Jonathan

The middle of the night was as good a time as any. It wasn't as if he was going to get much sleep regardless.

As he approached the tree for the second time in as many days, Jonathan was struck by its size compared to the relatively miniature axe in his grip. He carefully rested the blade against the trunk of the tree and frowned. His vision had adjusted to the low light and it was now obvious he had seriously miscalculated. People used saws to cut down trees. Not axes.

He let the blade drop; the head of the axe hit the mossy soil silently.

In the distance a vague rustling gave way to the hoot of an owl. The forest's nightlife was hunting and foraging. Through bunches of leaves and spring growth, the sky was still visible and a shooting star crossed overhead.

Jonathan shrugged out of his flannel and picked up the axe. Sure, without a saw it would take longer. A lot longer. But the thought of Nancy's hand trembling against this tree steeled his resolve and, planting his feet firmly, he swung the axe as hard as he could. The resounding crack echoed through the forest, silencing the rustling creatures in the undergrowth.

Ten more strikes and he'd gotten used to the sound. Fifteen more and his skin glistened with sweat, his hair bunched into wet strips against his neck and forehead. Twenty more and his arms were numb from the shock of each strike.

Jonathan dropped the axe and knelt to rest and admire his progress. His heart dropped when he saw how small the wedge was, not even a quarter of the way through the trunk. His hands were throbbing and the wetness he felt in his palms meant blisters had formed and burst in a matter of minutes. The swollen curve of his thumb brushed over a flap of skin at the base of his middle finger – a ruptured blister. He held his palm upright, squinting in the darkness, examining the damage. Moisture from the forest floor was gradually soaking the knees of his jeans.

A deafening crack pierced the night, echoing forever.

Jonathan froze. It sounded like his axe striking the tree. But the axe was still resting on the ground.

Another crack pealed through the darkness. Then clusters of creaking and snapping poured from the fresh wedge Jonathan's axe had cut from the tree.

The trunk bulged, chips of bark shooting past Jonathan's face. He couldn't move. He was rooted to the ground, knees wet and sinking into the soil. As he stared, disbelieving, the trunk split, torn like a curtain by a pair of colorless hands.

A chillingly familiar sound emanated from the tear – a nickering, like a horse, followed by the slow, deliberate panting of a predator. His pupils dilated, his heart stopped and from the gateway, Jonathan saw the faceless monster emerge again.