The Reaping Hour

Chapter 1

Quiet. That's the way they described Lake Mere, Oregon. Quiet. Peaceful. Tranquil. But most importantly, the little town, on the edge of Diablo's Grove, was described as nothing short of simply ordinary. Lake Mere was portrayed as a storybook small town, where, life seemed eerily normal. Where anyone and everyone, led seemingly perfect lives. A small town, where nothing could ever go wrong. Where nothing exciting ever occurred. Where life was simply dull. Until now.

. . .

The day started just like any other, simply ordinary. But, then again, who, ever walks out their front door expecting the day, to be their last. Expecting, to take their last breath, after being brutally mutilated. No one, awakens to a room filled with fresh sunshine and birds singing the song of morning, thinking to themselves, today is the day I will finally fall to my death.

The sun rose, that morning, waking the sleepy town, of Lake Mere, welcoming a new day, completely oblivious to the fact, that come midnight, the quiet town, would become home to the most sinister events ever known to man.

The scent of fresh fruit and maple syrup drifted through open windows, greeted by the aroma of blooming flowers, unaware of the far more malicious odor, lurking beneath the dark treetops of the dense forest, surrounding the town.

Undisturbed by the horror that plagued the forest around his peaceful town, a lone forest ranger, loaded his equipment into a rust covered pick-up, ready to head towards a long day of hard work and paper filing. Or so he thought.

Little did this he know, that today, only hours from now, he was going to cross paths with a stranger. A man who would flip the tranquility of Lake Mere, upside down.

Unaware of this terrifying fact, the ranger, reached for his notepad, rooting around in the truck's glove box for a spare pen. He slammed the door, shut, with an eager thump. Making his way down, into the dark forest, he mumbled aloud, complaining to the trees that surrounded him on either side, thinking he'd gone crazy.

Scribbling down memos, on a pale yellow legal pad, the young ranger, trekked on, minding his own business, carefully examining the trunks of several massive maple trees, only to discover something unusual, hidden in the grooves of the rough bark.

He inched closer to the tree, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. As he neared the ginormous trunk, his breath hitched. A dark red liquid, oozed down the tree, pooling at roots. Unintentionally, holding his breath, the ranger's shaking hand, dipped itself into the crimson substance dripping from the rough wood.

Carefully, and slowly, he lifted his trembling hands, to his nose, inhaling. Blood. He had found traces of blood. But now, he was left with the question of, where had it come from?

He got to his feet, once again, surveying his surroundings for any traces of deceased deer. It was highly unusual for poaching to occur in Lake Mere, but every once in awhile, a deer would be found fatally shot, in the depths of the woods. But today, no stag nor doe would be found.

Squinting to see, the young man, turned, hoping to find a source of the red liquid, but only to discover a dark, evident, blood trail. With his breath caught in his throat, the ranger forced himself forward, following the bloody clues left behind.

Carefully planning each step, he walked through the dense brush, feeling slightly lightheaded, as he hurried to find the owner of this bloody trail. He marched through the fallen leaves and bits of grass patches, intently watching the world around him. But, unfortunately for this young man, he wasn't careful enough.

As he hurried on, unaware of what it is, he was looking for, he found himself, right in the middle of a brutal crime scene. Staggering backwards, the ranger's face twisted into a look of pure terror and complete and utter horror.

The smell of rotting flesh penetrated his nose, as he stared, at what appeared to me, a human being, lying dead and ripped to shreds, in front of him. No words that one can write, are powerful enough to describe what this man saw, when his discovery began one of the most sinister horror stories ever to plague this earth.

Fumbling for his cell phone, barely able to reach for it, the ranger backed away from the body, hardly able to look at the bloody mess, haunting his vision, imprinting itself into his memory.

. . .

Hands shaking, the young man, rushed to dial the three digit phone number, begging for help. What animal could have possibly done this? Or was it an animal at all?

The phone rang loudly, echoing in the dense space of the eerily quiet woods of Diablo's Grove, an operator picking up, immediately.

"9-1-1, What's your emergency?" The woman asked calmly, as the ranger shook his head, rapidly.

"Yes, I - I would like - Someone - I - At least I think it's a someone - I need to report a murder..." The ranger stuttered, just before the line went dead.

This was the beginning of the Reaping Hour