The Clearing

by Tom Deady

  Her strange accent was likely behind the stories that she was a voodoo priestess—it sounded Jamaican. Mama Bayole, the stuff of local legend, was about five foot nothing. A strong wind would take her away like an autumn leaf. Her dark skin was creased with decades of wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp.

  Hannah took a deep breath and tried not to laugh. “No, ma’am. I’m Hannah Green, from up the road. I want to talk with you if you have a moment.”

  Mama Bayole’s face, stern and hard when she first spoke, melted into a brilliant smile full of small, pearly teeth. “If I has a moment?” The old woman broke into a fit of laughter. “I think I ken squeeze yo in.”

  Hannah grinned as she approached the porch. “Thank you, Mrs. Bayole.”

  The woman’s face grew serious again. “Just fo’get that ‘Missus’ nonsense. Call me ‘Mama’ and we get along just fine.”

  Hannah tried to put on a serious expression of her own but couldn’t pull it off. “Yes, Mama.”

  Mama Bayole laughed and turned to go inside, waving at Hannah to follow.

  They stepped into the farmhouse, and Hannah’s good humor evaporated. The house was dimly lit—the wallpaper faded and peeling, with an indistinguishable pattern that had probably been in style when Dad was a kid. The furniture was ancient and in various stages of ruin. That wasn’t what bothered her. She wrote those things off to Mama Bayole being a poor, elderly woman living alone.

  The smell, that was different.

  Hannah hesitated at the doorway while Mama Bayole continued toward the rear of the house. Flies buzzed in the distance. She was unwilling, no, unable to take another step.

  Mama Bayole sensed she wasn’t following. She turned and frowned. “You comin’, child?”

  Hannah tried to swallow, but her throat had turned to dried parchment. She reached a hand out to the wall to steady herself when Mama Bayole shifted in and out of focus. “Ahh, I just remembered... My dad...” She trailed off, lost in the incessant buzzing.

  Mama Bayole smiled, but it was a different smile than the one she flashed on the porch. This was cunning, knowing. “What about your daddy, girl? Go on, spit it out.”

  Hannah’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and the drone of the flies grew louder. She couldn’t think. She looked at the tattered couch in the living room to her right and the idea of just curling up and taking a nap there seemed like a fine idea. She looked back at Mama Bayole and saw her nodding, as if she knew what Hannah was thinking and was encouraging her.

  Hannah took a shuffling step toward the living room.

  “Go ‘head, child, rest your weary self. You lookin’ paler than the underside of a catfish. Not that you was an’thing but white when you ‘rived. Yo daddy doesn’t even know you here, does he?” Bayole cooed.

  Hannah took another step, the somnolent buzzing lulling her closer to the couch, closer to sleep. She stopped when a sound rose above the buzzing in her head. She blinked, not sure why she was walking into the living room. Scout’s barking grew louder, bringing her back from wherever she’d gone. She brought a shaking hand up to her face and wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead. Then she looked at Mama Bayole.

  The woman was watching her, glaring at her. She noticed for the first time how penetrating the old woman’s gaze was, how empty her eyes were. The sense of menace she felt was paralyzing until Scout barked again, closer still. Hannah backed up to the screen door as Mama Bayole took a step toward her. She turned and burst through the door, leaping off the porch and sprinting up the dirt road without looking back.

  She found Scout running toward her and stopped, gasping for breath. Scout’s fur was up, and he was growling in the direction of Mama Bayole’s place. Finally, Hannah dared a glance back. In the shadows of the porch, the old woman stood watching. Hannah felt her icy scowl like an unwanted physical touch. Calling Scout, she turned and ran the rest of the way home.

  Hannah made it home and grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge. Her throat was so dry from fear and the heat she thought it might crack. The Coke was magic. She filled Scout’s bowl with water and stepped back as he drank furiously. A strange sound came from the basement. Hannah crept to the door, cocking her head as if it would help her hear better.

  Someone’s down there.

  Dad muttered something unintelligible, and Hannah almost collapsed with relief.

  “Dad, whatcha doing?” she called, going down the stairs.

  He jumped, stuffing something into the pocket of his jeans like a kid caught cheating on a test. “Uh, just, you know, going through some of these boxes.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Hannah stared, the look of sadness on his face almost too much to bear. “Do you need any help?”

  Dad smiled, but it was a sad smile. He’s so lost in his grief. So broken.

  “Sure, if you’re up for it. It’s mostly clothes and shoes. You know how your mother loved shoes.”

  Hannah barked out a laugh, grabbed a box and began pulling clothes out, holding some up to herself, then tossing them in whatever pile Dad said they belonged. They worked together in comfortable silence for a while, making good progress.

  “How long have you been down here?” It was a good sign that Dad was starting to go through Mom’s stuff.

  “All afternoon, since we got back from shopping. I lost track of time until I heard you come in. I... I don’t think she’s coming back.” He blurted the words out, as if saying them out loud might make them not true.

  Hannah stopped and looked at him. He smiled again.

  “I know this is going to sound harsh,” he continued, “but I’m not devastated by that. I’m resigned to it, I guess.”

  Hannah had no response. She swallowed, waiting for him to go on. He pulled a dress out of one of the piles.

  “Your mother wore this on a date with me a few years ago. Some event in town, a retirement. She looked stunning. She was always beautiful, but that night, she was... radiant. We danced all night as if the party were for us. It was one of the last good times I can remember.

  “Things went downhill soon after. When I saw how bad it was getting, I asked her to go to counseling. She refused, said it wouldn’t help. I knew she was right. We limped along like that, tiptoeing around each other. Then she was gone. I hired a detective to find her, but he came up with nothing. It was like she never existed.”

  Hannah went to him and hugged him. When he pulled away, his eyes were dry, and he had an odd look on his face.

  Small steps.

  They went back to work, getting through a few more boxes of clothes. Like Dad said, shoes, lots of shoes. Hannah wore sneakers or flip-flop unless she absolutely couldn’t get away with it.

  Will I ever grow into a shoe obsessive?

  “Hey, Dad, what do you know about Mrs. Bayole from up the road?” She tried to sound casual, like she was making small talk, but her voice sounded thin, tense.

  He stopped what he was doing, a frown crossing his face. “Why do you ask, honey?”

  Hannah shrugged, still busy going through Mom’s clothes. “No reason. I was out with Scout and saw her, that’s all.”

  He regarded her, maybe picking up something in her voice. Something that sounded like a lie?

  “Well, I know she lives alone and runs the farm well enough to eke out a living. You know she has a stand at the market, right?” He paused, his forehead creased. “To tell you the truth, that’s about all I know. Your mother could have told you a lot more. She used to visit Mrs. Bayole quite a bit before she...” He cleared his throat. “She’d do some shopping for her, bring her dinner, things like that. There’s a lot of talk around town about her, but it’s all just gossip, I’m sure. Some people in small towns have nothing better to do than make up stories about people they don’t even know.”

  Hannah raised her eyebrows. “What kind of gossip?”

  He frowned. “Oh, you know. The kind of crazy stuff people say about anyone who doesn’t look like them, or fit
in. I’ve heard everything from she’s some voodoo high priestess to she killed her husband. Like I said—crazy talk.”

  Hannah shrugged again. “Didn’t you once tell me all rumors have a nugget of truth in them?”

  Dad laughed. “I probably did say that, but I doubt it applies in this case. If she killed her husband, or anyone, she’d be in jail. That voodoo stuff is only because she’s black and talks with an accent. Don’t pay any attention to it. I’m sure she’s just a nice old woman who doesn’t like bothering people. Or to be bothered.”

  The last line sounded like an accusation. Or a warning. “You don’t think it’s weird that she lives all alone on that farm?”

  Dad sensed something a little off about her questions. “What’s going on, sweetie? Did something happen? Did she say something to you?”

  Hannah stared at the ground, clenched her hands into fists. She looked up, avoiding his eyes. “Nothing at all. Just curious. I mean, she is our neighbor.”

  The sound of her voice was hollow, scripted. His antenna was up now, his parental instinct on high alert. She could see it. Could feel it in the air.

  He’s going to start grilling me.

  A car door slammed, followed by footsteps on the walkway.

  “Oh, that’s Ash. We’re gonna hang out, okay?”

  Dad watched her, still looking uneasy. “Sure, honey. I’m going to just keep puttering around down here and get some of this stuff cleaned up.”

  Hannah smiled, gave him a peck on the cheek, and bounded up the stairs.

  Hannah walked into the kitchen just as Ashley was sitting down with a bag of chips and a Coke.

  “Hey, Ash. Make yourself at home.”

  Ashley stuck out her tongue. “What are you doing in the cellar? Looking for more body parts?”

  Hannah turned and closed the door to the basement. “Be quiet. Dad is down there.”

  Ashley made a face. “That’s even weirder than you being down there alone.”

  Hannah sighed. She loved Ashley, but sometimes the girl was just crude. “He’s going through my mom’s stuff, trying to figure out what to throw away.”

  She watched with a dark hint of pleasure as Ashley’s expression crumbled.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah,” She stood and went to Hannah, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m such a jerk.” Hannah pulled away with a smile.

  “You really are, but you’re my best friend, so I put up with it. Come on. Let’s go to my room and talk.”

  Scout was stretched out on the bed. He looked up lazily at Ash, sighed, and went back to sleep. Hannah wanted to tell her about the weirdness at Mama Bayole’s but was more curious about what she’d found at the library.

  “First, let me tell you how annoyed I was at having to sit in the smelly library in the summer,” Ashley began with an eye roll.

  Hannah smiled patiently, waiting for her to get to it. She happened to love the smell of the library but didn’t feel the urge to tell Ash that.

  “Anyway, I wasn’t having much luck when I realized that’s what the librarians are for. I went over to an older lady. There was a younger one, but she looked miserable—mad at the world, as my mom would say. I’ll get to her.” She gave Hannah a look that said there was a lot to get to. “I put on my ‘I’m a curious bookworm’ face and asked grandma for help.

  “I put it on thick, Hannah, Academy Award style. I said my cousin told me an urban legend about a girl that disappeared in the woods.

  “Grandma smiled, you should have seen the spark in her eyes. I made her day. Maybe her year. Mrs. Cheevers is her name. She Googled it and said, ‘Looks like your cousin wasn’t just spinning a yarn.’ She actually said that—spinning a yarn. Can you believe it?”

  Hannah stared at her friend, smiling. Ashley’s eyes were bright. Dancing, Mom would have said. She’s really into this. “What did she find?”

  “The girl’s name was Abigail Hart...” She quickly recapped the rest of the story. “Then I started to feel weird, like someone was watching me. I glanced up at Bitch Face and she was staring at me, talking on her cell. It freaked me out.

  “My legs started feeling shaky. Mrs. Cheevers read more out loud, saying some reporter was trying to tie the disappearance into some of the cult activity that was rumored to be going on in the woods.

  “To make it worse, Bitch Face was still staring at me, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t. She looked livid.”

  Hannah giggled. “You’re calling out the librarian for saying ‘spinning a yarn’ then you drop a ‘livid’ on me?”

  Ashely waved her hand at me. Her whatever motion. She looked anxious to tell the rest of the story. “The next thing I knew, Mrs. Cheevers was on her feet and I was sitting in the chair.”

  Ashley paused. She had her moments of drama, but this felt different; Ash was afraid. Hannah waited for her to continue, but she was just kind of staring at nothing.

  “Ash, are you okay?”

  Ashley focused her gaze on Hannah, then grabbed a handful of chips. “I’m good. What’s your big news?”

  Hannah sat cross-legged on the bed, absently patting Scout. “I went to talk to Mama Bayole earlier.”

  Ashley’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

  Hannah was silent for a moment, unsure how to explain to Ashley exactly what had happened. She wasn’t sure. “It was weird. She was really friendly at first, and then we went into the house—”

  “You what?” Ash interrupted, “Are you crazy? Hannah, what were you thinking?”

  Hannah threw up her hands. “What was I supposed to do? She’s just an old lady.” She paused. The buzzing. “Then I started feeling funny. Tired, but more than that: confused, lethargic.” She stopped, the memory folding over her. She tried to take a deep breath, but it was all shaky.

  The color drained from Ashley’s face. “Hannah, are you okay? Did she drug you?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I had just stepped in the door and it was like my brain got all fuzzy.” She didn’t really want to tell Hannah the next part. “I felt like I just wanted to take a nap. There was this noise, like flies buzzing, but I’m not sure if it was real or in my head. I started walking toward her couch... If Scout hadn’t barked...” She burst into tears.

  Ashley ran over and hugged her while Scout tried to squeeze into the middle of the embrace. Hannah calmed down, knuckling the tears out of her eyes, unsure of where the outburst had come from. “I’m okay, really. It was just, I don’t know, like she hypnotized me or something.”

  “What if the stories are true and she’s some kind of witch or voodoo priestess?” Ashley’s eyes were wide.

  Hannah tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. “Seriously, Ash?”

  “Well, this isn’t going to make you feel any better. I really think that bitch-faced librarian was up to something. You know this stuff never scares me.”

  Hannah thought of all the horror movies she’d watched with Ash; she was always laughing about how stupid the victims were or how corny the monster was.

  “This is different. This is real,” Ashley whispered.

  Hannah drew in a deep breath. “Do you want to stop? Just tell Dad, or call the police?” As intrigued as she was by the mystery, part of her hoped Ashley would say yes.

  “Hell, no. This is the most excitement we’re ever going to see in this town, unless you want to spend the rest of the summer going to the Farmer’s Market or waiting for Marcus Diaz’s acne to clear.”

  Hannah’s cheeks burned all the way up to her hairline. She thought she’d kept her crush on Marcus a secret. Even from Ashley.

  What if he knows, too?

  Ashley laughed and punched her shoulder. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at him when we went to watch the baseball games? You were practically drooling.”

  Hannah gasped, then started laughing. “I wasn’t drooling, but he is cute.”

  Ashley grinned. “I guess, if you like tall, dark, handsome, athletic kind of guys.”
r />   Hannah was about to respond when a knock sounded on the door.

  “Mind if I come in for a minute, girls?”

  She looked at Ashley and shrugged. “Sure, Dad.”

  The door opened and her father stepped in, his face clouded with worry. “Funny thing about being in the basement—you can hear almost everything through the heating ducts.”

  Hannah sat at the kitchen table staring at nothing. They had moved out of her room, Scout following, sensing that something was going on. The silence lengthened and Hannah stole a glance at Dad. He was pacing back and forth, running a hand absently through his hair. He stopped, turned, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and started pacing again.

  “Dad,” she began, but he held up a hand to stop her. Finally, he sat at the table across from her.

  “I want you to know I wasn’t eavesdropping. By the time I realized what I was hearing, I had already heard too much.”

  “Dad—”

  The hand again.

  “I need you to tell me what’s going on. Where did you get the idea about a missing girl? Why would you bother Mrs. Bayole?”

  Hannah gave Ashley a look that said, ‘Let me do the talking.’

  “It’s nothing, Dad, just an old story kids at school tell. We were bored and decided to see if any of it was true. Turns out some of it is. I just went to talk to Mama—Mrs. Bayole because the kids talk about her too. Then I felt weird when I got to her house, lightheaded, and decided to leave. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  She met her father’s stare, willing herself not to break eye contact.

  He stood again, took another lap around the kitchen, then swung his chair around and sat on it backwards.

  “First, I want you to stay away from Mrs. Bayole.”

  Hannah jerked her head up. Something in Dad’s voice was off.

  “Second, I don’t want you bothering anyone else in town with this. Third, I want you to stay out of the woods.”

  She stared, mouth hanging open. The woods were her thing. She loved being out there with Scout. “That’s not fair.” Her eyes went wide. “Unless you know something. Some reason that makes it dangerous?”