The Tree Goddess

by Tom Raimbault

  * * *

  The first day of school would be, as Jeff felt, a more natural introduction to the boy who lived across the street. They made the casual greetings at the bus stop, sat in seats nearby on the bus and even discovered that they would share the same teacher for the year. But by midmorning recess, Paul and his friends seemed to have mutually concluded that there was something not right about Jeff. Whisperings from behind Jeff's back offered immature suggestions that the new kid was gay or queer. Many can remember the unpleasant days of middle school social disasters. Defeated, the only thing Jeff could do was mention to his neighbor of the treasure buried in the crawlspace.

  Paul only called out, “Yeah right! I don't believe you!”

  This only outraged Jeff. “Wanna bet? You think I'm a liar? Come over after school and I'll show it to you. Both my parents will be at work.”

  Later in the afternoon, both boys placed their book bags on the kitchen countertop of Jeff's house. Paul stood at the closet while the new kid in the neighborhood opened the entry to the crawlspace.

  Maybe the new kid was serious about this. If he was joking, how far would it go? Paul thought it was best to remind him, “You better not be lying!”

  Illuminated by the unflattering, exposed light bulbs, Paul crawled behind Jeff through the crunchy rocks with the smell of dampness in the air. In a need to display toughness, Paul could not admit an unexplained phobia of a crudely, unfinished area below the house. And he couldn't help but begin to suspect that there was, in fact, the naked body of a dead woman down there.

  But Paul wouldn't lose control! He was the one in charge. The new kid was the one who had to put his money where his mouth was. “Okay, so where is it? Are you lying?”

  Jeff remained calm, “It's buried under these rocks, Dummy! You think I have that out in the open for everyone to see?”

  The anxiety was masked with a growing display of a badass who continued to threaten behind a prepubescent voice. “You better not be lying! I'll tell everyone at school and we'll kick your ass!”

  Jeff only remained silent, picked up the shovel and pulled back the layers of rocks which soon revealed the old, wooden chest. He looked up at the now pale-faced Paul who was on his way to becoming Jeff's best friend. The old chest creaked when opened which produced a horrified, agape look on Paul's face. Boys that age feel comfortable using profanity when not in the presence of adults. Paul certainly exercised every right of profanity at that moment.

  “I dare you to touch her. See, I touch her.” Jeff stroked his hand over the corpse's right breast.

  “You're sick! You're freaking crazy! I'm not touching that!”

  “Come on, don't be such a wimp. Touch her! Girls at our school don't have these! Go ahead; haven't you ever wondered what a titty felt like?”

  Paul laid his hand on the corpse's left breast; but quickly pulled it away upon feeling that the woman would suddenly come back to life.

  Jeff was understanding and offered the usefulness in the treasure that was now shared with Paul. “Do you have any idea the power we have with this thing? We can charge all the kids in this neighborhood to come down and look at it.”

  Chapter 16

  The only thing that had changed in Bill and Karen Greenstart's life was their address. Moving wasn't much of a life-change event for the couple as it may have been for people in different situations. Moving to Mapleview, for some, might require landing a new job or leaving a career to be a stay-at-home parent. Even more stressful might be the requirement to distance oneself from close family and friends. But Bill and Karen simply lived in the next town over and merely wanted to enjoy a new setting in the nice town of Mapleview.

  With her son now finished with summer break, and on the second day of returning back to her job, Karen was suddenly plagued with an unexplained amount of anxiety. Nothing was out-of-the-ordinary at work and things were fine at home. But the anxiety would mysteriously surface during a quiet moment, as-if a warning of some calamity in the not-so-distant future. Suffering from acute anxiety only a few years ago, Karen was armed with the mechanisms to battle the irrational feelings.

  Has the reader ever been on vacation or in the middle of a long holiday and discovered the sudden wish for Monday to return? Sure, the time away from work is nice as much as the time spent with loved ones. But sometimes it feels as though that vacation or that holiday is a fast-paced track of nonstop events, along with constant smothering of loved ones. Monday restores everyone's return to their old routine along with a sense of peace and quiet. For Karen, her summer months of moving into the new home; doing cosmetic improvements along with becoming acclimated to the new neighborhood was a nonstop vacation of work, work, work. How she longed in those summer months to return to her quiet cubicle where she might answer a phone call or work on some project; then finally have a more healthy and balanced dose of Bill and Jeff in the evenings. In all the months at home, Karen had yet to relax and unwind! This was a seemingly rational explanation for the mysterious invasion of anxiety.

  When shopping for the new home, the advertisement boasted a nice house in the quiet town of Mapleview, in the much sought after neighborhood of Maple Sap. A good selling point for Karen was the recently installed hot tub of her private, master bathroom. But despite living in her new home for months, Karen had yet to enjoy it! Tonight, a nice cup of chamomile tea while soaking in the hot tub and surrounded by a few flickers of candle flame would finally be enjoyed.

  She lay there, melting in the tub with her eyes closed while enjoying the sensation of warm water relaxing her muscles. But never mind those noisy jet streams that produce nothing more than agitation and uneasiness. Karen only wished for the sound of peace and quiet in the still water.

  There must be countless people who have been murdered and their bodies dumped in unmarked, shallow graves. The owners of those bodies wait patiently for someone to discover them and finally bring closure to loved ones. And it must be a lonely feeling to know that your body has been abandoned, left to rot in the ground beneath some log or a bush that has now grown over you. This is the thought that intruded Karen's mind as she imagined herself laying outside in nature while soaking in the rays of the sun. They were merely unwelcomed manifestations of anxiety, and somehow the unpleasant thoughts should have been pushed from Karen's mind. She was quite alive and the same could be said of her husband and son. Outside of Karen's father, all other close family members were still alive. And she didn't have a friend or family member who had been murdered. Reminding herself of how fortunate she was, Karen placed her mind back in that same spot, lying outdoors in the warm sun.

  In an imagined moment of astral projection, the very place where Karen lay out in the sun was one such grave of an unfortunate, murdered soul. The astral realm proved dangerous as it allowed the intimate infusion between the rotting corpse a few feet below, and the woman who was alive and appreciating a place of serenity and nature. Karen's skin absorbed the vile carrion and the residual terror of that corpse's final moments alive.

  She quickly sat up, now back in the hot tub with heart rate increased from a surge of anxiety. Examining the surroundings didn't help much. The hot tub suggested lying in a coffin.

  “Bill?” Something needed to break the powerful daydream. “Bill! Bill!”

  He finally entered the bathroom to see his wife holding her chest and having trouble breathing. “What? What's wrong?”

  “It's happening again! I'm, I'm having…” It was nearly impossible to breathe which made it difficult for Karen to speak.

  Bill filled in his wife's words. “What? Are you having another attack?

  Karen nodded.

  Bill was now alarmed with the knowledge that his wife was suffering another acute anxiety attack which was the same sort of attack that she experienced some years ago. Placed on medication, his wife learned to gain control and was weaned from the drugs so that she could once again live a normal life. But the move and the return back to work must have triggered an
other spell of anxiety. Bill could only do his best to calm his wife, “Okay, sit tight. I'll call the doctor and have him fill a prescription for you!”

  * * *

  Now the best-of-buddies, Jeff and Paul stood in the corner of the school hallway with a group of kids, challenging those who might be interested to view the naked and preserved body of a woman. “It must have been buried in that crawlspace for a hundred years!”

  As Jeff explained, bodies that are buried in the desert never rot because of the dryness. The salt would have had the same effect on his mummy—such a strange piece of knowledge for a child to have. But just as Paul doubted Jeff before actually seeing the corpse, the kids that now surrounded the pair of newfound friends cried out in their badass, prepubescent voices that Paul and Jeff were lying. They speculated that at most, a life-sized Halloween decoration of a corpse was probably buried in the crawlspace.

  $2.00: that was the cost to view the mummy. Any turndowns would be proof of being a wimp. Jeff and Paul certainly weren't afraid of their dead plaything. But could the other kids stroke the breast of a dead woman, maybe more? Talk was cheap; the other kids needed to prove their boldness!

  A list of 19 kids had been accumulated throughout the day, but only 7 had come home with Jeff and Paul. These were kids from the neighborhood, each with $2.00 and a promise to “kick some ass” if the show was disappointing.

  9 kids crawled through the crunchy floor, towards an area that was seemingly void of that which had been promised.

  “Alright, where is it?”

  “Yeah! I want my money back!”

  “We're gonna kick your ass!”

  The crawlspace echoed with a wild party of rowdy, middle-school-aged kids. Jeff only smiled and took hold of his shovel, “Don't worry, you'll see it.”

  Layers of rock had been pulled back which exposed the familiar, wooden chest. “And now that you have paid your dues to join our club…”

  The chest creaked open, and all was silent. The kids had seen many life-like Halloween decorations, but this one looked real! It looked so real, that perhaps it was real!

  And as each boy had finally come to the conclusion that there was, in fact, an actual dead body lying in the new kid's crawlspace, they each took turns in whispers of, “Whoa… wow… holy…” These things were only read about in books or seen in movies. But there one lay in a hole of a crawlspace, pale and lifeless; a suggestion of suspended decay; mummified as Jeff had said.

  “Go ahead, touch her!” Paul delighted in challenging the now disturbed boys who sensed a barely detectable iota of awareness from the woman, a vibration of death that no decoration could duplicate.

  “I'm not touching that!”

  “What are you afraid of? See?” Paul laid his hand on the corpse's breast and squeezed. “It's a real titty! Go ahead!”

  And one-by-one, in a demonstration of conquering fears, the corpse's breasts, thighs and many other areas were fondled in a morbid fascination that would disturb the boys for many years to come. And of all things, the area that no one would touch was the woman's hand. The one touch that could be considered an act of love and affection was strictly off limits for the boys, as they feared that the woman would resurrect and seize the hand of life.

  The group of 9 boys who lived in the neighborhood had suddenly been closely bonded by a new “club” that collectively owned a treasure of power. But they didn't go into the crawlspace every day to admire it. In fact, the corpse was left to rest in peace for weeks as the kids performed normal activities such as playing basketball or video games. On occasion, the boys would journey on all fours to the place of burial and raise the dead in admiration and play. And of course, Jeff's rule was always followed to cover the wooden chest with rocks while leaving the ground appearing undisturbed before climbing out of the crawlspace.

  * * *

  Pulling into the driveway on a late afternoon, Karen spotted her son playing basketball with the kids on the block at Frank and Stephanie's house. Initially wondering if the boy had homework, she soon found herself in a sense of relief that Jeff had successfully made friends at the new school and neighborhood.

  Jeff apparently had friends over, earlier. Walking into the kitchen, her footsteps were met with stickiness over by the pantry. Perhaps it was soda. She didn't mind, terribly, that Jeff had friends over. But she was going to have to mention that groceries were not purchased for the neighborhood kids to enjoy. Why else would they be in the closet? And Karen was going to have to mention that if someone spilled soda or juice on floor, it would be nice if he mopped up the stickiness.

  It was a bit chilly from the kitchen windows left open; but Karen opted to leave them alone as the oven would soon heat up the kitchen. Today was Wednesday, and as planned on the week's list of meals, meatloaf would be prepared and probably done by the time Bill came home from work. If you've ever made a meatloaf yourself, then you're quite familiar with the task of mixing raw meat, seasoned breadcrumbs and a couple of eggs in a bowl. Then the slop is mixed with the hands, squeezed and flipped over until a workable substance can be dumped in a loaf pan.

  But Karen was different in her preparation. With a sizable Mixmaster on the counter, she dropped the meat in the bowl then cracked open the eggs and dumped the breadcrumbs. Why experience the unpleasant sensation of slimy, ice-cold meat numbing the hands? Simply flip the switch of the automatic mixer and let the machine do all the work.

  The Wienerdorfs, located behind and on the next block, had begun their project of constructing a new deck in the backyard. They mentioned this to Bill and Karen over the weekend. Apparently, the Mister was getting a jump start by making cuts with the electric saw. The wood screamed as it met the toothed, circular blade which was a sound never a favorite of Karen's. While Mr. Wienerdorf made his cuts, the meat which mixed in the blender almost called out in a plea to stop the bloody mess.

  Karen ignored the terrible thoughts of imagination. But the dreaded, circular saw continued to produce more horrific screams by the wood. They were nearly the sounds of a terrified woman who begged for it all to end. Why such senseless torture? Why so many little cuts?—a snip here, a snip there and then aggravation of those terrible injuries with further torture.

  The blender was turned off and the bowl nervously lifted over to the loaf pan. And then the tortured woman let out one, final, bloodcurdling scream of unbearable agony. It was a cry for it all to end, a plea to break the realm of solitude of her captors. Karen could see in her mind the defenseless woman, lying in the crawlspace with tearful longing for a final departure from Hell.

  It was too much for Karen; the meat mixture never made it into the loaf pan. She ran out of the house, truly feeling that someone was screaming down in the crawlspace. But how irrational; she knew it was only the sound waves from Mr. Wienerdorf's saw that bounced off the walls and to the pantry closet.

  Now standing in the garage while desperately clinging to sanity, Karen called out to her son across the street, “Jeff, do you have homework?”

  “Only a little, Mom!”

  “Well I suggest you say goodnight to your friends!” Yelling at the boy was the much needed outlet that restored her sanity. And as he walked into the garage, Jeff was met by an unfriendly face of anger, “What were you doing in the kitchen this afternoon?”

  “What? Nothing!”

  “Yeah, you spilled something all over the floor! Why didn't you clean it up?”

  “I did!”

  “Jeff, it was all sticky!” Karen lowered her voice so neighbors would not hear the rest. “And I don't buy food for all your friends to eat. We don't have money for that, understand?”

  Jeff only walked away, believing that mother was merely crazy and looking for something to yell at.

  Karen wondered if perhaps the boy would hear the same thing that she heard. But after waiting several minutes, she concluded that the screaming stopped.

  20 minutes later later, as Bill pulled into the garage, he took sight of his distraught w
ife sitting up against the bumper of her car. Bill immediately suspected that Jeff had done something wrong. “Where's Jeff?”

  “In the house, doing homework.”

  “Did he get into a fight at school?”

  Karen's face remained to the floor, saying not a word.

  Needless to say, Bill was concerned. “Honey, what's wrong? You have to tell me!”

  “I was making dinner, and I heard screaming coming from the crawlspace.”

  “Screaming?”

  “Yes; it was a woman, screaming. It sounded like she was being severely tormented and it was the most awful thing I ever heard.”

  “Well did Jeff hear it?”

  Karen shook her head, no.

  Being the sensible man that Bill was, he stepped back in a moment of assessment. Why would someone be screaming from the crawlspace? Perhaps his wife was having an adverse reaction to the anxiety medication. But the possibility of someone actually injured in the crawlspace needed to be disproved. He entered the house, alone, walked into the pantry and opened the panel door. Descending the stepladder, he called out, “Is anyone down here?”

  There was nothing but silence.

  “Hello?” He flicked on the crude lighting and could see nothing but an empty storage area with boxes and junk stacked at the opposite wall. Satisfied that all was well, he turned off the lights and ascended back up the ladder.

  Maybe Jeff could have provided insight. Bill entered the boy's bedroom and took sight of his son working math problems on the roll top desk that was illuminated by an overhead light. “Jeff, were you doing something down in the crawlspace?”

  The boy turned flush, “No! I wasn't down there!”

  Noticing the peculiar reaction, Father had to further probe. “Jeff, I'm going to ask you again and I want an honest answer. Were you down in that crawlspace when your mother came home from work?”