by Milo Abrams
“Hello?” James answered softly.
"James," the voice boomed through the receiver.
"Oh, hey Dad."
"I just wanted to call before I head back in. The surgery went faster than expected, but a big accident just rolled in and the ER is short staffed."
"Aren't they always?" James asked.
Nolan laughed. "I just wanted to check up on you."
"Hey Dad, do you have any idea what deer eat?"
"What?" James could hear the background chatter picking up now. "Well I guess they eat all sorts of things, why?"
"I was thinking about trying to lure them into the yard so I could get a better look."
The pride oozed from Nolan's voice. "Man, James, what a great idea! I think there are some apples in the bottom of the fridge. You should build a deer feeder and put it out back."
"How do I do that? Can't I just throw them on the ground?"
"Well you could, but then they'll rot more quickly. It'll also keep smaller animals off the apples. Try finding something to put them in and cutting them up. I've got a stack of hunting magazines next to the TV. Look in there for some inspiration. Listen, I have to go. I'll see you with pizza, okay?"
"Sure thing," James said.
"Love you, bye!" Nolan hung up. It was weird for James to hear him say that. It seemed that since the separation his father had become a lot more affectionate toward him. A good thing, he supposed. He flipped through a few of his dad’s magazines to get the general idea of what a deer feeder looked like and then decided he would improvise the rest.
On the other side of the driveway was the barn. Every time James had ever imagined a barn in the middle of the country, he pictured a bright red building with a wide front door like a black hole. The old barn at his dad's house was the ghost of his imagination. It was tall, like he imagined a barn might be, with a wide front and a set of large shutters at the top. Far from being red, it was pale and aged like the bark of a tree that had been dead for a long time with a rusting metal roof that swept down on both sides and curled along the edges. The front doors had rusted completely off their hinges and hung pathetically to each side of its gaping entrance.
He jogged across the gravel to the front of the barn, a nervous sweat starting to build as he got closer. It was the only place that would have something he could make a deer feeder out of. Inside, he was surprised to find a car, which unlike the tin roof, looked taken care of. Along the wall across from the car were two long benches that held a variety of different tools and junk, and in the corner, was a tall metal tool chest that stood up to his nose. He ran his hands over its smooth painted sides, smiling at the fire-engine red color it shone in. His imagination had been somewhat right, there was at least something about the barn that was bright red. Toward the back he saw a rickety looking ladder that led up to the hayloft. It was a good fifteen feet up but for James it might as well have been a hundred. Leaving the ladder behind, he exited out the back of the barn where the grass was overgrown as if it were attempting to eat the whole place from the ground up. It was in this overgrown mess that he found just what he needed for his deer feeder.
Wedged halfway into the ground was a blue fifty-five-gallon plastic drum. He pulled at it with his stick-like arms for a solid minute before deciding to find a shovel to unearth his find. He jabbed the shovel’s blade along the side of the drum and jumped onto it with both feet at once. It was enough force to move the dirt and after a half an hour of repeating the exercise, he managed to get the barrel from the worm-infested earth and roll it around to the front of the garage. His lips were spread thin in a smile of accomplishment.
Although his pride began to show on the outside, his mind was focused like sunlight through a magnifying glass, and time started to slip away as he began to unravel the mystery of how to make a deer feeder with the junk lying around the barn. In a box at the bottom of the tool chest was a brand new sawzall, which he learned to use when his dad had built a picnic table back at his house in the city. It was heavy and impressive, which made him feel all at once dangerous and powerful as he looked at the little serrated blade that protruded from the tip. With a huge grin, he quickly plugged it in and cut the barrel completely in half along its longest side like a hotdog bun. To keep it upright, he ripped an old board from the wall of the barn and cut it into four equal lengths. By nailing two pieces together like an “X”, he turned the four boards into two wooden stands for the barrel to sit on. After a few minor adjustments, it was perfect, and stood on its own without any trouble. James stood in the musty air of the barn dripping with sweat and grinning. His imagination had carried his deer feeder to completion without the help of anyone else, and this fact made him even more proud. Suddenly, he heard a loud whistle rip through the air from outside the barn.
“Dad!” he yelled, “you have to see what I made!”
Once he was out of the barn he noticed his dad's truck wasn't in the driveway. He walked up the steps looking around and scratching his head, then slowly opened the front door and stepped inside.
“Dad?” he called again. After nothing but silence he looked around and confirmed he wasn't home. His mind still focused on the deer feeder, he shrugged then began roughly cutting the apples into irregular chunks. He threw them into the barrel and dragged the three pieces into the backyard to plant the trap.
The ground was crunchy under his feet and he made quick work of hauling everything in just two trips. The front door of the barn faced the backyard and once he had reached the back of the field he stopped just twenty feet from the tree line and looked back. The house and barn looked so much smaller from way out there, and even the yellowing grass in the yard looked different, like a giant scab that clung to the dirt. In front of him the woods were thick and peering into its elusive veil sent a tremble shivering down his arms, causing him to drop the barrel. Something about the woods gave him a bad feeling. Even the trees that faced the open field were twisted as if they had been struggling to escape the darkness behind them, but died trying. James stumbled back a few steps and decided to set up the deer feeder a little more into the yard toward the house for a couple of reasons. One, so he could get a better view of the prey he was luring in, and two, because it scared him too much to be so close to the woods.
Set up and complete, he looked over where he saw the gray figure and traced the line of sight to the back window of the house. I could definitely see it, but could it see me? Looking back at the deer feeder, he couldn’t help feeling impressed and couldn’t wait to show his dad.
His eyes raised up from his accomplishment instinctually as goose bumps swam over his skin. Before he had time to realize what was going on, his brain’s primitive survival programming kicked in the instant the howling whistle cut through the air. He looked back and made a terrifying realization—it was coming from inside the woods. James only took a single step before another sound filled his ears. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled from inside the trees. He quickly realized it sounded like something was running through the trees…and it was running toward him.
3
Run.
It was the only thing James’s brain could process at the moment. There were two choices: stay put and meet whatever was charging through the woods head-on or run. So he ran.
He dug his heels into the dirt and left the deer feeder in the dust of his wake. The backyard was huge and covered with potential ankle-snapping pitfalls. James stretched his legs as far as he could as he ran, feeling the jagged edges of rocks protruding up through the ground. The initial burst of adrenaline ripped through his limbs like a lit stream of gasoline, and his sneakers barely kissing the grass as he flew. Even though he was the fastest runner in his class, a title he held since kindergarten, James was no match for the sheer size of the field. The initial excitement of setting up the deer feeder had played a slight trick on his senses, distorting time and space and making the field look like a quick trip through the yard. That had changed. His legs went from being on f
ire with energy to burning in pain. Every gulp of air seared his chest and the longer he ran the less oxygen there seemed to be in the air for him to take in. He was running for his life and suffocating in the process.
His ears, somehow still able to pick up sounds between his heavy wheezing and terrified whining, took in the sounds behind him. The rustling and twig snapping that was once deep inside the woods was now behind him at the tree line. A rushing gallop crashed through the trees followed by a loud thump and gurgling scream. James couldn’t stop and couldn’t look back. The low, hollow groan behind him near the deer feeder stole every sound from his throat. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even see the ground or house in front of him anymore.
His consciousness took a backseat to the automatic primal reaction of his brain. He was lost in a fog of fear, his brain now in complete control as it continued to force his heart to push its limits and pump blood to his legs. The lack of oxygen from his hyperventilated breathing caused him to fall somewhere in the gap between conscious thoughts. His body trucked on to the back of the house, around the side, and up the steps. Fear had sent his head spinning and his body collapsing through the door. He tumbled through the kitchen and let his body fall into the cough where the exhaustion overtook him.
He awoke later with the indentations of the couch fabric grooved into his cheek. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his arms heavy and tired feeling. But rubbing his eyes and forehead didn't help clear the fog that had settled between his ears.
I must've fallen asleep, he thought. His eyes fell to the floor where he noticed he was still wearing his shoes. He wiped a line through the dust on the side of his sneaker with his finger. On the other side of the house, the door was still partially open, letting the bright sunlight in and the refreshing air-conditioned house air out. The fog of sleep lifted and he remembered the deer feeder, the terrifying noises and running. He sprinted across the house and threw himself into the door, slamming it shut. He twisted the door’s two locks and then backed away slowly. In his blacked-out hurry back to the house he collapsed onto the couch and never closed the door. Whatever was out there could have gotten in.
James wasn't a dumb kid, but his ability to extrapolate about a wild animal’s possible motivations during a moment of intense fear was useless. He moved to the kitchen quietly then drew a large knife from a wooden block on the counter. Tiptoeing back into the living room, he cautiously checked every nook and cranny for signs of an intruder. He knew that an animal’s priority was food, but as he crept around the house squeezing the knife handle until his knuckles were white, he believed the delusion that it was somehow hiding from him—waiting for the perfect moment to attack. After checking every room and coming up empty-handed, he reasoned that either it never came inside at all or simply let him be.
He replaced the knife back to its rightful place in the block and gazed out the window above the sink. He eyes widened and his mouth dropped a little at what he saw. Expecting to see the deer feeder sitting at the back of the yard near the woods or maybe even the wolf prowling about in the yard, he instead saw nothing. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief. “Where the hell is my deer feeder?”
He ran back to the door and flipped the locks open, prepared to run out to the field when something on the porch at the top of the steps blocked his path. Sitting neatly in front of him was the blue drum with the pieces of cut up apples still inside. Next to it were the two wooden crosses he nailed together for the feeder to rest on.
He scratched his head. “Huh? I know I put this out in the field.” Picking up the pieces, it took another two trips across the same stretch of land that threatened to twist his ankles and subdue him. He set it up closer to the house the second time, taking a minute afterward to look toward the woods, hoping for some sort of explanation as to how it got back to the house. That's when a small gleam in the grass caught his eye closer to the trees. He approached the tree line to investigate and as soon as he was close enough his hand shot to his mouth to cover his surprising gasp and nose from the metallic smell that filled the air. Just a few feet from where he had first placed the deer feeder was a large amount of blood all over the grass. It shone a bright and unreal red against the dull summer-worn grass. A large streaking trail traced a path all the way back to the woods, leading inside. That was enough for him. Deja-vu swam through his veins as he ran back through the field again. Without the noises, the pursuer, or the threat of possibly being tackled from behind, he ran at a less hurried pace. Once he reached the back of the house he looked back and saw the empty field still silent and mysterious. It now held a clue that a killer was living in the woods.
He decided the best course of action would be to stay in the house for the rest of the day. Ohio summers meant long days where the sun didn't set until nearly nine o’clock. He made sure every window was locked, secured the only door to the outside and spent the next hour frantically checking outside for any sign of the killer. When checking the window above the kitchen sink one last time, he noticed a blinking red light on the cordless phone’s charging base. On the small square display, the number one blinked for a message aching to be heard. James pushed the play button underneath the display, sending his father's voice through the speaker.
“Hey James, it's your dad,” his voiced rumbled through the poor-quality speaker. Typical emergency room noise could be heard in the background. A series of beeps and intercom messages echoed, creating a panicked cacophony. “You must be out exploring the wild. Hope you got something made for the deer. Can't wait to see it! Anyway, I'll be home in an hour or so with the pizza. Love you, buddy.”
James breathed a huge sigh at the message. Hearing his dad would be home soon dropped his blood pressure and allowed him to relax a little. He could finally let go of the fear that had gripped him since everything with the deer feeder began. But the fear and anxiety has resulted in a large chemical cocktail coursing through his blood stream, and like eating an entire bag of Halloween candy, it followed with a crash. James plopped down onto the couch, stared at the darkened TV and waited. He dozed on the couch out of sheer boredom, and by the time his dad finally got home it was already dark outside. The clicking of Nolan fumbling with the unexpectedly locked door startled him awake.
Nolan looked at his son with his sleepy eyes and laughed. “All that running around and fresh air wore you out, huh?”
James nervously laughed at the irony of his dad’s words. “Yeah...must have.”
Nolan set two large pizza boxes on the table. “How come the door was locked?”
James fiddled with his fingers nervously while he replied. “Must've been habit from living in the city.”
Nolan laughed. “Well, the country is different, you don't just have people walking into your house out here! It's nice to not have to worry about strangers creeping around in the dark.”
James wanted to tell his dad the real reason he locked the door. He was afraid that a wolf wandering in the woods was going to come inside and get him. His dad knew the country well, but James had seen the blood for himself. He had seen the killer waiting in the backyard, and he had heard the horrendous sound of life leaving something behind him as he ran. But he was still a child, and as such, he believed that his father knew best. He didn't quite have the inner strength to stand up against his father’s knowledge or beliefs so instead he quickly changed the subject.
“Two pizzas?”
“Well, you are a growing boy!” James smiled at that. “So, how did the deer feeder go?”
There it was again. The day’s earlier events replayed in his mind, distracting him and forcing him to fumble his words. “G…good, I think.”
“Well let's see it, eh? It'll only take a sec.” Nolan reached into a cupboard above the refrigerator and pulled out a huge flashlight.
Like a good portion of humanity, James was afraid of the dark. Furthermore, he was new to the countryside, miles from the familiar glow of street lamps and front porches. The idea of wandering
out into that yard, toward those already creepy-in-the-daytime woods with the possibility of a blood thirsty wolf stalking the premises, was only plausible with the fact that his dad was there. He couldn't deny the excitement on his dad’s face, despite his fears. James nodded and they were off.
The moon was nowhere to be seen and the only spot they could see was the small circle from the flashlight that led them along through the darkness. James felt disoriented as they walked along through the field, imagining they were floating through empty space. After a few moments, they finally landed at the deer feeder.
“Impressive!” Nolan hollered, patting James on the back. “I would have never thought to use that old barrel, that's clever!”
Inside the apples sat untouched. “Thanks,” he said, “it was nothing.” Somewhere in the black nothingness around them the blood still stained the grass. They couldn't see it and James wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just wanted to get the hell back into the house. He was relieved to hear his dad's smiling through his voice even though he couldn't see his face.
“All right, let's go have some pizza!” As they turned to head back toward the house James heard something behind them. He looked, but he could hardly see his own hand, let alone anything even a couple feet away. He reassured away the anxiety, saying to himself that it was just misplaced sound made by his dad or even himself. He hadn't told his dad about the wolf he saw, and honestly, he didn't want to accept the fact that it could be right there watching them, licking its lips and preparing for the kill.
Day Two
4
Sleeping in the country, for a city boy, was a unique experience. In fact, it might’ve even been healthy. The air quality was better but the biggest change was the lack of noise. Back home, James let the TV run all night in his room with the volume turned down. One reason was because he was afraid of the dark, even though he told everyone he didn't believe in monsters or ghosts. Maybe he had just seen too many movies to honestly not believe it. Regardless, experience will always reveal what is truly believed. The other reason was that at his old house there was an underlying hum as if the city itself was alive. James got used to this hum and the constant barrage of noise, and so he had a hard time sleeping when it was relatively quiet. He was always looking for something on TV, a song to put on or someone to talk to. Even at night he couldn't sleep without some sort of noise to act like a protective barrier between him and the silence of the unknown. If nothing else, the TV was just a city boy white noise machine.
