Page 4 of Eldritch

She wasn’t sure.

The huge, weird trees did not exactly surprise her. Not really. When she’d looked at a satellite map, she’d zoomed in on the forest around the house that was their destination. She’d become obsessed. They were almost alien trees that scientists studied and yet were unable to explain.

Anticipation mixed with utter dread. Yes. That was it. She listened to what the area was telling her. She heard the whispers.

She knew. These trees, this size…they were so old. So filled with the knowledge of what had been before. The things they’d experienced called to her, and as she watched them go by, it was as if they waved at her. If they could only talk, what tales they’d tell.

Come. Come closer. We have things for you. Mysteries to learn. Things you may have seen but have forgotten. It’s in your DNA. In your very soul.

Of course, she wouldn’t say it out loud. Wouldn’t tell anyone other than Letisha about what she heard in her head. What she knew. No, Sybil knew that opening her mouth too much about that stuff brought odd looks her way and at one time had almost led to a rubber room. Until she’d given up and shut up. Until, once again, she’d complied.

She didn’t even mention these types of thoughts to Letisha anymore. Everyone had their limits, and the fear that even Letisha would abandon her one day…well, she couldn’t bear to think about it.

“There!” Letisha exclaimed a bit loudly. “Turn left!”

Simultaneously, Sybil snapped to attention, almost coming out of her skin.

Pauline slammed on the brakes. The tires shrieked on the pavement as she came to a full stop.

“Jesus, Pauline,” Sybil said under her breath. “What the–”

“Hollow Avenue. We’re here,” Letisha said.

Pauline turned left onto the rudimentary street, such as it was. The rutted, dirt road was barely wide enough for two cars to pass by each other. Their large van took up most of the space, and Sybil was thankful Pauline wasn’t driving down the avenue at the speed she’d reserved for the winding paved road.

Trees grew less thick here. They gave ground to grasses along the edge of the road and made way for more sunlight. Yet today’s mix of gloomy clouds seemed to darken over the trees. The clouds grew more intense, their shade tinged at the bottom with a green reserved for tornado skies. A tornado in October in a pine forest would be highly unusual, but not impossible.

“What is the altitude here?” Maria asked.

Sybil leaned a bit to her right to peer between the seats in front of her. “About 8,500 feet.”

Maria inhaled deeply. “No wonder I can’t breathe.”

As the car bumped along the road, Sybil looked over at Maria. “Are you okay? Is the altitude getting to you?”

The younger woman smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve read up on high altitude sickness. I don’t have any of those symptoms.”

Sybil nodded, relieved, and glued her attention back to the road. She had grown up in a forest in Colorado near Durango, so high altitudes never bothered her.

Letisha looked back at them. “Sybil’s vertical limit is a lot higher.”

Pauline asked, “Her what?”

“Vertical limit,” Sybil said with a sigh, not understanding why Letisha had brought it up. “Most humans can’t survive for an extended amount of time above 18,000 feet without oxygen. I did a little mountain climbing when I was a teenager. I discovered that my vertical limit…when I have some altitude sickness…is 13,000 feet.”

“Wow,” Maria said. “What symptoms do you have?”

“Only a headache. So it’s not bad for me. Still, that’s a warning sign.” Sybil said. “As for why Letisha brought it up is anyone’s guess.”

“Sybil and I were crazy when we were kids.” Letisha turned in her seat to look back at them. “Well, I was anyway. I dragged Sybil into this hiking and training course when we were teenagers. Trying to boost her confidence. She hated it, and I loved it. I thought Sybil was going to stroke out when we did some of the mountain climbing stuff.”

Sybil groaned. “I don’t think anyone wants to hear that story.”

Maria smiled. “I do.”

“It’s not important,” Sybil said.

But it is, isn’t it? Sybil, you can’t let go of the past. Can you? Can you?

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