"Rekindling" by Scott Wilson

Rekindling

by Scott Wilson   

She crawled backwards in the dirt, the mud already sticking to the drying blood.

Michelle looked down at herself, by the campfires light it looked like a bucket of red paint had been poured over her, the crimson mess already becoming tacky. 

She felt dazed and her thoughts and memories were foggy.

The woods were dark, the campfire her beacon of safety.

Jack had said that the woods would come alive at night, but she had not realised the nocturnal wildlife would be so active. Each snap of a twig or hoot of an owl made her shackles rise even more and her nerves were shot. 

“So much blood!” she told herself as she backed a little closer to the fire.

“It will be fun babe! Enjoying the nature” Jack had told her before adding “and the time alone” with a wink.

But they weren’t alone and now Jack was dead.

The axe had made a mess of the face she used to kiss, had once even adored.

Another snap off to her right made her head spin.

Something was closing in on her.

“A fox?” then darker thoughts took control of her mind “A bear? Bigfoot? The Axeman?”

The Axeman, a childhood fear she’d once had and, even now, at thirty-five occasionally had nightmares about. 

Michelle wanted to get to her feet, but her legs were still shaking as adrenaline and fear fought for control.

Something stepped nearer and she backed up some more, any closer and she would be in the flames.

“Jack had said it was a safe spot here, but he lied” her inner voice told her, the one that resembled her mothers.

“You thought you would be making up for the months of arguing, hopefully rekindling what you once had and that you would also be alone, but he lied. Jack brought him along!” 

Another snap and she looked around for something to defend herself with. Other than a pile of sticks for the fire the ground was bare.

She could see Jack’s outstretched feet coming from the darkness of the forest, one of his white sport socks displaying a hole.

“Is the axe still there, maybe embedded in his head?”

She couldn’t be sure when the axe now was, everything had been a bit of a blur.  

Something moved and she whimpered as a massive shape stepped into the light.

It wasn’t Bigfoot or the Axeman.

The shape belonged to a huge stag, his antlers large and deadly.   

The animal stood proud as it looked down at Michelle.

Her breath caught when it met her eyes and for a moment she expected it to rush her. It studied her but not seeing her as a threat it stepped aside before majestically walking away uninterested.  

She exhaled with relief, but she couldn’t relax, her husband had been killed, the small axe he had brought to cut wood and kindling had been slammed into the side of his head.

She got to her feet like a newly born fawn before carefully approaching the body.

“Jack!?”  

She knew he was dead… “but what if?”

The day together had been good, full of promise and hope. Then, once the tent had been set up, Jack had started the drink. 

That was when the other had come. 

His Hyde side.

He had started to slur his words before he began pawing at her. 

Jack had promised that he would never hurt her again, not after her last hospital visit “but he lied!”

He was on top of her when she tried to push him off

“Did I pick up the axe?” she asked but the dark forest didn’t have an answer. 

“It was the Axeman, Michelle” her mums voice told her.

“But I don’t remember seeing anyone?” she whimpered confused, still a little dazed. 

“How could you when he had one hand over your face, while his other hand was ripping at your buttons”

She looked down to see that the voice was right, the top two buttons from her cardigan were missing.

“It was the Axeman” 

“But I thought that was just a story to stop me going in the woods alone?”

“No, he’s real. He was the one who killed your father too. It was the Axeman. Let me hear you say it”

“It was…the Axeman?”

“Again!”

“It was the Axeman!” she repeated with more conviction.

“Again!” the voice commanded

“It was the Axeman!” she screamed “It was—”

She stopped.

There had been a noise, something new.

A voice? 

Somebody had said her name. 

It sounded like it was being spoken through a mouthful of water.

“Jack?” 

She slowly stepped forward to where her husband lay. Only his legs could be seen by the firelight, and she wondered if his evil eyes would shine in the darkness as he watched her approach.

“He’s not dead!” her inner voice screamed.

Stepping closer she saw the axe still sticking out from the side of Jacks head and she doubted anyone could have survived such a strike.

“Do you want to risk him recovering and beating you some more? Be the Axeman!” 

Michelle pulled the axe from her husband’s skull and slammed it into the side of his head for the second time that evening.