Greykin Chronicles | Volume One : Greykin Mountain

| 2 | Greykin River

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The night was one of the longest Jackson had faced in a while. Every time he caught himself dozing off, a rustle or a snap outside jolted him awake again. Only when it started getting light did he manage to get a few hours of sleep. But he couldn't rest for long. He couldn't waste the daylight.

He packed his things away but kept his knife close, holstering it in his belt. When he peered out through the cracks in the shack wall, he couldn't see anything waiting for him. It wasn't snowing, so he could see more of the forest when he pushed the door open. No bears, no foxes, and no people. Just him.

It was time to keep moving. He left the safety of the shack and made his way into the woods.

But sinister malaise followed Jackson in the absence of his shadow. The sun failed to pierce the forest he traversed, dragging his legs through the shin-deep snow as he searched for Greykin River. Distant birdsong stole the silence, but he almost wished for quiet so that he might hear whether that animal was following him.

He glanced over his shoulder at the slightest sound—icicles falling from branches, fauna scurrying through the frost, and the occasional snapping twig—but his eyes couldn't locate anything.

With a breathy huff, he continued forward, grasping the straps of his backpack. A shiver colder than what the tundra burdened him with spiralled down his spine every time he thought about last night; those sounds...anguished cries, heavy footsteps. Trepidation ensnared him as the wind howled through the trees. Thinking about it was only going to make things worse.

There was no harm in being prepared, though. His left hand wandered down to the knife sheathed on the side of his belt; if anything did come at him...he was ready.

But in the quiet, it wasn't only the fear of his surroundings that ensnared him. What if he couldn't find Ethan? What if his colleagues were right and something had killed his friend and the other reporters?

No. He couldn't let his anxiety consume him. Ethan was smart; ever since they were kids, he always knew what he was doing, pulling Jackson out of danger whenever he stumbled into it. There was no way Ethan was dead.

Jackson focused on what he knew about his friend as he trudged through the snow, his breaths coming in visible puffs as the forest began to thin out. The sunlight, breaking through the dense canopy, blessed him with not only warmth but a flicker of relief. He clung to the belief that whatever might be following him wouldn't dare approach the light.

The sound of flowing water snatched his attention, a welcome distraction from his gnawing fear. When the tree line became visible, the shimmer of sunlight on the water flickered like a beacon, momentarily banishing all his anxiety. He smiled, feeling a surge of hope, and picked up his pace, rushing as fast as the thick snow would allow.

Reaching the tree line, he stepped into a vast, bright opening where a winding river flowed. The forest wrapped around the open area, and the river disappeared within its shadows at each end. Despite the beauty of the landscape, a nagging trepidation lingered. The openness made him feel exposed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were still on him, hidden just beyond the tree line. He stood there, heart pounding, caught between the allure of the sunlight and the haunting shadows of the forest.

He let go of his knife and started fiddling with his necklace again, the familiar touch grounding him. Remembering why he was there urged him onward. He couldn't afford to waste a moment. He pressed forward, grateful for the thinning snow as the lack of trees allowed the wind to carry it away. It was a relief not to have to drag his legs through the heavy drifts. His steps felt lighter, and his pace was steadier as he moved through the open space, each step bringing him closer to his goal and farther from the haunting shadows of the forest.