Submission by Anna Dodson
It was a cold morning – the first of many. The low-hanging fog clung to Moosilauke like a shroud, obscuring the treeline, but Moria reasoned that there might be frost underneath its pillowy layers. The wind pierced through even her thickest fleece, and she gripped her tea tightly in the hopes that the burning blood in her palms might circulate and warm her.
She started every day like this, in the solitary morning of the lodge’s shadow, and every morning the sky was different. Sometimes it was bright and clear, piercing blue against the fiery orange of the changing autumn leaves. Sometimes gods’ rays reached over the hills and stirred something within her, plucking her soul strings. Those days were her favorites. Sometimes, like today, the sky came down to visit, bringing with it a chill and a glowy gloom. Fitting for a Halloween.
It was good, in many ways, to be here. The Northeast was nothing like Idaho, where she spent her formative years, and yet it held a sense of time that Idaho lacked. Of history, of Robert Frost, old white men and shed native blood and granite and seasons. The fall wasn’t nearly so busy as spring or summer, but plenty of older couples came here to enjoy the foliage. It was cozy, working for the Lodge.
Besides, she liked the people. The head of the kitchen, Laura, wore a smile more often than she wore an apron- which was eight hours a day. She reminded Moria of her favorite aunt Lucille, who baked pies and always let Moria eat the trimmings. Then there was Joel, who was quiet while he worked but brought his fiddle and his true soul out to the nightly campfire. There was a cohort of other students there in the summer, but they had gone back to campus for classes a few weeks prior to her arrival.
And then there was the newest member of their staff, William. He’d worked in the locomotive industry before joining them, but she didn’t know much else about him. He was on the patio below her now.
William, never Will – she’d tried to call him that and he’d given her the most bewilderedly disparaging blue-eyed look that she’d added a faltering, “…iam?” in hindsight. And it wasn’t just that – he was strange. He ironed his undershirts before work – he wore undershirts to work – even though the dress code was nonexistent besides an apron when cooking or serving. He had a certain air to him, a pretense of formality that she hadn’t managed to break through. He wore tight-fitting pants, old leather boots, and his hair was always slicked perfectly in place.
It wasn’t a bad thing that he dressed nicely for work. She was just used to the unkemptness of the typical crunchy Lodgehand, she supposed.
He turned to look at her, as if sensing her gaze, and caught her eye. She looked abruptly away, embarrassed, but found her eyes wandering back his way when she realized he hadn’t dropped his. He smiled distantly and stood, moving deliberately as he paced towards her. He wore an airy long sleeve shirt that couldn’t have provided much warmth in the October chill; the wind rippled through it as he walked.
“Have you been up?” He asked her now with an urgency in his tone that contrasted the lazy manner of his motion. He gestured vaguely behind him. It took her a moment to realize that he meant the mountain. Moosilauke.
“Yes – a few times, now,” she stammered. “The first time was before I even started classes, actually. I sunriked it on Trips.”
“Joel mentioned that. About Trips.” He stood expectantly, as if his comment warranted her response.
“Uhh, cool. I went white-water kayaking,” she offered.
“Let’s go. Today.”
“Kayaking?”
“No…” a wry smile twisted its way across his face. “I’m in the mood for a wander.”
She considered that. It was mid-week, so they didn’t have guests staying overnight, just a group of students coming up for dinner and the yearly Halloween lodge party. Some of her friends were going to be there, so she was particularly excited – she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Still, the meal was already prepped, the bread risen, the trout filleted. They could probably make it up the mountain and back with time. And it would be good to get some exercise.
“Yeah, okay,” she agreed. It would be nice to get to know him a little better, maybe break down some of that frustrating barrier she always felt in her interactions with him.
“Splendid,” he said, and went for the door.
As he turned, she noticed scarlet markings on the underside of his collar. A spatter of blood. She didn’t mean to, but a little cry escaped her lips. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
He started laughing then, the sound bubbling from deep in his throat.
“William? What happened?” She leapt to her feet and went to the railing, as if being a bit more proximate could help him.
He finally managed to swallow his mirth. “It’s Halloween, Moria.”
Fake blood. She felt silly at her overreaction then. He turned and went inside, leaving her alone and sheepish.
The trail up the mountain was longer than she remembered. She’d done it recently, right when she got here, but she’d had a lot on her mind then and the time had flown by. Now, she was keenly aware of William behind her, having no trouble stepping up the boulders.
“Do you do this a lot?” Her voice had just an edge of complaint. Sweat trickled down her back, and she had to pause to wipe it off her brow. He showed no sign of physical exertion.
“No. I haven’t been here for a long time actually.”
“Oh,” she said. “Wait, is this your first time since you started working here?”
“Yes. I was in a mountaineering accident when I was younger. I haven’t been able to hike since.”
She took a big step up and paused, balancing on a foot. “Wait… actually? Why today then? What changed?”
He was silent for a few paces, then somber when he spoke. “I think it’s time I face my fears.”
“Well,” she looked over her shoulder at him encouragingly. “That’s brave of you. And fitting, given the holiday, I suppose.”
“I suppose.”
They fell into a rhythm. Besides light conversation, he was eerily silent as he hiked. His footsteps and breath were whispers of sound, a slight scuffle here or there. When they weren’t actively talking, she almost had to check on occasion whether he was still behind her.
In contrast, her breath was heavy, and she was self-conscious of that fact. She wasn’t an athlete, per se, but she’d always been fit. This year she’d let herself slip a little, living at home on traditional cooking, spending more time with her nose shoved into books than with her feet shoved into sneakers. Dartmouth, among many things, pressured its student body to watch what they ate and work out regularly. It was an absolute anomaly in the nation in respect to overall fitness and health. Back in Idaho, people ate what they wanted, which was generally some form of cheeseburger.
She’d been supposed to graduate the previous June, but complicated matters back home meant she had another term of credits to complete. Rather than grind straight through, she’d elected to take some time at home and then work, finish her requirements in the spring, and walk instead with some friends in the class below her. She’d wanted to go to a city, maybe work in law, but no matter how many applications she’d sent out, the response was the same: nonexistent. So she’d ended up here, at the Moosilauke Ravine Lodge. It was decent pay, and it was nice to give back to the community here somehow.
“Moria,” William said, jolting her from her thoughts. “Tell me more about Idaho.”
That was another thing- when she’d mentioned where she was from, that first day meeting him, his face had drawn a complete blank. She still couldn’t tell if it was a bit, or if he had actually never heard of Idaho before.
She laughed now. “Honestly, there’s not that much more to say. I’m from a pretty small town near Twin Falls. Shoshone country.” She smiled, thinking of her people. Good, strong people.
“Oh, like the Indians?” He inquired.
She hesitated. She hadn’t pegged him as a racist, but you could never tell with white people. “Yes. I’m actually half Native myself.”
He whistled, low, and she couldn’t tell what that meant.
“I consider it my better half,” she said, a little defensive.
“Your school,” he said. “It was made for education of people like you.” It wasn’t a question. It also didn’t sound sinister. But you could never tell with white people.
In any case, she didn’t have anything to say to that. The silence was uncomfortable as they stretched skywards, and she felt him behind her every step of the way.
The fog had lifted down in the valley, but it was thick and billowed over the summit in the wind, catching on the trees like tufts of cotton. Moria felt a bit uneasy, a bit off-balance, in the blinding white fog. The lack of visual input skewed which way was down, but she knew whichever way it was, it was a long way to fall.
William stood just a few paces away, the wind ruffling his collared shirt. He hadn’t changed since the morning. The blood had mingled with his sweat and come off his skin, sending garnet streaks down his neckline. He faced the vast white unknown.
The morning chill had lifted, but the wind still wicked the sweat from her neck, and she started to feel cold. Her watch told her it was already past one. “Let’s head back soon – I don’t want to be late for setting up Lodgeoween,” she suggested, breaking the silence.
He didn’t respond. A few moments passed.
She took a few steps forward, going to his side. His blue gaze was straight, blankly fixated on the abyss. “Did you hear? I said I think we’d better go down.”
He blinked slowly. Suddenly he leapt forward, careening towards the precipice, landing just inches from the edge.
“Ah, get back from there!” She exclaimed. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Are you trying to kill yourself?!”
He let out a primal scream then, guttural and tormented. The wind lifted his notes and carried them hollowly away.
That wasn’t a no. Moria started to feel scared. The rational part of her knew he had a traumatic experience as a child, he was probably just healing, but if William decided to hurl himself off the mountain today… she had no idea what she’d do.
“You’re scaring me,” she said, more gently, trying to convey support. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
He stopped howling and turned to her. “Sorry. Sorry if I scared you. I don’t know what got into me. I just… it was something I needed to do.”
She blinked at him, the racist comments of the morning long past. “It’s okay. But let’s head back now.”
He nodded, his mind still somewhere else, but his feet followed her back to safety. She let him lead the way along the ridge, keeping him in her line of sight. They descended through the cloud. He moved slowly, as if taking in the vistas with every step, which made her anxious. Lodgeoween was starting in less than five hours, and they were supposed to be back in three. But she didn’t want to push him. How had this day gotten so out of hand?
Instead, she tried to start up the conversation again. “So… why work for the Lodge?”
His voice was barely audible. “I can’t get away from this place.”
She nodded emphatically, though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah, I totally get that. There’s something about New England, especially in the fall. I’ll definitely miss it when I go back West.”
“I wish I could go,” he said ruefully.
“But you like New England,” she said, confused.
“Yes. I’m from New York,” he said, as if in explanation.
“I’m from Idaho,” she said automatically, then felt dumb. He already knew that.
They reached the crossroads of the Appalachian Trail. He stopped abruptly, and she almost bumped into him. She stepped right and started to skirt around him, following the familiar path. As she passed, he reached out and caught her hand, lightning quick.
“This way.” There was a note of urgency in his voice. Sweat, or mist, beaded on his forehead, causing a disheveled lock of hair to cling there.
“Uhhh. I don’t know if we can get back to the Lodge if we go that way,” she hesitated, trying to visualize the map of the trail in her head.
“No, we can,” He said it with such a conviction that she felt herself agreeing. Besides, she was a bit afraid to contradict him; his weird antics at the summit lingered in the back of her mind. As long as they got back safely.
She fidgeted with the string on her fleece. “Is it much farther? We’d need to be back soon.” She was anticipating the upcoming meal prep as they walked, imagining the optimizations she’d need to make if they were short on time.
He smiled at her reassuringly. “A mile more maybe.”
She sighed and shrugged and fell behind him.
The afternoon escaped them, fast. Moria wasn’t sure how far they’d walked. “There’s a railway somewhere around here,” he told her as they reached flatter ground. “Should be right along the river.” He kept glancing left as they walked, as if looking for it.
Moria had to admit she was getting a bit anxious about the time. They couldn’t afford to spend another hour searching in vain for a railway or whatever. She’d gotten so turned around in the clouds, she had no idea where they were. She could only trust that he knew where they were going.
“I’ve never actually been on a train,” she said instead. She’d wanted to go to Europe and buy the Eurostar pass, travel between countries on a whim. But since her D-Plan had been so messed up sophomore year, she’d never gotten the chance.
“What? How ever did you get to Idaho then?” His tone was mock-serious.
She laughed and fell into step with him.
“I’d like to take a train out West,” he said wistfully. “To Michigan and then who knows where, the great countryside.”
“Yeah, it’s nice,” she said. “You should let me know if you’re ever near Twin Falls. My family would show you around.”
He smiled sadly, and she dropped the topic. She got the sense he didn’t have the financial means to travel. Not that she was well-off – she was on a generous scholarship from the school – but she was generally able to go home a few times a year. She couldn’t imagine her Dartmouth experience without that hard reset in between terms.
The trail wound around with the river, a writhing rope between beech trees. The afternoon sun filtered through the branches. The breeze was gentle, coaxing the brittlest leaves from their stems, lifting them lazily through the air. There was a timelessness to it. Moria felt herself relaxing into the rhythm of their steps, the warmth of the afternoon, lulled calm.
Before long, though, the sun dipped behind the mountain and they walked in shade. It was starting to get cold again. Moria peeked at her watch. 4:15. How had it gotten so late?
“You’re certain this is the right way, right?” She showed him the time.
“A mile or so more, I’d say,” he smiled back at her reassuringly.
“Why this way?” She wondered, twisting her braid. “We could have just gone back the way we came.”
“Where’s the adventure in that?” He prodded her side with a finger where her fleece lifted. She flinched at the cold on her bare skin.
“O…kay, let’s look for signs though. I haven’t seen any trail markers for a while.”
He nodded in agreement, his pace quickening a bit. “Should be just a bit further.”
They reached a split in the trail. Unmarked. William went left without so much as a glance. Moria glanced back the other way. They’d come left over the summit; wouldn’t they need to loop back to the right to get back to the Lodge?
As they walked, his strides lengthened. His long legs churned the ground. She was glad he was finally feeling some of the urgency that she felt in getting back. The trail was flat and straight here, almost like it had once been a road, so they made good
“Woah, slow down,” she had to jog to keep up. He kept the pace. They descended into twilight.
“William,” she panted. “I think we took a wrong turn. Let’s go back to the crossroads.”
“Hold on, we’re almost there.” He stared intently at the ground ahead. She got the sense he wasn’t talking about the Lodge.
“No, please, it’s getting dark,” she said softly.
He whirled around to her. There was a manic look in his eye, a gleam that hadn’t been there before. “Just one more mile.”
“No, William.” She planted herself. “You said it would be one more mile, like, four miles ago. Where the hell even are we? Do you even know?”
He gripped her wrists then, hard, and his hands were icy cold. His knuckles whitened in the effort. His teeth ground together. “We’re. Almost. There.”
She wrenched herself free and blinked, scared. Her voice came out smaller than she wanted it to. “You keep saying that.”
Without responding, he whirled around and started off running. She paused. Maybe he was right. But at what point would he realize it if he wasn’t? She should go back and fetch help. But she couldn’t just leave him out here, especially not without a jacket. She tore after him.
The woods took on a viciousness in the night. Underbrush infringed the trail here, and wiry branches tore at her laces. The shadows lengthened as the moon rose, and the fog unfurled slowly out of its daylight hiding places, stretching like a cat through the air.
Her breath drew heavy; her heart hammered. She wanted to go back, she didn’t want to lose him. He stayed a few distances ahead of her, just within her view, a fleeting shadow ahead. She was reminded of her middle school’s annual obstacle course race, which everyone had to race for time. Hitting puberty between sixth and seventh grade, she’d had a few more curves than many of her classmates, and her new body wouldn’t cooperate with the tight twists and turns. Here, she lurched around the bends in a maniacal goose chase. Chasing her mysterious coworker into the night.
“William, wait, up” she called desperately. She didn’t know why she was so intent on saving him, but she couldn’t let him go.
He ducked suddenly, crouching low, and she caught him. His shirt was newly ripped, and dusty leaves clung to its wrinkles. It was a stark contrast to his usual professional demeanor. His hair clung to his neck in short, damp patches.
He was digging.
“William, stop,” she panted. “Let’s go home.”
His body was between her and the ground, but she saw something gleaming there, metallic. A sword? A gun? Was he going to hurt her? No… a rail. They’d been running on old train tracks, covered by seasons upon seasons of autumn leaves. She went around him then, brushed away the leaves next to him. His fingernails scrabbled at the dirt, unearthing clumps at a time. She realized there was something large next to the rails here, a long wooden box of sorts. It was partly decomposed, a large hole at the end, as if somebody had punched through the wood.
“How…” the words perched on her lips, barely leaping into the brittle air between them. “How did you know this was here?”
He brushed away another layer of leaves, revealing a flat and rugged stone.
A date, engraved. 1873. An epitaph: “Lived and died by the railside.” And a name.
William Seeley.
He opened the box.
He grabbed her neck.
And twisted.