Chapter 7 - Confidence Growled...
None of the avian creatures wielded the mallet when the gong rang a second time within the chamber. The stars within the aperture withdrew their tails, and Hudson’s socks again tingled as a new gathering of constellations gathered upon the void’s deep and black backdrop. The tent hummed. The stars faded as bronze light set the aperture aglow. Hudson’s feet felt the tent again settle upon ground, and a thick canopy of green dimmed the light that had first filtered into the tent. The tent twisted a final time as a bronze comet, its tail stretched from one horizon to the other, filled the sky.
The avian creatures set aside their instruments and took up long spears tipped with pulsating, purple and curved blades. Hudson suddenly did not think himself so foolish for attempting to bring a pocketknife into that tent. A pair of the creatures folded open an entrance panel, and instantly, like living rope, green vines stretched towards the creatures’ wrists and ankles. The avian beings at the opening wielded their weapons as gracefully as they had their instruments and sliced through the vines that vainly attempted to ensnare them.
“You must remain in the tent,” the gray-feathered face paused next to Hudson as one of his kindred handed him what looked like a rifle. “We’re sure you’ve brought us to the right place. We can feel them. But, Hudson, the monsters of your dreams are very real, and they’re out there lurking in all the shadows hiding in so much green. The tent can protect you, but only if you remain within it.”
The avian creatures darted out of the tent, their blades and talons sweeping clear the fauna and vines that reached towards them, sealing Hudson within the tent as they folded the opening again closed behind them. Hudson punched Principal Maddox in the shoulder, but failed to disrupt any of the man’s snores. Hudson waited as he listened to the vines hiss and slither against the tent’s exterior. He tried to think of places less frightening - the smell of his apartment’s kitchen as mother backed cookies, of the public swimming pool during the summer, of his bedroom’s desk covered in colored pencils and markers. Yet, for possibly the first time, Hudson’s imagination failed him, and he could not project his thoughts beyond his surroundings.
Hudson cringed as a heard a long rip. The vines pulled open a seam in the tent and spilled into the chamber, rising like snakes and writhing towards Hudson’s ankles.
“Principal Maddox!” Hudson screamed at his adult supervision. “Wake up! The vines are about to choke us!”
Hudson disrupted the principal’s snoring by pinching the man’s nose, but Hudson still failed to wake the sleeper. The hissing of the vines grew louder and stood the hairs upon Hudson’s forearms. Something rattled in shadows beyond the opening torn in the tent’s side.
“You have to wake up, Principal Maddox!”
Hudson ran to the gong and grunted to lift the mallet in his arms. He nearly toppled as he struck the gong with all the might he could muster. The air shimmered as the gong rang out. The vines hesitated to move closer. Still, Principal Maddox did not open his eyes. The tent did not return to the stars, and the vines soon pushed onward through the gong’s clamor to move nearer to the bean bags placed in the chamber’s center.
“Principal Maddox!”
Hudson froze as the first vine reached the principal’s shoe. He winked, and the vines fell upon the sleeper, twisting and crawling, swirling and writhing until they wrapped Principal Maddox into a green cocoon which throbbed to the rhythm of Principal Maddox’s ongoing snores.
Hudson’s knees trembled as he felt another fit of tears threaten his courage. He had no where to turn for help, and soon he would run out of space from which to hide from the vines that continued to spill into the tent.
“Catch a breath. Focus.”
Hudson scanned his surroundings, but there was only him and his cocooned and snoring principal. He saw no one who arrived to help him combat the vines.
“You can do this, Hudson. I believe in you.”
Hudson realized the words were delivered directly within his mind, and he knew who sent them.
“You just need the right tool.”
Hudson considered the weapons that remained on the rack nestled in one of the tent’s corners. The long spears appeared too awkward for him to wield with any success. Though the vines hissed at him, he didn’t dare try to fire one of the strange rifles. Yet at the bottom of that weapons rack Hudson found a simple, purple blade attached to a simple handle. It was not much longer than the pocketknife Uncle Mark had gifted him, not so much heavier in his hand.
Hudson clutched the knife and faced the vines. They hissed and recoiled as Hudson cut into them with newly-found concentration. Hudson carefully wielded the blade. He focussed on each of his swipes. He struck with narrow intent, and the vines that did not fall, severed, at his feet retreated before his fury.
Hudson slowly cut and cleared the vines that had knitted Principal Maddox’s cocoon, taking comfort in thinking that the incessant snoring meant his principal remained unharmed.
Hudson faced the tent’s ripped opening with blade in hand. A world knotted with vines like those he had just severed stretched out before him. It was a world filled with shadows, in which creatures much worse than hissing plants might hide. He didn’t know where his avian companions might be, did not know when they might return, or if they would strand him on that exotic world should they return to find Hudson missing.
None of those uncertainties mattered to Hudson. He knew who waited for him somewhere in that landscape, and he would have to, sooner or later, face his fear for the both of them.
Hudson did not walk away from that fright. He gripped the blade’s handle and stepped out of the tent.
And when the vines hissed at him, Hudson growled back.
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The Tent in the Gymnasium Page 8
