Encounter

By Cherime MacFarlane

The man who stumbles up to her door is in trouble. Something about him lifts the hair on her neck.

A paranormal tale of joined souls. She never picks berries in the patch behind the cabin. That place makes her skin crawl. The old cabin has been in her family for generations. There is a mystery the elders never discussed. She thinks a young couple living here vanished without a trace a century ago.
He's not sure what he's hunting. After waking next to the totaled all-terrain vehicle, he doesn't even remember who he is. A stand of trees on a knoll is drawing him in that direction. Can he find shelter there or will he die in the Alaska bush? It's stupid, but he'll make his way to the knoll.
Together, two people who've never met will have an encounter with the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cherime MacFarlane
• Release date: Aug 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201377830

Cherime MacFarlane

Meet Award-Winning, Best-Selling Author Cherime MacFarlane. A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her been there-done that life. Romance, Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination. As a reporter for the Copper Valley Views, Cherime MacFarlane received a letter of commendation from the Copper River Native Association for fair and balanced reporting. She was part of the Amazon Best Selling in Anthologies and Holidays, and Fantasy Anthologies and Short Stories. The Other Side of Dusk was a finalist in the McGrath house award of 2017.

Book preview

Copyright Notice: 1980

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is completely coincidental.

Author's Note: Originally, this story was scheduled to be published in an Alaskan themed magazine called Alaskan Woman. Publication ceased the month before it was to meet the public. That was in the 1980s. For years it languished in a cardboard box. On cleaning out the cupboard, I found that box and a few other things. Polished and primped here it is.

License notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Artwork: C. MacFarlane

Dedicated to: Colleen

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Here's a sneak peek of Aurora’s Song.

Chapter One

About the Author:

Other books by the author:

Chapter One

The weak sun brought him back to consciousness. The broken ATV he had sheltered next to wouldn't take him out of his present situation. The end over end roll had destroyed any possibility of using it to go back the way he came.

Not that he really knew exactly where he had parked the vehicle he used to tow the ATV. He couldn't remember anything before waking up next to the machine with his head ringing.

What he had done was something incredibly stupid. That was clear because he was alone. Either he had come out here solo to hunt or he and his hunting partner had split up, equally stupid.

Drinking from the stream whose bed he hadn't been able to get the ATV out of was equally dumb, but there was no choice. He could easily come down with beaver fever, provided he lived through the next twenty-four hours. Survival was not a given.

Getting out of the cold, and to shelter was imperative. But which way should he go? He thought about following his tracks back across the tundra, but something drew him toward a low hill.

Looking back across the stream he could see the rushing water, and slick stones. The thought of slipping and trying to struggle through the cold water was a deterrent. The land rose slightly on this side of the creek, and he hoped to stay dry from this point on.

After gathering up the wet sleeping bag, he tried to pull the rifle out from under the machine. It was the moment he discovered the ache in his shoulder was more than just a strain. The strength he needed to free the rifle wasn't available.

A groan of pain slid out between his clenched teeth. He was in serious trouble. Worse yet, he hadn't the slightest idea where he was or where he had been going. But the stand of mixed birch and spruce trees on the hill seemed to beckon to him.

It was probably another stupid move, but he would start in that direction. He only hoped he was doing the right thing. If not, he might well die out here without even knowing his own name.

The willows along the upper edge of the stream bed were thick. He had to lower his right shoulder and push his way through the thick stand of brush. If he met a bear, he would probably get mauled.

Making a lot of noise might help, but somehow, he was tongue tied. Holding himself together was his focus. The head injury was most likely responsible for his loss of memory.

Not sure what had happened to his left shoulder, he could only cradle it against his body, and try to keep from crying out in pain when he accidently knocked it against something. He didn't want to make any noise that would alert a predator to his injured condition. Somehow, he must remain silent.

The open area he entered held a lot of small birch saplings. He assumed it was an old beaver pond which had filled in with sediment causing the animals to move on. At one time it probably fed into the stream that caused his accident.

Rephrasing that, he acknowledged to himself he hadn't been paying proper attention. That coupled with being alone out here was the real reason he had to seek shelter while wounded. He might not remember his name, but he knew better.

Finding what appeared to be a game trail, he used it to ease through a dense stand of swamp spruce, and brush. Seeing the broad leaves of Devil's Club in the shade beneath the trees, he had to force a moan back. He understood those broad green leaves and stiff stalks covered in spines would surely nick him as he pushed through the patch.

Coming out on the other side of the stand of trees, he stood on the shore of a broad lake. It lay at the base of the knoll he had to reach. When he glanced up at the tops of the much larger spruce and birch covering the rise, he spotted a thin column of gray smoke.

Heaving a sigh of relief, his eyes searched the shoreline of the lake. Near the far end the exhausted man saw what he was looking for, a small wooden dock extended into the water. A broad trail led from the lake to the top of the small hill.

Almost home. A small sigh escaped him. How could this be home? Was this where he had