Demon in the Loch

Young photographer is spending a day in the forest but he wanders away from what he knows.

Introduction

The forest was full of life and the young photographer, Darren, paused mid step. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky. Rabbits and birds raced through the amber waves of shrubs and a cold November wind rushed through the trees, making them sing. Darren had always enjoyed spending his time out in the woods. The privacy and tranquillity were the perfect escape from daily dramas. He opened his eyes to an idyllic woodland scene. An ancient tree had fallen several months ago but it still provided a home for several animals and there were even new trees growing through the trunk. Darren began to reach for his camera, wanting to save this perfect moment in the wild and its message of hope for new life. As he shrugged the camera bag off his shoulders there was another blast of wind, this time it was much icier and instead of adding to the harmonies of the forest it muted them. The silence was deafening and all the hairs on Darren's neck stood to attention.

 

There was no mistaking the sensation of being watched, Darren adjusted his bag and straightened his back. His six-foot frame stood out boldly as his eyes scanned the surrounding area. The forest was a second home and nothing could catch him off guard here. Deciding against taking another picture, the young man continued along the groove of the ground, following a makeshift path. Most likely made by deer. It felt like he was travelling north and as he got deeper into the woods the feeling of being watched became stronger along with an unsettling frostiness.

 

It had rained sometime in the last few days, large water droplets had collected on the fan-like leaves of ferns. Gradually the deer trail became narrower and Darren’s legs brushed the shrubs, disrupting the water and soaking the young man’s thin, denim covered calves. The chill of the spilled rainwater began to numb his legs, yet with the steady pace and constant company of timeless trees, Darren began to zone out.

 

As he finally began to feel less anxious, a low rumble echoed between the trees. Darren's heart rate spiked until he realised the rumble was his stomach, the sun had eased further down in the sky and he hadn't had lunch yet. With a shaky laugh he dropped his bag and sat against the roots of another fallen tree. Darren rummaged around in his rucksack for something to eat, with a smirk he discovered some sandwiches and a flask of warm coffee. Cheese and jam, an unlikely but perfect match, in a sandwich. He had picked up his lunch from his best friend before she started her shift in the café. Normally they would hike together but Sorcha was offered an extra shift. He missed her company but at least there was a good lunch to make up for her desertion. It was an ideal boost on this hike.

 

In between taking bites of his sandwiches and looking around the forest, Darren noticed it was much wintrier here than it had been a few hundred metres ago. Before, the trees and shrubs were vibrant greens and browns with amber highlights. There were small birds rummaging for berries and worms in a carpet of shed leaves. He had even seen a few rabbits racing between warrens. However, where he found himself now, was dead.

 

The trees were taller and naked. These shrubs were still brown but with a blackness spreading through them. Due to their height, the trees were in fierce competition for sunlight and the top branches had intermingled forming a thick canopy with little light actually being able to filter through. The wind still rushed through the trees, and with the lack of animals making noises, the creaks of the trunks were much more sinister.

 

Darren began to feel dread, there was a chill in his heart. He knew he should turn back. The forest had a thousand eyes and each one felt firmly focussed on him. Despite these feelings, there was an unexplainable and irresistible pull deeper into the darkness.

 

As if on autopilot, Darren shakily stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder. He looked behind him to the orchestra of colours and sounds, then reluctantly, he pulled his gaze over the imaginary border where all the colours seemed to leech away and he stared ahead. The contrast between both sides of the forest was stark.

 

A small voice was echoing in Darren's head, “Turn back, go home.” He glanced at his watch, he was expecting it to be late afternoon because it had gotten so dark. The watch read 12pm. Confused, Darren assumed his watch had stopped, it had to be much later. Not that there was a way to confirm this. The young photographer's head was always in the clouds and this meant his phone’s battery was never charged.

 

Any sensible person would turn and go back home. Darren was not sensible. Ignoring the small voice in his head, he continued to follow the deer path deeper into the dead looking forest.

 

It had been ages since lunch and the forest seemed endless. The bag with his crumbs and empties had been lost long ago. Darren paused, it was as if he was waking up from a nap. He looked around feeling disoriented, the bright woods he was used to were long behind him. His jeans were torn from thorns that he didn't notice. Blood was staining the blue material and there were aches travelling up from Darren's ankles but the inexplicable urge to continue was overpowering.

 

The trance took over again and misty eyes within the shadows watched the young man begin walking. Despite his injuries, Darren's pace was rapid and relentless.

 

By the time that he had shaken off this strange trance again, Darren noticed the trees ahead were beginning to thin. It was clear this was what had drawn him away from any sort of path.

 

High on a sense of triumph, Darren began to run towards the grey light filtering through the treeline. He jumped over rocks and branches towards the irresistible brightness.

 

Darren cleared the treeline and came out next to a loch.

 

“What the hell?” Darren exclaimed. His voice sounded alien in the stillness around him. This loch shouldn't be here, no matter how far away from the main trails you are, there are no lochs in this area at all. Darren had every style of map, on every scale and there were no bodies of water anywhere.

 

Cautiously, Darren stepped forward. The feeling of dread, that never truly faded, got worse. That voice that was crying out for him to leave was getting louder. Darren just couldn't turn around. He had gotten this close.

 

The loch was beautiful. It was as still and reflective as glass. No fish moved under the surface, there were no insects. The loch seemed to be a perfect circle with trees framing its bank all the way around. It was a landscape of grey mist and almost black and purple trees. It looked as if it was already a scene in a photograph. Far in the centre there was a small island with a thick cluster of trees, Darren was sure he could see some kind of building in the trees.

 

Darren dragged himself to the edge of the loch. His eyes were drawn down and he noticed his reflection. Something seemed off as he squinted at himself.

 

His eyes travelled over the tears and bloodstains on his jeans that he barely remembered getting, to his dirty hands with mud under the nails and finally up to his face. There were some scratches on his pointed chin, a smudge of dirt on his narrow nose, his cheeks looked hollow and his skin seemed much paler than before. His black hair was dishevelled and had a leaf caught in it. Finally, he met the icy blue gaze of his reflection.

 

He blinked, confused. Darren's eyes were so brown they were almost black.

 

The spell broke and with that the reflection's face changed. It grinned, showing off rows pointed teeth.

 

Darren cried out in terror, he turned and ran back into the trees. He wasn't watching where he was going. In the panic, Darren tripped and fell heavily to the ground. He looked up and saw they weren't rocks and branches. The branches were outstretched arms and the rocks were faces contorted in terror and agony. Holding back vomit, Darren looked around and noticed that there were dozens of bodies at various points of decomposition.

 

A blast of icy wind came from the lochside. Determined not to be the latest corpse, Darren pushed himself up. Digging into reserves of strength that he didn't know existed, he ran from the vision in the loch. He raced back to the path he created. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears. He had to keep running. Branches clawed at him like demonic talons and he could hear a deep growl echoing behind him.

 

Darren's relentless sprint began to slow down as he reached the comforting amber of the familiar forest. He stopped and tried to regain his breath. As he wheezed and blinked through the black spots staining his vision, Darren was oblivious to a spreading chill and the colours leeching away, leaving a deadly grey tone behind.

 

In front of him was the fallen tree he had wanted to photograph earlier, however, he belatedly noticed that the new life which inspired him previously had withered away.

 

The final thing Darren saw that day was a crow landing on the tree and he wished he had taken that photo.

Author's Note

Constructive criticism would be gratefully received.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing story. Great story line and I like the feel of mystery and unknown. I like the location and the use of the camera. Your strong description brought the reader in and held their attention. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote