I’ve decided to split “The Old Man of the Mountain” into multiple parts. There are two reasons for this: First I want it to be here in more easily digestible chunks so that people aren’t forced to read it all at once. I feel like I should have divided “Check” this way, because at over 3500 words it’s a bit to take in all at once.
The second reason is that this story isn’t finished. As I have it plotted out now this story is likely to come in at around 8000 words, or around 3 or 4 installments on the blog. Since I did write today, and I have repeatedly said I would post every day, I’m going to post what I have done, and then follow it up tomorrow and Sunday (and however many other days it takes) until the story is complete.
If you’re willing to take this story in in chunks, read on. If not, you can wait for a few days until the story is finished and read it all at once. Thanks for your time.
Since i haven’t made it clear until now:
Comments and criticism are welcomed on anything I post here. This blog is in part an effort to make me a better writer, and I can’t do that without input. Also, if you enjoy this or anything else I’ve posted please feel free to share with others. This blog is public and open to all to read.
One more side note: This story is not proof-read. I plan to do so once the story is finished in it’s entirety.
The Old Man of the Mountain
John sprang up from behind the log, leveling his pistol at Tyler. He thrust if forward, shouting “Bang!” at the top of his lungs.
“Got you!” he crowed. “You’re one dead bandit!”
Tyler solemnly shook hid head. “Did not,” he said. “You missed. Got to reload now!”
As he said it he dove forward, touching the blunt wooden “blade” (really a stick) of his play-sword against his friend’s chest.
“Now YOU’RE the dead one!”
John’s face colored, and his face bunched up in childish rage
“Cheater!” he accused, poking the stick that was currently doing service as a pistol back at his friend. “I shot you, and you know it!”
“Did not!” Tyler shouted, matching John’s own anger with his own. “You missed and I stabbed you! I won!”
The two had finished what chored their parents had assigned them earlier in the day. Both had orders to come home as soon as their relative livestock were tended to, but both ignored the instruction. They had slipped off into their favorite spot in the forest instead to play a game of Bandit and Sheriff.
“You cheated and I’m not playing anymore!” John exclaimed, angrily tossing the stick to the ground.
“I did not cheat!” replied Tyler, all but screaming. “I...”
Both boys heard a stick snap underneath some one’s foot somewhere in the trees. Both clamped their mouths shut. It could be bullies, come to torment them, It could be an animal, which could be dangerous. Worse yet, it could be their parents, come to deliver them more work.
Both boys hid behind the log, poking their heads up just over it to peer off into the woods. A short time later there was the chemical stink of turpentine. A bit after that a man wearing tattered clothed of simple sack cloth wandered though the clearing without taking notice of them.
The man’s skin was a mottled grey and splotchy. Patches of obvious fungus grew on him. He was completely bald, his smooth head glistening in what little light there was to be had this deep into the forest. It was the Old Man of the Mountain.
No one was sure where the Old Man of the Mountain had come from, or even if he had a name.. For as long as our village had been there he had been there. Some said that he was one of the original colonists. Some said that there were a whole race of others like him living deep in the forest where even the most intrepid trappers wouldn’t go. Some said he was really a demon cast out of both heaven and hell, condemned to stay on earth forever.
His background was an absolute mystery. Some wondered at him. Some feared him. Nearly everyone stayed away from him. John and Tyler were told not to even go near him. No one interfered with him. Not more than once, anyhow. It was difficult to justify trifling with a man made of living stone.
A few did try things, of course. Rumors persisted of a fabulous treasure that the Old Man had at his encampment in the hills. From time to time some foolhardy bully or adventurer would hare off into the woods. Few were ever seen again. Those that were invariably left the village without comment as soon as their injuries healed.
Despite this, the Old Man wasn’t much of a menace. He would come to town about once a month, bearing an over-sized back he carried goods to market with. No one knew the plants and herbs of the woods like the Old Man, and more than one family had been saved by the poultices and medicines he traded to the general store in return for some implement or another he needed. What he used them for was anyone’s guess.
After he passed out of sight, Tyler slid to the ground, sitting with his back against the log.
“The Old Man!” he said. “That was the Old Man!”
‘Yeah,” said John. “We should go home.”
Tyler looked into his friend’s face. “Why?” he asked.
“We’re going to get into trouble,” said John. “We should get out of here before our parents find out. We’re not even supposed to be in sight of him.”
Tyler’s confused expression turned into one of disbelief.
“Are you kidding?” he asked, “He’s not dangerous. He’s just some weird old man.”
“He is TOO dangerous,” said John. “My dad says so. Bill told me so too. He says the Old Man brought a bear in to the trading post once. The Old Man killed the thing with his bare hands!”
Tyler continued to regard his friend with skepticism for a moment, and then snickered at John’s unintentional pun.
“Bear hands?” he asked, laughing. It took John a moment to realize what was so funny, and then they both dissolved into peals of laughter. After that the incident was forgotten. They played until the shadows of evening started to make the forest even darker around them, and then each headed for home.
John arrived to a stern lecture from his mother on the virtues of having a strong work ethic. He listened, solemnly agreed with everything she said. He moaned and whined about the punishment she meted out (he would get none of the cobbler that was sitting on top of the stove) and then promptly forgot all it. He was still wrapped up what he;d seen earlier in the day.
At dinner he kept mostly to himself. He just kept thinking about seeing the old man earlier in the day. Where had he been going? Where had he come from? John knew that the clearing that he and Tyler thought of as their own private place was nowhere near the Old Man’s territory. Everyone knew where that was. No one went inside the boundaries marked by standing stones if they could help it.
He must have been too quiet, because his father noticed.
“Something wrong John?” he asked,.
John quickly stuffed the carrot he’d been toying with for the last few minutes into his mouth before answering.
“No!” he said, maybe a little too quickly.
His father gave him a suspicious look. John panicked. His father, like most fathers, seemed to have the ability to look right through him and see whatever fib he was about to say.
“What is it? You didn’t get into trouble at the schoolhouse again, did you? Am I going to hear from Mrs. Stark that you’ve been making trouble again?”
“No,” John replied. He shook his head, popping a piece of potato into his mouth to avoid having to speak again for a moment.
“You’d best not be lying to your father,” said his mother. She had joined his father in peering into John’s eyes, looking for some sort of untruth.
Truth be told, John’s behavior had been far from exemplary at the schoolhouse. His antics (joined and amplified by Tyler of course) had been enough to get him the odd scolding from the schoolmarm, but hadn’t been bad enough he expected a word from her to his parents.
“Honestly!” he said, “I’m not in trouble as school. I was just thinking is all.”
“Thinking about what?” his father asked, It was a question John dreaded to answer, but should have expected.
He had to think fast. He frantically cast his thoughts back through his day, looking for any experience other than the Old Man’s appearance that was notable enough to bring up.
“Foxes,” he said,. finally settling on a memory. “I saw one earlier in the woods, and i thought he might go for our chickens. Also, Bill told me their skins are worth good money now.”
“You want to go fox hunting?” asked his father, raising in eyebrow in a look that indicated he didn’t entirely believe his son.
“Well, no, I mean, sort of,” said John, “but I know you don’t want me go alone. I was thinking maybe you could take me.”
His father shook his head. “I can’t spare the time right now John. You know that. Besides, that fox is long gone by now. It’s past the season for him to still be in his hole.”
John nodded and poked a bit at the remains of his meal. Ordinarily he’d have been disappointed at his father refusing to take him on a hunt. Right now he was just relieved that it seemed he’d gotten away with his fib.
His parents went on to more adult conversations. John went back to poking at the items that were left on his plate. Finally he managed to polish off the rest of the meal. He tried to wheedle his way into a piece of the cobbler his mother had banned him from, but his punishment stuck. Finally he went off to bed.
His dreams found him back in the clearing. Everything was eerily quiet. It was a dream, but somehow very, very real. There was no wind rushing through the trees. There were no bird calls from the surrounding woods. A thick fog obscured everything beyond the trees that ringed the clearing. John could feel his heart race as he grew more and more nervous.
There was the snap of a branch from behind him, and John whirled, to see a stone form loping through the clearing. The figure took no notice of him as it walked up and sat on the log, it’s weight causing the wood underneath where it sat to splinter and crack. He put his face in his hands John watched the man for a moment, but kept his distance.
As he had entered the clearing the face of the form seemed blurry. Now as he sat with his hands covering his face there was something very familiar about him. Despite himself John took a step towards the stone man. Then he took another. He found himself drawing closer and closer to the man. As he did so the man’s features grew sharper and more defined.
Finally the man sat up. His hands fell away from his face. John called out in horror, startling himself out of sleep. As he returned to consciousness all the details of the dream faded from memory save one; the face of the Stone man was the face his his friend, Tyler.
No comments:
Post a Comment