by Shawn Mackey
The creek was fresh, though neither of us were about to resort to taking a chance with full canteens. At around this point, my feet were beginning to ache, and I realized that the distance we covered so far would need to be trekked again. There were no horses and carriages where we were headed. Aiden was far too entranced with his search to even consider pestering about my fatigue. Besides, my already swollen belly would be bursting in months. Best get the exercise in while I can.
Not much farther along, Aiden gasped and started to run. I quickened my pace, urging him to slow down. This whole ordeal lasted less than a minute. He halted, turned to me, and as he turned back, I caught up to his side and saw the web. At about ten paces away, it truly did glimmer, so bright it was hard to look at directly. We silently took two steps forward. I made a third step, while Aiden refused to budge. With my fourth, he roughly seized me by the shoulder and tore my shirt. I did not break his grip; he was frightened to death, and for a moment, so was I.
Aiden finally snapped a branch off the nearest tree and insisted we tread carefully. I was not about to touch the thing, but his namby-pamby baby steps around the area caused me to take the branch from him and inspect it myself. Before he could protest, I gently tapped the point against the web. It was stiff, yet not as solid as crystal. It felt and sounded like glass. The temptation to shatter it immediately crossed my mind.
A pale white fluid coursed through the web from the right to left side, dimming the shimmer and giving the substance an appearance that very much resembled glass. Indeed, the white was clearly a liquid, a milky substance that seemed a bit too viscous to be actual milk. Aiden continued to hold me back, remarking the change of color and taking the stick from me to prod it some more. I noticed the web actually went under the bark. Once again, I stole the stick from Aiden and used it to pick at the trunk, chipping away at the bark. The glass tendrils were coming from inside the trees.
Aiden grabbed me by the shoulder again, breaking my concentration. I expected a warning, but he pointed toward the west. I cupped my hand over my eyes and saw another web. Aiden jogged in its direction. I considered splitting up to cover more ground, but shuddered at the prospect of wandering these woods alone.
We circled a few hundred paces around the vicinity and found a dozen webs, half pumping that ugly fluid. At the twelfth, Aiden seemingly read my thoughts and dragged me back. In his palm was a fist-sized stone, and with all his pomp and severity, he tossed and missed. Two attempts later, he managed to strike the tree’s base. On the next throw, he hit the web’s center. It instantly disappeared into thin air without a sound.
The inconsequential result left us both eager for more. The sun dimmed, and before the nightfall, we were hell bent on violating nature’s domain. Aiden broke two more with rocks. In my lust for some kind of upheaval, I unsheathed his machete and walked toward the nearest web. Rather than reprimand, Aiden was by my side. Without hesitation, I brought the blade down on the web, which I will henceforth refer to as tubes because the moment it cracked open, the inner substance and its casing disintegrated into a nearly invisible dust, instantly scattered by the wind.
Sparkling flowers lay at the base of many of these trees. The glimmer lay on the surface of these lotus petals like water droplets after a rainfall. It did rain fairly heavy three days ago, and though the woods were relatively dry, these plants remained soaked. I remembered hearing about the sticky effect of water on lotus petals; perhaps it is somehow related to the shiny substance surviving outside of those tubes.
I was satisfied with the result, despite walking home in the dark. Not a single sign of Caleb, though Aiden did not even mention his friend until we were back home. At the dining table, he silently tipped his cup of ale in the air before taking a sip. Just before I sat down to write, he lay in bed and muttered something about a lost cause.
Will he tell the others? I will confine this day to my memory and these pages. I cannot explain where there is no explanation, for the whole thing is simply an observable phenomenon.
Here is a theory: the glass webbing is a sort of tree sap used to connect and transfer the substance between trees. How exactly does the sap connect from tree to tree? What is the liquid? Does it come from the trees or the lotus petals? I doubt the growth is concurrent, which would require a third party to harvest a substance that disintegrates upon air contact. The hypothesis is too absurd to reflect on any further.
I doubt we will venture the woods anytime soon, especially Aiden. I am tempted to go on my own, but the distance is far too vast for me to return by morning and get enough sleep to teach my rowdy students.
Still, there is something unnatural on this island. Or is there no such thing as unnatural? Would it be considered supernatural? If so, there is more to this island than strange trees.
Entry 25
Aiden and I spoke at length this morning. He cannot resist the temptation to connect the phenomenon and the disappearance of his friends. The equation is not balanced by ignoring a copious amount of variables, I tried to explain, but the oaf is convinced they stumbled into one of these webs and vanished. I could not disprove his theory because neither of us had the courage to touch it with bare skin.
The discussion proved cathartic enough to dilute his paranoia and reinforce his drive to continue working. I went to the schoolhouse feeling relieved, finally putting the bizarre trees and unfortunate disappearances in the back of my mind. In retrospect, I was a damn fool to assume this world would grant me a moment of peace, let alone an easy day.
I arrived to find Phoebe and Hailey comforting Thomas, weeping far heavier than he had after the tap across the face he received a few days prior. Immediately thinking myself at fault, and bracing for the worst, I approached the trio to inquire into the boy’s troubles. His father was Vern, I soon discovered, and this morning, his mother told him the news. She and Thomas were in tears upon arriving, the former saving the latter from teasing; her lamentations had scared the children.
I spent a great deal of time patting Thomas on the head and soaking his tears through my shirt, assuring the boy his father was safe. A missing person is a dead person only to the pessimist, I assured him. Has he ever been lost? No, but David told us about the time his older brother strayed off the road and returned home late. His parents had assumed the worst. But what if they never find him? Leave it to Phoebe to ask the unanswerable.
Did they forget about the other world? Vern and Caleb slipped through the cracks, and it is only a matter of time until the people of the other world return them to safety. Right now, the two were probably sharing a fine bottle of ale, finer than any ale on the lesser side of the Earth. When they have their fill, they will be whisked home on a bed of fairy dust. There are no such things as fairies, Phoebe indignantly cried. I saw them last night with my friend Aiden. Did he and I make a baby yet? Not yet, I admitted, though Phoebe said her mother insists otherwise.
After class, I offered to walk Thomas home. His mother met us halfway and begged I join her for tea. Since I had not drunk tea in months, I could not turn her down. Their house was a bit smaller than my parents’, though still spacious enough due to an impeccable tidiness. All our homes were lacking in decoration, but this one was fairly dull for some inexplicable reason. Still, I cannot complain. Judith was a hospitable and amiable enough woman.
The majority of our conversation consisted of Gwen’s murder. A morbid subject, though less distressing than her current dilemma. Did the mayor protect himself while leaving her fate to the marauders? I really wish she did not phrase her assumptions in such a way. Rather than grant her the doubt of a shrug, I merely shook my head and sipped my tea.
The subject somehow shifted to Thomas, and within seconds, I was made privy of his illegitimacy. The shock was apparent on my face, so I quickly assuaged Judith of her transgression, blaming it on her bluntness, which I was sure to acknowledge with approval. It was a rape, she went on to tell me, followed by a long bout of weeping. By the end of the day, my shirt s
tank of salty tears.
When half-witted Hilda arrived, I managed to excuse myself and slip out. On the way home, I ran into my uncle, who had countless questions about the stability of my new home. It survived an earthquake, I told him. That was not enough. Did the floorboards creak? Any holes in the roof? Any rats in the wall? There was a dreadful spider web in the corner of my room, I replied, that Aiden was too cowardly to swipe away. The fool thought I was serious.
By the time we got to my house, I realized I was the fool. My uncle was simply bored and looking for an excuse to drink some wine with his lunch. As I prepared the food, I noticed a sort of hoarseness in his voice, and when I looked at his face, I saw creases under his eyes and gray hairs sprouting from his thinning scalp. While I was becoming a woman, and soon, a mother, he was in the twilight of old age. Seized by a sentimental swoon, I went on to explain last night’s events. He was kind enough to save the scolding until the very end.
I did not expect him to believe me. Just about everyone on the island has a story. None of them ever hear about the echoes coming from the cavern depths. However, my incident is not necessarily supernatural. New animal species are constantly discovered. When prompted, he could not come up with an explanation for what I saw. He believed me, and for now, that was enough.
And so my day ended. Aiden came home and went to sleep immediately after dinner, scarcely able to make it to the bed. For all his troubles, I am grateful that at least he can sleep soundly. In a moment, I shall try again.
My ink has run thin. Since the strangeness seems to have settled a bit, it may be a few days before we speak again. Wait for me, dear friend.
And here I am an hour later. The moment my head touched the pillow, there was a great disturbance outside. Not a loud screech like last time, but a chatter that grew to an incomprehensible collection of voices. It even woke Aiden from his deep slumber.
From the window, I saw a few torches near Vern’s house. We rushed outside for the good news. The chatter dimmed to scattered whispers, everyone seemingly catching a glimpse at Vern’s haggard countenance. Ghostly pale and speckled with stubble and dry blood, he fluttered his cracked lips. His whole body quaked, as though it were required to speak. He managed a single word. As the crowd asked him to repeat it, the doctor and the mayor rushed him indoors, where Judith and Thomas stood. Judith lingered in the doorway for a second before closing the door.
After the crowd established that no one present could decipher Vern’s utterance, there was a collective relief that he was safe. All would be clear in the morning was the general consensus before everyone dispersed to their homes.
On the way back, I embraced Aiden. He did not reciprocate, nor did he seem as relieved as the others. Once inside our house, he peered out the window and turned to me, moving in close to whisper in my ear. Vern had uttered the name Brenton, Caleb’s surname before their time on the island. Before elaborating anymore, he collapsed into bed and lapsed into a slumber, leaving me here to ponder the significance.
I did not know Aiden’s name, nor did he know mine. The odds of Vern and Caleb exchanging the secret were extraordinarily low, and him mentioning it in a crowd of fellow townsfolk made no sense. Aiden probably heard wrong. In any event, there is no use wasting ink on speculation.
Entry 26
Vern did not last the night, nor did he speak another word. The doctor pronounced the cause “acute exhaustion.” Despite the lack of confirmation, the funeral doubled as mourning for Caleb.
Judith did not take the ceremony well. The poor woman tore out clumps of hair and attempted to tear out her eyeballs. Of all people, my mother prevented her from blinding herself. All it took was a slap across the cheek and a peek under her eye patch. Next, they were hugging and sobbing on each other’s shoulders.
The mayor spoke about Vern’s courage and the importance of providing for one’s family, and Aiden said a few words about Caleb. Nothing I can recall, but the attempt was admirable enough. As they started to bury the body, Thomas and Hailey walked hand in hand up to the grave to drop some flowers. This caused me to shed tears.
Since class was canceled, I spent the day with my family. While Mother made tea, I listened to my uncle and Father discuss Vern’s fate. Nobody has mentioned the blood, Father remarked. The conversation grinded to a halt, so the fool went on to ask the question on everyone’s minds: “Did Vern kill Caleb?”
My uncle did not dismiss the claim outright, which worried me more than verification. It was as though I were not privy to something that even included my mother, who scolded my father for speaking inappropriately. My uncle merely commented on the look in Vern’s eyes, and the depths of those caverns, as well as the extensive damage to his fingers. The doctor blamed exhaustion, an easy diagnosis if he had fallen through the cracks and climbed his way back up. I suppose they could have been broken on Caleb’s skull as well, though I curbed the temptation to speak my observation aloud.
My father had mentioned the instability of the island, likely the start of some rant, when Aiden and his father knocked on the door. They had assembled a group of volunteers to search for Caleb one last time. I accepted, eliciting laughter from all, including Aiden. My uncle accepted, followed by Father, though with ostensible reluctance. As they left the house, Aiden mentioned something about the northern woods.
This left me and my mother to clean up. She went on about how handsome Aiden was and said that my child would put us both to shame in that department. The pregnancy has given me a few cases of morning sickness and an increased appetite, but the prospect of a child in my belly has yet to fully register, despite the considerable bump. Meanwhile, Mother was asking about potential names! Aiden had mentioned one, though it was at the tip of my tongue. I did remember recording it in an early entry. Did we decide on a female name?
On the way home, I decided to make a stop at Judith’s. She and a few women were chattering at table outside in the yard, while Thomas and Hailey sat on a tree stump. From a distance, I did not appreciate the ladies’ nonstop chatter and constant stares in my direction, so I walked up to the children. The moment I knelt down, Hailey immediately sprang up and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck.
They were talking about my story and concocting a plan to extinguish the sun so that it would always be night, so that they would never have to go to the school house again. Thomas did not seem to like me very much, Hailey openly admitted, though she utterly adored me. I told Thomas that I sincerely loved him and that it was okay if he disliked me. This caused the boy to instantly cry. We calmed him down before full on sobs, avoiding the notice of his mother and the hens.
I gave them a miniature lecture on the importance of night and day, as well as the futility of reaching the sun. If Thomas did not want to go to class, he should take it up with the mayor. For once, he laughed instead of cried. Even the children thought the mayor was a joke.
Hailey shifted the conversation to Vern. Was he in heaven? Was the sun in heaven? What about the fairies? Heaven is a not a place you can see, I told her. It is far, even farther than the sun. The fairies are right under our noses, but they make an extraordinary effort not to be seen. If Thomas’s father was really whisked back to us by fairies, they would have done so with care and subtlety. The fairies did not find Caleb, Hailey mentioned. Not yet, I replied. They were both left terrified of the woods, an exceptional fear to harbor.
I gave my condolences to Judith before leaving. She thanked me for speaking to Thomas, and as the other hens started to cluck, I excused myself. Back at home, I lay down for a bit, but then decided to write out this entry. Why spare the ink at this point? All I do is ramble. My hand is aching and my eyes are heavy. Perhaps a nap is in order.
I will return to the woods tonight.
I could not muster the courage to leave the house, tossing and turning in my bed all night, wide awake as Aiden snored like a bear. I cannot name the cause of my fear, but after the events in the past few hours, it must have been a premonition. As I w
rite this, I cannot deny the suspicion that it is all a dream. If not, then from henceforth this town and its people will never be the same.
My agitated half-sleep was interrupted by a shriek, less disturbing but far more alarming than that other dreadful night. It was enough to get me to my window. I peered through the darkness, and in the distance, saw a figure sprinting outside every house, screaming for help. It was Judith. The first though to cross my mind: Where was Thomas?
Aiden ran right through the door with his rifle hung over his shoulder, grumbling and blinking, more of a sleepwalker than vigilant gunslinger. I followed at his side to prevent him from doing anything rash. A few people had already gathered around Judith. She pointed wildly toward her house, repeatedly screaming something about her husband. There was another shriek, and to my surprise, it was my mother. Her, my uncle, and Father were in front of Judith’s home. Vern stood in the doorway with Thomas by his side.
He was as equally disheveled as the previous night, too weary to stand without leaning against Thomas. The mayor soon appeared at the sight with the doctor, who carefully approached Vern, requesting he let Thomas go back to bed. The boy did not budge, clinging close to his father. Judith started to scream at him, and instead of clamping her mouth, more women joined in on the warning. The disturbance caused Vern to clutch the boy’s shoulder, pulling his face into the tattered, bloodstained clothing.
Gerald was the first to aim his gun at Vern. The women were silenced, and words were exchanged between both men. Vern was remarkably coherent compared to last night. He refused to let go of his son without an explanation. How many days have gone by? Why was he all bloody? Where was Caleb? The questions would be explained as soon as he let go of Thomas. Vern stepped back, still holding tight to the boy, then slammed the door shut.
