State Park

A man and woman hike through an abandoned state park in the hopes of finding the man's missing parents who disappeared twenty years ago.

Wanting to say something but afraid to break the silence, Sylvia stared out the window and watched tree after tree rush past. Each one caused the butterflies in her stomach to flit around harder and harder. She glanced at Ishmael; he was as tense and still as he had been since he started the engine three hours ago. He did not look back at her and smile. She willed him to meet her eyes and speak his story. She wished for him to explain to her that part of him she knew he kept hidden from everyone, as she had wished since she first spoke to him. His eyes remained fixed on the road.

Just as she turned her head to look back out the window, Ishmael asked, “Have you ever heard of Aeron Forest State Park?” The question sounded more like a statement. Without waiting for her answer, he continued speaking. “That’s where my parents disappeared.”

He paused until Sylvia was sure he wasn’t going to say anything more. “People used to go there to hike. I think they went because it was so quiet - nice and peaceful. No bugs, no birds. But after a while, they stopped going. Montana stopped taking care of it. It was just sort of forgotten.”

“Why?” Sylvia asked.

“Lots of people went missing. People go missing in every state and national park, you know. They’ll walk in with their families, but they don’t come out. Happens all the time. It was especially bad in Aeron Forest - a few times higher than the national average.”

“Is that what happened to… to your parents?”

“Yes.” Ishmael paused again. “I wandered off, only I didn’t go missing. Or maybe I did. I’m still not quite sure what happened. I’ve thought and thought and thought about it until I can’t think anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Sylvia said, not sure what else to say.

“Me too,” he said. “We used to go up there all the time. A few times a year. It’s a beautiful forest. I used to think so, anyway. One year - mid-September - today, actually - when I was seven, my mom made us lunch to bring up there. I got PB&J. My mom made herself what my dad called a ‘salad sandwich.’ My dad, of course, had her put as much meat as she could on his.”

Sylvia smiled. I wish I could’ve met them, she thought.

“My parents got into an argument about something silly. Maybe about me. I don’t remember. They didn’t fight much, though. They loved each other as much as two people can, I think. But they started fighting. I didn’t want to be around that. So I wandered off the path until I couldn’t hear them talking to each other like that anymore. After a little bit, I found my way back. I couldn’t find them. I looked for hours and hours. I found the lunch box, but I didn’t find my parents. I screamed for them until my throat was raw. I ran back to the parking lot, thinking maybe they’d left me. The car was still there, so I waited for them to come back. It was so cold… and it got so dark. Eventually, a lady who worked for the park found me sitting by the car. I was so, so scared. I didn’t want to leave the car. I didn’t want to leave my parents - not even to go to the bathroom or eat. She had to drag me away. I don’t remember much after that.”

“I… I don’t know what to say, Ish.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

She looked at him for a bit and wondered if he was worth taking off work and waking up at 5:30 in the morning. Yes, she thought without hesitation. Of course. She rested her head on the chilled glass and stared at nothing, deep in thought. The silence stretched for eons until Sylvia felt her eyes grow heavy and close.

“Sylvia,” came a voice after what felt like only a few minutes.

“What?” she asked groggily. She sat up, forced herself to open her eyes, and stretched.

“We’re here.” Ishmael pulled the keys out of the ignition, stepped outside, and shut the door. The rush of cold air against her skin awoke her mind and clarified her environment. In front of her stood a crooked, rusted sign before hundreds of acres of huge trees. It read:

Aeron Forest State Park

Park Hours: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

She pushed open the door and stepped out. The car was stopped in what had, many years prior, been used as a parking lot but was now a square of gravel, tall weeds, and soggy leaves and pine needles. A few more signs, some perforated with bullets, either barely stood or lay on the ground caked with dirt. Sylvia shivered as the wind pressed against her face and bit her skin.

“It is quiet,” she realized aloud. She heard no birds whistling, no animals wandering, no insects singing. The only noise that reached her ears was the sound of the branches of the ancient trees sliding against each other.

“Yes,” Ishmael agreed.

“It’s creepy,” Sylvia said, pulling her gloves and hat on. The huge forest loomed over the couple almost as if in an attempt to intimidate them. Shutting a back door, Ishmael handed her black backpack.

“Holy crap, Ish, this is heavy!” she exclaimed as the bag tugged her arm to the ground.

He pulled his arms through the straps of an identical backpack. “Trust me, I only packed what I felt was necessary.”

“Like what - twelve survival kits?” she said, groaning as the bag hugged her back. “This thing is gonna weigh me down so much I won’t be able to get away from anything.”

“No, just one. And some lightweight but high-protein snacks. There are, however, several bottles of water. If we run out, though, we can just use the water purification tablets. But I’d prefer not to use those.”

“I thought you said we’re not camping.”

“We most certainly are not,” Ishmael said, looking her right in the eyes. “We are leaving this hellhole of a forest before the sun so much as touches the horizon, and that’s a promise. Now, before we actually go inside, I’d like to go over some things. If we get separated, you will not be able to use your cell phone to contact me. This forest is a complete dead zone.” He unclipped a walkie-talkie from the side of his backpack. “That’s why I brought these. They have a GPS and a tracker in them; we’ll be able to see each other as long as we’re within ten miles of each other. Channel 4. Got that? If you can’t find me, get to the road and you might be able to get a signal and call for help. There’s a map in your bag in the left side pocket. Which brings me to my next point. Before that, though, repeat everything I just said.”

“The forest is a dead zone, use the walkie-talkie if we get separated, there’s a map in the left side pocket, go to the road… Did I forget anything?”

“We’re using channel 4. Say that.”

“We’re using channel 4.”

“Good. Anyway, the road will be south of the forest. It’s not on the map; you’ll just have to head straight south. Make sure you’re going south - check the map every few minutes while you’re walking. People who get lost in forests often walk in big circles because of the height differences in their legs. Fortunately, I brought compasses. Yours is in the very front pocket. Take it out right now.”

Sylvia unzipped the bag and produced plastic object about the length of her forearm that she assumed must be the compass.

“Remember what I said about people going in circles when they get lost?” Ishmael asked.

“Yeah,” Sylvia answered.

“Well, it’s important to check which direction you’re going every once in awhile. Don’t just trust yourself - people can’t walk in straight lines for long distances. Got that?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Okay, good. Everything else you won’t know how to use has instructions. Read them if you have to use any of the tools. Okay? That is extremely important. Also, there’s a guide in there with the survival kit just in case. I would trust that guide with my life, so read it as well. But, most importantly, don’t get lost.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Don’t try - just do it.”

“Okay,” Sylvia said. “I won’t get lost, then.”

Ishmael led her to what might’ve been a clear trail at one point but was now swallowed by vegetation. The two ducked under branches and climbed over shrubs and bracken, scratched at and whipped by thorns and limbs, until Ishmael stopped in front of a large, flat rock.

He took a deep, shaky breath; nearly every muscle in his body tensed and, with his exhale, relaxed. He tilted his head up to the sky. “I hate this place,” he said quietly.

He stepped beside the rock and the two continued traveling deeper and deeper into the forest. Vines appeared and quickly became as abundant as the trees. The vegetation grew thicker and closer together as if to trap them.

“Ish,” Sylvia panted, “I need some water. Can we stop?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

She reached behind her into her bag. As soon as she felt a water bottle in her grasp, she unscrewed the lid and drank as much as she could until she gasped for breath. “This is exhausting.”

He glanced at his watch. “We need to move on now. We have to turn around in twenty minutes; the sun sets in two hours.”

Sylvia frowned. “But we haven’t found anything.”

“I honestly didn’t expect to,” he sighed.

“Then why…?”

“It helps with my fears. I had a psychiatrist in high school who recommended I confront this forest in order to get over my fear of it. I’ve visited this place at least once a year since. I am better. Not functional, but better. I don’t think my parents’ bodies will ever be found; I gave up that hope many, many years ago.”

Sylvia studied him, thought about asking him a question, then decided against it. “I understand. Let’s go, then.”

Again they pushed farther along what was left of the path. Each step she took required more and more effort, and she found herself drifting behind Ishmael. She slowed to a snail’s pace as her energy ebbed away. Her body was impossibly heavy; how was Ishmael so far ahead and moving so quickly?

“Slow down,” she whispered, falling to her knees. “Ishmael…” Her body went limp, and her eyes shut. The leaves and needles formed a soft bed beneath her - she could not find the motivation to get up. What is wrong with me? she asked herself. Her thoughts became gibberish as her consciousness drifted away from her. Bye bye, she thought sleepily.

Then she was upright and walking on a much smoother, well-kept trail. My back feels so light, she thought. Where’s my bag?

“Wait…” she said aloud. “Where’s Ishmael? He was just…” Panic swelled within her. “Ishmael!” she called.

“Ish!” came another voice from behind her. “Where are you?!”

Sylvia whipped around, and her eyes met a slightly taller, older, and more wide-set version of Ishmael. His hair was peppered with white, but he showed few other signs of age.

“How could you lose him?” she heard herself bark, her words seeping with anger. Did I say that?

“How could I lose him? It’s your fault as much as it is mine,” the man said, scowling. “Stop accusing me of things I don’t do.”

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry,” she said, sorrier that she had lost track of Ish than that she had hurt the man’s feelings. “Let’s… let’s look for Ishmael. He probably just went back to the car.”

They silently turned around, the leaves crunching beneath their shoes. Sylvia could hardly concentrate on looking she was so sick with anxiety. What if we can’t find him? What if he falls and breaks something? What if -

“Mary,” the man said, breaking her trance. “Look. Isn’t that his jacket?”

A dozen yards off the trail lay a small red cotton jacket at the base of a fir. “Yes, I’m sure it’s his,” she replied. “I remember buying that.”

“He probably went off the trail, then,” the man said. “You go get water. I’ll look for him. He can’t be too far. Ishmael!”

Relieved they had found some sign of him, Sylvia jogged a mile to the car. She reached into her pockets, fumbled around for the keys, and came into contact with nothing but the cloth that made up her pants and jacket. Shoot, Jason must have them. Heart pounding, she turned around and jogged the trail again.

Through her heavy breathing, Sylvia thought she heard a yell. She halted

“Mooooom! Daaaaad!” The voice was close to tears - if not at that point already - and of a young child.

“ISHMAEL!” she screamed, spinning as quickly as she could to face what she thought was the source of the noise. She sprinted off the trail and between the trees. “Ishmael! Where are you?!”

Panting, she stopped to listen again. “Moooom!” The voice sounded farther away this time.

“Ishmael!” she cried again. “I’m here!”

“Sylvia!”

She opened her eyes, and a face, branches, nearly dead leaves, green needles, a fiery sky, and pink clouds came into focus.

“Ishmael?” she said, blinking. He was kneeling beside her at the base of an ancient fir.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Where did you go? I was looking for you with - with…”

“With who?”

She sat up. “I think I met your dad. And… your mom.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Sylvia,” he said slowly, frowning. “My parents are dead, remember? I think you need water.”

“Wait. I think… I think I was your mom,” she said, her forehead wrinkling with confusion. “Why was I your mom?”

He shrugged. “It was just a weird dream. Don’t worry about it too much.” He gently laid her head on his thigh, opened a bottle of water, and tipped it over her mouth. “Drink slowly. Don’t choke.”

She pushed the bottle away. “You had a red jacket. And your mom’s name was Mary. Your dad. His name was Jason. Right?”

Ishmael stared at her. “How did you know that?”

“I was your mom in my dream,” she stated firmly. “We lost track of you and started looking for you. Your dad saw your jacket, and he told me to go get help. I went to the car and then you woke me up.”

“Okay, fine, I believe you. Even though it doesn’t make any sense.”

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“Walkie-talkies, remember?” he said, pulling out his own. “I wouldn’t have found you otherwise.”

The weight of the situation fell upon her and forced a waterfall out of her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “I could have died,” she sobbed. “I could have starved or frozen or not have had enough water or - ”

“You didn’t,” Ishmael reassured her, embracing her tired body. “And you won’t. Not as long as I’m here. Now let’s go home.”

The two pushed themselves off the ground, Sylvia using the tree as support. Between two roots she noticed what could’ve been a rock partially covered by leaves but what had a round shape and an unfamiliar texture. “Ishmael…” she whispered, pointing at the object. “Look.”

His eyes went wide. “It’s - it’s… It’s…”

Sylvia knelt down and uncovered her discovery. Two cracked, dirty, but unmistakably human skulls looked up at her. “These - are these your parents’?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. They’re both adult-sized. We gotta mark this place. I don’t wanna mess with anything just in case somebody smarter finds something.” He unlooped his belt from his pants and tightened it around the tree. “I hope this is good enough.”

After staring at the naked, empty heads and the belt for a few minutes, they turned around and, hand in hand, made their way south to the road.

“What happened?” Ishmael asked. “To my parents, I mean.”

“I don’t know. They were arguing and didn’t notice you left. Then your mom realized and got mad at your dad. They split up so your dad could find you while your mom got water for you. I woke up after that. They had to have been together when they died though, right? Because their skulls were together?”

“I guess so,” Ishmael said. “I hate thinking about it. About how they died a slow, horrible, painful death and it was my fault. All my fault.” He quickly wiped his eyes. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but I envy you. I envy almost everyone. They can talk about their problems on and on and just keep complaining, but I can’t. And I don’t. It just hurts more than it helps.”

“It’s not your fault they died,” Sylvia said. “You were just a little boy. I’m sure your parents blamed themselves a lot more than they blamed you.”

“You’re probably right, but I can’t put the fault on them. They’re dead.”

“And now, because of you, they’re found.”

“Yes, I suppose they are.”

The remainder of their hike back to the car lacked speech but was full of complete understanding. For the first time in forever, Sylvia was satisfied with her relationship, and, for the first time since his parents’ disappearance, Ishmael had closure.