Of the Trees

by E. M. Fitch

  “What’s this?” he asked, bending close to Cassie’s shin.

  “Oh,” Cassie murmured, remembering. “I got scratched chasing Laney into the woods. It’s not bad.”

  “I’ve got a first-aid kit in the car,” Ryan said, getting to his feet.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Cassie called out, but Ryan was already jogging across the graveyard.

  “Of course he does,” Jon muttered, flopping down on the blanket as Ryan leaped the stone wall.

  “Well, yeah,” Laney agreed through a smirk, her tone low. She kicked Jon, and he moved over, making room for her on the blanket next to Cassie. “His girl Cassie might need it someday, so of course he’d have it.”

  “Bring back the drinks!” Jon called out, laying back and lacing his hands behind his head. Cassie stiffened, looking toward Ryan to see if he heard their friend’s comments, but he only nodded before turning to be swallowed in the shadows of the empty street.

  “You’re not funny,” Cassie muttered to her friends. Her neck felt hot, and she was grateful that in the moonlight no one would be able to tell. Jon sniggered but didn’t try to catch her eye. It was an old joke between the four of them. A joke Cassie hated. “It’s probably the one from his hiking pack. And lots of people keep first-aid kits in their cars. It’s basic safety stuff.”

  “Sure,” Jon agreed, shrugging. “First aid, tire iron, flares, romantic picnic for two.”

  “Spare engagement ring,” Laney added. Jon cracked up laughing, and Laney shushed him, elbowing his side.

  “What’s so funny?” Ryan asked, jogging back up to the group. He handed a six pack of spiked lemonade to Jon. The hiss of a metal cap being twisted off cut through the still air of the cemetery.

  “Nothing,” Cassie answered. “Ignore them.”

  He shrugged and knelt down in front of her, opening a small white box. Cassie felt very warm. She wondered if Jon and Laney teased Ryan like they teased her. She hoped they didn’t. He’d take it as encouragement and Cassie didn’t want him to think she put their friends up to it.

  “Here, scooch up a bit,” Ryan said, his warm fingers circling her ankle and tugging. She moved to the edge of the blanket, and he lay her leg flat on the soft, long grass. He let her go to break the seal on a small bottle. “It’ll probably sting a bit.”

  Cassie hummed her acknowledgment, watching the dark shadow of his movements. He poured a capful of hydrogen peroxide on her shin, and she hissed as her cut fizzed white.

  “Baby,” Laney whispered, nudging her.

  “Shut up,” Cassie returned weakly. Ryan’s fingers were back on her skin, patting the area dry with a piece of gauze before pressing a Band-Aid over the scrape.

  “All better,” he said through a grin, settling back at her side and lying flat on the blanket. Cassie thanked him, but stayed upright, leaning into Laney. She pulled her legs to her chest and sipped at the spiked lemonade Jon handed over, letting the lukewarm drink sizzle down her throat. It didn’t help the fluttering that had started in her stomach, but she knew from experience that not much would help that.

  “How long were you guys out there?” Laney asked, her manner easing further with each sip of the lemonade.

  “An hour, I guess,” Jon answered, the bottle swinging from his fingertips, his arms resting on his knees. “But see? We saved the alcohol for you guys.”

  Cassie could feel the silent laughter shaking through Ryan. She turned to him, intending to glare, but hesitating at the sight of him. Ringed in moonlight, his color washed out and his features edged in silver, he seemed older, the lines of his face distinct and chiseled. He looked straight ahead, lines from laughter held back crinkling the corners of this eyes, his lip bit. The hair that fell just over his brow was shaking, outward evidence that he was ready to burst into laughter. Cassie felt a grin split her own lips, and she nudged him with her elbow. He caught her eye and lost it, laughing aloud.

  “Oh, you are both so funny!” Laney said, turning to push Jon and reaching around Cassie to land a punch at Ryan. Cassie toppled, falling onto Ryan’s chest. He was shaking with laughter, and she raised her arm, intending to punch his shoulder but he reacted quickly, putting his bottle to the side and pulling her firmly into his chest. She squirmed, and then howled with laughter when he flipped her on the blanket, digging his fingers into her belly in a merciless tickle.

  “No fair!” she shrieked, batting his hands away.

  “I was taught to never hit a girl,” he retorted, still wiggling his fingers under her ribs. “This seemed like the fairest defense.”

  “Oh fine, you win!” Cassie exclaimed, breathless.

  “Say we’re hilarious!” Ryan taunted. Jon snorted as Laney muttered, “Get a room.”

  “You are.” She breathed, giggling.

  “Are what?”

  “Freaking hilarious!” she huffed, squirming away from him. He let up with a smirk, sitting back and reaching for his bottle of lemonade. After Cassie had caught her breath and sat up, she found her own bottle had fallen, spilling the last of the beverage into the grass. She swiped Ryan’s away from him, daring him with a look to argue with her. He gave in with a grin, leaning back and staring through the canopy of trees to the dark sky.

  “So how long do we wait this out?” Jon asked finishing his drink and putting the empty bottle back in the cardboard holder.

  “If nothing shows by one thirty, we’re out of here,” Laney answered, staring past the gravestone.

  “Have you ever seen anything out here?” Jon asked, twisting the cap off another bottle. Laney shook her head.

  “I can’t find conclusive data for when exactly she died. There are lots of conflicting stories, so I’ve been trying out different dates and times.”

  “And that will make the difference?” Ryan asked, gesturing for Jon to pass him another drink. “The exact time?”

  Laney shrugged. She didn’t know. At this point, Cassie wished the stupid ghost would just show up already. She didn’t mind the occasional ghost hunt, haunted houses, or hayrides, but part of her wanted to go back to the way things used to be. She wanted to go to the movies and sleepover at Laney’s without having to make sure she brought her hiking boots and a flashlight. Laney had become so obsessed over this one legend that Cassie couldn’t be sure this wouldn’t continue into the winter. And as much as she loved her friend, trudging through the ice and snow just to freeze in a cemetery overnight might just be where Cassie would have to draw the line.

  Ryan’s lemonade was warm as it slid down her throat. Her friends were pressed tight together on the blanket. Cassie was glad Laney invited the boys tonight. The summer had brought Cassie and Ryan indescribably closer. They had all been spending more and more time together, but Cassie and Ryan had been breaking off more often to spend time alone. That was something they had never done before. Over the years, the buffer of other people had always been there. It was nice, spending time alone. He had been planning for ages to hike the Appalachian Trail. It cut through part of their town before continuing both north and south in a trail that covered over two thousand miles. This summer he had started tackling it in pieces, every part of it they could drive to, and Cassie had joined him. Without the distractions of the others, Cassie could see just how much she and Ryan had in common, how well they got along. They fit together so nicely, had a similar sense of humor, and loved horror films.

  Laney had been teasing her over how close they had gotten. Even Jon coughed up the occasional suggestive remark, but Ryan either seemed not to notice or was not affected by it. Cassie didn’t know what to make of that. He wasn’t asking her out. That she did know.

  The night wore on nicely, though. Cassie was warm, pressed to Ryan’s side. He had finished his second drink and then laid back, stretching his arm out, and smiling at her in invitation. She lay back on his outstretched arm, using the crook of his shoulder as a pillow. He squeezed her slightly and then let his hand fall innocently to her side.
They listened quietly as Jon and Laney played seven degrees of separation with their classmates.

  “Jim Stevens is cousin to May what’s-her-name—”

  “Cheater! You need their full names or it doesn’t count.”

  “Struthers,” Ryan interjected, and Jon smirked.

  “May Struthers! Who went out with Bill Wainsworth—”

  “Isn’t that her cousin, too?” Cassie asked, and she could feel Ryan shake with laughter underneath her cheek.

  “Eugh, I hope not,” Laney said. “I saw them making out in the stairwell that one time.”

  They all groaned and laughed, Jon finally stuttering his way to connecting Jim Stevens with Laney herself. It continued until Laney connected Cassie with Ryan, which included mention of a brief and awkward romance with Jon in seventh grade.

  “Seventh grade is the year that never counted!” Cassie said, her face heating whenever Laney brought up that brief part of her history.

  “Oh, nice,” Jon said. “So going out with me equals erasing an entire year from existence?”

  The relationship in question had lasted exactly one week and included two pecks on the cheek and five separate handholding episodes. “No, really,” he continued, pressing now. “How much time do we erase for Jeff?”

  Cassie felt her blush flood her face, and she gritted her teeth, sitting up. “At least a year for him, too,” she said with a shrug. Her first real boyfriend had only met her friends a handful of times, the whole thing collapsing after a month.

  “Well, at least you rate as high as Jeff,” Laney said with a conciliatory pat on Jon’s knee.

  “I feel better then,” he said with a grin. “Makes me wonder about your recent dry spell though, Cass. Afraid of losing any more time, huh?”

  “You two worry about your own love lives!” Cassie exclaimed, lying back down on the blanket. Ryan had been quiet through the teasing, but she was glad to find his arm waiting for her. She pressed close to him; it helped with the embarrassment to have somewhere safe to hide.

  “I’m not worried,” Jon answered breezily. “Samantha Collins is in love with me.”

  Laney snorted. “Right, because she’s ever even spoken to you?”

  “It’s all changing this year. We have art together. I predict we’ll be together by the end of homecoming.”

  “You have lofty goals, my friend,” Ryan said, laughing.

  “I don’t need a love life,” Laney said, sitting up straight. “I’m gonna find a ghost by the end of this year, so help me.”

  “How romantic,” Cassie quipped.

  “Look who’s talking! What are your plans for this weekend? Babysitting? You wait until you’re chopped up and murdered because you spent all your free nights babysitting,” Laney exclaimed, firing back at Cassie.

  “You know that just because I babysit doesn’t mean that some psycho will try to murder me. That’s really just in the movies. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know that all urban legends have to start somewhere,” Laney retorted. “Do you really think that out of all the mental hospitals in all the country, there’s never been an escapee?”

  “Are you trying to tell us the movie Halloween is based off a true story?” Ryan teased.

  “No, but Texas Chainsaw was,” Laney retorted.

  “Loosely,” Ryan said, catching Cassie’s eye and shaking his head. It was hard to see much of anything, but Cassie’s eyes had adjusted well by now, and she could make out the quirk in Ryan’s smile. She grinned back before hiding her smile against his chest.

  “Did you know that they’ve dug up coffins with scratches on the inside? People were buried alive and then woke up down there. That’s why it’s called a wake when someone kicks it. It’s to see if the person actually wakes up.”

  “You are seriously creepy,” Cassie said.

  “Which is, of course, why we love you,” Jon added with a yawn. “You almost ready to give up on the Gray Lady?”

  “Oh, I guess,” Laney answered through a sigh. She pulled out her own phone and checked the time. “Stupid ghost.”

  “Doesn’t she know it’s your birthday?” Jon asked. Ryan hopped to his feet and offered a hand to Cassie. She took it, and he hauled her up to stand.

  “Thanks for those,” Cassie motioned to the empty bottles. Ryan shrugged.

  “You guys are driving us home, right?” Laney asked, stuffing her blanket into her backpack and hauling it over her shoulder. They agreed, of course, and as a group, they climbed over the low stone wall that separated the graveyard from the road.

  “Hey, wait,” Cassie called out, the last to stumble over the rocks. She had almost tripped, the toe of her shoe catching between two stones, and when she looked down, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.

  Light.

  “You forgot your lantern.”

  It was strange, though. It hung, not on the ground but as though Jon had hooked it on a low branch. Cassie stared into the woods, squinting into the darkness. The soft orange glow seemed to suck the rest of the light out of the air, as though from the very moon itself. The trees were black voids in the dusky night. The lantern bobbed softly, though the wind had died—or at least the wind felt still where Cassie was standing. Somewhere the wind must have been pushing through the trees because a noise, low like a whisper, hissed from the forest. The sound was indecipherable. If Cassie didn’t know better, she would have sworn it spoke to her.

  Go now. Go.

  “I have it here,” Jon answered, and Cassie whipped her head around to look at him. There was a click, and he swung the glass-encased light up. She winced away from the glare.

  When she looked back, the orange glow was gone.

  “We should go now,” Laney said, her voice soft.

  What was strange was that it wasn’t the glow she’d remember. Not the light or the way it seemed to bob in the non-existent wind, not even the distant breeze that mimicked a whisper. It was the feeling that would plague her. Something indescribable. The way the wind seemed to die down around them and yet whipped through the trees, the way the leaves flipped over on themselves, something in the quality of the darkness that shifted and thickened. It floated around them, around her, like a cloak, heavy and oppressive. If the others noticed, they never said.

  Their neighborhood was a patchwork of roads that formed a rough circle, stamped into a section of the woods. The homes were established and old, yet it was easy to see where the forest longed to take back what had once belonged solely to nature. The branches, high and unreachable, crept over the roads even though the power company had come by, just that summer, to trim them back. Everyone’s yard butted up to the woods, the brush creeping up and over the lawns, draping over the fences put there to keep it back. Even now, as fall tightened its grip and the underbrush started to dry and die, the growth of the forest pushed the uncultivated brambles into the neatly trimmed yards and cracked the pavement of the roads.

  In some places—such as Mrs. Casey’s garden with the overgrown tomato plants or the Cooper’s bench that they had allowed to be completely overcome with ivy—it seemed people were more than happy to help nature along, inviting it back in and letting it run wild. Other neighbors left fairy lights at the edge of the woods; a few had ceramic elves and gnomes scattered about otherwise orderly lawns. It was as though people wanted not just the forest back—not just the ferociousness of nature—but the insanity of fantasy. They wanted the folklore and legends of fairies and goblins—the old inhabitants of the forests that ran about before the box houses and paved driveways.

  It had rained overnight—poured really—which, for Cassie, explained the weird feeling that came over her in the Gray Lady Cemetery. It had just been an oncoming thunderstorm. That explained the leaves flipping to flag their light underbellies, the heavy density of the air. The wind caught on dying leaves and it sounded like a high-pitched whisper, but it wasn’t. And the bobbing light? An errant moonbeam fighting thr
ough a patch of mist, a reflection cast from a phone screen someone must have lit when Cassie didn’t notice, or even a bizarrely large firefly—a grouping of them maybe—hovering over some food source none of them could see.

  It was easily explainable. All weird things were if you tried hard enough.

  Cassie tugged the zipper of her jacket up as she jogged across the empty street. Mr. Sheridan had wanted to walk her home, but she had insisted she was fine alone. The sun had just set, but the sky was light enough that she could still see—which was good because in her small town, streetlights just didn’t exist—and she was in a hurry, too much of a hurry to politely walk next to Mr. Sheridan as he puffed up the street avoiding the still puddles.

  She babysat for the Sheridan family at least once a week, four-year-old Randall and eight-month-old Quinn. The parents had come home late. Again. She couldn’t really complain—they always paid her well, especially when they were late—but it was Saturday night, and she was supposed to meet Laney at the carnival, and now she would definitely be late.

  She could see, just about a block ahead, her father’s car in their driveway. At least, he was home already. Her mother wouldn’t be; she got that text earlier. She’d taken a double at the hospital emergency room where she worked as a nurse. That happened a lot on busy nights. Cathy Harris would call home, tell them to take a casserole from the freezer and not wait up for her.

  None of the lights were on outside, but Cassie could see the glow of the kitchen lamp through the front bay window. It colored the glass a soft orange and Cassie gritted her teeth, chastising herself internally, her mind picturing a softly glowing lantern bobbing through the woods.