Ellis Mchan A Narrative Fiction

Deep in the dense forests that arose on the Blue Ridge Mountains of West Virginia, amidst the rocky crags and lofty peaks, Ellis McHanan trekked with an assertiveness foreign to most nineteen year old men. By the glimmering light of the moon, he navigated the narrow paths that only his feet had ever walked. The night was chilly and dim, and the thin shirt he wore could not keep out the mist that settled on the peaks with the early morning hours-- so he suppressed the aching breaths that attempted to groan out of his chest with the tiny puffs of white that came from his mouth and surrounded his red, wind-whipped cheeks. Ellis had trod the trails before him so often, that when the dark canopied trees threatened his view, his steps proceeded on the direct path to his destination, without the hesitation usually accompanying the loss of sight. When finally he could hear the hushed rush of water, his heart fluttered in his chest. His steps quickened. No longer could he feel the frigid wind beating on his back, or the prickles of mist on his skin. Ahead he could see a brilliant moon glaring through the thick branches of towering trees, untouched by the hands of man.

Ellis was cautious. In his mind, he recalled each detail he was told only a few hours before. One: “Don’t go away from the tree line.” He crept further into the safety of the shadows cast across the