In my action series “The Adventures of Void Cat and Shadow” I am slowly rolling in cryptids as well as elementals. I, of course, have a forest spirit that can approximate a human form. Think Poison Ivy, but more druid than eco-terrorist. This is her introduction from the first volume of the series.
The wind whipped through the leafless trees as the sun sank in the cloudless sky. The day, which was bright and sunny, was drawing to a close, and pink and purple light filled the western horizon. A small herd of deer scamped through the forest, crunching snow and scattering it in all directions as they ran. The sound of a gunshot rang out.
“I see them, they went that way!” A camouflaged man tore through the woods, chasing the animals.
“Yeah, whatever. You run after them, I’m gonna have another beer,” another man said, slowing his run down to a plod. He opened the bolt on his hunting rifle and removed the round, putting it into the pocket of his coat. “Besides, it’s getting late and I’m freezing.”
“Why did we come out here then if you’re just gonna be a wimp?” The first man shouted as he kept running up the path. “They are right in front of us, it’s a four-point! C’mon, it’s the last day of the season!”
“My point is that I’m cold,” the second man said, slapping his gloved hands together and rubbing the buckskin quickly. He looked down, not waiting for a response, and followed his footprints back to his camp. There he stoked the smoldering fire back into a flame and added small logs until he was satisfied. He pulled his gloves off and warmed them by the fire.
“I don’t know why we are out here anyway, we got plenty of food, we don’t need more venison.” He leaned back on the camp chair he plopped into and kicked the red cooler with his snow-encrusted boot. Reaching in, he pulled the last can of beer off the plastic rings and tossed the plastic behind him, out of the circle of light from the fire.
Cracking the can open, he pulled the metal pull-tab off and tossed that behind him as well. He settled into the chair and slowly sipped from the can. After a moment of sitting in silence, he leaned forward and turned on the transistor radio. A live recording of “Mountain Dew” by Grandpa Jones played softly, and within a minute his foot started tapping in rhythm. He breathed deep and looked up at the quickly darkening sky.
“I love it out here,” he said, with genuine reverence.
Then you should take better care of it.
He sat up quickly, looking around. The song finished and the crowd in the studio cheered and hollered. He leaned forward and shut it off.
“Who— who’s there?” He asked, with the wind as his reply. He shook his head and took another swig of beer. He settled back into the chair and relaxed again, taking another long drink.
The plastic he discarded flew through the air, hitting him in the back of the head. Absentmindedly, he reached up and rubbed the spot, barely registering the event. A moment later, the pull-tab flew through the air, hitting him on the side of the face, the sharp edge of the triangular pull cutting his cheek.
“OW!” He yelled, sitting back up in his chair. “Bob, that’s not funny. You coulda got me in my eye!” He reached down and took the tab up from the ground, bending it into a curl with his fingers and dropping it into the mouth of the can, which he then threw over his head as he had done with the tab. “There, jerk. This won’t hurt if you throw it back at me. Quit foolin’ around, we need to set the tent up, or do you want to sleep in the truck?”
Again, the wind as a reply.
“I guess I could set the tent up. Dunno why I need to wait for that idiot.” He looked over at the long canvas bag, bright white aluminum poles sticking out of the end. “Yeah, but I’m too lazy. I’ll just get in the truck.”
He got up slowly and walked around the campfire toward the Chevy Silverado, the snow crunching loudly under his boots. When he stepped out of the ring of light from the fire, it darkened instantly. “Hey, Bob, okay that’s enough, stop trying to scare me, it ain’t working. I’m not a little girl.”
Maybe you should be afraid of ‘little girls.’ He heard on the wind, distinctly feminine.
“No, I ain’t doin’ this.” He stepped quickly to the truck, kicking his feet in wide circles as he felt for rocks in his way. Two more steps and he fell face-first into the snow. Reaching down he pulled at his boot and came back up with the plastic six-pack ring. Quickly he got to his feet as the empty beer can flew through the air and hit him in the back of the head. He stumbled to the truck, tearing the door open. Jumping in, he slammed the door lock and rolled up the windows.
From behind the windshield he yelled, “Look, I don’t want no trouble. I was just here with my buddy Bob, doin’ some huntin’! We ain’t very good neither. If this was your property, I’m sorry. I had no idea. Just lemme go and get Bob and we will be on our way.”
This isn’t my property, there is no such thing as property. It’s something you humans invented so you could split the Earth up.
He looked out of the window, face twisted in confusion, “What?! I don’t understand. Whadda ya mean ‘you humans?’ Who are you?”
The handle to the truck jiggled, and he turned to it, eyes wide in horror. Bob stood there; his rifle slung around his arms. His entire torso was bound up in vines, some dead and withered, some green like a forest in the middle of July, and others a shocking scarlet; their five-pointed leaves covering every inch of Bob’s torso. “Sam, get me out of here!” He yelled, pawing at the handle with his only unbound hand.
“Virginia Creeper,” Sam mouthed and slid back into the passenger seat. He kicked open the driver’s side door.
Bob slid in, pressed against the steering wheel by the rifle slung to his back. The end of the gun barrel was bent back down on itself and wrapped in more scarlet vines.
“How did…?” Sam asked.
“Don’t man, just don’t,” Bob said. “Git me outta this.”
Quickly Sam and Bob worked to cut the vines and strap off. Tearing the plants, they threw them out of the open door, took the ruined rifle, and threw it onto the floor of the cab. Their equipment; tent, chairs, pots and pans, rained down onto the truck, landing neatly into the bed.
“How in the…?” Sam asked, looking out of the window and up to the sky.
Bob snapped, “I told you, just don’t. She don’t want us here, and we’re gonna do what she says.” He put his right hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys. In one motion, Bob put them into the ignition, started it up, and threw the truck into reverse. They sped down the gravel road, spitting rocks and snow as it went.
The vines inched together, forming a larger vine, like living twine. The whole mass crawled across the small clearing and toward the brush. It reached up a stump, spiraling up for another vine hanging down from a tree. The instant it made contact, the combined vine grew bright red and lifted completely from the ground.
Don’t come back.