Never Hike Alone

They told me this hike would be easy. Thirty miles of the AT, from Bland down to around Atkins. Just take a backpack, a tent, some MREs, and you'll be fine.

I'm not fine. It's day two and I'm not quite lost, but I feel as if I'm just on the verge of. I'm in a valley filled with rhododendron, which is only going to make gathering wood worse. There's a stream nearby, so water isn't an issue, and the trail is clearly marked. I'm too tired to go any further, and I spend about an hour looking for a suitable place to pitch my tent.

It's a small, one person backpacking tent. Very lightweight, not very warm. I used to use it when I was in the Boy Scouts, a lifetime ago. Doesn't need much space, but I'm trying to find a clearing for a fire, too. Preferably near the stream.

Rhododendron is like a labyrinth, but I finally find a good spot. With this leaf cover, I shouldn't need my rain fly either. Smoke may be toxic, but rhododendron is a fantastic natural shelter. Unfortunately, I can't find enough good firewood. Cold, canned ravioli it is.

It's a beautiful valley, though, despite my current misery. Early spring in Appalachia isn't something anyone should miss. Especially in the deep wilderness. As little light pollution as I can hope to get in Virginia, and almost no noise aside from the local wildlife. If you like being alone in nature, I can't recommend it enough.

But it's getting dark now, and I have to get some sleep if I want any chance of making it back to Atkins tomorrow. I have food for maybe two more days if I stretch it out, but I'd rather not. Need the energy.

So I set up my tent and crawl inside, and go to sleep. It takes a while for me, but the ambient noise helps a lot. Like ASMR, I guess.

Eventually I drift off, deep and dreamless...

And wake up. Don't know how long I've been out, but my mouth is painfully dry and something feels off. I fumble for my water bottle, but it's almost empty. I have to refill it. I really don't want to. I find my filter and my flashlight and zip open the tent, step outside. It's a clear night, no moon. I remember the way to the stream. I definitely remember.

Oh thank God, I was right. I sit on the bank for a few minutes, drinking filtered water and looking up at the stars. They're cold and distant. I wish the moon were out. I always found it comforting.

On my way back to my campsite I figure out what feels off. There's no sound. No wind in the trees, that's normal enough, but no birds, no bugs, no raccoons scrambling around in the dark... it's eerie. I guess it could mean there's a predator around. Which... Ah, crap, I forgot to hang the bear bag. One more thing to do before I can go back to bed.

I'll admit, I'm a little lazy with my placement of a bear bag. Definitely not the recommended distance from my tent. But close. Very close. It's fine. Probably. It's definitely high enough, at least.

I crawl back into my tent and into my sleeping bag, but sleep doesn't come easy now. It's too quiet, the silence is ringing in my ears like tinnitus. The only noise is my own rustling as I try to get comfortable. No luck. It's getting cold. Unseasonably so, even for April.

Something scrapes at my tent flap, and I freeze. I can only sort of see without my flashlight, and I don't want to turn it on. Something is making an impression on the tent, it looks a little like knuckles. I hear a ragged breath. Can't see anything through the screen window. I hold my breath.

A low moan from outside, and few more scrapes. Is it a hiker? Do they need help? I should check. I should. I really shouldn't. What if it's a bear? Mountain lions are rare in these parts, but not unheard of. Even a bobcat or a coyote could seriously fuck me up out here.

"Come... out." Jesus Christ!

"Come out..." the raspy voice repeats. Not an animal. Not an animal. I don't know whether to be relieved or not. I won't have to fight a bobcat, but stories flash through my mind, feral people of the mountains, kidnapping people in the dead of night. Serial killers who vanish into the national forests, never to be caught. Folklore from the old storytellers, bedtime stories to keep children behaved...

More scraping against my tent wall.

"Come... out." it says again.

"No... No, I dont want to." I manage to say, my voice nowhere near as strong as I would like.

Want to, want to, want to.

A chorus of whispers under my words. What's happening?

"Join."

Join. Join. Join.

What?

"Join?" I ask.

No response. And then, the sound of my tent door opening. Slowly, I can see the glint of the zipper moving.

"Stop!" I shout.

Stop! Stop! Stop!

It doesn't stop, and as the opening grows wider I see a faint golden glow outside. A silhouette, I can barely make out. I think I see antlers, and a hunched back. A fucking deer?!

Delirious, I try to grab the zipper and force it shut, but something strikes me back. I'm dazed, but I can still see a little.

The tent flap is fully open now, the golden glow from outside suffusing the inside with light. It's not a deer. It looks a little like one. It's not a deer.

A deer's head speaks, "Join," and a chorus echoes. I think I see other shapes behind it. Vague suggestions of human form; I think they're struggling. Or celebrating.

Join.

It tears the tent wide open and kneels beside my head. An all-too-human hand caresses my face.

"Join."

The golden glow overtakes everything. I want to scream, and cry, and run away. I want to join the golden congregation.

I feel like I'm losing blood. Like I'm fading away, dissolving at the edges. My vision is now completely golden, all I hear is echoes, and I feel the hand on my face begin to fade.

Join.