Sanjay “San” King walked along a trail path, the sun was beginning to set in the west, hidden partly behind a veil of clouds, and he was almost to the spot where he would camp for the night. The only noise along the trail was the slight clinking of metal carabiners attached to his pack and the crunch of his boots on the path.

The air was cool and moist, without the threat of possible rain that was alway so common in the Pacific Northwest. Mary would have loved it, he knew. She had always loved camping and hiking; it had been something San had never really understood until they had begun dating.

She had taken him on his first hiking expedition, an overnight hike that was supposedly easy, but left him sore, blistered, and aching from the miles they had walked. Suffice to say that he hadn’t been up to snuff that night when they shared a two person tent.

San smiled at the memory and continued walking along the trail. It had been years since he had walked this trail, nearly two now, the last time had been with Mary. She had loved the long hikes and multi-day treks into the wilderness.

Her love for the outdoors had eventually infected him. He had never understood the reason people loved lugging pounds of stuff to just sleep under some trees. The wilderness had always seemed like a wild and unpredictable thing, full of bears, bigfoots, and those creepypasta stories about stairs in the woods or creepy ass monsters.

Perhaps that was what love was. Learning to love the thing your partner loved so much and then making it apart of yourself. San hadn’t like camping in the beginning, but it became a thing Mary and he started to do every moment they had the time. When university was out, they would camp, if the weather was good, they would camp, if they had some down time and there was nothing to do, they would camp.

The gear had been prohibitively expensive in the beginning. San remembered the backpack and sleeping bag he had packed on his first few overnight camping expeditions. The cheap tennis shoes he had worn then had left him hurting and aching in a few miles. He had grown stronger the more they had gone out into the wilderness and he had collected more and more gear slowly over those years.

It also turned out the woods and wilderness weren’t all that creepy or terrifying. There were no monsters in the trees, there were no murder cults ready to kidnap unwary hikers, and there were no demonic monsters prowling the undergrowth. It was just nature, full of bugs, animals, and the constant smell of life being recycled.

Falling asleep to the rustling of leaves and the nighttime chirps, croaks, and songs of animals was the best kind of ambient noise. Waking up to the sun peaking over the tops of trees and mountains; the feel the brisk morning air as you prepared your coffee over a small camp stove was something he cherished. Also, waking up beside Mary as they snuggled on the sleeping pad, wrapped in their blankets and just lazing around until the world around them lit up and their stomachs and bladders forced them to leave the comfort of the tent.

Those had been the best of times. San smiled sadly as he reached the spot he was going to stop at for the night. The trail was one that wasn’t used much, a narrow thing that was for the more experienced people to attempt. He was alone as he reached the campsite, there weren’t many who were willing to take the three days of hiking to reach the area.

The half a dozen times Mary and San had made the trek, they had only come across one group. That had been an interesting night of swapping stories and making friends int he middle of nowhere. When dawn arrived, they had separated and Mary and San had headed deeper into the forest.

The camping spot was a slight plateau, there was a cleared area of nearly a hundred feet circumference that was surrounded by trees on the west, but to the east it opened up to a glorious view of mountains and the rest of the national forest. In the morning, the sun would rise over the mountains and bathe the land below in a deep blue that was almost black, before the golden light touched the tips of the towering trees. It was Mary’s favorite sight and the reason they traveled three days to see it.

Over the years, fellow campers had carved a series of wooden benches that faced the east, allowing people to watch the sunrise in comfort. San didn’t head to the campground, instead he walked to the benches and stared across the dark valley below.

The world was being swallowed by darkness and the sun reflected off the western clouds for a brief moment, like a beacon flashing its last warning. Night was coming.

San didn’t mind the dark. He could set up his tent in a howling rainstorm if he had to. He stared into the oncoming night and took a deep breath. He had made it this far, he might as well go all the way.

He fumbled with his pack and pulled out a heavy glass quart bottle. He turned the bottle in his hand and smiled down at it. It was the product of nearly three years of work and as he looked out into the darkness, there was no one to enjoy it with.

While San had learned to love Mary’s own hobbies, from her ‘getting back to the basics’ of making her own soap, harvesting honey, and all the other things she claimed made one appreciate the effort and value of something. San hadn’t minded, in fact some of the activities he did enjoy. Yet, when it came to the hobbies that San was devoted to, Mary had a less than stellar view on them. The one thing that San had loved more than hiking, was brewing.

He looked down at the bottle in his hands, it was a heavy item to bring on a seven day hike and he had begun to feel the heavy weight pulling him down in the last day or so. But the bottle did represent the work of years of dedication and trying to master the craft.

His grandfather, the original Sanjay King, had introduced San to the art of brewing when he was twelve years old. It was why San loved it so much, the hours they had spent while they brewed beer had been times that San remembered vividly. He still remembered the first time he had tasted wort or the first beer he had brewed by himself.

San ran his thumb over the paper label of the bottle. In the dim light, he could still make out the logo of bottle displayed.

King Brewery and Distillery

His grandfather liked brewing, but it wasn’t a passion. It was done more because Sanjay King was cheap and liked to do things on his own. San’s own father was ambivalent about the whole thing, claiming his father didn’t have the focus and dedication to actually do it for a living. Sanjay had made a lot of beer in his life, but a lot of it had been… winging it and doing whatever he felt like doing.

San on the other hand had grown to fiercely love the craft and had spent all the time and energy he had to make his dream come true. The fact that he lived and grew up in Seattle, Washington had been a blessing, as the rise of craft beers had sold him on his lifelong goal.

Then he had met Mary…

San took a slow breath and cracked open the bottle. He could smell the alcohol wafting out of it. He loved beer, but one thing he had learned was that just loving something didn’t mean it would last forever.

Beer was great, but there was also a market for distilled spirits. San could love brewing, but that didn’t mean the sales were enough or consistent that he could lay his entire future on it. He had seen many great breweries fall by the wayside as they weren’t able to adapt and change to the times.

San brought the bottle to his lips and took a healthy swig. The notes of fruit and vanilla hit his taste buds, followed by the sharp taste of the whiskey as he swallowed. San didn’t know how many gallons of the single malt whiskey his distillery made that he had consumed, but it was an old friend. He felt the warmth spreading across his chest.

King Whiskey - single malt

San looked at the label and with his thumbnail peeled it off. The paper gave way to his nail and soon all that was left was the glue residue and the label fluttering in the slight breeze. He watched as the white labeled fluttered along the tops of the short grass and then vanish among some bushes.

San took another drink, shivering from the chill in the air. The bottle was heavy in his hands as he screwed the cap back on. He had to admit that it wasn’t the best single malt on the market, but it also wasn’t the worst. It sat in a nice mid-range that appealed to plenty of people and therefore was able to sell fairly well.

I should have brought a beer, he thought. Distilling was a commercial venture, while beer making was a passion. With the bottle in his left hand, San dug around in his pack once more, bringing out another object.

It was no glass bottle, but it still gleamed in the last remnants of light. An lump of metal, rounded and curved to fit a hand.

San looked down at the revolver in his hands. A Taurus 605, a gift from Mary’s gun loving father. The weight was familiar and comfortable in his hand. He didn’t have anything against firearms, but it was something he had never really grown up with. Mary’s father had been very happy to introduce him to the world, practically dragging him off to the shooting range whenever Mary and he weren’t on a hike or when he wasn’t constantly working in the small brewery and distillery he had started.

Those were good times, he realized. The best of times. It had been nearly six months since he had seen Mary’s father… San shook his head and took a deep breath. He took another swig from the bottle, inhaling as the alcohol seemed to evaporate on his tongue. It both cleared his head and dulled the emotion that was welling up.

He took another breath, then opened the cylinder of the revolver. The box of .357 rounds shook slightly in his hands as he began to lead each shell into the weapon. He shook his head again, wondering why he had brought an entire box of ammunition when only one would have done.

It was one of the things that Mary has always accused him of; overpacking, taking too much stuff on their hikes. In the beginning it had been a problem, mostly a physical one; since he had hadn’t been in shape to go more than a few miles on a hike. But over the years he had gotten stronger and even if he did overpack, it wasn’t a burden. Mary had loved the idea of packing as little as possible and counting every ounce she added to her pack.

Of course, once she realized he could carry a larger burden, he had become the unofficial pack mule. San smiled at the thought and snapped the cylinder close. He looked at the bottle in his hand and took another swig. Courage, right?

San closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the bottle and the revolver.

A wind began blowing and San felt himself flinch as it wasn’t the moist and chill air, instead it was cold and dry. It prickled against his skin and San shivered as the wind pierced through his light waterproof jacket and T-shirt. He opened his eyes and blinked.

The clouds were gone. San looked up at the sky, it was suddenly very dark. Even with the sun setting, it didn’t get so dark so fast. He blinked, feeling the soft edges that the alcohol had given his sense, but that faded as he realized he knew none of the stars in the sky.

He was no astronomy hobbyist, but over the years he had learned to tell what star was what and many a night had been spent with Mary looking up at the stars. San felt his grip on the bottle of whiskey slip as he stood up and stared at the sky.

The bottle bounced off his leg and landed, not with a crack, clatter, or breaking of glass, but with the crunching noise of snow. He looked down and saw that there was an inch of snow on the ground. He immediately began shivering as the cold creeped through his clothing.

“What the hell,” San muttered. He turned to face the campground and stared once more.

With hundreds of people walking a trail, camping in the area, the campground he was to spend the night in had a cultivated look to it. Deadwood had been picked clean, the wild growth had been pushed back, and clear trails and some signage had been placed to warn people about various things. Everything from what not to do, to the path that lead to the small stream where they could collect water.

San stared not at the campground he knew, but instead at wilderness. It wasn’t the wilderness he had known, the Pacific Northwest was a temperate rainforest that produced very thick and dense forests of fir, pine, and adler. San had always thought they were ancient forests, but Mary had pointed out many places where it was second or third growth, with the real ancient trees having been harvested long ago.

The trees were wrong, although San could make out some pine and spruce in the dim light, the rest… everything else was completely different. There was a dusting of snow everywhere, as if it had suddenly become winter. The trees were also massive. San had thought he had seen big trees before, but he stared up at conifers that were thicker than he was tall and seemingly towered hundreds of feet above him.

“What the hell?” he muttered again, feeling the slight rise of panic in his chest. He fumbled for his pack and pulled out a flashlight, 800 lumens lit up the darkening forest around him.

“Where the hell am I?” he asked.

He felt the cold hand of panic gripping him as he panned the light around. Nothing was as it had been moments ago. His light fell upon the spot where he had been sitting; the bench was gone. Instead there was only the bottle of whiskey lying on its side in the snow.

There were no footprints either, San realized. If he had walked here, there should have been footprints. Yet the snow was undisturbed, except for the spot he had been moving around in. He could see the sharp outlines of his boots in the snow, but nowhere else.

“What the hell?” he asked once more.

The trees towered over him, the land around him was extremely dark, and the only light came from the flashlight he held. For the first time in years, since the first time Mary and he had hiked, San felt a tremor of fear run through him. The forest before him didn’t feel right, it wasn’t the welcoming national forest he had traveled through, where there were always signs of people. He felt out of place, a stranger in a dark and unwelcoming forest.

“What the hell,” he muttered one last time.

The revolver in his hands slowed the fear that began to overtake him, but it didn’t stop it. He shivered as the wind picked up once more, sending icy shards against his exposed skin.

Somehow, San realized, he had ended up in some strange forest. With a strange sky. And the season had changed from fall weather to winter. San shivered and looked back at the sky. The stars were clear and bright pinpricks of white against a velvet sky of black and deep purple. He could see light wisps of clouds far above. None of the stars were familiar.

It was the shivering that finally shook San out of the fog of confusion and shock. Everything might have changed around him in an instant, but he was going to freeze to death if he didn’t make a fire or found shelter.

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the ground and shoved it into his pack. The flashlight and revolver remained in his hands as he moved briskly toward the shelter of the massive trees. The cleared area he stood in didn’t have any wind protection and the thick foliage had prevented an accumulation of snow at the base of the trees.

From his pack he pulled out his fire starting bag, it held a random collection of cheap Bic lighters, waterproof matches, even cheaper cardboard matches, and a ferrocerium rod. There was also a small pack of tinder and kindling that Mary had always made sure he carried. One never knew when they would have to start a fire in a hurry and having dry tinder on hand was important.

San used his flashlight to uncover deadwood and twigs, although much of it was soaked from the snow. It did not seem that the snow had just fallen, as it crunched under his boots as he dug around for kindling. It had fallen many days before and the cycle of slight melting and refreezing had made it hard and brittle.

He unpacked his camping trowel and used it to dig a fire-pit, finding loose stones to encircle it and then igniting the tinder and kindling. His hands were shaking and he could feel the cold numbness in his fingers, even through the leather gloves he had put on.

The fire cracked and sputtered, as the less than stellar kindling smoked and tried to ignite. It took a few moments, but the wet kindling began to burn and San shakily put his hands over it, regaining feeling in his fingers.

“Damn, its cold,” he muttered.

The wind had died down a bit, but San could still see the thick plumes of his breath every time he exhaled. He didn’t have a thermometer, but it had to be below freezing. Maybe in the teens or lower.

Once his hands had recovered somewhat, San got back up and began pulling in broken branches and large pieces of wood. He unpacked his folding camping saw and got to work on the branches.

The small fire and the work got his temperature and blood up. Rain had been his biggest worry and he had packed extra ponchos and rainproof coverings, but nothing that would help him against the freezing temperature. He had a pack of emergency mylar blankets, but they would not insulate him against the cold.

As the fire began to grow, San pulled out the small amount of clothing he had brought along. Mostly extra underwear and a couple of t-shirts. Every little bit helped.

His rumbling stomach made him aware of another need he hadn’t fulfilled. San dug through his pack and began heating up snow he collected in a titanium cup. In the other campsite there had been a small stream that he could have collected water in, but he wasn’t about to go exploring in this place just yet.

Water would be an issue. He carried a two liter water bladder in his pack and a one liter water bottle, but his last stop for water had been a stream that morning. He had a small pump filter he used, along with back up chlorine tabs, but if there were no streams that left melting snow for water. San looked down at the half a liter cup and dug into his pack for a half a liter sauce pan he used for cooking.

San felt a trace of a smile on his face as he set up the small rack to hold the two pots. Mary had been a bit of a pyro, always insisting that they make campfires, when they could, and not bother with the propane/isobutane canisters and cookstoves.

San felt the small isopro cookstoves were just far more practical. He had brought along two canisters, as there had been a no campfire rule in effect. He had to admit he had overpacked for the hike, especially when this was supposed to be his last night.

With that thought, San looked down at the revolver that sat within arm’s reach. He stared at the silver weapon and felt his hands begin to shake. He had been close, he realized. He had been very close, but why hadn’t he gone through with it?

Maybe it was curiosity. He had looked at the sky and saw stars he had never seen before. Nowhere was there the constellations that Mary had taught him. It was very different, perhaps it wasn’t even Earth at all.

He chuckled softly at the thought. There had been the time before he began hiking and camping with Mary where he thought the woods led to strange and terrible things. Perhaps he had walked through the woods and ended up somewhere else, maybe even sometime else.

The water began boiling and San waited the three minutes recommended for high altitudes. Normally snow melt was fine, but San didn’t know how long that snow had been out there. He waited and then poured the hot water into a titanium one liter water bottle. He could feel the hot water through the metal and tucked it into his jacket as he piled more snow into the sauce pan and cup.

San watched the fire and felt himself nodding off. His eyes closed and his breath began to even out, then there was a loud crack that echoed in the very silent night.

His eyes snapped open. He reached for the revolver. His hands were shaking as he casted about looking for what had made the noise. It wasn’t the firewood cracking, it sounded like something big and heavy breaking a branch. The strangeness of the forest roared back at him suddenly. He wasn’t in the well traveled wilderness of Washington.

He felt exposed. A thick pile of winter stripped brush half surrounded his camp, along with the tall, ancient tree trunks that narrowed the places something could come at him from; he felt as if there were a million eyes upon him.

The revolver was a comfort and as he felt around his belt loops, he felt the can of bear mace at his side. If there were a bear out there, the fire should dissuade them and the bear mace and revolver would make them regret their decision. San hoped.

He sat in silence for a long while, the only noise was the cracking of the fire and the water at a roiling boil. San cursed and pulled the cup and pan off the fire and winced as the hot metal caused his leather gloves to smoke slightly. He set the water aside and kept an ear out for any other noise coming from the forest.

The silence was unnerving. He added more wood to the fire and peered at the dark spots between trees and among the thorny brush. There seemed to be nothing out there.

Yet the feeling of being watched weighed on him. He could almost feel the eyes on his back, some creature just waiting to strike out at him.

The wind began to pick up a bit again, blowing the smoke into the tree line, San coughed as it blew into his face. He shifted his position and shivered as the wind bit into his thin jacket and layers of clothing. He decided he would take out the mylar emergency blanket.

As he dug through his pack, he watched as the smoke coiled around the tree trunks and moved into the darkness beyond his camp. That’s when his eyes landed upon an oddity, the smoke about ten feet from him moved around something, parting as they struck an unseen figure.

San paused in his digging and stared, the smoke billowed and there was a clear spot where a monstrous creature sat, staring at San and his fire. San blinked, the smoke moved around the figure, but he could not see it otherwise. It was either transparent or invisible to his naked eye, but the smoke revealed it.

The details weren’t clear, but the creature was thick and squat, a large void where the smoke did not reach. San could make out legs and a giant head, but that was about it.

He eased his way back to the revolver and picked it up. He tried not to stare at the absence of smoke, but he couldn’t help himself. The monster seemed to have realized it could be seen and then moved.

Color and form filled in the blank area within the smoke. San saw black fur and gleaming claws; he saw the wet yellow eyes staring at him and the gaping mouth full of teeth.

He could only stare in horror as the beast snarled and leaped at him.