The Missing

One

I remember when he came to me. His honyed words laced with silver, filled with empty promises. Like any person I fell for them. So ready to believe anything he told me. Even today I regret what I did.

He came when I was nine, all I asked was he save my dad. He did, but at a price. A price I didn't expect.

At age ten a kid in my class had an aneurysm. Everyone went to help, but I was frozen. Scared to move, why? Cause I had caused it. He had been bullying me for weeks. One day I wished for his head to explode. At that moment, within that exact thought.

It came true.

I once tried to tell my dad, but his mind had been gone. Dementia had stricken him, he didn't even recognize me.

Then he came.

The odor of oil and smoke had filled the room that day. Following it, hoping to close the window that allowed such a scent. Walking down the hall, passing a empty room. A man in all black stood, and a boller hat perched atop his head. Facing toward an open window. It was cool autumn day, yet that smell made one gag.

"Sir? Sir?" My little hand tugged on the cuff of his shirt. It didn't seemed to get his attention. Walking around to face him. He had a neatly kept beard, he showed aging yet not old. Finally his gaze slowly turned down. "Are you okay?"

Nodding ever so slightly. My head began to pulse harsher each beat. Noise clouded any though like a radio, or like a loud scream. Gripping the sides of my head wishing for it to stop.

"Do you him to live?"

The tone of a hundred voices spoke. Each in sync with every word spoken. He never seemed to blink, calm unlike most.

"W-what?"

"Do, you, want, him, to live?"

The pace slowed so I could hear clearly. Frightened beyond belief, shaking in boots. He hadn't opened his mouth, not once. How could I hear though?

"Who?"

"Your father, the disease has progressed rapidly"

"Can you help him?"

"A trade?"

"I don't have anything"

" Oh yes your do"

"What ? "

" Yes or no"

He extended a gloved hand. Staring at for only moments. A grin grew under the scruff, a hungry eye gleamed. Taking his hand, cold to the touch, firm too. Something was off, my hand hurt. Looking down, it happened!

All the veins in my hand turned black! It spread up my arm! I tried to stop it, but it wouldn't stop!

"Help me!! Help me!!" Clawing at my skin waiting for help. A few nurses found me, apparently I had scratched my arm to the point of bleeding. They patched me up. Without a reason why.

Present

Inyan, that's who helped me. A spirit of stone, who only gives his blessing to who sees as worthy. The Sioux may be small in number, but our stories remain. I give truth to these tapes as well, seeing things no one should.

"They said somewhere around here" I drove my massive beast of truck inward. The woods were thick, but extremely close to the swamp. Any further and the whole would be devoured. Turning off the headlights, revealing a deep darkness. Tiny slivers of light pierced through. Swinging the driver door open, a wide  gap between me and the ground. Jumping down stumbling a few inches. "This should be a piece of cake"

Walking down the trail, spotting a trail of fading footprints. I was lead to a small pit. Where a number of items were left. A water bottle, backpack, and bracelet. Picking the jewelry piece, a scent of perfume.

The trees rattled with the wind. Twigs being broken, as something moved in.

"I hear, that you like to pick on women! And a few men!" Shouting into the night. "you force them to the ground and have your way!"

It brushed through the bushes. Trampling a branches off as well. It was moving fast, too fast for me to see. Backing to the Semi, trying to gain ground. I kept quiet attempting to hear. A drop of sweat beat down the side of my face.

Spiralling swatting a black hand. Taking a tight grip around it's neck. The placing the top of my tomahawk on its throat. Forcing it into the grill of the truck. Strands of hair clouded my view. I knew who it was in my grasp.

"Didn't think I would catch ya?" Flipping my hair out of my sight. "Now, Goatman, lets talk"

It groaned, fighting under my hand. Fur matted and disgustingly smelled of gas. Goatman or Saturs as they're mostly known for. Take after their father Pan, who forced himself on a goat. Now they force their will on people.

"You have something, from a week ago and I need it-"

A good connected with my gut. Sending me flew a only a few feet. It charged, crawling rapidly on all fours. Swinging my blade to give my room. Dodging the slash, stumbling to my feet.

"Oh you want some? Well it ain't goin to be that got damn easy!" Readying my tomahawk. Fainting any movement to throw it off. It was a speedy little jackass. Trying to keep it my sights. Slashing randomly, only to hit air wasting away energy. "You asshole"

Circling to wrestle me to the ground. Saturs are experts in wrestling. So a bit surprised when I was slammed into the ground. Able to wiggle a arm underneath it's chin. Locking it, as well as wrapping my legs around it's waist. Jabbing a few strikes into the ribs. Dirt began to kick up as we wrestled. Picking me up slamming down little by little. Bruising may have began to form.

"Try it again I dare you!" Lifting me higher than previously. Releasing my hold planting a kick into the chest. Landing on it's back, it's abnormal form gave little maneuverability. Searching for my weapon, grabbing the hilt. The Satur charges, rolling to a side. Denting the front of my truck.

"Oh you son of a-"

Slashing downward striking the back of it's neck. It squealed as the blood leaked out.

"Tell me" growling into it's ear. Digging the blade deeper. "Tell me!"

It eventually did. Leading me to a small cave where various items were stored. Amongst these was a silver locket. Storing it away in a empty pocket. The Satur stood chained up against a tree.

"Many thanks, but you I just can't leave you here" whispering into it's ear. Taking the tomahawk and slashing it's belly open. Hoping the wolves will finish the job. The stress sunk into the driver seat. A look in the visor mirror showed a bust lip. Touching only made the wound worse. "Now let's return this"

Louisiana wasn't my absolute favorite place. Especially once summer rolls around. Humidity isn't exactly ideal for me. Pulling the truck to a nearby mailbox. Returning the found locket hopefully the Satur wouldn't return.

This was the other part of my life. Finding what goes bump in the night. This ain't like those movies or tv shows you watch. I only have my eyes, ears, and truck. That's really all one needs. I try to keep myself quiet, makes it easier to operate. Why I chose trucking helps stay on the move.

One thing my old man said to me before he passed? Never be a hero be the smart one.

I try not be.