The last big hike of the year didn’t go as planned. Your hiking partner canceled at the last minute, and when you arrive at the trail head alone, you’re disappointed to see several cars in the parking lot. You don’t see anyone on the trail but are treated to the sight of a hawk perched in a tree that looks like it may have been bent deliberately, like an old trail marker. Indeed, you see what looks like an old path that branches off and, curious, you decide to explore it. The path leads up to the top of a ridge, and you are rewarded with a stunning view of a stream down below a rugged, craggy bluff. It would be a perfect sight save for what appears to be a mess someone left, some campers perhaps. You turn to leave and are surprised as the hawk flies right at you, its shrill call filling your ears. You tumble backwards down the bluff, landing hard on the rocks below. Bones shattered, you scream for help, but only the hawk answers. It dawns on you that the debris you saw from the top of the bluff is clothing, all shredded and bloody. You think some of them contain bones. The hawk lands on a branch above you, and your last thought before you fade into the black is that it looks hungry.

     

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