Aeon of Wonder

by Carey Henderson

Keith lay in the hammock and listened to nature all around him, and even the several boats on the water seemed to fit into the natural sounds. The longer he lay there, the more he heard; people in the distance talking, some laughing. Splashing sounds, the pop of a beer opening. As time drew on, waves began to lap the shore, fish jumped and Keith felt himself in a heaven that had been worth every penny he'd paid. He watched as the sun moved its slow path across the sky, shining on the lake, sparkling on the ceiling of the gazebo. Another woodpecker not far from him tried to steal the moment as he remembered the question: should I cancel the trip?

  Keith pushed it out of his mind. He didn't want to think about it. Life was too good at that moment. When the pounding started again, he nearly flipped the hammock over it frightened him so bad. Keith whirled around and there, on one of the gazebo's columns, was the culprit. The bird looked right at him, hammered on the column several more times, and then flew away.

  Before he lay back down, Keith's eyes caught the profile of something moving to his right, in the direction of the base of the tree that shaded the gazebo. It was a large, white crane, a small fish in its mouth. He watched as it did its strange, rhythmic walk, the fish's tale flopping each time the bird's head moved. Then, the crane swallowed the bird whole and looked over at him.

  Keith watched as the big bird took a step toward the gazebo, then another, then another. It increased its speed and was shortly standing right in front of him.

  "Uh, hello," he said. The bird's head moved back and forth, looking to Keith something like a cobra. It unnerved him to the point that his pulse had increased. The crane suddenly opened its wings, took another step toward him and made a horrible sound. Instinctively, Keith kicked it. The bird was knocked back then it charged him again. One more tennis shoe into its chest seemed to convince the mad fowl that he meant business, and the bird hopped off the gazebo, flew away about fifty feet into shallow water, and resumed foraging for food.

  Keith put his hand on his neck, feeling his heart pounding.

  "The hell was that," he said out loud. The bird did not look at him again. It found another fish, swallowed it, then flew away.

  The next sound Keith heard was alien but not unfamiliar: their car cranking. Crap, he said to himself. He knew there was no way he'd make it up the hill in time to stop her, so Keith leaned over, balancing the hammock, and took his shoes and socks off. He rolled his jeans up a few inches, then he got up and walked to the water.

  He stepped in and watched as the sun began to set behind the hills and forests. The lake shimmered golds and oranges. The water was cold.

  When Becca had not shown up by midnight, Keith assumed that she'd gone back to the city to complain to a friend. He wondered if she'd gone to see the man on the other end of the phone. But that didn't feel right to him. Though he tried to keep from doing it, he knew that he was a good liar. He could fake it, the sincerity, he'd even learned to engage the muscles to the sides of his eyes to perfect the fake but reassuring smile.

  Becca didn't lie well. And it generally took a good liar to be a good cheat. Nothing had ever indicated to him, before that morning, that she'd ever done so, and he just didn't think she'd do so well at hiding it. Cruel? Yes. Hateful? More often than he could sometimes stand. A cheater?

  It really didn't make sense to him. And yet he couldn't get it out of his head that the voice on the phone had known he was going to be gone the next night. That was more damning than Keith could account. It messed with his math.

  He got himself a beer and went into the living room. On the couch lay the book that Becca had been reading. The Once and Future King. Keith raised an eyebrow. He'd not expected that Becca would be reading that. What else don't I know? he asked himself. Then, he asked himself what had he forgotten while fighting with her for the last three or so years.

  He heard his flip-phone ring but couldn't quite make out where it was. It continued to ring a few more times and he figured out where it was. The bedroom with the loft felt colder to him than the rest of the cabin. He climbed up the short ladder and saw his phone on the pillow. He flipped it open, saw the missed call and pressed the button to check voice mail.

  "It's Jen. Becca's with me. Don't call."

  The message ended and Keith pulled the phone away from his ear and just stared at it for a moment before closing it. Then he opened it and decided to try the text message thing. Not a lot of people used it yet, but Keith had already found that sometimes people would answer a text message even if they wouldn't answer the phone.

  He opened a new message and typed, "Why is Becca with you? What's wrong?" and hit 'Send.' Then he sat and waited, trying to will Becca's old friend, Jen, to answer. After about two minutes there was a little vibration alerting him of a message.

  "Check your phone, you jerk."

  He couldn't figure out what she meant. He had his phone in his hand, sending a message to her. What did she mean to check his phone?

  Using his thumb on the pad in the center of the keyboard, he selected 'Reply' from the menu, then typed, "What? What do you mean?" He hit 'Send' again and waited. He'd just as soon have been on the phone, instead of cramping his thumbs and having to wait. The phone vibrated again.

  "Check messages. Stop now. Becca's getting upset."

  Keith worked his way back to the screen showing all of his text messages. A number he didn't recognize was in the group. He selected it and the first message stunned him. A very young, very attractive brunette wearing mostly nothing stared back at him from a grainy photo. The text message read, "Hey you! Still coming by tomorrow night?" Then another message, and another, all damning evidence, with photos and all, that he was cheating and had planned a tryst during his business trip back to the city.

  He threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and broke into several pieces. Keith had no clue who the young woman was, nor had he ever slept with her. All he could think was that maybe someone was playing a very bad prank on him or that his phone had somehow been hacked. He knew it didn't matter. There was no way he could explain it away to Becca. In his mind he heard the male voice on his wife's phone, "...Talk to you tonight, Becs."

  Maybe he was right about her after all. None of it made any sense, but maybe he was right. She wasn't cheating. Something else was going on.

  At two a.m., Keith walked out the front door and made for the stone stairway to the lake. He had a bottle of whiskey and a sleeping bag. He couldn't sleep. No matter how he tried, his mind kept spinning around the impossibility of the young woman sending him texts. Never seen her before, didn't know her name, anything. As he walked, Keith kicked himself for ruining his phone. Now, he had no way to contact Becca. He knew it wouldn't matter anyway, she'd never believe him. He knew she had no reason.

  The fall night was quiet. A moon, full and fat, shone down, giving him enough light to traverse the steps. Keith thought that maybe later, if Becca ever came back, he'd install some sodium lighting, so she wouldn't fall if she went down there at night.

  He nearly dropped his whiskey when the screech owl wailed in the forest to his left. Keith had never heard a noise like that in his life. It was downright demonic. After collecting himself, he started walking down the steps. The night creatures were silent, which he found peculiar. The only sound had been the noise he'd just heard, which he didn't know was a screech owl.

  Closer to the bottom, the waves lapped the shore, again and again. Keith found himself relaxing already. He might just sleep after all. The scream from the screech owl startled him again. It seemed to be following him. For a moment, he pondered going right back up the stairs. After taking the last step, he noticed that crickets and cicadas began their familiar tunes. Then the night came alive with its creatures, and he couldn't believe how loud it all was, down on the shore.

  Fish jumped in the water, feeding on bugs that hit the surface. Keith made his way to the gazebo using the moon's light and spread out the sleeping bag onto the hammock. Then, he walked to the water's edge and opened the
bottle of whiskey. He turned the bottle up and drank until he couldn't breathe, then brought it back down and looked out at the silver path running the surface of the lake toward the full moon. Keith cursed out loud. He wondered if Becca had cried herself to sleep. Or if she was able to sleep.

  For once in his miserable life, he actually had not done something he'd been accused of doing. And no one would ever believe him. The phone was gone, the evidence was gone. But both Becca and her old friend had seen the photos and texts. That was all the trial he'd ever get. He shook his head, knowing again that he hadn't the faintest idea how he could blame her. She did drive him crazy, to the point of rage sometimes. Keith couldn't accept it as an excuse. "You should have just gone," he said out loud. He drank deep from the whiskey bottle again, feeling the burn begin the mind tricks. The pain wouldn't go anywhere. It would just shut the hell up for a little while.

  The demonic howl broke the silence and Keith let out a little yelp. He whirled around and tried to see what made the sound. His blurring vision finally caught the shape of something that did not belong, up atop the gazebo. He walked, nearly stumbling, from the water and tried to get closer. Whatever it was didn't move. He got closer and laughed. It was only an owl. A bird.

  "You should audition for a metal band, brother," he said, holding up his whiskey bottle, now nearly empty. The bird spread its wings and flew straight at Keith's face.

  "Whoa, HELL!" he shouted, and ducked just in time. The owl passed within inches of his head. He watched as the bird flew straight up into the night, then began a power-dive back to earth. His eyes saw the splash, his ears heard the water. His mind wasn't buying it.

  "No way." he said, and walked toward the water. The ripples were headed to shore, outward from where something had plunged into the water. "I'm drunk," he slurred, "that's it. I'm drunk. Owls... well, now, they don't swim."

  In his partial stupor, Keith just made the assumption that the owl had grabbed up a fish and then mistakenly dropped it back into the lake, flying off somewhere else. So he stumbled to the hammock, put the whiskey bottle down and crawled into the sleeping bag. He passed out in two minutes.

  The sound of boots scraping stone stirred Keith. He sat up and then lay right back down when the pain of daylight and whiskey hit him. He cursed and rubbed his head.

  "Sir, are you all right?"

  Keith furrowed his brow and sat back up, trying to roll with the punch of pain that hit him. "Hungover. Otherwise, fine." He thought he heard a chuckle.

  "Are you Mr. Davis?"

  "Yeah," Keith said, "yeah, I am, officer." He felt his heart speed up. Becca.

  "Good, good. I'm Sheriff Dale Billings, sorry if I startled you."

  "What time is it, Sheriff?"

  "Just after six in the morning, Mr. Davis."

  "My God."

  The Sheriff reached into his pocket and fished out a small flip-phone. "I don't normally do this sort of thing but, well, it's a small community and you're wife is more than a little worried about you." He handed Keith the phone.

  "Becca? My wife sent you over here with a phone for me?"

  The Sheriff chuckled. "Yeah, that she did, sir. Sweet little thing, isn't she?"

  Keith let out a belly laugh that made his head pound. "She's mean as a snake, Sheriff. But I do appreciate it. I hope you didn't have to go to too much trouble."

  "Last call I got was around four this morning. Cable was out. I kid you not. 911 call."

  "What did you do?"

  "Mr. Davis," the Sheriff said, "I was so bored, I went and fixed his cable."

  Both men burst out laughing. Keith shook Sheriff Billing's hand and thanked him again for going to so much trouble. The big, white-haired man turned and said, "You ever need anything, gimme a call. And an elevator would be nice for down here."

  Keith waved the Sheriff goodbye and then opened the phone. The screen had what looked like a tiny Post-it Note with just two words: "Call me." He dialed the phone and it rang.

  "Keith?"

  "Becca? Honey, are you ok?"

  "I am now."

  "What do you mean," he asked.

  "I was so angry at you that I decided that I would call that little slut and settle things, me and her. She was beyond mortified."

  "Why?"

  "Because she meant to send those to her boyfriend, not you. And she broke up with him because he didn't say anything. When I told her what happened, she cried."

  "You're kidding me, Becca?"

  "Yes, I am."

  Keith felt his skin crawl. The voice was not Becca's, not completely.

  "What?"

  "I called the little slut," Becca said. Keith noticed her voice sounded like at least three people in unison. "And she told me everything, Keith. Filth. That is all you are is filth."

  "Then she lied to you, Becca! I don't know that woman."

  "Shut your mouth. You lie. You lie. Always, you lie, Keith."

  The howl she let out sounded to Keith exactly like that owl he'd seen. He looked down at the phone that was in his hand to find it gone but the howling continued, over and again. Keith put his hands on his ears and tried to shut it out but it only got louder.

  And then he was falling. Fast.

  Keith woke up flat on his face. He'd flipped the hammock during the nightmare. It was still dark outside. He was completely sober now, covered in sweat and terrified. For perhaps two full minutes, he was frozen. He wanted to stand up and run, just run up the steps to his house, shut himself in and lock everything. Maybe he would get up and drive to the city, some four hours away, to find Becca. Or maybe he'd just scream, he couldn't decide. But neither could he do any of those things until his senses finally began to tell his body to let go.

  With care, he sat up. Everything around him looked strange and suspicious. The nightmare had been so real. Then Becca's voice. The sound of it had terrified him to his core. So cold and calloused and angry. Keith looked around, taking in the night. Every shadow looked like something else for a moment, then he righted himself and slid on the floor of the gazebo until he was far enough to sit up on the edge, feet on the bottom one of two stairs.

  He wanted to drive the four hours. Very nearly got up and started walking up the stone steps, until he remembered that Becca had taken their only car. His would be in the shop until the next week. He thought about the nightmare. I should have known the minute I met Sheriff Shucks It's Nothin', he thought. Those days were gone. It was understood, even if he didn't think about it much, that it was his subconscious. He was not a good man. But he had not cheated again. Keith wondered how he could find a way to get her to believe him. His mind was hoping to the point of dreaming that somehow it would all end up being a mistake or a bad joke.

  But, until she decided to drive back home, whenever that might be, he was stranded. No phone, no car. And it was a twenty-seven mile trip to the nearest place that might have a phone. One of his previous board members had convinced him to go without the landline. He'd told him that was the future, and since he was such a pioneer of the future, he should embrace it. Keith wanted to punch that board member at that moment.

  When he heard the water sloshing behind him, Keith turned and jumped straight up. What looked like the biggest old, naked woman he'd ever seen was walking out of the water. He stepped around the gazebo closer to the shoreline and saw the woman (he wasn't certain why his mind wanted to yell out 'old hag'! and run like hell), up to her waist now, walking straight toward him, head slightly down, hair soaked and covering most of her face. And she just seemed to keep getting taller.

  She stopped when she stood ankle deep. Keith's mind was spinning, but even so, he'd put her at seven, maybe seven and a half feet tall. Naked, horrendous and silent. Keith felt his genitals tingle, he was so terrified. When she whispered his name, he felt his blood go cold. Then she started walking toward him.

  He backed up and tripped over the steps of the gazebo, tripped again over his hammock and then jumped over the other side of it and ran a
s fast as he could to the steps. Looking back, the old woman didn't change pace, just continued making a bee line for him. Keith mounted the steps and ran up them as fast as he could. Halfway up, he couldn't breathe. He stopped, holding his side, turned, and looked down.

  The old hag stood at the bottom step. She looked up but her hair had not moved. She merely stared up at him. He found himself transfixed by the horrible sight below him. It would not disappear, like a hallucination is supposed to disappear. The hag just stood there, far below him, staring. Waiting.

  Keith looked down one final time when he reached the last step at the top. The old hag was no longer there. He did not wonder if she had been. Once back inside his house, Keith turned on every light and double-checked every door to make certain they were all locked. How could such a thing ever be explained, he wondered.

  Keith did not sleep for the rest of the morning. Until the sun came up, and he fell asleep on the couch, exhausted.

  What woke him was the sound of at least one car. Keith's mind recognized the sound of his own, the other he did not. He sat up on the couch and rubbed his head, trying to wake. There was a knock on the front door. He opened it to find not Becca, but her oldest friend, Jennifer Hodkins.

  "Jen?"

  "Hi, Keith."

  He noticed right away that her tone was not angry. Looking around her, he saw his own car and a pickup truck sitting behind it.

  "It's not supposed to be out of the shop yet," Keith said.

  "I know. Becca called the guy. Gave him two hundred bucks to rush the job."

  "Who's that?"

  "That's my boyfriend. I figured you'd want me driving your car, not him."

  "Jen, what the hell is going on? I wasn't supposed to call so I didn't. And I found those text messages." For a split second, Keith hated himself for the pleading nature of his voice. "I didn't sleep with that woman," he finished.

  "I know, Keith. That's why I'm here."

  "Look, I know you're in a hurry. His truck is running. Can you just come in for a minute and explain to me what the hell is happening?"