MONTANA NIGHTMARE

My name is Wintrypoet, a name I adopted to reflect the unpredictable weather of my hometown in Michigan. Today, I was not in Michigan, I was roaming frantically through the wilderness of Montana when I received the message. ‘The search has been suspended due to heavy rain.’ I’m still lying low, trying to avoid this wolf pack hot on my trail. But staying put was torture. My mind was a whirlwind of anxiety, each gust carrying a fresh wave of worry for Eido. Grizzlies, yes, they were a threat. But it was the moose that truly terrified me. It was mating season, and those lumbering beasts were driven to madness by hormones and primal urges. And Eido had bought a bugle tube. A bugle tube! The idiot planned to imitate a cow moose to lure the bulls closer for “research.” I can only hope poor Eido is unharmed from the ever-present threat of the grizzlies and the sexually aggressive moose roaming these trails. I groaned, burying my face in my hands. That was Eido, always chasing something retarded, some offbeat fascination. It was endearing, in a way. Until it got him lost in the Montana wilderness, stalked by wolves and pursued by sexually frustrated moose. My stomach growled a loud, embarrassing rumble that seemed to echo through the forest. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, a stale granola bar that now felt like a distant memory. Hunger gnawed at my insides, but the thought of venturing out to forage was unthinkable. The wolves were out there. Waiting.

I hunched deeper into my worn coat, the collar pulled high to shield my face from the relentless gusts that howled through Glacier National Park. The sky was threatening and grey. My hiding spot, a hollowed-out log, wasn’t exactly Fort Knox. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent my heart leaping into my throat. Was that the panting of wolves? Or just the wind playing tricks? My mind was on poor Eido, he had been missing for two days. I began contemplating the worst-case scenarios. Has he eaten, or been eaten? Maybe trampled by a horny moose and seriously injured crying for help? Did he run out of toilet paper and wipes? I was helpless, for I was also lost in this unforgiving wilderness searching for him. I was tired and hungry, and began to ponder my fate.

This whole mess was my fault. Guilt had settled in my stomach. It was my idea to come to Montana. I suggested we needed a “wilderness retreat” to escape the soul-crushing monotony of our city lives. I’d envisioned peaceful hikes, breathtaking vistas, and maybe, a fleeting glimpse of inner peace. Inner peace had lasted approximately five minutes. That was the time it took for Eido to declare he needed to “commune with nature” and wander off the trail with his ridiculous bugle tube. I should have stopped him. I should have insisted he stay with me. But I’d been too busy trying to find cell service to post a picture of the goddamn mountains on Instagram. Now, he was gone. Vanished. Swallowed whole by the vast, unforgiving wilderness.

The rain hammered against the log, a relentless drumming that echoed the frantic beat of my heart. “Suspended,” they’d said. Suspended the search, as if Eido were a library book overdue for renewal. The thought brought a hysterical bubble of laughter to my throat. Laughter was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not with the wolf pack on my trail. I’d glimpsed them earlier, their eyes gleaming like embers in the twilight, their breath misting the air as they tested the wind. They were close, too close. I could smell them, they were close. My only hope was to stay put, to remain unseen, unheard until the storm passed.

And the worst part was, I knew, deep down, that Eido was probably having the time of his life. Despite the danger, despite the discomfort, he was finally living out one of his bizarre fantasies. He was probably out there, knee-deep in a bog, serenading a lovesick moose with his off-key rendition of a cow call, utterly oblivious to the peril he was in.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d dragged Eido out here to escape the suffocating noise of the city, only to find myself trapped in a wilderness symphony of potential death. The rain continued to hammer against the log, a relentless pour with no end in sight. My clothes were soaked through, and a shiver wracked my body. Hypothermia was a very real threat, adding another layer of absurdity to this already disastrous situation. I, the self-proclaimed master of survival, was about to become a statistic.

Rationing my supplies had seemed like a prudent decision then, but now, with the prospect of spending another night in this soggy hellhole, it felt like foolish stinginess. I rummaged through my backpack, finding a half-eaten protein bar and a handful of dried cranberries. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

As I chewed the tasteless bar, I forced myself to think rationally. Panicking wouldn’t help Eido or me. I needed a plan. First, stay warm and dry, as dry as a hollow log in a downpour could allow. Second, when the rain stopped, retraced my steps from the last time I saw Eido. Perhaps he’d left some kind of clue, a discarded wrapper, a dropped notepad, anything to indicate his direction. Third, and this was the hardest part, try to signal for help, possibly attempt to climb Mount Cleveland to get to higher ground.

The rain showed no signs of abating. The light outside was fading, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor. The thought of another night alone in this wilderness was terrifying. I pulled my sleeping bag tighter around me, trying to shut out the sound of the rain and the gnawing fear that was slowly consuming me.

I closed my eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep, haunted by visions of Eido being tossed around by a lovestruck moose and myself being cornered by a ravenous wolf pack. This wilderness retreat was turning out to be a nightmare, all of my own making.

The rain began to ease, the drumming on the log softening to a gentle patter. A sliver of sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the damp forest floor. Hope flickered within me. Maybe the search will resume tomorrow. Maybe they’d find Eido, safe and sound, covered in mud and bragging about his close encounter with a particularly amorous bull moose.

I crawled out of the log, stiff and sore. The air was fresh and soothing, washed clean by the rain. The scent of pine needles and damp earth filled my nostrils, a welcome change from the musty odor of the log. I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here and wait. I had to try to find Eido.

Taking a deep breath, I ventured out of my hiding place, moving cautiously through the undergrowth. Every shadow seemed to conceal a lurking predator, and every rustle of leaves sent my heart racing. I strained my ears, listening for any sign of Eido: a cry for help, the mournful wail of his bugle tube, anything.

After an hour of fruitless searching, I stumbled upon a small clearing. In the center stood a massive pine tree, and at the base of the tree, I saw it.

The bugle tube.

It lay on the ground, muddy and dented, as if it had been dropped in a hurry. My blood ran cold. Something had happened here. Something bad.

I scanned the area, my eyes darting nervously from tree to tree. And then I saw them.

Footprints.

Large, cloven hoofprints pressed deep into the soft earth. Moose prints. But these weren’t just any moose prints. They were surrounded by a series of smaller prints, canine in shape. Wolf prints.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. The wolves hadn’t been tracking me. They’d been tracking Eido.

And the moose… Oh, God, the moose.

I followed the tracks with my heart racing. The trail led deeper into the woods, towards a dense thicket of thorny bushes. The air grew thick with the smell of blood.

Hesitantly, I pushed through the bushes, bracing myself for what I might find. And there he was.

Eido.

He was lying on the ground, crying and praying, his body shivering with fear. He was barely clinging to life.

One of his legs was broken, the bone protruding through the skin. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the sky.

But it wasn’t the injuries that made me scream. It was what was standing over him.

A moose. But not just any moose. This was a bull moose, big, mean, and horny, and it was standing over him with hunger in its eyes. Its antlers were massive, their points dripping with blood. Then, it turned and began staring at me. Its eyes were filled with lust and hormonal rage. It looked far more terrifying than my worst nightmare.

The moose let out a low growl, a sound that resonated deep within my bones. It lowered its head, its massive antlers pointing directly at me.

I knew, at that moment, that I was going to die.

But then, something incredible happened.

From out of the woods, a new sound emerged: the distinct howl of a wolf pack.

The moose turned its attention away from me, it was curious but weary to engage. This pack was large.

The wolves circled Eido’s bloodied body, looking upon the moose like an adversary on their territory.

The moose, sensing the power shift, took a step back, hesitated, then turned and lumbered away into the forest.

Eido saw the wolves and still had enough energy to scream at me, “Please, brother, don’t leave me! Pease, brother, please!”

I stood there frozen like a log, my mind scrambling in every direction. Eido lay there, praying and whimpering, his body quivering like a fish out of water. I looked at him, then turned to the wolves. I was a human being standing before a pack of hungry wolves, and I had to make a quick decision and arrive at a logical conclusion.

So, I turned and ran like hell back through the bushes, stumbling and falling, desperate to escape. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, collapsing against a tree, gasping for breath. I was alive. But at what cost? The wolves didn’t pursue me. They were too busy with their prize. I heard Eido scream one last time, then silence.

Eido was gone. And I had seen things, things that would haunt me for the rest of my life. The hunger in the moose’s eyes, the blood on its antlers, the image of my best friend lying broken and lifeless on the forest floor, screaming.

The rain started again, washing away the blood and the mud, but it couldn’t wash away the horror. I was alone, lost, and utterly broken in the Montana wilderness. The inner peace I had sought had been replaced by a darkness so profound that I doubted I would ever escape it.

I looked up at the sky, the clouds heavy and gray, and let out a long, mournful wail. Not a cow call. But a sound of pure, unadulterated grief. A sound that echoed through the forest, a testament to the madness and the horror I had witnessed, and also, the fact that I was hungry. While my belly was growling for sustenance, the bellies of the wolves found satisfaction. Yes, the world is a cruel place, unfair at times, but I was alive. I decided to wait nearby until the wolves had finished their business and return to bury Eido, or what was left of him. It is the human thing to do.

And as I cried, I knew that I would never be the same again. Eido was my best friend, and had he not been lying there distracting the wolves, I wouldn’t be here telling this horrific story.