Woodsmen: Part 1

In the silence of the woods, no one asks why you came. And there’s a kind of hunger that isn’t about food.

This content is strictly 18+. No characters in this story are real, or based on any real life person.

Aidan secured the rod on the roof rack with a last, forceful tug of the tie-cable, stepped back, checked everything twice, then shut the trunk with a satisfying thunk. From the doorway, the woman watched him, sipping her coffee, dark hair tied up in that effortless way some women mastered, like she wasn’t even thinking about it anymore.

"Have fun. Text me when you get there," she called, casual as ever.

"Sure," Aidan answered, offering a small, polite wave before sliding into the driver’s seat and closing the door. His beard caught the sunlight, glinting red where it otherwise looked brown, his pale blue eyes steady as he checked the mirrors and backed out of the driveway, her shape shrinking in the rear-view like something from a life he didn’t want to examine too closely.

She waved once more as he drove away. He didn’t look back, not out of cruelty, but because there wasn’t anything left between them worth turning around for.

The drive was long enough to feel like a choice. Three hours and change, not counting the half-hour pit stop at that grim service station where the only coffee tasted like burnt plastic and regret, and the charger was half-broken, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t rushing anywhere. He hadn’t spoken to anyone at the charger, which was usual for Aidan.

There’d been a moment, phone in hand, thumb hovering over her name, thinking about sending something casual, something like an apology disguised as a check-in, but he’d locked the phone in the glovebox instead, without typing a word.

Once the last town disappeared behind him, the view transformed drastically. Asphalt gave way to dirt track, the tree cover thickened into a canopy, and sunlight fractured through pine and oak like memories he didn’t want to name. His GPS insisted he was still on course, but the absence of road signs felt more honest than the glowing screen. He was following something older than directions. And the strangest part, the part he hadn’t let himself think about yet, was that she had told him about this place. She had looked him in the eye over that half-empty bottle of wine and said he should go.

Like she’d known something about him that he hadn’t realized himself yet.

Eventually, after two tight turns and the awkward squeeze past a fallen branch that hadn’t been there last year, the forest spat him out into a clearing where five other cars sat haphazardly, lined up without precision like their owners had stopped caring whether they fit. He joined them, cutting the engine, listening to the silence press in around him before stepping out into the heavy air.

The smell hit first: pine sap, dry earth, the faint trace of woodsmoke threading in from somewhere deeper. He loaded himself up without thinking about it. Cooler, cauldron, folding chair, tent bag, food, water. He took everything that mattered, everything he could carry, locked the car without looking back, and walked.

The sign was still there, half-swallowed by brambles and time, the laminated sheet with its rules and warnings and that graphic image that always made him smirk, even now. He didn’t bother to stop. Not this time.

The deeper he went, the more the sound shifted. It wasn’t quiet exactly, it was just different sounds. Feet on pine needles didn’t make sound the way asphalt or concrete did. The birds hushed themselves when he passed. Even the wind threaded softer through the branches. Occasionally, something further off, like low voices, smoke, a clang of metal against stone suggested he wasn’t alone.

But he might as well be.

He veered east, without thinking about why, choosing the narrow ridge over the beaten trail. He climbed until he found it. His spot. A flat enough clearing beside a narrow but deep creek that sliced the trees like a deliberate cut.

Aidan was pleased to discover his spot was unclaimed. Lucky? Definitely. Or the woods knew better than to take it from him.

He dropped his load, cracked his back, and set to work. Tent first. The five-man dome, though it had never held five. Sometimes two and once there had been three.

She’d never been inside it. Had never asked, and he’d never offered.

He shoved that thought down and didn’t unpack it. Fire pit next. He took stones from the creek edge, cold and moss-covered, arranged carefully around the shallow depression he’d carved last year. The muscle memory of the work settled him in ways sleep hadn’t for months.

He dug a hole for the cauldron and lit the fire, watching it burn as he attended to other tasks.

Once the embers were hot, he dropped the cauldron on top, packed dirt around it and got to work.

Chopped vegetables dropped into the black iron cauldron, the mix of wild herbs and cracked pepper seeding the steam with smells older than memory. He watched the water start to cloud as it heated, watched the smoke curl into the air, until movement caught his eye.

Across the creek, a man emerged from the brush. He had broad shoulders that filled the grey uniform shirt, an insignia he didn’t recognize, the kind of security presence that should have made him tense, but didn’t. The man carried himself like someone who wasn’t interested in enforcement. He tipped his cap when he caught Aidan’s eye, then stood easy on the far side of the creek without crossing.

Aidan didn’t move.

"Evening," the man said, voice low and warm like someone who wasn’t used to trying, but a smile that settled Aidan.

"All good," Aidan replied, cautious out of habit more than suspicion. He studied the face for signs of assessment, of judgment, but found none. Just a steady, unreadable calm under a neatly trimmed beard, chestnut hair dampened by sweat, skin glinting faintly in the stray sunlight as if he belonged here more than the trees did. He was very attractive, Aidan noted subconsciously.

"Name’s Gordon. Ops Warden here. Just making sure everyone’s safe, fed, and having fun," Gordon said, the smile curving a little more at the last part, like there was more to it than the words.

Aidan let himself smile, though it felt thin. He dragged his hand down his beard, thumb tracing his lower lip. "No problems here. Just got in. Probably head out for a look around once the food’s settled."

"Good plan." Gordon shifted his weight, not like he wanted to leave, or even like he wanted to stay. He gestured casually east. "If you need anything, my post’s that way. Five-minute walk. Big green door. You can’t miss it."

Aidan nodded. "I’ll find it if I need to."

Gordon hesitated, like he was weighing something heavier than the conversation, but he said nothing else. He just gave a small nod, turned, and disappeared the way he’d come, leaving Aidan in the silence again.

Dinner wasn’t special. Carrots, potatoes, onions, herbs and some meat. The smell was rich, grounding and didn’t take long. He ate a small amount while standing, impatient to explore the woods and the secrets it held.

Then he buried the pot deeper into the embers, kicked more dirt around it while leaving gaps so the embers wouldn’t suffocate, and stood staring at nothing for a long minute.

And then, he went hunting.

Before he left, he marked his tent’s location on his phone, pocketed it without thinking. Then he walked.

He found the first man quickly. Older, mid-forties, maybe. Chambray shirt, black beanie.