CRYPTID

Epilogue

Sweat gathered at the base of his spine, his shirt clinging to him where the cooler pack pressed against his back. It was a cool autumn day, but the cooler pack was full and heavy and carrying it up the incline required more than a little effort. The sweat ran in rivulets down his face, sticking his hair to his skin. He had to pause to shove his hair back, trying to hold it in place with his hat. His hair was at such an awkward length—too short to be pulled back in his usual ponytail, but just long enough to constantly get in his eyes.

Henry had thought this hike would get easier the more he did it, but that had yet to be proven true. In fact, today, it felt much harder. It didn't help that he still suffered symptoms from his concussion. Even now, his head was throbbing slightly, but he pushed on. He knew he'd need to rest a little longer afterwards, but that was okay.

This was something that needed to be done.

Soon the incline flattened out, and the trees grew sparser, the ground rockier. Ahead was a massive boulder... or what had once been one. An even larger tree had grown out of it, and the wild twist of its roots had crushed the boulder into pieces and pulled it apart to make a dark, shadowed gap, a sort of cavern, between the stones.

Henry took a minute to catch his breath, his hands on his knees. As soon as he stopped moving, the cool air met with his sweat, chilling him. He couldn't stay here long—the days were shorter, and as the sun sank away, it would only get colder. He shrugged off the cooler backpack, and it landed on the stony ground with a crunch. The entrance to the cavern was scattered with old bones. The place had once been the den of a cougar, though it was now abandoned.

Until recently.

He unzipped the backpack. Immediately, the scent of raw trout wafted out. The bag was chock full, his summer catch being put to good use.

From somewhere deep in the cavern came a sound—a rough brushing against the stone. The shadows beyond seemed to deepen...

"Dinner time," Henry said aloud. He grabbed the cooler from the bottom, stepped forward, and upended it. The slippery trout all fell out with a splat, sliding over the rocks and piling in front of the cavern entrance.

Once the cooler was empty, he stepped back.

The shadows of the cavern darkened further. Then a pale, bony hand reached out and took one of the fish, dragging it back into the dark. Henry watched silently as the hand returned for seconds, then thirds, more and more...

It was hungry.

It had been four months since he had found it—or it had found him, out here, in the woods, alone. It didn't speak, but he knew that it was scared. Confused.

Lost.

It didn't understand this land, didn't know where it was.

It needed his help.

It needed him.

Henry smiled.

He was happy to help.