Figure in the Forest

By Joe Pangelina

John Simon seemed to everyone like an ordinary man who lived an unfortunate life. As if life wasnt hard enough for him already, students at the school where he worked started disappearing. John unwittingly stumbles into the mystery himself, only to discover these arent just simple serial kidnappings, but are the product of something more dark and sinister. John finds himself struggling in a fight against time, survival, and his own sanity, to uncover the mystery of a sinister creature that lives in the trees.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493167234

Book preview

1

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T HERE WAS NO moon that night, and the air was cold on my skin. I had not ventured out to see whether or not the moon was shining, but to investigate noises that were most perturbing. A thin layer of fog veiled in front of me, making my vision that much more deplorable, and on top of that, the wind whistled in a way that made my decision to explore my street in the middle of the night that much more unthinkable. However, I could not dismiss the noises I heard, for they entered my thoughts as something too curious to go without explanation. At least my mind wouldn’t burden my dreams with restless images trying to determine what could have possibly made that sound.

The sounds were more similar to moaning than they were to crying, but that had entered my mind as well. I thought about calling out and asking if anyone needed help, but for some reason I was too afraid. Look at me, standing in the middle of the street in a cheerful neighborhood, afraid. Sure it was dark, and cold, and the wind made things slightly unsettling, but the odds were that I had absolutely nothing to fear.

After half an hour of simply wandering the frozen streets at night, I convinced myself to make a sound. Hello? Is there anyone out there? I called. Strangely enough, the sound stopped after my first word. That made it easier for me to figure out where it was coming from, at least. I turned to look in the direction from which it emanated, and found myself looking towards my neighbor’s yard, into the midst of the many trees that grew there.

I thought to myself, Ah, that’s it. Just another one of their lousy cats making some more stupid noises in the middle of the night! Of course! Realizing the source of the sound, I returned to my home to get some well-earned rest.

Pff, what was I thinking? I said to myself. Going off, into the cold, into the dark, for no apparent reason other than… you know, there was no reason. I sighed deeply. Guess I need sleep much more than I originally thought.

Just as I started to lie in my bed again, I heard the sound again.

"Gah! Why?" I exclaimed. I put the pillow over my head and let my brain entertain me with thoughts of what that terrible sound could be.

Perhaps it was one of those ridiculous chain-mail monsters, foretold by the internet and my cell-phone, coming to rape me in my sleep. Maybe it was an alien who believed that the Parson’s home was their shuttle back to planet Ogo. It could have been that some mad, malevolent demon was setting up his camping equipment too close to civilization, or just miscalculated the location of the house he intended to haunt by a few meters. Of course, it could have just been my stupid neighbor’s stupid cat, trying to make love in the moonless night with some other godforsaken feline. I supposed I’d never know. Oh well, I needed sleep and that’s all there was to it.

2

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T HE NEXT MORNING, I got up at my usual time of 6 AM. Most people call that early; I considered it a blessing that I was actually able to sleep that long. Insomnia isn’t really the word, it’s more just wanting to play videogames or watch movies instead. Anyway, I don’t even get up early to go to work or school, I just do it because… well, I’d never really thought of that.

When 9 o’ clock came around, I left as I had to work at 10:30. I work as a high school teacher of American History. Why I chose this line of work is something I ask myself every morning nowadays. I suppose I did this because I love American History, and I assumed that my students would too. Somewhere in that equation I guess I also assumed that the teachers would appreciate my existence as well. Turns out that I was horribly wrong about both of these things, but I don’t care either way. The only upshot to all this is probably my non-existent first period class; the incompetent district believes that I have cooking class in the morning. I suppose one could count my friend Thomas, the World History teacher at the school. He was much saner than I was, he actually hated his job.

I entered my class half an hour early, to prepare the course lesson for the day. My lessons never coincide with what the district would prefer me to teach, much the same way my attire doesn’t match the way they would prefer me to dress. But apparently, if I was ever fired or replaced, the parents would start some sort of uprising to keep my job position secure. I suppose it gives me some satisfaction that I am actually appreciated for being one of the only good teachers here, and certainly the only one who doesn’t believe in indoctrination.

I wore my usual blue jeans, and t-shirt, and never bothered to comb my hair. Truthfully, if it ever got the point where it needed to be combed, I just cut it to a length where I wouldn’t need to. I kept my room filled with as many posters promoting talented music and artists I appreciated, with the occasional map of the United States so these dunderheads don’t forget where California is in relation to Alaska. I was young compared to the other teachers, me being twenty-five and the others about forty-five. I suppose that may be why they look down on me, because they considered their age to be the source of some superior intelligence that they thought to have. More like some sort of God complex if you asked me.

I sat at my desk, and readied my PowerPoint presentation. I wonder if I should add some flashing lights. That way the idiots will be attracted to how shiny it is, and the retards will get seizures and have to leave, I laughed to myself lightly, and of course, as always, decided against it.

Naturally, the students with higher grades walked in first, because against all the odds, there actually seemed to be people who cared about their futures here. It was test day, so most of them began to study, save the really confident ones who understood that my tests were fairly easy if they actually listened to my twenty-minute lectures.

The bell rang, and class started. I started to write the test questions on the board, after instructing them all to take out a piece of paper. I could hear some of them murmuring amongst themselves as to whether Mr. Simon told them about the test today or not. The test was timed, so it would be forty minutes long, leaving them fifteen minutes of class time to vent their idiocy and therefore keep hold of whatever sanity remained in them.

Time’s up! I said. I began to go down the rows, collecting the papers, when I noticed something on one of my top performing student’s paper. Instead of analyzing it further there, I took the paper and brought it back to my desk. I wasn’t too concerned, but something looked out of place, though I wasn’t not sure what it was.

During the time of chaos, as I have named it, when all my pupils gather around and talk about random things after the test, I started grading the tests, because it would save me a night of work. On the test of Matthew Decker, I noticed something. Not only was his performance surprisingly low, there were a few things slightly wrong with it. I noticed that it wasn’t exactly in his handwriting, or he was just writing so nervously that it came together as looking completely alien to everything he had done before. There was also a picture near the bottom of the test which looked like stick figures, one of them being really tall, the other really short. I turned the paper over and saw another picture of what appeared to be a stick-like forest. "So, he’s drawing pictures instead of studying, and… oh wait, I guess ignorance exhibited by the rest of the class has finally become a contagious sickness. Wonderful!" I graded it accordingly and went on with the rest of the school day.

Right after class as I was putting away my materials, Thomas walked in.

Hey John, how was your day? he asked like he usually did. He was a shorter man who, despite his ignorance of the subject he taught as a profession, was a very friendly person.

Not too much happened, I said, still packing up. It was test day, so I just sat here and stared at everyone. Listened to some music at lunch. You know, the usual crap.

I hear ya. Say, would you like to hang out tonight? Me and my wife are going to be watching the game; you still a Steelers fan?

I haven’t watched football in years; the only reason I still have that shirt is because it’s warmer than my others.

Well, just walk on by if you’d like, we’ll be having some o’ that angel food cake your w… well, you know. We’ll be having some of that cake.

He meant to say that my wife made. I was never married, just engaged, although people behaved as though we were married. All we needed was money, but that was just… not going anywhere. Anyway, she’s gone. Not dead, gone. She’s still alive, she just doesn’t need me anymore; I’m deader than she is, that’s for sure. She ran away with some business man from Blackhawk, and left only a note telling me her plans. She was at least kind enough to leave the ring behind, though I’m not sure what I’ll do with it. I’ll have to do that, I guess, I replied.

Alright then. Sounds fantastic, I’ll tell Cate to keep it out for us.

I’ll see you then. I gestured for him to leave. I didn’t mind him bringing up Sarah, even if she had left the previous week. It’s not like it didn’t matter to me, but the way I saw it, people can’t live in the past.

Just as I was about to leave, I noticed drawing on the desk where Matthew was sitting. There were those trees again, like the ones on his test. It was annoying to see them there; it made me think of how much I hate vandals ruining my life. Well, that’s a bit dramatic, and I was overreacting a bit. I supposed what Thomas said hit me a little harder than I thought. I went to go apologize to him, but he had already left.

3

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H EY JOHN, GOOD to see you! Please, come in, come in. Cate ushered me in through the door like I deserved special attention. She always did; she was one of the nicest women I’d ever met.

John! What’s going on? Thomas asked. I had hardly even gone inside the house, and they were greeting me as though I had just won some sort of Nobel Prize. Once again, this wasn’t unusual; they were overly friendly compared to most.

Hello, thank you for inviting me, I said. I really do appreciate it.

Oh, no trouble at all Mr. Simon, it’s a pleasure to have you around, Cate said, still maintaining her supremely friendly tone. Please, have a seat on the couch; the game is about to begin.

Again, thank you. I did just as she requested and sat myself down on the couch. They lived in such a nice house, with all the nicest furnishings. Two levels, even though it was just the two of them. They wanted to have kids, but I guess they just haven’t gotten around to that yet. So there I was, thinking about how nice their house was compared to my simple one story home with its three bedrooms, two of which were actually just my music room and my movie room. Their house was built to entertain guests, just like mine. The only difference here was that they actually invited guests to come over to their house. If I ever had guests, it was because my relatives were paying me an untimely visit, or the door-to-door salesman mistook my open garage door for a roofed porch, making his or her pitch much more convenient for him or her. It’s true that I wasn’t really a fan of people; because I didn’t know what to do with them. Most of my time was spent studying, or if studying ceased to amuse me, there were always video games and movies.

The pre-game show ended, and the kick-off was about to begin. I did not care about football, or any sports really, I found that movies have better plots than sports, videogames have better plots than movies, and books have better plots than all of them.

Oh, damn! The game started. Thomas came running in and sat himself firmly on the cushion next to mine. He was a sports fan, which seemed completely illogical to me. A man who loves contemplating about important subjects in philosophy and theology certainly seemed like the last person who would be enthusiastic about such a simple game.

You boys want some chips or something? Cate shouted.

"No thanks! Thomas shouted back. Oh, wait; John do you want anything?" I shook my head. He turned his head back to the game, once again immersed.

Cate was a very attractive lady, for her age. I thought she was forty-eight, but I wasn’t going to ask her. She