Rhodes

The Birchwood

The rest of that first day was positively routine compared to those first hours. Good thing that, for it allowed my mental faculties to be well rested when it was time to explore the Birchwood. I had an overcoat and my pointed hat on. I had a powerful flashlight in my hand. A revolver was nestled safely in its holster. In my pocket, was a detailed map of the forest, a compass, and a flask of water.

I started my trek at the Siren’s Song. From there, I stuck close to the river. The fog had returned. It was most difficult to see more than a few feet in front of me. The forest was silent as the grave. Only my breath, heartbeat, and the occasional snapping of a twig under my foot made enough sound to reach my ears.

I trekked back and forth, keeping my eyes on the trees. Many of them were still missing their leaves from the winter season. Many of the trees had died and were nothing more than hollow chunks of wood, twisting into the air like the split ends of the planet’s hair.

I made my way closer to the old graveyard. As I stepped ever so closer to my destination, new sounds joined the whispered choir. An owl, a swarm of locust, the occasional frog, all of which slowly built up into a crescendo as I made my way to the heart of the woods.

The old graveyard was all that remained of the first township that had tried to take root in this forest. The town of Birchwood-named for the most common tree in the area- was destroyed in a massive fire over a century ago. Anything that was made of wood was reduced to smoldering ash and what few stone structures remained were gutted and used for the ever growing city of Rhodes. Though, no man dared to disturb the graves that sat at the edge of what used to be that abandoned town.

The graveyard sat in a slightly elevated path of land. A twisting dead oak tree shot out from the edge, blocking what used to be the graveyard’s entrance. I used the tree’s rotted husk to step over the dilapidated wall. The graveyard was perfectly clear. It made sense to me. After a day where the police question Francis Balthazar himself, no manner of criminal would want to get caught in the favorite hideaway for their ilk.

Therefore, all I was looking for was evidence. I looked over each grave carefully. I looked for anything that might be construed as evidence. I looked for bottles, glass, gum wrappers, discarded cigarettes, anything that would clue me in on someone visiting this place.

A high pitched ringing echoed in my ears as I approached the mausoleum. The large tomb was meant for the nobleman who resided over the fallen town. That same nobleman-whose name was Sir Daniel Miotal- was most often cited as the one responsible for the fire. In the resident ghost story, he was credited with creating the Birchwood Colossus by pouring hot, smelted iron over the skin of a rival.

The mausoleum wasn’t what had caught my attention though. That old stone structure was empty save for the remains of Miotal and his family. So many people had ventured into that tomb in search of supposed treasure or the Colossus that allegedly lived there. All those who ventured in looking for such things returned bitter and disappointed. What had caught my attention was a small grave covered in mud. This grave was strange, for I had never seen it. The dirt around it was freshly disturbed. Judging by the soil, this grave couldn’t be more than a week old.

I knew I would have to report this as soon as I made it back into town. This happened every now and then. It’s why it was so important to keep tabs on what graves were supposed to be there and which ones seemed out of place.

I knelt down in the freshly disturbed soil. The ringing in my ears-perhaps a warning to turn back now-reached a fever pitch. As I wiped the mud away from the tombstone, a blood-curdling shriek echoed the the woods, startling me and causing me to fall backwards. I glanced at the tombstone. The only words on the slab were: “Jack Risinger Lives Again!”

My heart sank and my blood ran cold. I could barely breathe. I spun around in the dirt, trying to pick myself up. I spun to my feet and shined my light into the distance. I scanned the ground and then the treetops until I saw him, standing in a nearby maple tree. I wouldn’t have been able to see him if not for the fire that seemed to cover his face. The ghoulish figure stood leering at me from above. His eyes were glowing. His left hand grabbed a branch for support.

“Who goes there?” I asked.

“HAAAAA!” He let out another ghastly scream. He jumped backwards and disappeared into the fog.

“Halt or I’ll shoot!” I declared as I gave chase.

I nearly fell over as I dropped off the dead oak tree. I pulled my revolver out of its holster. I caught the specter sitting in another large maple tree. He glared at me, cackling like a hyena. His features were still obscured by fog and smoke. All I could tell was that he was an unusually tall man. He opened up his arms. Folds of flesh connected his wrists to his knees like a flying squirrel.

He leaped again, covering an impossible distance. He landed with well-practiced grace into another tree. I ran as fast as I could to pursue him. Every time I got close he would leap into another tree.

I had my gun ready. I wasn’t the best shot in the town, let alone the world, but I was plenty good enough to have the advantage in this situation. The specter led me deeper into the forest. I recalled the map of the woods. A quick glance of my compass told me the direction the ghoul was leading me. He was leading me to an old abandoned house that sat on the main road leading into town on the edge of the wood. I wasn’t about to let him lead me into some sort of trap.

“Halt, in the name of the law!” I commanded. The specter gave a mocking cackle in return. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” I gave one last warning. I knew his tree hopping shenanigans were coming to an end. Pretty soon we’d be reaching a grove of birch trees-which are much too small to support a man’s weight.

Having given my quarry fair warning, I fired a bullet as he landed on the last maple tree. The bullet missed as the specter jumped from his perch and landed on the ground. I steadied my hand and fired again as he ducked behind the tree. I kept my eye on it, carefully walking towards it.

“My name is Detective Jason Macdonald of Rhodes Police Department.” I declared between desperate breaths. “Come out slowly with your hands up.” I edged closer and closer to the tree. The only sound was that of my own staggered and nigh suffocated breathing, and an owl in the distance.

“I knew you’d come.” An eery voice echoed. “Your pursuit of justice will get you killed for this is justice.”

“Come out now!” I commanded once again. There was no answer. I kept my light on the tree, making sure he didn’t slip out beneath my notice. Just as I was ready to spin and meet my quarry face to face-someone or something blindsided me. My revolver went off again as I was knocked to the ground. My flashlight fell from my hand. I scrambled to pick it up. As I did I caught a shadowy figure running away. I fired again. The bullet hit and splintered a small birch tree.

I looked around with my light before continuing the chase. The birch grove was thick and kept my movements staggered. Left and right I moved as I navigated my way through the trees. I heard the sound of wood snapping in the distance. Something large was pushing its way through the trees.

I followed the echoing sounds to a creek at the edge of the grove. The sound stopped and so did I. I looked around. The light in my hand extended to the treeline. I looked to my left and right and saw several birch trees broken, splintered and uprooted. Something large had indeed pushed through the grove.

I continued to try and spy my quarry. The beam of my flashlight reflected off of something metallic in the splintered birch. I knelt down near the tree. The metal flake was nearly identical to the one I found on Alice Penderton’s body. I quickly pinched the flake off the sharpened stub and put it in my pocket.

I heard a twig snapping behind me. I jerked around with the light. My heart was racing. A bead of sweat dropped onto my nose. Another one dripped past my ear. The sound of a deer prancing startled me enough to shoot my gun. I tried to steady my breath and regain my nerves. It was then that I decided the best course of action was to retreat. The road was nearby. If I could reach it I would be home free.

Just as I turned, I was tackled. A shadowy figure was on top of me. It gave a shriek, identical to the one that had first startled me at the graveyard. My hand went to his face, where I felt a scraggly beard that was singed at the tips. The faint glow of embers glimmered in the night. I held tight to his beard with one hand and steadied my gun with the other. As the light from my discarded flashlight, cast its brightness on us I had the smallest glimpse at his all too familiar face.

“Jack Risinger?” I choked out in disbelief.

“Miss me?” He said through gangly teeth.

He was laughing. He laughed as his hands went around my throat. I fired my gun again. The bullet must have grazed him. He shrieked in pain and fell back. Part of his beard was pulled off his face on account of my grip. enough for me to kick him away. He tried to tackle me again but I punched him in the face. I pointed my gun at where I thought he was only to see nothing. I heard the distinct sounds of footsteps running away.

I had two options. I could pursue at the risk of getting hurt, but with the chance of catching the fiend. Or, I could run, think this night over and come back in force with the hounds. My mind raced, trying to comprehend what I had just seen. It didn’t make any sense. Jack Risinger was dead. This had to be a hoax, someone messing with me, it had to be. I checked my gun, only one bullet left. That settled it. I devoted what I saw to memory and made my way to the road.

I jogged at a pretty good pace. I kept my light focused on the path forward. My gun was ready in case Jack tried jumping me again. I knew from the row of trees I was approaching that I was nearly at the road. My tunnel vision was derailed by the sound of a large thump and a crying wolf. I stopped and shone my flashlight onto a nearby hill. The light glinted off something metallic. It was large, far larger than the man who had ambushed me just a minute earlier.

“Who goes there?” I called out and readied my revolver. The figure picked up a rock the size of a melon. The figure was partially obscured by a row of bushes, partially obscured by fog from the creek, and partially from the light reflecting off him. But I did see him throw the rock. I reacted and shot the last bullet of my gun. I heard it hit something metallic. Then the rock hit my hand. I felt my finger snap and I screamed in pain.

The figure screamed back and stormed off. I dared not pursue, not with my broken hand. I made way for the road. By this point, I had been so consumed with panic that I paid no attention to my surroundings. I ran right into the street and was engulfed in light. The sound of screeching brakes echoed in the clearing as the car hit me. I fell down and rolled to the side as the car managed to stop. I couldn’t feel my right arm and my leg was in pain.

Someone stepped from the car. “Detective Macdonald?” The man said. The only light on the road was the car’s headlights. “Oh God. Detective, I’m so sorry. I’ll take you to the hospital right away!” He helped me up to my feet and into his car. My breathing was still heavy and labored. As the driver got back into his car, I caught his face.

“Eli?” I whispered.

“I came as soon as Jasper got me on the line.” Eli explained. “What the hell happened to you? What were you doing out in the woods at this ungodly hour?”

“Investigation.” I must have sounded delirious. “Jack.” My mind tried putting the pieces together.

“What happened?” Eli asked again.

“I don’t know.” I admitted. “I can’t make sense of it.” It was a bitter pill to swallow. Even for the most bizarre cases, I had tried and succeeded at making guesses. More often than not those guesses were right. This was different. I didn’t know what to make of this, of any of this. Part of me never will.