Eli McMorn and the Strange Case of Kill Devil Hill – Part 15

Wyoming's mysterious Devils Tower.

“Who goes there?” I bellowed, like a sentry on guard duty. “Show yourself!” My ears strained, but I heard nothing over the sounds of the soft wind and patter of rain on the dead leaves at my feet. Part of my mind tried to convince me that the twig snap I’d heard was a natural sound, but I couldn’t shake the loathsome feeling that I wasn’t alone.

Someone was watching me. Someone was following me. I couldn’t see them, but I could sense the feel of their ominous eyes.

I stood, watched and listened for what seemed like a long time. With my trusty Beretta in hand, I stalked slowly towards the other marked oak as the woods darkened beneath the rolling rain clouds overhead. I eventually reached the other tree and wasn’t surprised to see another queer rune carved into its oaken trunk.

This occult arborglyph was different than the one I’d seen earlier. The rune was shaped like an odd stick figure, with an inverted triangle representing its upper body. I holstered my handgun and snapped a picture of the strange carving with my phone. The lack of bars on my phone told me that I still didn’t have cell service.

I then pulled out my magnifying glass and examined the marks of the rune closely. It looked as if it had been carved years ago, but despite its age, I could tell that it had been done with a very sharp knife or hatchet. The cuts were clear, sure and deep.

Suddenly and without warning, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and froze, and it took a few seconds for my quaking mind to make sense of what I was seeing. It was a preternaturally large coyote.

The coyote’s fur was a dirty, peculiar mix of brown and gray. As soon as I turned to look in its direction, it froze like a statue, struck tarn like a deer in the headlights. Its eyes were locked on mine, its canine features expressionless, hard to read.

I dropped my magnifying glass, ripped my Berretta from its holster and the startled creature flinched, unsure what to do next. I made to fire a shot into the air, but it wasn’t necessary. An instant after I had the gun in hand, the coyote bolted away to the northeast. As it disappeared into the underbrush, all that remained of its presence was a kicked-up area in the leaves that you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it.

To my surprise, about 50 yards west of the rune-carved oak, the dense wood line came to an abrupt end. I saw the beginnings of a clear cut and believed that I would be able to see Kill Devil Hill as soon as I stepped out of the woods. I knelt to pick up my magnifying glass and reminded myself to proceed slowly, knowing that I would be fully exposed to view when I moved into the clear cut.

I crept to the edge of the woods and stood behind a large, moldering tree. I peeked around the tree and saw that in the center of the clear cut stood Kill Devil Hill. It looked like Wyoming’s famed, monolithic Devils Tower, only smaller.

To my surprise, I saw movement at the top. Someone dressed in pumpkin orange had just reached the top of the narrow trail to the top. My first thought was that it was a hunter wearing a safety vest, but when I glassed the hill with my binoculars, I was surprised to see something altogether different.

Two hikers were picking their way up the hill. They both had backpacks and hiking poles. I could tell they were women by the shape of their clothes. One had an old canteen on a leather strap that banged against her hip as she climbed the trail. The other was wearing a Claiborne Colonels baseball cap.

I stepped out of the wood line and began to pick my way across the clear cut towards Kill Devil Hill.

(All rights reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.)