The Eternal Return

The trail winds up and disappears within dark trees. I feel like I've been here before, but then. I turn and look behind me. I am alone. I'm wearing a backpack. How did I get here? I glance down at my hand, bound around it is a pocket watch. It leaves a groove in my skin; my finger tips glow white. Untying it, I flip it open and stare at the moving hands. The seconds move forward as the others click backward. Wind howls through the trees, but I hear no animals and no other sounds. I have no idea where I am, but I know I must go forward.

Dried leaves grind underfoot. The trail seems like it has no end, turning and turning to infinity. Trees hunch down, grasping with leaf-covered hands. The wind snaps my hair out of its band, whipping it around. A scent smacks me and I gag, covering my mouth and nose with my hand. The pocket watch feels warm in my pocket.

It's murky ahead, the trees closing in further, the path growing more claustrophobic. I'm not sure how long ago the wind stopped and now I hear a faint clicking. My heart pounds in time with it. It grows louder with each step. A clamp tightens around my chest. I stop, panting.

Why am I moving forward? I take a step back and spin around, but the path jerks and twists and I remain facing forward - towards the clicking and the nauseating smell. The end of the path is like a pinprick ahead, a spot of gold in the shimmering, dark heat.

I breath through my teeth and stare.

Dragging the pocket watch out, I'm not sure how much time has passed. A negative twenty minutes. Am I going backwards or is the watch just messed up? I slide it back into my pocket and grip the straps of my backpack. Was I hiking? Was I camping?

Of their own accord, my feet shuffle forward. I must be in some terrible nightmare. The end of the path looms.

The smell makes me blink away tears as the trees dip closer to the ground, hug the path. I'm crouched, crawling through the branches. Rocks bite into the skin of my hands. The path ahead is tinged in rust. The clicking screeches in my ears. For a second, I'm blind and then the clearing comes into sharp focus.

A house sits a ways away. I'm facing the back of it. From the other side of it, a plume of black smoke drifts into the sky. The house looks abandoned, but I know it must not be.

Standing, I brush dirt off my knees, pebbles from my hands.

The barrels that scatter the clearing are full or a dark, gelatinous something. It's putrid. I inch forward, unable to go anywhere else. Through a window of the house, I see a room empty save for a large TV and a child. Static crosses the screen, but the child sits unmoving, eyes glued to it. I swallow, moving away and along side the house.

I need to vomit.

At the front of the house, I hold in a shriek, only for it to come out in the form of black bile. I cough and choke. The person or thing turns from its machine that pours black smoke. That clicks and grinds. Antlers jut out of the skull, empty sockets turn my way.

"Hand me your backpack." A bony hand stretches toward me.

Stumbling forward, under the drying lines and through dangling hands and feet, I pull off my bag. It's an awkward weight. Lumpy. The bottom of the light blue back is stained almost black. I swallow, pulling out the pocket watch and twisting the chain around my hand. It hurts, I'm not dreaming.

The creature takes my offering, unzipping it and dumping the contents onto the conveyor belt. The small body, crushed and folded, drifts along into the clicking machine. The skeletal thing hands me back the bag. I slide it on.

"Another."

The trail winds up and disappears within dark trees.