“That tree,” I said, motioning to the one with the thick trunk a few yards ahead. As we rounded the tree, I immediately noticed a piece of an old stump crammed into a large opening a few feet up its trunk. The broken stump created an unnatural protrusion. It looked as if it had been carved in the shape of a teardrop to fit perfectly snug in the crevice.
“I can’t believe it. This old beech tree? We must’ve passed it a thousand times!” moaned Everett. He used his jackknife to scrape away the dried mud and clay that cemented the broken stump to the tree. He then yanked as hard as he could, falling backward as it dislodged. Unfazed, he thrust his arm deep into the opening. “I feel something!” he announced. When his arm reappeared, he presented to me like a magician what he had found. It sat in the palm of his hand beneath a tattered cloth. I was just as amazed as he was when he pinched the top of the cloth and pulled it away to dramatically reveal—a pickle jar filled with silver coins.
“Holy shit! You did it!” He placed the jar in my hands. “Feel how heavy it is.” While I held the jar, he opened the lid and dug out a handful of coins. He let them slip through his fingers and fall back into the jar. “Wow. All silver dollars.” Everett beamed with excitement and pride as he firmly patted my shoulder. “It’s amazing. You are amazing.”
He shoved the stump back into the tree’s opening, and we scurried across the woods with our stolen loot. We took it to our field, where we sat in one of the patches of weeds matted by the deer that liked to lie there. The matted patches were like small islands in a sea of tall weeds. Sitting inside allowed us to disappear. Everett sat on a rotting log with a patch of wild daisies growing behind it, and I sat with my legs folded in the middle of the soft bedding. Everett took off his T-shirt and on it emptied the coins.
“What’re you going to do with the money?” I wondered.
“Count it.”
“OK.” I grinned. “Then what’re you going to do with it?”
“It’s not mine to do anything with.”
“Then why’d you take it in the first place?”
He ignored me and began dividing the coins into separate piles. I eyed the silver coins reflecting the morning sun. There was a bust of a woman on one side and an eagle spreading its wings on the other. When he seemed satisfied, he counted his piles. “Hundred and fifty-six dollars,” he declared.
“Wow. Doesn’t look like that much.”
“And they’re worth a lot more than a dollar apiece by now, I bet. Most of these are from the early 1900s.” He scooped up the piles and dropped the coins back into the jar. “I’m not going to take the money,” he reiterated. “And we’re not giving it back to Mr. Peterson either. That old man probably forgot where he hid the jar anyhow. These coins—are yours.”
“But you’re the one who saw him hide the jar,” I protested.
“Yeah. But without you, we never would’ve found it.”
I didn’t argue with Everett a moment longer. If he said the coins were mine, then they were mine. “But I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Whatever you want,” he said. “Get a moped or something.” He laughed to himself, imagining me on a moped, I supposed.
Embarrassed by his praise, I held my gaze to the ground. I followed a black ant weaving in and out of the tapestry of matted weeds. Everett shook his shirt clean and pulled it back over his head. “So what’ll it be? What do you want to try for today?” he asked, sporting his devilish grin. “How about some bees? Or a grasshopper? Blackbirds? A rabbit?”
Having lost track of the ant, I rested back on the mesh of weeds. They created a firm, comfortable bed. I closed my eyes. “Not sure,” I replied. I listened to the wind rustle the nearby corn and swoosh through the surrounding weeds. I used the wind. Let my mind drift with it. I rode it. Let it swoop me up and carry me above the fields and woods. I swirled weightless in the air just above the tallest trees.
“What do you see?” asked Everett.
“Just us. In the field.”
“What do you want to see?”
I thought for a moment. “Cats,” I replied.
“Cats?”
“Yeah. Like those cats in Mr. Peterson’s barn. They never let me get close enough to pet them.”
“Cats. OK.”
I thought of the feral cats that were abundant in the neighborhood, the ones that used the barns and woodsheds for shelter. I pictured them: black, gray, orange, tiger-striped, tortoiseshell, playing in the abandoned barn down the road, cleaning and sunning themselves in the grass. I imagined those same cats marching through our field, batting at the swaying weeds, tumbling playfully as they approached our hideout.
My eyelids fluttered as I heard dried weeds crackling behind me. It could’ve been Everett. Or an intruder wandering into our island in the weeds. Somehow, the noise added weight to my floating spirit, and I promptly plummeted from the sky. After abruptly coalescing with my body, my eyes sprang open. I took a deep breath as I sat up, woozy from my rapid descent. It took a moment for my vision to become clear. And when I was sure what I was seeing was in fact there, I whispered excitedly, “Beside you!”
On the log next to Everett sat a large, black cat. Its glossy coat shone in the sun as it casually cleaned itself. It seemed oblivious to Everett sitting right beside it, his arm brushing against its fur. The cat stopped bathing for a moment to glance in my direction with its piercing green eyes. It then leapt off the log and strolled toward me, its tail bobbing in a friendly greeting. To my surprise, another cat hopped on the log, taking its place. This cat was also large and sleek, yet its coat was a smoky-gray. As the first cat circled behind me, the second cat bounded my way. I was delighted when a third cat appeared. It was a mix of caramel browns and yellows. I stood slowly as it jumped down to join the others. One by one, more cats leapt on to and then over the log. There were six in all by the time they stopped appearing.
With their tails pointing straight in the air, they encapsulated me, and I became the center point of their entrancing, moving circle. The circle paused when the orange-and-white-striped cat stopped to rub against my pant leg and again when I bent down to scratch the gray cat’s chin. The happy cat reacted by standing on its hind legs and stretching its front legs up my shins. I ran my hand down its coat from its ears to the tip of its long tail. I could feel its strong muscles beneath its fur. Its rib cage vibrated with a powerful purr.
“Where do they come from?” I asked. I stepped out of the circle, toward Everett, and the circle came undone. Methodically, the cats formed a single-file line behind me. I jumped onto the log, and the black cat leapt on to the log after me. Everett stood out of the way as I spread my arms for balance and stepped across the length of the log. I looked behind me to see the cats following my lead. I smiled at Everett. He smiled back, keeping his hands coolly in his pockets even as he watched in astonishment. Pure happiness washed over me. I began to laugh uncontrollably. I jumped from the log and marched into the tall weeds, laughing, the cats following not far behind.
“I don’t know where they come from,” he replied. “But I know they’re here because of you.”
7
The Dig
Too shy to make eye contact, I looked to his corduroys and button-down red-and-white-checkered shirt as he stepped in the garage. Everett pulled three shovels off their hooks and handed one to Phillip and one to me. “Hello,” I finally managed, momentarily catching a glimpse of his blue eyes before promptly letting my gaze fall again.
“Phillip’s gonna help us dig—even though he’s dressed like a little boy on his way to church,” Everett quipped. Phillip did seem a bit overdressed for the occasion. Everett and I were typically in jeans and T-shirts whether we planned on getting covered in dirt or not.
“I take it I should’ve dressed like you? In a wifebeater looking like I just strolled in from the trailer park?” Phillip shot back. I laughed cautiously.
Everett had warned me Phillip was going to help. He said we’d need the extra muscle. He
assured me that Phillip wouldn’t tell anyone what we were up to. It was rare for Everett to bring a friend home from school, so I knew Phillip had to be all right. If Everett could trust him, then so could I. Still, even though I liked Phillip immediately, I worried about myself. I didn’t have any friends. Just Everett. I just knew I was bound to say—or do—something embarrassing in Phillip’s presence. Something uncool. Something I’d regret. And that fear made me petrified to be around him.
“So, fellas, if you found money in a tree, what’s with the shovels? Why are we digging instead of looking in trees?” Phillip rightfully asked as we trekked to the woods.
“How many trees do you know with convenient money-hiding holes?” Everett countered. “Besides, maybe it’s not money we’ll find. Maybe we’ll find—something else.”
The truth was Everett had thought some more about my dream. Although my purpose was to locate the hidden jar of coins, he realized he had been too quick to dismiss the peripheral information. Everett was passionate about my dreams. He insisted we must learn to trust them. Unravel them. Investigate every possible meaning. Could there have been meaning behind the trees of metal? The snow made of glitter? Why were there bodies beneath the ice? And what was the significance of the woman with the frozen scream? His plan was to conduct a digging expedition. Neither of us expected the dig to yield much. But maybe, just maybe, it’d reveal some clues.
“Exactly what else could we possibly find in the woods behind your house that would be so exciting?” asked Phillip in a sarcastic tone.
“Bodies,” I answered.
Phillip let out a short laugh. “Bodies, huh? You didn’t say anything about bodies, Everett.”
Everett tossed a glare my way, and I immediately felt the shock of his scold. It caused my face to flush. I knew my sin. Clearly I had spoken without thinking first. Everett covered for me by forcing out a boisterous laugh. He then said, “Who knows what else crazy Mr. Peterson hid out there? Maybe we will find bodies.”
“Or the old man’s porno stash,” joked Phillip.
After entering directly from the back of our field, the three of us stood on the inside edge scanning the dark forest. “Where at?” asked Everett.
“All over,” I replied. Everett stared at me intently while gripping his shovel. He leaned forward, wildly blinking his eyes in an overt gesture of impatience. “What?” I wondered before finally realizing I wasn’t exactly being helpful. “Oh. Right.” I took a moment to think about how the bodies in the metal forest might correspond to the layout of the organic forest. “How about someone digs over there?” I instructed, pointing to the small mound behind the beech tree where we had found the coins.
“Um. Wait a minute,” Phillip interrupted. “How do you already know where to dig? Do you stalk this guy daily or what?” Everett took off for the mound without bothering to help me come up with an answer. Alone with Phillip, I stared awkwardly at his shoes, too afraid to open my mouth. “Well, OK then,” he said, puzzled by my muteness. “You seem to be the captain of this expedition. And since you’re the captain, where would you like me to dig, sir?”
I fought back a full-blown smile and instead merely smirked at his silliness. I stepped a few feet up the nearby ridge and pointed in the direction of our old fort. “Over there,” I finally said.
“Yes, sir!” he replied, giving me a salute.
While Phillip headed uphill, I dragged my shovel behind me as I made my way to the same patch I had been drawn to the day before. I gripped the handle and took a deep breath. I began by carefully removing the topsoil around the outer edges before digging out the center.
While I worked, I could see Phillip on top of the hill out of the corner of my eye. When I stopped to catch my breath, I turned to look at him directly. His blond hair was in his eyes. Sweat made it stick to his forehead. He pulled a tuft of it behind his ear. Like Everett, he was strong and unafraid of hard work. I could hear his light grunts as he forced his shovel into the tough ground. “It’s nothing but clay up here!” he yelled to me. Embarrassed that he only called out because he had noticed me watching him, I swiftly turned away, pretending his voice hadn’t carried to me.
Everett blew my cover when he shouted from his much farther distance, “Same over here!”
Keeping my back to Phillip, I let the forest’s solitude soothe my mind as I worked. I thought of its animals: the rabbits in the bushes, the owls watching from high in the trees, the foxes darting in and out of their holes, and the deer stepping up to one of the ponds for a drink. And then I thought of the bones of small animals that littered the ground below the tree where the hawk had her nest, the rotting logs that would eventually turn to soil and be reabsorbed by the earth, the sprouting mushrooms fueled by all the decay—and of the woman I dug for who lay trapped underground.
“Ayden!” Phillip whispered down the hill. “Be quiet!”
At first, I feared that I had been thinking aloud and that he was requesting my silence. Yet as I turned to face him, I found myself locking eyes with a deer that stood between us. It was a doe with a flawless tan coat. Her right ear twisted to focus on Everett’s shovel slicing into the earth in the distance, while her left ear homed in on the subtle movements Phillip was trying so hard not to make behind her. Her large, black eyes stared into mine. When I looked into her eyes, I felt a connection. It was as if she wasn’t an animal at all, but a human in an animal’s body—or as if I were a deer in a human’s body. She was a part of the nature that surrounded us. And being in the forest I knew so intimately, I was a part of it as well. I gently set down my shovel and stepped forward.
“What’re you doing!” Phillip whispered.
I reached out my hand and took another step forward. And the doe too stepped forward. “It’s OK,” I assured her. Slowly we closed the gap between us. Up close, I examined her dark hooves and the patches of white that painted her neck and belly. I lightly placed the back of my hand to the stiff hairs of her neck. I stroked her softly as I continued looking into her eyes. She was the part of nature that was innocent. Pure. The essence of goodness.
Phillip, no longer able to keep his volume at a whisper, slipped out a “Holy shit!” in amazement. Spooked by his outburst, she perked up her head and backed away from me.
“What is it!” Everett yelled. He burst through the branches, crunching twigs as he rushed toward us. “What’d you find!” The startled doe crouched on her hind legs and sprang into the air. She leapt past me and darted through the woods. I spun to see her white tail bobbing between the trees. Phillip and I watched as she disappeared into the field.
“Did you see that!” Phillip called to Everett, nearing us. Phillip climbed down the hill, and the three of us met in the middle of our dig sites. “A deer came out of nowhere, walked right up to Ayden—and then he petted the damn thing. It didn’t even flinch!”
Everett looked to me with a stone face. “Is this true?” he asked. I gave him a half smile and a shrug. He closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It wasn’t a wild deer,” he sighed.
“What do you mean it wasn’t wild? It came right from the trees,” said Phillip.
“There’s a deer farm over on Lincoln Avenue,” he explained. “They’re tame. We used to ride our bikes over there and feed them all the time. One must’ve gotten loose is all.”
I could see the exhilaration drain from Phillip’s face. “We did used to ride our bikes there,” I confirmed, although I was certain the deer farm had closed years before.
“Forget about that,” said Everett. “While you two were busy playing with farm animals, I actually found something.” Phillip and I followed Everett back to his site. Behind the beech tree, a pile of dirt mixed with chunks of heavy clay sat beside a pit several feet deep and several feet wide. “There.” Everett pointed. At the bottom of his pit was a yellowish-brown object jutting from the clay. “I didn’t want to bust it so I stopped digging.”
Phillip got on his knees and peered into the pit for
a closer look. I laughed to myself seeing that his church-boy corduroys were covered in dirt up to his shins. “That’s a root,” he announced.
“No,” Everett contested. “That’s what I thought at first too. And then I thought it was an old beer bottle. But it’s not. Feel it.” Phillip jumped into the pit and felt the object for himself. Not satisfied, he began removing the surrounding clay. Everett took out his switchblade and joined Phillip. As Phillip used his fingers, Everett used his knife to scrape away the heavy clay. After a few minutes, Everett held up the dislodged thing for us to see. It looked like some kind of thick seashell. One end was curved, with a thick outer rim, while the other end was jagged.
“Is it bone?” I asked.
Everett nodded. “It looks human.”
“Now let’s not get delusional,” warned Phillip as he raised himself out of the pit. “It’s not a human bone. It couldn’t be. Not out in the woods.”
“Why couldn’t it be?” questioned Everett.
“Because—I’m sure it’s an animal bone. I’m sure these woods, just like every other woods in the world, is loaded with animal bones. This is where animals live. And this is where they die.” He pointed toward the field behind our house. “And didn’t you say there used to be a cow pasture over there? Some sick old cow probably came a-wandering into these woods, sat her fat ass down, and died right here. What we are looking at is a cow bone, gentlemen,” Phillip argued.
“It’s not a cow bone,” Everett insisted as he examined it carefully. “It looks like a piece of a hip bone to me—a human hip bone.”
“Oh? Now it’s a hip bone? OK, Mr. Anatomy, whose hip bone do you think it is?” Phillip asked.
“Mr. Peterson’s a murderer,” I declared softly.
“Now slow down, Sherlock,” advised Phillip. Yet despite his skepticism, I could see something change in him. It was a twinge of fear. I knew how he felt. I felt it too. It meant my dream was a reality. It meant the woods was in fact littered with dozens of dead bodies.
Where the Cats Will Not Follow Page 5
