Idaho Gothic

Anton slipped his hands into the soft lining of his coat, fighting back a shiver as he gazed out at the edge of the forest. The moon loomed out from behind softly gliding clouds, and the ground was thick with a layer of ice. He glanced for a moment at his watch, and the numbers 12:04 gleamed back at him.

Shane and Adrian were late, per usual. They had probably been held up at the gas station liquor store, trying to find someone willing to buy beer for them at such an off hour. Anton shook his head, and let out a low breath, watching the fog leak out from between his lips in delicate tendrils. His own footsteps made a haphazard trail of shadows in the snow that led to the very spot he occupied now.

He had almost canceled on the boys tonight-- after all, the weather was foul and he had a calculus test in the morning that he hadn’t studied for. But, in Idaho, where there was hardly ever anything exciting to do, meeting up at the old barn was a Tuesday evening tradition. Besides, Shane was still irritated at him for missing practice the week before, and he could be brutal when he was angry. Anton had no desire to stay on his bad side.

Leaning against a strip of corrugated metal, he peered down the road for some sign of headlights, and pricked his ear for the sound of an approaching car. Nothing. The air was unnaturally silent. Shuddering slightly, he pulled his coat more tightly around him. Perhaps he ought to go inside to wait for the others, he reasoned. After all, it was no good sitting around out in the dark.

Humming softly to quiet his nerves, he pushed open the door, which creaked and groaned under the weight of his palm. He propped it open with a mauled-looking brick, and slipped inside. Despite not being used in nearly a decade, the barn smelled faintly of hay, that stalky sweetness that all ranchers know by heart. It calmed Anton’s racing thoughts, as he moved deeper into the shadows.

Picking out an old bucket among the rubbish, Anton took a seat, glancing around at the familiar scene. The paint, which had once been a radiant, cheerful red, had long ago peeled away, and the wood, termite eaten and rotted, was beginning to show through. In a few places the walls had given way completely, and the night air trickled in coldly, drenching the place in freezing air.

As a child, Anton and his sister had played in the hay, pretending that they owned their own farm, complete with horses and chickens and cows. In the evenings, his grandfather would collect the two of them in his old pickup truck, and tell them stories on the short drive home. Stories of the fae that lived inside the forest, or of the skogsra, tree spirits that waited to lure unassuming travelers into the foliage until they were lost. The stories had thrilled Anton as a child, in the way that all novelty thrills. He smiled to himself at the memory.

Suddenly, a crack sounded outside, like a branch snapping. He looked up, squinting to see in the darkness.

“Shane?” he hissed, his mouth dry. It was probably just a coyote or something, but he shivered all the same, “Adrian? Is that you?”

No response came. Anton almost convinced himself that he had imagined it, when the figure appeared, glinting in the open doorway.

It was a woman, Anton thought at first, as his brain scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing. An incredibly beautiful one, with glittering, slanting eyes and fair hair that wound its way in tendrils down her waist. She was tall, nearly six feet, Anton reasoned, his mind going haywire. But there was something the matter with the scene.

For one, she was naked. The bare curve of her shoulders leered at him from across the dusty floor, and Anton felt almost compelled to look away.

For another, she seemed to be glowing. Initially, he had thought it was just the way that the moon hit her pale skin, but as the seconds ticked by, he realized that the light was emanating from her. Her eyes seemed to look through him, as though it were he that was an apparition, not her.

“Hello?” Anton murmured shakily, frozen on his makeshift stool. The girl shifted in the doorway, shimmering, but did not seem to have heard him. She moved with a lunar grace, unaware of anything but herself and the night air. Her long, white fingers slipped across the old wood familiarly, as though the barn was somewhere she often spent her evenings.

From some ways away came the rough sound of an engine. A look of vague irritation slipped across the girl’s face, and she began to back away.

“Wait,” Anton implored, his voice shaking and his forehead sweaty. But the girl was already receding. In a moment she had turned on her heel, pivoting away from him. He watched as she slipped around, her unearthly face giving way to what should have been a long expanse of naked back. But what he saw made no sense. Where her back should have been was a cavernous hole, like that of a hollowed out tree trunk. A scream bubbled up in Anton’s throat. In the distance, the roar of the car was growing louder. He broke free of his trance and leapt to his feet.

“Come back, please,” Anton cried, darting out into the open air. Ahead of him, a glowing silhouette swayed at the edge of the woods, sometimes looking like the side profile of a girl, in another moment transforming into a hollowed out tree trunk. It seemed to be beckoning him. All at once, Anton’s mouth went very dry. In spite of himself, he took a few hesitant steps forward.

The flash of headlights broke him out of his thoughts, and released him from his reverie. The sound of laughter and screeching brakes echoed outside the barn.

“Ant Man!” yelled Adrian, his deep voice echoing clearly in the crisp, night air. The glowing creature at the edge of the forest flickered once more, and then disappeared entirely.

“What’s up with you?” Shane asked, punching him fondly on the shoulder, and passing him a bottle of something, “You look scared, dude.”

Anton could only shake his head. Perhaps his grandfather’s stories had been true. If the car had not pulled up, he was almost certain he would have followed the woman into the trees. He shivered slightly, but could not find it in himself to feel scared. The old thrill was moving through him, coursing through his veins with a hot intensity. The skogsra had lit a fire in his mind that he was not sure how to put out.