It was late afternoon when Rich Poore reached the edge of the forest, his very name a symbol of how much God hated him.

He sank down onto a strangely cool boulder, letting it support the weight of his Kelty Serac. Sally Yan, living the moment with him, found herself proud that the Serac was the largest external frame backpack ever made. She didn’t know enough about backpacking to wonder why the hiker, Rich, didn’t carry a more modern, internal frame pack.

To his left, the trail wound back down to the road to the village where he’d spent the night. To his right, the trail plunged abruptly into this black forest which clotted the hillside between the two mountains. He’d be spending the night in that dark, ancient woods. Thanks to that one-eyed old fart in Toyville, the thought was ominous instead of sweet.

Those stupid dire warnings, like something out of a horror movie. “The local people avoid those woods, young man. There something dark and terrible waits.” This wonderful, unusual off-the-beaten-track hike he’d planned now filled him with dread.

Thanks so much, I love you just as much as you love me, he told the sky above. You sent me that old man as a symbol of your love.

He swung his fuzzy canteen around on its strap and took a swig. Nature was the one thing that soothed and healed his angry, bitter heart; why was there always some test, something nasty to go through before he could get to the healing peace? These woods were old, rotting logs could be seen dimly and there was a smell of decay. It smelled more like a swamp forest than a mountain woods. It was the kind of place people might well avoid.

Well, thank you, I’m now thoroughly spooked. This always happened. Once he got out into nature, alone and away from other people, he was at God’s mercy.

He hated thinking that way because he knew it wasn’t really true. Whenever someone asked what religion he was, he proudly said he was an atheist. The sky was just the sky and all the things that happened to him were just coincidences.

I’ll find a nice campsite in the woods, get a fire going, wish I had some marshmallows. It’ll be great.

He stood up into the weight of his overladen pack, wishing he could just turn around and go back but sure that if he didn’t face whatever waited in the woods, he’d be presented with another, more difficult challenge another day. For my own good, of course.

When he passed under a pair of brooding sentinels, the overhanging branches quickly shut out the sun. He felt a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. He stared through the still, musty air, looking for any sign of movement in the dim green.

He tried to enjoy the beauty of the ancient trees. Some mossy trunks rose nearly twenty feet before sending out their first limb; others reached out with sneaky branches right away. Through the interlocking maze came brief glimpses of the afternoon sky, mocking gleams from a happier world.

As soon as his attention was distracted, a root snaking slyly across the trail jerked him off his feet. He fell with a whoof under his pack. For a few seconds the wind was completely knocked out of him, then he panted furiously. “My joy in this is rapidly leaving, you shitheel,” he declared dramatically.

His voice sounded terribly loud.

Heaving himself up, he put a hand on rough ribbed bark, and walked grimly on. The trail hadn’t been maintained in years and was overgrown with insistent branches that pulled and clawed. Rich knew they took special delight in pushing him nearly double to the ground. The woods grew darker because of course God wanted his horror movie scenario.

At last he saw the light of a clearing ahead, but he knew better than to allow himself to feel relief.

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Sure enough he found an old stone ruin, just stone walls with no roof. Not the kind of place to instill confidence in someone who was thoroughly spooked. The trail continued in gloom but a side spur went to the ruin and vanished into a cutting in the ground.

He looked at the hidden sky. Are you trying to freak me out? Cause you’re awfully good at it. Without planning to, he edged out of the direct sight of that gaping black cutting.

Something is waiting inside.

When he tried to walk away up the trail, an overhanging branch pressed back on his pack. Back toward that hole. He ducked down but the branch had caught so that his pack pulled the branch down and pushed him back up. Back toward that hole.

Thou shalt not deny me my horror movie.

Trembling, he understood. He had to look in that hole. For my own good. God, that sanctimonious old man, reeking of Blessedness, was telling him implacably that today’s test was to go down into that darkness.

But when he got to the lip of the cutting and saw marble steps descending into darkness, his will wavered. He could almost feel something waiting down there, ready to grab his ankle with an icy hand. He stood paralyzed at the head of that stair, wanting to cry.

Now it felt like something stood behind him, staring silently over his shoulder.

So of course he had to look but he couldn’t see over his huge stuffed pack and as just as he started to turn something rustled. He jerked helplessly away, tottered off balance and, knowing it was inevitable, tumbled screaming down the horrible steps.

At least his pack took the brunt. It slid and pulled him down twenty or so smooth steps. At the bottom he struggled to get his breath back, staring at the rectangle of tree-crusted sky as rustling steps approached.

A timid squirrel peered down at him, then vanished, tiny feet whickering into silence.

He laughed in hysterical relief. He was through the worst. Maybe now he would be granted some peace. He sat up, pulling the pack with him.

His laughter died as he saw the sarcophagus against the far wall.

I didn’t really pass the test, he reasoned. I fell down. The real test is down here. He stared through gummy darkness at what he tried to tell himself was a stone bench.

But it had a stone lid which was slightly out of joint with the rest of the structure, as though it had been lowered carelessly into place.

He was absolutely sure there was a vampire in that coffin.

But with the dread came unexpected comfort. Vampires only rose at night and there was still an hour of daylight. He’d be perfectly safe to go over there and lift that lid.

He wished he hadn’t thought of that, because now he knew he would have to.

He probably wouldn’t be strong enough to lift that slab but he knew he had to try. Maybe God (in whom he did not believe) would be satisfied with just the attempt?

But there’d be something nasty to make him jump with fright at least. That he could be sure of.

He struggled to his feet, the familiar pack comforting against his back, and took a step forward, then another. His stomach suddenly flipped as he thought of what he might see inside that coffin.

Could he stand to look on the face of a vampire?

He shuffled his feet back and forth nervously, stepped forward again. Sweat broke out on his face and body as his trembling hands touched the cool lid.

Whatever was inside was inches away, but it still sealed off from him. He could walk away and stay securely in the world where you were afraid of sounds in the dark but you knew they were really only the wind or an owl or a dog.

He ran his hand along the surface. He could almost sense the fearful being lying beneath the white stone, hands folded, eyes open and staring.

I can’t. I can’t. Please, God, I can’t. He told himself he was positioning his hands to push up the lid, but he knew he was going to drop them to his side.

From within the coffin came a whisper of a rustle, dark cloth against dark cloth, as though something had shifted position slightly.

Rich turned hysterically, stumbled toward the light, pawed his way frantically up the stairs with his pack pushing him down and ran along the trail, lurching and stumbling under the weight, certain the vampire floated vast and silent behind him.

At last he sank exhausted against a tree, drenched in sweat. He twisted so he could peer back the way he had just come. The dim tree-choked corridor stretched empty to where the light of the clearing glowed in the far distance.

Now he had another decision to make and with sinking heart, he realized that the true test was still waiting for him. He wanted to go back to the village and be safe indoors. He wanted a home around him and other people, wanted these things so badly he ached.

But I have to go on, don’t I? I have to face my fears alone in the woods while You sit in Your armchair and laugh at the show I’m putting on. Don’t I? Don’t I?

He let out a hysterical half sob.