Young Writers Society

“Sorry to interrupt,” Finnley said awkwardly, and Monica pulled away from his mother as if they hadn't just been discussing things related to her death.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Finnley’s mom asked impatiently, standing up from her chair and crossing the room to him. “Mia’s out there in the forest. Let's go. Finnley, do you have your supplies?”

He handed his backpack over to his mom, who checked over it and approved. She grabbed her own messenger bag from a hook on the wall and stuffed some food into it, along with her cell phone and another bottle of water.

She scribbled out a note and stuck it to the outer door, which she then strode out of. That fast, she was ready.

“What was the note all about?” Finnley questioned.

“Telling the police where we’re going if they need to get ahold of us. Or if we're in trouble.” Finnley hadn't thought of that before. Monica smiled in approval.

The forest was right at the end of the street, and there were no roads into it, so they went on foot rather than by car.

“Where do we even start?” Mrs. Bale asked, looking towards the vast expanse of forest.

“The other day, Mia showed me these hoof prints. I've no idea if they'll still be there, but maybe…” Finnley trailed off, trying to remember where exactly she had shown him the marks. They had been coming back from Mr. Vaughn’s — “Here. They should be here.”

Sure enough, there were the hoof prints. It had been weeks since Mia had shown the prints to Finnley, and though Finnley didn't know much about tracking, he guessed that these were fresh ones. And beside then were smaller prints, a little shallower, made with shoes with soles meant for hiking. Mia.

“It has to be this way,” Finnley said, and the three of them plunged into the forest. The shift in atmosphere was immediate and noticeable; although it was full daylight outside, and the sunlight sifted through the trees to illuminate the forest floor, it didn't feel like day time. Finnley was reminded suddenly of when he's first gone into the forest, at night.

“I'll go in the lead,” Monica offered. “It's easier for me to see the prints. They've got some sort of spirit echo that I can see.” Though there was no undergrowth in the pine forest, the tracks could be far apart or completely invisible depending on the soil.

Their conversation was minimal, which only added to the odd feeling in the air. Finnley could see birds flitting from tree to tree, just out of the corner of his eye, but they made no calls.

The three of them quickly lost track of time, and eventually Mrs. Bale called them to a halt. “Everyone should eat something and get a good drink,” she said, making sure Finnley had gotten some water before she did. Monica only shrugged apologetically.

Finnley glanced at his watch. They'd been walking for an hour already — maybe two, maybe three miles. “How far do you think she got?”

“I get the sense that she wouldn't stop until those hoofprints did,” Monica remarked.

“We've been going steadily uphill this entire time,” Finnley’s mom said, peering through the trees. The ground was sloping upwards to the west, the direction they'd been going. “We're getting into the foothills; I just hope Mia wasn't aiming for the mountains.”

“I don't think so,” Finnley replied. He glanced down at his water bottle. “Let's keep going. We will need to turn around when we get halfway through our water supply, but hopefully it won't come to that.” He held out a hand to his mother, who eased herself off the log shed settled onto.

They walked a little faster now; something about the forest was distinctly uninviting, and they wanted to find Mia and get out of there. The soft sound of Finnley’s boots on the pine needle covered soil sounded like thunder in his ears. He ended up using his walking stick to help pull him along despite his thinking to use it as a weapon.

“Wait.” With a single word, his mother stopped him dead. There was something in her voice… “Smell that?” She was inhaling sharply.

Finnley took a deep breath. There was the scent of pine, but just beyond that was a different smell, one which sent a spike of fear into his heart. Smoke. He could've sworn his heart hiccoughed. Mia hard drawn a fiery horse, a burning horse. He'd seen the hoofprints, but hoped that the rest of what she'd drawn was simply her nightmare. What if it wasn't?

“Let's go,” Finnley urged, afraid more of what would happen to Mia if they didn't continue onward than what would happen to themselves if they did.

“Stay close,” Mrs. Bale responded, her voice low and threatening. Protective, Finnley realized. She's protecting us. Protecting me. From something she doesn't even know.

They moved forward as a single unit, Finnley now holding out his walking stick as if it were a spear. The hoof prints were deeper here, and there were more of them, as if this place were a constant point of departure and arrival.

Then the hoofprints just stopped — but with good reason. The loose soil have way to a sheer rock shelf. The trees here were blackened, burned.

“That's one heck of an isolated forest fire,” Monica muttered. The charred remains of the pines formed some sort of forest graveyard, and Finnley shivered despite the warmth. Warmth. He was warm. And it was coming from—

“There's a fire over there,” Mrs. Bale whispered, her eyes wide and her face pale, but lips set in a determined line.

“Mom,” Finnley whispered. “It's not… This isn't a normal fire. There's something strange going on here. It could be a monster.”

Mrs. Bale raised an eyebrow and her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “You write spells and slay a demon and tell me this isn't going to be normal? Give me some more credit here, Finn.” The smile slipped off her face, though. “Let's go get our girl.”

At that moment, a shrill whinny rang out across the forest. As they turned towards it, a weak shout rose up in answer. “Come here and fight me, you coward!”