Apologies for the lateness of the posting (it’s about 2 AM here), but I was busy today and didn’t get started on writing this until close to midnight. As before, this is unedited and un-proofread. Any feedback you care to provide is appreciated.
The Old Man of the Mountain, Pt. 3
It was all that John could do to keep from tackling Tyler then and there. Tyler, for his part, seemed lost in the mystery of the statue. He turned to look at the thing, poking at it in places with his finger.
“How’d he do it, do you think?” he asked.
John walked forward as calmly as he could manage, and grabbed Tyler by the shoulder.
“He sure didn’t carve them,” he said.
Tyler looked at John as though he were some kind of fool. “I know that,” he said. “How do you think he turned a man to stone?”
“Who cares?” asked John. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”
Tyler pulled away, and trotted a bit further into the orchard.. “What?” he asked. “Why? The Old Man’s nowhere near here. He’s not going to hurt us.”
John nervously scanned the rest of the orchard. There were other stone figures in among the bushes. The ones he could see had the same horrified expression on their faces. He didn’t see the Old Man,, but how would you pick him out among a group like this?
Tyler, for his part, was closely examining one of the bushes. He examined the branches, and thn his eyes went wide in amazement.
“John!” he said, “Come here! You’ve gotta see this.
John just wanted to leave, but it was clear Tyler was dead-set on exploring. A part of him wanted to simply abandon his idiot friend and get away, but the rest of him was too loyal for that. Reluctantly he closed in to see what Tyler was making a fuss about.
Tyler was pointing to what at first appeared to be a cluster of berries. Three small, round shapes nestled together in a cradle of wickedly sharp thorns, nearly twice as long as John’s index finger was wide. On closer examination however the round shapes proved not to be berries at all, but a spherical growth on the twig the “berries” hung from.
“Watch this,” Tyler said. He touched the tip of one of the thorns, bending it slightly as he pushed the tip to one side. To John’s astonishment one of the “berries” instantly deflated, and a thick sap oozed from the end of the thorn.
“Cool, isn’t it?” said Tyler.
John nodded in agreement, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” he replied. “Come on, let’s get away from these things. Maybe the thorns did that to these people.”
Tyler apparently hadn’t made the same connection between the petrified figures and the bushes. He blanched with sudden fear, and he dropped the cluster of berries as though it had bit him. He let out an inarticulate yelp as one of the thorns brushed across his skin.
John grabbed the back of his friend’s collar and yanked backward as hard as he could, bringing both boys to the ground. When they landed they both scrambled away from the orchard as best they could. Tyler held up his hand to examine it.
There was a white line across the callus of his palm where the thorn had tried to dig into his skin. Atop the line was the clear, sticky sap. There was no sign that the thorn had penetrated his skin, but Tyler scrubbed his hand repeatedly against the leg of his trousers to try to clean the sap off.
He was hyperventilating with fear. From his throat issued an inarticulate whine as he tried desperately to clear any trace of the plant from himself. He struggled to his feet, tearing the shirt from his back to use as a cleaning rag to get the sticky sap of the plant off of him in any way possible.
“Water!” he nearly shrieked. “I need water!”
John stood and grabbed Tyler from behind again, dragging him up the hill towards the Old Man’s camp. His mind was racing with panic as Tyler’s contact with the bush brought his dream back to horrifying focus. He had to do whatever he could to save his friend’s life.
He’d spotted a trickle of water flowing into the orchard. Hoping that there would be something more substantial than a trickle where it came from he dragged Tyler up the slope along it. A few yards up the slope he found what he was looking for.
At the top was a group of rain barrels. One was tapped and was providing a small but steady stream of water to a small trench that led into the orchard. The others sat waiting for use. John deposited Tyler in front of one of them.
Tyler nearly dove into the thing. He shoved both arms into the water so deep that his chin rested on the side of the barrel. He worked his hands furiously under the water, still trying to remove the sap. It didn’t seem to be doing any good.
Finally frustrated to the point of surrender, Tyler collapsed to his knees.
“I don’t want to die,” he said. He sniffed. The area around his eyes had grown puffy, and his nose had started to run. John could see tears begin to well up in his eyes.
“Come on,” he said, “you’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
The whole event had taken on an air of un-reality. Part of John’s mind simply refused to believe his friend was doomed. There had to be something he could do.
His mind raced, thinking of all the things they had found, and what they knew. The Old Man had to know something. Otherwise, why would he even have these plants in the first place? The Old Man was dangerous, and mysterious, but no one claimed he was some sort of murdering monster.
“There must be something in the camp,” he said, deciding out loud his next course of action.
He hauled Tyler to his feet, and they trotted back to the log structure and firepit that was all the Old Man called home.
John, thinking that there might be something written down, made a bee-line for the building. Tyler stood confused and dumb-struck int he middle of the camp, unable to decide what to do.
There wasn’t much in the building. There was a simply sleeping pallet, little more than a blanket tossed over a few soft pine boughs. There was a simple table of rough-hewed wood, the sort of thing that a woodsman might fashion for himself with the tools he had on hand. There was a single, solid section of log flat on both ends. The bottom of it was settled into the earth and the top was worn as though something had been placed atop it and removed repeatedly. After a moment’s curiosity John realized that the thing was what the Old Man used for a chair.
In the corner of the one-room shed there was a box. It was small, not more than as long as John’s forearm, but well made. Where everything else in the camp appeared to be of crude construction, the box was of obviously professional manufacture. It was iron-bound and had a sort of locking mechanism on it that John had never seen before but was of obvious craftsmanship.
John tried to open the box, but the lock held it fast. He pried at the lock itself, but to no avail. He was just beginning to consider a way to get the lock open when he heard Tyler’s voice from outside.
“John!” he said. “John!’ I figured it out?”
John went back outside to see Tyler holding the bottle from his lunch in the air. There was a wet spot on the ground where he had obviously poured its contents out on the ground.
“You figured out what?” John asked.
“This stuff,” Tyler said, pointing to the great copper contraption.
“It’s a still,” he explained. “I’ve seen one before. My uncle uses one to make Applejack. Whatever the Old Man is drinking all the time, this must he what keeps him from freezing stiff.”
“I guess that makes sense,” said John, “but what I don’t get is...”
John had no chance to voice the source of his confusion before Tyler put the bottle to his lips and took a long draw. John dashed forward to try to knock the bottle from his fool friend’s hands, but it was too late. Tyler dropped the bottle to his side, and gave the same wide grin he had before.
“See?” he said. “I drank it too. That means I won’t be turned...”
Tyler didn’t finish his sentence. Beads of sweat suddenly sprang from his brow. His face paled, and he looked as though he were going to be sick.
“Are you all right?” John asked. He regretted it as soon as he asked. Tyler doubled over, and it was suddenly very clear that his friend no longer felt well.
“Wait here. I’ll go get you some water.” said John.
He picked up the earthenware bottle from where it lay. He turned it upside-down has he ran. It spilled the foul, turpentine-scented liquor that remained inside it into the dirt in a long trail as he made his way back to the rain barrels. When he got there he took care to clean the bottle as well has he could in the water of one of the untapped barrels. He then filled it in a different one and went back to the camp.
When he got there Tyler was no longer bent double. Instead he lay on his side on the ground, laying in a fetal position and cradling his stomach in both hands. John bent over him and offered him the bottle of water.
Tyler took no notice. Sweat was now running off of his brow in streams. John noticed that those streams of sweat now had an odd, reddish tint to it. It was the same color of the liquid that seeped from a burst blister. As he watched the liquid grew darker and darker, until it was the same bright red as that of blood.
He tried to pour the water into Tyler’s mouth, but when Tyler’s mouth opened it was only to scream.
The Old Man of the Mountain, Pt. 3
It was all that John could do to keep from tackling Tyler then and there. Tyler, for his part, seemed lost in the mystery of the statue. He turned to look at the thing, poking at it in places with his finger.
“How’d he do it, do you think?” he asked.
John walked forward as calmly as he could manage, and grabbed Tyler by the shoulder.
“He sure didn’t carve them,” he said.
Tyler looked at John as though he were some kind of fool. “I know that,” he said. “How do you think he turned a man to stone?”
“Who cares?” asked John. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”
Tyler pulled away, and trotted a bit further into the orchard.. “What?” he asked. “Why? The Old Man’s nowhere near here. He’s not going to hurt us.”
John nervously scanned the rest of the orchard. There were other stone figures in among the bushes. The ones he could see had the same horrified expression on their faces. He didn’t see the Old Man,, but how would you pick him out among a group like this?
Tyler, for his part, was closely examining one of the bushes. He examined the branches, and thn his eyes went wide in amazement.
“John!” he said, “Come here! You’ve gotta see this.
John just wanted to leave, but it was clear Tyler was dead-set on exploring. A part of him wanted to simply abandon his idiot friend and get away, but the rest of him was too loyal for that. Reluctantly he closed in to see what Tyler was making a fuss about.
Tyler was pointing to what at first appeared to be a cluster of berries. Three small, round shapes nestled together in a cradle of wickedly sharp thorns, nearly twice as long as John’s index finger was wide. On closer examination however the round shapes proved not to be berries at all, but a spherical growth on the twig the “berries” hung from.
“Watch this,” Tyler said. He touched the tip of one of the thorns, bending it slightly as he pushed the tip to one side. To John’s astonishment one of the “berries” instantly deflated, and a thick sap oozed from the end of the thorn.
“Cool, isn’t it?” said Tyler.
John nodded in agreement, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” he replied. “Come on, let’s get away from these things. Maybe the thorns did that to these people.”
Tyler apparently hadn’t made the same connection between the petrified figures and the bushes. He blanched with sudden fear, and he dropped the cluster of berries as though it had bit him. He let out an inarticulate yelp as one of the thorns brushed across his skin.
John grabbed the back of his friend’s collar and yanked backward as hard as he could, bringing both boys to the ground. When they landed they both scrambled away from the orchard as best they could. Tyler held up his hand to examine it.
There was a white line across the callus of his palm where the thorn had tried to dig into his skin. Atop the line was the clear, sticky sap. There was no sign that the thorn had penetrated his skin, but Tyler scrubbed his hand repeatedly against the leg of his trousers to try to clean the sap off.
He was hyperventilating with fear. From his throat issued an inarticulate whine as he tried desperately to clear any trace of the plant from himself. He struggled to his feet, tearing the shirt from his back to use as a cleaning rag to get the sticky sap of the plant off of him in any way possible.
“Water!” he nearly shrieked. “I need water!”
John stood and grabbed Tyler from behind again, dragging him up the hill towards the Old Man’s camp. His mind was racing with panic as Tyler’s contact with the bush brought his dream back to horrifying focus. He had to do whatever he could to save his friend’s life.
He’d spotted a trickle of water flowing into the orchard. Hoping that there would be something more substantial than a trickle where it came from he dragged Tyler up the slope along it. A few yards up the slope he found what he was looking for.
At the top was a group of rain barrels. One was tapped and was providing a small but steady stream of water to a small trench that led into the orchard. The others sat waiting for use. John deposited Tyler in front of one of them.
Tyler nearly dove into the thing. He shoved both arms into the water so deep that his chin rested on the side of the barrel. He worked his hands furiously under the water, still trying to remove the sap. It didn’t seem to be doing any good.
Finally frustrated to the point of surrender, Tyler collapsed to his knees.
“I don’t want to die,” he said. He sniffed. The area around his eyes had grown puffy, and his nose had started to run. John could see tears begin to well up in his eyes.
“Come on,” he said, “you’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
The whole event had taken on an air of un-reality. Part of John’s mind simply refused to believe his friend was doomed. There had to be something he could do.
His mind raced, thinking of all the things they had found, and what they knew. The Old Man had to know something. Otherwise, why would he even have these plants in the first place? The Old Man was dangerous, and mysterious, but no one claimed he was some sort of murdering monster.
“There must be something in the camp,” he said, deciding out loud his next course of action.
He hauled Tyler to his feet, and they trotted back to the log structure and firepit that was all the Old Man called home.
John, thinking that there might be something written down, made a bee-line for the building. Tyler stood confused and dumb-struck int he middle of the camp, unable to decide what to do.
There wasn’t much in the building. There was a simply sleeping pallet, little more than a blanket tossed over a few soft pine boughs. There was a simple table of rough-hewed wood, the sort of thing that a woodsman might fashion for himself with the tools he had on hand. There was a single, solid section of log flat on both ends. The bottom of it was settled into the earth and the top was worn as though something had been placed atop it and removed repeatedly. After a moment’s curiosity John realized that the thing was what the Old Man used for a chair.
In the corner of the one-room shed there was a box. It was small, not more than as long as John’s forearm, but well made. Where everything else in the camp appeared to be of crude construction, the box was of obviously professional manufacture. It was iron-bound and had a sort of locking mechanism on it that John had never seen before but was of obvious craftsmanship.
John tried to open the box, but the lock held it fast. He pried at the lock itself, but to no avail. He was just beginning to consider a way to get the lock open when he heard Tyler’s voice from outside.
“John!” he said. “John!’ I figured it out?”
John went back outside to see Tyler holding the bottle from his lunch in the air. There was a wet spot on the ground where he had obviously poured its contents out on the ground.
“You figured out what?” John asked.
“This stuff,” Tyler said, pointing to the great copper contraption.
“It’s a still,” he explained. “I’ve seen one before. My uncle uses one to make Applejack. Whatever the Old Man is drinking all the time, this must he what keeps him from freezing stiff.”
“I guess that makes sense,” said John, “but what I don’t get is...”
John had no chance to voice the source of his confusion before Tyler put the bottle to his lips and took a long draw. John dashed forward to try to knock the bottle from his fool friend’s hands, but it was too late. Tyler dropped the bottle to his side, and gave the same wide grin he had before.
“See?” he said. “I drank it too. That means I won’t be turned...”
Tyler didn’t finish his sentence. Beads of sweat suddenly sprang from his brow. His face paled, and he looked as though he were going to be sick.
“Are you all right?” John asked. He regretted it as soon as he asked. Tyler doubled over, and it was suddenly very clear that his friend no longer felt well.
“Wait here. I’ll go get you some water.” said John.
He picked up the earthenware bottle from where it lay. He turned it upside-down has he ran. It spilled the foul, turpentine-scented liquor that remained inside it into the dirt in a long trail as he made his way back to the rain barrels. When he got there he took care to clean the bottle as well has he could in the water of one of the untapped barrels. He then filled it in a different one and went back to the camp.
When he got there Tyler was no longer bent double. Instead he lay on his side on the ground, laying in a fetal position and cradling his stomach in both hands. John bent over him and offered him the bottle of water.
Tyler took no notice. Sweat was now running off of his brow in streams. John noticed that those streams of sweat now had an odd, reddish tint to it. It was the same color of the liquid that seeped from a burst blister. As he watched the liquid grew darker and darker, until it was the same bright red as that of blood.
He tried to pour the water into Tyler’s mouth, but when Tyler’s mouth opened it was only to scream.
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