Lost in the Never Woods

by Aiden Thomas

  “My dad got me this when I first started driving,” she told him. “He doesn’t trust cell phone GPS”—it was very obvious by the look on his face that Peter didn’t know what that meant—“so he got me a map so I could find my way around if I ever got lost.” She unfolded it and smoothed her hands along the edges. “It has the woods.” She pointed to a large patch of green in the center of the map. “But it doesn’t have a whole lot of detail.” It showed the outline of the woods, the creeks that snaked through it, and some logging roads. “It’s old, so there’s way more logging roads now, but it’s better than nothing.” She turned to Peter. “Do you think this will help? Do you know how to read a map?”

  Peter snorted and took it in his hands. “Of course I know how to read a map,” he said, puffing up his chest like a rooster. “I’m constantly using pirate maps back in Neverland. I’ve got a whole collection of them.”

  Wendy rolled her eyes. “Pirate maps,” she said flatly. “Of course, how could I forget.”

  “We can use the creeks and these trails as points of reference,” he said, trailing his finger along a blue line. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “Great.” Wendy took out her phone and sent a quick text to her mom, letting her know she was with Jordan and would be home later. Wendy took a deep breath. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Peter sucked in his upper lip and gave her a look. A lot of things flickered in his eyes that she couldn’t quite read. He forced a smile, though it was more like a grimace. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The Tree

  Plants and ferns flanked the tire-worn path. Wendy and Peter followed until it branched off and faded into the trees. “We just need to keep heading north,” Peter said, his eyes sweeping back and forth. “We should cross one of these trails and then hit the creek.”

  “We also need to be on the lookout for the search parties,” Wendy added, coming to a stop at Peter’s side. “I don’t know how long it’ll take them to comb through the woods, but they’re starting on the northern side and working south. It would be bad if we ran into them halfway,” she said, tucking the map into her bag. “Especially if we haven’t found the tree yet.”

  “We should be able to hear them from pretty far off,” Peter said. He jerked his head and gave Wendy a small grin. “Come on.”

  Long grass gently slapped Wendy’s legs as they moved deeper into the forest. She could feel the prickle of sunburn on her shoulders as the hot summer sun streamed through the trees. The air smelled of sweet cedar and tangy sap beading on bark. Black beetles bumbled over logs and the sharp cry of hunting birds sounded overhead. The sound of Peter and Wendy traversing the landscape joined the chorus.

  Wendy frowned. She watched Peter navigate the fallen logs and underbrush and it occurred to her that he wasn’t moving with the same ease as he had last time they were in the woods. Peter kept his eyes trained on the ground, his footfalls as heavy as hers. He used to be so at home in nature, but now he was as unbalanced as she was.

  Maybe it was because of his drastic growth spurts? He was almost a head taller than her now. His arms and legs were noticeably longer, and his movements made it seem like he was still getting used to them. The way he walked reminded her of a newborn deer trying to find its balance.

  Following him closely, Wendy watched as he moved through the woods. Tendons stretched up his forearms, swelling at his biceps before disappearing under the sleeves of his T-shirt. She could see the muscles of his back shift and flex under the material. The sunlight filtering through the trees caught the red streaks in his auburn hair. A small trickle of sweat ran down the nape of his neck and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. His full lips were parted, his breaths a steady rhythm.

  Wendy’s face grew unbearably hot and she cut her eyes away. She frowned at the ground. These changes Peter was going through were … distracting. And frustrating. Wendy was used to seeing guys in Speedos at swim practice. She was no stranger to the human anatomy of a teenage boy. Wendy was largely unaffected by it, and barely batted an eye when her teammates tried to flex and show off. Peter shouldn’t be any different. She just needed to get a grip. She was irritated with herself for being so flustered. There were important matters at hand, things she needed to focus on.

  It was while she was staring determinedly at the ground that she realized Peter wasn’t wearing shoes.

  “Peter, where are your shoes?” she asked.

  “My feet got too big. They don’t fit anymore,” he told her with a shrug, as if walking through the woods barefoot was a perfectly reasonable solution.

  “How does that not hurt?” she asked, face screwing up in confusion. She could hardly stand walking across the cement of her backyard to throw out the trash without flip-flops on.

  “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t wear shoes in Neverland,” he pointed out, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve got some pretty serious calluses.” Peter’s lips teased a grin.

  “Okay, but you’re here now,” she said. “You’ll call attention to yourself walking around without any shoes on.” If people saw him, they’d probably think he was a transient, or maybe even a runaway.

  Peter blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “Should we stop by the hunting shack and get you another pair?” she asked. “You won’t be able to go back to it after today.” Which was another distressing thought. Another problem on their ever-growing list that needed a solution.

  “I don’t have any more shoes that fit.” Peter still didn’t seem very worried. “I could try looking around the neighborhood for a pair,” he considered.

  “No,” Wendy said firmly. “No stealing. The last thing we need is someone seeing you steal a pair of tennis shoes off their back porch.” Wendy racked her brain, trying to come up with a solution. The idea of taking Peter to go shopping for new shoes felt ridiculous. She couldn’t even picture him standing in the middle of a Fred Meyer. It’d be like seeing Bigfoot in a hipster café: wrong and laughable. “My dad has some old tennis shoes lying around you could try on?” They were probably too big, but at this rate, Peter would fit them fine in a matter of days. It gave her little comfort.

  Peter nodded in agreement. His eyebrows pinched together. He looked bothered by something, but he didn’t say anything, and Wendy thought it best not to ask. There was tension in the air and heaviness between them.

  Maybe he knew what she was thinking already.

  Wendy spent so much time thinking about how all of this was affecting her, she hadn’t spent much time considering how Peter felt. It must be frightening, to be so far from his home, and alone. Except for Wendy, but she doubted that brought Peter much comfort. It must have been wearing on him to be holding the safety of all those kids on his shoulders. Not to mention, to be so unsure of his own fate. It made her chest ache to think about him going through that alone. How had she let herself get so caught up in her own nightmares that she didn’t consider what this was doing to him? Looking at him now, the effects seemed clear on his face, in the dark circles under his eyes and the way the corners of his lips tugged down when he wasn’t paying attention.

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him that it would be okay and they would figure it out. But would he hear the doubt in her voice? Wendy chewed on her bottom lip. What did Peter have to keep the darkness away? After they got out of these woods, she would figure out how to keep him safe.

  They crossed the first trail, which was just some gravel on hard dirt, pounded into place by logging trucks. The creek was a short hike past that, and they followed it downstream, sloping deeper into the woods. She started trailing closer to Peter again, but, this time, she was more careful not to step on him. The woods were vast. Even with a guided plan, it was a lot of ground to cover. Not to mention, the terrain became rough, which slowed Wendy and their progress.

  The farther they went, the quieter the woods became. There were no more birds chirping or chipmu
nks scrabbling their claws against trees as they chased one another. The only sound left was the bubbling of water in the creek.

  “Do you miss Neverland?” Wendy asked, wanting to break the eerie quiet.

  Peter tilted his head back, looking up into the boughs of the trees as he considered her question. “Sort of. It’s a lot nicer there,” he said. “I miss the beaches, playing games with the lost kids, being able to spend all day just lounging in a hammock by the waterfall,” he said in a far-off tone with a sigh.

  “That definitely sounds better than trudging through the woods, looking for your shadow with me,” Wendy agreed with an airy laugh. “How terribly dull Oregon must be in comparison to Neverland.”

  “It’s not that bad. Being here has its perks.” He nudged his shoulder into Wendy’s. She pressed her lips together as they threatened to quirk into a smile. “What I really miss is being able to fly. This body”—he looked down at himself—“just feels weird.”

  Wendy trained her eyes on Peter’s face, actively keeping herself from taking inventory. Again.

  “What do you think started all of this in the first place?” she asked. “Losing your magic and growing up, I mean?”

  “I don’t really know,” Peter confessed. “I just assume the shadow did it, but it did only start when you came to Neverland with me…” He squinted, giving Wendy a curious look. “This has something to do with you, but I’m not sure what.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Wendy asked. “For when we find it? How are we going to…” Wendy struggled to find the right word. “Stick it back on?”

  “Well, we’ll need to weaken it somehow. And then you can sew it back on!”

  Wendy looked at him. That wasn’t much of a plan. She was a decent seamstress. One of the doctors at the hospital had even showed her and Jordan how to do basic surgical stitches on an orange, but how would it work with a shadow?

  Suddenly, Peter jerked to look over his shoulder. Wendy’s gaze followed, but she didn’t see anything in the mix of greens and browns.

  A shiver ran from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She edged closer to Peter and twisted her fingers into the back of his shirt. She looked between Peter’s sharp expression and the unmoving trees. “What is it?” she asked.

  The woods were getting darker as the trees grew closer together, blocking out the sunlight from above the canopy of branches. When had it become so cold? She moved still closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his warm back.

  Peter kept staring into the distance, standing still as the silent trees. Fear swelled in Wendy’s body and thrummed through her veins. She tugged on his shirt. “Peter?” Was he even breathing?

  “I thought I heard something,” Peter murmured. He tilted his head, listening to something Wendy couldn’t hear over the pounding of her own heart. After a moment, he gave his head a small shake and sighed, though his shoulders remained tense. “It was nothing.”

  A nervous laugh escaped her tight throat. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” she said in an attempt to ease the tension.

  Peter only looked at her. When he started walking again, she let the material of his shirt slip through her fingers. “What’ll happen if we can’t do it?” Wendy asked, rooted to the spot, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  Peter turned. His hard expression softened. “My magic is supposed to keep me young forever so that I can help lost kids find their way,” he said. “If I keep growing up, then I lose my magic, and I can’t fly or find those kids or take them to Neverland with me. Without me, there’d be no one to guide them. They’d just…” His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Stay lost.”

  Wendy wanted to ask what that meant, but the prickling on the back of her neck pulled her attention.

  Peter must have felt it, too, because his body tensed and his blue eyes darted around them.

  A long silence stretched. Wendy’s skin crawled.

  “Do the lost kids stay in Neverland forever?” Wendy asked. Maybe if she just kept talking, the feeling would go away.

  Something breathed against her neck, like a quiet whisper. Wendy jumped and spun around.

  Only motionless trees stood, flanked and waiting, as far as her eyes could see.

  A dense and heavy silence hung in the air. It was like she was underwater. The air felt like it was pressing against her skin, and her ears needed to pop.

  “Sometimes.” The air shifted behind her. Peter’s warmth pressed between her shoulder blades. “But most of them are able to find their way and move on,” he said, his voice low.

  Wendy’s breaths came short and quick. The sleeping creature, nestled between her ribs and spine, began to wake and tremble.

  Her hand went to the acorn around her neck. “I think we’re close,” she murmured, squeezing it tight in her palm. A sense of déjà vu, a ghost of a memory, teased at the edge of her mind.

  Peter moved to her side. His bare arm pressed against hers for once provided no ease. His eyes were alert and sharp.

  “Can you feel it, too?” Wendy breathed in barely a whisper.

  Peter nodded slowly. “Maybe we should leave, Wendy,” he said quietly, as if trying not to wake up the trees. His hand slipped into hers, warm and calloused.

  Wendy heard the whisper again, this time louder but still indecipherable. She couldn’t tell which direction it came from. Her heart thudded against her chest.

  Wendy took a step back. Peter’s hand gave hers a squeeze.

  A soft sob above Wendy’s head sent her neck snapping back. She stared up into the boughs trying to spot something, she didn’t know what.

  “Can you hear them?” she asked Peter. Quiet sniffles. A far-off cry. “They’re getting louder. I think they’re coming from over here…” She pulled on Peter’s hand, taking a tentative step in the direction where the voices seemed to be louder.

  When he didn’t respond or move, Wendy tore her eyes away from the woods to look at him.

  Peter was still as a statue. The color had drained from his face. His eyes were wide, staring at something behind her. His hand was limp in hers.

  There was buzzing in the air, hanging over her shoulders. Every muscle in her body coiled in a burning sear. She let out a rattling breath. It billowed through her lips in a white cloud.

  Peter’s grip on her hand tightened again. “Wendy, get away from it,” Peter said, his eyes still locked on the space behind her shoulder. He said it quietly, but it might as well have been a shout in the silent woods.

  Wendy slowly turned.

  Behind her stood the tree. Its thick trunk twisted upward and split off into jagged, bare branches. They loomed above, sharp fingers reaching out. The tree’s bark stood out in stark contrast to the others: ghostly pale compared to their rich greens and browns. Gnarled roots knotted and churned through the underbrush. The air smelled of rotting leaves and dirt.

  The woods hummed. The hair on her arms stood on end. She could hear the voices growing louder now. A swirl of whispers and gentle weeping. They were coming from the tree. No, from the roots that curled and sank into the earth, making small cages and gaping holes. A wind picked up and rustled the leaves. The voices grew louder, more frightened.

  Wendy took a step closer, taking her hand from Peter’s grasp and reaching for the tree. The whispers coaxed and warned her. Was there something there? Hidden under the roots, in the dirt?

  The voices grew harsh.

  “There’s something there,” Wendy mumbled. She leaned down but suddenly Peter stepped in front of her. His large hands gripped her arms.

  “We need to get out of here.” His expression was all taut muscles and hard lines. His eyes pleaded with her to listen.

  “He’s right, you know.” The lazy voice floated down to them through the trees.

  Wendy and Peter both craned their necks back.

  Lounging on a thick branch, with its back against the tree, was the shadow.

  She could clearly make out all its features. It was a haunted,
distorted version of Peter. Instead of having his warm hair that shone in the sun, its hair was like shiny black oil. Its nose and chin were pointy and severe. Its skin was pale white, its eyes hollow and black. They seemed to suck in all the light from around them. Its thin lips twisted into a cruel smile, revealing unnaturally white teeth. It was made of sharp angles, cheekbones and a jawline she could cut herself on.

  In every way that Peter was bright and warm, the shadow was dark and twisted.

  It looked as solid and real as Peter now. “You should really be more careful—there’s no telling what you’ll find in these woods.” It curled a dead leaf between its pale fingers.

  Wendy’s blood stuttered in her veins, but surging anger pushed her forward. “Let them go,” Wendy demanded, trying to pull herself free of Peter’s grasp.

  The shadow laughed and dissolved, spilling down the tree like a heavy black fog. It was a deep, rumbling laugh that reverberated through her bones. The shadow pooled on the ground before her and materialized back into its human form.

  “Let who go?” it drawled.

  Peter stepped forward. “You need to stop this,” he said, voice firm. “Let the kids go.” Peter drew his hand through the air. With an explosion of light, the sword materialized in Peter’s grasp. With his shoulders squared, Peter faced the shadow. The sword sparked and shone, a weapon made up of tiny golden particles. But then it started to flicker.

  The shadow leaned its head back and let out a sharp, barklike laugh that echoed through the trees. “Oh, Peter,” it purred. “Do you really think you can stop me?” it asked with a wide grin.

  Peter gripped the hilt with both hands. The sword surged with energy and glowed bright, but only for a moment before it started to wane and fade out. Peter’s knuckles blanched as he aimed the blade at the shadow. “I’m warning you,” he growled through gritted teeth.