The Legend of Longhorn
November ended. Lucas’s daughter organized a search party.
Crimson, the same color of desperate rose hips clinging on thin branches in the foreground slowly dropped upon fresh fallen snow. Drip. Drip.
In the background thirty feet above the forest floor Lucas hung upside down by his ankles, tangled in bare twisted branches near the top of a fir tree. In a snowy fog, after throwing up the previous night’s stew, he started coming too.
Wiping away chunks stuck to his cheek he wondered, how he got up here? Slowly remembering he was with Larry, he called out for his friend. Only silence. With temperature dropping Lucas trembled calling out a second time. “Larry, over here!”
Branches swayed in howling winds alongside a pack of wolves who replied.
Limbs and twigs twisted up each leg. Swinging by one foot Lucas located his rifle below, half buried in the snow. Searching for Larry between rows of darkness and tree trunks, it started coming back to him. The warm fire. Canned dinner. Fumbling for bullets. “Larry, you son of a …!”
From another direction something made a sound back.
Three days later, hunting dogs led local volunteers under the canopy of pine trees chasing two pair of heavy boot prints, in-turn, which chased after a straggler young buck, off trail. The tracks were barely visible. On horseback, others followed green ferns growing along Dill Trail which hugged the creek. After two cold campfire nights, stopping short of the forest edge; canine snouts pointed up for search and rescue to look where they found Lucas, frozen blue. His struggles never did release him from the grip of branches.
There was no report of his buddy missing.
How would I know? My mom is a blogger. She drafted the article before feds made her remove it.
A couple of days later after Lucas was found, the coroner listed the death as hypothermia- a hunting accident.
More than a few deep thinkers around town whispered suicide knowing there were wolves nearby barricading him in. The paper never printed where the blood came from.
In the small, picturesque mountain town of Gatlin, the Longhorn was more than the local mascot.
The legend of the Longhorn was known to resident’s past and present as the local keeper of the forest, not anything to do with the cattle driven up the foothills. The mascot brought to life a variety of illustrated versions in one, of a creature, who was told walked under the new moon each winter, devouring anything with a pulse. It was told in the story Longhorn protected a gateway between the living and the dead during midwinter. But since the time when witches were burned alive, believing in that part of the myth was viewed as craft. And Native pagan practices were forced out locally over two hundred years ago.
The Longhorn walked on four stag legs, grew a thick fur coat, and stood eight feet tall with a human torso and beastly face. It looked anything but holy for a gatekeeper. Dark locks fell around its face illuminating two small yellow eyes. Antlers grew long and wide from each side of its head as one should expect.
Played by Gatlin’s own fifty times annual dart champion, Julian Williby, and hosted by the Longhorn Bank and Saloon he owned, Julian never failed as the mascot during the annual Christmas parade. In the old days, the festival set off a stern warning for little children not to go into the forest in winter. These days it merged into modernism and over time, Christmas wrapped candy replaced the throwing of ‘blood’ pies.
Draping two paws over his head, Julian showed off at the high school, a sponsor, his latest pawn shop finds by imitating Longhorn under a black bear skin, a dual purpose for the parade. Framing his waist like a belt was an aluminum contraption holding two hide drums while an extended arm held a flute to his lips. It was a remarkable sight, especially when he was stumbling under the weight of his antler crown. Created in the image known nearby in a cave used long ago was made popular by visiting teens daring each other onto private land to look upon an ancient painting of the “demon.” Not a popular place locally and costly to those getting caught. Parallel to the cave image, unexplained, or -conveniently explained-, deaths haunted the area every so often for centuries. But over time graves become burdens. People come and go. No one remembers to raise an eyebrow.
Not for men like Lucas or Larry especially. Although not complete bad apples. Neither had any citations in years and sheriff hunched if Larry was not off doing seasonal migrant work somewhere warm as Larry sometimes did. The only one who knew he was missing would be Lucas. Until I discovered it. And Lucas’s rifle.
I have been sworn to oath not to mention it as a condition of my release, so here I write in my journal before bed while I can recall fresh in my head. It all started after the frenzy over Lucas died down and the Christmas Day parade was forming.
It was Friday December 1st; I was in detention.
This year’s Christmas theme was sleigh bells, and my class was tasked with the float. A few of the cheerleaders made colored bell costumes and I watched them from the window flashing their cardboard glitter creations of green red and gold. I could not help wondering what Amber looked like underneath. I would like to ring her bell. But she would not give me the time of day. Alma did though. That is why I had to defend her.
Stapling white paper snowflakes alongside a farm wagon was not really my idea of fun.
My sister and two friends ditched the decorating event, and I would have been with them if I had not decked that kid. Yes, I said it. And I am not sorry.
Three girls went into the forest, and only two came out.
“Call the police!” Was all I heard when my sister barged through the front door several hours later. Serene, her friend, was right behind her wet and cold.
Putting down her laptop my mother rushed the girls. Whatever was happening got me out of time out.
“Collin, Alma is missing.”
“Okay, okay, sit down, Collin, bring me the phone." My mother asked.
My mother, not being a fan of technology grabbed the landline and dialed 911 before I could reach it.
“Where is your phone?” I directed the question at my sister, she ignored me.
“I think we lost it.” Serene replied.
After listening to them describe what happened I decided to take matters into my own hands. Double checking contents of my bug-out-bag used to spend a night in the forest and worry my mother, I grabbed the spare key to my sisters Subaru.
Mile after mile I headed up sixteen of them through the winding canyon. It was humid, light sleet was coming down. I kept cracking the windows to let them defrost and hear the river over my pounding heartbeat.
Moments later.
“Surprised I beat deputy Williams up here.” I said, poking my head out the window at Tobias.
Pulling up he had jumped out his pickup truck to find out what was going on. I noticed the fire going like my sister said he built. The local angler pointed to the smoke rising.
“No sign of her.” He said, solemnly.
Throwing the car is park I shut the engine off and threw on my parka. Strapping a lamp around my forehead with extras sewn over each shoulder strap of the camo backpack, Tobias stared.
“Pawn shop finds.”
“I guess you know what you’re doing?” Tobias asked, pointing to my pack.
“Like to think that I do sir.” I replied.
“Guess I’ll wait, for everyone. Barb packed me a dinner anyways knowing I would stay out until it got too cold. Don’t end up missing either you here?”
“I have everything I need.” I said, patting my flashlight and compass in my pocket.
Starting my search from the boulder where my sister said Alma jumped and ran. I figure I could find foot tracks and follow. I did not have a plan after that otherwise not try and turn back without her. Did I know her well enough to know where she would go? And why? I could not picture Alma much of an outdoorsy person so I racked my brain where would somebody stay dry and safe if lost. I followed two sets of footprints for forty-five minutes. Then they turned to three. I could not see where the third came from for slush and mud gave way to gravel causing the trail to be a bit slicker. All footprints were gone, and the trail narrowed between the freezing river and slant of dark forest. I felt dizzy for a second and then heard a branch snap. My stomach twisted like it was stabbed with a fork.
“Alma!” I called out against my gut feeling.
Darting into the darkness between tree trunks I beamed my flashlight. I saw a shadow running from the light and I was scared to chase it. “Alma!” I called louder clenching a knife on my belt-loop.
Suddenly I was afraid to call out for her again. As if something was just watching me. I turned off my lights and went off-trail. Up over the incline, I was out of breath at the top. I did not look back but heard heavy slow footsteps behind. My ears were perked but hearing felt distorted with the river behind me and harder drizzle on dried leaves. The more I tried to concentrate on the forest floor sounds the more electrifying the high notes danced around me.
Snap.
Another branch behind me broke in two. And the person or thing doing the breaking sounded big. Tall pines creaked and cracked, and the sleet let up. Jolting down the hill best I could over the fallen brush I came to a cabin I had never seen before. It gave me warm grateful feeling as uninviting as it looked. A broken window, traditional style with wood stove stack and rusted front porch swing. It looked over a hundred years old and not some hunter’s hideout. I could smell the mildew. At least it had four walls and a roof. Bears do not break in cabins I prayed. For some reason I thought of the three little pigs. Picking up a glass chard near the door made me feel a little easier if bear spray did not work.
I decided to light a fire, for the search party at the very least. Funny thing when I turned the flashlight toward the stove, scattered sticks and recent newspaper shreds littered the floor. I cannot get in trouble for being in here I hoped, it was public land.
I was glad the stove had been recently used after remembering if a chimney’s sit for a long time they need cleaned, and I did not have time for that. As soon as it lit strange low thunder ran across the sky. It was not common but not unusual to hear thunder in winter. Snow thunder they called it. I hated the thought of finding my way back to the parking lot in freezing rain. I opened the door slightly and peeked out hesitant to call for Alma again. Not seeing a person or beast I gathered all my oxygen and yelled for her as loud and long as I could before quickly shutting the door. Eagerly I looked out the only window and at once saw movement in the trees. Fumbling backwards I fell over something long hard and cold laying on the floor. It was a rifle. Setting my flashlight down and myself free of my backpack I picked up the rifle with both hands, sitting there, pointed it to the door. In the distance I heard a loud growl. Something went past the window. By the size and fur, it was not Alma this I knew for sure now and sweat formed across my upper lip. I did not know how to shoot.
Suddenly I heard a “Pop!”
A gun went off outside the cabin. I froze.
Perking my ears up over the crackling fire I heard large footsteps, the cabin door swung open, and I fired off a shot in its direction.
Standing over 6 ft tall in the doorway a black mass of fur bent over and hit the floor with a grunt. My body was still frozen although my mind was saying run. I sat there holding the gun. It seemed hours too afraid to move in case the thing was not dead. Out of nowhere Deputy Williams came running from the trees towards the door holding his pistol.
“What the heck is that? Who’s there?”
He pointed his light right in my face beaming some sense into me to set the rifle down.
“Freeze.” He spoke.
I could hardly move anyway.
“Collin?” he asked.
Choking out sounds I confirmed it was me.
“Stay right there, I’ve got back up coming.”
“I thought it was a bear. Was that you who was shooting out there?” I asked.
“No, I have not taken a shot at anything. I was on the hill and came running when I heard this shot.”
A few minutes later the sheriff showed up with a couple other men cracking open some red emergency lights illuminating the one room cabin.
“Well son, I can gather here what happened but I’m going to need you to tell me.”
Crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood inside the doorway was Julian Williby.
“I thought he was a bear.” I said, choking back tears. “There was something out there.”
Sheriff said, “Yes, Alma still is but now you need to come with me. I’ve got people on the trail out looking.”
Picking me up onto my feet by my elbows, I felt dizzy again. Looking around the cabin I shielded my eyes away from the mess, my stomach sour. Poking his head around the cabin the deputy noticed a collage of polaroid’s glued to the back wall over a makeshift bed. In the glowing red light, we could make out most the girls from the high school in various poses, taken right in the cabin. Suddenly I did not feel like the bad guy.
“Looks like Julian had a secret hobby.” Sheriff said, calling for more troops to come from the county on his walkie talkie.
Alma’s disappearance uncovered a crime on top of a cold-blooded murder.
Soon the room was full of people I knew, and my mother was waiting.
The wind picked up; pine tree branches swayed like waves. Thankfully, sheriff neglected the handcuffs allowing me to hike safely out of the forest with him directing behind me. There was no trail to the cabin and climbing out of the area felt harder. My chest pounding again, and, in the wind, I heard a scream. I turned around checking the sheriffs face if he heard it too.
“It’s just the wind through cracks in the canyon rock.” He spoke.
We hit the trail where it broke off into rock and I asked if they saw the three set of prints? It must have been Julian, I thought but why would Alma be in the forest with him.
Something screamed again. The deputy reported he was done collecting evidence at the crime scene and a chopper was scheduled to get the body at first light. He volunteered to sit with the body the rest of the night and sent the rest of the search party back out to find Alma. It was getting late; midnight and the search party would decide when to call it a night.
Freezing rain was falling heavy when we reached the parking lot out from under the tree cover. I reluctantly got in the back of the sheriff’s car knowing both my mom and sister were angry sitting at the station.
As we got a half mile down the dirt road something large jumped out and sheriff did all he could not to hit it. With windshield wipers going, rain falling, visibility low, in the glare of his headlights he saw Alma.
“Son of a bi***.” He said, rushing out of the car.
Then I heard him over the walkie call up an ambulance.
Sit tight was all he told me.
An hour later I awoke to the engine being shut off in the police parking lot. Exhausted both emotionally and physically I climbed out of the car and could see my mother inside through the window with arms crossed.
It was a few more hours before my mother convinced the sheriff I would not be a runaway threat if he let me go home until they decided exactly what to charge me with. Relief swept over me but did not feel good. With so much to process I went home and tried to sleep worried of Alma’s condition.
Several hours went by when my sister nudged me, hearing from Alma, the hospital she was taken to down the mountain was allowing visitors. She was on a 24 hour hold with a touch of hypothermia and a sprained arm but fine otherwise.
I hopped into the shower eager to see her.
We had to make one stop. The parking area to collect my sister’s car. Driving our mother’s car, we headed to the trail. When we arrived, it was vacant of all volunteers from the previous night’s search except one.
“Guess he’s back out fishing.” My sister said.
By dinner time we got to the hospital after picking up some fast food to avoid the cafeteria. Alma cried out in joy and pain outstretching her arms best she could to give us a hug. I did not have a lot of patience to find out what happened.
Alma turned red. I directly asked her what happened, and she shied away, not looking at me but at my sister she told us.
“I admit I was pretty stoned. I thought I heard someone screaming. Like a wailing in the wind so I followed. As soon as I realized I had gone far up the trail I turned back and bumped into Tobias.”
“Tobias!” I said startled. I thought he didn’t get there until after you went missing?”
“I don’t know. He was on the trail with his fishing pole and said something about luckily catching fish under this ice rock. I bent over the trail to look, and he started touching my hair.”
She turned red again.
“…told me how pretty I am and asked if I wanted to make some extra money taking photos. I told him I was trying to save for a car. I didn’t see the harm.”
“Tobias! Oh no.” I spoke.
“What?” She asked. I need to get back out there I am going to kill him!”
Having the keys to my mother’s car I filled up with gas and pushed the petal down as hard as I could going back up the mountain. My pack with my knife was still in the backseat after being too tired to carry it in last night. But I got the wrong person. As I saw it, I was doing the community a favor.
I barely had the car in park when I jumped out and started running up the trail. The sky was white, the ground frosty, brisk cold and a smooth breeze brought a chill up my spine. Something made a sound. A scream. Almost like the ones I heard last night. I kept on until I came upon the edge of the forest where they said Lucas was found. As if instinct told me not to look up, I looked down and saw crimson drops in the dirty snow. Catching my eye on the ground, a spread of polaroid’s, Alma.
“You are sick son of a Bi***.” I did not need to look up.
I slowly walked back down the trail when something else caught my eye, it looked like a deer but over eight feet tall, a moose. Turning a corner, the sheriff and a few volunteers swarmed me knocking me to the ground and this time, putting me in handcuffs.
“I didn’t kill him.”
©ChrisB.
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