"Tonight will be our last sunset. You will never see me again," she told Matty, her current summer fling, as they watched the sun make its slow descent into the horizon.
They stood together on the wooden dock, worn and weary from years of summer footsteps traipsing to and fro across it. She remembered sprinting all over the dock during childhood fishing competitions, excited at the opportunity to win a plastic trophy if she could catch more pint-sized sunfish than the other kids. Each time she caught one, she'd run over to her father so he could unhook the poor sucker, return it to the water, and stick another juicy earthworm on. She remembered dancing across the dock when her dad, after maybe drinking a few too many beers, let her and her then-boyfriend take the pontoon boat across the lake to the sand dunes. They fulfilled every teenage trope by promptly running it aground on a sandbar, having to call the harbormaster to come free them, begging him not to tell her father (he did). She remembered carefully leading her father toward the end of the dock, his vision failing him along with everything else. She remembered solemnly marching across the dock, joining family and friends in releasing a squadron of sky lanterns to memorialize her father, sobbing in her mother's arms as the lanterns slowly faded into the night sky.
As years of summer memories washed over her, she was filled with new resolve for what she was about to do.
"I don't understand why you're doing this, I really don't," replied a visibly distraught Matty, trying desperately to assemble the right combination of words to convince her to abandon this plan.
He had been overjoyed when they began seeing each other a few months prior. The early days of summer had been filled with a romance unlike any he'd ever known. She had, every summer at the lake, been the most beautiful girl, the one that every boy dreamed of being with. That was just who she was. She was "that girl" - the one that stirred up painful, existential longing in the boys she met, triggering sexual awakenings after inconsequential 1 minute conversations, embodying the ideal that these soon-to-be men would measure every subsequent girlfriend against. So, when she had messaged him on Instagram that fateful day in May, asking, "Hey Matty, you heading up to the cabin this summer? I'm actually going to be spending most of the summer at ours, would love to see you!", he had rearranged his entire summer, cancelled a trip with his friends, asked his mom and dad if he could stay at the cabin for the summer, and responded, as coolly as he could, "Hey - yes I was actually planning to spend a lot of time up there. Mom and dad stuck at home this year so I'm going to take care of the cabin for them. We should definitely connect."
When she had responded, "Oh great, can't wait to catch up and spend time together - text me!" along with her phone number, he had leapt into the air, acting like men do when they receive a promising message from a woman, pumping his fist and shouting quietly to himself "LET'S GOOO!"
And it had only gotten better from there. When they met up that first day, it was never in doubt that she was attempting to seduce him. Eye contact that went on a few seconds longer than it felt like it should, teasing him relentlessly (but in the kind of way that has absolutely no edge, no meanness attached to it, and is wrapped in innuendos), talking in that way that girls do when they want to make it blatantly obvious that they're flirting - voice dripping in sex, licking her lips at every opportunity.
As June gave way to July, he could still hardly believe his luck. Their relationship never stopped growing, inside jokes began to beget other inside jokes, childhood memories merged with new adult experiences, and they explored together in bed in ways that he hadn't even known were possible. As he'd grown up, life on the lake had lost some of its luster, he had lost that feeling of pure excitement before family trips to the cabin. But now...well now he felt like a boy again. He felt like that boy that was filled with a sense of endless possibilities every time he looked out at the lake, smelled that woody cabin smell, heard the creak of the dock and the waves lapping against it, or laid beneath the star-filled night sky, letting the magnitude of the universe wash over him, but still feeling like his little corner of it was something to behold.
As he looked back, trying to figure out where things went wrong, he just couldn't figure it out. And the confusion made the terror that much more palpable. He struggled against the ropes that bound him, but they were unmoving against his frenetic squirming.
"Matty, I just explained it to you. Hecate demands this, it's not really up to me. If I had another option, I promise you I would take it. But we are here and it must happen, and so it will," she replied coolly, placing a small leather bag on the guardrail of the dock and beginning to search through it.
"I just...who is Hecate? Where is this coming from? I don't see how..."
She interrupted sharply, "That's exactly right. You DON'T see. And you won't see."
Finally finding what she was looking for in the bag, a stainless steel, medical-grade scalpel, she turned toward Matty, "Each year, Hecate demands a sensory sacrifice. We never know which of the 5 senses she'll ask for, but it doesn't really matter because sacrifice, no matter the sense, is never pretty. But it must be done. This year, we've been told that we must present her with vision so she, and we, may see more clearly the path ahead. That's where you come in."
"WHO THE FUCK IS HECATE? WHO IS WE? None of this makes any sense. You're saying you've done this before? Every year? When did you start doing this?" Matty shouted, filled with anger, fear, and confusion.
"Hecate, if you had paid attention in World Literature, is the Greek goddess of witches. We ... well that's us. It's all of us who, unlike you and most others, can see the truth and are willing to do something about it. Some call us witches, I personally prefer enchantresses, but you can call us whatever you prefer," she said with a smirk before continuing, "When I started doing it? When I became a witch? I remember it so clearly. 10th grade. It's when this all started, when I discovered the talisman that was in the treasure chest we recovered from the lake. Do you remember that? It's the moment my life took meaning."
"10th grade...isn't that around the time your dad got sick? Please tell me you didn't have anything to do with that, I know it was never really known what was causing his illness but surely..." his voice trailed off as something clicked in his mind, "Wait...wait...wait a second. What was the talisman? What do you think from the treasure chest was a talisman?"
"It was an emerald ruby, I found it beneath the silverware and I grabbed it while no one was looking. That night, as I held it beneath the covers, I was filled with a strange feeling. I searched online for what it could be and I stumbled on articles about talismans. The feeling it gave me, combined with the fact that I grabbed it from an old treasure chest, made me realize my witch-hood, made me accept the fact that I am an enchantress and that I am subject to the rule of Hecate," she replied, feeling whimsical as she remembered that magical day.
"ARE. YOU. SERIOUS?" shouted Matty incredulously, "Y..you know that wasn't a real treasure chest, right? You can't possibly still think that was a real treasure chest. Wait...do you?"
She thought for a moment before responding, "Of course it was a real treasure chest. Eric's dad found the treasure map buried in a bottle with his metal detector, we all followed the map and pulled the treasure chest from the bottom of the lake. It was old and filled with real money and silverware and other antiques."
"I ... you ... it ... you have to know that Eric's dad made the whole thing as a fun activity for us kids. They pretended to find the bottle with the treasure map, they had the "treasure chest" attached to the bottom of the boat the whole time. THIS IS A MAN-MADE LAKE! WHERE DO YOU THINK THE TREASURE EVEN CAME FROM? PIRATES?" Matty got angrier and angrier as he realized that this fun little activity from their childhood may have been the cause of untold suffering at her hands.
"It couldn't have been fake. You think they would have put hundreds of dollars in Canadian money in this "fake" treasure chest? The silverware was real silver!" she responded stubbornly.
"It was out of print money! It wasn't valid currency! And no, for God's sake, that was NOT real silver. Who even told you that? They got it from a garage sale for two dollars! The emerald ruby was NOT REAL. Are you seriously telling me this "talisman" from a fake treasure chest made you believe you were a witch, led you to maim and maybe kill multiple people? Did...did you kill your father? Did you make him blind?" cried Matty. He was in utter disbelief, but he also now had a glimmer of hope. If she could be made to believe that none of this was real, not the talisman, not Hecate, not the sacrifice, maybe he would escape the situation alive and with his eyesight still intact.
"I'm sure this is what they want you to tell me, to convince me to not continue down the true and righteous path. I'll have none of it. Tonight is your last sunset, you will never see again." she said, filled with indignation at his desperate attempts to dissuade her, to poke holes in her belief system.
She steeled herself, tuned out Matty's cries, and knew she had to do what she came here to do. She reached back and swung, raking the scalpel across both of his eyes with surgical precision. She tossed the scalpel into the lake and kneeled at his feet, basking in the warmth of Hecate's approval and Matty's blood. As the blood sprayed and pooled around Matty's feet, coating the top of her golden blonde hair, she began her prayer to her god.
"O Sun our lord and sacred fire, the spear of Hecate of the..." she paused, interrupted by Matty's panicked whimpering, which at this point was quite loud and echoing across the lake.
"Hey Matty, I have to finish this, can you be a bit quieter?" she asked politely.
"I just don't understaaaaaaaaand why you would do this to meee," cried Matty, quite far gone now, writhing in pain but held tight by the ropes.
"I already explained myself, now please be quiet, I'm talking to Hecate," she replied before reciting the full prayer:
"O Sun our lord and sacred fire, the spear of Hecate of the roads, which she carries as she attends her mistress in the sky. Please accept this offer of sacrifice, and continue to guide me on my path."
She stood up, brushing the dust off of her knees and beginning the short walk back across the dock to her car. This was the first time she'd made an offer to Hecate at the place where it all began, and there was something so satisfying in that. She hummed to herself as she started her car and drove away into the night.
Smokey Bear, to this point, had lived what appeared to be a very charmed life. From a young age, he was touring around the country, being painted for billboards and signs, acting in public safety addresses, and playing the part of mascot for the United States Forest Service. He was paid well, known and beloved by almost everyone, and a full-fledged American icon. But, like most child stars, there was a darkness lying just beneath that glimmering veneer.
Smokey's father, Blazey Bear (who went on to achieve some fame of his own as an unofficial mascot for the marijuana smoking community), had been a huge part of Smokey's rise to fame. Blazey was a Park Bear, one of those bears that lives in human parks instead of deep in the wilderness. While many other Park Bears could be found pillaging coolers and sniffing around tents for scraps of food at night, Blazey would break into the offices of various forest rangers and steal contact information, memos, classified dossiers, and countless stale donuts. He was as hungry for information as his colleagues were for trail mix and half-eaten cans of baked beans.
But why? Surely there was more valuable sustenance to be found amongst the park visitors and their poorly secured trash bags. And sure, he could have lived a simple existence, dining on that luxurious camper cuisine and cavorting around with his old bear friends. But there was only one thing that Blazey Bear cared about - climate change. He wasn't quite sure how or IF he could do it, but he thought his best chance was to infiltrate the US Forest Service and somehow alert the humans to the impending doom they were creating for themselves and their planetary bedfellows.
One day, while pillaging the office of a ranger at his home park, the Lincoln National Forest, Blazey made a discovery that would change the course of his life. It was a memo from someone at the US Forest Service titled "PSA Mascot Competition - Submit Yours Today". The Forest Service was fielding ideas for a mascot they could use in an upcoming national Public Service Announcement about the dangers of wildfires. And Blazey knew exactly how he was going to capitalize on it.
He sprinted out of the office, down the stairs, through the sprawling field of campsites, past the park entrance, and toward his family's den a few miles away. He rushed in, grabbed a rake, a bucket, and some matches, kissed his sleeping wife and son, and was on his way to a specific section of forest, a spot he knew would be perfect to put his plan into action.
When he reached the spot, Blazey Bear began piling kindling and shoveling leaves around a few long-dead trees, lying dry and still on the forest floor. After 30 minutes, he had built a giant mound of dry, flammable materials around the fallen trees. Once it was big enough to achieve what he needed it to achieve, he got ready to light a match and set the whole thing ablaze.
Sow what was Blazey up to? His plan was relatively simple on the surface - he'd light a fire that was big enough to draw the attention of the rangers and the nearby fire station (but not big enough to do any real damage) and then, once they arrived on the scene, they'd find him scooping buckets of water out of the nearby stream with his mouth and pouring them on the fire. He figured that the sight of a bear fighting a wildfire by scooping buckets of water with his mouth would be enough to force the rangers to make the connection between the wildfire PSA mascot competition and Blazey. He thought that by faking this act of heroism, he could become the new official mascot of the US Forest Service. Was it dangerous? Yes. Was it slightly stupid? Yes. But in the end, Blazey's ultimate goal was to fight climate change, and he needed a platform to do it.
As he daydreamed about all of the positive change he would make, he lit the match and threw it on the pile of debris. The flame slowly leapt from a few leaves to some smaller sticks, quickly beginning to lick the underside of one of the fallen trees. Entranced by the growing fire and full of hopes and dreams for everything he could accomplish as the mascot of a large government agency, Blazey hadn't noticed his son, Smokey, hiding in the brush.
"HI DAD!" exclaimed Smokey, leaping from the bushes in an attempt to scare his father. They played this game a lot, and usually it was Smokey getting scared. But not this time.
"AHHHH! Son what are you doing here?" gasped Blazey, completely taken aback by his son's sudden appearance.
"Wow Dad, I got you so good. I don't think I've ever scared you that bad," laughed Smokey, walking around the rapidly growing bonfire to greet his father, smiling that strange bear smile.
"Ha, yes son, you got me good. What are you doing out here? It's far past your bedtime and this fire could be quite dangerous," replied Blazey, trying to figure out how to get his son away from the scene without sacrificing the plan.
"Well you know how sometimes you take me out to look for food with you? Well, I was having trouble sleeping and thought maybe I could come join you tonight," said Smokey.
"Erm, well, most nights I would say that's a great idea. But I'm afraid tonight it's just not going to...." replied Blazey before he was cut off by a giant gush of flame shooting high into the sky. What Blazey hadn't considered (and you couldn't really blame him, he was just a bear) was that the fallen trees, so dry and arid from years of rot, were incredibly, dangerously flammable. He thought the pile he'd created could only possibly create a small to medium sized brush fire, but in reality it had been a tinderbox waiting to explode beyond his wildest imagination.
The flames didn't dissipate, soon beginning to spread to other dead, still-standing trees that dotted the forest canopy. At this point, Blazey was ready to completely abandon his plan and get himself and his son to safety. He grabbed Smokey and headed for the path that would bring them home, but upon reaching it, realized that the fire was spreading like...well, wildfire...and that it was already blocking the usual path home. He darted back toward an alternative path, but story was the same. He realized with astonishment that they were actually engulfed in the heart of a rapidly expanding forest fire, the exact kind that he was trying to become the mascot of preventing. The irony wasn't lost on him (he was a very ironic bear) but it was overwhelmed by absolute fear and the realization that he had likely caused the death of not only himself, but his beautiful, guileless son as well.
He heard approaching sirens, but the walls of flame were bearing in on the father and son. So he did the only thing that he could think to do, and the last thing he would ever do - he laid his son down on the ground and covered him with his own body, hoping that his body may be able to protect Smokey if and until the firefighters were able to diminish the blaze. Before long, he was choked by the smoke, losing consciousness. He would never regain it.
As you may have guessed, Blazey's plan did ultimately come to fruition, just not quite as he'd envisioned it. The wildfire firemen were able to douse the fire, preventing it from doing any more damage. As the forensic team came to investigate what had caused this seemingly random wildfire, they found an adult bear, lying in protective cover on top of his child. The adult had died, but beneath him lay an unconscious but still-breathing bear cub.
As they hurried Smokey away to the nearest veterinarian, one of the firemen looked over at the park ranger who accompanied them and said, "If this isn't perfect for the PSA competition, I don't know what is."
From that moment on, Smokey's life would never be the same. Encompassed by grief of his father's loss, he dove headfirst into his role as the official mascot of the US Forest Service, moving to Los Angeles to be nearer to all of his media engagements. But he would never tell a living soul, human or bear, that his father had been the ultimate cause of the wildfire that made him the face of wildfire prevention.
