HATCHET
1
Its shape covered all 1,972 acres of the Hatchet's woods when it wanted to, but it could also sink deep into the earth and cover much less land, depending on what was needed. It felt everything that walked upon it and as it sensed the two men reaching its outer edge, it started to devise a plan.
They will not get away.
With great speed, it stretched its massive frame as far as it could reach. The two men would be free in less than one-half mile if they continued traveling in the direction they were now moving. Changing the direction and location of the roads didn't work anymore—they knew which way to go regardless of that. Once they had reached its edge and traveled beyond, it could not touch them anymore. They would be gone forever.
No!
The ingestion of the one they called Newton was almost complete, but it would need more time before it could snatch up the remaining two—its feelers dormant until the digestion was complete. If it couldn't somehow slow them down and hinder their progress, they would escape.
What can I do? If I can't use my feelers then how can I stop them?
Then it became clear. Its feelers were useless now but it could still move the crust of the earth if it needed to. No harm would come to them when doing this, perhaps, but it could at least slow them down.
They will not get away!
2
Eventually they saw a dirt road through the woods, 40 feet away. Paul told himself he would be quitting this job, if he lived long enough to do so, and he would never again step foot into a forest for the rest of his life.
From now on I will work in the city, he thought, Go back to that damned restaurant if I have to, but I will never set foot outside the confines of asphalt and traffic and high rises and crowded city streets. There aren't any gray trees lurking there, that's for sure!
Then he looked at Jacob's back and wondered if this maniac from Kentucky would kill him anyway. That was something Paul forgot to consider, and once he had, his terror increased.
Of course he's going to kill me! What the hell am I thinking? He's going to kill me so I won't tell that he killed Henry! Pleading for my life won't work! What the hell am I going to . . .
Suddenly, 20 feet from the road, the ground below their feet began to move.
"What the . . ." Jacob said. He turned to look at Paul as if he were responsible for the ground moving, but Paul looked just as confused. The ground began rising into the air as if something big was underneath and was about to break through. Jacob stumbled back into Paul, dropped his rifle, and the two fell to the ground. There, they watched as a mound of dirt and rocks formed in front of them, a low, rumbling noise accompanying its growth. When the pile was 10 feet high it stopped growing and all sound ceased. The two sat still, not doing anything, wondering if this was the act of yet another hideous forest beast that was about to show its gray self and stab them with its branches.
"Earthquake?" Jacob asked Paul, but Paul just stared back for a reply.
How the hell am I supposed to know what it was?
Together they stood up and it was then that Jacob realized he no longer had his gun. He searched for it and quickly found its dark brown butt protruding six inches out from under the dirt at the base of the newly formed mound. Quickly, he reached for it. The last thing he needed right now was for Moe to grab it first. He could just imagine that happening and finding himself at the wrong end of the rifle barrel as Moe pointed it at him and laughed.
"The shoe's on the other foot now isn't it Jacob? Kind of makes you wish you didn't kill Henry and threaten to kill me and call me Moe all the time now doesn't it, hm? Well, I'm going to blow your brains out—what do you think of that fuckface?"
Jacob reached down with his right hand and came within an inch of wrapping his fingers around the 7 mm's stock, but then the ground moved again.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed, jumping back. The dirt and rocks moved forward and covered his rifle up completely. Then, the ground was once again still. Thinking he could dig in and pull his gun out, Jacob reached forward again. His fingers managed to touch the dirt but then the ground moved again, much faster this time and directly towards him.
"Son of a bitch!"
He stepped back and stared at the where his rifle was buried, two feet deep by now.
"The ground saw you coming," said Paul. "It saw you coming and moved to prevent you from getting the gun."
"What?" Jacob said. "That's ridiculous, man. That was just aftershocks, that's all."
When Jacob reached down again, however, the mound moved as it had before, towards him and burying his rifle even deeper. It caught him off guard and this time he wondered if Paul had a point. To test this theory, he took a step forward and instantly the hill of dirt and rocks moved towards him. He stepped back and the mound stopped moving, except for a few assorted rocks and debris trickling down from its top as it settled.
"It looks like you're right," he said.
They stared at the mound, Paul crossing his arms, Jacob with his at his sides. The pile had grown to 20 feet high and 30 feet across.
"I don't know," said Jacob. "This is just too weird. It's just a pile of rocks and dirt. It can't be alive!"
"Yes it can," Paul countered. "The forest won't let us go. That's how the roads changed, Jacob—think about it. If the ground can move and change shape as we're seeing it do right now, then it could easily change the direction of a road, and how about your Blazer and Newton's Jeep? I think now we know damned well that the ground swallowed them up, burying them just below the surface of the road and hiding all signs of their tracks in the process."
Jacob wasn't looking at Paul but he heard every word. Of course it sounded ridiculous, but at the same time it also made perfect sense. As Paul pointed out, the ground actually being alive and able to move as they were seeing it do would explain the disappearance of the Jeep, the Blazer, and the change of direction of the road they had driven in on. Not wanting to just stand there and wait for something to happen, Jacob walked forward then to the left of the mound.
"Where are you going?" Paul asked, but Jacob didn't answer. He kept walking left, wondering if he would be able to just walk around the hill. When Paul realized this, he followed, but he wondered: If the ground is alive will it try to stop us, to block our way?
It did. When Jacob neared its edge and was just able to catch a glimpse of the road beyond, the dirt shifted to block his view, nearly swallowing him up in the process.
"Shit!" he breathed, then backed away, but not for long. He quickly ran to the left again, trying to run around the edge of the barrier but the dirt and rocks, rumbling and churning as they flowed from the ground, were able to keep Jacob fenced in. He sometimes stopped, would stutter-step, then try to run beyond the mound like a running back avoiding an open field tackle, but the earth could not be avoided or fooled. Paul stopped walking and watched, knowing the earth would not let them escape. A minute later, Jacob finally stopped his evasive steps then looked back to where he had started. The mountain of dirt had not grown any taller but it was now nearly 100 feet wide. Not being to handle it anymore, Jacob looked up to the sky as if searching for who or whatever was responsible for this entire mess he had been thrown into. Then suddenly, he screamed.
Paul looked on in awe, not saying a word. The sound erupting from Jacob's throat was that of a man gone completely mad. It crescendoed, increased in volume, and then finally ended in laughter. Jacob turned to look at Paul, giggled, and then began walking to him.
"Whatcha staring at, Moe?" he said, laughing like a small child being gently tickled by its loving mother.
"What are you laughing at Jacob?" Paul asked, then he thought: The man's lost his bloody mind!
"Why, I'm laughing at this predicament we're in," Jacob replied, getting nearer to Paul with every word he spoke. "Don't you think it's funny? Not being able to get out of these woods because the forest has come to life and is keeping us forever? Hm? Don't you think it's funny?"
"No, I don't think it's funny, and stop calling me Moe dammit! I'm fucking tired of that!"
Paul tensed, clenching his fists. He had the feeling Jacob was going to try something, take a swing at him or tackle him or try to brain him with a rock. Whatever it was going to be, he wanted to be ready.
Jacob walked faster and Paul became edgy, not liking the goofy, glazed look on the man's face one bit. When Jacob was five feet from him, something in the woods moved. This stopped Jacob immediately. Standing perfectly still they both watched as, 20 feet into the forest, the ground opened up like an underground cave had collapsed. Out of the hole that formed sprouted an array of 10 gray branches. The digestion of Newton had reached a point that released the feelers from their dormancy. It was time to feed again.
The tree was slow at first but that changed. Within seconds after breaking ground, it's branch-infested top quickly shot to a height of 10 feet. It reached for Paul and Jacob with one, skinny branch, but the men had already made their move.
At first they tried to run to their right but the dirt shifted and formed a wall, so they looked to the left, which was open for a second, but the dirt moved and blocked that way as well. Knowing there was only one thing left to do, they ran at the mound and began climbing. As they did they imagined getting swallowed up and buried in the dirt, but they had to take that chance—just standing and doing nothing would be the certain death of them both. Like trapped rats frantically clawing their way through the belly of a tortured man to escape the searing heat of a hot box set upon his stomach, Paul and Jacob scurried up the hill.
Any second, thought Paul, Any second it's going to stab me and that'll be that.
He was surprised he was still able to think rationally, even though his actions were definitely that of a man gone berserk. His arms and legs grabbed and pulled at the hill at a frenzied rate, the nails on his hands cracking and splitting as they were imbedded with dirt and sticks, his boots filling with soil as his legs churned away and buried his feet with each step. The slope was just a tad steeper than 50 degrees, but they were both making progress.
The feeler behind them continued to grow. It almost looked as though it was yawning, like a mucous-laden duckling emerging from the soft egg that had encased it just seconds before. Branches sprouted and grew, some of them just long enough to snap at the feet of Jacob and Paul. They could tell something was at their heels but they didn't turn to look. Soon, however, the tree would be tall enough to reach them easily.
"Shit! Shit!" screamed Jacob, frustrated at what it took to scale the mound—it felt like walking in deep snow without snowshoes. Although they couldn't move as fast as they would have liked, they were still able to keep just ahead of the tree's branches. Deep inside them surged the maddening notion that maybe, just maybe, they would escape.
After an undetermined amount of time, they looked up and saw the top of the mound five feet away and it surprised them both, not realizing they had traveled that far. They dreaded the thought of the heap growing another 20 feet just as they reached its top, or for the dirt and rocks to swallow them just when they felt the taste of freedom. The mound did neither of these, however, and soon they found themselves at the top.
Paul scrambled to the peak first, leaping up and over, and his momentum almost made him tumble down the other side. He stopped himself from doing so and that was where he made his mistake. If he had kept going he would have escaped the tree.
Jacob, still climbing, almost reached the top at the same time. His hands reached for the peak, a rounded, almost flat crest consisting of dirt, shredded wood from uprooted plants, and rocks ranging in size from grains of sand to foot-round stones. He buried his right hand into the dirt there, then his left, and then he pulled. His feet, though, slipped further into the dirt as he pumped his legs. His right foot found a smooth, flat rock, but instead of getting traction, his boot slipped. This gave a long skinny branch at his feet just the extra time it needed to snag that boot. Jacob felt something tugging at his foot and he looked back. He would have screamed at what he saw but a wave of nausea swept over him and he was unable to speak.
Reaching as far as it could, the longest branch of the tree stuck its pointed end inside the back of Jacob's right hiking boot. Had it been a tennis shoe, it would have slipped right off as the branch continued pulling but these boots, their multiple eyelets laced tightly, hugged Jacob's legs past his ankles. Like a bowel movement from the earth, the tree continued rising from the ground and as it did, the branch inside Jacob's boot started pulling him down the hill.
"Paul!" he screamed, forcing the words out of a throat constricted with terror, "Paul grab my hand!"
He reached up to Paul and Paul reached back. Jacob's outstretched hands were just out of reach but Paul stretched and was able to grab them. Instantly, Jacob squeezed the hands that were offered him as tightly as he could and immediately Paul realized that if he didn't pull Jacob to the top, then he himself would be yanked towards the tree as well.
Paul screamed, quickly situating himself so his feet dug into the top of the mound and both his arms were between his legs. He pulled at Jacob with all his strength. They grunted, they groaned, they huffed and puffed, but still the tree pulled harder. Within seconds, more branches would find their way to Jacob and sink themselves into his shins like fishhooks.
"Paul pull! PULL!"
He didn't call me Moe! Paul thought, again wondering how the hell he could be thinking anything rational through the hot flashes of terror that burned his mind. As if being referred to by his correct name was the reason he needed for saving Jacob's life, Paul yanked with everything he had and then some. The force of that, along with Jacob's left foot still digging at the dirt, pulled Jacob free. The thin end of the branch in his boot snapped off like a twig at the same instant three more branches, thicker and stronger than the first, stabbed at his legs, but those legs had moved out of the way just in time. Jacob pulled at Paul's hands, reached for his arms, and climbed them like a rope to the top of the mound.
"Hey, be careful!" Paul yelled.
As Jacob stood atop the hill and realized he was free, he began to smile. With the immediate danger gone, his madness returned. When Paul began to stand up and turn around, Jacob pushed him.
"Hey!" Paul yelled. He had only been standing halfway erect and was off balance when Jacob shoved him. Therefore, he stumbled backwards, fell, and was barely able to stop himself from tumbling down the mound he had just scaled. He landed directly on top of a branch from the tree, the same one that had been inside Jacob's right boot.
"Why did you do that?" Paul screamed, looking up to Jacob, but Jacob did not reply. Instead, he just stared as the branch grabbed for Paul's feet. When it connected it didn't just grab the inside of Paul's boot—it stabbed directly into the boot and through his foot, just below the anklebone, and pulled hard.
"Jacob!" Paul screamed, "Jacob help me! Why did you push me? Jacob grab my hand please! I saved you Jacob—PLEASE!"
If he would have grabbed Paul's hand at that instant and pulled hard, Jacob could have ripped the foot free and saved Paul, but he didn't. A wry smile appeared on his lips as a rush of satisfaction and revenge surged throughout his body.
"See you later, Moe," he said softly.
"Jacob!" Paul screamed again, and then he realized that he was going to die. It was maddening, not knowing what it was that made Jacob hate him so much that he would let him die, even after he had saved him from his own certain death.
"Shouldn't have told Christian it was me who took those documents," Jacob said calmly.
Paul's mind was being ripped to shreds with terror, not allowing any more pleas for his life to spill from his mouth. Clawing frantically at the dirt, another branch sliced into his right leg, then another into his left, and then two into his waist, twisting and digging into his thighs deeper and deeper. Fortunately, the shock quickly overrode any pain he may have felt. His eyes bulged from their sockets in fright as he tried clawing at the dirt one more time, but the branches lifted him up and into the air. His last rational thought was that of his father and the weights, thinking that this would somehow miraculously help him survive, but the tree quickly covered him with branches, the first of these impaling him the same way Rock and Newton had been. As was the tree's style, there was little blood to mark the spot on the mound where Paul Higgs had once been.
He died quickly.
As the tree stood upright to its full height of 50 feet and concealed Paul within its trunk with branches that intertwined and blended together, Jacob found he could do nothing but sit and watch. Strangely, he felt no fear, remorse, or a need to get away from this place. What he felt was excitement, satisfaction, and inner peace. He knew the tree would remain dormant and he would be safe for the time being, but even if it killed and ate him as well he wouldn't have cared. The rush was worth it.
Five minutes later, Jacob still sat and stared at the tree. His mind was dormant also, smothered in thoughts of being responsible for Moe Weidman finally getting his just dessert. Over and over again his mind replayed the scene; Moe's plea for help, Jacob denying it, the tree then being able to grab Moe and kill him.
"It was me," Jacob mumbled. "I'm the one who put you in your place—not Christian or Newton or anyone else, it was me. Sure the tree ate you but I could have saved you. It was me that killed you."
As he continued to sit and stare, a slow wind whistled through the woods around him, blowing leaves and branches, causing trees to sway and creak.
"See you later meester," he said quietly, doing his best Pancho imitation.
After another five minutes, the thin, rational part of his mind told him he had better get the hell away from this place because the tree would be waking up soon and looking for something to eat. His head shook automatically as if just slapped, and then he stood. A cool wind brushed by him and it seemed to soothe his very soul, the feel of the air caressing his face calming his nerves, relaxing his mood. He took a deep breath and sighed.
Hm, what is that?
He took another breath, through his nose this time. Within the wind was a strange odor. He sniffed again. The smell was getting stronger and it was disgusting. It was of something rotting or decaying. He looked left, then right, but could see nothing obvious to account for the odor. Before he turned to look behind him he heard footsteps coming from that direction. The sound froze him stiff.
Who the hell . . .
At first he thought it was Newton or someone else that had been out in the woods with him today, but he reminded himself that it couldn't be any of them because they were all dead. Then could it be Adam or Aaron, leaving camp at a later time, deciding to join the hunt after all and seek out their fellow tree-planting brothers?
Did they see what I did to Moe? Did they witness that?
The footsteps were heavy and shook the ground, obviously coming from something very large, and were getting closer. As they did the odor became stronger, overpowering. Jacob sniffed slowly, like a connoisseur evaluating a king's broth, and almost gagged because the smell was so repulsive. Finally, he turned.
The creature was 11 feet tall. It was covered with long black hair, matted and filthy. It walked towards him on two legs but it was far from being a man.
My God it's Bigfoot! Holy shit is that what it is?
If it was, he had never imagined Bigfoot to be quite like this. He had always pictured that beast to resemble a man so closely that you might mistake it for one. That idea, however, was shattered completely.
It stopped when it was had come to within three feet of him. Jacob was frozen in shock and was unable to move. To see its face he had to stare almost straight up and it amazed him how huge this thing was. Its eyes reminded him of the kind he had seen on cows; large, dark, and bordered with heavy black lids. Red avenues of veins stemmed from brown pupils and traveled along the white orbs with lightning bolt streaks. The head was three feet wide and rested between shoulders that were six feet across. There was no sign of a neck. Its face was similar to that of a man, with a wide flat nose in its center. The remaining facial features were covered with thick black hair, like a beard gone wild and smothering its face, but it was sparse enough to make out the curved structures of its cheeks and chin. Its arms were longer than what a man this size would have had, stretching to the knees and topped with immense hands, dangling, thick fingers curling inward to its legs. Its feet were, of course, huge; about a size 45. Five toes on each were hidden among tufts of matted, black hair. The vapors of the putrid aroma emanating from the creature's body swarmed about it like waves of heat swirling above a searing desert plain. From this distance the smell was indescribable, like a mixture of decay and tremendous body odor, but that list could have easily been added to.
Terrified, Jacob finally found the nerve to move. He turned and almost bounded down the mound but the tree at the bottom had awoken again, its branches slowly snaking through the air like the tentacles of a huge octopus. Jumping down the hill would have been like leaping into a pit of butcher knives, their blades freshly sharpened and pointing straight up. He looked back and the creature still stood there, staring at him. Suddenly it occurred to him that it was wearing clothes, not the stuff on the rack at Bloomindales or Macy's, but clothing nonetheless. The garment was dark brown and appeared to be the hide of an animal, a deer perhaps, and was also matted and filthy. The covering draped across the creature's chest and dangled two feet past its waist where it must hide, Jacob imagined, an immense penis.
Maybe this beast is one of those things that sprout from the ground when it's time for the trees to feed, like those running, naked men, or all those gray animals and blobs, or maybe . . .
"Newton Braxton?" it said.
Jacob's eyes widened. He could have sworn it said something.
"Newton?" it asked again, its voice deep and rough, almost too rough to understand, but Jacob could tell what was said. It asked him if he was Newton. He felt he had better answer.
"No, no I'm not Newton," Jacob replied, wary, feeling like he was talking to a rock or a hill of dirt instead of something alive. It was surreal.
I didn't know Bigfoot could talk!
"Paul Higgs?" it asked, the words sounding like Bowl Heegs when they came out through the wide, cracked lips enveloping a dark mouth. Within that mouth Jacob saw flecks of light-colored objects and he guessed they must be teeth.
"No, I'm not Paul," Jacob replied again. Instantly he regretted his response, thinking that since he was neither Paul nor Newton, for whom the beast had specifically asked, then it might regard him as useless and beat him to a pulp on the spot.
"Then who are you?" it asked. It raised its right hand upward and Jacob jumped back, almost losing his balance and tumbling down the hill. The creature's hands were huge and he was sure it was going to squash him flat, or swat him like a fly and send him sailing into the awaiting branches of the gray tree. All it did, however, was pluck something from its face that had been frolicking in the hair on its cheek; an insect, something with wings, but just this simple movement of its hand was an incredible sight to watch. To Jacob, it was like watching a building move on its own power.
"I'm not going to hurt you," it said, noticing Jacob's apprehension. It offered its 20-inch paw to help balance him, to prevent him from tumbling down the hill, but of course Jacob refused.
I'm having a conversation with Bigfoot! he thought, A goddamned conversation with Bigfoot!
The creature retracted its hand and again asked, "Who are you?"
"My name is Jacob," he replied quickly, almost adding sir. "Newton and Paul are dead. They . . . uh . . . the trees . . ."
He turned to point at the tree that moved behind him, its branches still slowly circling methodically. It suddenly occurred to Jacob that Bigfoot might not know about these killer trees and if that was the case, would it also become a victim?
"I am Hatchet," the creature said. "I was supposed to meet Newton and Paul out here but it looks like I'm too late."
What? Jacob thought. He could not believe what he was hearing, but then again, it made perfect sense. Mr. Hatchet is Bigfoot—that's why he lives out here in the middle of the woods and nobody ever sees him.
"Hatchet?" said Jacob. "You're Mr. Hatchet?"
He tried his damnedest to sound curious, thinking he could stay alive if he asked questions and Hatchet took the time to answer.
"Yes I am. Sorry I'm late. This upsets me."
Hatchet lowered his head and cradled it in his hands, as if disgusted with himself. This was incredible to watch but everything Hatchet did was a wonder to Jacob; the way the flat, hideous face was able to spit out the English language, the way the huge misshapen arms turned and twisted at their large, knobby joints. It was all too much for him and he wondered how he was going to get out of this.
"Follow me," Hatchet said suddenly, the words sounding like forrow me, but Jacob understood. However, following this enormous animal into the woods did not sound like a good idea. Jacob wanted to go home, back to the Blade Forestry camp where Aaron, Adam and Leonard were, to a city where there were people, or to fucking Timbuktu if it would get him away from this bizarre creature.
I don't think so Mr. Hatchet!
He watched as it bounded down the hill that had kept him and Paul from reaching the road. Hatchet took strides eight feet apart that left deep, long footprints in the dirt. Its arms moved oddly, not like the arms of a human. They rotated at the shoulders, lifting 15 feet into the air then turning on an axis and slamming into the dirt; first the left, then the right, then the left again, looking just like a propeller or windmill in action. Since the arms were black and hairy, when they moved in this manner Hatchet resembled a gargantuan tarantula. No ape or man ever moved that way, Jacob told himself, and his head ached trying to decipher what kind of beast this could be.
When Hatchet reached the bottom, the hill began lowering itself back into the ground. Jacob was sure he was going to get swallowed up and smothered but the dirt and rocks merely descended, keeping him standing securely on top. Ten seconds later the ground was again flat, as it had been when he and Paul had first come across it. He looked in front of him and 20 feet away was Hatchet standing next to the writhing gray tree. It was hard to tell which he was more afraid of. Quickly deciding it was now or never, Jacob turned and ran. He didn't want to die so he felt he had to get away from this place, away from Hatchet and these murderous trees, or he certainly would. As soon as he had taken a few steps, however, Hatchet called out to him.
"You'll get killed if you go that way!"
Jacob stopped in his tracks then turned around.
"But," he said, pointing at the tree, "That tree—it'll . . ."
"It won't do anything as long as I'm around. Do you know Hornet Blade?" When Jacob did nothing but stare back for a reply, Hatchet asked again: "Do you know Hornet Blade, Jacob?"
"Um . . . no, I mean, I've never met him but I know of him."
"He's at my camp waiting for you. He and his crew have been looking for you, Newton, and Paul for hours. I offered help in tracking you down since I own these woods and know them like the back of my hand. Now that I've found you I can bring you back to my camp. They're all there waiting for us and I'm sure Hornet will be glad to see you. If you run away from me I can guarantee you the trees will get you, but if you stick with me, you're safe. They listen to me."
Again, Jacob found that all he could do was stare. The situation was too incredible to fathom, but one thing did feel certain: Hatchet was probably right. If he didn't stick close to Hatchet's side then he would probably get killed out here. To cement this idea, Hatchet approached the tree then slapped its bark like one would to a horse's neck to show affection. Instantly, the tree stopped moving and was completely still. Within seconds it began sinking back into the ground. Its branches folded against its bark where they blended together so well they almost became invisible. A minute later the tree disappeared into the ground and the hole where it came from closed up, rocks, dirt and leaves churning and filling the six-foot gap. Jacob was astonished. If this Bigfoot-type creature could do that to these trees then he would be a fool to leave its side in these woods.
If Hatchet was going to harm me then why hasn't he done it yet? Why didn't he feed me to the tree, and why did that tree suck back into the ground? And is he really telling the truth about Hornet Blade? How do I know . . .
"You coming?" Hatchet asked. He looked at Jacob, his solid stare suggesting he was deep in thought, and then he turned and began walking away into the woods. This was another sign that perhaps Hatchet was telling the truth.
If he really wanted to hurt me then why is he leaving me, allowing me to run away if I choose?
Jacob heard a noise and looked at the ground where the tree once stood. The forest floor still swirled in that spot like the top of a whirlpool, indicating that something was still in there. He looked up. Hatchet was getting further away. Fearing that if he were left alone then the tree would sprout from the ground and do to him what it had to Paul, Newton, and Rock, Jacob walked around the rotating hole then ran to catch up with Mr. Hatchet.
3
He had to jog to keep up with Hatchet's large strides, taking two steps for every one of Hatchet's, and the creature showed no signs of slowing. Many times during the hike Jacob grunted, groaned, and gasped loudly for air, hoping this might prompt Hatchet to slow down, but he never did.
"Where are we going?" Jacob asked after hiking two miles into the woods through terrain that was nearly impassable, unless, of course, you were 11 feet tall like Hatchet. It was a breeze for that beast and it made Jacob feel even smaller.
"Home," Hatchet replied, not offering further response, such as It's another mile or so or We're almost there. He knew the little man would do all he could to keep up for fear of being sliced to bits by gray trees.
"Hornet Blade's there?"
"Yes."
"And who . . . shit!" Jacob slipped on a fallen log ripe with fungus and nearly fell into a dark hole in the ground, barely concealed by a thick growth of ferns.
If I fell and hurt myself, would Hatchet help me? Would he even know I had fallen?
"And who else is there?" he finally managed to get out, finding his footing and trying again to keep up.
"You know," Hatchet said, looking at him, "the others." He turned his head away, making Jacob feel insignificant, like his questions didn't matter. Jacob wanted to ask just who the hell the others were and he was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this. He thought about just letting Hatchet walk on while he disappeared into the foliage and tried to find his way back, but then he noticed there were gray trees in the forest. Their branches slowly circled in the air (not a trick of the light Jacob!), and their trunks twisted slightly to the right, then the left, as if rocking some imaginary baby to sleep. Hatchet paid them little attention, but of course, they scared the crap out of Jacob. Looking at Hatchet, he found it ironic that he could find security in such a beast.
The further they walked, the more numerous the gray trees became. Jacob would have liked Hatchet to go slap a few of them to make them disappear but that didn't happen. In fact, it got worse. Soon, the forest floor began to move and eventually gray shapes began springing out of the mulch; just blobs at first, but they soon took on the shapes of different types of animals; deer, bear, raccoons, opossums, otters and even a few men. They emerged from the ground and stayed in one spot but they did move their limbs and turn their heads to acknowledge the passing of Hatchet and Jacob. As with the trees, Hatchet paid them little attention so Jacob assumed he had control over these creatures as well.
Within the next mile, the forest became saturated with these gray entities; there were hundreds of them, to the left and right, in front and back. The closest were five feet away while others were deep in the woods. Escape now would be impossible, and Jacob wished he had just run from Hatchet when they first met instead of tromping through the woods on this ghastly hike.
What the hell was I thinking?
He had once thought he was being led to safety, that Hatchet was some huge mutated Bigfoot or obese, side show freak that chose to reside in the privacy of this forest, away from the curious eyes of people who were physically “normal,” but now he didn't know what to think. As he watched the writhing of the gray shapes around him, heard them twist and creak, he realized that something as mundane as a Bigfoot was nothing compared to these things. He wished that a Bigfoot was all that Hatchet was.
Nobody's going to believe me when I tell them what I'm seeing out here.
With that thought, he began to seriously doubt he would ever reach the normal world again. Sure, Hatchet said they were going to meet Hornet Blade and his crew, but this deep in the woods? Why hadn't they simply gone to the camp where the Blade Forestry trailer was instead of out here in the middle of nowhere?
"Hatchet?" he said, ready to ask the hairy beast once again just where the hell they were going and how long it would be before they got there, but then Jacob saw something that made him completely forget what he was going to say. Some of the gray shapes in the woods were of men and it was strictly by coincidence that the one closest to him, a man just 10 feet away that stared at Jacob as he passed, happened to be Sherman Stanson. He was completely naked.
"Sherman!" Jacob yelled, stopping in his tracks and smiling, almost laughing. "Sherman, my God I thought you were dead! I thought . . ."
But then he stopped. What he was talking to was not Sherman. Jacob tried to convince himself that oh yes it is, but reality forced him to realize the truth. It looked exactly like a naked Sherman would look if it weren't for the color of his skin and the appearance of his eyes. They stared at Jacob, seeming to acknowledge the words coming from his mouth, but they were not the eyes of Sherman Stanson or any man. Small, tiny scratches in the gray orbs gave them a chiseled appearance. They never blinked and they looked like wood. Jacob took a step to the right and the head of Sherman turned to follow. As it did there was a creaking sound, like a tree swaying in the wind. His gray face remained expressionless and his mouth was very tight-lipped, never opening. His hair looked enough like Sherman Stanson's hair normally does, other than its color, but it seemed stiff, as if hardened by dried mud. Jacob looked down and saw that Sherman's feet were not feet at all. They blended together at the shins to become a single trunk that disappeared into the ground—small, spindly roots snaking from the ankles and fastening them to the forest floor. Although the body moved and appeared just a notch more alive than a mannequin would be, Jacob knew this effigy had no more life than a piece of wood or stone.
"Oh God." Jacob was becoming nauseous and he wondered if he would get sick, throwing up by the gray Sherman's feet. Before that moment came, however, Hatchet spoke.
"Could that be one of your friends?"
Jacob turned to acknowledge Hatchet and when he did, he gasped in surprise. There was a beast standing there, and it could have been Hatchet, but it looked different now. Its right leg was bent at the knee, the large, flat foot propped atop a fallen log. Extending from the knee was a round, thick limb covered with black hair, stretching upward then bending at a 90-degree angle after three feet and turning to connect to Hatchet's right shoulder. It formed a square and looked extremely odd.
Did he grow another limb? Jacob wondered. Is he transforming into something else? Is that all Hatchet is, just another one of these blobs like the animals and men around me, only black instead of the traditional gray?
Eventually Hatchet moved and when he did, Jacob realized what he had been looking at; Hatchet was placing his right hand on his knee, and the limb moving up and forming a square was his right arm. He removed his hand from his knee then stood erect, leaving his arms to dangle at his sides. Jacob shook his head, as if clearing the cobwebs after having just been smacked. The posture he had just seen Hatchet in proved that the beast was no man. The arm of a man bends downward at a slight angle when a hand rested on a knee, but Hatchet's arm bent straight out and then straight down. It was an eerie sight, one that again reminded Jacob of an immense tarantula.
"Jacob is that one of your friends?" Hatchet asked again
"Yes it is," Jacob replied.
"Well, as you can probably tell, it's not your friend anymore, just an effigy. Trap always displays the creatures it has eaten."
"What?" Jacob asked. "I'm sorry, I . . . I didn't catch what you said."
"Said Trap always puts on display what it has eaten." Hatchet put his hands on his hips and again that awkward, outward bend of his arms sent chills down Jacob's spine. The beast looked at him and could tell he needed to explain further.
"I'm sorry Jacob, I forgot that you don't know what is going on, what has happened to Newton, Paul, and also someone called Sherman, I understand. The gray trees that killed your friends are part of an entity that lives below the crust of the forest floor. We call it Trap. Don't know where it got that name but it's always been called that. What you have been seeing, these animals, men, and now an emulation of a friend of yours called Sherman, are merely the parts of Trap that extend above the surface of the ground. The rest of it resides underneath."
Jacob, that silly blank stare of brainlessness continually stamped upon face, showed no signs of understanding anything that had been said to him.
"It's like a mushroom," Hatchet continued. "The actual fungus exists below the surface of the ground but occasionally a mushroom, which is just a flower, or an extension of the fungus, pops up above the ground. That's kind of the same concept with Trap. It lives below the ground but sends up feelers occasionally to check out the world above and to catch food. It can do that at any spot in these woods because its body stretches from one end of my land to the other, 1,972 acres total. I don't know what it looks like below the surface, no one does, but the gray trees and animals are what it looks like above the surface. These feelers, as we call them, are what supply Trap with the food it needs to survive. The trees are the deadliest, as you have discovered."
Jacob's mind burned with terror and wonder. At first, his mind told him to reject all this bullshit it was being told, but then he recalled the events of this day and those doubts were quickly dismissed.
A huge living fungus thing? he thought. Okay, okay, so that's what has killed Sherman, Rock, Newton, and Moe, but there's got to be more than that!
But Hatchet had explained enough—it was just hard for Jacob to accept now that he knew the answer to the mystery; why trees came to life and killed his friends and the whitetail they had chased that morning. This new information, however, raised more questions.
"You say that this thing here, this statue that looks just like Sherman and keeps staring at me, you're telling me it's just a copy of the original Sherman, just a copy put on display after he had been killed? Why does it, Trap, do that?" Jacob looked into the woods, wondering if Rock, Newton, and Moe were out there somewhere. There were other gray men dotting the forest, but none, that he could clearly see, resembled any of his brothers.
"Don't know," Hatchet replied. He looked away into the woods to his right as if hearing something that caught his attention. "I would guess it's because it's proud of itself and now it's bragging, like Trap's saying 'Hey everyone, look what I caught!' You know?"
Hatchet turned his head to stare at Jacob, looked him over as if thinking about saying something significant, but then he turned and walked away, again towards the west and deeper into the woods. Afraid of being left alone with the artificial Sherman and all the other murdered meals, Jacob ran to keep up. As he did, the head of Sherman turned to watch him go.
"Mr. Hatchet," Jacob said, striding next to the huge beast and looking nearly straight up to catch his eyes. "I've changed my mind, I mean, well, um, I think I'll just wait back at the camp instead. I know it's a far hike and all but I need to go back and wait for Mr. Blade there instead."
He waited for a response but Hatchet continued to stare straight ahead as he thudded along, shaking the earth with his stride and, presumably, Trap as well.
"You don't have to show me the way back but if you can just guarantee me that none of these feelers will kill me on the way out, you know, call them off or . . ."
"No!" Hatchet said suddenly, still looking straight ahead. "I cannot guarantee that, Jacob. If you leave my side you are on your own!"
Well just fucking great! Jacob's mind screamed. Then I'm stuck out here, is that it? If Hornet Blade has been searching for me, for us, then why is he out here instead of back at the camp? And is he really looking for all of us, or just Paul, Newton, and myself as you have stated? When we first met, you never did mention Sherman's name. It was obvious you didn't even know me until I introduced myself! Do you even have a clue about the others—Rock and Henry? If Hornet Blade told you he was looking for us he surely would have mentioned their names!
He had lots of questions, all of them disturbing, and the more he dwelled on them the more he began to accept that he would never again see the civilized world, Kentucky or otherwise.
But then why hasn't he harmed me in any way? Is he really telling the truth? Is Hornet Blade really friends with this double-jointed beast?
His thoughts were interrupted when they came to the side of a cliff. It was comprised mostly of rocks, a slight layer of dirt dusting their tops. The crest of the hill was 30 feet up, tufts of grass overlapping the edge. Beyond that, Jacob could see the tops of trees that grew somewhere on the plateau above. The hill wasn't too steep, almost 45 degrees, but they would have to use their hands in spots to steady their footing if they were to go up. They were.
Hatchet went first. He approached the hill and began moving up the slope and, again, the sight of this creature in action was so amazing that Jacob forgot his predicament. Hatchet started by taking huge, slow strides up the hill. After a few steps, Hatchet's arms again made those wide arcs in the air, rotating at the shoulders then slamming down and grabbing at the rocks and dirt. It appeared he used these limbs for balance but he could have been putting them to the ground as an alternative walking style, trudging along on all fours like a gorilla often does. Hatchet was atop the cliff in no time. Once there he looked down at Jacob then turned and walked beyond the crest and out of sight. It knew the man would follow.
For Jacob, this hill was not as hard to scale as the one Paul Higgs had been plucked from by the tree that killed him. When he reached the top, Hatchet was there, five feet away and waiting, and was again in another unusual stance. He was on all fours, his front arms stretching outward horizontally from the shoulders, then bending at the gnarled elbows downward at a 90-degree angle. His hands, with thick fingers splayed wide apart, met the ground. In the back his legs were also in the same position as his arms, shooting outward horizontally then bending 90 degrees at the knees. At this angle, all of Hatchet's arms and legs looked the same length. Crouched on all fours, he was still nearly six feet tall at the shoulder. Resting between those shoulders in the front was his head, looking straight ahead at Jacob like a ghastly trophy on the wall in a hunter's den. Now, more than ever, he took on the appearance of a huge spider.
Anyone coming across such a beast in the woods, or anywhere actually, would likely turn and run for their life but Jacob was unable to move. Frozen with terror he stared at the animal before him, his frantic mind trying to make some sense of what was happening to him.
"Oh G . . . God . . . God," he stuttered, his breath trying to find its way out. He stumbled backwards to the top of the hill he had just climbed and nearly fell back down it. He turned and looked behind him as he teetered on the edge and pictured himself falling end over end to the bottom, snapping his neck in the process and, ironically, dying that way after having escaped the grips of the killer trees. Before he could fall, however, something grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, standing him upright. He looked and saw the hand of Hatchet, a huge paw with leathery fingers topped with gnarled, dirt-encrusted black nails, wrapped around his right hand.
"Yeeaaaahhh!" Jacob screamed, yanking his hand away. He pulled it close to him and saw it was covered with a black, gritty film, something that had rubbed off from Hatchet's hand.
"Didn't mean to scare you," said Hatchet, rising from his crouch and standing to his full 11-foot height. "But it looked like you were going to fall."
The intent of the words may have been to comfort but there was no way Jacob could get used to this monster, no matter what it said. Standing this close, the smell coming from it seemed more overpowering than it ever had. Jacob looked at his right hand and realized that the gook that covered it carried the rancid smell of Hatchet himself. Small insects suddenly appeared out of nowhere, tiny and winged, and began inspecting the mess. The smell of it made Jacob nauseous and he tried wiping the stuff off onto his pants. His nausea increased, overwhelming him. He tried to suppress it but the fumes reeking from his hand, Hatchet, and now his pants, wafted to his nostrils and finally he vomited—several times. A few minutes later, when he was sure he would not throw up again, he looked up and saw that Hatchet was watching him, expressionless, his arms crossed.
"What are you?" Jacob asked him, wiping drool from his lips with the back of his left hand.
"What am I?" Hatchet responded. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what are you? Are you a Bigfoot or something?"
"A what?"
"A Bigfoot."
"A Bigfoot? I don't know what that is." Hatchet looked at his feet, saw they were indeed big, but still could not catch the meaning of what Jacob had asked.
"A sasquatch, you know?" Jacob persisted. "Does that mean anything to you? Sasquatch?"
"Sask watch? No Jacob, that doesn't mean anything to me."
"Then what . . ."
"I am no different than you," Hatchet interrupted, his voice quiet and compassionate, different than the low, monotonous rumbling he usually expressed himself with. "I am someone who is just trying to survive and do the best I can."
Then, he smiled. Although Hatchet could talk, up until that moment Jacob had considered him nothing more than a grotesque beast incapable of understanding any type of human emotion, but that smile made him seriously doubt that. The grin upon Hatchet's face, however, quickly faded. He turned and began walking away again. Jacob felt less frightened, as if he truly believed that Hatchet was, in some distant way, his friend and was indeed leading him to safety.
4
Jacob had never been this deep into any forest before, but the newfound safety he felt with Hatchet never left. The hike had given him plenty of time to consider many things. He figured that Hatchet could be a Bigfoot after all, although his strange shape and the way he used his limbs made that unlikely. Still, "Bigfoot" was a name created by man. If an actual Bigfoot was captured and it was able to communicate, as Hatchet could, chances are it would not know what the word Bigfoot meant. The whole concept, of course, sounded ridiculous, but ridiculous was an understated term for the events of this Tuesday.
They reached Hatchet's home at 3 o'clock. When Hatchet announced the hike had come to an end, Jacob dropped to the ground, grabbing an opportunity to rest. He was exhausted, hungry, and very thirsty. During the hike he had almost fallen a few times to rest, feeling that Hatchet would pick him up and carry him, but he didn't want those grimy hands on him; enduring the physical abuse was much more appealing. Now that they had reached their destination, however, he sat on the ground, trying to catch his breath as he scanned the scenery. As he did, he realized that Hatchet must have meant that the hike was almost over. There was nothing here but forest; thick growths of trees and plants of all kinds. There were no structures or buildings of any kind, not that he imagined Hatchet living in a condominium, but he at least expected something—a cave perhaps?
"Where are the others?" Jacob asked.
Before Hatchet could respond, a sound in the distance caught their attention. It came from several hundred feet away, beyond a barrier of dark green vegetation before them.
Flop-flop-whoosh! Clap-clap-flop-whoosh!
It sounded like a huge sheet flapping in the wind. In between the flaps were intermittent sounds like heavy bursts of steam spewing from a geyser.
"What is that?" Jacob asked, standing and looking up to Hatchet.
"That is Trap," Hatchet replied.
"Trap? You mean the, uh, fungus thing?"
"Yes. Let's go have a look."
Hatchet walked to a dense growth of pine trees but Jacob stood where he was, that apprehensiveness that had faded returning immediately. Sensing this, Hatchet turned to look back.
"Come on Jacob. It won't hurt you."
The fright began to creep its way back into his veins, making his heartthrob like the steady beat of an old Indian war drum. Nevertheless, Jacob did follow. He wasn't sure why but he still trusted Hatchet.
"Is this another one of those things that Trap has caught and is now putting on display?" Jacob asked.
"No," replied Hatchet. "This is Trap itself."
"Trap itself? I thought no one knows what it looks like."
"Well, we don't, not really. What you are about to see is just it's mouth. The rest of it, underneath the ground, is the part we don't really see."
"It's mouth?" Jacob said, more a statement than a question. His fright continued to soar. This thing, this huge murderous fungus that had brutally killed his tree-planting brothers, has a mouth?
Flop-clap-clap-whoosh!
The noise became louder as they walked through the trees and brush that surrounded them. The forest here was extremely thick and almost impassable, even for a creature such as Hatchet. Along the way, Jacob began noticing movement from behind some of the larger trees around him. Realizing this, he froze in his tracks. There was something else out here besides himself and Hatchet, but it was hard to tell exactly what. He would see movement, turn his head to catch a glimpse, but the animal would conceal itself behind a tree before he could get a good glimpse of what it was. The fourth time this happened, Jacob finally began getting a good look. Seeing movement again, he turned his head quickly and like before, was unable to get a good look at the animal before it jumped behind a tree, but this particular tree, a young pine, did not have a trunk thick enough to completely conceal the creature. Tufts of black, stringy hair protruded from behind the trunk. At first there was just a thin line of fur silhouetting the lining of the bark, then more hair came into view as the animal moved. Jacob stood still for a full minute, watching, and finally a large head cautiously poked out from behind the tree. The animal, what little of it he could see at this point, was the same type of creature as Hatchet only a bit smaller. It surprised Jacob. He had thought Hatchet was one of a kind.
"Hatchet," Jacob whined in his best come-and-save-me voice, but Hatchet had been watching as well. He crossed his long arms across his mountainous chest then explained to Jacob what he was seeing.
"They're my family. They're a bit skittish right now because I had brought someone home with me."
"Home?" asked Jacob. "Where is your home? All I see is trees."
Hatchet tilted his head as he had done before, looking confused.
"Yes," he said. "There are trees out here and this is my home. What is it you don't understand?"
"Never mind," Jacob said, lowering his head. He understood that just because Hatchet called this place his home didn't mean there had to be a dwelling. Simply a location, a familiar, secure spot in the woods was all that was required.
"So where's Hornet?" he asked.
"What?"
"Hornet, you know, Mr. Blade? Where is he? You said he would be at your home, or your camp, or whatever. So where is he?"
"He's by Trap," Hatchet replied, but this answer did not satisfy Jacob at all. He felt there was something Hatchet wasn't telling him. Of course that feeling had always been there but now it was much stronger. He wanted to ask more questions but didn't have the slightest idea of what to say. Slowly, he continued to follow.
One hundred feet later the sound of Trap became incredibly loud and with every flop, clap or whoosh, the ground shook. Hatchet paused before a large wall of thick, green shrubbery, a collection of plants of which the likes Jacob had never seen. Hatchet tilted his head, searching for a way in, then turned his body sideways, moving his arms up over his head as if about to take a sideways dive into a vertical pool. He disappeared into the brush and Jacob stood alone for a few seconds, watching. He knew he was supposed to follow but the sound of Trap scared the hell out of him. He heard movement from behind so he turned and saw the creature like Hatchet, no longer caring to hide behind a tree. It was 20 feet away and slowly walking towards him. Although very much a beast like Hatchet, its face was not the same. The features were far less human than Hatchet's were, looking more like an animal; a bear or a wolf. Its eyes were completely black and had a definite look of hate stamped into them. Not wanting an encounter with it, Jacob turned and entered the thicket where Hatchet had.
Instantly, noise erupted and the ground shook again.
Flop-clap-flop-flop-whoosh!
Jacob began to notice a strong, burning smell in the air. It was an odor he had never before encountered, a combination of dirt and fire. As he followed the flattened path made by Hatchet, the vegetation still dense in spite of that, the smell became stronger. He peered through the growth in front of him and saw movement beyond the plants.
There was something happening out there.
When he finally stepped out of the thick, tangled brush and into the opening beyond, he beheld a sight few men see. Ten feet to his right was a gray tree, growing and moving erratically. Jacob stepped back, feeling sure it was going to nab him, but then it shrunk and absorbed into the ground. Immediately another tree burst from the ground, this one 10 feet further beyond the first. Its branches stretched skyward and grew quickly, but then it also quickly descended back into the earth, as did the first. As Jacob scanned the scenery around him he saw many trees doing the same thing; bursting from the earth in a spray of dirt and rocks to a height as much as 10 feet, only to shrink away back into the ground. It was like watching a giant pot of boiling gray soup, the heat exploding the broth into bursts of tree-shaped pieces that fell back to splash into the stew. There were a few gray creatures among the trees that occasionally popped out of the earth but these entities exploded into a splat of gray matter before they could transform into any definite shapes. Some would appear first as deer but the torsos were those of a bear, or an otter. Each time this happened, a gust of hot dirt sprayed and belched from the shape, exploding it to pieces and sending into the air an acrid, unusual smell of burning dirt and wood. This activity covered a span in the forest 100 feet round, an area that had been formed by such goings on. The real star of this show, however, was what laid beyond a fence in front of Jacob, 15 feet away.
FLOP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
The fence was crude, constructed from branches. Tree trunk posts, eight inches round, stood four feet apart and were joined by two horizontal rows of branches, the highest eight feet off the ground, the lowest about three. These branches were bound to the posts with long thin strands of tree bark and smaller, thinner branches intertwined together. The fence didn't look very strong and probably could have been torn down easily, but no one would want to do that. It was constructed solely to keep anyone from accidentally falling into what it encircled.
That would be Trap.
Jacob walked forward to have a look and when he saw Trap, he wished he had stayed where he was. Inside the fence, the ground sloped downward slightly. After several feet the dirt and rocks gave way to a huge, dark gray mass that was 30 feet round. Along the center of this mass was a jagged, crusted crack, which looked to Jacob like the mouth of a giant clam.
FLOP-FLOP-CLAP-WHOOSH!
"Shit!" Jacob yelled. The crack had opened and snapped shut like a huge snapping turtle lunging for potential prey. The sight was numbing, terrifying, but Jacob could not stop watching as the crack opened and shut again and again.
CLAP-CLAP-FLOP-WHOOSH!
In between the opening and shutting of its mouth with an incredible force (CLAP-CLAP), the crack would fluctuate and twist, like the flaps of a gray, stiff bed sheet (FLOP-FLOP). Both sides of its mouth slapped into each other again and again. At the end of the CLAPs and FLOPs, the mouth would open wide one last time and spit dirt and debris from the earth (WHOOSH) as high as 50 feet into the air, like a volcano. This debris would fall back to the earth in random spots. One particular chunk, a smoking mass of wood and soil 18 inches round, landed four feet from Jacob. He stared at it and wondered what could be going on inside Trap's mouth to be spitting stuff like that into the air.
CLAP-FLOP!
The mouth was surrounded by a dark gray, almost black stretch of earth, or so it at first appeared. This area soon began moving unevenly like waves in a waterbed set into motion by pushing onto one end. Jacob watched the membrane pulsate as the mouth remained tightly sealed. He wondered why this patch of earth was doing this but then the obvious occurred to him. It was not the earth. It was moving of its own accord, not because there was an earthquake, but because it was alive.
That's it! I'm outta here!
He looked to his left and saw Hatchet bent over and rummaging through a large brown bag of some sort by his feet. Realizing this as an opportunity, Jacob turned and faced the brush from where he had just emerged. He wanted to disappear into that, if not to escape completely then to at least hide from Trap. However, something in the brush was there already and was staring at him. It was the creature that resembled Hatchet that had walked towards him and made him enter those bushes in the first place. It stared at Jacob with malevolent, frightening eyes. It didn't move, nor did it take its eyes off him. Jacob was trapped.
So what do I do now? WHAT?
He heard a voice so he turned to look. Hatchet was standing now and was looking at him. He had said something to Jacob but Trap let go with another whoosh and the words were lost in the commotion.
"What?" Jacob yelled, stepping closer to Hatchet.
"I said that this is Trap," said Hatchet, pointing to the pit beyond the fence. Jacob nodded, trying to crack a complimentary smile, but he could not. Stepping closer to Hatchet also brought him closer to Trap, and he was now able to get a better look. For the first time he noticed round, bristly warts or blemishes, one foot in diameter each, dotting the skin of Trap's mouth. There were about 10 of them scattered randomly about the gray skin and they pulsated independently of the mouth itself; up, down, up, down. From where he stood, Jacob could see the far side of the pit where Trap's mouth interfaced with the earth. There the skin darkened, becoming almost black, then disappeared under the dirt and rocks at the edge of the pit like water slipping away under the perimeter of a hole in the ice. The ground that interfaced with Trap's mouth pulsated and moved but after several feet, as the ground cover became thicker, the forest floor stopped emulating the throb of the beast which lay below its surface.
"What in God's name is this thing?" Jacob asked Hatchet, finding his nerve to speak.
"It's Trap," Hatchet replied.
"Yes I know it's Trap but what exactly is Trap? Is it some kind of animal or plant or what?"
"It is the ruler of these woods," Hatchet explained. He held up his right hand, looked at the mouth within the pit, and instantly Trap ceased moving. In a matter of seconds, the pulsating, undulating waves stopped and the mouth was completely still. It looked like it could very well have been a stretch of odd-colored forest floor, were it not for the obvious fissure in its center. The forming and melting trees and other gray shapes stopped their movement and the forest became deathly still. Jacob watched in amazement, wondering how Hatchet could do such a thing by just holding up his hand.
"As far as I or anyone else in my family knows, Jacob, Trap has been here as long as the earth itself," Hatchet continued. "It's alive, as you can see, and to tell you the truth I would not call it plant or animal. It is unique in itself; however, it does need to eat to continue to survive, as all living things do. That's where my family and I come in. We keep Trap well fed. Once every so often we have to throw in some food into its mouth; a deer, a bear, whatever, to keep it full."
"Keep it full?" Jacob asked incredulously. "Why do you have to feed it? Aren't those trees that killed my friends part of Trap? It looks to me like it can feed itself rather well."
"Those trees are its feelers and yes, they are a part of Trap and can catch and consume animals, but that is a waste. The food is not utilized when that happens."
Hatchet looked at Jacob and the little man returned the stare, a frazzled expression smothering his features. Wrinkles crunched his forehead, dark circles hung under his eyes, and he began twitching nervously, flinching at every noise or movement as if stressed to the point of exploding. He made no response or comments so Hatchet continued to explain further.
"It's like your hand, Jacob. Hold it out in front of you."
Jacob looked down at his right hand then held it out in front of him, jerking it back when a fly whizzed by, then cautiously he pushed it out before him again. He looked at it, the disgusting grime from Hatchet's earlier touch still there, then he looked up, wondering yes, what now?
"Picture that hand as one of Trap's feelers," Hatchet continued. "Imagine it grabbing a deer and eating it. Well that's nice for the hand, but what about the rest of your body? In order to get nourishment to your entire body you need to ingest the food through your mouth. That way the sustenance will be distributed evenly throughout your entire body, not just your hand. All parts will benefit, not just one particular limb. Do you understand?"
Jacob nodded and then waited for more.
"The way Trap works is like that. When one of the feelers eats something it benefits only that feeler. Basically, the full nutritional value of that meal is wasted. The rest of its body, below the ground, still needs food. Feeding Trap through its mouth, this thing in front of us, is what keeps its entire body strong and healthy. Make sense?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jacob replied quickly and Hatchet wondered if the man really did understand. It didn't appear so.
"I don't know if you've noticed," Hatchet said. "But after Newton, Paul, and Sherman were eaten, Trap became dormant after each kill, you know, like it was completely still for a while before it would move again."
"Yes, I did notice that," Jacob replied, still holding his right hand out in front of him as if waiting for it to do something.
"That dormancy doesn't last very long, as you have also probably noticed. However, when Trap is fed through its mouth, it will remain dormant for a long, long time, up to several months or longer depending on what it is fed. Its entire body, feelers and all, will have received the full benefit of what has been fed when it enters through the mouth. This is very important to us Jacob, because when Trap is active he wreaks havoc in these woods, making hunting for our own food very hard. The animals are all on edge, skittish, and become difficult to locate and capture. We sometimes go hungry for days because of that. However, if we keep Trap properly fed, the hunting is adequate and, therefore, food is plentiful."
Jacob finally lowered his arm then stared at Trap's mouth, still motionless and quiet. The story Hatchet had just told him was an incredible one but it explained everything just fine and dandy, if one were to believe it. Jacob did. He looked up to the sky and tried to lose himself in the sparse white clouds that hovered miles above. He wondered how the devil he could have possibly ended up in the position he was in now.
What did I do wrong? How could I end up in this place, with these strange, smelly beasts that are the caretakers of some gargantuan fungus thing?
Then he remembered why he had followed Hatchet in the first place and he could have kicked himself for letting it slip from his mind for even a second.
"Where's Mr. Blade?" he asked.