Blue Mountain Trails

Blue Mountain Trails
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 337

Joel zipped up his tent and knelt down on his inflatable mattress. He unbuckled his army surplus belt and laid it next to his small battery powered lantern, carefully positioning the large hunting knife within easy reach should the need arise. Sitting on the ground near the lantern sat a battered compass crumpled map with numerous red crosses scribbled haphazardly. Joel lay down, picked up the map, and looked at it for a moment before picking up his red crayon and marking another cross.

“Where are you?” he said softly.

After staring at the map for another ten minutes, he folded the map, placed it back on the ground, and turned the lantern off. The silence of the bush was deafening and Joel was still not used to it, even after two weeks of camping. Without the noise and light of the city, it took Joel an hour to finally fall asleep. There was something unnerving about the tranquillity that Joel did not understand. He thought it should have had the opposite effect and helped him nod off quickly and sleep heavily.

As Joel finally fell into a light sleep, a pale white figure walked into the clearing and stopped a few feet from the tent.

“You came close today,” the ghostly figure said. “I’ll have to move my treasure away a bit further tonight I think.”

The ghost slowly walked behind the tent and put its hand into a pile of rocks. When if pulled its hand back out it held a small wooden chest the size of a shoebox and raised it to its chest. The ghost opened the chest and looked at the bundle of deeds to three cattle properties around the Blue Mountains.

“You’ll have to pick up your game, son,” the ghost said as it turned and walked away. “If you want to get your hands on your inheritance.”


THE END