The Haunted Trail Of Twisting Thorns
by R Baker

Walter walked happily down the peaceful leaf sheltered rocky trail hoping his legs wouldn't get tired anytime soon. Despite his age and the occasional aches and pains this morning, today was turning into one of those days where he felt he could walk on forever. It was a feeling he never wanted to lose. For the first time in a long while, Walter was actually enjoying himself. This hike was just what he needed. His job at the local bank was becoming more and more stressful with each passing day it seemed. Relaxation was a thing he not only desired, but also looked forward to like a child waiting for their Christmas present.

Walter smiled, a pleasant sensation coming over him as he listened to a pair of robins singing back and forth to each other from a wide oak tree to one side of the trail. He wished he might take the feeling wherever he went. Out here, Walter could be free of normal every day concerns at least once and a while.

The forest the trail snaked through seemed dense and isolated, although the wooded area was only a twenty minute drive from town. Close enough to be convenient, but far away enough to be a good place to go to be alone. Walter stopped along his route admire different wild growing flowers. He gazed up at the thin rays of sunbeams fighting to break through the heavy branches growing from the numerous oak and poplar trees overhead.

Walter liked these woods. He felt like the only man alive on earth, lost in the wonderful heart of nature.

Walter noticed the thorn bush at the last possible moment before he almost stumbled head first into it. He stared at it in bafflement, wondering how it had managed to grown so large and wild on this otherwise clear trail. The wicked looking bush grew perfect and straight in the middle of his walkway, the twisted roots climbing towards the canopy of leaves above.

The plant stood higher than Walter's head by several good inches. Long gray prickly tendrils adored it, sprouting a multitude of sharp thorns wrapping repeatedly over the narrow trail. The thorns twisted and writhed upon the ground like many tangles of tortured snakes. The brittle, spiky bush completely barred his way.

Great, Walter thought if frustration. Just wonderful. How am I supposed to get to the other side with this thing in my way?

To his left and right, heavy clumps of bushes surrounded the sides of the trail. There was no easy way to proceed around the annoying bush from his current position. Surely a park ranger or grounds crew came by and kept the trails clear of such growths. Walter didn't see how they could have missed one so large.

Walter stood for a second, pondering over which way to step to avoid the large obstacle.

He heard soft crying a minute later.

It was coming from somewhere near by, carried by the wind. Reluctantly, he moved towards the voice, trying to get a firm bearing on the location, the thorn bush forgotten. It sounded like a woman. She had to be close by for him to hear the sound of her voice so well.

She could be in trouble. The woman might be a fellow hiker, one injured or lost. He decided to help the mysterious woman if he were able.

I'll go only a short way, Walter decided, keeping the trail within sight behind him. He did not enjoy the idea of getting lost in these lonely woods no matter how much he enjoyed walking through them.

He called out, "Can you year me? Is everything all right?"

The mournful noise ceased. Walter stepped along carefully, moving deeper into the foliage.

"Closer," he heard a faint voice carried on the wind. He was positive it belonged to a female now.

"Help me," she called out, sounding both frantic and scared. "Oh, please help me! I'm all alone! I have been for so very long. Please come to me!"

Walter saw nothing despite the closeness of her voice echoing off the trees. He came to a dip on the forest floor, leading straight down into a deep gully filled with brambles, thorns and piles of dead leaves.

He looked the cut in the earth over.

Nothing seemed to be amiss.

Then he saw.

What little remained of her.

The body was lying pitifully on a patch of soft ground, tied down by four wooden stakes knotting over the arms and legs. In addition having been bound, the sharp portions of wood had been driven through both hands and feet. Rotting clothing hung in tatters from a delicate black skeletal frame. The small skull still had clumps of long blond hair attached to it, flowing down her bony exposed back. The gray thorns were wrapped all over the woman's corpse, creating a bizarre form of protection

The head turned slowly, facing Walter. The teeth parted with a clacking noise as if to speak, but no words came. Hollow empty eye sockets looked right at him.

"Help me," the dead woman 's ghostly voice pleaded in torment. "I do not belong here."

Ice filled Walter's veins. No, he thought. This can't be happening. The lover jaw jerked wide open, the mouth splitting into a silent scream.

Walter ran back to the trail. With horror he saw the thorny vines writhing after him. Like living serpents the thorns attached themselves to him, tearing his clothes, pushing him back from where he'd come. Back to the spot where the thorn bush grew. His hands and face were cut and bleeding by the time he got back to the blockage.

Shaking, he fled the wood, driving back to town. He returned with the sheriff in tow. Of the thorn bush there was no sign. The position where it had grown was clear and unspoiled, the length of bare dirt unbroken.

In a short time the woods were alive with police activity. Walter showed them where the body lay. The corpse was still embraced by hundreds of prickly thorns. He said nothing of the thorn bush.

The investigators removed the broad stalks while Walter watched in dread. The men took the remains from the ground and placed them in a long black body bag. He almost threw up when they zipped her into darkness. None of it seemed real. But he could still hear her mournful crying. No one else seemed to notice.

When asked Walter told the police the cut marking his face and hand had been gotten I a fall he'd taken earlier in the morning. The sheriff looked somewhat suspicious but said nothing.

Later they identified her as Mary Howard, a missing twenty three year old woman who one day vanished from the florist ship where she had worked. She had been missing for over five years. Five years exactly on the date Walter found her.

Mary was stabbed several times, then tied down and left to die. No suspect available.

There was no explanation provided concerning the odd way in which the thorns had engulfed her body.

Walter never told of how he'd learned of her. He didn't know what to make of it .

Walter never mentioned the quiet sad voice that had guided him away from his hike. Nor did he speak of the thorn bush crowding his way, making sure he stayed in one place long enough to hear the pitiful, desperate cries.

Walter did not like to dwell on it unless forced to in the dark dreams of violent death that caused him to wake some nights screaming.

And he never walked another trail passing into those woods ever again. He was too frightened of the other secrets lying lost, hidden within the depths of the trees. Dark acts made learnable by leaving the outside world behind, and taking innocent strolls on haunted twisting trails.

©2001 R Baker