The Wild Heart
Chapter One
There's No Peace in the Wild
Flathead National Forest
I used to feel at peace in the forest. It was quiet, unassuming; and the wildlife minded its own business. But better than that, was my father's cabin. It lied deep in the forest, where few people go. We used to go there in the summer. Dad and I would leave our house in small old Martin City, where population count was only 331, and would drive our battered old hot rod down to Coram, and check it into 'Garry's garage', so that we could hike across, 'the Flathead national forest' to our cabin.
Ethan Fletcher was my father's name and we spent many happy summers in the forest, surrounded by nature, before he died.
I am his daughter Hannah Fletcher, and it's been ten years since his murder. It's taken me a decade to muster the courage to go back to the cabin, the place where my father died.
The trees were densely packed, and grew to great heights, with their leaves covering the floor like confetti. Golden columns of light broke through the canopy, revealing huge motes, which reminded me of fairy dust. The occasional rabbit raced past, and the birds sang in the heights. My combats stopped the nettles from stinging my legs, and I wore a white tank top to keep me cool. My back pack was strapped loosely to my back, and I wore my white school shirt around my waist.
Nothing had changed in the forest, it seemed like time had stopped here, and I felt thrown back into the past. My fingers brushed an ancient Larch tree my father and I used to picnic under.
I closed my eyes, as a heaving sense of grief took hold. I was seventeen now. I was seven when it happened. No kid should have to go through what I did, or see what I saw. I was closing in on the cabin now; it was just out of sight. I looked up at the clear sky, through the tree canopy and sighed. At least I chose a good day to come.
Montana was in the middle of a heat wave, which was quite rare with its changeable climate.
Hoping the weather would keep, I continued on, before breaking through the forest into a small clearing, surrounded by trees. In the middle of the glade, the light wooden cabin was shining in the sun. Taking a deep breath I walked towards the small house, wild grass and flowers had taken hold of the little clearing, and scaled the house, it grew as high as my knees at some places.
No one had been here for a long time, probably since my father's murder. As I reached the porch, I half expected to see my father, on the floor, two bloody marks on his throat. The mortician said the marks were made with some sort of vicious syringe, which used some sort of pressurised system to take his blood.
The police had had practically no leads, they had monitored the black market for my father's blood type, but came up short, in a few months the investigation fizzled out, and my father's murder was left unsolved.
After that, I never felt the same; I lived my life in a world of grief and horror, which no one could understand. Everyone tried to comfort me, tried to say how sorry they felt. But no one understood. I didn't want their apologies; they weren't the ones that killed him. I wanted peace, I wanted revenge, but most of all, I wanted him back.
My mother didn't care; she was off in Texas with her new husband, living the good life with money earned by adult films, which my 'step father' produced, and directed.
Only my godfather really cared. Tom had been my father's best man at dad's wedding, so long ago, before my mother and father had split up. After dad died, Tom had taken me in. He tried to be like a father to me, and since my mother didn't want me, and my grandparents were dead, he had the right to look after me, which was lucky, seeing as he was the only one who really cared about me, or my father.
Reaching the solid wooden door, I pushed hard, expecting the hinges to be rusted shut. However, the door swung inward, leaving me sprawled inside the cabin. Looking up, I drew my breath. Apart from a little radio, everything was how it had been on that night. The table was in the same place, it was still set for two, and the old sofa hadn't moved. Hyperventilating, my feet felt like lead, as I walked through the room, over the antique Ivory black rug, and past the red wood dinner table.
I reached the radio, which was perched on top of the nineteenth century wine cabinet my father had bought from a local auction. Moving the radio, I placed it on top of the fireplace, by the old sofa, so that everything was the same. Pushing down the button on the radio, I half expected the same song as on that night to radiate statically from the worn out box. But I was greeted by the sound of rap music. Sighing, I turned off the noise, and stood there, remembering.
Ten years ago
'Hanna,' dad yawned, from the sofa by the fireplace. 'I'm going to the porch for a bit, I'll fall asleep if I sit here any longer.'
Getting up, he looked over to me, a smile on his warm face. It was night outside, and was really cold, so I agreed.
'Sure dad, these noodles have another ten minutes left to cook anyway.'
He nodded, and walked outside, stretching as he went. After a few minutes of stirring the pot, and singing along to the radio, I noticed that the fire was running low.
'Dad, the fire is going out!' I called out.
No answer.
He's fallen asleep. I thought to myself, and threw a log on the fire.
Going back to stirring, I finished off preparing the meal. Glancing outside into the night, I climbed onto the kitchen desktop, so I could reach the top cupboard, taking out a white chocolate biscuit; I got back down, and ate it quickly, before dad came in. After finishing the treat, I felt satisfied. Serves him right for hiding them, I thought.
'Dad diner's ready!' I called out.
No answer. Pretending to be angry with him, I stomped my way over to the door, and looked out. Dad was on the floor, in the strangest way, his arms and legs were spread out in weird directions. Nothing like how he normally slept.
He's trying to trick me, I realised, he is going to try and make me jump.
I put my hand over my mouth to cover my grin.
You aren't going to surprise me now.
Putting my hands on my hips, I adopted an angry posture.
'If you keep pretending to be asleep,' I barked out, 'then the food will get cold.'
He didn't move. He's getting better, I thought to myself,dad normally burst out laughing at this point, with his booming, gravelly voice, and I would pretend to be moody for a little bit longer, before bursting out in laughter too, looks like he is really trying this time.
I stood really still, hand over my mouth; trying to be quiet. After a few moments, I jumped on him, expecting him to be shocked, and start laughing. But he didn't move.
I slipped off of him, and banged my arm against the hard, wooden porch.
'Ouch,' I moaned. 'Dad what do you think you're doing.
Now I was angry.
'Stop pretending to be asleep, it's not funny.'
Moving over to him, I pushed him onto his back. Then I saw his empty, staring eyes, and I felt dread run down my back, like an ice cold bead of sweat, on a hot day.
I saw the bite marks on his neck, and I screamed. I ran, and the forest wasn't peaceful any longer, monsters hid behind every tree. Branches were hands, reaching out to pull, and scratch me.
I swore I saw a teenager standing in the dark, staring at me, hunger, and anger in his eyes. But I didn't stop, for hours I ran, with no real direction. I needed to get away, from the cabin, the corpse, the nightmare. Eventually I had arrived at a house. Tom had opened the door, and I flew into his arms, bloody, dirty, and crazed. He had tried to calm me for hours, and find out what happened.
The police came and went. I didn't change. Mute, dead to the world, lost in the recesses of my mind. It took years of therapy before I spoke. Before I could face what had happened.
Sitting down on the couch, I rubbed my eyes. Ten years. Leaning back in the chair, I thought I could smell him. Dad had always had this smell, of chestnuts, and spice, letting myself fall asleep to the memory of good times, with him at my side.
I must have slept for hours, for when I awoke, it was dark. I stirred, and sat up.
Yawning, I felt content, now that I was here; it was like I could finally leave this behind. This final trip honoured his memory; I could finally leave my grief behind.
I was getting ready to stand, when a foot step echoed from outside. I froze, shadows started to lengthen, and I saw a figure, a black silhouette, the moon's light framing it in the door way. It stood there, not moving. I wanted to scream. Slowly, I leaned back in the sofa, hoping the figure wouldn't notice me.
My nightmare had become a reality, the monster of the night, had come. I felt it walk inside, I felt it move towards the sofa, and I felt it drawing closer.
Then it moved into view again. I stifled a whimper, as it moved to the fireplace, literally steps in front of me. I could see the glint off of a ring, and I could smell the musky scent of leather. Its fingers brushed the radio, and I prepared to run.
'Spero vobis potest invenire pacem.' The silhouette whispered, before disappearing into thin air.
I stared at the empty space in silence for a moment, before running out into the night.