Pine Banks

Pine Banks, MA | October 13th | Friday

Hot sweat oozed from every single pore in his red, freckled face. The neck region of his vibrant green, Boston Celtics short-sleeved shirt was saturated in a solid black semi-circle of sticky wetness.

Pumping his arms back and forth as hard as he could, while simultaneously pumping his legs with the same level of effort, his asthmatic lungs quickly began to turn on him.

Unfortunately, he had no choice but to run.

Ellie, his two year old red golden retriever, was off leash for three minutes before taking off after a pair of squirrels deeper into the woods.

Blaine Powers had recently moved to Pine Banks, a small, charming town in western Massachusetts, after losing his big city job due to government budget cuts. He worked as a Boston probation officer, then switched courses and got a job in the state house as a Legislative Administrative Assistant. His long-term plan was to climb up the ladder to the throne of mayor, but with the newly approved Artificial Intelligence Bill, which was approved at the state level by the current governor, Blaine’s job was taken over by AI.

The loss of his job, as well as his income, combined with the depressing number depicting his savings account, and living on his own with no one to help split the lifestyle, was the one-two knockout punch that forced him to move out of his thirty-five hundred dollar a month, one bedroom apartment, and move into his estranged grandfather’s Victorian era mansion in Pine Banks.

It was a transition that sounded better than it actually was. The house was weathered, the landscape was wild and severely overgrown, and it was rumored to be the most haunted house in Franklin county.

Blaine, having years of experience as an inner-city probation officer, had seen enough real world trauma to last multiple lifetimes. In short, he had no room left in his brain to accommodate a belief in ghosts, or hauntings.

Ellie, growing up a city dog, had yet to experience the freedom of running through large woodlands, swimming in ponds, rolling around in shallow mud pools, or chasing small, furry tailed rodents. She was technically still a puppy at two years old, she definitely still acted like one, and Blaine was still working on her recall.

He had years removed from his life due to a near death accident on Comm Ave when the leash snapped, allowing Ellie to freely chase a tumbling leaf into the middle of the bustling road. Luckily for everyone involved, Ellie avoided being hit, but he had a hard time trusting her off leash since then.

Considering their change of scenery, and being far away from any roads, Blaine thought he would try letting Ellie off leash, using her favorite chicken liver treats as a reward for obeying his recall.

Ellie was impressing Blaine with her listening skills, as well as obeying his commands, and Blaine’s treat pouch was nearly empty when the two squirrels scurried across their path, demanding Ellie’s attention.

She paused for a moment, golden tail stiff, and sticking up. Before Blaine could vocalize his command, she took off.

He normally wouldn’t have been so worried about her if it wasn’t for the Pine Banks real estate agent who warned him about the recent surge in coyotes in the county. He had a license to carry, and he did in fact have his grandfather’s old colt army revolver — which he discovered upon moving into the house — but she was too far off, and he was too far behind to even think about drawing it.

Ellie was also a solid eighty-five pounds, and her claws had not been trimmed in four months. She was a pretty formidable adversary for your average lone coyote, but if she encountered a pack of them, especially if they were hungry, her hackles, claws, pounds, and growl would do little to stop them.

So he ran.

As he sprinted through the dense woodland after her, he called out to Ellie, pleading for her to quit her sporadic pursuit. Weaving through thick oak, and maple trees, cutting his upper and lower arms along the way on protruding waterspouts, he was somehow able to keep her white and gold tail just in sight to follow her trail.

As a kid he played soccer, then in high school and college, he was a low-level track and field star. So now, in his early forties, he was still nimble enough to keep up the pace. But it was taking a hefty toll on his lungs.

Huffing, puffing, wheezing and sweating, Blaine finally came to a vast emerald clearing littered with copper, red, yellow and green leaves that liberated themselves from their tree masters at the beckoning of autumn’s chill.

Oak, maple, dogwood, and magnolia trunks whined from the strong breeze, bewitching Blaine from his reality.

To the east, a limestone hollow carved itself a cozy little home in the center of the tree belt. At its entrance, a rippling brook bobbed, weaved, and splashed against the wet stones. To the west was Pine Rock. It was the local geological attraction cleverly named after the town that discovered it. The modest little mountain’s peak rose to just over one-thousand feet, and stretched for two miles across the horizon. It wasn’t the world's most difficult hike, nor was it the easiest. But most of all, it offered the climber — if successful — an incredible vantage point of Pine Banks, and all of the surrounding towns.

He was a city boy. Always was, and always will be. But there was something alluring about Pine Banks. Something in the preserved hues of the old homes. The ominous innocence of the quiet residents who said hello with their eyes rather than words, and the honeysuckle scented dirt of the uncharted back roads. Even the sky was unique here. It bloomed into a blazing blood orange at sunrise, then melted into a rare shade of lilac and sapphire before decompressing into a saffron, grape, and boysenberry veil — paving the way for the starlit blackness of night.

A rustling in the crunchy leaves beside him snapped him back into the moment, and he craned his neck to the left with just enough time to see Ellie's silhouette scurry into the mouth of the limestone hollow — as well as the sound of paws slapping against running water.

Or was it a coyote?

He fondled the clip of his waist holster, then took off in a spry job towards the brook.

To his relief, the goofy beast that was dancing, diving, and swimming in the water was no coyote.

Ellie’s mouth was curved into the largest smile he had ever seen. He knew she loved chasing raindrops, and splashing her paws in city sidewalk puddles, but this brook was no city puddle.

He thought about calling her to join him on dry land, but he could not deny her this happiness; considering how pure it was. Plus, there was no sign of coyotes, which meant there was no threat and the two of them could enjoy the serene oasis in peace.

Confident that Ellie was too distracted by the water, Blaine found a cozy patch of grass beside the brook’s edge, and sat down — stretching his legs out in front of him, and reclining back onto his outstretched arms. He watched as his dog lived her best life, and contemplated stripping down to his underwear and joining Ellie in the fun. He did have a backpack, and there was a towel inside of it, which he strategically brought in case Ellie found any irresistible muddy water.

As he was mulling over the idea of getting wet, and taking into consideration the chilly autumn temperature, he decided to stay dry.

A sudden gargled howl cut through the hollow with a traumatizing frequency. It sounded like an animal, sadly being either killed, eaten, or both, at the same time. It also sounded a bit human, and a bit something else. Something neither human nor animal.

Blaine’s skin, from head to toe, crawled with a trillion ants, and every single hair on his body raised its hands to the sky. Ellie was stationary in the water, tail stern, and pointed upwards, nose low, and hackles raised. Her body language told him all he needed to know.

He recalled her to the bank with ease, which made Blaine more uncomfortable because he could sense that Ellie was on edge, maybe even a bit frightened. That scared him more than the scream.

Clipping the business end of the leash back onto the chest mount of Ellie’s harness, he wrapped the opposite end around his left wrist two times, so he could tightly keep her close. His right hand firmly held his revolver, finger away, yet close to the trigger.

Every fiber in his body told him to exit the hollow the way they came, but his curiosity peaked, and he was formidably armed.

What could possibly go wrong?

He quickly theorized, and evaluated the possible scenarios that could unfold if he investigated the ominous commotion, and came to a final conclusion.

He was a good shot.

If they encountered any serious threats, he would use the gun if he had no other option, and get Ellie and himself home safe. Plus, he would leave the hollow with a pretty exciting tale to tell all of his new Pine Banks friends.

The howl yelped a second time, this time with a lot more moisture in its lungs. Blaine honed in on it and calculated that it was coming from down river.

Venturing deeper into the hollow — following the flowing stream — where the trees grew taller, and the canopies weaved thicker — making it harder for the afternoon sunshine to penetrate — they searched.

The further they hunted, the narrower the brook became. After about five minutes of hiking, the stream flowed out into a shallow pool, indicating its end. The depression of murky water was encircled by browning ferns, goldenrod, buckthorn weed trees being slowly consumed by bittersweet and poison ivy, and three foot tall iris stalks being inappropriately crept on by virginia creeper.

The dank water gurgled in the center, sending tiny bubbles surfing on the surging ripples.

Blaine stepped back, then knotted Ellie’s leash around a skinny, yet solid paper birch. He gave her a handful of treats to aid in calming down her nerves, which seemed to work until the water burped and bubbled a second time — forcing Ellie to bark her disapproval.

Blaine gently stroked the scruff behind Ellie’s ears, sending her an easing message of calmness and security. He then cautiously stepped toward the pool.

The last of the ripples from the second surge were slowly disappearing into the encroaching shadows of the weeds, then the water fell still, and silent. Blaine focused on the black surface, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Was this pool where those sounds were coming from? Was there something beneath the water?

Blaine’s mind raced, and the only way to quit it was to investigate further. He holstered his revolver, although leaving the safety clip open, turned his Red Sox baseball cap backwards, bent down on both knees, propped his upper body with his palms, then leaned his face down as close as he could without making contact with the tip of his nose.

He shifted his eyes, catching shadowy movements beneath the surface, but nothing that made any sense, or resembled anything natural.

The sun was setting fast. Today was the start of autumn's daylight savings, and the hollow was rapidly succumbing to night’s blackening cloak.

Over his shoulder, he heard the rustling of dead leaves, and the low growl of Ellie. Before he could turn his head around, a pair of slimy, deformed hands erupted from the water, latched themselves onto Blaine’s skull - yanking him under.