by Shawn Jolley
Without thinking, he picked it up. He ran his hands over the wood, and a shiver went up his spine. He looked around in the darkness. It was difficult to see through his ski mask, but he didn’t think anyone was around. His heart quickly returned to normal, but his stomach had started to churn and make strange noises.
In his mind, he imagined a miniature version of himself fighting off a larger shadowy figure. And, every time the miniature version reached out to strangle the shadow, the shadow would disappear and reappear farther in the distance.
In reality, Eden shook his head and blinked. He looked back at the treehouse. The window was dark. He decided to hold onto the shovel and go forward with the plan. He carefully maneuvered through the barbed wire fence. Once on the other side, he crouched down again and made his way toward the woods.
The dead leaves and weeds cracked underneath his feet no matter how softly he stepped or how slowly he walked. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure Dustin hadn’t turned on the flashlight. His breath came in short bursts and his hands felt clammy. He thought about turning around and running back so he could find some binoculars and search the field from the safety of the treehouse. He knew that wouldn't have worked, though.
As he thought these things, he lost track of himself, and when he came back, he was almost at where the woman had been buried. He stopped. He didn’t need the shovel because there was a long shallow depression in the ground that looked like it had been hastily filled with dirt.
He bent down even closer to the ground and placed his hand on a nearby pile of soil. An icy chill ran up his hand and into his heart and back down his spine. He brought his hand back to his side and dropped the shovel from his other hand.
Standing as tall as he could, he backed away from the empty grave. Feelings of fear engulfed him. He imagined the miniature version of himself being overtaken by the shady, shadowy figure. The shadow tackled the miniature Eden and pinned him to the ground. The real Eden couldn’t take it anymore.
The suffocating feeling that crushed him felt like it would break him. He had found out what he had wanted to know and now he wanted to go back home as quickly as possible. Once there, he could collect his thoughts and find out what to do next.
He jumped.
The flashlight flickered in the treehouse window. He turned around in a circle, but he could hardly see anything through the ski mask, so he tore it off and spun around again trying to see if anyone was there. Nobody was. The wind gusted and he let the mask drift out of his hand. He couldn’t hear anything, then it hit him. What if Dustin was in trouble? He was the lookout, but who was looking out for him?
Eden was about to run, forgetting all about himself, but just like the miniature version of himself in his head, he refused to move. The suffocating feeling returned stronger than ever. He heard a wispy sound from behind him that sounded almost like the wind; except, it was rhythmic.
Someone, or something, was breathing. The sound was quiet and deep. He stood statue still, waiting for the end and hoping his mind was playing tricks on him. He didn’t want to look, but he needed to look. If it was someone or something, he wanted to know.
He slowly turned his head, trying to use his peripheral vision to see as far as he could behind him. The breathing stopped. A few seconds passed and it started again, this time, closer.
Time itself seemed to freeze. Eden’s mind commanded the miniature version of himself to overpower the shadow and to run. It worked.
The real Eden ran as fast as he could toward the treehouse, and he heard the weeds and dirt rustle behind him. He couldn’t be sure if the breathing was behind him as well, but he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to live.
The flashlight continued to flicker in the treehouse.
Eden took the longest strides he could and the distance between him and the dirt road began to close. The rustling behind him grew distant and he knew that he was outrunning whatever was chasing him. He only prayed that his luck would hold and he wouldn’t trip. His thighs burned, his ankles ached, and his eyes watered. He had never felt so alive. With his vision clouded, he found the fence, or rather, his leg found the fence.
The rustling behind him, which had grown distant, began to get closer. He tugged on his leg, and the metal barbs pierced his skin. He tugged again and they went in deeper. He gave one final tug and his leg came free; it felt hot, then numb, but he continued to run down the dirt road toward the treehouse.
He got to the base of the tree and chanced a quick look back. A figure clad in black was stepping over the fence in an awkward but careful manner. Eden grabbed a rung on the rope ladder and pulled himself up, but his leg gave way as he stepped on the bottom rung and he fell on his back.
The figure was now running down the dirt road.
Eden forced himself to his feet and grabbed the ladder once again. This time, he pulled himself up using just his arms. Without all of the adrenaline pumping through his body, he doubted whether or not he would have been able to do it.
The rope ladder swayed back and forth as he made his way to the top. He didn’t chance any more backward glances and he trusted himself to be able to out climb his pursuer. He reached for the final rung. Dustin pulled him through the trapdoor the best he could, then he yanked on the ladder as quickly as possible until it was all in the treehouse.
Eden expected his pursuer to yell or scream but he heard nothing. Dustin slammed the trapdoor and sat on it. The silver metal hinges reflected in the moonlight. Dustin's face was pale.
For a minute, there was only the sound of the two of them breathing, and the clicking noise from Dustin turning the flashlight on and off every few seconds. He held one hand over the top of the flashlight to contain the light.
Eden’s lungs were on fire, and he couldn’t move his leg, but as far as he was concerned, he was safe. There wasn't any way for someone to reach them without the rope ladder.
Dustin reached into the corner and grabbed a blanket which he threw on himself before beginning to cry. The sobs were quick and quiet. Eden pretended not to notice, mostly because he was holding back tears himself. He had no idea what was going on, or what to do next. "Are we safe?" he asked. His voice was louder than he meant it to be.
Dustin shook his head and backed farther into the corner opposite the window. A new wave of sobs broke out. Eden tried to get up, but he couldn’t. The best he could do was prop himself up on his elbow and look at Dustin. He tried to keep his voice calm, and repeated, "Are we safe?"
The sobs stopped. Dustin rubbed his nose with his sleeve, walked to the window, and peered over the edge. His legs shook, but it was obvious that he was doing his best. A moment later he said in a faltering voice, "Th-th-there’s some bright r-r-red lights in the woods." A few more seconds passed. Eden strained his hearing and thought he heard an engine. "They're gone."
8
Eden woke in his room to the beeping sound of his alarm clock. He hoped for a moment that the noise was part of his dream and that it would simply go away, but reality quickly took over. He lazily rolled to the edge of his bed but didn’t bother turning the alarm clock off. If he did, he knew he would fall back asleep, and as much as he wanted to do that, he also knew his mom would be mad.
He looked around his room—at the crutches in the corner—and the mess of clothes and homework on the ground. Nothing seemed inviting to him, and he wanted to stay in bed more than ever. He could tell the weather was cloudy because the light filtering in through his blinds caused everything in his room to seem overly gray and stuffy. The beeping continued, and he sighed into his pillow.
He looked up at the ceiling and found all the familiar faces in the randomly seeming patterns left by the builders long ago. Perhaps, one of those workmen, or the only workman, had been his grandfather. Eden wondered if he had intentionally left a face or two for someone to find. Eden imagined he would do something like that if he was ever asked to work on a ceiling.
After stretching the length of
his bed and taking a deep breath, he finally turned off his alarm clock. The silence was sudden and complete. The white cast covering his leg scratched against the sheets and his thoughts turned to the previous weekend. Not that he ever stopped thinking about it.
He hadn't slept that night because of the pain. Most every night since then hadn't been restful either. He didn’t think he would have slept even without the pain, though, not with a maniac on the loose. Before, even with what had happened in the corn maze and at the movie theater, he could pretend each incident was isolated and that it would eventually go away. But now… he couldn't lie to himself anymore.
Last Sunday, when the sun had risen in the morning, Dustin had helped him to stand and carefully make his way down the rope ladder before hobbling into the house. His mom had been sleeping, and he had had no choice but to wake her up and show her what had happened to his leg. The wounds looked bad.
"How in the world…?" she asked while looking at his bloody, bruised leg. She glared at Dustin but never actually finished her question.
Eden wasn't sure if she had been listening to his rapid explanations while she rushed him into the kitchen to clean the puncture wounds with a scratchy kitchen rag. He remembered the smell of alcohol and the pain that followed. "We were having a race down the road," he lied. "An early morning race," he added.
She didn’t say anything else, and the next thing Eden knew Dustin had been sent home and he was in the car with his mom on their way to the only doctor in town.
Looking back on it, Eden wasn't sure if the man had really been a doctor, or simply someone who was good with bandages and drugs.
The back seat of the car was long, but he had still had to bend his leg, and the cramping killed. The man who could have been a doctor had a small house located behind the town hall on Main Street. Eden had seen it before, but he had never known that someone actually lived there.
The man was short and quiet; he worked quickly and methodically. Nobody else was there to distract him, so he had helped them immediately with cleaning and covering the leg in a crude cast.
The bone had been fractured, nothing too terrible, though. There had been more alcohol, but less pain. Eden was given a set of old crutches with no cushion. When he complained, his mom told him he could use some dishcloths when they got back home.
During the car ride back to the blue house, she grounded him for a week. He didn't argue. He knew that she was being more than fair.
Now, it was Friday, the last day of his grounding. He didn't feel any excitement; there was no excitement in anything anymore. He rolled out of bed and carefully placed his healing leg on the carpet before making his way to the closet.
The dishcloths didn't do anything for the pain running along his ribs and down his arms when he used his crutches. Although he was surprised to find that every time he placed weight on his leg there wasn’t a burning sensation around his knee. It still tingled every few steps, though.
The cast had become smeared with dirt despite his best efforts to keep it clean. He pulled a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt out of his dresser drawer and dressed as quickly as he could. He wondered if getting the bandage off and his mobility back was ever going to happen. With this thought, he didn’t bother picking up his crutches when he left his room, wanting to force himself to get better sooner.
He hobbled down the hallway to the kitchen, keeping his hand on the wall for assistance. The old wallpaper had yellowed above a center strip of wood that ran around the whole house. He heard the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and he stopped, debating whether or not to go back and get his crutches after all. As apathetic as he felt about his grounding coming to an end, he didn't want it extended either.
He hoped his mom would be happy to see him healing so quickly; he hobbled the rest of the way down the hall, took his hand off the wall, and turned the corner into the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder and asked, "Where are your crutches?"
He knew there was no hope of him winning an argument, but he stepped fully into the kitchen anyway. "I’m fine. Really, I am," he said, not meeting her gaze.
"You’re not fine until the doctor says you’re fine. In fact, you’re not fine until I say you’re fine. When you stop hurting yourself and making me worry, then you can make decisions for yourself. Go get your crutches." She turned back around with finality.
"Relax. I’m just eating breakfast." He hoped he didn't sound as annoyed as he felt.
"Maybe I would relax if my son wouldn’t keep getting himself hurt all the time…" She bit her bottom lip and shook her head before adding, "You better not be thinking about walking to school without crutches. Around the house? Fine. Not outside. Got it?" She walked out of the kitchen muttering to herself so he couldn’t hear. That had gone better than he expected.
He looked down at the bowl of food she had prepared for him. It could have been worse, but not by much. It was brown, had the consistency of potato salad, and smelled like burnt bacon wrapped in raw cabbage. He saw little point in tasting it, but he couldn't stop his curiosity.
He took a bite just to see if all of his other senses were playing tricks on him. Unluckily, they were right on the mark. His gag reflex was working perfectly. He threw the rest in the trash and covered it up with a paper towel before pouring himself a bowl of cereal.
After eating, he hobbled to his room to get his backpack, passing through the front room on his way. The bright sunlight lit everything up, but with passing clouds, it was still dreary. He didn’t see his mom, and he thought he heard her getting ready in her room.
If he hurried, he could leave for school before she made him take his crutches. He grabbed his backpack from off his bedroom floor and walked to the front door, but his luck didn't hold up. His mom was waiting for him with his crutches in her extended arms.
"Ahem," she said.
Eden reluctantly took the crutches and thought to himself that he had the worst luck in the world. Not to say anything about his moody mother. One second she was overprotective, the next, she was gone without a trace. "See you at school," she said as he closed the front door. He hoped that wouldn't actually happen.
He went to the mailbox to wait for Dustin and noticed a bright spot in the clouds where the sun must have been. It was still hard to tell. He wished it would come out; it felt like forever since he had actually seen the sun. The coat he wore made things too hot, but he couldn't take it off, otherwise it was too cold. The frosty grass crunched under his feet. Patches of snow dotted the side of the road.
He saw Dustin walking up to him soon after he stopped at the mailbox. The day was apparently bad for everyone because Dustin looked more depressed than usual. "What's wrong?" Eden asked as soon as Dustin was near enough to hear him.
Dustin shrugged his shoulders and kept quiet. Eden didn't press the issue but changed the subject. He wanted to at least talk to keep his mind from running wild. "What do you think of paranoia?" he asked. He hadn't necessarily meant to ask the question, but it made sense all the same when it came out.
The issue of paranoia had been on Eden's mind a lot lately. Originally, he had always thought paranoia was what happened to other people, but now he was sure it was happening to him. He wanted to know if he could still be considered normal.
If someone else felt the same way as he did, then he knew he could go on being normal. Maybe he would sleep easier knowing Dustin was on the same level as him. Eden's dreams were getting worse. He didn't use to dream. He reeled in his thoughts and focused back on Dustin.
Dustin didn't hesitate. "I don’t."
A new uneasiness kneaded its way around, and into, Eden. The conversation ended there. It was obvious that neither of them wanted to talk anymore, even though they had so much to say. They walked to school, Dustin's feet shuffling, and Eden's crutches tapping against the hardened dirt and asphalt.
The school day started the same way as it always did, with Ms. Kozi greeting everyone as they entered, and chatting with them about mundane
topics. Her favorite subject of all time was the weather. She could talk about clouds, rain, possible snow, and wind for hours. Luckily, time didn't permit that to happen.
Sitting down, Eden silently pretended to read as the rest of the class talked. Tony loved talking to Miss Kozi about hypothetical storms and the possibility of tornadoes ripping their way through town. Dustin didn't even pretend to read; he simply stared at his desk. The bell rang.
Eventually, the rest of the students got out books, and Ms. Kozi went to the office for supplies. Everyone was reading or looked like they were reading when she came back. "Stop talking," she said upon entering the classroom.
Everyone looked up, more than likely confused as to why she had said what she had said. She was unmistakably looking at Dustin. Everyone turned to look at him too. Eden scrunched his eyebrows and kept his eyes on Ms. Kozi. "Don't look at me like that," she said, flicking her eyes to Eden.
"What?" asked Dustin. The other students' eyes drifted between Eden and Dustin. Nobody dared look at the teacher. "I wasn’t talking," said Dustin. He wasn't being defensive or temperamental. His voice was both smooth and calm.
"That's it. Detention for both of you. And, not another word." The girl next to Tony gasped and turned around in her seat. Eden and Dustin didn't say another word, nor did anyone else. Eden didn't know what kept him from fighting back, maybe, he thought, it was because it wouldn't change anything anyway.
Half an hour later, the lunch bell rang and everyone left the classroom except for Dustin, Eden, and Ms. Kozi. Eden didn't bother pointing out that they weren't going to get lunch if she didn't at least excuse them for five minutes. She was writing something at her desk.
Eden imagined she was simply scribbling to have a reason to ignore them.
Several more minutes passed. Eden raised his hand. Ms. Kozi continued to scribble without looking up. He kept his hand raised until she finally asked, "What?"
"Can I use the bathroom?"
"Go," said Ms. Kozi, almost before he had finished asking the question.
