Ben Murden withstood the drudgery of more summers than he presently had the competence to describe, but this day’s heat siphoned the stamina from his limbs with an unremitting ferocity. He secretly blamed his disease for this susceptibility, though he wasn’t yet inclined to submit to any weakness in front of his young guest. Besides, he hadn’t yet squelched Kyle’s curiosity in regard to Sylvia Fletcher’s death. As morning faded into afternoon, the old man’s objective became clearer.
Kyle followed Murden to the opposite side of the peach grove, near a location where Sylvia’s body was supposedly found. While perspiration trickled over his brow, Murden used his hickory cane to mark a spot beneath one of the trees. “It was here,” he announced with a sense of desperation, tapping at the rotted tree’s partially exposed roots. “Yes, I recall it quite well now.”
At this point, Kyle relied solely on the old man’s account as a testament. Since all the trees and surrounding earth appeared in the identical state of decay, it seemed unlikely that someone in Murden’s weakened condition could have differentiated one tree from the other thirty years after the supposed incident. Yet whether Murden revealed the exact location or not seemed irrelevant. The point was that the trees were all visibly dead, and this observation led Kyle to his next question.
“I still don’t understand why this grove died so suddenly,” Kyle started, trying to conceal his awkwardness. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Murden still puttered around the tree, using his cane to prod at the soil. He peered at the ground as if trying to remember the precise spot where he uncovered the little girl’s body. “Let me ask you something, boy,” he said. “Do you believe in coincidences?”
“I’m not sure,” Kyle answered quickly. “Is that what you think this is?”
Murden limped closer to the boy and whispered in his ear, “Not at all. It is my suspicion that things in this world—both good and bad—happen for a reason. If Sylvia’s life meant something, then her death must’ve had some significance too. Do you follow me?”
Kyle shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Not really.”
“Nothin’ occurs in the physical world without cause,” Murden continued. “Those who are prone to believe in coincidences usually won’t embrace the notion of unexplainable events. But if you willingly abandon this logic, it’s easy to accept the connection between Sylvia’s death and the subsequent demise of my peach grove.”
“Then you’re saying that this land is cursed,” Kyle concluded in a hushed voice. “These peach trees died right after she was found, isn’t that right?”
Murden nodded his head assertively. His eyes did not reveal a hint of deceit. His tone was solemn when he replied, “I’ve never tried to hide the facts, boy. As you can plainly see, nothin’ that requires sustenance will grow within the confines of this peach grove. Take a good gander—there’s not even a weed corrupting the soil. It’s completely barren. I suspect that this earth is thoroughly diseased, poisoned by an unknown contaminant. You may call it a curse, boy, because no other word seems to be more accurate for what happened here.”
The old man’s admonitory words rebounded against Kyle’s ears with a degree of eeriness. He had hoped that Murden would dispel this mystery just as confidently as he did to clear his own name of murder. Maybe the old man was presently too ill to recall killing the trees himself. Neglect alone would have served to justify the trees’ decay. But even if some form of abuse had been the source of their decomposition, it still did not explain the ground’s barren surface.
Kyle was left with no other option than to deliberate the possibility that Sylvia Fletcher’s death had left a discernible scar on this land. If any portion of this truth was verifiable, then it might also be presumed that the curse did not solely target the trees. Were the lives of those who inadvertently passed through the grove in jeopardy as well?
Whether it was sensible to entertain this notion or not, Kyle arrived at a point in their discourse where the seemingly impossible required some type of clarification.
“Ben,” Kyle began, timidly. “I didn’t really want to bring this up, but I guess we should talk about the missing people.”
“I was wondering when you’d get to that,” Murden coughed, almost with fiendish anticipation.
Kyle continued tentatively, “Do you know what happened to any of the kids who disappeared in these woods over the years?”
Murden laughed more insistently now, causing phlegm to project in gooey particles from his quivering lips. Hen then said, “If I didn’t know any better, boy, I’d suspect that you were conducting an investigation on the part of the sheriff.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Kyle exclaimed. “I just want to be sure.”
“Of course you do.” Murden stood in a reflective pose, veering his blood-splintered eyeballs to the treetops as if challenged by his recollections. “Let me see,” he thought. “As best as I recall, at least eight—maybe nine—teenagers have been reported missing in or around this grove over the last thirty years.”
“That sounds about right,” Kyle agreed while studying the man’s peculiar grin. When Murden didn’t immediately respond, Kyle asked, “Do you have any idea of what happened to them?”
Murden’s eyes drifted quickly to his feet, where he used the tip of his cane as a writing tool to scrawl the letter X into the dirt under the peach tree he stood beneath. “I usually don’t talk about things of this nature, boy,” he mumbled.
“I’d really like to hear what you think happened, and so would a lot of other folks.”
Kyle’s tone indicated that he wasn’t going to let this issue go unanswered, and Murden had no inclination of disappointing his young visitor. The old man’s eyes still flitted around in their sockets as he spoke. “I don’t regard myself as much of a risk-taker, boy. In fact, contrary to most of the rumors floating around town, I don’t reckon I’ve ever participated in a reckless act in my entire life. Truthfully, I’ve made it a habit to avoid trouble just as deliberately as I’ve shunned people. So you must understand, Kyle, it’s not my nature to go fetching for the unknown.”
Up until as recently as today, Kyle might’ve evaluated his lifestyle in a similar fashion. But regardless of the old man’s confession, he still didn’t understand what he was attempting to divulge. Though Kyle was tempted to put Murden’s thoughts in order, he decided to remain silent and let him proceed uninterrupted.
By now Murden crouched to the ground and cupped a fistful of dirt in his palm. He let the loam sift freely between his fingers before muttering, “It’s still warm. I suppose that’s a good sign.” After sensing the confusion blooming in Kyle’s expression, he declared, “It’s all quite harmless in the daylight, you see. There’s nothin’ to fear right now, but I wouldn’t be bold enough to stroll through this grove after dark.”
Kyle’s voice was laced with apprehension when he asked, “What are you talking about? What happens after dark?”
An unmistakable glint illuminated Murden’s colorless eyes. He showed all of his twelve teeth while snickering, “As I told you, boy, I don’t venture in here by way of moonlight. I’m still smarter than some people, especially those who’ve chosen to tread on tainted soil.”
“So that’s it, huh? You’re saying that this grove is linked to some kind of curse?”
Murden assumed a sober posture before continuing with his version of the truth. “No one can say for certain what truly happened to those missing youngsters. But let’s take a moment to inspect what we do know. The sheriff will verify that each of the victims were in the vicinity of my peach grove at the time of their disappearance. Over the years, articles of clothing, bits of jewelry, and other personal items from those in question have been recovered. It is also certain that no bodies have ever been found—not even so much as a strand of hair or broken fingernail.”
Kyle elevated his voice in disbelief before inquiring, “So the bodies just vanished?”
Murden shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Nobody k
nows. Did they run away? Join a mysterious cult? Maybe an animal devoured their remains. If that’s too farfetched, how about considering an alien abduction? If you were inclined to accept the rumors as truth, you’d think I cleverly disposed of them. But where would I hide the bodies?”
Kyle already knew that a previous investigation had led the sheriff to suspect that Murden did in fact bury the bodies in the peach grove. After excavating the grove with a team of workers, however, the sheriff’s search only proved to confirm the old man’s innocence.
For the next several moments Kyle attempted to organize the information that Murden offered so that he could offer his opinion. “Let’s suppose that all those kids came into this peach grove at one time or another,” Kyle proposed hypothetically. “Maybe—just maybe—something weird happened, something like…”
Kyle’s eyes pivoted toward the peach trees again. He noticed the trees’ frail branches rattling in a tepid breeze. Murden’s mouth dipped into a frown; his silver eyebrows were meshed as one. The old man’s voice cracked when he declared, “Something did happen to them, boy. I imagine it was more horrible than what you or me could possibly understand. But all we have left as evidence are these trees, and they cannot speak to us—they cannot tell us what has become of the missing.”
Kyle still watched the branches swaying above his head. Even when disturbed the slightest wind, the limbs creaked and groaned as if encumbered by a prolonged agony. Murden observed the boy’s mood meticulously before uttering, “Can you feel it, too, boy?”
“Feel what?”
“IT,” Murden hissed. “This must be related to the curse that you hinted to earlier. How else can you explain the complete disappearance of flesh, bones, and blood? If we can’t determine these circumstances logically, then we must probe deeper into our subconscious thoughts. Once in this place, it merely becomes a matter of opening our eyes to the truth that lies beyond the surface.”
“And what truth is that?”
“We are no longer dealing solely with the physical world. Let’s make an effort to look at things another way. For lack of a better term, let’s call it a supernatural force, for it is here that we’ll uncover the answers to what we seek.”
Murden’s face suddenly turned sickeningly pale. Then, without issuing a warning, he snapped his hand forward and grabbed hold of Kyle’s shoulder. Though at first startled by the old man’s approach, Kyle felt no pain. He immediately sensed that Murden meant him no harm.
“I feel your presence, boy,” Murden remarked, nudging his fingertips gently against Kyle’s collarbone. “And just as I can feel your presence, you have the ability to feel mine as well. We are both physically connected to this world.”
Murden released the boy and then hobbled over to the peach tree again. He curled his fingers around one of the tree’s sagging branches, crumbling its moldy bark in the process. “I can also sense the texture of this tree,” he continued. “Yes, it’s undeniably dead, but we can still see its remains in our physical surroundings. I know that this tree was once alive as you and me.”
“I still don’t get what you mean,” Kyle said, purposely sounding perplexed.
“We understand the process of life and death, boy. Inevitably, one follows the other, like day and night. For most, this sequence is never interrupted. We aren’t compelled to search beyond our physical perceptions. But a few of us come to realize that there is more to perceive than what we can actually see and feel. Merely living and dying isn’t the end of it. There’s another side, too, one that is suspended between the living and the dead.”
“Are you trying to say what I think you are?”
“For lack of a more precise term, we identify this state of suspension as a spiritual realm, a place where the dead and the living are sealed as one.”
“But what does any of this have to do with the missing people?”
Murden appeared slightly agitated as he paused to search for the words that might be more comprehensible to Kyle. “Don’t you get it, boy? The disappearance of the bodies lends itself to the supernatural. If it is safe to presume that those missing kids are dead, then we must also imagine that some trace of their remains would’ve been uncovered. Yet we have no evidence to substantiate a single murder. So where must we turn?”
Kyle offered no answer. His eyes were weighted to the ground, where Murden jabbed the edge of his cane over the soil. A distinct iciness invaded the old man’s tone when he said, “We must turn here, boy! Don’t you see? To this grove—to this spot!”
With a heightening trepidation, Kyle peered at the X on the soil beneath the peach tree. Murden had obviously referred to the mark as the place where Sylvia’s body was uncovered. During his brief tirade, the old man inadvertently dropped his cane. He nearly toppled over as his momentum carried him stumbling forward. Kyle held out his arms in a bid to catch the old man, but his assistance was not required. In an instant, Murden corrected his balance and glared up at the boy with a contorted expression.
“Listen to me when I tell you this, boy,” Murden gasped. “There’s another presence lurking within this grove. It’s generated by something we don’t fully understand. Yet as real and near as we are to each other right now, this energy—this spirit—exists, and I fear that it is this same entity that is responsible for claiming the lives of those who have trespassed upon this soil.”
Kyle felt himself shivering slightly when he inquired, “Just what kind of presence are you talking about? Is it human?”
Murden did not respond.
“Tell me, Ben. What is it?”
An unbridled curiosity worked into Kyle’s demeanor by now. He may have possessed a fleeting notion to run away from Murden, but he had asked the old man too many questions. Suddenly Kyle couldn’t resist being drawn deeper into the expanding realm of possibilities.
“Don’t get your head in a tizzy, boy,” Murden said calmly. “As I told you earlier, there is no danger in here now. We’ll be safe for as long as the darkness is gone.”
“Safe?” Kyle shuddered. “Safe from what?”
Murden chose not to immediately answer Kyle, but the boy’s inquisitive nature began to surface. “Is something dangerous hiding in this peach grove, Ben?” he asked.
“It’s not hiding,” Murden corrected. “It’s merely waiting.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“Each time I walk into this grove, I am cautious to leave by nightfall. The curse seems to be more volatile by the light of the moon.”
“You still haven’t told me what this curse does to people?”
“Haven’t I?” Murden chimed, seemingly delighted by his ambiguous account of events. “Well, it’s nothin’ you need to fret about, boy. After all, I don’t expect to see you in here after dark, especially after everything we discussed.”
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Kyle demanded, somewhat impatiently.
Murden had taunted Kyle’s thoughts long enough. He enjoyed watching the boy’s cheeks and neck flush bright red, which usually occurred when he was nervous. “Evidently, I’ve said too much already,” Murden sighed, hesitating as a means to toy with the youngster’s eagerness. “Depending on your ability to keep a secret, I might be inclined to say more.”
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Kyle said, but his fingers were already crossed behind his back.
“Well, since you put it like that,” Murden said slyly, “I’ll tell you what I know.” The old man paused momentarily, just long enough to suck air into his ailing lungs so that he could continue. “More than any other time of year, the summer reveals the spirit that I speak of most clearly. Sometimes, especially on nights when the crescent moon shines alongside the stars, I hear a muffled voice echoing within this grove.”
“Is it a person’s voice?”
“That is still uncertain.”
“What is the voice saying?”
Murden thought pensively before saying, “The voice is singing. It’s not a melody that I can prec
isely describe; yet if you listen closely enough, the words can almost be distinguished.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Ben. Who is singing?”
“I’d like to believe it’s a female voice, but there’s something else there, too.”
A chill struck Kyle as his eyes leered at the X on the ground again. Then, in a voice teeming with dread, he uttered, “Do you think it’s a ghost that you’re hearing?”
A peculiar light suddenly illuminated Murden’s profile; it was as if the sun shone directly on him as he sidled out from beneath the peach tree’s branches. After leaning closer to Kyle’s ear, he whispered, “If it is in fact what you say it is, boy, then it would have to be very distraught in order to stay in here for so long.”
The answer formed in Kyle’s mind without hesitation, for there seemed to be no other explanation to what Murden had described. Kyle spoke his thought aloud. “Maybe Sylvia’s ghost is haunting this grove.” It seemed so obvious to Kyle that he presumed Murden must’ve considered such a possibility as well.
The old man’s eyes gradually centered on the X before he declared, “I suppose that makes the most sense, doesn’t it. Yes, I’m sure you’re right, boy. But I still don’t understand the meaning of the songs—”
“Maybe they’re not songs,” Kyle suggested. “Maybe what you’re really hearing is Sylvia’s ghost crying.”
Murden nodded his head in agreement. After a moment of contemplation, he picked his cane off the ground and started to limp across the grove toward the surrounding woods.
“Where are you going now?” Kyle hollered, still intrigued by the unraveling yarn spun by the old man.
“Too much has been told,” Murden replied in a raspy tone. “We should leave here at once.”
“But we’re just starting to figure things out.”
Murden pivoted sharply toward the boy. His eyes flashed wildly, almost as if Kyle had said or done something to incense him. “Be finished with it, boy,” his voice thundered. “None of this is your concern. If it is Sylvia Fletcher’s ghost that haunts this grove, then we shall leave it as it is. I’m prepared to live with her presence until I die, and you must forget what I’ve told you here today.”
“But I just can’t forget…”
“You must! Go back to your little house in the suburbs, boy. You’ll bring nothin’ but trouble to these woods should you discover anything more.”
Of course Kyle now yearned to unveil all of the untold details, but he decided to abide by the old man’s words at this time. Based on Murden’s volatile temperament, Kyle thought it was wise to leave their conversation as it stood.
Within five minutes they returned to Murden’s shanty. Apparently exhausted, Murden settled down on the porch and fumbled with a button on his shirt pocket. After a few seconds, he revealed a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Kyle watched hopelessly as the old man crammed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a match. He coughed with an exaggerated discomfort while trying to inhale the smoke into his tortured body.
“You best be on your way now, boy,” he wheezed, savoring what smoke he could gulp down his throat. “Our little chat has ended.”
“Is it okay if I come back to see you sometime?”
Murden exhaled deeply and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t reckon your folks would take too kindly to that idea.”
“They won’t know. It’ll be our secret.”
Murden shook his head from side to side and flicked the half-burned cigarette to the soil. “I don’t think so, boy,” he murmured. “Maybe it’s best if you stay away from here from now on. I told you before, these woods ain’t set up for your kind.”
Kyle stared pitifully at the smoldering cigarette before inquiring, “Why won’t you let me help you, Ben? There’s still time.”
“No,” Murden grunted restlessly. “Leave me be, boy. And remember your promise—keep your lips sealed about what we discussed.”
Kyle wanted to believe that the old man was lying. Yet, feeling as though Murden had shared his recollections in good faith, he decided to let him be alone for now. Without offering further comment, Kyle started to walk away from the shanty, leaving the oldster to stew in his thoughts. Even before the boy disappeared into the woods, Murden sensed that he hadn’t seen the last of him.
Chapter 10
Songs of a Peach Tree Page 10
