Soul Trade

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. And it continued to burn as it lit the dried out tinder box that the cabin had become. The curtains sizzled in a second, and the pest-ridden furniture met the same fate as flames licked up the walls and melted the windows that it touched. Smoke blackened the ones the fire’s outstretched hand had reached for, but was stopped in its path by the spray of water that emitted from the fire engine’s hose.

“This is the third cabin up here this week.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking arson now.”

I overheard the engineers chat as they proceeded with the clean-up. The fire had been contained quickly, and most of the cabin remained standing, however unstable now. One close tree had burned up pretty good, and a couple others were scorched but would live.

The incident commanders were gathered together with a couple of park rangers at the tailgate of a battalion chief’s truck, no doubt discussing the same prediction. They marked up a map of the park, occasionally nodded their heads, and even threw in a few shrugs here and there.

I leaned against the side of one of the breathing support trucks, its flood lights illuminating the forest and making the trees look about twenty feet taller. I had been staring absentmindedly at the smoking structure, but my gaze was caught by a colony of big-eared bats that flew frantically over the tree canopy. Far from unusual in summertime at the park, but something about seeing animals flee in the opposite direction as myself has always made my skin crawl just a bit. They were gone in a flash, and the nearly full moon was uncovered again.

We had spent the day in the park training for rescue operations with various fire crews from the valley and the hills. As a flight medic, my schedules swung from completely lifeless to unending pandemonium like clockwork. Summer was here, and the chaos was afoot. The park itself was about two hours away from the nearest town, and over three hours from the “big city”. It’s hard to call a city of 140,000 big, especially when living in California. My partner Briggs and I had ridden up with a crew from Station 14 down in Three Rivers, and we made the bumpy, overly long drive to the training grounds in just under three hours. This type of cooperation between fire crews and flight medics was becoming the norm after the Paradise Fire. All of the little towns that dotted up the mountainside and around the park we trained in were as precariously placed as that one had been before it went up. Preparing for a wildland disaster was just that; preparation. There was no guarantee things would be as smooth as the training when it came down to it.

It was just luck that we happened to be coming back from the ridge towards our campground shortly after the blaze started. Briggs and I stayed out of the way as the crew did their job. Clean-up would be done soon, and then we could go get settled in for the night.

“Silva, how you liking the woods, girl?” Briggs walked over with two bottles of lukewarm water and a smile.

I rolled my eyes and took one from him and snapped the plastic cap off. “Okay, Mike Newton.”

Briggs thought he was hilarious quoting Twilight at every chance.

The forest at night gave me a feeling of unease. I’m a valley girl in every way, desert if you want to be real specific. I like being able to see for miles in all directions. It’s bad enough in the day; in the darkness, you can feel more than just the eyes. There’s the breath, the kind that tickles the back of your neck and reaches for your hands and legs – the kind that happens on nights still as stock. It’s no breeze. The forest itself exhales while daytime animals slumber, and even the night creatures go silent so as not to be targeted next by it.

They say there are souls in the trees. And where, pray tell, are those souls coming from?

I don’t think the trees are the villains in that. Whoever, whatever, is gathering souls merely uses the trees the same way a squirrel does. For storage. As a host.

I startle as someone lets out a scream, and Briggs sprints off towards the fire crew. I see a guy kick his right leg wildly and a long snake fly off into the dirt. He stumbles back as a fellow firefighter and Briggs catches him.

After I grab the first aid bag, I trot over and five different people have their flashlights shining on this guy’s leg.

“Did it get you? You sure?” Someone asks.

The guy is panting as the shock fully sets in, and someone rips off his boot and pulls down his sock.

“S-sorry, fuck, I’m fucking terrified of snakes. Sorry, guys.”

“Hey, no problem.” Briggs says cheerily as he further inspects the guy’s pale foot. “Looks good to me.”

“Yeah, it got his boot real good.” The fireman who yanked it off shined his light on it as everyone else took a look.

Sure enough, two slight punctures just on the outsole. Still, they’re packed leather boots and it must’ve been a rattler.

They take the guy over to one of the trucks to drink some water and calm down.

Briggs lets out a low whistle and puts his hands on his hips.

“Firefighter scared of snakes. But, I guess you’re a flight medic scared of the wilderness, so it works somehow.”

“I’m not scared of the wilderness. There’s no such thing anyway.”

“Huh?” Briggs laughs. “We’re right in the middle of it.”

“Ask a Mono or a Miwok or even a Yokut if they think any part of this park is wilderness.”

“Well you’re not any of those, so you probably couldn’t just make yourself right at home here, could you?”

“Hell no.” I sweep my flashlight around some more as I keep an eye out for the snake that’s probably long gone. “Desert, beach all the way. Throw me in the lowlands.”

“What’s your tribe again?”

“Cahuilla.”

“Like Lake Kaweah?”

“Sounds similar, but no, C-a-h-u-i-l-l-a. San Bernardino area, sort of.”

The fire hoses shut off, and a few crew members poke around the perimeter of the burn to be sure there are no leftover embers. The now spongy pine needle blanket and mud squelches beneath their boots. There’s a shift in the trees, and it takes a full moment for me to register that it’s just a breeze. It’s welcome, really, the way that the pines hold in the heat of the day.

Briggs and I walk around nearby, flashlights on and not too far from the breathing apparatus.

“So, are you supposed to be scared of the forest? Too many spooky stories?”

I shrug. “A couple, but, it’s mostly just because I don’t really know about what’s up here. I’ve got a medicine pouch in my bag back there, so I should be good. Still creeps me out though.”

I carry tobacco in a small velvet bag out of habit, and have used it many times, including around Briggs on calls. But it was for basic stuff – coming across dead animals, for people who had passed on, things like that. I’d never used it to protect myself from something truly evil.

“I’ve got some scary stories about the woods. My grandma was Bavarian and she basically said her people invented forest horror. What else are you going to come up with when your only inspiration is six months in a row of winter? Anyways, I sort of remember one she told us about fae or something and how they would trick humans into touching them so they could trade places. The fae would go off and assume the human's life, while the human just became a wandering shell lost in the forest. The fae would hold out a hand, and people being people, the human would take it, thinking they were being friendly or helpful. And then... Poof. They simply never existed. No one remembered them, that's how sinister the swap was. Scared me as a kid, for sure."

“So was your grandma trying to keep you out of the woods?”

“That or some twisted version of stranger danger.” He chuckled. “Kinda messed up, but hey, that was effective.”

Half an hour later, everything was packed up, and we loaded back into the rig to head down to the mock staging area.

Briggs and I were the only flight medics that had opted to travel with a fire crew, and so we knew we would have to end up staying longer by camping overnight. I didn’t mind that, especially when our company was willing to shell out overtime for us to get the experience.

The canyon campground isn’t far down – practically just a single hill – and we get there in about ten minutes, even going at the snail’s pace that the engine requires on uneven roads.

Around the campfire, I listen to people talk about nothing and tease the guy whose boot got bitten by the snake.

Eventually, everyone shuffles off to their own tents. I’ve got my own, and I decide to read my book for a while to relax.

Twenty pages later, I’m yawning every other sentence, and decide to shut off my lantern and get some sleep.

Snap.

My eyes fly open, and my heart flutters in my chest as I lay utterly frozen.

Moments tick by, and no more sounds other than a soft breeze come.

I realize it must have been one of those things where my mind translated a normal noise as something much bigger than –

Snap.

I bolt up, and the band holding my braid hits the center of my spine. I quickly brush it away as it feels too much like a huge bug trying to crawl up my shirt.

I force myself to breathe and flex my hands to keep the fainting feeling at bay.

The breeze rustles the fabric of my tent again, and then I hear it; crying. It sounds like a girl or a young woman.

Half of me is screaming to stay right where I am, but the other half – the one that spent three years to get to where I am now as a medical professional – is tugging me out of the tent. Someone is hurt out there, and it doesn’t matter how spooked I am of any spirits, real or imagined.

I turn on my lantern and pull on my boots and a jacket. I grab the first aid bag and the lantern and unzip the tent flap.

There’s a nip to the night air, and I reorient myself as I glance around the campsite. The crying had stopped, and I wonder if it was just someone in their tent having a nightmare or something.

Thump.

I turn towards the grove of trees to my left and hold up my lantern.

Come on, Shavonne, it’s a branch hitting another tree. Get it together.

But my feet are stuck until the cries return. Then I suck in a breath and head off to the grove.

“Hello?” I call out, not too loudly.

I can still sort of see the campground. There’s a few solar lights staked around the perimeter, but they’re pretty dim.

I’m getting much closer to the crying noise but still don’t see anyone. The most rational part of my brain reminds me that this is a terrified person who is hiding. I might have to coax them from wherever they’ve wedged themselves into. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hey, help me find you.” I speak again, hoping the waver in my voice doesn’t make me sound too unassuring.

The crying cuts off entirely.

I am suddenly very cold. There’s movement in the manzanita shrubs between the trees, and a blonde woman in torn jeans and a flannel darts out right towards me.

I leap back, and she pitches forward, as though she expected me to catch her. She tumbles onto the ground and starts sobbing again.

“Help, help.” She croaks out.

I get my bearings back and set the lantern on the ground as I grab her arms and she stumbles up, her sobs beginning to grow.

She’s a complete mess, leaves in her tangled hair, mud smeared on her face, and a little trickle of blood running down from her left ear. I want to examine her, but she’s growing even more frantic as she grabs at my jacket.

“Help.” She rasps again, tears streaming down her face.

“What happened? I’m trying to –”

She glances over her shoulder and then screams as she collides with me. I clamber to keep us both up.

“No, no, no!” Her voice is strangled as she slides down and her knees buckle. “Get away!”

My vision is growing fuzzy as my body is flooded with fear, and it takes a moment to see what she does. The lantern light is too low to help.

There, just ahead of a thicket, a shaggy deer stands. It is staring directly at us, not moving at all. It’s huge, with antlers that stretch up far higher than any elk I’ve seen, and that unusual dark coat. I see it open its mouth once, and then again, far too wide.

Just as my brain registers something is wrong, there is a sequence of clicks as the front half of the deer lifts up. It stands on hind legs that bend incorrectly. It staggers forward, and grunts, picking up speed as it practically stumbles towards us, jaw opening wider and wider like a snake, mouth full of fangs.

We’re both screaming now, grasping onto each other, completely paralyzed in place. I don’t know when I did it, but I’m gripping her hand as she holds onto me.

I’m sobbing, my brain completely undone and my hair obscuring my vision. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope it devours us fast.

But then the mismatched tromping of hooves stops, and the trees around us sway and ripple like water for a moment. Suddenly, everything is still and quiet again, and my eyes snap open.

I am completely alone. Not even my lantern is still there.

I lurch onto my feet and run back towards the camp, not a second thought. The dim solar lights come into view, and I want to cry and throw up. But I can’t until I’m back. Not yet. Still not safe. I run and run, and realize I have been running for solid minutes, and the camp gets no closer.

But I can still see the camp, and I can make out the figures of several people emerging from their tents. Their own lantern lights help me see better, and I notice Briggs by his frame and light brown hair. When he steps to the side, there is the young woman with blonde hair. But it’s neat now, her face completely clear, and in medic scrubs. My scrubs that I wear to sleep. My –

I look down and grasp wildly at my clothes, and raise shaky hands to see arms covered in a flannel shirt, caked in mud on the forearms.

I stammer, but like a dream, the scream that bubbles up my throat catches and stays inside. No more than a frenetic hiss comes from my mouth.

The blonde woman is shaking her head and laughing and pushes Briggs lightly on the shoulder like he had told her a joke.

I rub my eyes with my hands until I am seeing stars, but when those clear away, nothing has changed. The trees begin to sway and morph again, and I won’t turn to look at it. But I know it’s there, towering over me like any one of the pines.

“Please.” I whisper. “Please let me go.”

But the forest exhales against my neck, and I am pushed forward into the trees, forward and up, until I am encased in the bark.

The breeze stills.