Wet Dirt Rings

"Benjamin, you must cease this forward momentum immediately," I said. I didn't look at him. I couldn't. My eyes were locked on the glowing rectangle of my phone. The screen was a bright, offensive blue against the charcoal grey of the spring woods. The Guardian Angel app was currently showing a yellow status. Yellow meant 'Caution.' Yellow meant 'Jane, you are being an idiot.'

"The atmosphere is perfect, Jane. Do not allow your digital superstitions to ruin the majesty of this ascent," Benji replied. He sounded like he was narrating a documentary about himself. He was wearing a wool coat that probably cost more than my first car will. It was entirely too heavy for a spring night, even one as damp as this. He looked like an extra in a period piece about a man who dies of consumption. I looked like I was ready to storm a bunker. I had my tactical leggings on. They have extra pockets for my portable charger and my high-decibel personal alarm.

"The Hiker-Harvester operates in seventy-two percent humidity, Benji. It is a statistical fact," I told him. My thumb hovered over the SOS button. My thumb was shaking. It wasn't because I was cold. It was because the trees looked like bones. The spring buds were starting to pop, but in the dark, they just looked like tiny, distorted faces. The woods didn't smell like flowers. They smelled like wet dirt and the slow rot of last year's leaves.

"You possess a truly remarkable capacity for ruining a vibe," Benji said. He stopped walking. We were at the overlook. Or, what should have been the overlook. In reality, it was a wooden platform that projected into a void of pure, white vapor. The fog was so thick I couldn't see my own boots. It felt like we were standing on a shelf in a giant's freezer. There was no view. There was only the wall of white and the sound of my own heart, which was currently performing a drum solo against my ribs.

"The vibe is currently 'Pre-Victim,' Benji. Look at the data. We are three miles from the nearest paved road. My signal is down to two bars. This is the exact geographic profile of the 2019 disappearances," I said. I turned in a slow circle. My phone light cut through the fog in a weak, pathetic beam. I saw a tree trunk. Then another. They were too still. Nothing in nature should be that still.

"Jane, I implore you to silence that device and grant me your undivided attention for a singular moment of profound significance," Benji said. His voice dropped an octave. He was doing his 'Serious Benji' voice. It usually worked on me, but right now, all I could think about was the way the Hiker-Harvester supposedly removes the vocal cords first so his prey can't scream.

"I can't silence it. If I don't check in every five minutes, the app sends a ping to my dad. If I don't respond to the ping, the police are dispatched. Do you want the police to see us out here? We look suspicious. We look like we're disposing of a body," I whispered. I felt a drop of condensation slide down the back of my neck. It felt like a cold finger.

"We are not disposing of a body! We are witnessing the dawn of a new chapter in our shared narrative!" Benji shouted. The sound echoed off the fog. It was too loud. It was an invitation.

"Shh! You're announcing our location to every predator within a five-mile radius," I hissed. I put my phone in my pocket but kept my hand on the pepper spray canister. It was a matte black cylinder. It felt heavy and reliable. It was the only thing in this woods that didn't feel like a lie.

Benji took a deep breath. I could hear the fabric of his coat shift. "Jane, since the moment our orbits intersected in AP Chemistry, I have known that you were the singular catalyst for my happiness. Your mind is a complex, terrifying, and beautiful machine. And though you see ghosts in every shadow, I wish to be the one who holds the flashlight."

"That's a terrible metaphor, Benji. Flashlights attract moths. And killers," I said. My eyes were darting toward a cluster of rhododendrons. I was sure I saw a shape move. A dark, heavy shape that didn't belong to a bush.

"Will you just... stay still? Please?" Benji asked. He reached for my hand. His palm was sweaty. "I have prepared a gesture. A formal declaration of my intent to remain by your side through every true-crime documentary and every paranoid spiral."

He started to move. He was trying to be graceful. He was trying to be the hero of a romance novel. But the wooden planks of the overlook were slick with moss and mist. He stepped back, his heel catching on a raised root that had forced its way through the timber.

"Benjamin, watch your footing!" I yelled.

It was too late. He didn't just stumble; he performed a slow-motion collapse. His arms flailed. I saw something small and silver fly out of his hand. It glinted for a fraction of a second before vanishing into the thick carpet of dead leaves and spring mud beneath the platform. Benji hit the wood with a dull thud, his knee buckling.

"My knee!" he gasped. "The ring! Jane, the ring is lost to the earth!"

"Forget the ring! Something is out there!" I screamed. My brain didn't process his words. It only processed the sound that came immediately after his fall. A sharp, distinct 'SNAP' from the tree line. It wasn't a small twig. It was a branch. Something heavy had stepped on it. Something that wasn't a squirrel.

My training kicked in. Or, rather, the three TikTok videos I’d watched about 'Tactical Awareness for the Modern Woman' kicked in. I didn't think. I reacted. I dropped low, my center of gravity shifting as I performed a side-roll across the wet planks. It was supposed to be a smooth, defensive maneuver. In reality, I slammed my hip into a railing and ended up face-down in a puddle of cold rainwater.

"Jane? What are you doing? Help me find the box!" Benji was crawling on all fours, frantically patting the muck.

I scrambled up, my hand gripping the pepper spray. I saw a shadow move in the fog. It was tall. It was right there.

"Get back!" I screamed. I extended my arm and squeezed the trigger.

A cloud of orange mist erupted. But the wind, a cruel and fickle spring breeze, caught the spray. It didn't go toward the shadow. It swirled around and hit Benji square in the face as he looked up to ask me what was happening.

"AHHH! MY EYES! THE AGONY! JANE, YOU HAVE BLINDED ME!" Benji shrieked. He collapsed again, clutching his face. He began to roll around in the mud, his expensive coat now stained a permanent, muddy brown.

"I'm sorry! I thought you were the Harvester!" I yelled, my own eyes beginning to sting from the blowback. I stood over him, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might actually break my ribs.

Everything went silent for a heartbeat. The only sound was Benji’s pathetic whimpering and the drip of water from the trees.

Then, it happened.

A sound emerged from the darkness beyond the overlook. It wasn't a scream. It wasn't a growl. It was a laugh. A low, guttural, rhythmic sound that grated against the silence like a saw on bone. It was the sound of someone who had been watching us the whole time. Someone who found our little tragedy hilarious.

I froze. My phone chimed in my pocket. A notification. I didn't need to look at it to know what it said. The Guardian Angel app had finally updated.

'Danger Detected: Proximity Alert.'