Story Ten

This is one of my shorter stories, but I still pared it down by 400 words to shorten it up further. Mostly it was description, you’ll never miss it. LOL

Prompt: You (or a character, or perhaps two) have been enjoying a leisurely walk down a familiar wooded path for about an hour, when you suddenly realize that you no longer know where you are. Trusting that your current path will lead you back home—after all, it logically should—you turn around and head back the way you came. After a few moments, you conclude that you must have somehow strayed… because before you stands a structure that appears to be made of gingerbread.

One of my dreams has always been to live out in the country, but until I can afford to make that happen, I have to content myself hiking in the national park whenever I can. They have many trails to choose from, and on this particular Saturday I picked a medium length one.

I didn’t meet anyone on the trail, nor did I expect to. Who wanted to get up early on a Saturday morning to go hiking? Besides me, I mean. Later in the day would be a different story, but by then I’d be well away from here.

There were a lot of limbs down from the storm we had the previous night, but that was to be expected. Then I came to a massive tree, I think it might have been a beech tree, that had been uprooted and fallen right across the path. It seemed like a good place to stop for a snack while I contemplated what I should do.

I sat on a large rock near the roots of the tree and alternated sips from my bottle of water and bites of my ham and cheese sandwich as I went over my options in my head. I could try climbing over the tree, but it looked like it took a couple of other trees with it and I wouldn’t want to get tangled up or maybe injured.

I could just go back and take another, shorter trail to round out my hike, but the trails were probably starting to get busy by now. Did I really want my peace and quiet shattered by shrieking children and barking dogs? I shuddered at the thought.

The logical option was to just go around the tree. I tried to push my way through the dense brush around the exposed roots of the tree, sneezing at the dust from the loose soil. It didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t going to work. So then I tried going the other way, following a faint game trail along the length of the tree as best I could and then circled round the top to get back to the trail I’d been following.

It seemed to take a lot longer to find the trail than it should, but I did eventually find it. Something seemed a little off about it, but I shrugged the feeling away. Then I came to a stream. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be a problem, the stepping stones made it easy to cross, but I didn’t think any of the trails crossed a stream. Could I have gotten turned around in my detour around the tree?

Uneasy now, I went a little further. The trees were getting denser on either side of the trail and I didn’t recognize any of the land marks. I thought I knew all of the trails in this park, but this one was totally unfamiliar.

I slowed, and then stopped. I had no idea where this trail was leading me. The safest thing to do was to re-trace my steps. I re-crossed the stream and found my way back to the game trail, which led me back to the main trail again, but there was no sign of the beach tree. This trail, too, was totally unfamiliar. I couldn’t understand how I could have lost my way, but obviously I had. Now what should I do?

This time a stump served as my seat, and I took out another bottle of water and one of the apples I’d packed. It was a little embarrassing to have to admit I’d gotten lost. There was no point in trying to retrace my steps again. My best bet would be to follow this new trail. It would have to circle back to the park entrance eventually, or at the very least it should cross one of the trails I was more familiar with.

With a sigh, I hefted my back pack again and started off, figuring at least I was going in the right direction. My sense of optimism wavered as the trail began to narrow, and it died away altogether as the trail ended in a small clearing that contained a small cottage.

I didn’t realize they allowed cottages in this area of the park. There were cabins you could rent on the far side of the entrance, and a large camp ground beyond that, but this section of the park was strictly for hiking. Or at least it was.

But whatever. I couldn’t deny the evidence in front of me. Hopefully there was someone at home and they could point me in the right direction for the park entrance. I was more than ready to get out of here.

As I drew closer to the cottage, I saw that it wasn’t made out of wood, as I’d first assumed, but of some kind of brownish substance, like adobe. And was that gingerbread I smelled? I stopped in my tracks. The tiny house was made out of gingerbread!

This was crazy. Or maybe it was me who was crazy. I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and broke off a piece of the window sill and gave it a sniff before popping it in my mouth. Nice and crispy, full of gingery goodness.

I broke off another piece just as the door opened and a little old lady dressed like a witch appeared.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered.

“Now that you’re here you might as well come in.”

Filled with wonder, I followed her inside. The cottage was one, large room. There a large oven up against one wall and a work table in front of it.

“The least you could do is make me a new window ledge,” the old lady said. “I’ve already mixed up the dough, you’ll have to roll it out and bake it.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I said.

I rolled out the dough, then cut it in a wide strip that was about the same size as the window ledge. Carefully, I transferred it to a baking sheet and turned to slide it into the oven. As I did so, I felt a tremendous shove from behind. The old woman pushed me right into the oven!

“That’ll teach you to leave the trail,” she cackled. “You inhaled some toxic mushroom spores. They’re making you hallucinate.”

I blinked my eyes open. “What?” I asked blearily.

“I said, you inhaled psilocybin mushroom spores,” the main dressed in white repeated.

“Where am I?” I looked around in confusion.

“You’re in the hospital. The park rangers found you stumbling around in the forest, high as a kite. The storm we had last night caused a beech tree to fall across one of the trails—”

“I remember that,” I said. “I tried to go around it, and I think I got lost.”

“When the tree uprooted it exposed a large patch of psilocybin mushrooms. The nearest they can figure, you inhaled the spores and started hallucinating. You’re lucky you didn’t go far from the tree.”

“I didn’t?”

“Just try and get some rest now,” the doctor said. “It’ll take a while for the drug to work its way out of your system.”

“But what about the witch?” I asked.

“What witch?” the doctor asked, trying not to smile.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

The doctor exited, and I was left to contemplate what had happened to me. I wondered how much of my hike after encountering the fallen tree had been real. I also had an incredible craving for gingerbread.