The breeze rustled the grass around Alan as he walked slowly up the hill’s ascent. Beside him was Wrigley, his old and trustful greyhound, always alert. This had become his ritual since his wife had passed away, a weekend walk through the local wood. He enjoyed the atmosphere nature created, the sound of branches cracking underfoot and birdsong on the wind. Wrigley too, with his nose keen and tail wagging. There was one tree, a large oak with a dense canopy, under which they both liked to sit and eat and watch. It reminded him of the first time he’d taken this trek, with Gloria, nearly thirty years ago. They were both young, filled with a zeal for life and each other. Under that oak as they sat close, her sweet scent blending with the fresh, crisp air of early autumn, he knew it was love. Alan smiled and sat, his back perched against the solid tree. Reaching inside his back pack, he pulled out a small bowl and a bottle of water and filled it to the brim, then placed it before a panting Wrigley who lapped at it with delight.

“Sure is beautiful up here, hey boy?” Alan said, looking down at Wrigley.

“Remember that time we were up here and sighted that damn rabbit? You were off like a rocket. I’d never seen you so excited! The thing just ran like its whole life depended on it, and you just wanted to play. Chased it all round these parts, boy. Damn near knackered yourself out, didn’t ya?”

Wrigley cocked his head quizzically and looked at Alan. His tongue was lolled to the left, and he rose to his feet.

“You never did catch up to that little bugger. Barked like madness itself when you lost sight of it. Go on boy, have a look around, I’m just gonna sit right here and watch the world go by.”

Wrigley was still standing, eyes on Alan.

“Go on boy, I said its okay. Go!” He waved his hand dismissively, and after a second of deliberation, Wrigley turned and began to explore.

Alan grabbed his ham and cheese sandwiches and the small, half full bottle of whiskey from his back pack. Ham and cheese had always been his thing, ever since he was a small boy. His mother had made them for his first nervous day at school, and despite his fears, the day had gone well. Sat here now, in a spot that meant so much, he couldn’t wish for anything else. The leaves of the forest below swayed first left, then right, as if dancing to some unheard beat. Above, the sun began to set, the temperate day drawing to a brisk night. Birds flew in glorious unison, dipping and lifting with what seemed like little effort. They would land, and chirp, and then fly some more, winding the day down until sleep. Alan placed the bottle of whiskey to his lips and drank a mean gulp, the warmth radiating deep into his stomach. He smiled once more, and called for Wrigley.

He’d bought Wrigley when just a puppy, for Gloria. She needed company. Alan was away for long shifts, focused and driven in his work. Slowly she’d turned to drink, at first just a glass of wine through the day, and within months it had become a bottle, then two. By the end, it was three or four. Gloria loved Wrigley, always cared for him, and took him on the long route that was their walk before she began on the wine. He was always well fed, and given attention, but the drink had taken its hold. Alan had tried to make her see sense, to support her. He quit work and tried to hide the alcohol, but she found a way, she always did. Those last few months, he rarely saw her sober, and in the raw, tender weeks after her death, the only memories that lingered where those of her distant and quiet. He never thought his tears would end.

Alan called for Wrigley again. His eyes darted all over the landscape, trying to glimpse him. Again Alan cried his name, and then came a bark in response. Not Wrigley’s usual bark, full of cheer and play, but a low and guttural cry. It repeated, over and over.

“Wrigley, where are you?” shouted Alan. “Come here boy!”

Nothing. No movement, no sight. Clambering to his feet, the whiskey thrown to the floor, Alan called for Wrigley over and over. The cries continued. He began to run, fear in his every pore. There was just grass and trees, with rock jutting out at awkward angles, but no dog. No companion. He stopped, took some breath, and listened. The cry was louder now, closer and to his right. He scrambled, calling Wrigley’s name. Before his eyes, Wrigley lifted to his feet, his head bowed and his cry visceral. Alan wrapped his arms around the dog, his cheek on fur.

“What is it boy? What’s up?” He checked Wrigley over. No blood, no wound. The dog was shaking.

The cry began again, low this time, barely audible above the wind which began to rise. A cacophony of noise rose from the forest. Birds were taking flight, shaking the tips of the trees as they lifted. There was no grace to their movement, and some collided, sending them falling to the floor. A tree at the fore his eyesight began to fall, the crack of its trunk echoing all around. Wrigley lay close the ground now, each cry one of heartbreak and untold fear.

More trees began to fall, and the ground rumbled as if thunder rushed beneath the Earth. Deep inside Alan a sense of dread awoke, of concern. He and Wrigley were open out here, away from it all. There was nowhere to hide, or to run. “If this is my time, so be it” He said out loud and pulled Wrigley close to him.

The forest was collapsing like dominos, each tree crashing into the next. In the middle, the ground began to rise unbroken, as if new terrain was being formed within an instant. The Earth itself, of soil and life, started to crack and part like. Rock spewed forth from these wounds, and a noise unheard of before. Alan placed his hands over his ears as it rang through the land. From the middle of this chaos, a tall aged ash tree lifted as if held aloft. The whole forest seemed to explode, the remaining trees flung out in every direction like arrows in a war. Some flew high over Alan and Wrigley as they huddled close to the ground. From this explosion it rose like a great, vast God, the head pushing through and up, soil and forest and wildlife falling like sweat from a brow. A hand now swung up and out, the wide, muscled arm slamming it into the ground and then it pushed, fingers sinking into the Earth and gripping, shoulders and torso lifted. The other hand now slunk into the Earth and the being grimaced as it pushed once more, knees then feet slicing through the ground with ease.

Throughout, Alan had not once taken his eyes from all of this. He couldn’t remember blinking or breathing. He was just a witness and as this being staggered to its feet, as tall as anything known to man, he looked to see Wrigley away in front of him, barking now with anger and ferocity and he wanted to cry for him to come back but he felt as if his throat had seized shut. The being turned its head, its eyes black as the darkest night and roared with anger so deep and pure that Wrigley just turned and ran as fast as Alan had ever seen. Then it began to move.