Geoslasher

“Be careful,” Arlo said as Romy slipped on an exposed tree root.

“You don’t think I know that?” she snapped, irritation sharp in her voice.

“You definitely could’ve worn better shoes for this excursion,” Arlo muttered.

Romy looked down at her running shoes, lightweight cargo pants, and long-sleeve sun shirt.

“You said woods,” she retorted, rubbing her thumbs anxiously through the shirt’s thumbholes. “Every time we’ve done this it’s been thin trees and clear trails. This isn’t the woods. It’s a thick ass forest.”

She waved a frustrated hand at the towering trees and dense grey fog surrounding them.

“Yeah, well,” Arlo shrugged. “We both said we wanted to try a different type of location.”

“Let’s just find the cache and get out of here,” Romy said. “How much farther?”

“Probably not much. We’ve followed the directions back at the coordinates exactly. Just need to find the yawning tree.”

They continued forward, stepping over gnarled roots and trying not to slip on damp leaves and slick ferns.

Romy scrunched her face at the thickening fog and eerie silence.

“I don’t like this,” she murmured.

“It’s more than likely just ahead.”

Not long after he spoke, they spotted a tree with a curved, gaping opening facing them.

“I think this is it,” Arlo jogged up, knelt, and pulled a latched box out from the shadows inside the trunk.

The snap of the latches echoed harshly through the forest.

Romy approached and looked down into the open container.

“What the fuck is that?” She took a step back.

Inside was a large assortment of human teeth and small bones.

“Are those finger bones?” Romy whispered, horrified.

“It’s probably just a prank,” Arlo said. “Chicken bones or something.”

“I don’t care,” Romy rubbed her arms as if chilled. “It’s sick. Report it on the app.”

“There’s no signal here.”

“So do it when there is a signal.”

Arlo closed the box but didn’t respond.

“What?” Romy demanded. “What?!”

“I didn’t get the coordinates off the app.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got them from a forum. It doesn’t matter.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘it doesn’t matter’?” Romy clenched her fists, shaking with anger.

“Let’s just get back to the car,” Arlo said. “We can argue about it later.”

He shoved the box back into the tree and walked past Romy in the direction they had come.

Romy looked around nervously, then followed.

They walked in silence, the plodding of their steps the only sound.

A sharp snap from somewhere in the trees made Romy freeze.

“Arlo,” she hissed.

“What?” He turned, several yards ahead.

“I heard something.”

“Of course you did. It’s the forest.”

“No. Just shut up and listen.”

Another snap. Then a guttural, animalistic caterwaul.

“I told you,” Arlo said. “It’s just some animal.”

Behind him, a figure seemed to rise out of the earth itself.

The hulking shape wore a dark green rain poncho over dark, nondescript clothing, black hiking boots, black gloves, and a featureless full-head wicker mask with four small horns protruding from the top.

Romy screamed.

Before Arlo could turn, a leather strap whipped around his neck, twisting tight and choking him. His hands clawed uselessly at the attacker’s arms.

Holding the strap with one hand, the masked man pulled an awl from beneath the poncho and drove it into Arlo’s temple.

Arlo’s legs kicked wildly, scraping trenches in the leaves, then fell still.

Romy ran.

Her panicked breaths were faster than her feet.

Deeper into the forest.

Past the yawning tree.

Further and farther until she slipped on a root and plunged forward.

She hit another root, teeth-first, a shockwave of pain exploding through her mouth.

Blood and shattered enamel sprayed across the ground.

With the last of her strength, she tried to crawl. She glanced back through her fading vision.

The figure approached almost gracefully, stepping over roots with practiced ease.

The pain in Romy’s mouth throbbed in time with each of the shape’s slow, deliberate steps.

A hard grip clamped onto her shoulder and rolled her over.

He held her jaw. A deep sigh reverberated inside the mask.

“Probably lost all the best ones,” he said, voice low and disappointed. “At least those pretty little fingers are still intact.”

He lifted her hand, inspecting her fingers with a slight tilt of his head. Holding her pinky, he pulled a pair of clippers from beneath the poncho and positioned them around the small digit.

Romy blacked out before she could finish screaming.