The Fyrn

Stormstruck

The following days went rather smoothly. I measured the wind speed, checked for fires and further acquainted myself with the woods surrounding me. Meanwhile, I developed a friendship with Justin and an even greater bond with Nora. We joked, laughed, shared stupid stories among some pretty boring official chit chat about weather and possible wildfires. Each morning, I woke up with the sunrise, the light filtering through the cabin windows and casting a soft glow around my new wooden home. The days of solitude quickly turned to weeks and before I knew it, I'd been living in tower 14 for 6 months. With that anniversary came an unwelcome surprise: in the days before, Nora had warned us that a storm was brewing and by the time that 180th day rolled around, the storm was visible over the horizon and it would only be a matter of hours before it got to our positions. When the clock hit 6 PM, the storm was just about a mile out from where I was and in no time it was overhead. The wind howled through the trees and the rain lashed against the windows. Soon, I received a call from Nora on the radio. "Alex, you there? This is one hell of a storm, huh?"
I picked up the receiver, glad for the distraction from the raging tempest outside. "Yeah, it's pretty intense. How are you holding up?"
"I'm good. Just wanted to check in and make sure you're alright. Storms here can get pretty wild. Just make sure you stay inside, you'll be alright." She spoke calmly, she'd obviously been through worse storms more than once. That fact was one I clung onto and it became pivotal to me staying calm.
We spent the next hour chatting about everything from the storm to our favorite books, the conversation was a welcome distraction from the isolation. Justin joined in as well, his deep voice crackling over the radio waves, sharing stories of previous storms and more bizarrely, the legends and stories surrounding the national park. There were tales of a serial killer (or a cult, depending on who told the story) that had left all of their victims in an open mass grave deep within the national park, far from any hiking trail. Justin explained that there was a hint of truth to the tale, as someone had at one point used the woods to dispose of his victims' bodies, but he was soon found out by one of the lookouts when he tried setting the mass grave alight. This was all back in the sixties though, and nothing of the sort had happened since. Another story that was told in hushed tones over a campfire was that bigfoot-like creatures stalked the woods at night, looking for humans to eat or kill in some vicious way. There was, however, one creature that was unique to our national park.
The 'Fyrn' as they called it, was said to be a silver tongued humanoid creature. Its true appearance remained unknown, but it has been blamed for many of the disappearances in our national park. The lore surrounding the creature is quite disturbing, yet as expected it did not go into enough detail to appear believable. All that is thought to be known about it is that it is a sort of hivemind that preys on humans. There's not much else documented than that, and we had a good laugh at how absurd it was that people actually fell for this sort of thing.
The conversation soon took a turn and in no time at all we were chatting about our favorite shows and movies. As the stories started to leave my mind, my eyes began to wander. I looked at the action figure on my desk and it reminded me of simpler times. The action figure was one of Kratos from the God of War games. My brother used to play it all the time while I watched, we also used to play other games of course; Call of Duty and similar shooters decorated the halls of my mind and I recalled what fun Sean and I had while playing. My interest in video games had started because of Sean and him introducing me to them was something I'd always be grateful for. That was all in the past now, though, and lingering on such things for too long proved detrimental to my mental health.
You just can't help but wonder sometimes though, right? I mean if Sean hadn't joined the army where would we be now? Playing video games or annoying each other? Maybe he'd be married and I'd be his best man at his wedding. Maybe we'd both still live at mom's house, or at least visit occasionally. All of these thoughts and more compiled themselves into a heap of memories and broken futures that weighed down on my mind. The cabin's walls drooped, the curtains were swept to the side so you could clearly see the storm outside and my bed was honestly a mess. The blankets lay on the mattress, having been thrown off of my body haphazardly that morning. My mind drifted as much as my eyes did, not paying attention to much of anything.
"Alex? You there?" Justin's deep voice crackled through the staticky radio. It seemed that the storm was interfering with the signal, because this was the first time that I had to strain to hear what was being said. Justin and Nora had been talking this entire time and my thoughts had been too far away to comprehend any of it, in fact I nearly jumped out of my seat at the mention of my name. Startled, I picked up the receiver and stumbled out: "Yeah- still here. There's a lot of interference though, kind of hard to make out what you're saying." And for a minute, there was silence. Well, radio silence, as static still filled the air around me like some kind of electromagnetic field. After a while, I could hear Justin (or Nora, I couldn't make out who it was) pick up their microphone and speak. What they said was lost on me, as it just sounded like static dubbed over more static. It was at that moment that I started to feel uneasy, surrounded by nothing but the night and static.
You know that feeling, right? Your skin turns to goosebumps and the back of your throat is drier than the sahara desert, a weird coppery taste works its way from your stomach to the tip of your tongue and your eyes dart around, trying to figure out why you feel this way. The scent of angst hung loosely in the air and just when I went to speak into my microphone, the static cut out entirely. It was as if the radio had simply stopped working in its entirety, becoming nothing more than a useless metal box of junk. The rational part of my brain did what any person's neocortex would; it blamed the storm.
Yet somehow, even though I'd been an avid rational thinker all of my life, something about that rationalization felt wrong. It just wasn't right, none of it was. The pieces of the puzzle didn't weld together in any cohesive form and just as this thought started to become suppressed, something caught my attention. Peripheral vision really is a cliché in horror isn't it? But it's saved countless lives. You know, like when you see something that's not quite right in the corner of your eye but whenever you turn to look at it, it stays in the corner of your eye amidst the eye floaters? You may think that that's scary, and it very well might be. If you've ever encountered this before, count yourself lucky. The real horror starts when it doesn't move. When you turn around and face a thing that should've stayed in the corner of your eye. When you're staring at something no human eyes were ever meant to see.
He stood there. He just fucking stood there. When the radio died, my eyes were drawn to the window next to the front door that granted access to the cabin I was in. Well, they weren't drawn to the window, but what stood behind it. It was a middle aged man, with a beer belly and a hairline so receded you had to look at him from the back to see it. He wore a white tank top with a disgusting brown stain running from the neck all the way down to his half exposed belly along with navy blue cargo shorts. His eyes shone a bright green and they bore into mine. At first, after the shock had set in, I thought about helping the man. Then, as I walked towards the door, I thought about how strange this whole ordeal was. He hadn't knocked or even spoken a word. His clothes were peculiar too, who would bring this lazy sunday outfit deep into a hike in a national park? In the middle of autumn at that. And why would you wear it in the middle of a heavy storm? These questions caused me to pause for a moment. Maybe it was because of the stupid ghost stories or maybe the stress had gotten to me, but I needed to know more before I let this man into my cabin.
"Hello? Why are you out there? Are you okay?" The words had to be audible through glass and through the tempest outside, so I tried to yell them as loudly as possible. He just stood there, unmoving, unwavering. Like a goddamn statue. I stood there, a step away from my desk, for what felt like hours. He just kept staring and so did I.

"Hello? Have you seen my daddy?" A little girl's voice rang out from the radio as it sprang to life. She didn't sound a year over 7 and she sounded somewhat calm, yet a pang of worry was still audible in her voice. I picked up my microphone and asked what her father looked like, my eyes never once leaving the man staring at me through the window. As she described the man in front of me, I thought of how absurd I was being and that if I didn't let the man inside, this girl might well lose her father. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to open that door. I just stood there, thinking of what to do and my mind kept drawing blanks.
"Please let him in, it's cold. I don't want to lose my daddy." She sounded more desperate now, her voice conveying worry even through the crackling static. I couldn't let this go, my fear could not mean the end of this girl's father's life. I wanted to slap myself in the face for how stupid I'd been. My irrationality could've cost this man his life, he clearly wasn't well. And yet, that feeling nagged at me again. It was worse than ever somehow, after hearing her desperation. Something in me screamed to, at all costs, keep him out. Then, my thoughts all came together to form one single sentence that encompassed why:
"How do you know he's here?" My voice came out as a whimper instead of the assertive tone I'd hoped for. The response was instant, as the static kept crackling all throughout the cabin, the man's stoïc expression turned into a frown and finally into a look of pure hatred. His green eyes pierced my very soul, as if they were arrows shot from a crossbow. Microphone still in hand, I asked another question, "What do you want? Why are you here?"
The reply came instantly and rang out from the radio ten times louder than I thought it was even capable of. The words infiltrated my ear canal and poured themselves into the crevices of my brain, cementing themselves to stay permanently. "You. We are here for you." The voice was not one of a little girl, nor of a gravelly overweight man, it was a uniform voice. Booming and commanding, yet soothing and soft at the same time. It was deep but not rough, authoritative but not void of emotion. As the creature spoke these words, the man walked away from the window without breaking eye contact. Those emerald eyes yearned for me from the shadows, until I was sure the man had hit the railing of the observation deck. Then, the eyes were gone and nothing but darkness and the fury of the storm outside remained.
I must've stood there for hours, staring out of the window and sneaking the occasional glance to my right, left, or behind me. Wherever my gaze fell, only an empty void swept up in a storm greeted me. There was nothing else for me to do but wait, or sleep, and it's not like sleep would be coming to me anytime soon. When the first cracks of light pierced the neverending void, a sense of relief filled me to my very core. That didn't last long, however, as it soon mixed itself with a feeling of unease. The cocktail of emotions I was feeling pointed me towards one thing and one thing only; coffee.
Coffee in hand, I slowly but surely managed to make my way out onto the observation deck. Nothing awaited me there and that was a relief in and of itself. I worked my way to the forest floor, cautious of anyone or anything behind me. I would say that it was unexpected that I didn't find a body where you would've expected one, but that would be a lie. I had read enough horror to know that, even if I had believed that the man had fallen, I would never find a body. He was as lost to the wind as I was lost in my thoughts those next few days.