Montgomery Homestead

Walking in the woods was just something I liked to do.

The early morning autumn air was brisk, and the remnants of last night’s fog dribbled off the pine needles before the cold air could trap them in the tree till spring. I walked because I needed to be out. Away. This was likely my last chance before winter sets in and I become trapped in domesticity for months.

Set by step, the air became murkier in appearance, yet cleaner and more refreshing to the nostrils. With each refreshment of cold, dewy air came a slight relief to the stresses weighing on my mind. It has been two months since They decided that my employment was no longer beneficial. With winter approaching, I began to worry.

Lost in thought, I walked roughly a mile into the primordial forest without taking much notice of the scenery. The leaves, the needles, the rocks and the moss speckled the landscape of the forest much as they always did. But, on this day everything was wet, and nearly frozen. A dense, misting rain accomplished this. There was light, but no sun.

My curiosity in the scenery returned as I approached a strange landmark that always gave me pause on my early morning hikes. Amongst the downed trees and moss-covered rocks was a drab old fireplace and chimney, the only remnants of a house long since destroyed. Bolted on the ancient chimney was an odd memorial for a man and wife who met a tragic, and peculiar end. The faded steel plaque was placed on the chimney before the era of colonization. The chimney simply stated:

“Site of Montgomery Homestead, where Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery were executed by the community for their advocation of cannibalism.”

The epitaph always brought up far more questions than answers.

Turning away from the odd memorial and surveying the site in my usual way, I noticed something new.

In the matted down brush roughly 30 feet away was a little black notebook. The notebook was untarnished and lying on its back cover. Wrapped in clean, black leather and unaffected by the dreary surroundings, the book stood like a marble statue in a junkyard.

I was caught off guard. Instead of approaching the book, I stood and stared, unable to fathom how it came to be placed in the middle of the woods, next to a historical monument, at least a mile from the nearest civilization.

An icy breeze touched the back of my neck and my body sprung forward. At first with determination and then with hesitation, I bent down and grabbed the book, successfully rescuing the foreign item from the odd environment.

The cover was wet when I set it in my hand, which wasn’t surprising considering it was sitting on the wet ground. Curious as to the type of person that would lose such an item in such a place, I opened it.

It naturally and effortlessly folded open to the middle of the notebook. At just a glance, my skin crawled at what was inside. Written in red pen, the sentence:

“Take the money. Never speak of this to anyone…Leave. Now.”

My eyes shot up off the page, frantically looking to find if I was not alone. The book was too pristine and couldn’t have been laying there for more than a couple minutes. Someone saw my approach and placed it there. They had to have.

The woods were dark and thick outside of the clearing, but no person was in sight.

Returning my glance again to the pages, I wondered what the cryptic author meant by “take the money.” I flipped through the pages, each was completely void of any money, or any writing or symbols at all. Then I reached the inside back cover.

Stuck to the inside cover was an unsealed envelope, stuffed beyond capacity with $100 bills.

I could not believe my eyes. I froze again and wondered how a thing like this could be possible. From what I could tell with an initial estimate, the envelope was stuffed with at least $20,000. Never once had I seen more cash. Snapping out of my stupor, I hastily began unsticking the envelope and cash from the cover. Little concern was given to the why or who the blessing was from.

Money tends to blind.

The adhesive holding the cash to the cover gave way easily. The immaculate book fell to the damp forest floor as I set to freeing the prize from its white paper prison.

Then I saw it.

The dampness I felt when holding the book.

Blood.

My heart shot down through my stomach. The rush of blood out of my extremities was so severe that my whole body instantly ached and simple breathing escaped me. Paralysis took over as I stood with money tightly gripped in my left hand and watered-down blood running from my right hand down my sleeve as I studied the hand in silent horror.

Unable to move my body, I forced my eyes back to the place where I found the book. How I didn’t see it before, I am unsure. About five feet in front of where the book was, a rusted iron handle faced the sky, as if fastened to something on the ground. The pine needles around the handle looked different. They had been disturbed, hurriedly turned over to hide something.

But the iron handle was unhidden.

The gravity of what I may have stumbled on became increasingly clear by each gut-wrenching second. Without realizing it, the legs that had been failing to move me began to slowly back away from the ominous handle jutting like a grave marker from the forest floor.

What could be there?

Who?

Panic struck again. Whoever left the book was still here somewhere. Watching. They had to be.

I looked again at the blood on my hand. Then remembered the money and looked to it.

This decision should never have been mine to make. I never would have noticed the handle if the notebook hadn’t been nearby.

I stood frozen with the weight of the choice. Frozen, but slowly calming down and thinking more clearly.

I had a choice to make. And I’ve waited too long already.

Without knowing exactly what I was doing, I reached down for the book, picked it up and opened it. With the bloodstained hand, I grabbed a pen from my pocket. On the same page of the original sinister message, I gave my answer.

“Deal.”

And without a second thought, I pocketed the money, placed the book down and turned away, returning home.

The journey was short. The scenery was beautiful.

When I arrived at home, I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. I breathed deep, relishing in the rare and beautiful moment before my family awakes and drags me away from my thoughts back to the humdrum of a simple life. The silence of the morning was golden.

The headline of yesterday’s paper caught my eye from the table as I ruminated.

“Search for Missing Teen Called Off: Police Claim No Signs of Foul Play”

I smiled. The coffee hasn’t tasted this good in months.