The Clearing
Piper
Well, shit.
The day had started like most other Sunday mornings for me since moving to the town of Llyn Lakes last year. I'd taken over as the head and only librarian for the sole town branch from the irritable Mrs. Fields when she'd retired.
Despite being raised as a city girl, I’ve been obsessed with wildlife photography since I was a teenager.
Moving to a small town four hours north of where I grew up seemed like a great idea for many reasons, but I'd been especially drawn to Llyn Lakes because it's surrounded by deep deciduous forests and located smack dab between two large lakes.
Hence the town name.
Llyn means ‘lake’ in Welsh, so it's literally called ‘lake lake’.
Not kidding.
But the quirkiness of it really appeals to me. And the town is indeed quirky, with some interesting characters, and all the small-town charm and drama that you’d expect when everyone knows everyone else’s business.
Most librarians love to research, or at the very least are really good at it, and I’m no different.
I love the study of linguistics and the etymology of words, and I’m always taking mental notes and keeping a running list of things to look up—linguistic or otherwise.
So it’ll likely come as no surprise that I did my research before deciding to become a resident here.
What I learned is that the town was originally settled by a Welshman—no surprise there, given the name—and that the names of the two lakes, as well as many of the streets, are also Welsh.
Hedd Lake is situated on the south end of town and is unofficially considered the ‘locals’ lake.
Most of the year-round townsfolk reside along its shores in modest homes and cottages.
The name means ‘peace.’ Its sister lake, Gryf, translates to ‘loud,’ and it’s aptly named—at least according to the grumbling of said locals, for which I am now one.
Gryf is primarily made up of summer homes, rather large ones, and it’s where all the tourists congregate from about the end of May until Labor Day.
There are two luxury resorts along its shores, and it’s considered a popular playground for the wealthy.
During the summer season, there are endless late-night parties, and the lake is continuously buzzing with fast motorboats and other expensive water toys.
While the Hedd and Gryf Lake residents all tend to coexist peacefully for the most part within the town, there is nonetheless a class difference that at times can become an issue.
Most of the locals are torn between annoyance and appreciation for the boisterous, often arrogant, and entitled ‘summer people’, for without the influx of tourists every year, many of the businesses would not survive.
This particular Sunday in early May, I'd woken up at around five-thirty, typical for my day off, anxious to get outside and explore with my camera. I’d stood in my cute little kitchen, in my cute little cottage, happily sipping at my Earl Grey tea while I'd stared out across the dirt country road at the lake between the trees. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky over Hedd Lake was the paling navy violet-grey of pre-dawn.
A color so lovely and velvety-looking that I struggle to truly describe it.
It had started to warm, just slightly, with an orange undertone, and I'd caught the glistening of dew on the leaves of the maple and oaks lining the water’s edge.
I’d pulled on my favorite burgundy hoodie, slung my camera around my neck, and checked the battery.
I'd already swapped in a fresh memory card the night before, so I was good to go. Lacing up my hiking boots and tucking my water bottle and a protein bar in my small pack, I then headed out to explore. Since the forest runs almost right up to the boundaries of my small backyard, I didn’t have far to go.
There’s a tiny trailhead opening in the southeast corner of my lot that eventually meets up with a larger ATV trail and then branches off in a ton of different directions.
I have yet to discover them all, but I’ve been enjoying the process.
When I first saw my little cottage, I fell in love with how private and sheltered it was with all those tall trees hugging the property line.
Others might think it intimidating for a young woman living alone on the edge of the wilderness, but I’ve been alone for a long time, and I actually find it somehow comforting.
Plus, now I have Henry.
He’s my landlord, and he lives in the larger coordinating cottage across the road.
He backs right onto the lake, and I have dinner with him on his patio by the water most Tuesday nights when the weather is nice.
In exchange, I keep him flush in mystery novels, always setting aside the newest releases for him when they first come in.
He’s a sweet, wise, older man, and he was my first friend in town.
But back to my current predicament. I’d hiked for an hour as the sun had gradually crept higher in the sky, but deep in the woods it was still shady with a slight mist rising off the cool, wet ground.
The chill never seems to completely dissipate in there, where the trees are densest, and I’d pulled my hoodie a little tighter around me as I shivered.
It was then that I caught sight of an owl with a snake dangling from its claws, and was excitedly tracking its passage as it hopped from tree to tree, my camera raised in hopes of snapping the perfect shot.
I had my headphones in, listening to one of my favorite fantasy novels, so I didn’t hear the sound of the shovel until I was already at the edge of the clearing.
There was a man crouched low on the other side, mostly obscured by shadows as he dug what appeared to be a large hole.
It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing, but once I noticed the human-sized blanket-wrapped mound a few feet away, it clicked pretty quickly.
It was a torn, brown, felt-looking thing with …
with long black hair protruding from one end.
Sliding my eyes to the other end, I glimpsed a slice of skin with some markings—possibly a tattoo—and ending in a pair of large men’s work boots.
It was a person.
And I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was a dead person. Actually, I hope it was a dead person because they were clearly about to end up buried in that hole, and that would really suck if they were still alive.
Ugh! It obviously sucks if they’re dead too, Piper!
Oh my God.
It was then that I'd gasped and dropped my camera.
This brings me back to now, and my sudden and terror-filled flight through the woods.
Literally.
I'm fleeing for. My. Life.
I can’t hear much beyond the blood rushing in my ears and the heavy pounding of my feet, as I weave through the trees.
I’ve left the trail, and I know I need to be careful or I’ll go down on the uneven terrain, but I can’t risk slowing for even a second.
Some back part of my brain notes that the narrator of my audiobook is still droning on placidly in the background while my heart races, and the absurdity of it causes me to let out a hysterical giggle.
I rip the headphones from my ears just as one of the trees beside me explodes in a spray of bark.
I feel a sting as a piece ricochets off my hand, my arm flailing around wildly with the headphone wires still caught in my grip.
Guess I should have invested in those wireless ones after all …
Jesus, Piper, focus! That man just shot at you!
With the headphones gone, I can now hear his thundering feet behind me, and I double down on my speed as I leap over a fallen log and stumble through a small ditch.
I’m starting to get that coppery taste of blood in my mouth that tells me my stamina is waning, and my lungs are about ready to burst. I ran track back in high school, but I was built for speed, never endurance.
I can feel my knees weakening, and I’m struggling now to stay upright despite the adrenaline-tingling in my extremities.
Another shot explodes a tree to my right.
The man grunts in frustration, but it’s faint.
I think I’m losing him.
I keep running, weaving, and dodging the trees until black starts creeping in my peripheral vision. I don’t think I hear footsteps anymore. Another minute, and I’m clumsily stumbling now. I risk peeking behind me and don’t see anyone. I slow a little further and take a few more glances back.
No movement.
My heart is still banging in my chest, and I swallow against the phlegm in my throat.
Then I stagger into another small clearing.
There’s an old log cabin in the far corner.
It looks deserted. I drop to my knees, then fall forward onto my hands.
Panting heavily, I replay everything that just happened.
This is not the morning I had envisioned when I’d cheerfully started out camera in hand.
My thoughts continue to race as I work to slow my breathing.
Deep breath … dead body … deep breath … scary man with A GUN …
Holy shit.
I realize I need to get up. I don’t know for sure if that man is really gone—I can’t stay here like this out in the open, I’m totally exposed right now. Maybe I can hide out in this cabin for a while. I just need a few minutes to clear my head and figure out my next move.
I take one more deep breath, readying to push myself to my feet when I hear the click.
And my heart stops.
At first, I just see the barrel of the rifle.
Then my vision pulls back, and I take in the tall man holding it, cold blue eyes narrowed on me. I only really saw the man who was chasing me from behind when he was in shadow, but I can tell this is a different man.
Another man.
Also with a gun.