moths are drawn to a flame, Heather

don't underestimate the abilities of a fifteen year old based upon the expectations of modern twenty first westernized thinking

     Heather stood at the mouth of the cave peering into its deepening shadow of darkness with distance perceived. She felt the chill of fear crawl up her spine this time more pronounced. The cold she felt outside in October's high altitude Sierras was sharp adding greater chills to the cave's looming proximity. "I don't know about this, after all. Gettin' late though, gotta gather some firewood."
     She dropped her backpack instantly feeling as if all of gravity released her to the weightlessness of space. She almost felt the fullness of floating skywards, akin to the feel one has when walking for miles, removing heavy shoes and running barefoot. She re- tracked her steps to gather dried pieces of kindling and weather cured conifer wood and some oak. She thought maybe she'd practice lighting a fire using frictional means with her small crossbow and spindle kit but opted against it; she was getting cold due to the air's chill and perspiration. 
     "I'll just light me a fire the next most primitive way I have at hand, not exactly flint rock and steel, but the good ol' magnesium bar way." She was known for her use of hyperbole and irony and found delight in her own monologues. She chuckled out loud and imagined hidden varmints like the reclusive marmot peering, enjoying her soliloquy.      "Mr. Marmot, you'd never know the difference between a magnesium bar and a friction fire kit, now would you?!" 
     "Okay if you don't tell anyone, I'll share my fire with you. How's that?" She spoke to the imagined mammal as if it in fact were present which was probable. She had seen various of the species jumping in and out of rocks, sunning themselves and whistling calls to each other. Their feces lay upon mountains of talus, warm comforts of evidence in their invisibility and ease of her loneliness.
     A fleeting thought crossed her pangs of hunger for fresh meat. "Sure would be a treat if I could catch one of your kind, no offense, but I do enjoy real meat now and then. It's been a while since I had a burger. It's okay Mr. Marmot, not tonight, come by and sit by my fire tonight."
     With an armful of wood, she trudged uphill back to the mouth of the cave. A marmot whistled in the near distance, a ravine, offshoot of a deep canyon at the base of the mountain she was on. "I knew you were watchin' Mr. Marmot, invitation's still open."
     She had a fire going in short order, having used the magnesium shavings and tinder. She carried a fifth of bourbon whiskey in her backpack, in glass. She saved the alcohol for special occasions. Tonight was not special per se, but she felt she needed some warmth down her throat and a bit of soothing. 
     She was nervous about where she decided to make camp. She had a full view of the moonlit canyon below, quite dark and menacingly deep, an eerie juxtaposition to the black maw of cavern behind her fire. As the flames danced and sprang skyward, sparks, red and orange sparkled airborne following the smoke's path. An ounce of whiskey for a tired fifteen year old girl at high altitude provided the same effect as if a forty year old man had drunk five or six shots. 
     She munched on granola and jerky while taking an occasional drink from her canteen. The moon hung off the cold grey, eastern horizon. She heard the howl of a wolf echo off the canyon's rim followed by the shriek of a mountain lion. "Dear God, help me find my way up here. I'm gonna cross these mountains and make my way along the Pacific Crest Trail with your help." This trail was also known as the John Muir Trail, stretching from the Sierra Madre Mountains in Mexico, all the way northward to Canada.
     "I'm heading south. At this rate I should reach the Mexican Sierras by next year September or there abouts." She was well prepared in all areas of wilderness survival, a tough young hiker with tenacious attitude and determination. She was highly skilled in living off of nature's provisions including winter survival. Her knowledge was gained by an obsessive compulsive fortitude which involved learning by experience and voracious reading and studying media that pertained to all aspects of wilderness travel and survival. Hers was not a survival minded mind set. She enjoyed living on the outside, in nature. She was an anomaly due to her age. While the majority of the world's fifteen denizens were busy following the dictates of parents and societal norms; she had increasingly learned to live outdoors, conditioning herself by an obstinate focus to escape her sordid past. 
     Heather stood at the mouth of the cave peering into its deepening shadow of darkness with distance perceived. She felt the chill of fear crawl up her spine this time more pronounced. The cold she felt outside in October's high altitude Sierras was sharp adding greater chills to the cave's looming proximity. "I don't know about this, after all. Gettin' late though, gotta gather some firewood."
     She dropped her backpack instantly feeling as if all of gravity released her to the weightlessness of space. She almost felt the fullness of floating skywards, akin to the feel one has when walking for miles, removing heavy shoes and running barefoot. She re- tracked her steps to gather dried pieces of kindling and weather cured conifer wood and some oak. She thought maybe she'd practice lighting a fire using frictional means with her small crossbow and spindle kit but opted against it; she was getting cold due to the air's chill and perspiration. 
     "I'll just light me a fire the next most primitive way I have at hand, not exactly flint rock and steel, but the good ol' magnesium bar way." 
     She was known for her use of hyperbole and irony and found delight in her own monologues. She chuckled out loud and imagined hidden varmints like the reclusive marmot peering, enjoying her soliloquy.
    "Mr. Marmot, you'd never know the difference between a magnesium bar and a friction fire kit, now would you?!" 
     "Okay if you don't tell anyone, I'll share my fire with you. How's that?" She spoke to the imagined mammal as if it in fact were present which was probable. She had seen various of the species jumping in and out of rocks, sunning themselves and whistling calls to each other. Their feces lay upon mountains of talus, warm comforts of evidence in their invisibility and ease of her loneliness.
     A fleeting thought crossed her pangs of hunger for fresh meat. "Sure would be a treat if I could catch one of your kind, no offense, but I do enjoy real meat now and then. It's been a while since I had a burger. It's okay Mr. Marmot, not tonight, come by and sit by my fire tonight."
     With an armful of wood, she trudged uphill back to the mouth of the cave. A marmot whistled in the near distance, a ravine, offshoot of a deep canyon at the base of the mountain she was on. "I knew you were watchin' Mr. Marmot, invitation's still open."
     She had a fire going in short order, having used the magnesium shavings and tinder. She carried a fifth of bourbon whiskey in her backpack, in glass. She saved the alcohol for special occasions. Tonight was not special per se, but she felt she needed some warmth down her throat and a bit of soothing. She was nervous about where she decided to make camp.    
     She had a full view of the moonlit canyon below, quite dark and menacingly deep, an eerie juxtaposition to the black maw of cavern behind her fire. As the flames danced and sprang skyward, sparks, red and orange sparkled airborne following the smoke's path. An ounce of whiskey for a tired fifteen year old girl at high altitude provided the same effect as if a forty year old man had drunk five or six shots. 
     She munched on granola and jerky while taking an occasional drink from her canteen. The moon hung off the cold grey, eastern horizon. She heard the howl of a wolf echo off the canyon's rim followed by the shriek of a mountain lion. "Dear God, help me find my way up here. I'm gonna cross these mountains and make my way along the Pacific Crest Trail with your help."  
     This trail was also known as the John Muir Trail, stretching from the Sierra Madre Mountains in Mexico, all the way northward to Canada.
     "I'm heading south. At this rate I should reach the Mexican Sierras by next year September or there abouts." She was well prepared in all areas of wilderness survival, a tough young hiker with tenacious attitude and determination. She was highly skilled in living off of nature's provisions including winter survival. Her knowledge was gained by an obsessive compulsive fortitude which involved learning by experience and voracious reading and studying media that pertained to all aspects of wilderness travel and survival.      Hers was not a survival mind set. She simply enjoyed living on the outside; in nature. She was an anomaly due to her age. While the majority of the world's fifteen year old denizens were busy following the dictates of parents and societal norms; she had increasingly learned to live outdoors, conditioning herself by an obstinate focus to escape her sordid past. 
     "My first blizzard is gonna be scary, but hey, what's there to lose? I'm not afraid of dyin', I got the Lord with me, yea, though I walk through the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, thy rod and st . . . aff. 
     What the hell?" The sudden screech of the aptly named bird reverberated sharply off the deep, interior walls of the cave. 
     "Okay, I am afraid, who isn't. Just a dang screech owl. I gotta keep this fire going. She refrained from having built the fire too far inside the cave's mouth. Her shadow and that of her camp equipment and backpack cast flickering shadows on the cave's walls. Bats emerged from deep within flying past her head. 
     "Now don't go gettin' snarled in my hair guys, or else I'm gonna have to accuse you consistent with urban legend that you're attacking me. Just keep your sonar activated and flight course on target."
     "Tinkling stars where's my baby brother tonight? What's he doing? Twinkle, twinkle little stars how I wonder . . . Heather fell asleep. 

     *    *    *
     Was it a dream? She felt something in her face. She moved her hand up against it, for it to go away. It persisted. It was a presence up in her face. She was having a bad dream, a nightmare. Deep in sleep, she felt the need to get up and pee, a ritual act, it seemed that often occurred. An annoyance of necessity, she must deal with, and with it so cold outside of her sleeping bag.
     A gradual process to transition from deep REM's sleep to subconsciousness and the threshold of full wakefulness usually occurs during a certain time span unless interrupted. Nonetheless the groggy, haze of twilight between sleep and waking consciousness is unavoidable when sleep is being intermittently disrupted as with the urge to pee in the wee hours of the night.
     The presence in her face persisted, a heavy, black thing. She was dreaming and yet she could smell a foul animal like odor. She reached out her hand to brush the thing off her face. She touched some thing but couldn't awaken. 
     She sensed with her mind's eye now. The thing stood like a hominid, resembling the form of a man. She thrashed in her sleep, moved to her right shoulder, then left then face upward on her back. She smelled it again. The smell of cadaverine, rotting flesh. Her eyes fluttered briefly then opened in an instant to reveal a living nightmare. 
     In a groggy state of mind she almost instantly awakened to see by dim moonlight.
Reality revealed a real monster. It was fully present inches from her prone face. It was the mask, or "face" of a diabolical creature. It was leaned over reeking of death and scum, into Heather's face. It's foul mouth exuded crooked edges, ridges of what must be teeth in a grey black maw. It's head was twice the size of hers and seemed feathery furred. Glowing red eyes from hell's furnace burned into Heather's own. 
     She screamed.