Campbell Wood

by Al Sarrantonio

  "Boris," she said. The cat rubbed against her leg and purred. "Want to come downstairs with me?" The cat brushed past her and trotted down.

  Ellen followed, taking the steps one at a time.

  As she reached the bottom there was a crash and a yelp from Boris at the far end of the basement, outside the pale circle of light. The cat ran back toward her.

  Peering into the gloom, Ellen called out, "Is anyone there?"

  There was no answer.

  Summoning her courage, she crossed the black-tiled floor and pulled the chain on an overhead light.

  The cellar was empty. She could see that immediately, and she quickly discovered the source of the noise. Two food shelves mounted under the back slope of the stairs had collapsed, dropping their cans and bottles all over the floor.

  How the hell could that happen?

  As she bent down to pick everything up Seth appeared on the stairs above her.

  "There's a knock at the front door."

  Ellen sighed. "No more noises today, please."

  "Someone's there."

  "At the door? Okay, be right up." She shoveled all the wreckage into an empty shopping bag, and then took a look at the broken shelves. Strange, she thought, holding two halves of one shelf in her hands. They fit together perfectly, but there was no ragged edge where they should have cracked apart.

  "Mommeee!" Seth called.

  "All right!" Ellen shouted back, dropping the shelves and climbing back up the stairs.

  There was a young woman at the door who identified herself as Jamie McGreary. When Ellen gave her a blank look she said, "Kaymie's teacher."

  "Oh!" Ellen apologized, throwing open the door and inviting the woman in. The woman hesitated. Ellen suddenly realized that Kaymie should be in school now. She added, "Is something wrong?"

  "Not at all," the woman said. She was short, and seemed extremely reserved. "It's lunchtime, so I'm not due back for almost an hour."

  After they settled in the living room Ellen waited for Ms. McGreary to continue.

  The woman was positively dour and sat silent as a statue, looking as though she might leap through a window at any moment. Maybe I should be paranoid, Ellen thought. Here was this person in her house waiting for her to ask why she'd come to see her.

  "Is there something you wanted to see me about?" Ellen said at last.

  It occurred to Ellen that Ms. McGreary looked absolutely terrified.

  "Are you all right?" Ellen asked. The woman's hands were trembling. She wouldn't look up at Ellen.

  Abruptly Ms. McGreary stood up and threw a glance at the front window. Then, turning around very quickly, she bent close to Ellen and said, "I only wanted to tell you how special Kaymie is." It was a whisper, and there was actual fright in it.

  "Why . . . thank you," Ellen stammered, not knowing how to deal with this. "As long as you're here, I should tell you that Kaymie has had a little trouble at school. She's had a hard time making friends."

  "I want her to do a play," Ms. McGreary went on, almost as if Ellen hadn't spoken. "It's not that the others don't like her. It's—" She stopped, as if pulling back from a ledge. "I know Kaymie wants to do the play, and if you'd encourage her . . ."

  "I'll certainly try."

  "Thank you. It's . . . important for her. Everyone in Campbell Wood will be there." She glanced at the window again. "I really must be getting back."

  Before Ellen could open her mouth the teacher was out the door and walking, in quick, rabbit-like steps, toward her car. Ellen watched her from the window. She thought, And I thought I was paranoid.

  She heard the crack of wood against wood behind her, and her breath caught in her throat.

  "Seth?" she called out, realizing that he was nowhere in sight.

  The banging came again, and she ran toward the kitchen, her heart beating like a drum now. "Yeah, Mom?"

  Seth looked up guiltily from his perch on the stepstool, his small hand curled around a cookie tin on a shelf above the sink. On the floor were two wooden Danish bowls that normally rested on either side of the jar.

  "I only wanted one."

  "Go ahead and have one. Have two."

  "Thanks, Mom."

  She waited till he was off the stepstool before swatting his behind.

  8

  The old woman was watching her again.

  Kaymie had seen her in the morning when her bus let her off, sitting on a bench by the curb outside the school. She had still been on the bench at lunchtime when Kaymie had gone outside to play volleyball. The woman was tiny, wrapped in rags like one of the bag ladies Kaymie used to see in New York City. The ball had gotten away and rolled to the fence, and when Kaymie bent to pick it up she knew the creature's eyes were on her. Lifting the ball, she looked up quickly to see, under the hood of rags, a dark, creased face like a monkey's. Their eyes had met and Kaymie felt her stomach muscles tighten.

  Kaymie tried her best to ignore her after that and was glad when it was time to go back inside. She soon forgot about the old woman.

  Her fifth-period English class was held in a room overlooking the front of the school. When Kaymie's eyes wandered to the window about halfway through the class she saw that the woman was still there. She looked like a bag of sticks propped up. Her head rose, and Kaymie had the feeling that the woman was looking straight up through the window of the classroom and staring at her.

  When the last bell of the day rang, Kaymie almost dreaded leaving school. Sure enough, there was the old woman, in the same spot on the bench.

  Kaymie's school bus was parked down the line, and there was no way to get around passing the bag lady. Kaymie tried to hurry, turning her eyes away until she felt something like a bird's claw on her arm.

  "Wait."

  The voice was stronger than Kaymie would have imagined.

  Kaymie tried to keep walking. "Let me go—"

  "Talk with me," the old woman said, and Kaymie was forced to turn and confront her.

  The face was old, but the eyes weren't. They looked almost like the eyes of a baby, bright gray and piercing. Strong. Not the eyes of a madwoman. Kaymie couldn't help being drawn to them.

  "I really should go," she protested.

  "Sit and talk with me," the old woman said, in a surprisingly gentle tone. "I knew your grandmother."

  Kaymie found herself sitting on the bench next to the old woman.

  "You really knew my grandmother?"

  The woman nodded, and her rags, or the tiny body beneath them, trembled for a moment. "I raised her," she said in a whisper, looking at her gnarled hands. Then she turned back to Kaymie.

  "You're a strong and healthy girl."

  Kaymie said nothing, thinking that maybe this woman was crazy after all.

  "What do you know, child?" the woman asked, again in that gentle voice. There was pity, mixed with something else—anxiety?—in that tone.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Kaymie replied. "I have to get my bus—"

  "Do you know anything? Does your father know anything at all about it?" The woman put her claw-like hand on Kaymie's arm again and Kaymie pulled away.

  The woman's grip tightened, remarkably powerful. "Look in the house."

  A spasm went through the woman, and her grip on Kaymie loosened. She straightened with effort.

  "You must go," she said. She turned and touched Kaymie's arm, weakly now. "When you find it, you must come and see me in the wood. That is what must be done. I will talk with you, it won't matter what happens to me then." She bent over, gasping, then sat up once more. Kaymie used the opportunity to slip from her grasp and step back.

  The old woman looked up. Her face was racked with pain but her eyes were clear.

  "See me then."

  Kaymie backed off and just made it into the bus before the doors closed and it moved off.

  She looked back through the rear window to see the tiny huddled figure, almost blending in with the bench, sitting alone and shivering.

  9<
br />
  For the first time in his life, Mark found himself completely caught up in his career. His byline was appearing everywhere, and this in turn was generating new commissions, which made a circle that, it seemed, would go round and round for some time to come.

  He was in the Ferman Library almost every day. He nearly had the place to himself, since winter vacation had set in at the campus and only a peppering of graduate students and other professionals were still around.

  Fay MacGregor had become indispensible. She knew every inch of the library, and, since her other duties were so light, she was able to help him just about any time he asked. Though she still produced a strange stirring in Mark, mostly in just the seemingly unconsciously erotic way she comported herself, he had come to look on her as a friend. She seemed genuinely interested in his various areas of research.

  "Today you have the whole place to yourself," she said, when he greeted her at the front desk. "We'll be closing early for the next couple of weeks, and most of them just give up when they hear things like that."

  "Fine with me," Mark said. "Know what I've been working on this week?" He ticked off the articles on his fingers. "A piece about two-headed people; another about some cult that swears there's another moon circling the earth which we never see because it's hiding behind the real one; and a long article about a guy who says he can talk to plants and get them to talk back. And the last one is for real, since the guy is a UCLA professor and has been working on plant intelligence for twenty years."

  Fay smiled.

  Mark said, "Could you set the projection room up for me in an hour or two?" He produced a slide cassette and a tape from his briefcase. "Got this in the mail on loan for a couple of days; it's a thing the Ames Research Center put together on new findings on Mars."

  She took the materials and set them down on her desk. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

  "Thanks." Mark smiled and then almost had to look away. He couldn't shake the feeling that Fay was acting very strangely. He knew it must be his imagination like on the first day he'd met her—but he couldn't help sensing sexual signals from her. Today she looked almost flushed. There was an odd look in those huge eyes, and her hands seemed positively hot when she'd taken the slide paraphernalia from him.

  Still have to look into that lust at first sight thing, he thought.

  When Fay poked her head into his cubicle two hours later to tell him she had the slides set up, he looked at his watch and whistled.

  "Can't believe it's two already. Be over in ten minutes?"

  "Don't forget we're closing early," she whispered.

  When the lights darkened in the audiovisual theater fifteen minutes later, Mark sat in the center row, surrounded by notes. There was a low, droning narration, which Mark was afraid would put him to sleep in no time at all. But when the first slide clicked into focus his attention was immediately held by the crystal-clear view it showed of the Martian landscape at dawn. There was frost on some of the rocks in the foreground and, distinctly, wisps of fog vapor here and there.

  Like a dream world, Mark thought.

  He barely noticed the soft hiss and snick of the door to the theater opening and closing behind him and was startled when Fay slipped into the seat beside him and whispered, "Mind if I watch this with you?"

  "Sure," he whispered back. Her sloe eyes looked up at him, and he had to shake off that feeling of attraction again.

  This time he wasn't imagining it. She was sitting unnaturally close, and his attention was slowly pulled from the slides by the uncomfortably present heat of her body. He stole a quick look; she seemed to be watching the screen intently. With an effort he turned his attention back to the presentation. In a few minutes the spectacular shots from another planet had him hooked again.

  It came as a complete shock to find that Fay had quietly placed her hand on his leg. My God, he thought, as much in the realization that he was instantly stimulated as in surprise. With a deft motion she slipped her hand behind his belt.

  A part of Mark's mind was trying to hold on to rationality. The whole thing had happened so fast, and his emotions were so mixed up, that he didn't know how to react. It had already gone too far. Something told him, don't do this, think of Ellen, think of a thousand other things; but that part of him was being pushed further and further back in his mind.

  Then he was beyond that point. Something happened inside him, some ancient relay clicked on, and he reached over to her, losing at the touch of her what little control he had left. Fay's lips were parted, her eyes unfocused. She was panting.

  Suddenly her clothes seemed to melt away, and they were nearly fighting each other. Mark's notes and papers scattered.

  Somewhere off in the distance there was the drone of the slide narration and the click-click of the changing slides.

  And then it was over.

  Mark's breathing slowed to a pant and then to evenness. With the same fluid motion she had used climbing out of her clothes, Fay got back into them and was gone. There was the hiss of the audiotape running out; the only light was the naked brightness of the projector beam on the empty screen.

  Mark rolled slowly into a sitting position and struggled into his clothing. After gathering his scattered papers together he stumbled out of the theater to find Fay sitting at her desk.

  "I have to close up now," she said, not looking up at him. Her tone was different now, almost chilly.

  "Fay—" he began, but then the same embarrassment that had possessed him the first time he had met her overcame him and he stopped. Once again, he felt as if he were seventeen years old.

  She wouldn't look up at him.

  He walked quickly to his car, forgetting even to put on his overcoat. Jesus Christ, he thought, what have I done? It was obvious she had planned to seduce him all along. Or was it? He certainly hadn't tried to stop her. He thought of Ellen and guilt began to set in.

  What the hell am I going to do now?

  He opened the car door, thinking to go back in and straighten it all out with Fay immediately, but then closed it again. It was no good. They were both too upset to do anything about it now.

  He shook his head and looked through the windshield. The sky was beginning to darken noticeably. The days were getting shorter and shorter.

  Lust at first sight, he thought.

  This time he didn't laugh.

  10

  When Kaymie walked into the auditorium they were all staring at her.

  Her heart sank. She had thought this would be different. She could almost understand all the cold shoulders she had gotten in class; after all, she was the new kid on the block and they all had a right to check her out. But this was a drama club. They were supposed to welcome her here. Ms. McGreary had been on her from the very beginning to join, telling her it would be a good way to break the ice, and here they were giving her the chilly stare the first time she came to a rehearsal.

  She almost turned to walk out, but Ms. McGreary was there then, walking down the aisle to bring her in.

  "Kaymie!" she said, smiling. "We've been waiting for you."

  I bet, Kaymie thought. She recognized a couple of the hostile faces waiting by the stage. Some of them were in her classes. All of them up to now had made believe she didn't exist.

  Ms. McGreary escorted her up the aisle. Halfway there she reached out to take Kaymie's arm but then pulled back. "I'm so glad you came!" Her smile seemed forced.

  What have I got, rabies or something?

  Again Kaymie wanted to turn and run but now it was too late. They were all standing there in front of her, and a silence had dropped on them.

  "Well," Ms. McGreary said. She kept rubbing her hands together as if there were something on them she wanted to get off. "I think we can get right to the tryouts. You all know we're doing A Midsummer Night's Dream. Why don't you all get your paperbacks out and turn to your places?" She turned to Kaymie, and for a moment there seemed to be a genuine smile there. "Did you memorize the part I talked with
you about?"

  Kaymie nodded, and once more Ms. McGreary's smile shifted to a nervous fluttering.

  "Good," she said, turning and quickly mounting the steps to the stage and disappearing behind it. After a moment a bank of spotlights flashed on, throwing up yellow light from the waxed floor of the stage.

  At that moment, Kaymie felt the same thrill she always felt when she saw a lit stage. There was something about it that was magic. There was even a particular smell about it—a waxy, slightly hot but at the same time cool odor like no other in the world. In the couple of productions she had been in in her old school, she had never had a lead, but she had always been happy just to be out on stage, no matter how small the part. When the curtain went up the world went away, and there were only the shiny boards below, the lights above, and the words to be spoken. Though she sometimes had trouble with the words, the rest of it always cast a spell on her.

  Ms. McGreary said from the front of the stage, "I think we'll start with the part of Oberon. Jim and Bill, you come up here, and we'll see who can handle it best."

  Two boys, one with dark and the other with light brown hair, trudged up the steps. One was only slightly less clumsy with the lines than the other, and finally Ms. McGreary, in an understanding voice, chose Bill, and Jim was given a lesser part.

  Kaymie waited as other students went up, reading for part after part. Ms. McGreary, with the same kind tone, chose one over the others and soothed egos by immediately assigning other parts. Kaymie was curious to see who she would be reading with. There didn't seem to be too many girls left.

  After two fifth graders were appointed scene-changers unless someone had to drop out, Ms. McGreary suddenly said, "I guess we're all set, then. Rehearsal begins next Thursday afternoon, same time. I'll expect you at least to have some of your lines memorized perfectly by then."

  She began to walk to the back of the stage when Kaymie spoke up.

  "Ms. McGreary, what about Queen Titania? We haven't read for that part yet." She looked around for support, but once again the others were only looking at her blankly.