FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Rick piled up tinder with shivering paws and gazed out of the mouth of the cave at the steady snow fall beyond. His mind kept turning back to the Jack London story and he shook his head. Stop it you idiot, you're not going to die out here, he thought. Besides, it's not even the Yukon. But he hurried to make the fire all the same. A Colima Coyote had no business freezing his tail off in the middle of Pennsylvania, he reflected.

He shivered as he spun the wheel of the disposable lighter. It sparked but no flame caught. Great, too cold, he thought wrapping his paw tightly around it. He hoped he'd gathered enough wood to make it through the night. It was tough finding dry stuff in the storm outside, but he'd managed to gather up quite a pile, collecting branches from beneath the boughs of the pines that dotted the ridge.

It had been a mistake to leave the car behind, he realized that now. But at the time it seemed like a good idea, the vehicle certainly wasn't going anywhere until morning.

The fishing trip had been planned long before the weatherman decided it was going to snow. The cabin was rented, his fraternity brothers were assembled, and it was happening whether he was there or not. Originally, he was supposed to come out on Friday morning, but work kept him tied to his desk until the late afternoon. By the time he left, the sky was slate gray and the first flakes were drifting down to swirl around the passing cars. He managed to get out of the city before the heavy stuff started falling but it came soon thereafter.

The cabin they'd rented was deep in the woods, accessible only by an old logging road. Perfect for a long weekend with his brothers, not ideal for a drive in a blizzard. He may have made it to the cabin, but he'd gotten lost after sunset and drove ten miles past the logging road before doubling back.

The "road" if one could even call the muddy ruts in the earth a road, bent away from the highway between two massive pine trees which crowded so close to the road that Rick was sure he'd lose his side view mirrors when he threaded between them. It might have been easier to find the dirt road, but the snow had all but covered it. The only indication he had that there was a road there at all was the faded blue sign, pock marked with bullet holes, which read "Honey Hollow."

He turned on the BMW's high beams and did not like what he saw at all. The snow was thicker among the pines, covering the bases of the trees and erasing all details from the landscape in a white blur. But he could still see the road, thanks in part to how scarcely it was used. Along the center of the unkempt track grass had grown long and thick, creating a ridge of snow, like a bleached spine down the center. It was this that Rick followed.

Inching along, he discovered the road back to Honey Hollow was longer than it seemed on the map. He drove on mile after mile, with not a sign of other travelers. The hills along the edge of the lane edged closer and began to grow into mountains. Eventually, sheer cliffs pushed in on the left side of his car and a sharp drop crept up on the right, until Rick had to slow to a crawl. But even then, it was useless. The snow was coming down hard, and even with the windshield wipers on the highest setting, they just couldn't keep up. Not that it would have mattered, even if Rick had seen the large stone, well boulder really, laying in the middle of the road, there wasn't much he could do about it but park anyway.

As it happened he didn't see the boulder until it was too late. Though he was barely moving, the car smacked into the snow covered rock with enough force to crack the plastic bumper. The freezing temperature contributed to the damage, he guessed. He got out to inspect the car and the road beyond. Neither looked terrible, but neither truly mattered either. The boulder had tumbled off the side of the imposing cliff and landed directly in the middle of the track. It could be moved, but not my Rick, and certainly not alone.

He looked at his watch, it was nearly seven, the sky was dark and the road was darker. He'd be cold and stiff if he had to spend the night in his car, he knew, and the walk could not be far a mile, two at most. In an hour he'd be with the brothers in a nice warm cabin with a diesel generator, satellite television and most importantly a nice hot shower.

Deciding to brave the road he popped the trunk and pulled out his knapsack. It was the same, battered canvas bag he'd carried into the frat all those years ago, and it had served him well ever since. He had only the essentials in it, a change of clothes, his fishing knife and a lighter for the cigar tucked in his breast pocket. The larger suitcase, with all his toiletries and dress clothes, he left in the trunk. The brothers would help him push the boulder out of the way in the morning and he could drive the car the rest of the way. In the meantime he'd walk. He licked his chapped lips and stared down the road.

But that was nearly four hours ago. The distance had been greater than a mile, greater than two or three. He guessed he'd come at least five mile, slowed considerably by the dark, the snow and the vicious wind which whipped against his face until ice crystals had caked his muzzle. When he came across the cave, set back in a little hollow away from the road, he made the decision to try and ride out the night there.

The cavern was dry enough and very deep. He couldn't see the back wall and guess by the echoing sound his footfalls made that it went back quite a ways. The opening of the cave looked like an eye squinting out into the cold night, but it opened up inside. The cavern slanted down into darkness at the back, while the front was littered with dry leaves and pine needles, perfect for a fire. He cleared a spot for a fire and set out to find wood.

Finding enough wood (he hoped it was enough anyway) took the better part of an hour, now wet from melting snow and cold to the bone he sat next to a small pile of brush, hoping to heat the lighter up enough to light. He struck the wheel again and this time it caught. A small guttering light, mostly blue, but it was burning. He held his breath as he touched the tiny flame to the dry kindling. It smoked, and then caught. He let out his breath in a sigh of gratified relief. He piled sticks onto the dry needles and leaves, when they caught he piled thicker and thicker branches. Soon he had a bed of hot coals and a fire bright enough to see the walls of the cave.

But that was not all he saw. The fire cast a circle of light that reached the ceiling of the cave and both walls, but not the back which remained a wall of darkness broken only by a solitary figure. "Who's there," Rick called frightened by the sudden appearance of a stranger.

He stepped forward into the glow of the fire and Rick saw it was a boy, or perhaps a young man, certainly in his late teens, and very beautiful. He was a lithe, short fox, with piebald fur. There was a patch of white on his face like a mask and his blue eyes shone in the light of the fire like ice crystals. The effect of his odd coloring and brilliant eyes was both unsettling and alluring. When he spoke his voice was sonorous and clear like leaded glass struck ever so slightly. "I'm sorry to frighten you, sir. My name is Dmitri. I heard you from below, and now that I see your fire, it looks very inviting. Might I join?"

The boy, or perhaps young man, Rick thought with an interior smirk, was edging closer. "Please," Rick said motioning to a place across the fire from him. "What were you doing down there?"

Dmitri sat down, near enough that the fire bathed him in light but far enough that shadows danced across his face. Rick noted that he was plainly dressed in khaki pants, pulled up fairly high and a plain, white t-shirt. He wondered why the young man was out without a jacket. "I was with some friends camping in the woods, near the old mill pond, and I went out and lost my way. I've been in this cave ever since."

Rick didn't remember seeing a mill pond on the map but he hadn't looked very closely either. "You're lucky you found the cave, dressed the way you are, you could have frozen to death out there. Heck, even in the cave you could die without a fire or something to keep you warm."

Dmitri smiled coyly. "Then I'm very lucky you happened along, sir...to keep me warm." His laughter was like tinkling bells.

Rick shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't deny that he found the young man terribly attractive, but it seemed wrong somehow to take advantage of someone who looked half his age (or maybe a third) and was clearly in a desperate situation. But it had been weeks since he had intimacy, and he'd been staring at the new intern, a college freshman, all day. He licked his lips unconsciously. "Are you warm enough? We could sit together."

Without a word, Dmitri stood and walked over giving the fire a wide birth. He took a seat next to Rick, crossing his legs and holding his ankles. The two were close enough that their arms were touching. Rick was very conscious of Dmitri's knee pressing against his thigh. Hesitantly he put his arm around the young man's shoulders.

"You're freezing," he observed.

"It's very cold down there," he said indicating the back of the cave. "You'll see what I mean."

Rick didn't understand the last part, but he was too excited by this lovely creature's proximity to bother thinking about it. "Why did you go out on your own on a night like tonight?"

Dmitri sighed whimsically. "It's a very long story, I wouldn't want to bore you," he said resting his head on Rick's shoulder.

"No, please, go on," Rick replied. He was eager to keep the conversation alive and the contact as well.

"My friends and I were camping near the mill pond over on Uppland Creek a few miles from here. When the storm began to blow in from the east, we realized that we didn't have enough wood for a fire, so we drew lots to see which of us would look for wood. I knew that John and Peter would try to trick me; they are very close friends, though Peter was my lover. We used dry twigs that John had found, two long and one short. I drew the first and it was short, I could tell right away. They sent me off to find the wood. That's when the storm broke."

The story sound vaguely familiar to Rick but he couldn't remember why. But Rick did not long dwell on this, for as Dmitri told the story his paw found Rick's leg and was idly rubbing up and down his thigh. There was definitely something though, something about the mill pond and the twigs that stirred his memories.

"Well I went out, and I did find wood. It took me some time but eventually I found enough dry wood for the night. I went back to the tent, it was one of those army surplus tents made out of canvas, and what I saw was heart breaking," he said with a long sigh. "The lantern was burning inside the tent, and I could see them silhouetted against the canvas. John was holding Peter, he was kissing him. My Peter. I was so upset I dropped the load of wood and ran off into the trees."

Now it was coming to him, a story his grandfather had told him when he was very young. Sitting on the old man's knee, he'd spun a yarn about three boys who had come back from the war and gone camping under dubious circumstances. This story sounded like that, right down to the mill pond. There was a piece of it missing though, something about the twigs. "What happened that brought you here?"

"The storm began," Dmitri explained. "The wind began to howl and the rain started to fall."

"It was raining?" Rick asked. Had it been warm enough for that today, he wondered. But the question faded away as Dmitri slid his paw up into Rick's crotch. His own paws had begun to wander as the story went on, over the boy's chest (boy, yes he's definitely younger than twenty) and up and down his bicep.

"This was before. Anyway, I wandered through the night as the thunder crashed and the lightning lit up the sky, terrified and sad, until I couldn't take it anymore, the pounding storm and the aching sorrow. And so I found this cave and crawled deep into the back, never to..."

"The twigs," Rick interrupted. The story had come back to him, the missing piece. "It was a trick, with the sticks. John was clever, he showed you three sticks one short and two long, but when he put them in his hand he snapped them all. He made you pick first so he could get rid of you. But in my grandfather's story it was for something you did in the war, not to steal your boyfriend. In the story they put away the tent and left you in the woods during the storm to punish you. But in Grandpa's story this happened in the late 1940's."

"1946 actually, we got back shortly after VJ day," Dmitri said. "Everyone gets it wrong though. They see me as some fool who got lost in the woods, some boy who got taken advantage of. You understand all about that though, don't you Rick?"

Had he told Dmitri his name? "What do you mean?"

"You want to take advantage of me too," Dmitri said lifting his head from Rick's shoulder.

He looked down at the boy in horror. The piebald face he thought was so attractive was melting like hot wax, skin and fur sloughing off in large swaths revealing the dark red flesh beneath. The eye sockets no longer contained the hauntingly beautiful eyes, but now swarmed and squirmed with maggots. His tongue hung from the side of his maw, bloated and black. Parts of his skull showed through the side of his muzzle forehead, bleached white by time and gnawed upon by rodents.

Rick gasped and stood up but the boy was too quick, he had him by the lapels of his stylish mole hair jacket. "You wanted me so badly before Rick, am I not good enough for you now?" Dmitri's silver bell voice now sounded like glass being ground into cement. His black and white fur was coming off in clumps revealing skin as mottled as the fur that once covered it. "You're just like Peter," he complained, almost pouting.

"No," Rick whispered.

"Give me a kiss," the rotting horror begged.

"Please, no" he replied. But it was useless. Even if the winter winds weren't howling, even if the snow wasn't muffling the sound, there was no one to hear Rick's desperate scream. The woods were empty of life that night, and by the morning there was no trace of Rick's campsite inside the cave, save for a charred mark on the floor and three broken twigs.