Kent and I have been friends since college. We shared the same roach-infested dormroom for nearly three years, dated a few of the same girls, suited up side-by-side each spring for two-a-days, and graduated together in the spring of ‘84 by the skin of our teeth, him with a degree in world history, me with a certification for accountancy. We haven't lost touch since. So, it wasn't really a surprise when I picked up the phone and heard his voice.

A little hunting trip to Emerald Falls? Sure. Why not. D.C. and Reb were going to be there too? Great. It would be just like old times, a reunion of sorts even though the four of us usually got together at least once every couple of months.

We took Reb's Bronco up to the edge of Kodiak Forest like we always did, a cooler filled with cold beer in the back, the cab hazy with cigarette smoke, the four of us telling dirty jokes, ragging each other about how fat we were getting, and sometimes singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd or AC/DC. This was the way men were supposed to spend weekends, and we had done this enough that we knew the rituals and enjoyed them.

From the moment Kent suggested the trip to me, I thought it was a wonderful idea. Even after we had pitched our tents, set up camp, and started hiking into the woods, I had plans to break out of my usual rut, get drunk once or twice, and raise cain with the boys. But then Reb found the jogging sneaker and Kent went off the deep end and I was forced to reconsider what the weekend probably held for the four of us.

We weren't really going anyplace in particular at first. The drive up to Kodiak had taken a little over six hours, and we were all a little stiff from the ride. Understandably, after sitting for so long, a walk was in order, and although we had been here dozens of times before and knew our way around the forest like it was our own backyard, we trudged through the woods anyway to see where we might end up. Kent and Reb were in the lead. D.C. and I were lagging behind, bashing our cans of beer together like a couple of morons at a frat party. The next thing either of us knew, Kent was screaming and punching Reb in the mouth with his balled-up fist.

"Don't you ever say something like that again, you crack-smoking homo," Kent shouted. "I'll hand you your teeth next time."

By the time D.C. and I caught up to them, Reb was busy dusting himself off and Kent was still sprawled on the thick carpet of pine needles, blood gushing copiously from his nostrils like water from a faucet.

"What happened?" I huffed.

"Beats me," Reb said, reaching nonchalantly into the back pocket of his jeans for a chew of Red Man. "One minute we were walking just ahead of you guys and I saw something lying underneath a pile of leaves. It turned out to be a woman's running shoe. I picked it up, looked at it for a minute, said it wasn't anything special, and threw it down. Then Kent went absolutely bananas on me and hit me in the jaw. Now he's bleeding on the ground. That's about all there is to it."

After Kent dusted himself off and staunched the flow of blood from his nose with a handkerchief, the four of us started back to the campsite. Kent had surprisingly little to say during the hike. I'm not sure if he was afraid of what Reb might do to him if he spouted off again or if he was just sulking. Either way, nobody, including me and D.C., did much talking even though we were curious to know what was going on. As it was, the answers to our questions came sooner than we would have wished.

"Sit down, guys," Kent said once we were back at the campsite and nursing beers. "There's no excuse for what I did back there, and I guess I should apologize. I guess an explanation would be in order too."

"I guess so, psycho," Reb scowled. "We're listening."

"A lot has happened since we all graduated from college," Kent began, breathing through his mouth because his nose was still swollen from Reb's right hook. "I'm sure all of us have been through our own personal turmoils. D.C., I know you got fired from your job for having a little booze on your breath. Reb, I know you've done a little time in the clink for losing your temper. David, I know that you go through women like Reb goes through pouches of tobacco. But nobody knows what's happened to me, and the reason is simple. I didn't want any of you to know. My life at the college has been decent, nothing special mind you, but decent so long as Rhonda and Suzanne were there at home every night after I finished my lectures. Having the two of them there made everything better. And I'm sure that each of you have something in your own lives that helps you get through the days."

"We've all lived as well as we were capable and made what we could of ourselves. I took the lead from my dad and started teaching world history at the university. David-or should I say Mr. Let's-Think-Everything-Through-you've become a pretty successful accountant. Reb's doing well as a private detective. And D.C.'s been gathering a slight following as a comedian. And yet when you step back and look at what each of us has done in the grand scheme of things, it becomes irrelevant. After all, who will remember fifty years from now, my lecture on The Roman Empire?"

"Knowing you, Kent, nobody remembered that lecture five minutes after class dismissed," D.C. quipped, garnering a grin from all of us but little else. We knew that Kent was about to say something big. Somehow, I knew that this was headed in the wrong direction, and I didn't like it one bit. But the snowball had already started rolling down the mountain, and all that was left was to wait for the avalanche.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that nothing really matters when you put it in perspective. Oh, sure, there have been monumental events in history like the birth of Christ or the bombing of Hiroshima, but for regular guys like us, there are only the few years that we're given here on this earth and little else. Jobs, ambitions, dreams, and hopes are worthless. There is only the love we feel for others and the love we receive in return. And we can only hope that it will be enough to last us until the end of our days. Of course, there are some times when we're not even given the standard seventy-two-point-five years on earth like science promises. Sometimes fate robs us of our time and we're forced to consider eternity. That's what happened when I lost Rhonda. I had to contemplate what it would be like never to see her again, and it was too much for me to handle."

"You guys got divorced?" D.C. said incredulously. "You two were perfect for each other."

"No," Kent explained solemnly. "Rhonda and I didn't get divorced. Rhonda's dead."

"Rhonda's dead?" I said, the words tasting bad as they came out of my mouth. "When did this happen?"

"She's been gone a couple of months," Kent whimpered, wiping his trickling nose gently on the sleeve of his plaid hunting jacket. "Car accident on a stormy night. The wounds of losing her are still fresh, and it doesn't look like I had healed as much as thought."

"Why didn't you call one of us, man?" D.C. asked. "We would have been there for you."

"That's right, man," Reb said slowly, keeping his head bowed so he wouldn't have to look Kent in the eye. "We would have done whatever we could to help."

"I wanted to be alone," Kent cried, holding his head in his hands. "I didn't want anybody's sympathy. I just wanted Rhonda back."

Kent sobbed like a baby at the thought of his dead wife, and because we didn't know what else to do, we let him. Such an outpouring of emotion seemed better suited to a movie on the Lifetime channel than it did out here in the woods amidst the beer, the rifles, and the tobacco, and I think I can speak for the other guys when I say that the moment was definitely uncomfortable. Fortunately, Kent got himself under control after a couple of minutes and the awkwardness of not knowing what to say disappeared.

"You wonder why I got so angry a few minutes ago," Kent said, turning to Reb. "And I guess I owe you an explanation. It's just that I saw that sneaker and thought immediately of Rhonda and all the early morning jogs we used to go on. Then you said the shoe didn't matter, threw it down, and kept walking. I took it personal, like you were insulting my memories, and I couldn't help it."

"I'm sorry, man, I didn't know," Reb said in his deep, slow drawl.

"It's O.K," Kent sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Let's just call a truce."

Reb nodded and crossed his massive arms. Everything seemed to be O.K. again. And then I had to go and open my mouth.

"How's Suzanne holding up after all this?" I asked him, a little bleary-eyed myself at the thought of a young girl growing up without her mother. And Kent's tears began afresh. I went to Kent's side, hoping to comfort him although I wasn't really sure how. D.C. ran and grabbed the cooler filled with beer. Reb just sat there on that log, feeling terrible about breaking Kent's nose yet knowing that he hadn't been given much choice.

Thankfully, we had brought more than enough alcohol. All of us popped more than one tab that afternoon, and by the time the sun was beginning to set, the dark somber mood had lightened considerably. Kent even laughed when D.C. took a whiz in the campfire. We all took that as a good sign.

It was only later that night after we had roasted hot dogs and drank more beer than was probably wise given the presence of rifles and live ammunition that I really began to think about what had happened earlier that day between Reb and Kent. The fight itself wasn't that difficult to understand. Rather, it was the source of the fight-that white sneaker with the powder blue swoosh-that bothered me more than anything else. Although it had seemed a fairly logical question, none of us had even made mention of the reason why a single running shoe might be found out here in the middle of nowhere. As far as I knew, there wasn't a cabin or hunting lodge for miles, and we had been camping here enough times to have scoped the area out pretty well. I fell asleep wondering who had been out here and what had happened that had caused them to lose their shoe. I woke up the next morning staring at the glassy eyes of an enormous largemouth bass.

"Get that thing away from me," I huffed, trying to escape the confines of my sleeping bag.

"Aw, come on, David," D.C. said, holding the fish by its oversized mouth. "You know you've woken up with women who looked a lot worse than this."

Kent, Reb, and D.C. all roared with laughter, and it was a welcome relief from the previous night's gloomy revelations.

"Holy cow," I muttered, opening my eyes and staring at the enormous fish that D.C. had caught. "That thing's a whopper. What did you use to catch it?"

"Well, it's funny you should mention that," D.C. replied, handing the fish to Reb, who took it reluctantly. "But it just so happens that I dug up some of the biggest night crawlers that you've ever seen down in a little bog of peat moss a mile or so into the woods. Hang on just a minute and I'll show you. Maybe we can go back down to the lake a little later on and put some of these bad boys on hooks. I'll bet we could catch a ton of fish."

"Sure," I said, wriggling the rest of the way out of my sleeping bag as D.C. took the lid off of a coffee can. "Just as long as I don't have to see the night crawler that lives in your pants."

"If that's what I had been using for bait," D.C. laughed. "I would have caught a lot more than just a fish."

"Yeah," Reb smirked. "Like syphilis. The kind of women you lay down with, I'm surprised it hasn't rotted off by now."

"Very funny," D.C. said, pulling one of the longest worms I had ever seen out of the Folgers can.

"Holy jeez," I exclaimed, fully awake now. "That thing's bigger than the fish."

"See? What did I tell you? I even think Kent's impressed?"

"Sure," Kent said flatly. "It's swell."

"Wanna hold it?" D.C. asked, kidding around like he always did.

"No thanks."

"Are you sure," D.C. said, holding the worm up in front of Kent's face. "It's nice and fat."

"I said no," Kent replied, a little tension in his voice.

"Aw, come on, man."

"Get that thing away from me," Kent screamed, his face turning red with anger. "I'm not going to say it again. I-Do-Not-Want-To-Hold-It. Do you understand?"

D.C. looked at Reb first and then me. Finally, he dropped the night crawler dejectedly back in its can and fastened the lid.

"Just trying to have a little fun," he said.

After a few minutes of quiet reflection, Kent apologized half-heartedly and tried to pretend like nothing was wrong. But it was apparent to all of us that he wasn't himself. The old Kent would have taken that worm and slapped D.C. across the face with it. But not the new Kent. However, after all he had told us the night before, it was no wonder he was in such a mood. Thankfully, Reb broke the tension before it could get any thicker.

"We're hiking to Emerald Falls, buddy," he said to me, a little more cheerful than the mood dictated. "So get up and brew your coffee. We're not waiting around on you all day. A man that lets his hangover keep him down is a man that doesn't belong in this group."

"Here, here," D.C. said, turning his back to Kent. "Hold your liquor like a man and take the consequences. That's our motto."

"Yeah, David, come on," Kent said with almost no strain in his voice now. "Show us that the legends we've all heard about you are true. Get up from that sleeping bag, and don't even think about throwing up."

So I did.

The hike to Emerald Falls was grueling and nearly uphill all the way. We made the trek every time we came up to this part of the world even though none of us really enjoyed pushing our way through brambles, thorns, and thicket. I suppose we just wanted to prove to ourselves each and every time that we were capable of making the climb, that we still hadn't gotten too old. This time, however, I think we were all just hoping to keep Kent's mind off of his problems, and there wasn't much way you could do a lot of deep introspection when you were constantly having to worry about breaking your ankle in a sink hole or running headlong into a briar bush.

Of course, from the moment we started hiking to the Falls, I had been thinking extensively about how that running shoe could have ended up in the middle of Kodiak Forest. However, I had resolved not to say anything about it around Kent. He was a lit powder keg that was just waiting for a flame, and I was determined not to be the match that set him off. Reb wasn't that considerate. Maybe he was still a little bit bitter for the way Kent had attacked him.

"Hey, guys," he said, taking a long draw on the tallboy he had brought along for the hike. "I hate to bring this up again, but what do you think that tennis shoe was doing out here in the middle of nowhere? I mean, we've been up here dozens of times and never seen another living soul. Doesn't it seem kind of strange that I would find something like that?"

D.C. and I both took a deep breath, waiting for some reaction from Kent. But he didn't respond.

"I was thinking the same thing," I told him at last. "But I'm sure that other people have probably been up here at one time or another. Emerald Falls isn't exactly a foreign country. People make trips there all the time and picnic in front of the pool."

"Yeah," D.C. corrected. "But I'm sure everybody else uses the access road that the Forestry commission built. Who wants to walk when you can use 4-wheel drive?"

"So maybe somebody wandered away from the falls," I suggested, not really believing it. "And lost a shoe."

"Or maybe," D.C. added, getting more to the point, "somebody was brought here and tortured."

"Or raped," Reb said.

"C'mon guys," Kent spoke up, leaning against a sturdy looking cypress. "This is crazy. Maybe somebody set up camp like we did. Maybe they even camped at the falls. During the night, some animal probably raided their stuff and ran off into the woods with the shoe clamped between its jaws. Raccoons are known for that kind of stuff, you know?"

"Hey, man, there weren't any teeth marks on that sneaker," Reb said quietly. "I looked at it pretty good before I threw it down. Besides that, doesn't anybody think it strange that we haven't heard any animals while we've been here, not even so much as a bird chirping or a squirrel scampering through the leaves? Everybody shut up and just listen, and you'll see what I mean."

Although it hadn't really dawned on any of us until that point, we all stopped and listened to the sounds that weren't there. It was a little too quiet for my taste, but I didn't want to jump on the bandwagon just yet.

"Animals know when there are people around," I said, striving to be the voice of reason. "They know that we've invaded their home, and maybe they've just cleared out until we leave."

"Have you ever noticed it being this quiet before?"

"No," I said solemnly. Reb nodded in satisfaction.

"The forest knows that something bad happened out here," he said. "The creatures' senses are better than ours. Maybe they're avoiding this place because blood was spilled."

"Maybe Satanists are practicing ritual sacrifice out here," D.C. suggested.

"Or maybe this is where some serial killer drags his victims so that nobody can hear them scream," Reb added.

"So what?" Kent said, an unexplained tension in his voice. "You guys just automatically assume the worst? You want to think that some poor woman was dragged out here and butchered? I've been teaching history for the better part of twenty years, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that blood is usually an attractant not a repellent. All the ancient deities used to demand it in return for a bountiful crop or a personal favor. People flock to the scene of an accident whenever they hear the screech of twisted metal. And animals certainly wouldn't run away from blood. A lot of them would be drawn to the smell. So if somebody was actually sliced up out here, I think it's fair to say that it's not the reason for the lack of wildlife. Maybe everyone's just overreacting."

"Well, you're the one carrying on a filibuster over there," Reb said, still obviously harboring a little of the old anger. "I would say that you're doing a little overreacting yourself."

"All right," I butted in, seeing where this was going to eventually lead. "Nobody's seen any blood, any ripped panties, or any body parts. So let's just drop this whole thing before we have another fight on our hands. Besides, we're right here at the falls, and it would be a crying shame to ruin the afternoon by arguing."

Thankfully, everybody agreed with me.

The falls were pretty much deserted this time of year: that's why we always scheduled our trip when we did. I think I can speak for the rest of the gang when I say that I would go to Disney World if I wanted to spend a week of my vacation with a big crowd of strangers. As it was, I preferred the solitude of the forest, the heavy mist raining down on us from the cascade, and the drunken nights with my friends over the Tea-Cup ride any old day.

Predictably, D.C. was the first to take off his shirt, revealing a mass of ghostly-white blubber that would have put most baby whales to shame. We all whistled and catcalled and asked him when the twins were due only to gasp in mock horror as D.C. promptly yanked his skivvies down and showed us just exactly what people were talking about when they referred to that area of the body ‘where the sun don't shine.' We all held our throats and pretended to gag. In response, D.C. turned an underwater flip, showing us in even more detail just how white his hindquarters really were.

"I didn't know there were fish in this little pool," D.C. said as he caught his breath and pulled his hair away from his eyes.

"There aren't," Reb said, bending down to the water's edge to splash a little water on his face. "I've tried fishing here dozens of times. All I've ever had to show for it was a wet line and a couple of lost jigs."

"Well something down here's brushing at my ankle."

"Maybe it's a turtle," I suggested.

"No," D.C. said, scanning the water for any sign of movement. "It's not really nibbling. It's more of a tickle. Like something's brushing against my skin."

D.C. turned around to have a look behind him and made rowing motions with his hands to stay afloat. That's when the bubbles started to surface. As it was, we saw the severed hunk of flesh before he did, yet there was nothing we could do in that split second to prepare him for the shock. It was only when D.C. had made a complete circle that he screamed at the sight of the decayed foot which floated only inches away from his face.

"Ahhh," he sputtered, splashing frantically in the water like a panicked child who has discovered that he doesn't know how to swim.

"It's a foot," Reb said. "Oh, man, it's somebody's foot."

"I'll bet it belonged to the same person who lost that shoe," I said, extending my hand to D.C., helping him back onto the bank. He was shivering despite the heat and none of us had to ask why.

Like a good Boy Scout, Reb had already found a stick suitable for pulling the pinkish-grey hunk of meat close enough to study. Fearful that he might bring up the rest of the woman, all decayed and waterlogged, Reb hacked cautiously at the water until the currents washed the foot to the pool's edge. A small faded butterfly tattoo was immediately visible just below the ankle, and suddenly all the scenarios of mass murder, torture, and rape that we had concocted earlier seemed just a little more plausible now.

Although none of us were forensics experts by any stretch of the imagination, there was something immediately recognizable about the way in which the ankle had been disattached from the rest of the leg. Having cut enough firewood in my time to know the mark of a blade, it was apparent to me that this foot had been torn off like a petal from a dainty flower. A saw definitely hadn't been used. Which meant that there was someone or something nearby which had a penchant for human flesh or sadistic torture or both. I had heard stories about bears being sighted every now and then in the nearby hills and wondered if a grizzly could have done such a thing.

"I'd like to hear you rationalize this one, Kent," D.C. said. "And I don't care what you say, we're not making this worse than it really is. Somebody ran into something serious down here."

But Kent was gone.

Like the good friends that we were, Reb, D.C., and I all shouted Kent's name and wandered around searching for him until it was apparent that he didn't want to be found. Kent knew his way around these woods, and after a small amount of discussion, we decided that he would come back to camp when he got good and ready. In other words, we weren't going to go searching for a man who wanted some time to be alone. Instead, we made our way back to the ice chest and had several more beers before we even considered talking about what D.C. had found.

"I don't know about you guys," Reb said after finishing his fifth tallboy, "but I'm just about ready to get out of here. That was somebody's foot back there in the falls."

"And I touched it," D.C. said slowly, still too shocked by what he had seen to get drunk. "That idea about packing up and leaving sounds A-OK to me."

"We've got to find Kent first," I reminded both of them.

"He shouldn't have left in the first place," Reb said, popping another tab. "We're not his baby-sitters. Besides, he's been acting kind of weird."

"He lost his wife," I said. "We should cut him a little slack."

"No way, man," D.C. spoke up. "He's not acting the way he is because of grief. It's different. I've lost people that were close to me, and this isn't the way you normally behave. I mean, he hit Reb just because of a stupid shoe. When you've gone through something like that, you want your close friends to be there for you. But it's almost seemed like he's been trying to alienate us or something."

At that moment, something rustled in one of the tents, and all of sprang up from our lawn chairs, more alert than we would have normally been after finding that foot. I couldn't help but think about the prospect of bears in these woods, bears that were capable of ripping flesh and bone away like cheap tissue paper. None of us could have been more surprised when Kent pulled the flaps of the tent back and stepped out with a half-empty bottle of Jose Cuervo.

"It's you," Reb said, breathing a sigh of relief. "A few more seconds there, and I think we would have grabbed the rifles and plugged a few rounds into your old carcass."
"Take it easy," Kent replied, obviously drunk. "I was just relaxing a little."

"No," D.C. said. "You relax with a beer or two. You get drunk with a fifth of tequila. What gives? And why did you leave us back there at the falls?"

"The black worm in the bottle isn't dead: he's just sleeping," Kent said cryptically, ignoring the questions.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, having never seen Kent like this before.

Kent pulled up a lawn chair and sat down. He tilted the bottle back once and then nestled it between his legs.

"I guess it's just about time I told you why I really invited you guys up here," he said carefully.

Without being told, the rest of us sat down. It sounded like we were going to need a seat before it was all over with.

"O.K.," I said, frustrated and ready to get to the bottom of this. "We obviously didn't come here to hunt. Otherwise, we would have picked our rifles up and gone out to look for something to shoot at. Yet there's obviously some reason we're all here, and I think I speak for the guys when I say that we're ready to get this little charade over with. So say what you've got to say and explain whatever it is that you need to. We're tired of being lied to."

"All right then, good buddy," Kent said, obviously not himself. "First things first then. My wife didn't die in a car accident. She died out here in the woods. That was her shoe that Reb found. That was her foot that D.C. happened upon. I'm sure you noticed the butterfly tattoo below her ankle even if you weren't aware that she had one."

"You killed her?" Reb said, putting the can of beer up to his mouth and missing it completely. "Aw, man, how could you do something like that?"

"I didn't kill her," Kent protested. "Well I suppose in a way I did. But I wasn't the one that did the actual murdering. The Black Worm did it."

D.C. immediately went for another beer. At the mention of a Black Worm, I motioned for him to throw me one too, reminded of Kent's reaction to D.C.'s night crawlers earlier in the day.

"All right, dude," Reb said. "I think you need to lay off of the Cuervo for a minute. You're focusing a little bit too much on worms when you know that they don't have anything to do with what we're talking about."

"But they do. And the one in the cave beneath the falls isn't dead. He's just sleeping. That's why Suzanne's down there right now. And that's why I invited you guys to bring your rifles up here for a hunting trip. I want my daughter back, and you're the only ones I can turn to."

Even though he sounded like he might be better suited to a padded room than a cozy campsite, Kent no longer seemed drunk. In fact, he seemed a lot more sober and cogent of thought than the rest of us.

"I'm not following you," D.C. said evenly. "None of what you're saying makes any sense. And besides that, there is no cave beneath the falls."

"Yes, there is, and my daughter is trapped down there now."

"You're serious, aren't you?" I said.

"As a heart attack. But I guess I should explain a little more. I can't just expect you guys to jump up and play Rambo without knowing all the facts."

"We'd certainly appreciate it," I said dryly, hoping the sarcasm oozed from every word.

Ignoring the advice we'd given him earlier, Kent tipped the bottle of tequila back again and drained what was left. Clearly there was a worm in the bottom, but Kent swallowed it too, chewing it deliberately with grinding teeth. I suppose he wanted to show The Black Worm that he was in charge here. Of course, we still hadn't established who The Black Worm was. Nonetheless, the significance of such a gesture wasn't lost on me.

"Rhonda was going to die anyway," he began, leaning back in his lawn chair. "The doctors found one of those inoperable brain tumors and said that she had a little less than two months to live."

"We decided not to tell Suzanne at first. How do you tell your only child that she's going to spend the rest of her life without a mother? I didn't know and neither did Rhonda so we decided that silence was best for the moment. We arranged for her to stay at a friend's house until we could sort this thing out for ourselves. Then, Rhonda and I went our separate ways. Rhonda thought it would be better if we spent that time alone to get me used to the idea of being by myself. She took that weekend to tell her folks. And I came up here, remembering bits and pieces of a story I had heard on and off throughout my career as a professor."

Kent put the tequila bottle to his lips and realized that it was empty. Solemnly, he sat the bottle down and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. But he didn't stop talking. He knew that he had come too far now to keep the secrets he knew.

"When somebody tells you that the person you love more than anything else in the world is about to be snatched away," he continued, "you want to go with them. You don't want them to face the darkness alone. You don't want to face the darkness yourself. It's an impossibly lonely decision to make, and sometimes the easy way out seems best. Yet I'll go ahead and tell you now that there are no easy choices. I made the same hike then that we made to the falls today, and I decided to drown myself. That was a difficult choice. But it was more difficult still to give Rhonda to The Black Worm."

Reb spit a long stream of tobacco juice to show his disbelief in the subject. "What's all this about The Black Worm?" he asked with no small amount of contempt. "None of us know what you're talking about. And even if we did, I'm not sure we could believe you after you lied to get us all up here."

"Let me explain a little more," Kent said quietly, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles around the wet lip of the bottle. "A man who knows he's about to lose it all will resort to any means necessary to hold onto the life he treasures, even if that means turning to less than orthodox measures. Needless to say, what I needed was a full-blown miracle, and that required a paradigm shift in thought. I had to open myself to the realm of the impossible. Of course, not all societies believe in the impossible. Some would have argued that there was still hope for our family. Which made me stop and think about all the research that my father had done. He certainly concluded that the myths and legends weren't always myths and legends. Take the Great Flood in the Bible for instance. I don't think it's any coincidence that in nearly every ancient society's account of creation there is some mention of a major downpour that destroys the world. There are certainly enough similarities between the legendary accounts for me, personally, to conclude that there must have been a torrential flood at some point and time in the early history of the world."

"Get to the point, teach," D.C. sighed, rubbing the tops of his thighs anxiously with sweaty hands. "I've gotta whiz. And all this talk about floods and water isn't helping."

"Fine. All I'm saying is that just like the Great Flood there are lots of accounts in history about a never-ending infinite cycle. Or in layman's terms, eternal life. The Old Germans told of Fafnir, the great worm who guarded the treasure of light which, incidentally, could be held to signify life itself. The worm-god, Verminus, a member of the Ancient Roman pantheon, was represented by the worms that live in the dead flesh of cattle, or the worms that lived in spite of death. Of course, there was also Ouroboros who symbolized completion, totality, and infinity, often times depicted as a worm with its tail in its mouth. And let us not forget, Aeternitas, the Roman god of eternity. Like Ouroboros, he was represented as a worm locked in a never-ending struggle to devour itself in an endless cycle of existence. I guess in a way, the notion could be similar to the reincarnation philosophy. Souls never really die; they're just displaced. However, in this case, I was actually hoping for more. After all, you can't put your arms around a soul."

"O.K.," I butted in. "So how does all of this history tie in to your reason for bringing us up here? Cut to the chase."

"Well, as you probably know, my father tried to persuade me to follow in his chosen field of archaeology. I didn't, but I learned enough from him to have a working knowledge of the subject. I also heard enough of his stories to know that there were a lot of disappearances around these parts. Of course, people disappear in the woods from time to time. That's just a fact of life, and nobody thought much about it. Nobody that was, except my father, and then only in secret. He was afraid the scientific community would have scoffed at him for his theories."

"I always knew that there was some reason why you insisted that we come here instead of Needle Lake," Reb said scornfully. "You just wanted us here while you had a look around."

"At first," Kent conceded. "But then I actually grew to like the place and forgot all about the stories I had heard from my father. Or at least I did until I found out that Rhonda was going to die in a few short months. Then I had to consider the possibility again. It was simply too coincidental that so many societies throughout the course of history had perpetuated a legend based on life through death and depicted the prospect of infinity as a self-devouring worm."

"You're brain has been doing overtime, Sherlock," I said, growing a little perturbed at Kent myself despite our closeness.

"My father did most of the work," Kent confessed. "I just ravaged his research to see just what sort of hypothesis he had formed. As it turned out, he had become convinced that one of the children of Aeternitas could be found somewhere in these woods."

"I knew that there were only two things to do in my present state of mind. Either way, the result would be the same. One, I could either take my life the easy way with a toe in the trigger of a shotgun and leave all my problems behind. Or two, I could try to finish the work my father had started and find what he had looked for in private. When science doesn't offer any help, most people turn to religion in the midst of tragedy, and I guess, in a sense, that's what I was doing. Only I was turning to the religion of the ancient Romans, the ancient Germanic tribes, and the Sumerians to save my wife. Not Catholicism or the God of the Southern Baptists."

"In any case, D.C. didn't dive down deep enough today or else he might have noticed the opening to the cave. My father originally found the entrance, but he was never brave enough to venture in. I guess he never had the sort of motivation that I did. I, on the other hand, went as far as I could, hoping to find either the lair of the Aeternitas worm or never come up again. That's when I saw the dark hole in the side of the rock like a doorway to hell. I didn't think that things could get much worse so I swam in, praying that I would get stuck and drown or find the key to Rhonda's immortality. And although I hate to admit it, at that point, I wasn't thinking about Suzanne at all. She was an afterthought. An incidental. And I feel like such a terrible father for ever thinking such a thing. But these have been hard times."

For a moment, I suddenly felt bad for my old friend, but I wasn't going to try and console him this time. Not until I was sure what his motivations were for bringing all of us out here. It was certainly possible that he wasn't quite as good a friend as I had previously believed. He had certainly pulled the wool over my eyes more than once on this trip, and I was determined not to let it happen again.

"The minute I came up for air in that dark, oppressive place I couldn't help but feel that everything was going to be all right," Kent said. "And it was strange because there was a lingering air of decay and graveyard rot and upturned earth in there. I knew without a doubt that dad had definitely been onto something with his research."

"The narrow inlet leading into the cavern opened onto a vast underground lake. I pulled myself to the water's edge and knew immediately that I wasn't alone. I could hear what sounded like a mournful weeping, echoing throughout the cave. And then there were the wet, smacking noises. Thankfully nothing jumped out of the shadows at me. Nothing slithered out from behind the heaps of bones that were piled high on the rocky beach. Nothing seized me by the throat and drained me of blood. Instead, there was only a low, droning voice calling my name, inviting me deeper into the cavern."

"Since I believed I was on the trail of Aeternitas, I wasn't really surprised that it knew my name. After all, this is the endless cycle of existence we're talking about, a demi-god who has been alive throughout the never-ending chain and seen the way the system regurgitates lives only to swallow them whole again."

This time it was Reb's turn to stand up. "O.K., man, I ain't buying none of this business about a worm-god or the cycle of infinity or you venturing down here alone like a brave little soldier and just walking up to this Aeternitas and shooting the breeze with him. Uh-uh. No way."

"I didn't walk up to him," Kent explained calmly. "I was carried to him. The dead took me there."

"Well, la-di-freaking-da," Reb said, waggling his fingers at Kent and rolling his eyes. "I guess I'll just shut up now and let you finish."

"The best way I can describe it is like something out of a nightmare," Kent said without missing a beat. "One moment, I had stopped to examine some of the bones, hoping to God that they weren't human even though I knew in the back of my mind that they were. The next, I heard a heavy thumping like a hundred hands simultaneously knocking on the same front door. When I looked up, I saw them shuffling toward me, the contented dead, drained of their fear and their anger and their grief. They were rail-stick thin like some of those Ethiopians you see on the Feed the Children commercials, only worse, drained of all their darkness by the Black Worm. And yet, despite their frailty, all of them were smiling, content to be dead."

"Of course, my first instinct was to run, but then I remembered that one of the reasons I had come here was to die. And then there were the looks on those faces which held me to the spot. If death was that blissful a place, then maybe Rhonda, Suzanne, and I would return here together and join the Black Worm's legion. It certainly held a lot more appeal at that point than life did. In any case, once the throng of decaying bodies reached me, groaning a little and sighing, they hoisted me up above their brittle heads and began carrying me back along the passageway like a star quarterback after the big game."

"Along the way, small fires burned in the hollowed out skulls of those who had refused the invitation of Aeternitas, and I shuddered to think of what the walking dead might have done to me if I tried to escape. And then, like a king on his throne, I saw him on a skiff of land in the middle of a pool much smaller than the one I had emerged from, an ancient behemoth trying to devour himself while everything else in the cave busied themselves with devouring him. There he was, Aeternitas, skin bristling with maggots, red eyes glowing in the dark like hot coals, surrounded by his emaciated children. I began to grow uncomfortable the closer we got. I wasn't exactly sure how far the zombies were going to carry me, and I didn't want to get too near the worm-god until I was sure of his intent. As it was, they dropped me this side of the water, and I immediately scrambled backward to give myself a little more space."

"Deals have been made down here for millennia," it whispered without speaking. "Lives have been exchanged for lives and miseries have flowed into purest joy. Your wife is not well. You don't wish to see her suffer. I am a kind and gentle god. Bring her to me and I will take her quietly. There will be other chances for the two of you to be reunited. The wheel of infinity will turn once again."

"At this, some of the zombies left their places at the teat and gathered around the juncture where the worm's mouth and tail were joined like the dovetailing sections of a gold bangle. Although I was as well versed on the nature of this beast as anybody could hope to be, I wasn't expecting what happened next. Like virgins offering their only gift to a rich prince, the zombies each cut their throats one by one and let the blood drip down into the worm-god's mouth. Aeternitas grunted with pleasure and opened one flaming eye. I didn't understand it at first as the zombies fell down in lifeless heaps. And then, watching their brethren coming to drag them away, it made a certain amount of sense. The child of Aeternitas had suckled them with life, and in turn they were willing to die in order to be reborn again. The endless cycle of existence. Infinity."

"The best I could tell, the dead were like batteries that were capable of being recharged over and over again. In such a dark and hopeless place, their miseries undoubtedly grew in exponential fashion. Then Aeternitas drained them whenever he needed nourishment. Of course, I'm sure the feedings were a form of torture in themselves which only served to make the worm fatter. And yet these were people who could never truly die so long as they served Aeternitas."

I'll have to admit that I wasn't exactly sure how much of this story I was believing at this point, but I could tell by the way Reb and D.C. were nervously glancing at each other that they were seriously worried about Kent's state of mind. I had to go along with them on that one. If Kent noticed the way that we were looking at him and inching cautiously away with every word he spoke, he never showed it. Instead, he merely continued with his story and poured out his heart.

"The Black Worm feeds off of sorrow and misery," Kent said, leaning back in his lawn chair. "The dead feed on what's left. I found that out when I eased my way through the dark cavern and listened to them smacking their perverse lips on the flesh of so many who resisted the call of Aeternitas. Of course, I had fully expected to see nothing but the picked-clean remains of hundreds of corpses when I finally found the great worm-god. And granted, there were plenty of scraps of flesh and bone, but there were also others, nursing themselves back to life, on the Black Worm's grotesque teats."

"I am the giver and taker of life," it chattered. "I am a dealer in flesh. Bring your wife to me and I'll have what's mine. I'll feed on her disease, then you'll get her back. Of course, the process will be long and full of intricate steps, like a caterpillar on its way to the chrysalis. Yet eventually, you'll have your Rhonda by your side again. And you'll thank The Black Worm for all he's done. Of course, nothing is without its price, and I need something from you first."

"Without thinking, I crossed the water and went to Aeternitas. Some of the dead turned loose of the teats and welcome me with open arms and gaping mouths. And although it hadn't been spoken, I knew what it was that the worm-god wanted from me. At the time it seemed like a fair price, and I gave up my conscience and my flesh willingly."

To show just how serious he was, Kent pushed back his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt slightly, revealing pink circular scars that looked like the marks of hungry leeches. Or the ravenous dead.

"Are those real?" D.C. said, dropping his beer.

Kent nodded.

"They're definitely real. Like I said, I had to pay for the gift the worm was giving me."

"Most gifts don't require anything in return," I said, feeling uneasy about this whole idea of a subterranean worm-god. "That's why they're called gifts. And a little blood doesn't seem like a very big sacrifice when you're talking about the life or death of your wife."

"Aeternitas seemed like a generous god," Kent responded. "I fed his children. They fed him, and in return, he was going to keep his promise. Of course, after the dead had taken what they wanted from me, I don't remember much else, only snippets of gray, withered tongues running over my skin and the deep red eyes of Aeternitas burning holes into my soul. I must have passed out after that. When I woke up, I was on the backside of the falls, just outside a break in the rock that I've never seen before throughout all our years of exploring."

"Rhonda came up here meekly enough, trusting me like she had for the better part of twenty years. It was only when she saw that I was going to drag her into the water that she began to run. Apparently, she wanted to live out her last two months. And here I was about to steal them away. She didn't know that I was trying to do what was best for her, what was best for all of us. I chased her back through the woods. That's where her shoe came off. Of course, I eventually caught her and carried her back to the falls. And then I gave her to the children of Aeternitas. They were overzealous for flesh and carried her back to the worm in bits and pieces. I haven't seen her since that day, and I've realized that everything Aeternitas told me was a lie. And yet, I gave up Suzanne to the Worm with the promise that I would get Rhonda back."

"That's kind of like betting the deed to your house in a poker game hoping to win back the title to your car," I said.

"I didn't know what else to do," he said forlornly.

With that D.C. stood up to get another beer, his gut jutting out from beneath the inadequate fabric of his T-shirt. "And you think there's a chance that all of us will go down there with you and bring back Rhonda and your little girl, alive and well?"

"I've already considered the probability that Suzanne might be dead. If that's the case, then it's on my conscience. The blood is on my hands, and it's something I'll have to deal with in time. But I would at least like to lay their bones to rest. As friends, this would be the last thing I would ask of you. Once this is finished, we can go our separate ways and never look back."

I guess Kent seemed so pitiful at that point that all of us decided to humor him even though we were virtually certain that there was no Black Worm or any underground lake or any cavern filled with the bones of the Worm's victims despite the bite marks he had shown us. For all we knew, Rhonda had left Kent after discovering him in the midst of an affair. Maybe the scars were the lingering remains of a few weeks of sadomasochistic passion. At this point, none of us really knew Kent well enough to be certain of that or anything else.

Kent implored us to bring our rifles along, and we complied with his wishes, more for our reassurance than his. Following his lead we circled around to the back of the falls where a break in the rock marked the spot where Kent had emerged after his chat with the Worm. Obviously he hadn't been lying about this part of the story, and yet it was strange that none of us had ever noticed it before. We all followed him in with our rifles slung over our shoulders and our flashlights drawn. Understandably, given our doubts about his diminishing sanity, it was somewhat of a comfort to have Kent at the head of the processional.

The moment we stepped into the absolute darkness of the cave, I knew that I never wanted to come back here again once we had satisfied Kent and fulfilled our duty to him as friends. At first, the silence was deafening, and then you realized that it was actually the roar of the falls. Because of the rivulets of water that ran down the slimy walls, there was always a minute trickling sound like a toilet that runs continually or a faucet that eternally drips. Of course, that would have been tolerable save for the Tibetan drone that seemed to permeate the atmosphere inside that cave. In its own peculiar way, the almost subaudible hum was like the buzz that precedes the start of a massive rock concert. It was the tune of live, free-flowing electricity, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who noticed the hair on their arms standing up in response.

"Can you feel the presence of the Worm," Kent asked us, delighted at the fact that something obviously wasn't right.

"Are you sure these rifles are necessary," I spoke up, keeping a firm hand on D.C.'s massive shoulder for guidance.

"Are you sure they're not?" he replied. "You must have felt the worm's heartbeat by now."

I wasn't about to argue the point with Kent. He was obviously very sick. The worst I expected to find was Suzanne trapped inside this dark cave by her father in the midst of some paranoid delusion. That's why it came as such a shock when I stepped on the first in a myriad heap of bones.

"I know that sound," Reb said as I took my second step, his voice not nearly so confident as it had been outside the cave. "I heard it often enough on the football field in high school when somebody snapped their collarbone or broke their leg."

"So I suppose now the question really concerns whether or not the safeties on those rifles are really necessary?" Kent said blithely. "Not whether or not the rifles themselves are of any importance."

"Can it, Kent," D.C. said. "We didn't come down here so you could jump for joy every time something in your little story turned out to be right. As far as I'm concerned, we could all just turn around right now and go back the way we came and you couldn't say a word about it. We came down here like we said we would and we can head on back when we take the notion. Got it?"

"I understand completely," Kent said, his voice straining in the darkness like a violin string tuned to its breaking point. "But the Black Worm may not see things the same way."

Our flashlights weren't much help in such a sprawling cavern, but they did give off enough light to reveal the ancient pictographs on the rough walls. I think all of us shivered a little at the sight of the old drawings of natives hefting their spears against what fit every description of a black worm. What was even worse were pictures of those same victims rising from the dead and going to suckle on the teats of Aeternitas.

"That artwork must be at least a couple of thousand years old," Kent said. "Sort of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?"

"And here I was thinking you'd been down here with the Crayolas and finger paint," D.C. smarted off.

At this point, I wasn't so sure that Kent hadn't actually happened upon this cavern sometime on his own, completely absorbed the artwork to the point that it became a part of his own life, and attributed the deaths of his wife and daughter to some ancient legend because reality didn't make sense anymore. Anytime a man goes through something as tragic as the loss of his family, he undoubtedly seeks answers. I supposed that a black worm was as good as a car wreck any old day. Either way, the outcome was the same. And it would probably make me feel better to know that some subterranean demigod was responsible for the deaths of my wife and daughter than to think it was something as simple and preventable as a faulty brake line.

Of course, it was hard to reconcile that with the sight of red eyes glowing in the distance like lanterns on the road to hell.

"What is that?" D.C. hissed, backing into me.

Reb took a deep breath and nearly swallowed his chew of tobacco. "Kent was telling the truth."

But Kent wasn't there. Or at least not at first.

"O.K., boys, drop your rifles," he said from behind us. "And your flashlights. I'm the only one who needs to see what's going on around here."

"You slimy little puke," Reb growled. "I should have dusted you back at the campsite when I had the chance."

"And I shouldn't have led Rhonda and Suzanne down to the worm. But they're here now, and the worm's been waiting on me to keep my end of the bargain."

"Bargain?" I said, thinking he had probably made some veiled reference to this earlier.

"Flesh for flesh," he said, thumbing the safety off of the rifle. "You three for Rhonda and Suzanne and my safe passage out of here. The endless cycle of existence. You die so others can live. Not really much to think about when you examine it. But enough talk. Each second with you is one less with the women I love. So walk slowly toward the worm and pray that he'll be gentle on you."

Of the three of us, I knew that Reb would be the one to make a move, and he didn't disappoint.

"I'll kill you," he screamed, swinging furiously in the dark. Aside from Kent's flashlight and the blazing eyes of the worm, the fire from the muzzle of his rifle was the only light there was in the dark cave. Reb went down quickly, groaning.

It was all the chance D.C. and I needed. Without thinking about the implications of what we were about to do to our one-time friend, we both grabbed Kent and heaved him toward the direction of the waiting worm-god. His flashlight showed us more than we wanted to see of the black writhing monstrosity. Maggots were working over every inch of that black flesh while humans reduced to skin and bones were suckling at hundreds of teats, nourishing themselves back to life.

At first, the worm did nothing when Kent ran headlong into its slimy flesh. Apparently, it was still considering the deal it had made with him earlier. But there was no humanity there, and the Black Worm temporarily turned loose of its own tail and seized Kent in its massive, crushing jaws. Kent screamed out the names of his wife and daughter and for just a moment I could have sworn that I saw two in the line of feeding anorexics lift their eyes.

"Reb," we both called out, needing to know if our friend was alive or not.

"Yeah, guys, I'm hurt, but still here," he moaned.

And then the worm swallowed what was left of Kent and picked Reb off of the ground with its saber-teeth. D.C. and I both lifted our rifles and fired until we were out of cartridges. The bullets never fazed the worm as he choked Reb down his throat, inch by squirming inch. D.C. and I were smart enough to know that we didn't stand a chance and ran back the way we came as fast as our legs and poundings hearts would allow.

The worm shrieked and the cavern rumbled with the reverberating echoes. Sharp bits of rock fell from the ceiling, pattering against our skulls, rebounding off of the stone floor. For a moment, I was sure that the whole cave was going to come crashing down on top of us, burying us beneath tons and tons of limestone. At that point, I couldn't decide which fate would have been worse, getting squashed like a bug or getting eaten by one. But soon the rumbling stopped and the cave went graveyard quiet. I grabbed D.C. by the shirt and held onto him until he stopped moving.

"Shhh," I said, knowing that the worm wouldn't have given up that easily. "Listen."

Because there were so many phantom noises in the cave-moving air, trickling water, lizards making guttural mating calls with their throats-it was hard to distinguish one sound from another. But once our ears adjusted, there was no mistaking the patter of dozens of feet hurrying in our direction. Apparently, the Black Worm didn't do his own dirty work. He sent the suckling and malnourished to do his bidding, undoubtedly threatening to take away their nutrition and their life if they refused. Although I was certain that they weren't really that strong in the condition they were in, I knew that D.C. and I were no match for the sheer numbers.

"They're coming," D.C. huffed, trying hard to catch his breath.

"I think we should leave now," I answered.

D.C. started running, but his girth kept him from going very fast. Judging by the steadily growing volume of footfalls, I knew that they would catch up to us before we escaped.

"I'm not going to make it," D.C. wheezed, still clutching his rifle tightly with both hands.

"Yes, you will," I told him. "We'll fight our way out if we have to."

"We don't have any more bullets," he said despondently.

"Maybe not. But I'll bet this rifle makes one dandy club."

"I guess we're about to find out," D.C. said.

Although I knew there were lots of the Black Worm's children, nothing could have prepared me for the numbers that poured through the dank passageway like the locusts of a Biblical plague. Seeing the legions that were trudging toward us, we both turned and fled toward the mouth of the cave. And then D.C. went down, the bones in his ankle snapping like a handful of dry spaghetti.

"My ankle!" he shrieked. "I stepped in a crevice."

"I'll help you up," I said frantically.

"Get out of here, David," he cried out to me. "Go while you've still got time. There's no way I'll make it"

I hated to leave the last of my friends down there for the Worm, but I knew that I really didn't have a choice. I could see the light streaming in through the break in the rocks like a bright salvation, and I rushed toward it, trying hard to block out D.C.'s frantic screaming and the rumblings of the ambling corpses.

And then I was outside again, in another world, in a place that bore no hint of such a grim secret. I could hear the rush of the falls, and thought of all that had happened since we first decided to come on this camping trip. I thought of the running sneaker that Reb had found and imagined the sort of fight that Rhonda Gentry must have put up when she lost it. I thought also of the foot that had filled that shoe and knew with a grim certainty that the brain tumor would have been the more preferable way to go out.

The rush of water in the background had a calming effect on me and I hesitantly went around to the falls themselves, remembering the macabre artifact that D.C. had unearthed while taking a dip. Given what had taken place, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised to see bits and pieces of bodies floating all across the surface of the serene pool. Except there were no bodies. Only bubbles rising rapidly to the surface. For a moment, I wondered if the Black Worm had actually escaped the caverns and found his way into the water. But then I saw ghostly white flesh break through the surface of the pool and felt a chill run down my spine as Rhonda and Suzanne stepped out of blue water, hand in hand. Rhonda had a horrendous limp where one of her feet was gone, replaced by a gray, mottled stump. The rest of her body looked like a patchwork of flesh, pieced together by careless hands and thread. I couldn't help remembering what Kent had said about the children of Aeternitas carrying her back to their god in bits and pieces. And while that was certainly a horrible sight, it was little Suzanne that disturbed me the most. Her eyes were missing, devoured, no doubt, by the walking dead. And her lips were gone, leaving her unable to smile again. It seemed tragic that an eleven-year old girl would be denied that privilege, and I hated Kent for the choices he had made.

"Hello, David," Rhonda said to me amiably, as if she had absolutely no idea where she was or how she got there. "Where's Kent?"

"Yeah, Mr. Jenkins," the little girl rasped. "Where's Daddy?"

I did a quick bit of math in my head and figured that Kent and Reb had died in exchange for Rhonda and Suzanne. Of course, D.C. had died after that which tipped the balance back in our favor. The Black Worm owed us one. I hesitated to think of who it might be. But of course I knew.

"Your daddy should be along shortly," I said, not daring to look the little girl in the eye. "Then you'll all be a family again."

"Oh, goody," Suzanne chirped.

Yes, I thought grimly, turning my back on them and thinking of all I had lost. Oh goody.