TexasKingPin
Deputy Bill
The Hiker and the Trumpet
December 12, 2018
It was the middle of a cold winter day, the kind of days where the chill has sunk so deep into the earth and set so far into your bones that it feels like you can never warm up. The sun was shining, offering the littlest warmth as golden rays pushed through the forest. There was little leaves to block its path, sharp limbs twisted through the air, making strange shapes in the wind with eerie noises that creaked out of their bark. But it was a forest nonetheless and even in the deadest of winters, the forest would continue to come alive. The birds would chirp and call to one another as animals scraped for the tiniest bits of food that were left. Deer scrape their antlers against the bark, birds hopped amongst the dead leaves, and a wind whipped through the trees that made the forest sigh softly. The hiker was silent as they meandered through the woods, following a deserted trail that was cut into the red clay, making dips and dives that followed the ravines and hollers of a mountain.
An ordinary journey for an ordinary person in an ordinary place.
Then a noise, not a noise that was normal or native or even natural, rippled through the sky. The hiker froze as fear rippled, panic set in their heart as the sound bellowed with all its might and shattered the peacefulness of a quiet forest. It was a sound that many had read about in Sunday school, when Joshua and his seven trumpets blared so loud that the walls of mighty Jericho came tumbling down.
Joshua 6:20. We’ve all read it before.
The sound would stoop before rising to its blaring peak, rolling through the deepest ravines and touching the highest trees with its rough notes. It came once, twice, then on a third time it was silenced. The hiker stood in shock and awe, but mostly fear as they logically tried to pick apart their predicament. It didn’t take long for them to pick up their boots and begin to sprint through the trees, moving faster than a bat through the gates of hell, they ran from the silence. Once the trumpets had fallen away, the silence was deafening, as if every living creature in the forest that day had suddenly vanished into thin air. The hiker reached their vehicle and got behind the wheel, roaring away from that forest as fast as the wheels could carry them.
For many years that followed, that ordinary hiker would wonder what happened on that ordinary journey in that ordinary woods on that ordinary winter’s day.
Please enjoy this very short horror story base on the "trumpets in the clouds" phenomenon.
December 12, 2018
It was the middle of a cold winter day, the kind of days where the chill has sunk so deep into the earth and set so far into your bones that it feels like you can never warm up. The sun was shining, offering the littlest warmth as golden rays pushed through the forest. There was little leaves to block its path, sharp limbs twisted through the air, making strange shapes in the wind with eerie noises that creaked out of their bark. But it was a forest nonetheless and even in the deadest of winters, the forest would continue to come alive. The birds would chirp and call to one another as animals scraped for the tiniest bits of food that were left. Deer scrape their antlers against the bark, birds hopped amongst the dead leaves, and a wind whipped through the trees that made the forest sigh softly. The hiker was silent as they meandered through the woods, following a deserted trail that was cut into the red clay, making dips and dives that followed the ravines and hollers of a mountain.
An ordinary journey for an ordinary person in an ordinary place.
Then a noise, not a noise that was normal or native or even natural, rippled through the sky. The hiker froze as fear rippled, panic set in their heart as the sound bellowed with all its might and shattered the peacefulness of a quiet forest. It was a sound that many had read about in Sunday school, when Joshua and his seven trumpets blared so loud that the walls of mighty Jericho came tumbling down.
Joshua 6:20. We’ve all read it before.
The sound would stoop before rising to its blaring peak, rolling through the deepest ravines and touching the highest trees with its rough notes. It came once, twice, then on a third time it was silenced. The hiker stood in shock and awe, but mostly fear as they logically tried to pick apart their predicament. It didn’t take long for them to pick up their boots and begin to sprint through the trees, moving faster than a bat through the gates of hell, they ran from the silence. Once the trumpets had fallen away, the silence was deafening, as if every living creature in the forest that day had suddenly vanished into thin air. The hiker reached their vehicle and got behind the wheel, roaring away from that forest as fast as the wheels could carry them.
For many years that followed, that ordinary hiker would wonder what happened on that ordinary journey in that ordinary woods on that ordinary winter’s day.
Please enjoy this very short horror story base on the "trumpets in the clouds" phenomenon.
