like walking on a forest floor and more like clambering over extremely uneven cobblestones.

            And then it suddenly occurred to him that he had just walked into the Forest of Dusk.

            He spun around, shivers running up the entire length of his body. Why the hell had he just done that? Blood was thundering through his temples. He climbed back over the roots and into the path between the forests. It had already gotten very dark. The sky was clouded, and the whole world was grey. He turned his radio on again, only to discover that his battery had died. He pointed his flashlight at his watch.

            3:00. It was three. He could have sworn it had been 12:15 only moments earlier. He started to make his way back home, but in the dark he failed to see a root and found himself plummeting to the ground, his head colliding with a tree trunk.

            And then he started to hear the music.

            It was hard to tell exactly what kind of music it was. Sort of jazzy, he supposed, but there was something ancient about it too. Vymer picked himself up and put a hand to his head. He was bleeding. Not a lot, but enough that he would probably have to get himself looked at when he got back.

            He was careful to point his flashlight at the ground to avoid tripping again. His head was in pain, and he had pulled a muscle when he fell, so the going was difficult. The music was growing louder. Maybe they were playing something at Far Watch station. It was a reassuring thought, that perhaps Lizzie had put it there to help people find the station out in the dark.

            The dark. He wasn’t supposed to be out this late. They were probably worried about him. He was two hours late getting back. The music was very near, but he still couldn’t see any sign of Far Watch. Then again, places always look different at night. For all he knew, he might have been only a mile away from home.

            And then he had reached the edge of the trees. But instead of Far Watch, or Port O’ James, there was only a small cabin. The lights were on, and there was smoke coming from the chimney.

            “Hello?” he tried to choke out, but the words caught in his throat, escaping only as a half-coherent whisper. He knocked on the door, finally hearing someone inside. The door opened, and a woman stood there.

            “Oh, it’s you.”

            Vymer furrowed his brow. He had never seen this woman before in his life. She looked to be somewhere in her fifties, though maybe a bit older, and was quite thin. Her hair was long and frayed. She wore a black t-shirt and denim jeans.

            The cabin was a mess. Clothing, animal pelts, and broken furniture were shoved up against the walls. In the middle of the floor was a large deer skin, stretched out and covered with a thousand little symbols and letters.

            “You should probably get that wound looked at. I mean, if that sort of thing bothers you… people.”

            “What do you mean?” he croaked.

            “Oh, this one can talk! I guess I rank a little higher on the Icelord’s list. I don’t know whether to be honored or terrified.”

            “Who is the…” and then Vymer looked down at his arm. Clasped in it was a metal axe with a broad blade.

            “Well, get it over with,” said the woman. “But when you get back to that ancient cocksucking bastard, you tell him that we had a deal. I have powerful friends, you know. The Stag’s Head isn’t going to let this go lightly.”

            Vymer looked up at her. He dabbed the wound on his forehead with his fingers. They came back covered with black, sticky oil. There was a horrid smell of plastic and burning coffee coming from it.

            The woman clearly smelled it too. And then he recognized a look of sudden, shocked realization on her face. “Wait, your eyes. They aren’t…”

            But she did not finish her sentence, because he had already gone to work.

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)