Page 4 of Pareidolia

As I climb the stairs of the tower, careful to watch for any dead boards, I let my gaze sweep across the forest. In the distance, I can see the soft, low glow of a campfire.

I guess I’m not out here alone.

I’m lucky no one’s in the tower, then, whether the internet said it’s usually unoccupied or not.

I didn’t really have a backup plan.

As I watch, the glow of the firelight flickers, shifts, then goes out. The soft plume of smoke that rises from the campfire signals that it’s well past time for me to get inside before someone or something comes out of the trees and tells me I’m not allowed to be here.

CHAPTER 2

ASPEN

The fire tower is just as unused as everyone said. There are only a few dried out logs settled by the old stove. I’m lucky it isn’t that cold tonight, or I’d be going straight back down the steps to get more.

The log book on the counter hasn’t had a signature for four years. Almost out of compulsion, I flip back.

Five, six, seven, eight years ago.

There’s my signature.

Alex Michaels

Just mine.

I wasn’t here alone that day, though.

My fingers trail over the scrawled letters—time stole away the dark, fresh color of the ink. The name is starting to fade.

If I ripped the page out, would anyone notice? Would anyone realize I was taking another step toward completely erasing the person I used to be? The person I was trying to run away from.

I frown, shutting the book and turning back to the room behind me. It’s small, which means the heat from the fire I lit is already starting to fill the area. The only good thing about this place is that it gets yearly maintenance from the local ranger and wildlife group to make sure there aren’t any animals living up here, that it isn’t posing a hazard or deteriorating. It’s not much, but I can’t feel the breeze that’s making the trees outside sway, that’s carrying the smoke from the extinguished campfire back toward town.

It’s more than enough for me.

I spend a few minutes arranging things, shaking out the thin mattress and unrolling my sleeping bag. Tomorrow, I’ll have to go to my van and carry more of my stuff up.

Tomorrow, I’ll take my time and actually get settled in. I need to get my solar packs set up, get my actual bedding.

I can make this place something close to a home until someone shows up and tells me I need to clear out.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt like I had a home.

Of course I’d come back to this place to find it… this was the place where I really lost myself for the first time.

The place where I knew what kind of monster I could be if I let myself.

My eyes flick to the door, to the old banister outside. Like I’m drawn by some siren call, I step forward and look out across the distance. The plume of smoke from earlier has already started to dissipate, proof that things in the trees can disappear just as quickly as they show up. My steps are almost cautious when I move to the edge of the railing that surrounds the tower’s one-room shell. It’s a gorgeous view of the woods, of the mountains that roll and the little cabins dotted on the edge of the treelines where people actually feel safe enough to settle… but I’m not taking in the scenery.

I walk to the opposite side of the building and take a shaking breath. This is the point of the railing with the biggest drop off—at least one hundred feet down. The stairs run up along the side of the hilly pathway, so it isn’t much of a fall.

But this…

This is different.

A body makes such a strange sound when it hits the ground from this high up.

I can’t resist it anymore. I close the distance between myself and the edge of the observation deck like I’m a wayward lover, finally come home to beg forgiveness.