Villain in the Canvas

Chapter 8

We Wee Whittlers Three

Keep your fingers, keep your toes. We wee whittlers three
Hold your breath, as the smoke will come. We wee whittlers three
Make a spoon, face, and knife. We wee whittlers three
The sun will catch, a tag of tea. We wee whittlers three
Sound of song, by crank of hand. We wee whittlers three
On the ground, after forgotten bed. We wee whittlers three
In at night, moon will light. We wee whittlers three

Michael Thomas

The light never faltered in blinding our eyes, Gabe's head never gazing away, even to notice his footing while descending the rocky ravine. The blinding headlamp was all I could make out bouncing down the treacherous rocky ravine directly towards the fire.

"Bro, get that shit out of my face, you're going to trip and bust your ass, plus your beginning to piss me off. If spinning down the hill doesn't fuck you up then I will." I shout as loudly as possible but could hear my own uneasiness growing beneath the jest.

Nothing but silence, an errie uncharacteristic silence that was unlike Gabe. He was no longer firing out his vast catalog of puns. Gabe was just fucking with us, returning the favor for all the times we berated him. It was the most logical explanation but yet something still didn't feel right.

"What the fuck is going on Patrick?" I murmur.

He just stares ahead with a fearful look that I never seen him wear before, "It can't be them, no way they could have  followed me..."

"Can't be who? Are you fucking with me, the both of you? Some big plot you two plotted? I'm not dealing with that shit right now if you are."

"Not today." Patrick reverbs rising towards his pack on a neighboring tree.

Everything slows now, the adrenaline spiking , eyes dilated; something was off and I could sense it. The dark silhouette was nearly halfway down the hill, the fire outlining his large structure with even larger shadows in fast flickers. In one hand he thrust down with a pole he used as a brace, the other, a smaller round object cradled securely to his hip.

"What you got there Gabe? Throw it down so you don't just your ass man. I get it, you two are hilarious. Now knock it off and come eat some tasty goat steaks."

"Hunter, I don't think that's Gabe, look at the way he is moving."

Patrick quickly pulls out his own camo colored brush hacker, much larger than his carving blade.

I say nothing at first, eyes trained on the form dropping towards us. The spotlight fixed squarely on me, no longer concerned with Patrick, now hidden in shadow. I could make out a slight sway with each step, a motion that fit a stocker frame than Gabe's.

"Then who the fuck is that?"

"I don't know for sure,  just keep his gaze while I move over there" his voice trails off from the darkness.

Suddenly the bouncing spotlight stops, still fixed directly in  my eyes. To the side the shadow of his arm clutching the round object begins swinging back and forth, like a pitcher winding up for the game winning throw. With a quick thrust forward the round object goes spinning through the night air.

The headlamps beams of light catch the sight of hair on the uneven sphere as it falls down before me and into the roaring fire.

Before I can get a clear look the warmth of liquid enters my eyes and cheeks. I use my hand to clear my eyes to the dark red staining my fingers. It was blood, old coagulated blood.

I hear Patrick cry out, "Oh shit, fuck. Gabe!"

I see the fire ignite the thick messy blond hair, flames growing to brighten a wax like bloody tan face...his face. No. Fuck NO!