Read Online Idea in Stone by Hamish Macdonald - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hamish Macdonald
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ground, looking to see if the thing was gone. He realised then that he was lost.
After a time—he couldn’t tell how long out here—he found his way back to the camp, changing directions whenever he imagined he heard something close-by. He didn’t care how dirty he was, all he wanted was to crawl into his sleeping bag and be unconscious until this night was over. But first he had to put up the tent.
He struggled to get the tangled ropes from the long-unused tent bag, then pulled out the wrinkled, oily, elephant skin of a tent. It smelled like his grandfather had been using it as a drop-cloth. Stefan fished for the pegs at the bottom of the bag. Something moved behind him, and he jumped up with a metal peg in each hand.
Oh crap, he thought, peering into the darkness. A second sound started to his left. Ohcrapohcrap. Do I make noise? Do I scream? Or am I supposed to play dead? Or do they start eating you if they think you’re dead? Is it mating season? Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Squinting, he searched the movement ahead. It was low to the ground. Grey. With stripes. Raccoons.
Stefan laughed. Briefly.
The two raccoons continued their approach, and a third entered the clearing. Stefan stamped his feet, but they didn’t respond. He yelled at them, but they weren’t bothered by that, either. The cold fear crept back into his stomach. Raccoons are big, he realised, and kind of scary, he decided.
He went back to his supplies with a mission. “Ha!” he said, pulling out a box of flares. He struggled against shaking hands to light two of them. He’d never lit flares before. He expected them to be the pink fireworks he’d seen on the side of the highway, but these were like candles in shotgun casings. Still, they created a good amount of light.
Stefan held the flares in his hands, then stomped about, yelling at the raccoons. It turned into a dance of sorts, and sang at the top of his lungs “Go away ra-cooooons! Get out of my caaaaaamp-siiiiiiiiite! Get! Get! Get! Get away ra-cooooooons!” To his pleasure, it was working.
One raccoon tentatively moved forward, so Stefan shook a flare at it. He was horrified when smoky, flaming, viscous goo flew from the tube at the creature. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said, not caring how ridiculous it was to talk to the thing. He saw he hadn’t hit the raccoon, and that it and its partners were closing in on the campsite again. Stefan whirled about with the flares, yelling for all he was worth and climbing up onto the picnic table. Splashes of fire glowed where the flare-goo fell around him, keeping the raccoons at bay.
Stefan felt heat on his back, and the clearing suddenly lit with a flickering yellow light. He turned around and saw the conflagration that used to be his grandfather’s tent.
~
Stefan moved slightly. He lay on the picnic table, his arms crossed tight across the chest of the burnt parka-remnants he wore. His muscles ached with tension from shivering.
He opened his eyes, suddenly awake. He had no idea what time it was in this lost part of the night. The clearing was still, and Stefan strained to pick out any sounds. A slight wind picked up, filtered through the pines. He sat up and looked around. Moonlight flickered through a curtain of leaves on the far side of the clearing. The raccoons had gone off in that direction when they finally decided there was no food to be had in the campsite. The leafy curtain parted with a puff of wind. A raccoon scurried from the opening, stood on its haunches, and gestured for Stefan to follow him.
Stefan blinked.
The raccoon made the gesture again, more insistently. Stefan climbed off the picnic table and followed after the animal. He brushed aside the leaf-curtain, and the brightness of the moonlight here made him temporarily blind. As his eyes adjusted, Stefan saw a man standing there, facing away from him. Around his feet was gathered a circle of raccoons. The man turned around.
“Dad?”
Stefan
After a time—he couldn’t tell how long out here—he found his way back to the camp, changing directions whenever he imagined he heard something close-by. He didn’t care how dirty he was, all he wanted was to crawl into his sleeping bag and be unconscious until this night was over. But first he had to put up the tent.
He struggled to get the tangled ropes from the long-unused tent bag, then pulled out the wrinkled, oily, elephant skin of a tent. It smelled like his grandfather had been using it as a drop-cloth. Stefan fished for the pegs at the bottom of the bag. Something moved behind him, and he jumped up with a metal peg in each hand.
Oh crap, he thought, peering into the darkness. A second sound started to his left. Ohcrapohcrap. Do I make noise? Do I scream? Or am I supposed to play dead? Or do they start eating you if they think you’re dead? Is it mating season? Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Squinting, he searched the movement ahead. It was low to the ground. Grey. With stripes. Raccoons.
Stefan laughed. Briefly.
The two raccoons continued their approach, and a third entered the clearing. Stefan stamped his feet, but they didn’t respond. He yelled at them, but they weren’t bothered by that, either. The cold fear crept back into his stomach. Raccoons are big, he realised, and kind of scary, he decided.
He went back to his supplies with a mission. “Ha!” he said, pulling out a box of flares. He struggled against shaking hands to light two of them. He’d never lit flares before. He expected them to be the pink fireworks he’d seen on the side of the highway, but these were like candles in shotgun casings. Still, they created a good amount of light.
Stefan held the flares in his hands, then stomped about, yelling at the raccoons. It turned into a dance of sorts, and sang at the top of his lungs “Go away ra-cooooons! Get out of my caaaaaamp-siiiiiiiiite! Get! Get! Get! Get away ra-cooooooons!” To his pleasure, it was working.
One raccoon tentatively moved forward, so Stefan shook a flare at it. He was horrified when smoky, flaming, viscous goo flew from the tube at the creature. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said, not caring how ridiculous it was to talk to the thing. He saw he hadn’t hit the raccoon, and that it and its partners were closing in on the campsite again. Stefan whirled about with the flares, yelling for all he was worth and climbing up onto the picnic table. Splashes of fire glowed where the flare-goo fell around him, keeping the raccoons at bay.
Stefan felt heat on his back, and the clearing suddenly lit with a flickering yellow light. He turned around and saw the conflagration that used to be his grandfather’s tent.
~
Stefan moved slightly. He lay on the picnic table, his arms crossed tight across the chest of the burnt parka-remnants he wore. His muscles ached with tension from shivering.
He opened his eyes, suddenly awake. He had no idea what time it was in this lost part of the night. The clearing was still, and Stefan strained to pick out any sounds. A slight wind picked up, filtered through the pines. He sat up and looked around. Moonlight flickered through a curtain of leaves on the far side of the clearing. The raccoons had gone off in that direction when they finally decided there was no food to be had in the campsite. The leafy curtain parted with a puff of wind. A raccoon scurried from the opening, stood on its haunches, and gestured for Stefan to follow him.
Stefan blinked.
The raccoon made the gesture again, more insistently. Stefan climbed off the picnic table and followed after the animal. He brushed aside the leaf-curtain, and the brightness of the moonlight here made him temporarily blind. As his eyes adjusted, Stefan saw a man standing there, facing away from him. Around his feet was gathered a circle of raccoons. The man turned around.
“Dad?”
Stefan
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