MicroHorror

Angharad and Dilwyn considered themselves experienced backpackers. For two decades they’d spent a fortnight each year on the road, public footpaths, seaside and cliff paths, the Pennine Way, the Welsh Marches, Coast to Coast–they’d done it.

“I think we should take this road, heading north,” said Dilwyn.

“I can’t find it on the O.S.” said Angharad.

“Looks like an old drover’s road. It’s flagged here at the bottom. I reckon if we follow it up to the tree-line and down the other side of the hill, it’s a shortcut.”

Angharad looked doubtful.

“C’mon, you know I always get it right. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

***

After a steep incline, the path swept around the side of the conical hill, with its stark cairn high on the left. An hour later the trees seemed no closer. It was hard to get your bearings in such a remote place. These were obviously very tall firs, very far away. They continued north along the road which was quite straight. As they approached the tree-line, the height of the conifers was staggering. Some reached seventy feet into the air, swaying gently in the evening air. The path cut deep between them. Everything was so still that they stopped chatting, as you might in a cathedral. They didn’t notice when the path began to weave off the straight, in and out between tall trunks, around mossy pools, skirting the sides of crags and boulders and by the time evening gathered, they were deep in the forest and totally lost. A convenient overhang of rock provided a dry place to bivouac. They lit a small fire and after a frugal meal of dried fruits, nuts and chocolate, they gathered moss for pillows and wrote the day off.

“Some shortcut,” said Angharad.

***

She woke to birdsong and grey light at three a.m., stretched painfully, opened her eyes and suppressed a squeal. “Dilwyn, wake up!” She shook him.

He was about to protest when he saw for himself. “What the blazes is going on?” he said. The hill was on the other side of the road. “Who moved the mountain?”

“Don’t let’s panic,” said Angharad. “Yesterday we were heading north, right? The sunrise this time of year is pretty much in the north so the hill cairn should be on the left–”

“Obscured by trees,” Dilwyn finished.

“Only it’s on the right now and we can see it. You’ve got the compass in your pack,” suggested Angharad.

They emptied both backpacks but found no compass.

“Okay, we’ll follow the sun,” said Dilwyn.

“That’ll lead us south for now but then west and eventually north again as it sets. We’d be walking in a circle.”

“What’s that thing you can do with a watch? If you point the minute hand–no, the hour hand, away from the sun–or is it towards…”

“Oh, well, that’s obviously a great help, Dilwyn!”

“Let’s look at the map again–see if we can find this road.”

“If it wasn’t on yesterday, it’s hardly likely to be there today, is it?”

“But we might find the hill and see where the stupid track goes.”

“Stupid track? I am an ancient highway.”

A deep gravelly voice rumbled and the earth beneath them trembled slightly.

The two exchanged glances.

“Am I going nuts or are you?”

“Both, I think.”

“Could you perhaps show a modicum of respect and address me directly?” said the voice.

“Okay, Mr. Highway, where do you go?” said Dilwyn.

“I don’t go anywhere. I’m not obsessed with being somewhere else.”

“Then why did you move last night? The mountain’s on the wrong side.”

“There is no wrong side–and no right side. I thought you two appreciated the journey for itself?”

“But we want to get to…” began Angharad.

“No one has walked here for so long a time,” the voice rumbled on. “I get so lonely. So very lonely…”

With that, a great chasm of grief opened up and swallowed the travellers.

• Copyright: © 2009 Oonah V Joslin