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He introduces himself as Thompson and his dog is Tom. He explains that they are the gatekeepers of this wood - says I'm safe for now.
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The man lowers his gun once they are gone. There's something odd about him; I feel peace; I feel an old familiarity; I feel safe. He smiles.
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The man tells the creatures that they'd better run or they'll get a bullet to the head. The dog growls. To my surprise the creatures listen.
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Then a gun shot crackles through the air. The creatures stop; their attention is drawn elsewhere. A lone man and a dog stand before us.
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I'm thrown against a tree by one creature; the other - I swear I saw the thing smile - brings down a heavy fist onto my chest. The pain!
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But they aren't hurt by my flames. The one growls, like a low angry hum, and the other, my god, the other, bellows out a roar. They attack.
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My instinct, or maybe my fear, kicks in, and I begin to burn more brightly: heatwaves - flames! - erupt from me. The monsters step back.
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Two creatures tower over me now. And the coldness from their breath is creating frost all around me. This will not be easy; I attack anyway.
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A hiss, like water hitting hot oil, fills the forest as we pound at each other. Then I hear another low growl from behind me. Another comes!
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We clash. The cold I feel from contact is surprising, like millions of tiny needles piercing my skin. But I try not to let that stop me.
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The creature turns towards me, and it roars a challenge. I am now engulfed in flames, charging at him. I feel fear, rage, hate, and hope.
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I hesitate and wonder about what I can do? But there's no more time; the creature starts clawing at him. I charge at it, screaming, burning.
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The man is pinned against a tree, arms raised over his face. The air is cold. The creature screams and the man falls to his knees - scared.
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They run off into the bush - one is growling and the other sreaming. I follow, despite my own fear, thinking I can help the man. I hope.
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The twist look of fear on his face mimics the horror that is chasing him - a giant fury white humanoid creature with fangs. I now feel cold.
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I hear a scream and the growl intensifies. As I turn to the direction of the scream I see a young man running; a giant beast is chasing him.
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Dry leaves scatter from a warm breeze coming in; whispers ride the pale wind -- then silence. Is this a trap? Something growls in the bush.
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The highway, and any other signs of civilization, are now far behind me. I walk down an old path. A twig snaps. Something is following me.
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Dusk falls, and I try to remember how to get to that place, the place where it occurred, the place in my dream, the place in the note.
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I arrive at the West Gate. It has been years since I have been to Algonquin, and I wonder how much of it has changed. Memories come to me.
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