Over the Darkened Landscape

by Derryl Murphy

  A ripping sound came from the book, and with a flurry of grays and muted color a small patch of paper jumped from the pages of the book and unfolded itself in the air, stretching and rasping and twisting into a new shape. Bonnie Raccoon. She stood before a gaping Michael, and as she opened her eyes, the house behind her faded to darkness, and the light from the lamp in the street seemed to go out. Instead of his front yard, Michael was now standing on a dirt path in a forest, his surroundings lit by thousands of stars and a half-moon.

  “Welcome to the Green Green Woods, Michael,” said James.

  “But, where—”

  “You read the four of us out when you read our stories,” said James. “Now you’ve done the same with Bonnie, but we’re using her a different way.” He turned to Bonnie. “The young master needs help, and Michael here’s gonna lead us to him. You feeling up to carrying us for awhile?”

  She nodded, eyes shining in the moonlight. “Thanks, Michael,” she said, voice soft and high. She turned and hurried up the path, James Jackrabbit hopping beside her. Michael followed, and Randall Grizzly fell into step beside him, running on his hind legs and panting with every step, with Cameron Crow riding on his shoulder, still chewing on the cigar as he bounced along.

  As they ran, the trees on either side quickly faded into the blackness, but what he could see in the moonlight showed them to be well-sculpted; just as an artist might envision trees in a forest. There seemed to be little or no undergrowth, and the path had no roots to jump out and trip him up.

  After a time of silence, the only sounds of feet on the path and the heavy breathing of Michael and the animals around him, Culpepper asked, “How are you holding out, Bonnie?”

  The raccoon, who had started off running on her hind legs, had not long ago dropped to all fours. She stopped to catch her breath, and the rest of them stopped as well. “Awful,” she said, smiling as she bent over, breathing hard. “I haven’t felt like this since Zacharia Coyote almost caught me at the edge of the Merry Brook.”

  “You able to go on?”

  She straightened up. “Anything for the young master,” and was off and running again.

  For the next half-hour they alternated between a slow jog and a fast walk, mostly to allow Michael to keep up. Every once in awhile he had to stop and sit on the path, back against the solid trunk of a tree, while the animals paced or hopped about in worried circles. All the animals except Cameron Crow, that was, who took to perching on Michael’s shoulder at those times, bemoaning the fact that he didn’t have a light for his cigar, and Randall Grizzly, who would take the opportunity to lean against a thick tree and scratch his back as he grunted and made blissful faces.

  At the end of their fourth stop Bonnie tried to run, but immediately pulled up short and stood there with a look of distress. James slowly hopped over and put a paw on her shoulder, and the other animals followed suit, briefly touching her before stepping back.

  “You did a good job, kid,” said James. “We’re well along, and that’s all thanks to you.”

  “Don’t worry,” added Culpepper. “We’ll be seeing you again as soon as this whole thing is squared away. Right guys?”

  The other animals nodded and made agreeable sounds. Then Bonnie walked over to where Michael was sitting on the ground. “Could you pull out your copy of Tales of the Green Green Woods, please?”

  Michael fished in the backpack, found the book.

  “Please turn to the end of my story and read the last line aloud.”

  Michael flipped the book to that page. “From that time onward, Bonnie Raccoon was always careful to use her own fishing hole.” After one last look over her shoulder, Bonnie leaned one paw against the book, and then instantly changed from three-dimensional to two, was flattened out and folded over, turned into a page and halved and quartered. Michael turned the open face of the book towards him, and watched as what had once been Bonnie Raccoon assimilated itself into page 49 of Tales of the Green Green Woods, accompanied by the whisper of paper on paper.

  He looked up to James and the other animals, was startled to see that they were no longer in the Green Green Woods. Instead, they were resting on grass near the playground of an elementary school. “What’s happening now?” His voice was barely a whisper.

  Cameron jumped from his shoulder and floated down to stand on his knee. “We’re back in your world, kid,” said the crow. “Bonnie could only carry us so far, and when she was petered out, she had to go back to where she came from.”

  “The book?”

  “The book.” All the animals nodded.

  “We’re safer in our land than in yours,” said Randall Grizzly. “But to go back there, especially when our final goal is in your land, it’s an exhausting thing. It stretches us thin, and eventually we have to go back and rest with the words and pages, to recover our strength and wait for the next time we’re called.”

  James thumped his right foot on the ground, four times fast. “Speaking of all that, we have to go on. Michael, turn to the next story and do your thing.”

  “Captain Zacharia Coyote Returns From the War,” read Michael. “Of all his possessions, Captain Zacharia Coyote was most proud of his hat.”

  Again, the book seemed to tear and jump, and a piece of paper ripped itself from the pages and flew into the air, unfolding and reconfiguring itself into Zacharia Coyote. For a moment he stood there, eyes closed, dark blue uniform jacket and felt hat with crossed swords emblazoned on the front both looking impeccable. He opened his eyes and again Michael’s world faded away, was replaced by the Green Green Woods. This time he wasn’t quite so disoriented; if he could accept this visitation by a bunch of talking animals from a children’s book, he could certainly accept being taken back to their home.

  James looked about to tell Zacharia what they needed of him when there was the distant bark and then howl of a dog, and right then it occurred to Michael that he had not heard any other sounds when he had been traveling through the Green Green Woods before. The other animals all froze, ears cocked, looking anxious, and then the bark came again, sounding marginally closer, and now accompanied by a distant shout.

  “It’s Clem,” hissed Culpepper, jumping up and down, eyes looking to pop out of his head.

  Randall stood back up and grunted. “I’ll go get rid of him,” he said, and he bared his teeth in a vicious-looking smile.

  James shook his head. “Not yet, Randall. You heard Farmer Godfrey, and so did the rest of us. If he’s carrying Old Lightning, then you’re big enough to spot in the dark, and will likely take a tail-full of shot because of it.”

  “Then what?” Randall didn’t look too pleased with this, but he also didn’t try to argue his way around it.

  “Right now, we run. Zacharia, the young master needs us, and we need to keep ahead of Clem.”

  Captain Coyote snapped a salute and off he ran.

  As he ran to catch up Michael cast back his memory, trying to remember more of the stories. There had been mention of Farmer Godfrey in the books he had read that night, but he had never actually made an appearance. He could remember scenes of the farmer trying to hunt down animals that had raided his gardens, often with the help of his hound dog—that would be Clem—but never with any success, although sometimes the animal being chased would be exhausted and would claim to have learned a lesson about thievery.

  But why was he hunting them at night? The only time the animals had been here, in the Green Green Woods, was when they had been with him. No one had raided any—

  There was a loud crashing in the trees to his left, and everyone froze. Tumbling onto the grass came Miranda Whitetail, who wore a handsome diamond-patterned scarf around her neck.

  “It was only a few vegetables at the edge of his garden, I promise,” she said, seeing the looks on everyone’s faces.

  Randall huffed and James rolled his eyes. “Stay with us,” said James, hopping on ahead. “How many stories did you read?” he asked Michael, looking back over his should
er.

  “I can’t remember,” Michael managed to huff out in between deep gulps of air. “Maybe more than I thought I had.”

  They ran again, and this time Michael tried to push himself harder, allowed fewer stops for himself and made sure he ran, or at least walked, a little faster. But even he could tell that the sounds of Clem and Farmer Godfrey were getting closer. The animals looked worried, but no one said anything until Captain Coyote finally dropped down to the ground, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth and a look of defeat in his eyes.

  “I’m terribly sorry, all,” he said, taking off his hat and fanning himself as he loudly panted. “I tried to carry us further. Really.”

  Michael was already pulling out the book and searching the table of contents for the end of Zacharia’s chapter. He flipped it open and waited.

  James saluted the coyote. “You did very well, Captain. Thank you for your service, and we’ll see you when this is done.”

  Captain Coyote returned the salute, then walked up to Michael. Before he put his paw on the page, he said, “So much of this rests on your shoulders, son,” he said, still panting. “ Do your duty.”

  Michael nodded, then read the last line of the story; “From that day forth, Captain Zacharia Coyote would always think of Anna Fox as his friend.” Captain Coyote flattened and twisted, folded over and over and then melded with the pages of the book.

  They were now sitting on the grass at the edge of trees that lined the freeway. All of the animals ducked down low as cars raced past, but no one would be paying attention to dark shapes by bushes that were thirty feet from the edge of the road. Michael held the book in his hands and waited for more instructions.

  “We need to look at the map again, Michael,” said James, slowly hopping over. His ears were slung low and every time a car went by his nose twitched.

  Michael unfolded the map and peered at it, trying to make things out by the dim streetlights. Finally he poked his finger at the paper. “We’re here,” he said, “and we’re going here.”

  James nodded and stood up, turning his body to face the direction they would be headed. “Read us in at the start of the next chapter, then.”

  “Wait a sec,” said Michael. “Where did the dog and the farmer come from? And where do they go when we come back to my world?”

  James shrugged. “Same place, I imagine.”

  “But won’t it be safer in my world? We could lose Clem easily with the roads an’ stuff.”

  “We’ll never get there in time in your world, Michael,” said Culpepper. “And there ain’t no way we’d be safer.” He harrumphed. “Now read.”

  Michael nodded, cleared his throat. “Anna Fox and the New Sweater,” he started, squinting to read the words under the distant streetlight. “One Friday morning, Anna Fox woke up to frost on the ground and on the yellow leaves of the tree, and felt a chill in her bones that reminded her how threadbare was her old sweater.”

  More tearing and jumping and unfolding, and then standing before him was Anna Fox, wearing her raggedy old sweater. She opened her eyes and the city again faded from view to be replaced by the Green Green Woods. Quite a bit closer this time, they heard Clem howl. All the animals turned to look, fear on their faces. Michael saw the fur standing up on the back of Randall’s neck.

  They went faster. Michael was really starting to feel it now, and his pack was slapping against the small of his back, digging at it with each step, so that after a short while he was running with a kind of limp, trying to let the pack wear at another spot, but eventually just slipped it off and carried it in his arms.

  Clem howled again, the sound so close that Michael ducked his head. Miranda Whitetail stopped and turned, then with a look at James Jackrabbit, plunged into the trees, running toward Clem and Farmer Godfrey. No one said anything, Instead, they just carried on.

  Minutes later Clem howled again, a little more distant, and then came the sound of angry thunder, Old Lightning being fired. Randall Grizzly growled and Cameron Crow let go with a small squawk, but they didn’t break their stride.

  They ran like that for another five minutes or so before there was a crashing in the trees nearby. Everyone froze, and Randall hauled himself up on his hind legs, shook his head and bared his teeth, then dropped back to all fours and ran towards the approaching sound. There was a streak of gray and brown, and Randall had Clem Coonhound pinned by the neck with his forearm, up against the fat trunk of an old oak tree. The dog whimpered and scratched at the bear’s belly with his hind claws, but soon realized that he wasn’t getting anywhere and just hung there, still but tense. “Is Miranda okay?” asked the bear, his voice a deep and threatening growl.

  Clem slowly shook his head. “Farmer Godfrey got her in the backside. Don’t know if she went down or not.”

  Randall Grizzly growled again, teeth bared and snout right up to Clem’s eyes. The dog didn’t bat an eye, just said, “Almost went for the scent of blood, I did, but there’s more happenin’ here, ain’t there?”

  James hopped over and looked up at the dog. Voice shaking, he asked, “Can you let him down and keep us safe?”

  “I can try.” Randall leaned forward, and both Clem and Michael cringed as he opened his jaws wide, but all he did was grab hold of the dog’s neck with his big sharp teeth and then lower Clem softly to the ground, like a mother cat carrying a kitten. Once on the ground, though, he didn’t let go, just kept his mouth in place.

  “Onh oovh or I ite oo.”

  James cocked an eyebrow. “Did you understand that, Clem? Randall’s talking with his mouth full, which I expect is kind of rude. But I’m pretty sure he was threatening you.”

  The dog didn’t answer, just sniffed the air before turning his gaze on Michael. “Who’s the kid? Don’t look like Willy, sure don’t smell like him.” Clem had a southern accent and a deep, rich voice, with a trace of a quiver that was likely from his current predicament.

  Culpepper smacked his forehead. “‘Course he’s not Willy, you dumb mutt!”

  Clem growled briefly at this, but a slight tightening of Randall’s jaws shut him up.

  “Um, my name’s Michael.”

  James hopped over and put a paw on Michael’s forearm. “Clem, Michael here has Willy’s old books.”

  There was a pause and then Clem’s eyes opened wide. “How did that happen?”

  The rabbit leaned forward until he was right in front of the dog’s muzzle, one ear turned towards Clem, the other cocked back in the direction of Farmer Godfrey. “Only one way it could happen, Clem, and you know it. Willy needs us, and the magic that Walter was able to work has given us Michael.” He stood up on his toes, so that he could almost look eye-to-eye with the hound. “So you tell me; what do you think we should do about this situation?”

  Clem looked at Michael. “Lemme see the books.”

  Michael opened his pack and pulled them out, stepped over and showed them to Clem, who sniffed at them. Then the dog’s eyes went wide, and after a few more seconds of silence he huffed, a sound almost like a sneeze. “Promise nobody else is gonna go raidin’ the garden?”

  James Jackrabbit turned in a slow circle, looking each remaining animal in the eye. In response, each one of them nodded their answer. James turned back to Clem. “Well?”

  “I’ll do my best,” growled the dog. “Farmer Godfrey’ll be anxious to teach you all a lesson, so I can’t keep leading him astray. But long enough for you to get to Willy, hopefully I can do that.”

  “Give us enough room and let us worry about the rest,” answered Cameron Crow.

  Close by, they heard Farmer Godfrey holler for Clem. Michael instinctively ducked, but the animals didn’t move a muscle. “Is the big lug gonna let me go?” asked Clem.

  James nodded, and Randall Grizzly opened his mouth and stood. “Boy, you taste awful,” said the bear.

  “And I’m sure covered in your spit I smell real nice as well,” answered the dog, who gave James a quick glance and then howled in response
to his master before plunging back into the dark forest.

  James turned his attention to Anna Fox. “You all right to go on?”

  She nodded. They ran again, and over the sound of Michael’s effort-laden breathing he could hear that Clem and Farmer Godfrey were getting further away. Did the man wonder about his world, about flipping back and forth between the Green Green Woods and the city that was Michael’s home? He wished he had the time and the energy to ask, but didn’t know if James or any of the other animals would be able to give him a satisfactory answer.

  Soon the forest opened up onto a large, moonlit meadow. They crossed through the tall grass and reached the other side, and were greeted by the sight of Miranda Whitetail, lying in the grass, blood caked and glistening on her back. “Hurts,” she said. “But I got away.” She stood up, looked to James and the others, and then turned and looked down, still breathing hard.

  Michael followed her gaze, and saw that the edge of the meadow sat at the top of a hill, which led down to a big round lake with several islands in the middle, set in the rough outline of a smiling face. They were at Happy Lake. On the shore to the right he could see a small fire, but they were too far away for him to see if anyone was tending it.

  Anna coughed. “I have to stop, James,” she said. Michael dug out the book and found the end of Anna’s story. “Although she enjoyed every summer, Anna always looked forward the most to autumn, when the leaves were golden and the frost first escaped from Grandpa Winter’s lips, and she could pull on her sweater yet again.” Anna jumped through the air and into the book, folding over and over until she had become a part of the pages, and then Michael closed it shut.

  They were near what Michael imagined must be Chester Pond. On one side there was a large low building, a few lights shining inside and out, vaguely institutional and threatening. Overhead, street lamps buzzed urgently, and moths and other insects circled them in large, swinging arcs, sometimes coming close enough to slam into one before bouncing off with a frustrated flurry of wings. Nearby, a car alarm sounded, and then Clem’s howling joined the city’s night time chorus.