An open field, p.1
An Open Field, page 1
an open field
_______________________
w.c. wolfE
An Archer Publishing Book
Washington, D.C.
An open field
Published by Archer Publishing
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by W.C. Wolfe
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Archer Publishing ISBN
978-1-959838-16-6
AN OPEN FIELD
To look upon the world with wide open, unblinded eyes, is to see it in its glory. An unarguable, tangible, and altogether perfect fact. There is nothing more moving than to see the sun rise and fall on an open field. The words that come to mind are peace, harmony, tranquility. Hell, to be cliché, even majesty is an adequate descriptor of the perfection present in God’s touch upon this imperfect world. Light or dark, it doesn’t matter. Seeing an open field through time, through the viewpoint of hours, colors, and change, is something glorious.
In the Southwestern portion of Virginia stands a cabin in Tazewell County. Locals would call it a hunting cabin, butted on the edge of a national forest, with a view to die for. From the back porch of the cabin, are clear lines of sight for miles. Sight which falls upon forest, streams, a partial lake, and one of the most beautiful fields God had ever decided to use in the patchwork quilt He called Earth. The cabin itself was nothing like the view outside. There was very little furniture in the open space. A cot in the corner, one couch, a table, some chairs, a bookshelf, and a small kitchen. On the bookshelf sat copies of books about whales, hunting, and old men fighting fish for far too long. Stories about the victories of literature past. The dust and antiques only contributed to the beauty of the cabin. It was simple, relying mainly on the complexities of nature. The entertainment value was either on the outside or in the classics of a fire and a book. Wi-Fi was a thing of science fiction at the cabin. To some the cabin would have been hell, and to others heaven.
On the walls hung several pictures, among them were awards and recognitions. Through the glass door which opened to the back porch, Steve often stood and looked. He looked at the world outside, which had always provided for him. From the much-needed rest and relaxation of seclusion and nature, to the beauty he captured in pictures and sold for profit. He had his work on display in galleries, magazines, and even in textbooks. Steven Robinson, known to most of the locals as Steve, was a photographer. He didn’t share his work with most openly, and no one in the town knew much about him. He preferred to live this way. He could come to Virginia when he wanted, he could settle into his work or his rest, whichever his trip called for, and he could live the life he wanted, undisturbed. Often when he went to the cabin it would be days, even weeks before he saw another person or even the news. Living life like this was what he had worked so hard to achieve. A life balanced by his work, his passion, and the simple and somehow yet complex beauty of nature.
Steve woke slowly and opened his eyes. He could tell by the pale blue light coming in the windows from the space between the curtains, morning had arrived. As his feet hit the floor, he felt the uncomfortable embrace of winter’s chill transfer from the wood grain to the callused bottoms of his feet. He rubbed the side of his knee, it ached from the cold. Crossing the floor to his favorite spot at the door, he gazed out on the field. Its beauty truly unparalleled; this was his favorite place in the world. Looking off into the distance he could see movement. A white-tailed buck crossed the field as Steve scurried to find his binoculars on the bookshelf. Counting the number of points on its antlers he could tell this was a beast worthy of the hunt. He had not done any hunting since investing in the cabin, he preferred to do his shooting through the lens of a camera. For his lack of knowledge in certain areas, he knew, if he had to, he could at least survive.
As the thoughts of venison passed through his mind, Steve put down the binoculars and took up his RX 100. Walking out to the porch, he steadied his arms against the banister, his skin tingled as the moisture from the railing connected. Zooming in, he felt his chest heaving and beating. Even in the cool of the morning he felt the heat of excitement as he targeted the magnificent animal and snapped nature, again, for the ten thousandth time. It was just as beautiful now, as it was his first time.
Frame after frame, he took shots of the animal, noticing its slow movement. The tones of its musculature and the texture of its hide were phenomenal in the early morning light, the dew on the field causing a slight misty haze or fog to pop up in spots. He had seen this fog before, not normal, but it made for beautiful shots with the animal. The tone and atmosphere would make nature and hunting magazines fiend to purchase them. After some time, Steve stopped shooting the buck and just focused on enjoying its presence in nature. Looking through the lens of his camera Steve noticed the animal’s head jerk, something had startled it. The deer then leapt some 25 feet or more out of frame somewhere into the fog. Steve quickly switched from his camera back to his binoculars. By the time he did the animal was gone, nowhere to be seen in the field. Wiping the dew from his arms, Steve picked up his camera and walked into the cabin, his growling stomach telling him it was time for breakfast.
Bacon, eggs, and milk. Could some of the simplest things in life make the whole experience better? The answer was yes. Steve finished eating and walked to the sink to wash up. He looked out his window and noticed several other deer were passing through the grass at the side of his house. This behavior was rather unusual, especially in this environment. Steve’s mind began to race at what could be going on, the worst of which would be someone else building on the neighboring property. It was about fifteen acres away and owned by old man Mitchell, who passed several months back. Steve had thought about buying the property for more privacy but given his schedule the timing wasn’t right. Steve shivered a bit from the cold and the pain in his knee returned.
Walking across the floor to the glass door, Steve noticed a black spot on the far end of the open field. He hung his camera around his neck and reached for the binoculars. His knee tightened up again as he opened the door and he felt goosebumps on his skin from the cold. Looking through the binoculars, Steve’s fingers started to tingle as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Through the scope he saw the rack of the buck from earlier, then suddenly the head fell over. It rolled on the ground and behind it, the rest of the deer was flayed open. Not knowing what could cause this, a bear, mountain lion, or something unexpected, Steve took several pictures to document the event. Nature is harmonious, serene, and ruthless. The death was nothing more than a reminder of how we can be at harmony with nature but in it, we can never be at peace.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Chores, things to make living slightly easier, such as chopping firewood and bringing in some food from the deep freezer for the night and next morning. Steve was content with this life. If he never returned to the city, if he never had to leave his little slice of heaven, he would be just fine. He finished the evening in one of the most comfortable leather chairs, reading Hemingway. Steve shifted his weight in the chair and then grimaced. On his arm was several drops of blood, almost like he had scraped it on something earlier and hadn’t noticed. He wiped the blood with his handkerchief and saw that the wound appeared to be more of a burn. Shaking it off, he returned to Hemingway. He finished reading for the night and stepped out on the back porch. Looking at the stars, Steve wondered about the thousands of worlds, thousands of miles, and the wonders therein. Before turning to come in Steve noticed the fog rolling across the open field, spotting here and there but seemingly longing to join as one. He filled his lungs with the crisp night air one last time, then he walked into the cabin, locked his door, and retired for the night.
Blue light again came through the open spots in the space between the cabin curtains. Steve reached up to clear the sleep from his eyes. When his right hand went up his left fell to the pain in his knee. Rubbing his knee for relief, Steve felt the pain of the burn on his arm. Rolling out of his bed he walked to the door then outside and was greeted by the same beauty he saw most mornings at the cabin. The sun started peeking over the mountain range, as Steve gripped the rail in front of him. The view was breathtaking. His body relaxed and he felt free again. Switching his gaze from the mountains, Steve noticed the field and mist again, just like the day before. Far off in the tree line he saw movement. He went back into the cabin, and this time he grabbed both his camera and binoculars and ran out to his spot. Kneeling, he watched the movement. Small at first, and then emerged a good size mob of deer. Even more than he had expected. Could this be the same familiar unit who passed by his window yesterday? Steve went from relaxed and free to excited and grateful.
Pulling his camera from around his neck, he started to snap. His actions were less though
The glory of busting open the runny part of a fried egg and having it run down over bacon, the grease and yolk mixing in an orgasm of flavor, brought a smile to Steve’s face. Being at the cabin often caused this effect. Moments after devouring his food, he found himself at the sink to clean the wages of war left on his plate. He felt the sun on his face through the window. Looking out it was as if all had returned to normal, nothing unusual, no herd of deer, no bears, no fog, not that either of the former had been there normally. Wash, rinse, repeat. This was likely the most mundane part of his day. Movement occurred once more, and Steve glanced up. Standing outside of his window, in plain view, was a white-tailed fawn from the earlier group. He recalled the animal from his observations. It was red and dripping wet, looking panicked and scared. For a moment Steve locked eyes with the fawn and could feel the fear of the animal. Before he could spend a second thought on the scene, the fawn took off out of view.
Concerned, Steve walked to the back door. He froze, chills ran over his body. In the field, with the fog cleared, he saw several dark spots. He ran out to get a better view. Looking into the field he saw four more deer had been mauled. The scene was a massacre, the beautiful field was splattered in blood almost mimicking the fog of earlier in the morning. Steve ran through the house, grabbing his pistol hanging by the front door. Exiting he jumped off his front porch, landing he grabbed his knee, but his adrenaline kicked in and he took off around the cabin and down into the field.
Crossing his yard into the field, Steve felt his feet dragging in the knee-high grass. He drew his gun and approached the dismembered animals. Walking up to them he kept a careful eye on the edge of the field, at the tree line. Nothing in nature outside of a large predator could have done something as horrific as what was in front of him. Checking out the carcasses, he noticed they were slashed, ripped, and it looked as if the gooey bits were bubbling. The ground was wet around the deer. He touched it to identify the moisture, it appeared as dew. Touching it, it had no smell, it was nothing more than dew. Wiping his hands on his pants, looking around the tree line again, Steve holstered his gun and started the two hundred yard or more walk back to his cabin, none the wiser.
The day ended much the same, chopping wood, bringing in food, and reading. Before he sat down with his book to end the day, he looked out the door at the field again. Whatever had mauled the deer had come back, the carcasses were now gone, nowhere to be seen, only traces of black spots on the field where the deer had bled out. It was a shame something so majestic could be taken away so easily. Steve was reminded of how this was true not only in nature but also amongst mankind, it was part of the reason he preferred the seclusion of his cabin.
After a few minutes of reading, Steve felt pain shooting up his arm. Looking down he saw blood on his hand, it appeared to be the same wound as the one on his arm. As he looked at it, he noticed his pants now had a hole in them. Thinking the worst, he shed his clothing and immediately showered. Recalling the day, he had touched dew from outside, not only on his hand and pants, but also on his arm. He grabbed his pants from the floor and pulled his handkerchief out of the pocket. Opening it up he saw it was now ratty and full of holes. The moisture, mist, dew, fog, or whatever, was corrosive, poison. Could it be from local mining? Or something else altogether. Dumping? Was this part of the war that nature wages daily? His mind went from hypotheses to hypotheses, even the supernatural wasn’t outside his realm of thinking. Steve looked at his phone, no service, he wanted to google local chemical companies and so forth. Looking outside one last time, he made his mind up. Steve would drive into town tomorrow and speak to law enforcement, possibly even someone who could investigate the environmental aspects of these strange happenings.
Steve rolled over in bed as the blue light of morning danced over his eyes from the space between the curtains. It was the third morning in a row, he decided tomorrow he would do a better job of pulling the curtains closed. He rolled to the side of his bed and dropped his heavy morning feet to the floor. Reaching to rub his knee he rubbed the wound on his hand and yelled out in pain. Today was different than most mornings, instead of going to the door and basking in the glory of his view, he headed to the kitchen sink to clean and wash his wounded hand and arm. He then bandaged both with gauze and tape. For added protection he wrapped the hand and arm in an ace bandage from the first aid kit.
Looking out the kitchen window he remembered the deer, and the fear and hopelessness in its eyes. Between the fear of a large predator and the odd behavior of the moisture Steve was relieved to have a reprieve from nature by leaving for town. He walked to the door, no matter what he would do his morning ritual of looking out on the field. It centered him, even in the ruthless chaos sometimes found therein.
Looking out the door at the open field, it was different this morning. The tree line seemed to have moved back several yards. Today, instead of fog popping up in spots, it was massed together, and seemed less natural and more supernatural. Nothing seemed ordinary or harmonious about it. Steve saw movement at the tree line again. He hurried out to his porch and watched intently as six deer, then the rest of the herd emerged from the tree line and started grazing. Steve watched, alert for the predator, looking for a bear or some type of large cat. What he saw were the deer walking into one area of the field, heads down, grazing peacefully.
Slowly the dew at their feet became visibly denser from even two hundred yards away. It started small, then grew into fog. Suddenly, In the back of the herd a doe went down into the fog. Blood sprayed into the air as the animal moaned in pain. There was nothing around the deer that could have taken it down, nothing but the mist. The rest of the herd jerked in fear and started to leap towards his cabin. The fog grew thicker and seemed to chase them. One by one the deer landed in the open field and one by one the deer went down. Spots of the fog were thicker and denser in the areas where the deer vanished as they landed.
His heart pounding in his chest, Steve turned, ran into the house, and slammed the door. His first thought was to plug all the cracks around the windows and doors. He franticly started jamming clothing and towels, to block any vents to the outside of the cabin. The only thing left was the kitchen window. He ran to the sink and threw open the cabinet underneath. Grabbing the caulk gun, he rushed to seal around the window. Looking out he saw the last of the deer from the herd land in front of the window, just like the day before. Their eyes met; the fear was there just as before. This time, however, the deer dropped to the ground in a bubbling mess. The sound it made was both heartbreaking and bone chilling, it was the sound of pain and death, it was the sound of the reaper. Trembling in fear Steve jerked the curtain closed and ran to his back door. The mountains, the open field, all visibility had been cut to nothing. His eyes were filled with the white nothingness of fog. All that stood between him and the cruelty of the outside atmosphere? The thin panel of glass in his door.
His tranquility was gone and in its place was fear. Sweat beaded on his forehead and on his arms, as he slid down the wall beside the door and onto the floor. Steve didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t call for help, he couldn’t outrun it, he could only wait out what he felt was sure to be imminent death not three feet away from him. Wiping the defeat from his eyes he stared out into the white, like Pandora looking into the box and finding hope. Unlike her he found nothing. To his left he suddenly heard a voice. “Nature is harmonious, serene, and ruthless.” To his right he heard another. “Could some of the simplest things in life make the whole experience better?” His mind was playing tricks on him. Whatever was outside his door didn’t feel harmonious. It didn’t feel right to him, not right at all.
