31 Mar 2025

Final Encounter by Anna Andriychuk

It was customary to warn anyone daring to

go that far into the Gifford Pinchot forest in such a time of year. Christmas, a day of wonder and joy. It was meant for spending time with all of those closest to your heart, spreading love and warmth between each-other for the year to come. Certainly not for carelessly wandering around, endangering your life for the sake of some baseless rumours.

“You two should really just leave,” an old woman, clad in a warm and cosy (albeit a little battered) jacket, squinted her eyes, muttering loud enough for the recipients of her warning to hear.

“Hm? Oh, don’t worry ma’am, we’ll be fine,” a young, enthusiastic man replied to her with a smile, carefully inspecting the various cans atop the shelves, putting in every one that caught his eye in an already busy-looking shopping basket.

“Still-”

“We’ve been to this place many a time. Right, Eddy?” an older, gruffier, yet breaming with just as much (if not more) enthusiasm man chuckled from behind, holding some brand-new camping equipment in his hands.

“Yep.”

“Not on Christmas, though,” the old woman’s eyes darkened, her voice serious.

The two men shared a look, perplexed by this… peculiarity. They’ve met a lot of people in this little corner of Washington enough times to be on first name basis with some of them, and yet today, like some broken record, they’ve all been screaming for them to leave. Some even offered to let them crash for a day if it meant they wouldn’t venture into the forest.

“Oh, please, what’s the difference?” William rolled his eyes, annoyed, somewhat carelessly dropping their purchases onto the counter.

“I warned you,” the woman sighed, scanning the items.

Silence stretched between the three of them, filled with nothing but soft beeps of the scanner and the computer that updated the price every time a new item was scanned.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Stevens!” Eddy announced on their way out, desperately trying to make the situation seem less awkward and stiff.

To his demise, he wasn’t granted an answer.

“Let’s just go,” William patted Eddy on the shoulder as he went past him, his voice strained but firm: “we’ve got stuff to prepare. That Sasquatch ain’t gonna shoot a selfie of itself.”

“Sure, lemme just-“

“Eddy?” Mrs Stevens suddenly called out to him, forcing him to meet her gaze. She looked… dejected. Saddened by something, perhaps, but by what – he couldn’t pinpoint.

“Yes?”

She opened her mouth, hesitating, before closing it and turning her gaze away. Eddy patiently watched her clench and unclench her hands, noticing barely visible tremors going through her palms. She sighed, slowly turning to stare back at him.

Then finally opened her mouth to speak…

<…>

Why didn’t they listen?

Why did they let their stupid useless pride take over their rational thought?

What was the point of this foolish endeavour?

Eddy stared at the now lifeless body of his father, frozen far too quickly for all of the numerous layers of clothing he wore. Far too spontaneously. Far too unnaturally.

A piercing, horrifying scream roared from outside what used to be a proper tent. Snow hailed mercilessly from above, the sides and below, getting into every nook and cranny of his very being. His fingers stung excruciatingly, cold seeping into his body with every passing beat of his slowly freezing heart. He trembled, from fear or shock or cold – he no longer knew. Nor cared.

He knew. He knew he didn’t have much time. Pictures flashed before his eyes: happy memories, sweet promises, broken hearts, the faces of his beloved.

As Eddy drew his final breath, he belatedly realised the true meaning behind Mrs Stevens’ words:

"I hope tonight you never find whatever it is you are and aren’t looking for."

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