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The Diary of Dan Cooper
(© Joseph Rubas)

Page 2


Nov. 26, 1971- I was up at sunrise again, and made three miles by noon. If it wasn’t for this damn snow I could be at Wilhelm’s tonight or the night after tomorrow.

It’s overcast again, and cold, but it’s such beautiful country, tranquil and serene. I’ve only been up here a handful of times with Wilhelm, but never for very long, and I never went far from him in case he hurt himself or something.

I wonder how he is. It’s been almost a week since he dropped me off in Portland. Not knowing worries me. The last time I was away from him for more than a few days (’62? ’63?) he took a tumble down the basement stairs and laid there for six hours before the neighbor just happened to drop by to return something he borrowed. I was in Reno, and when I got the call from Mercy General, I nearly shit my briefs. It was a long drive north, I’ll tell you that. I’m not really an emotional kinda guy, but I actually cried thinking of losing him. It might sound sappy, but I love that old kraut. When I was at my lowest, living in a dumpster and picking pockets for beer money, he saved me. I’ll never be able to repay him for that. Even this money isn’t enough.

Anyway, I found another cave, this one huge. I’m gonna go way back in it and have a fire. I think I can spoil myself a little.


Nov. 27, 1971- I found some weird looking footprints in the snow near the cave mouth this morning. They just...start and stop out of nowhere, kinda like a ghost materialized in mid-step and then vanished again. I stood over one for a moment looking at it, trying to figure out what the hell could have made it, and almost gasped when I discerned the outline of a human foot.

Needless to say, I was spooked, so I packed up the party and took off as fast as I could, glancing over my shoulder here and there, looking for a cop or a guardsmen. I made about two miles before my sense caught up with me and stopped me in my tracks. I saw a footprint, which meant that it would have had to have been made by a bare human foot. Now, I don't know much about police procedure, but I'm pretty sure that no cop would run around in the snow with no shoes on. And the size of the print was too small to have been left by even the tiniest pig. It looked like a woman's, or a child's.

It's got to be an animal, I figured, and then chuckled at myself for being so stupid. Of course it was.

Anyway, I made about six miles by late afternoon. I crossed a creek between two rising hills and got soaked to the knees, so my legs are aching with cold. I hope I don't get frost bite. That would be awful. Wilhelm would have to come looking for me, and he's so damn old he probably wouldn't make it two steps before passing out. I guess if it came down to it I'd let the police find me, but that's something I don't want to even think about.

Right now I'm hunkered down in a little lean-to against a sharp incline, nestled in a dead tangle of thin branches. A fire would probably get out of hand and roast me alive, but I can't have one anyway; too dangerous. Earlier as I was pushing through the forest I heard the whup-whup-whup of chopper blades. Screened behind the intertwined treetops I glimpsed a big green helicopter. Probably National Guard. Who knows who all's looking for me. I bet the state police organized civilian search parties and turned them loose. Yee-haw hunters with bright orange vests, plaid caps, hunting rifles and a thirst for fame. I still haven't decided what I'll do if I come across someone on the other team yet. Is murder worth it?

Maybe. They’d probably send me to jail for life if they ever caught me. I don’t want that. God, no. That’s a fate worse than death.


Nov. 28, 1971 - I had no idea I camped so close to the highway. Not even half a mile back, so close I could hear cars whooshing back and forth this morning. Good thing I couldn't have a fire, it would have been easily visible from the road.

Thankfully not many people travel it. This is really isolated country. Lucky me.

Oh, I found more footprints. Same deal as before. The tracks look like they were made by a small monkey or a child. What the hell?

[ Continue to page 3 ]

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Genre:General Horror
Type:Short story
Rating:7.06 / 10
Rated By:22 users
Comments: 1 user
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