The Forest

He was not, then he was. He sprang from nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. He had no sense of time, past or present. He did not know right from wrong, good or evil. He did not know his name, yet they called him by several.

At first, he was a shadow-like form that drifted through the heart of the woods. But his form changed based upon the imagination of others, growing with their thoughts, becoming increasingly terrible.

In the beginning, a boy named Mark described him to his friends. As a gang, they came to his sanctuary, taunting him to appear. When he did, the youngest boy, who had survived rheumatic fever, fainted from fright. The others carried this child home where he died a few hours later.

Each repetition of an encounter with him gave this creature strength. One day he suddenly had eyes that glowed as red and black as burning coals. For the first time, he could see his twig-like appendages. Over time these solidified into actual digits. They described him as gruesomely horrible, and so it was what he became.

A hunger grew in him. He craved their energy, feeding from their fear. As he changed, so did the forest. The trees closest to his proximity turned into deadwood. These skeletal shadows enhanced his form.

After the boys and teens, men approached carrying ghost-busting equipment. This didn’t help them, because he wasn’t a ghost. He was now more than any shadow. He emitted a barking laugh, deep and guttural. Hearing this, they fled in terror. He enjoyed dining on their fear, thought it a marvelous feast, and hoped they would come again.

People continued to talk and to visit. Thanks to them, he had become the phantom of the forest!

Music Box Magic

Ronni phoned and invited me to stay at her place for several days in late June. Our family was going to have a reunion, and she hoped I would come. After getting the details, I said, “This is great. I’ll see you then.”

I got a rental car at the airport and drove to her home. The expressway was hectic. Turning onto the country road was a relief. After an hour, I began recognizing sites along the Michigan highway. I finally spotted my next turn. I almost missed it because I was looking for a gravel road.

My cousin opened the door as I parked. She smiled as she came out to the car, and we exchanged kisses. “I’m so glad you came. It’s been a long time since I saw you. C’mon and take a load off.”

“Let me grab my suitcase.”

Once I was inside, she said, “I made tea and lemonade, or I can make coffee if you like.”

We took our iced drinks out to her patio. We caught up on family news, but she didn’t mention Robbie. She stood and fired up the grill. I helped her fix supper, then we ate.

I noticed the music box as soon as she showed me into the guest room. Immediately remembering the summers spent with my grandparents at their cabin on Lake Michigan. I had run into Grandma’s arms as soon as Dad parked our car. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla as I hugged her ample frame. She always baked snicker doodles because those were my favorite. Grandpa smelled of cherry pipe tobacco when he kissed my forehead.

Cuddled into her lap in the evenings, she would stroke my sandy blonde hair and rock me asleep as we listened to the box’s chiming melody. I had loved going there until the accident. After that, things had never been the same.

I picked the box up, turned its key, then held it close. Lifting its lid, my tears rained down on the tiny dancer. Within a short time, a feeling of tranquility filled me. I fell asleep listening to its sweet sounds.

During the night, I dreamed of the day my dad died. I saw it with a clarity that I hadn’t had at age 8. Dad had become so different after losing his job, always reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Since Uncle Ed was working, Dad was only supposed to drop Robbie off at football practice and come right back. Instead, he’d gone to a liquor store then wrapped his car around a tree. Reliving the scene, I realized it wasn’t my cousin’s fault, though I had blamed him for years.

While eating breakfast, Ronni suggested we spend the day in Shipshewana. “It’s the largest flea market in the Midwest. It’s ages since I went.”

I wasn’t keen on shopping in my condition but could see this would make her happy. Grabbing my fanny pack and floppy hat from my luggage, I followed her out to her SUV. She took Route 12 east from New Buffalo until we reached 131 and headed south into Indiana. It wasn’t long before we came upon Amish and Mennonite buggies on the road.

The parking lot was half full when we arrived. She slung a large tote over her shoulder. Ronni often stopped to examine the gewgaws inside the stalls. She loved wind chimes and bought three, stuffing each inside her bag.

I was extremely fatigued from walking when she asked, “How about an early dinner? I know a fantastic restaurant.”

She drove us to a converted barn. Inside were wooden picnic tables covered with red-checked cloth. A girl in a long dress and bonnet greeted us. She led us to a table and handed menus to us.

Ronni pointed and said, “See there. Butterscotch meringue pie. Wonder if it tastes like Grandma’s.”

The simple country food was delicious, and that pie was divine.

Draining my third glass of Cabernet later that night, I asked, “How’s your brother?”

She gave me a searching look. “He’s become a loner, especially since his divorce.”

“Will he come?”

She shook her head. “Doubt it.”

I gnawed my lip. “Could you please call him. I need to make amends.”

As she grabbed her cell, I refilled my glass with liquid courage.

“Hello Robbie. I’ve got someone here…” She handed it to me.

I heard, “Ronni, I don’t have time…”

“Coz, could you please do it for me?”

His gasp was followed by silence.

“I am so sorry for how I treated you. I sincerely hope you’ll come to the reunion. I have something to give you.”

He remained quiet.

“Pretty please.”

He mumbled, “fine,” then hung up.

***

We were munching on watermelon late in the afternoon when he finally arrived. At first, I didn’t recognize this heavy-set, bearded man. It was only when Ronni ran to hug him that I realized it was Robbie. She brought him over to me.

“How about we go sit on the dock?”

He nodded and followed.

“Again, I am so, so sorry for blaming you. I idolized my dad and didn’t want to blame him.” Tears glistened on his cheek. “Mom had such a tough time raising us four, trying to squeeze a quarter’s worth of food from a nickel. I now realize it was all his fault.”

Robbie put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. We cried in each other’s arms. I pulled slightly away and reached inside my fanny pack. “I want to give you this.” I handed my dad’s most prized possession to him. I had brought it on the trip to give to my oldest nephew, but now knew my cousin should have it.

He removed the plastic case and examined the baseball. Robbie gasped when he noticed Shoeless Joe Jackson’s signature. As he hugged me, I was filled with peace and childhood joy.

***

Back at home a few weeks later, I was enjoying the soothing chimes and watching the dancer twirl when my phone beeped with a text.

Calling the specialist’s office, I was put on hold until the doctor came on the line. “Donna. Wonderful, almost unbelievable news. Your cancer is gone. There’s not a trace left.”

Forgiveness, along with being gifted Grandma’s music box, had worked a miracle.

Mystery

As our school bus turned onto a dirt road, I bounced on the seat. “Oh Em, I’m so excited I’m gonna pee!”

She laughed as she said, “Gross! Get away from me.”

In a quiet voice, I asked, “Are you sure Jase will come?”

She whispered, “Ron said they’d take a canoe and expect them here about 11 or so.”

We grabbed our duffels from under our seats and joined the line of girls. A camp counselor greeted us, checked names and assigned our cabin, then handed a list of rules to us.

I looked around the compound. The sparkling blue lake, massive greenery of forest surrounding it, and ten numbered log cabins. It was a pleasant April afternoon, but too cold for swimming.

Em led the way to No. 4, which was the second from the lake. Bette and Vic were right on our heels. I slung my duffel on the lower bunk to the right. Bette sighed and headed across the room. It didn’t take long to unpack our jeans, tees, and hoodies. I waited until they left before asking, “How far away is Camp Olympia?”

“Bout two miles west along the shoreline. Can’t even see it from the dock.” Em bit her lip. “Dee, please don’t argue with the staff. Just nod and do what they say. I don’t want their attention on us.”

When I opened my mouth to complain about the undercooked hot dog, Em poked my ribs. “Thanks for the yummy food.” She mumbled, “shut it,” as she pushed me toward a table. She hissed, “Keep a low profile.”

I did my best to enjoy the festivities around the campfire. Jodi, recently returned from a Texas trip, dressed in cowboy boots and hat, came forward with guitar in hand. Her fake country twang made my nerves jangle. When I squirmed, Em pinched my arm. After three songs, Jodi quit caterwauling. I barely clapped.

Back in the cabin, Em and I shrugged off pants and left them on the floor. Vic muttered, “Slobs.”

I ignored her and slid under a quilt. The bed shook as my bestie went up. I closed my eyes, pretended to sleep, but listened to their chatter. Checking my watch when Bette snored, I found it was 10:15. I waited until I heard one from Vic before I got up.

The frame creaked, then Em stood beside me. I held my breath as I forced myself into my pour-on jeans. With hoodie on, I grabbed my flashlight and put it in the pocket. The door squeaked as I opened it. We both stood silent for several seconds. Outdoors, I let out a relieved breath.

We crept across the courtyard, then ducked between the cabins. A few yards past those, we entered the woods. The trees cast eerie shadows in the glow of our flashlights. Twigs snapped underfoot no matter how I stepped. “Sorry.”

Em whispered, “Shush. Voices carry out here.”

We finally reached the sand. She took off jogging and I followed. I was panting when she slowed. She gasped, “kill your light,” as she turned off hers.

A small fire lit the beach ahead. Em dashed forward to hug Ron. I hung back, looking at Jase. Tall, blonde, and athletic. A mythical Greek god. He added more driftwood, then turned and smiled at me. Heart hammering, I approached. When he took my hand, I thought his touch was magical.

We chatted with Em and Ron for several minutes. When they began to suck face, he led my bestie away.

I chattered nervously. Jase touched my arm and said, “You’re so beautiful. I will never hurt you.” He pulled me close. I shivered with anticipation. Our lips met. It was divinely marvelous as our kiss lingered, growing into a desire for more.

I worried if I had done something wrong when he pulled away. He fumbled in his pocket.

A sudden spotlight enveloped us. Blinded and immobile, I was lifted from the ground.

***

“Dee, what’s with you. If you don’t get up, nothing good will be left in the cafeteria. Bette and Vic went over 10 minutes ago.”

Aching all over, I struggled out of bed. “I don’t feel good. Something weird happened to me and Jase.”

“I don’t know any Jase.”

“Em please don’t tease me. My head hurts.”

She raised her voice. “Dunno what you talking bout.”

“Oh pullease. He transferred here in October. We met up with Ron and Jase last night.”

“We did not! You’re delusional. Ron and I broke up last weekend. You know not to mention his name. That’s downright mean.” She slammed her way out.

Em wouldn’t sit or talk to me on our way home.

On Monday, I visited the school office. “Miss Hanson, I’m worried about Jason Argos.”

With an odd look at me, she asked, “Is this some sort of prank? We’ve never had a student with that name.”

***

“Commander.”

“Make your report.”

“Argonaut retrieved.”

“Was there a problem?”

“No…but…”

Her gaze shifted from paperwork to glare at me. “What?”

“Ma’am, we barely arrived in time.”

“So what?”

“I think our Routine Operation eXecutive Interface Encoder has failed in this enterprise.”

“Explain.”

“New memories were implanted in everyone. However, one had a Hera proclivity. She resisted all attempts to wipe the Argonaut from her mind. Jason has already had more modifications than any other Titan. Roxie just cannot downgrade his charm gene any farther. He is irresistible. Worse yet, as soon as Jason comes near a comely girl, all he wants to do is procreate. If this continues, we may have to wipe the planet again.”

“You scientists always predict doom and gloom. Dismissed.”

Roxie Part 2

Feeling beaten to a pulp, I stand brushing my teeth with an electronic device. Every muscle aches. Wait. What? Where are my dentures?

I stick my hand inside my mouth and feel my gums. Yes, teeth are there. I look into the mirror. Wait. What? Where are my bifocals?

I look around the room. It seems like my bathroom, yet it doesn’t. The countertop is almost bare, yet my artworks are on its walls. I open the cabinet where I keep my medicinals. It is empty.

I hear a mechanical voice from nearby. “What’s taking you so long? Don’t make me come in there.”

I recognize it as the hated robot and don’t want to be punished. I hurry to wash my face, then can’t help staring at my corn-silk hair, which looks similar to what Mia Farrow wore in the 60s. My mass of gray snarls gone. I marvel that I appear to be 16 or so. It doesn’t make sense. When I was that age, I wore coke-bottle glasses! This figure is lush and not at all pudgy.

At last, I open the door. Roxie blocks my way. “Lord, took you long enough to do your ablutions, you silly git.” Her machinery whirls, emitting bleeps and blips. “Why they chose you for cryogenics is beyond me. You must go to sleep, so the process can be completed and updated. You haven’t stabilized to the year 2050 yet.”

I do my best to ignore the robot as I get out shorts and a tee. Wait. What? 2050! That can’t be right. It would mean I’m 98 years old. I feel a stinging stab to my hip before I pull on the shorts.

Roxie has turned back the bed covers and motions to me. What?! 2050. I’m 98…98…98! Zzz.

Fear of Flying

I confess I have a fear of flying. I don’t mean anything like Erica Jong’s novel of sexual boredom! I didn’t always have this fear and can remember how excited I was the first time I boarded an airplane at O’Hare. My girlfriend Vickie wanted the window seat. That was fine by me because I disliked heights.

Our Boeing 707 flight into Miami was without problems. We then were directed to walk across the tarmac to board the one owned by Out Island Airways. This plane was so small, there were only twelve passenger seats. The stewardess told us to keep our seat belts fastened because we would encounter turbulence. After taking off, the ship shuddered, shook, and went up and down, worse than any roller coaster ride. Vickie prayed out loud that we would safely reach the Bahamas.

It was certainly scary, but this didn’t bother me enough that I wouldn’t fly again. Our trip back to Miami was smooth. On our return trip to Chicago, we had a two-hour layover in Atlanta.

The TV news reported on crashed flights and on planes which disappeared and were never found. This was normal.

During the next several decades, I flew into Phoenix twice. No problems going or returning. No suitcases were lost.

Flying into Oakland to visit my brother was okay. Coming back was another story. Once we boarded, the plane taxied onto the runway, where we sat for several hours. Our direct flight to Chicago, ended up being directed into Denver for refueling. We arrived at O’Hare five hours later than we should have. This wasn’t something unusual.

The horrific events of 911 were certainly extraordinary. Certainly not normal for a plane to be treated like a guided missile. I didn’t find this off-putting.

I can hear you asking, “Why are you so fearful of flying?”

It’s because I’ve watched too many episodes of Dr. G Medical Examiner. So many older people have died after spending hours in an airplane. A few days after they arrived at their destination, they suddenly died of coronary thrombosis. Stuck on a long flight, you cannot get up and walk around.

This is the reason I decided to drive to Ohio and back. With my fourth novel unfinished, I didn’t want to risk it. Driving the 3800 miles, I could get out and stretch. I could also get iced mocha coffee anytime I wanted.

At this stage in my life, I wouldn’t board any airplane. Not even for a million bucks!