Genius Loci
Christmas Eve, 2004.
Some places are special. Some places are meant to be seen in the light of sunrise, with a lover. Some are meant for solitude. Some are meant for thermal underwear.
And some have random tree-witches that pretty near break your skull open.
Some first that was, Dean reflected hazily, as he lay on the unyielding ground and the stars span above him. Never actually met a witch who disguised herself as a tree before. How she'd done it was a question for later, when he could a) ask sensible questions and b) stand up. The embarrassment of this situation - clothes lined by a chick - was the least of his problems. He would have to find her all over again…making sure to bring a fricking chainsaw or something. And some warmer clothes. This ground was kinda…chilly.
Man. Freaking December. Freaking witch for that matter. What kind of self-respecting person wants to be running around out here in these temperatures with precisely no clothes on?
"Stupid evil tree-shaped hot chick," Dean muttered. Ow, he thought.
He tried sitting up.
"Ow," he groaned. Stopped moving. Deep breaths, he thought, and never mind the headache, the nausea, the - yes, the bleeding head wound. Take a couple of minutes and get right. Then get her.
She had been very hot, though. Before she turned into a tree. Can a tree be hot? Dean wondered. Can a tree be female?
You have a concussion, someone told him.
"Concussion, con-schmussion," Dean told the air in general. Snow settled on his eyelashes.
You're going to pass out.
"No." Dean squinted at the tracks the witch had left, obscured as they were by night and forest and new snow. He was not going to pass out. He was going to stand up, follow her trail, prevent her from luring anymore guys into the darker parts of this forest. Cops had no idea what they were dealing with, of course, and had danced around ideas from just plain lost to unexpected bear to ill-advised ice climbing and risky driving; all the while not saying what they thought. Tourism was the only thing keeping this town alive now, and any rumour of what they actually thought was happening…
Distantly, he was aware that a siren was approaching. Possibly an ambulance. More likely the cops. If he was lucky, they weren't coming here.
Yeah. Luck didn't really seem to follow him around. More likely they were.
Time to try the standing up part. He fumbled a hand onto the nearest available object and levered himself slowly upwards. Once unsteadily on his feet, he let go of the helpful item. Got a branch in the face.
Back on the frozen ground, new bruise on the back of his head and a fresh scrape on his face, Dean clamped his lips together. The sirens seemed louder. This was ridiculous. The snow fell harder. His head pounded. Blood on his hand when he checked the back of his skull. How long had she been gone? The complete whiteness of the snow was disorienting.
He stood up gingerly for a second time, with no assistance from tree branches. He glared at the traitorous branch from the first attempt.
"Stupid probably evil tree," he said darkly.
He looked at the tree.
"And now I'm talking to trees. Just terrific."
The snow fell harder still. His head pounded more loudly.
He had the sudden and unpleasant feeling that the tree was listening.
It is.
"Oh, come on!"
The tree looked at him.
Dean shivered. Not from the cold.
"Sorry, uh, tree." He coughed.
Abruptly, the snow stopped. The sirens seemed further away. And just then, in the space between two trees, not more than three feet away from where Dean stood, there appeared a small red fox. It sat down on its haunches, yellow-green eyes fixed on Dean's.
"Hi, fox," Dean said, without knowing why.
The fox returned his gaze.
Feed her.
Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, Dean produced some jerky. He made sure the wrapper was all the way off, tore off a piece and dropped it lightly to the ground in front of the fox.
She sniffed the meat carefully before picking it up, eyes on him the whole time.
Dean dipped his head fractionally and found a surer footing. He checked the forest floor. Somehow, the woman's tracks were still visible.
He felt his mouth drop open.
He dropped the rest of the jerky on the snow.
"Uh. Thanks."
The fox crept forwards to take the meat - Dean was half-sure he saw her eyes flicker in the direction of the woman's trail - and then she was gone, as quickly as she came. The sirens were gone too.
Dean backed cautiously away from the place where the fox had been.
Find the witch.
"Sure," Dean said, no longer at all sure what was going on.
Find the witch.
Five minutes later, after an unexpectedly soft walk, he did. She was crouched over a sluggishly flowing stream, oblivious to his approach, though he knew he was breathing hard. She didn't turn round. He couldn't see a guy with her. He figured this was good news.
For a moment, he imagined she looked like a cat, not a tree or a woman at all, then something hunched with a tail, and then all of these things at once. He shook his head clear.
Pull her tail.
Yeah, okay, Dean thought. He took hold of the sinuous tail and yanked the woman-thing backwards sharply. She screeched like a cat might. Wasn't there. The snow swallowed the sound as quickly as it had come.
That was simple, Dean thought muzzily, looking around at the clearing he found himself in. Familiar. Was this where I came in? he wondered.
He sat down in the cool crisp snow, surprised at his legs for doing it. Tired.
Stay awake.
Yes, Dean tried to say. Didn't quite manage to form the words. Cold lips for some reason.
Thank you.
Dean waved this away with the flick of a hand. Not a problem, he said. My pleasure. Freaky witch with no clothes. He smiled. Totally worth it, he said, anytime. Hope you liked the jerky, he said. Tried to say. Found himself looking at the sky for the third time that night.
Can you hear me?
Well, yeah, Dean thought.
Sir? Can you hear me?
Sir? That was a first. Never been called Sir by the spirit of a forest before. Never had one shine a light in his eyes like this either.
"Sir? Can you hear me? Have you banged your head?"
What a strangely medical question. Dean made an effort of will and focused on what was in front of him.
Oh. That explained the medical type questions.
The paramedic attempted to push Dean back to the snow when he sat up, but supported him carefully when he wouldn't be pushed. Dean looked at her, at the ambulance behind, at the second paramedic making his way down the icy slope from the road to the clearing where he sat. Dean looked at the paramedic holding his shoulders. She had honest green eyes and red hair.
He smiled, feeling his face move the way it was supposed to.
Yeah, this was about where he came in.
The paramedic winked at him.
Some places are special, sure enough.