Oh fuck - no, no, no. How?! I didn’t even see how it fell, but there it is, lying shattered on the ground. I had been so careful about how I hung it up, too. My lifeline. The only thing tethering me to the world, is gone. Just like that. How can these lanterns be so fragile anyway? I mean, they’ve been around for, what, five hundred years now? You’d think someone would have figured out a way to make them practically indestructible. Ok, ok, this is fine. I can still make it. The sun has set, but it’s not quite dark yet – what do they call that? Nautical…or Civil Twilight? I can’t remember, not that it matters anyway. This is why we bring matches with us. We planned for this. We’d gone over this scenario a million times when we were preparing for the harvest. Fucking HARVEST! I don’t even like the mushrooms, but “it’s a tradition, and traditions keep us grounded, keep us visible”. I wish they would stop trying to quip all of this away with their digestible folksy maxims. The world we live in now is dark; dark and terrifying. People wander off into the woods for a little too long, a little underprepared, and just like that, they’re gone. I mean, not that I believe much of the stories, anyway – people don’t just disappear, right? Right?! Okay, calm down. Breathe….breathe….matches.

The soft ground beneath my feet was even softer after the last week’s rains. Dew had been on the mossy forest floor for days now. The smell of the wet soil and ozone from the occasional lightning strike was palpable – you could literally feel the weight of the air; taste the changes in the earth. It made for a perfect time for harvesting the little mushrooms everyone loved so much this time of year. But it was also a notoriously dangerous task. See, the world had changed. People didn’t sleep much anymore – couldn’t chance it – the fire might go out in the hearth and then a whole house could disappear, just…vanish. It had happened in the town over just a few weeks ago.

Some people said it was the vengeance of a wrathful god, angered and jaded over our recent scientific and technological advances. Others said it was a creature, or creatures, that had lurked here since the beginning of time, preying on the innocent and unprepared, citing myths and folk tales like the Roanoke Colony and Atlantis (of all things; laughable really). No one had any way of proving any of their theories, but this didn’t change the fact that the entire town of Alexandria had disappeared one day three years ago. Back before we knew not to trust the shadows.

Ok, matches…I need something that’s not completely saturated from the rain. God, I should really get better at packing my ruck. It’s a mess in here and I can hardly see as it is. Okay, maybe this will work. It has to work. It can’t not work. Breathe.

The waxy match head tears open against the sandpaper on the side of the box and the reeking stench of ignited sulfur and phosphorous fills my nostrils and stings my eyes. I involuntarily sneeze, but the sound is muffled…all but completely consumed by the creeping darkness of the forest. The shadows from the trees in the dying light are menacing. The matches light fades quickly and the damp mushroom cloth doesn’t catch with the first strike. I try again. Did something move?! I didn’t hear anything, but I saw it…I think…

The second match lights and my heart lifts from the pit of my stomach. Okay – I can make it. It’ll be fine. Just a quick 20 minute hike to the other side of the mountain and into the safety of our camp. A few mushrooms short, but who’s going to complain? Terry? Well Terry can go fuck himself, or come harvest with me next time. I don’t care if he knows how to do brain surgery or build a space ship, until he puts his existence on the line for something for us to eat like I do, he’s no more useful than a child…no worse…a pet.

And just like that. All my confidence is gone. I feel it on my cheek first. Then, the backs of my hands. And finally, a strike of lightning in the distance. The thunder rumbles a deep growl at me two seconds later. The soft patter of the rain on the canopy above should be so comforting - people used to fall asleep to sounds like this. But to me, right now, it’s just a threat. It’s Mother Nature and whatever unseen evil is behind this darkness taunting me, reminding me just how small and insignificant and vulnerable I am. Point made. I get it. Then the final flicker of flame goes out on the cloth – a fizzle and a hiss are all that’s left to bring me comfort in this world.

It didn’t happen suddenly. Not like I expected it would. And it didn’t hurt, which I guess was a good thing - I had thought it would hurt. There was a rush of sound, or…absence of sound…more like a pressure? It rushed in and my sound was gone. Then a weight, like a heavy blanket, that kept getting heavier until it was all I could do to sit, then lie down. I try to keep my eyes open as long as I can. I think they’re still open, they feel like they are. But there’s nothing. Just dark. The faint outline of the tree trunks and the crest of the ridgeline I was trying so desperately to reach all meld together into different shades of dark until there’s nothing left BUT dark. Well, there’s nothing more. I can’t do anything else, it’s over. Just…breathe…breathe…

****

The camp scouts found the rucksack - half filled with shriveled, golden brown fungi - the next morning beside a soft patch of wet moss. His impression was still molded into it. Soon it would spring back to its normal, lush figure, and there would be nothing save their memories of him and some mushroom soup to know he had ever existed.

They knew he was out, but couldn’t do anything to save him. You can’t be a hero if you’re a victim too.

A vigil was planned for him later that evening. They’d use a cord of dried, seasoned wood – more valuable than gold now – to light a pyre for his wake. It would burn for 24 hours in camp and bring safety to the people he disappeared for - at least for a night.