June, p.1
June, page 1
JUNE
Copyright © 2024 Cameron Kummer
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 9798872190950
Cover design by: Rachel Kummer
Printed in the United States of America
For my wife, Rachel.
Thank you for always believing in me.
CHAPTER ONE
The woods have always been inviting to me. I know a lot of people are frightened by them, but I’ve never been. Ever since I could remember, my family and I had been going into the woods. We owned a cabin that was more than 20 miles away from any road, so to stay there you had to either use an ATV or backpack in. With the rough terrain, it usually took about 3 days to get there on foot, which is how I’d done it ever since I became an adult. I inherited it after...well, after it went up to be inherited, and I’d taken two weeks off every year to hike up there, stay a week, and hike back down. I loved that cabin. It was as basic as cabins got, no electricity or running water, but it was in the middle of a continuous forest. If you didn’t know where it was you’d hike right by it. It was my dream house. I just wished it were practical to live there; but I’m still a modern guy, and I need my electricity after a while. But as a retreat, my cabin was absolutely perfect.
This year started just like all the others. I’d owned the cabin for about 5 years at this point. I had just parked my beat up little golden Corolla at the end of the dirt road by the lake. This was yet another year that I was amazed my car had made it up to this point. They really needed to fix the road one of these days.
This trip seemed like every other, but I needed the break more than ever before. My fiancée, Cheryl, had decided that I wasn’t going to make her happy, and me fighting for her harder than I had ever fought for anything in my life didn’t change her mind. I had spent so long trying to convince her to stay, but in the end, she left anyway.
And I was crushed.
So, I packed up and left.
It was a whole month earlier than I usually went, but I had to get away. I needed my escape. It would be a little colder than usual, so I had packed some extra warm clothes.
“Never go in June, Cal. Always in July or August.” My father’s voice echoed in my memory suddenly as I strapped on my pack.
“Why, dad?” I had asked.
“The rain, it makes the trail much more perilous.” My father had explained quickly, after giving my mother a side glance. “Things dry up by July. But June is always wet out here. Never, ever come before July, son.”
I still remembered that conversation, even though I was only 10 at the time.
This year, for the first time ever, we had a June drought. No rain anywhere in the state, after an unusually dry winter. So, I figured I was just fine to come up. I couldn’t wait another month. Literally everything at home reminded me of her. Even though she lived across the city, we had been together long enough that there were so many mementos and photos around that I couldn’t escape her. I had to leave it all behind for a while and get over it. Once my head was clear, I could start cleaning up. Get my life back on track.
I tightened the laces on my heavy brown hiking boots, locked my car, and started the hike towards my sanctuary. The first leg of the trip was always the easiest. There was nothing except a giant meadow and spacious forest. I could knock the first several miles out in a day. I usually took an easy pace through this portion, saving my strength for the difficult climb that I would make the next day.
I was hoping this time around I would see more animals. There weren’t as many by July, as it became too dry on the mountain. Of course, this was an overall dry year, so my hopes might have been in vain.
I stopped about two miles in, sat on a log in the clearing near the edge of the woods, and pulled my first MRE out of my backpack. I loved the Army’s Meals Ready to Eat. They were the perfect backpacking food. Light, packed full of calories and nutrition, and I thought they tasted excellent, though I know quite a few people would disagree with me on that point. I usually ate one in the afternoon and was good the rest of the day, though occasionally on this hike I’d eat two. It really depended on how far I went during the day and how tough the terrain was.
This was the perfect spot to eat. The meadow was gorgeous, and I had a perfect view of the woods from here. I could see the sun peaking through the dense treeline. The forest was almost entirely pines. I loved the trees. I loved the forest. The crisp smell of the air was my favorite.
“Why do we need to hike in here, dad? Why can’t we just use the ATVs?” Twelve year old me complained. He smiled.
“Your mom and I want you to enjoy nature, son. Get an appreciation for hard work and earning your reward.” My dad smiled and rubbed my head.
“We’re worried you’re getting lazy,” my mom chirped in, not unkindly. “If you have to work to get to the cabin, you’ll appreciate being there more.”
“I appreciate it fine. I don’t think I can appreciate it when my feet fall off,” I grumbled. They both laughed.
“One day, son, you’ll be glad we hiked in. You might even hike in by yourself when you come here.” My dad chuckled as he and my mom finished setting up the tent. I grabbed the sleeping bags.
“Look at me, mom and dad,” I said with the authority of a twelve-year-old who knew absolutely everything. “I. Will. Never. Hike. In. Here. Not when I’m older, not when you guys aren’t around, never.” My mom cracked first.
“Okay, we believe you.” She laughed. My dad grabbed the packs.
“Let’s get in the tent.” He was smiling as he helped me get the sleeping bags ready.
The memory made me smile. I was so wrong. I loved hiking now. Honestly, I wondered if I liked it then, but often twelve-year-old me had to complain about something. I took another bite of my food and stared into the woods.
It was at that point that I noticed something strange about the forest. It was darker than usual, almost foreboding.
I was halfway through my meal when I first heard it. It was a long, loud call echoing through the forest. I stopped chewing and listened. It sounded sort of like an old fire engine siren. In all my years of coming here, I had never heard that before. It sounded pretty far away.
That noise was followed by whoops, coming from the other end of the forest. I didn’t know how else to describe it, but it sounded like someone yelled whoop, three or four times.
Then the siren came back, a little louder. I checked my watch, it was a little after 4. I thought for a moment as I listened to these strange noises. A big part of me wanted to just nope on out of there right then. I seriously considered it.
The whoops started again, a little farther away now. I closed my eyes and listened. They were retreating. Then there was silence. I kept my eyes closed, listening. It was dead silent. In all my years in these woods, I’d never heard complete silence. No birds. No insects, nothing. Complete silence. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the tree line. It looked like it always did. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear it. I was going crazy. Slowly the forest came back to life. Or my hearing improved, I wasn’t sure which. Within about ten minutes of first hearing the sounds everything was back to normal. I could hear birds, cicadas, mosquitoes; everything.
I was going crazy; that had to be the reason. I didn’t really hear anything. My brain was messing with me. The breakup was affecting me way more than I realized. Maybe I should have tried counseling before coming out here.
The treeline looked warm and inviting again, not dark and foreboding. Rays of sunshine spotted the forest floor. I actually saw a squirrel scurry up a tree. It couldn’t have been more picturesque. I packed up my garbage, tightened my pack, and pressed on. One moment of near insanity wasn’t going to ruin my annual trip. Especially not this year.
After a couple of hours of uneventful but thoroughly enjoyable hiking, I stopped at my first campground. I had two campgrounds I always used on my trips. The first was nestled nicely in a small clearing. There was just enough space for my tent to fit between five pine trees. I could see the spot just ahead, covered in pine needles. I could also see the fire pit I had dug years ago, still lined with rocks. Perfect. I had just enough daylight left to pitch my one-man pup tent in between the trees and start a fire. I paused for a moment as I thought of that plan. Did I want to build a fire? My mind drifted back to the clearing earlier. Would it be better to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible?
I decided on that plan. Luckily, my pup tent was green and blended into the trees almost perfectly. I quickly set it up and climbed in, setting my pack down at the head of my sleeping bag as a pillow. The sun was setting quickly – it always did out here – and I was anxious to get inside for the night. For some reason, the sounds I heard earlier had unsettled me to my core. I’d been coming out here my entire life and had never heard anything like that before.
I got my tent set up and my sleeping bag unrolled, then settled in for the night. The moon was nearly full, and cast a beautiful light through the trees. I could see the leaves swaying slowly in the gentle breeze with the moon lighting. I loved it.
But I also wanted to close the flap. I still felt unnerved. It had been several hours since the noise, and it was just a noise, but I felt unnerved regardless. Reluctantly, and also somehow eagerly, I closed the flap to my tent and snuggled into my bag. I drifted off to sleep without another thought.
CHAPTER TWO
I awoke to a thud. It was on the softer side, but it was definitely a thud. It sounded like it was close to the tent... I thought. My head was still foggy with sleep.
I heard another soft thud. I sat up slightly and shook my head, trying to listen, but my head wouldn’t clear. I thought I could hear a sort of snorting sound. My head just wouldn’t clear. I laid back down, hoping it would help me clear my head. I listened as another thud came, closer to my tent. It sounded…
***
I awoke to the sound of a loud chirping by my tent. It was a mourning dove. I shot up in my sleeping bag. It was bright outside. Morning. My mind raced back to last night. The thuds I had heard. It sounded like footsteps. Was whatever I heard in the forest the day before following me?
But had I actually heard anything? The whole night was still foggy. I tried to remember – but I couldn’t. I rubbed my face for several seconds. Clearly, I was going insane. Between the breakup and the noises I thought I heard the day before, I was sure I was just imagining things.
“You have an active imagination, Cal!” My father’s voice came to my memory. I was six, and we were at the cabin. I told my dad I had built a castle in the woods, and I dragged him to five stones I had piled on top of each other.
“No, dad, look.” I pointed to a different section of the stones as I spoke rapidly, telling him what I had built. “This is the bastion, this is the portcullis, this is the moat, and here are the archers. See? It’s obviously a castle, dad.”
“Oh, I see now,” he bent down next to me. “Over here is the watchtower,” he pointed to a section of stone. I nodded excitedly.
“See, dad? I knew you’d get it.” He laughed and picked me up.
“We need to get back to the cabin, son, it’s getting dark.” He threw me over his shoulder as he said this and carried me like a log.
“Why can’t we stay out after dark? PBS says that’s when the animals are most active.” I protested.
“Exactly, son. Some animals out here can be dangerous. Don’t ever be outside after dark.”
“Okay, dad, put me down.” I giggled as he tickled me and put me on the ground. We walked in silence for a bit.
“So,” he looked at me quizzically, “where did you learn the word portcullis?”
I really loved my dad. The memory had me smiling while I packed up my small camp, strapped on my pack, and started up the mountain. Today was the hardest day of the trek; it was almost completely uphill. I chuckled to myself as I remembered my dad telling me that the cabin was literally a hike uphill, both ways. It sat in a wooded valley, and the only real way in was to hike over a small mountain, then you had to hike back up the mountain to leave. The other mountains around the valley were not climbable without gear, and were all in the wrong direction anyway.
I sat after about three hours of climbing, very winded and needing to eat. Today was my usual two MRE day, and I thought this time would be no different. I looked around as I ate. I was about an hour away from the timberline, and about two hours from the summit. I was still in a heavily wooded area, with the sun peaking through the branches. I closed my eyes and relaxed, taking deep breaths. The familiar sounds of the forest surrounded me. I was supposed to be out here to relax and clear my head, not to let my imagination run away from me. I listened to a particularly beautiful birdsong for a bit, then finished my meal and stood up to keep going. I had to be quick if I wanted to reach my second camp before dark.
I kept a brisk pace the rest of the day, hiking through my usual dinner time, figuring I would eat my second MRE once I was in my tent. I had passed the summit a few hours earlier, pausing briefly to enjoy the outstanding view of the incredibly large forest. I turned around and could see the road I had taken in, and my car sitting there, by itself. Locked, of course, for no reason. Nobody else ever came out here, but I just always felt better if my car was locked. I turned the other direction, and could see the area in the woods where my cabin was. Seeing the spot always got me excited to be there. After reminding myself for the tenth time that I needed to get binoculars before the next time I came up here, I started back down the mountain.
I reached my camp at the base of the mountain just before dark. This was another spot where my tent was easily hidden, this time completely inside a pine tree that had a very hollow core. I was always slightly afraid that this camp would be gone the next year, because it was literally just one tree, but luckily it was still there. I quickly pitched my pup tent and climbed inside. This campsite had no fire pit; I didn’t want to start a forest fire. MREs had a chemical heating system contained entirely inside a pouch, so I was still able to eat a hot meal. The moon was exceptionally bright as it rose over the mountains. I sat at the door of my tent, a little more confident this time that nothing was following me. The day had been completely uneventful, and so I was able to enjoy the evening in the woods. I was just going crazy earlier. They say hiking alone is quite dangerous, even for experienced woodsmen like myself. I knew I shouldn’t hike alone, but my friends were all city folk who either hated camping, or, quite frankly, too out of shape to make this journey. In all honesty, I really wanted to bring someone out here with me at some point. I wanted to share this amazing place that had been in my family for generations. I just needed someone who was willing to come. Preferably my wife.
That thought depressed me. This year I was supposed to bring my wife out. I had convinced her to honeymoon at the cabin, I even bought a new ATV for the trip so she wouldn’t have to walk. She loved the outdoors but didn’t much care for difficult hikes. It wasn’t a huge deal, I didn’t mind taking the 4-Wheeler. The ATV trail wasn’t as direct, and added an extra day to the journey if walked, but on a vehicle you could make it in about a day. I made a mental note to sell the ATV when I got back. I didn’t like riding out here, I much preferred walking, and even if I did decide to ride, I didn’t want that vehicle anymore. Too many difficult memories.
Her face came to mind. Specifically as she gave me my ring back. She wasn’t angry or anything like that. Just sad. She had mentioned two months earlier that she was doubting that we’d be happy together. I had tried to convince her that it was just cold feet. I told her over and over again that we would work. I told her I wasn’t ever going to give up. She just...didn’t feel the same. After coming so close, it was over. And there was nothing I could do.
“You have a cabin? Like, in the middle of the woods?” She asked me, incredulously. It was our first date, the day after we met.
“Yes. No electricity, no running water, nothing.” I took a bite of my lasagna. I loved lasagna.
“And you go up there?” She raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t snooty, she was genuinely curious. I nodded.
“Every year.” I took a sip of water. “My parents and I go. It’s our time together. We’ve been going up yearly for as long as I can remember.” I had almost forgotten that they were gone as I spoke.
“When are you going up this year?” She asked, hands on her chin. I stopped eating. The tears came up again. Her expression went from interested to concerned. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head.
“It’s nothing. Just . . . they . . .” My words caught in my throat. I took a long drink of water, fighting them back. I hated crying, especially in public. The water didn’t help. Next thing I knew she was next to me, arm around me. There was no chair, so she was literally squatting there trying to comfort me.
“Are they gone?” I nodded quickly. “Recently?”
Another quick nod.
“I understand.” She gently squeezed my shoulder. “Do you want to leave?”
I shook my head. She squeezed again.
“Okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
That had been exactly what I needed to hear then. Their passing was so sudden, and happened just before I met her. It had still hurt - a lot. And she had been there for me. She was always there for me. Until she wasn’t.
