Went Geocaching today with my brother Ben. At the last minute Dr. Samson and his valet, a one-eyed Colombian whose last name was Fortunato, decided to join us.

The coordinates for the GPS took us out of Seattle via I-90, over Snoqualmie pass. We made a turnoff near Hyak, then drove another half-hour before reaching an access road. We took the 4-wheel drive as far as it would go, then we got out of it and walked into a valley filled with White Pines and Douglas Firs.

The slope of the hillside was slick with decomposition and rainwater, so we had to pick our way slowly down through the timber. We followed an animal trail mostly obscured by undergrowth and which seemed, according to the GPS, to be winding towards the location of the cache. Fortunato was leading the way, his legs familiar with this sort of travel, and sometimes his pace took him so far in front of us that he was lost around a bend in the trail. Before too long he would stop and wait for us, and we would catch up to him sitting on a fallen log. We continued in this manner for almost an hour.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,” said Dr. Samson wistfully, “but we have promises to keep, and miles to go before we sleep, and miles to go before we sleep.”

In a clearing we paused and looked over the valley at the treetops swaying like lines of blue-green pikemen. I can’t say that it was beautiful, because it was cold and the fog refused to burn away, and the whole valley was so lonely and isolated that in my mind it took on a sinister air.

While we were resting there I took out my water bottle and started to drink. The water was bitter and coppery, and I spit it out involuntarily. Fortunato stared at me. The water had tasted good enough earlier that day.

I asked to borrow some water. It tasted the same, and I spit it out.

With no warning, Fortunato jumped up and pulled a knife from out of his belt. He started to scream in Spanish at Dr. Samson. “Debemos salir de este bosque!” he said: we must leave this forest.

Dr. Samson screamed back at him in rapid Spanish that I could not follow. They both looked agitated and at one point Dr. Samson bared his teeth and muttered something low and threatening. Fortunato leaned in and it looked like he and the doctor were going to grapple, but then there was blood on the ground and on Fortunato’s knife, and Dr. Samson gurgled and fell. Fortunato turned at us and I put up my hands to ward him off, but he didn’t attack. With a wild yell he spun around and ran back along the trail into the forest.

We did what we could for the doctor, but all his color was gone and he slipped away quickly, talking in less than a whisper to someone only he could see. We covered his body with a cairn of rocks so that the wolves wouldn’t get at it, then we commended him to the earth and continued on.

Soon we found the spot the coordinates indicated and my brother unfolded his spade and began to dig. I felt that strange terror that begins in the stomach and ends under the heel; the sense of dread that makes you hurry to put your keys into the lock if you are alone and it is night.

Then I thought I saw someone in the forest walking towards us. “Fortunato? Leave us alone,” I said. He was tall, thin, like Fortunato.

“Maybe we should just leave, Ben,” I said. He didn’t answer. He kept digging. “Let’s just leave. Let’s just go back. Please. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Still he kept digging, and I could still see the man in the forest walking towards us. “Fortunato, is that you?” I asked him again. I couldn’t tell.

Then I heard the spade hit something solid and the man in the forest stepped into view. He looked at me said something that I don’t remember now; something compelling that I knew had to be true, but was nevertheless terrified of believing.

Ben was lifting something out of the ground, and I pulled off my backpack and swung it at him from behind. Then I picked up the spade from the ground and hammered until I had crushed his skull with it. I screamed triumphantly and tore off back along the trail. Nobody followed me, and I didn’t take anything, I swear. I do not know what was buried in that spot, and I will not return, even to bury the dead.

P.S.—Turns out it wasn’t actually my brother, but a robot that looked just like him that he had sent in his place. I told him, “lucky for you!” and we both had a laugh. The end!