For New Zealand Horror Books Month I’m adding another free story here. This one is perhaps more “eco-horror” found-footage with some slasher vibes. I love the idea of being connected / entwined with nature, and what a formidable force it can be.
© T.L. Wood, first published in “Midnight Echo, 19”, 2024.
And I Will Carry You to the Edge of the World
The following video recordings were saved on an iPhone 14 discovered by Land Search and Rescue. It was one of many personal items found scattered alongside Caroline Edmonds, a thirty-seven-year-old PE teacher from Havelock Falls. They have not been edited or altered in any way.
* * *
cover for Midnight Echo 19, © Tee Wood
Hey, John. So, I guess I’m recording these for you, even though you’re never going to see them. And for me too, I suppose, to help me feel a little less alone. You’d be furious with me if you knew what I was doing. Especially that I’m doing it on my own. I know you’d try everything to talk me out of it. But I’m afraid you don’t get much say in my decisions these days. Right now, you’re nestled at the bottom of my backpack, tucked up in my Spider-Man hoodie. The one you always said was too big because it made my boobs disappear. Hopefully, it’ll protect you from any knocks and drops. Although I’m hoping it isn’t needed, given that will mean I’ve also been knocked or dropped. The urn wasn’t cheap, but it’s ceramic and smashable. I probably should’ve gone for a wooden one. Would you have preferred a wooden one? Maybe I should’ve asked you when I had the chance.
Anyway, it’s not up to you what I do now. If you wanted to continue being involved in my life, you shouldn’t have gone and died on me. God, that’s harsh, right? I’m sorry. It’s not like you wanted to get sick. I definitely didn’t want you to get sick. We had dreams, damn it. Lots of wonderful dreams. Now what am I supposed to do without you?
Anyway, I’m doing this hike for the both of us. We would’ve done this together. January or February was your plan. It would’ve been warmer then. Lighter too. Less worrying about when the sun would go down and if there was time to make camp. Right now, in the early weeks of spring, it’s damp, dark and cold. But I’m as well prepared as I can be. I’ve got lots of warm layers and good boots. I’ll be OK. You don’t even have to do anything. Just lie there and let me carry you. Lucky you, I guess.
Anyway, it’s, what? Nine-thirty in the morning. Let’s get this party started, huh?
* * *
It’s taken me most of the day, but I’ve reached the first stop. I lost mobile signal just before the ridgeline. Actually, I was amazed it lasted that long. I guess Starzup has finally upgraded their system. I’ve got satellite on this phone though. Just in case. You see, I’m not totally daft.
There’s a little hut by the track here. It’s pretty basic but nice enough, and dry. My feet hurt like hell already. So much for the good boots, eh? I reckon it’ll take me about three days to reach the Spout at this pace. Are you impressed? I don’t muck about when it’s just me. I guess this finally solves the argument of who was the slowpoke.
It’s nice being out here. Quiet, but nice. Well, mostly quiet. There was something earlier on, I’m not sure what. It sounded big and heavy. A wild boar, most likely, but I kept my eyes open and my hand on my knife. I know it’s usually better to just get out of its way rather than trying to take it down, but honestly, the knife is comforting. Out here, a knife is like a condom. Isn’t that what you always said? Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. Such a wonderful way with words you had. ‘Night, John. Rest well.
* * *
I crossed the river in the early afternoon. I was going to go all the way up to Halt’s Bridge, but then I saw the ford further in. I thought it would be higher at the moment—especially after all the snow we had over winter—but the stones were hardly wet and the water barely grazed my toecaps. I took my boots off at the other side and paddled for a bit. Big mistake. The water was so cold it nearly took my toes off. Still, it felt nice on my blisters.
I think this track goes west of the Spout, so I should see some magnificent sunsets too. I know you’re dying to ask me why. Oh. Poor choice of words, eh? But yeah, I know this might take me a little longer, but I think it’s a better path. As much as I hate to admit it, being out here on my own has got my imagination going a bit. I’m pretty certain I heard that boar again, snuffling around in the undergrowth. But if it is a pig, it’s a heckin’ big one. And if it’s not a pig…Well, I don’t really want to find out what it is.
You’d probably be laughing at me now, getting all spooked by a little piggy. Or maybe you’d be saying, “I told you so, Caroline. This is why you don’t go off alone.” Whatever. You’ve got no say, remember? I crossed the river and I made good time up the ridge. My feet still hurt and I should’ve packed more snacks. I’m out of trail-mix already. Maybe it’s me who’s the pig! Hopefully, there’s another hut up the ridge. I’ve got the pop-up, but I’m not sure I fancy tenting it. I guess I’d better hoof it before it gets dark.
* * *
So, I’m going to start by saying, I’m fine. And I know that’s never a good way to start because you’re immediately going to wonder what was wrong. To be honest, I’m not sure what it was.
I got to the hut just after nine, and it was already pitch black and freezing. I probably should’ve put the tent up much earlier, but the huts seem so much safer. It wasn’t as nice as the other one. Someone had clearly left in a hurry, and it was in an absolute state. There was a plate of what I think was half-eaten baked beans on the table, and a tipped-over metal camp mug beside it. There were clothes, too, strewn all over the floor. Like when you’re looking for something at the very bottom of your pack and you pull everything out in a panic. Oh, I don’t know why I said that. I guess it did look panicked. The way it was all left. The cot didn’t look like it’d been slept in, though, so I guess they were in a hurry to crack on.
Anyway, I tidied things up as best I could, and sorted my dinner—instant noodles, if you’re interested. Then I was getting ready to settle down for the night when there was an almighty crash outside. I thought a tree had fallen over or something. It was so loud, and it echoed all across the ridge. I peeped out of one of the little hut windows, but I couldn’t see anything, what with the grime and the dark. I didn’t want to go outside. Which I think you would have said was perfectly sensible, but I also really wanted to know what the fuck I’d heard. I was weighing it all up, what I should do, and then there was another massive crash. This time at the door. Yes, I know, the huts are for everyone and sometimes you have to share, but this didn’t sound like another hiker. It was too…heavy? And low. I shoved the chair under the doorknob and barricaded the door. I figured, if it was someone, they’d call out, right? But I didn’t hear any voices. Only a succession of small taps on the wooden panels, like someone drumming their fingers on a table. Then there was scuffling, like something being dragged. I stood there, frozen, trying not to make a noise. Trying not to breathe too loud, even. There was a flicker as something moved past the window, but it was fast and gone in an instant.
I waited for ages, my hand on my knife, watching the door in case it moved. But nothing else unusual happened. My candle burned down to almost a nub, and I realised I really needed a wee. Normally I would’ve gone in the bushes outside, but I found an empty metal can that did the job. It seemed better to stay where it was safe. I’m going to try to get some sleep now, but I have to admit, I’m not feeling great. I’m going to move on as soon as it’s light tomorrow. ‘Night, John. Rest well. I’m not sure I will, but I’ll try.
* * *
There’s a man in the forest with me.
I saw him from the ridge this afternoon, but I don’t think he saw me. I mean, of course there are going to be other people here, but this bloke, I don’t know. I’m wary. He didn’t really look like a hiker; he wasn’t dressed for it for a start, and although you’re not supposed to hunt up here, he was wearing one of those longer-length camo jackets. I can’t explain it. He just moved…oddly. Like he didn’t want to be seen by anyone. He had that sort of furtive, shifty look about him, like those teens we used to see hanging out at the back of the dog park. Although, they were just smoking weed and looked more aggro than they actually were. Anyway, I’m keeping my eyes and ears open and I’ll try not to jump to conclusions. I wish you were here with me, John. Properly. Not just a pile of dust. I really wanted to do this with you. Now I’m doing this for you the only way I can. Damn it, John. I really miss you right now.
* * *
I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight. I didn’t find the next hut. Maybe it’s further along and I’ll pass it tomorrow, or maybe I’ve got confused. I decided it was best to follow the river as much as possible, and I’ll rejoin the path at Morrow’s Bend. I pitched the tent, and that lovely orange glow you can see in the background is my little campfire burning away. I was quite proud of myself for getting that going. And yes, I’ve edged it properly and I’ve got a can of water here just in case. I’m not about to set the entire forest on fire. But I can hear things again, John. Things crashing around amongst the trees and further in to the east of the river. I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. If I had to guess, I’d say it was something big. Definitely much bigger than a pig. But what’s bigger than a pig out here? Deer, maybe? Humans, I guess. But, and I know this is going to sound crazy, it sounds solid. Like giant footsteps booming through the trees. Or maybe the trees themselves have picked themselves up and are rolling through the forest. Ha! I’m sure if you were here you’d know straight away what it is. And you’d tell me I’m an idiot with an overactive imagination off on a fool’s errand when I should’ve stayed at home. Well, I’ve got my knife. And I’ve found a nice, fat whuppin’ stick. I’ll keep my boots on, just in case. But I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight.
***
Well, I was wrong. I did sleep. I also woke up with dried mud and twigs stuck to my face, as apparently I’d rolled closer to the river bank in my sleep and the ground was much boggier there. So much for staying awake and alert. But I think my fire must’ve lasted quite a long time as the embers were still warm when I came to. Either that or someone fed it more wood while I slept. Which…well, that would be weird, eh?
I have to say I noticed something unusual. I can’t say if it was here when I set up camp as it would’ve been too dark to see, but well, let me show you. You see that, just by the treeline? The grass is flattened out and sort of sparse. If I didn’t know better, I’d say something heavy had been put there. A boat maybe? Or… well, I don’t know what. There’s fungi here too, like fairy rings, but they’re all mashed into the ground.
I’m packing up my tent and moving on. I’m going to try to get past the old Marron Cottage ruins and into the Cross Keys by evening. The ruins are the darkest part of this forest, and I always found them creepy. I’ll camp at the Keys and then hopefully I can be at the Spout tomorrow. The weather is turning as well, I think. The light is strange out here. I feel like my eyes are always getting misted up. I have to admit I’m feeling tired now. But I’ve come too far to turn back, and I promised you I’d get you here somehow. We’re doing this, John. We’re so close.
* * *
Fuck. Fuck! I don’t like this, John. I don’t like this at all. I’ve been so utterly stupid. You were right. I never should’ve done this alone. I got to Marron Cottage around lunchtime and I guess it seemed like a good enough place to stop as any. So I took my pack off and started putting some lunch together, and then just as I’m about to tuck in, I hear him moving behind me. The bloke I saw the other day. He says nothing, just lurks in the ruins and stares at me, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. So I nod at him and say, “Hey,” and he doesn’t break eye contact. I figure maybe he’s just as wary of strangers as I am, or maybe he’s just really hungry. So I wave my sandwich and ask, “Do you want some?” Still, he says nothing, just stands there for a moment, and then eventually comes over. I’m bricking it by that point and feeling like an idiot, but there’s not much I can do but let things play out. He sits down cross-legged across from me and I hand him a ham and mustard roll. Another grunt and he smashes it into his gob like he’s not eaten in a week or something. I figure maybe he’s one of those guys who go bush for a bit and didn’t come well enough prepared. And then I take in what he’s wearing; a long camo jacket made for someone much taller, and navy tracksuit pants at least two sizes too big. Tattered sneakers that look like they’re only good for the bin, and a branded skater beanie that probably cost more than everything combined. I see the fuzz on his face and the grease-slick hair and I realise, He’s hiding from the cops out here, isn’t he?
Well, OK, that doesn’t mean anything, or even say anything about him as a person. It’s none of my business, after all. Bottom line; he was clearly hungry and so far he’d done nothing threatening, even if he did seem a bit off. We sat together and ate my sandwiches, and then I offered him some jerky pieces, and he ate those too. I drew the line at offering him my water canister, though. When we were done, I tidied up the tinfoil and plastic wrap, slung my pack on my back, and said goodbye. He didn’t say a damn word. Just watched me as I set off into the trees with his head slightly cocked to one side like… oh, I don’t know. Like a dog watches a rat or something. A horrible way of putting it, I know. But that’s how it felt. I couldn’t wait to get past the ruins and out of his sight.
As soon as I could, I started running. I don’t think I’ve run like that in years, John. Not since my twenties and we were doing the cross-country marathons. It felt good. In fact, it felt fucking great. Tearing through the foliage and dodging the trees. It was like I was flying. Like we were flying. And then I fucked up. My foot caught a root and stayed put while the rest of me carried on. I heard the screech in my head as the ligaments tore. Shortly after came the white-hot, searing pain and a wave of terrible nausea. I lay on the forest floor and tried not to howl. But I wanted to. Oh God, I wanted to scream so badly! But if I did, I’d let him know where I was, and all that distance I’d put between us would be for nothing.
Right then, I didn’t know if it was broken, but it was most certainly a nasty sprain. I fought the urge to take my boot off and take a look. If I did, I’d never get it back on again. My ankle would swell up to twice the size and then I’d be really fucked. Yeah. Even more fucked than I am. I sat there for a bit, trying not to throw up, then all my work first-aid training kicked in. I had painkillers in my pack, good ones, the ones you used to take when, well…you know. I thought if I took just one maybe it’d take the edge off and I could figure out what to do. And look, I know you’re not going to be happy with me, but turning back isn’t an option. I need to do what I set out to do. To do what I promised you I would.
I could see Hag’s Head rock up ahead, and I knew the Cross Keys were only a few Ks from the nose. I wedged a good, stout branch under my shoulder and I found I could walk quite well. Probably much better than I should’ve been able to. I’ll thank the drugs for that.
I’m holed up now at the hut at Cross Keys. I’ve wedged the door shut and I’m not lighting any fires. I don’t know if he followed me or not, but I don’t want to take any chances. There are strange noises in the woods again, like the trees are being thrown around. It’s got to be the wind and my imagination, right? Nothing else makes any sense. The painkillers are wearing off a bit, but I’m going to try to rest. Tomorrow, at the Spout, I’ll call for help on the satellite. I promise. Please, don’t be angry with me, John. I’ve just got to get through the night.
* * *
It’s twenty-past six in the morning. It’s not even properly light out there, but I want to get started. My ankle is not happy. Not happy at all. It’s hot and throbbing and I know that’s not good, but also I don’t feel like it’s actually broken. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, you know? These boots fit pretty well and are supportive. Good boots. The best I could get. But either way, it’s not happy. I’ve got maybe 10K to go before I reach the Spout. I could do that in a couple of hours usually. Now, I don’t know. I’ll have to see how I get on. I’m taking you where you wanted to go.
Of course, it’s at this point when I start to wonder if this isn’t what you want at all. That maybe I’ve got it all wrong. But it’s too late now. Anyway, if you wanted it to be perfect, you should have put it in the damn will. Leaving me alone to sort everything out. Well, I’m trying. Holy shit, I am trying! Anyway, I’m going. It looks freezing out there and the mist is a proper pea-souper now. I’ll catch you at the Spout, babe. See you soon.
* * *
Oh God. Oh God, John! I know. I’m so sorry. I must look awful. I’m a mess. But I’ve called for help. They’re coming. At least, I hope they’re coming. I just…I’m doing this now because what I just saw was…Fuck. I don’t know what I saw. I’m just gonna…I’m just gonna say what happened.
Well, I did it. I got to the Spout. It took me nearly four hours and a lot of drugs, but I got here. I got you here. I was at the bottom of the first boulder, ready to climb. I was going to get to the overhang where the rock reaches over and out and let you fly into the wind. And I…I guess I should be honest with you now. I was going to fly with you. I know, I know! It’s a terrible thing to admit, but John, how am I supposed to do this—just keep on living—without you? Anyway, I was shuffling up the first ridge, and it was stupidly hard, trying to keep my balance with one busted leg. I was making progress, slow, but I was getting there. By that point I was like, well, there’s no rush. I was at the endgame by that point. Then he grabbed both sides of my pack and flung me off the rock like I was a paper doll. I screamed absolute bloody murder.
He—yes, that he, the same bloke from before—he stood over me, saying nothing, just panting heavily, that weird, hungry look on his face again. I thought fuck it, I’m not hanging about for whatever he thinks is coming next. So I kicked him in the balls with my good leg and rolled away as fast as I could, away from the rocks back into the scrub. I don’t know what I thought I was going to do. Obviously, I couldn’t outrun him, so I was going to have to take him down. My hand was on my knife before I even thought about it. Then suddenly, there he was, bearing down on me. He started clawing at me with his hands like some sort of animal. Ripping at my jacket and my hair and my face. The pack on my back made me feel like a turtle, rolling around on the ground. I swung out blindly, hoping I’d hit him before he could maul me again, and felt my fist connect with his jaw. Still, he didn’t cry out or anything. He just grunted and huffed as he lost his balance and fell away from me. I wriggled out of my pack and rolled onto my knees. I didn’t know for sure if my ankle was going to support my weight, but I had to give it a shot. Somehow, I got to my feet and set off in a limping run away from him. I was expecting to hear the crash and chaos as he came after me, but instead, he went straight for my pack. He tore it open and started rummaging around inside. He was yanking stuff out and throwing it around like there was something in there he really wanted.
You know, there were a lot of things in that backpack. Most of them I couldn’t give two shits about. They were replaceable, and they certainly weren’t worth taking on some crazy bastard in the forest for. But you were in there, John. Tucked away at the bottom in my Spider-Man hoodie. I couldn’t let him get his nasty, grubby little wild-man hands on you. So yeah, I went back. And on the way, I picked up that good, stout branch that had helped get me all the way here. Before he realised it was coming, I gave him a two-handed full-force whack to the back of his skull and sent him sprawling onto the grass. I grabbed the pack and your urn came tumbling out the top. I guess somehow he’d pulled it loose.
It threw me off. Holding you in my hands like that. Just a few fistfuls of dust in a pretty green pot, the edges gilded with bronze. And I guess I hadn’t hit him as hard as I’d hoped, as seconds later his shoulder slammed square into my back and you flew up into the air. I did my best to try and catch you, but I was winded and sore and scared. It was a miracle the urn didn’t smash as it landed, but I had no time to be relieved as he shoved past me and picked it up. I was furious. God, if only you’d heard the words coming out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so crazy. I yelled at him to put my fucking husband down right now, and he just…leered at me. He had a horrible little grin on his face, like he was finding everything about this super funny. And I saw then that there was something really not right about him. His eyes were too red, his teeth too brown. His ears were too big and all the wrong shape, like flat cauliflowers on the side of his head. And the wiry, grey hair that spread over his face was not just a full beard, but practically a furry veil. I swear he hadn’t seemed this messed up before. Maybe the adrenaline was making me see things. But then he upped the ante on being weird. He took the top off the urn and sniffed.
It all gets a bit hazy after that.
From the look of euphoria on his face, you’d think he’d just inhaled the most glorious perfume known to man. Or maybe the most powerful drugs. I don’t know what was going on in his fucked-up mind. For me, it was like he’d flipped a switch. I hurled myself at him. We collided, and I slammed him into a tree. He let out the most awful roaring noise, like nothing I’d ever heard from a man. He raised the urn in both hands and brought it down on my head. I always thought seeing stars was just for cartoon characters, but the impact made my entire world bright white. Something swirled around us, like mist or smoke, but then it caught in my throat and I realised what it was. His assault had cracked the ceramic shell, and I was breathing in what was left of you.
It’s stupid, but I remember thinking then how this psycho had fucked everything up. How I was so damn close to getting you to the Spout and letting you join the wind at the edge. Now, you were being ground into the forest floor, not free at all. How fucking unfair was that?
He swung the urn again, one-handed this time, and I felt heat in my face as it cracked my cheek. I think, maybe, there were more blows after that. I don’t really…I can’t recall. Anyway, you can see what he did. I know I fell down. That much I remember. And he fell on top of me, still bludgeoning me with my dead husband’s urn. I wanted to fight him, but also…I didn’t. You were gone, John. The whole reason I came up here was to go with you too. So I just lay there, letting him hit me. I didn’t even care why anymore.
I must have been only a few more blows away from checking out when there was that noise again, coming from the forest. A solid, heavy, dragging noise. Like someone rolling the trees around. There was a whoomp. I don’t know how else to describe it. Like when you swish a stick quickly through the air, but much fatter and louder than that. And then suddenly the man wasn’t on me anymore. He was crumpled in a heap by the foot of a tree, his legs all bent up around his ears. I could hardly see by that point, one eye all swollen up and the other full of blood, but there was a flurry of movement, like the tree branches were shaking. Then that whoomping noise, over and over again, and the man sailed through the air from right to left, and then back to right again, spinning and flopping like a landed fish and screaming his fucking head off. And then, oh, John, the really crazy part. The entire forest floor came to life in a surging wave of wood and leaves. It poured over him and into him and smothered his body. The momentum took him and he was pushed, dragged, or I don’t know what, onto the rocks at the Spout. He climbed up the face like a starfish. Wait, no, he didn’t really climb, he just…oozed. All of him. Like some unseen giant hand was urging his body, right up to the ledge and…
There was barely any noise when he went over. Just a faint crack of broken tree branches and a soft thud as he hit the undergrowth below.
Something was moving behind me. I could sense it. Something big. Much, much bigger than a pig. I couldn’t find the energy to roll over and see. Maybe I didn’t really want to see, but in my head, I said the words, Thank you. A deep groan filled the silence, and the air changed as something solid and heavy dragged itself back into the heart of the forest. The earth rumbled underneath me for a moment and then I must’ve passed out.
It’s almost dark now and I’m very cold, but I’ve called for help on the satellite. Someone is coming. At least I hope they are. There are no more strange noises in the forest. I think I’m finally, truly alone. And I… I don’t want to be alone.
I’m so sorry I didn’t get you to the Spout, John. That you didn’t get to fly like you always wanted. But John, wherever you are, I think this will make you happy; I’m not sorry I didn’t fly too. I’ll see you when I see you, John. Wherever, whenever that is. I love you. Rest well.