Midnight Spin

(The Third Installment!) 

 

"So, Barb, what do you do for work?" Rocky asked, opening his third bottle of beer. The night prior, Barb had accepted the park ranger's invitation to bathe together in the moonlight, and that was how she got in this quandary.

 

"I take photos of tractor bones," Barb chuckled. "And then I sell them to model luxury homes." 

 

Rocky smiled, "It's the kind of love you can't get rid of fast enough." 

 

Tears welled up in Barb's eyes for a few seconds before she wiped them away.

 

"What's it like being a park ranger?" she asked.

 

He replied, "Well, it's mostly dealing with out-of-towners like yourself and your husband." He cracked open another beer, his fourth of the night, and continued, "The other bit is just being out here, patrolling the wilderness." Wilderness was right. The Moon cast a bright light, illuminating the entire field, as well as the treetops. A warm breeze skimmed the hot tub's surface while a thin, ominous fog coated the ground. 

 

Everything about the ranch was ethereal, as if she had ascended to a higher realm of some sort, but she fixated on the forest. There was nothing but silence, not a chirp from the birds, and not even a rustle emanated from the treeline. "Something catch your eye out there?" Rocky asked. 

 

"Nope, just admiring your lovely property," she replied, unable to shake her feeling of uneasiness. 

 

"I'm just going to grab another case of beer," Rocky said as he climbed out of the hot tub. "Don't you worry, I'll be back soon!" He chuckled as he walked off. The mayor of Bright Falls hiked by in the distance, holding a yowling cat.

 

Little by little, the sounds returned to the forest, but something felt off. First came the snapping of twigs and branches, and then came the rustling of leaves, which seemed to race closer every couple of seconds.

 

In the distance, the Ponderosa pines began swaying and thrashing about as a gust of wind swept across the farm. The fog that had once blanketed the ground now covered the moonlight, casting fractured shadows on the trees. "Gosh darn it," Rocky swore, echoed and muffled by the wind, followed by three shots at the edge of the forest. 

 

Through the heavy fog, Barb followed the park ranger's muddy tracks to his log cabin. The rustling had stopped. It knew she was there. They waited and watched her, hidden in the depths of the forest, like predator hunting prey. The trail of footprints soon turned to a trail of blood as she headed up the stairs to the front porch. The cabin's door was thrown wide open by some insurmountable force, evident by the wooden debris surrounding it.

 

Inside, Rocky propped himself up against the wall, shotgun by his side. He sat in a pool of his own blood, thanks to the ax stuck in his leg. "How's it going, Barb?" Rocky winced. 

 

"I don't know, but the mayor kills cats," she replied, grabbing the shotgun, and then Rocky, acting as a human crutch. The two limped slowly to the front porch, strewn with leaves and wood splinters. The wind whipped, slamming the door open and closed, while the rustling closed in. Distorted figures, shadowed in a dark, black haze, emerged from the forest. Not moving toward the two, just standing there in the moonlight. Waiting.

 

Back at the lodge, Ron had finally broken his writer's block. Now, he wrote in scribbles, just barely lit by his warm desk lamp. Three thumps came from the hall. "Fuck," he muttered, walking over. He paused for a second after the thumping briefly stopped, and then resumed with a count of three. He scrawled something down on his notepad: Three times two is six...three sixes is the Devil. The Devil himself is at my door!

 

Ron raced to the door, a bit giddy at the prospects of riches. Instead, the janitor, Mike, hauling a black wheelbarrow down the hall, faced him. "What are you doing out here?" Mike asked, shifting around to hide the large wheelbarrow behind his figure.

 

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Written by Jerry Zervas on 1/30/26. 

DO NOT USE UNLESS GIVEN PERMISSION BY ME (i.e. email me)