by Rick Hautala
“Shipping and receiving…business equipment.”
“Your business ever bring you up here? You look kinda familiar, like maybe I’ve seen you ‘round town.”
“My territory covers all of Northern New England,” Samael said smoothly, “but I don’t come up this way often…Not enough customers to make it worthwhile.”
“And what—exactly—is it that you sell?”
“Buy and sell…Business equipment. Photocopiers, computers, office furniture. The whole gamut.” He waved his hand as if displaying his inventory.
“Sounds fascinating,” Claire’s mother said before turning and heading back into the kitchen. “Let me put on some coffee. And I’ll get you a little something to eat. Sandwiches? You must be famished after such a long drive.”
“We’re all right for now. We stopped along the way,” Claire said.
Laughing a little too loudly, her father said, “Still have to stop every twenty miles or so to hit the restroom?” And then to Samael, “She has the smallest bladder I ever heard of.”
“Da-ad,” Claire said. Someday she’d tell him that he embarrasses himself more than he embarrasses her with comments like that. She wished he would stop teasing her like she was still twelve years old.
Today, though, wasn’t the day for that conversation. She wanted to get through this visit as smoothly as possible, and then get back to Portland. She was looking forward to sleeping in her new bed—Samael’s bed—tonight…if you could call it “sleeping.”
It didn’t take long for her mother to get a pot of coffee brewed. Since her father had such a sweet tooth—and it showed both in his girth and his blood sugar levels—she had cookies and half a blueberry pie to serve. They gathered around the kitchen table and talked as they ate snacks and drank coffee.
While they were chatting, Claire picked what she thought was the right moment and held out her hand to show the ring. Her mother started crying and then gave her a hug and a kiss. When she kissed Samael, his discomfort was far too obvious. Her father, on the other hand, examined the ring carefully…as if he could tell whether or not it was a fake. When he shook Samael’s hand and said, “You’d better take good care of my little girl,” his eyes were cold and distant.
“Oh, Dad,” Claire said, swatting him on the arm.
After about an hour of being alternately fawned over and interrogated, Samael eased back in his chair and gave Claire a look of desperation that all but screamed: Get me out of here!
“Weren’t you going to show me around, Claire?” he asked, scanning the kitchen with a faint air of disdain.
Feeling protective of her childhood home, Claire took slight offense, but she got up and conducted him on a quick tour of the house. She told herself not to be embarrassed in any way by the home she grew up in. A lot more people lived in modest homes like this than in mansions like Samael’s. Still, she was bothered by his patronizing attitude. It hurt, and she meant to talk to him about that later. It wasn’t like him to be so openly snarky.
They spent quite a bit of time in her bedroom, going through the childhood things her mother had kept as though—someday—the little girl she had been before college would miraculously return and pick up her life right where she had left off. She was never going to want any of the clothes or other mementos—dolls and posters and such; and she doubted she’d ever have children who would be interested in them. Maybe her grandchildren would like them for nostalgia’s sake. She wondered who was having the harder time letting go—her or her parents, and she decided she should clean out the rest of this junk sometime soon.
Not today, though.
“It’s…modest, I know,” she said, “but it was a nice place to grow up. Certainly better than a lot of my friends.”
“I’m sure,” was all Samael said. He sounded a bit bored by the whole adventure, and that bothered Claire, too. He barely glanced at her childhood mementos, and she couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong.
This had been his idea, so where was the charm and elegance that swept me off my feet?
Claire suddenly had an idea. Brightening and casting a look out her bedroom window at an all too familiar landscape, she said, “There’s something else I need to show you.”
She caught Samael looking at her like he was studying her. His expression was flat, impossible to read.
“This was a mistake, coming here, wasn’t it?” she said.
Samael’s expression didn’t change as he shook his head and said, “No. I’m having fun.”
You’re sure as Hell not showing it, Claire thought but didn’t say.
She took his hand, noticing but not commenting on how uncharacteristically cold it was, and they went downstairs together. Claire’s mother was still in the kitchen, tidying things up. She turned to them as Claire led Samael toward the back door. They grabbed their coats, hats, and gloves. Claire wrapped a scarf around her neck and pulled it tight.
“Where are you off to?” she asked.
“I want to show Samael ‘The Pond.’”
An odd expression crossed her mother’s face, but she and Samael left before she could say anything more. They were out onto the back porch, the screen door slamming shut behind them, when Claire’s mother yelled, “Your dad’s gone to the store to buy steaks for supper. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”
Feeling exactly like she had when she was a child, racing off to meet up with her friends at “The Pond,” Claire shouted back, “Don’t know yet.”
And with that, they walked down the steps and across the field, which was still covered with a good six inches of snow. They were silent as they headed into the woods.
~ * ~
Claire could follow the trail to “The Pond” even if she was blindfolded. Every twist and turn of the path, every change in elevation, every tree, rock, and shrub was burned into her memory. But on this particular March afternoon, with the sun already slanting down in the sky, Claire felt a subtle change in…everything.
The woods seemed smaller than she remembered, and the trail had somehow lost its mystery and magic for her. Trees and underbrush had taken over the land, and places where she had played with her friends and imagined all sorts of mystical fantasy creatures now seemed—somehow—dull…lifeless…as if something—its life force—had been sucked out of everything.
A shiver ran up her back, and not just from the cold air. She squeezed his hand tighter, but the feeling didn’t pass. Even his hand felt cold and lifeless instead of the intense warmth she was used to. She might just as well be holding a dead fish. She kept glancing at him as they walked, his profile etched against the deepening blue sky, and the thought of explaining to her parents what he really was sent a stabbing chill through her. She wanted to say something to him, to talk about what she was feeling, but she was afraid, and she had no idea where or how to start.
Instead, she began a running narrative of the paths and the woods and, especially, “The Pond” where she used to play, even though—now—it seemed so far away.
“We’d swim here all the time, me and my friends. And I can show you the exact spot under the tree where I used to sit and read. Alice in Wonderland was my favorite. I’d come out here by myself sometimes—a lot of times—and just sit and think. You know?”
“I—I never had an experience like that,” Samael said. The cool detachment in his voice bothered her, but she still didn’t want to confront him about it. Why ruin what was supposed to be a fun afternoon, even if that wasn’t exactly how it was turning out.
“No, I…I guess you wouldn’t, being a demon and all,” Claire said sullenly.
The snow got deeper as they followed the path further into the woods.
“Right there,” Claire said, pointing to a large granite boulder that stuck up out of the snow like a huge tooth, “is where I saw a black bear once.”
It pained her to see that someone—probably some high-school punks—had spray-painted the rock with scrolling, illegible initials and logos.
“Did it attack you? The bear, I mean?” Samael asked. For once there was a spark of interest in her past life.
Claire shook her head.
“Nope. It never even made a move toward me. It was eating blueberries from that bush over there, and he just watched me as I passed on by.”
Samael nodded but said nothing more, seemingly totally uninterested in any of her nostalgic stories. They walked for a long time in silence. The angle of sunlight filtering through the trees along the path was more familiar to Claire than her own bedroom. She inhaled the fresh, pine-scented air, letting the woodland smells take her back to a happier, simpler time.
So to Hell with him…Even if he can’t appreciate any of this, I certainly can.
But the closer they got to “The Pond,” the more unsettled she became.
One obvious thing that bothered her was how everything looked so small and…limited was the only other word that came to mind. In her memory and imagination, this had been a mighty forest, as deep and dense—and dangerous—as the Black Forest in Germany. It could hide countless numbers of mythical, magical creatures and dangerous, supernatural beings.
The closer they got to “The Pond,” the more litter and trash she saw strewn around. And not just old, rusting stuff. There were empty beer cans and liquor bottles…food wrappers…and other junk everywhere, blighting the scene and Claire’s childhood memories. Several of the larger trees that she remembered had either fallen down or been hacked down for campfire, the rough axe marks obviously not those of experienced woodsmen. Even the ground itself—the snow-covered path—appeared to be worn out.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, trying as much to convince herself as Samael.
He said nothing but kept walking, his eyes fixed straight ahead as though he wasn’t even a part of this world. Claire was confused and frustrated by his detachment. She wished he would talk to her…tell her what the problem was.
If Claire had been feeling disappointment before, though, it crashed down on her when they arrived at “The Pond.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, struck with amazement by what she saw before them.
The instant the word—the name of God was out of her mouth, Samael let out a low, slow moan that sounded as if he were in great pain.
Claire turned to him and saw a wicked fire dancing in his eyes, making them glow with a deep orange light that matched the disk of the setting sun.
His eyes look different, she thought, but the thought flittered away because of her concern for him.
“Are you all right?”
She was convinced that something was seriously wrong with him…something he didn’t want to discuss with her.
When Samael looked at her, his face shifted back to the same blank expression he’d worn all day. She had the distinct impression he was wearing a mask, and that she couldn’t see and had never seen what was beneath that mask.
“I’m fine…I’m fine,” he said, even though his tone of voice was that of someone who absolutely is not fine.
Claire wanted to let it drop, so she looked out across “The Pond,” awed by how pitifully small…actually tiny it looked.
“Things sure do change, don’t they?” she said.
“How do you mean?”
“I…For years, I’ve had such powerful memories of this place, and now looking at it, it seems so insignificant.”
“Your world—your horizons have expanded,” Samael said. “And as they do, we see some things for what they really are.”
Claire wondered if there was a veiled message in what he said, but she ignored it and kept staring at “The Pond.” The surface was covered with a layer of dirty snow on top of ice that Claire knew would be too thin to support them if they ventured out onto it. There were signs that someone—teenagers—had been partying out here recently. To the left, on the narrow sand beach where Claire and her friends used to sunbathe, there was evidence of a huge fire. Charred logs and crushed beer cans lay all about in the mess of footprints in the snow. Someone had left behind a single boot.
“We used to swim here all the time,” she said, trying hard to conjure up her best childhood memories. “My brother and his friends would come out here, too, so we’d stay away when they were around because they were always teasing us, calling us names and—you know, being rude.”
“You mean acting like they wanted to fuck you,” Samael said.
Claire was shocked.
“What?” she said, her voice scaling up.
“I’m just saying the truth. That’s what they wanted, right? Only I’ll bet the little assholes were so insecure not one of them would have known what to do if you or any of your friends showed any interest. Probably the lot of them had tiny dicks, too, that would have shriveled up to nothing if a woman or even a girl ever saw them.”
Claire was astounded to hear him speak like this. It wasn’t at all like him to express himself so crudely…unless, she thought, this was another side…maybe a side of him he had kept hidden from her…
Until now.
“Are you—” she started to say, but she let it drop.
Samael was beginning to frighten her. It was all but impossible to believe that such a small, sad-looking pond like this had meant so much to her. And seeing it through his eyes, the loss of innocence stung deeply. Like the small house she had grown up in and the small town that had defined her horizons until she went off to college, seeing “The Pond” now all but overwhelmed her with melancholy. Fighting back tears, she turned away from Samael and let the sadness sweep through her.
Finally, unable to hold it back any longer, she began to cry. Warm tears carved tracks down her cheeks as sobs wrenched her body, making her shiver.
She waited, for Samael to reach out and touch her gently on the shoulder and then take her into his arms and hold and caress and kiss her. She wanted to feel safe and secure with him…
But he didn’t, and he remained aloof as wave after wave of emotion washed over her until she felt like she was sinking down into the slimy, murky depths of “The Pond.”
She wasn’t even sure what she was crying about.
Her childhood?
The sadness of times past?
Her hopes and worries for the future?
Her desire and need for Samael’s love?
She wiped her eyes with the flats of her hands as she cried, wishing she didn’t feel so utterly alone.
“You know,” she said, her voice halting as she stared at the woods on the far side of “The Pond.” “Sometimes I feel like…”
When she turned to him to seek comfort in his arms, she was stunned to see that he wasn’t there.
~ * ~
“Samael?” she called, her voice echoing hollowly from the opposite shore.
She looked around, wondering where he could have gone so fast. He was nowhere to be seen, not even on the path leading back to the house,
An icy blade of panic slid between her ribs.
She looked at the ground, but in the confusion of tracks made by the teenage partiers, she couldn’t distinguish her and Samael’s from the mass. She started moving toward the woods, scanning the snow for his tracks. She thought he might be playing a trick on her and had hidden so he could jump out and scare her.
But as she continued to look around and study the ground carefully, she still couldn’t see any signs she could positively identify as Samael’s.
“All right!…You got me!…Come on out!” she called.
She wondered if he had the ability to make himself invisible and was using it now to tease her or freak her out, for whatever reason.
But if he truly loved her like he said he did, why would he do something like this—even if he was only teasing her? It wasn’t very nice, considering how vulnerable she was feeling at the moment.
“Samael!” she shouted, louder. Her voice echoing from the woods on the opposite shore redoubled.
“…ael…”
Her eyes widened, and she vicio
usly wiped away the gathering tears, trying to see. Frustrated, she scooped up a handful of snow, made a compact snowball, and sent it flying out onto “The Pond.” It hit the slushy snow with a dull thud.
“This isn’t funny anymore!” she shouted, anger now mixing with hurt. “It wasn’t funny to begin with!”
“…to begin with…”
He’s hiding somewhere…trying to scare me, she thought, wanting to believe it.
Or maybe he’s really gone?
Is he so bored being here…with me…that he’s decided to ditch me?
Again!
She didn’t like these thoughts, but the only other thing she could think of was that he had never been here with her in the first place…She had imagined him being here all along…and now the reality of being back home had proven him to be the illusion he was.
A sudden mistrust of reality swept over her, and she began to tremble.
Her legs were numb and as stiff as sticks as she started back the way they had come. Keeping a careful watch for his footprints on the ground, she finally arrived at the point where they had exited the woods.
There they were—two sets of tracks, side by side heading toward “The Pond.”
But there were no third, fresher tracks leading away from “The Pond,” so she knew he hadn’t come this way.
So where did he go, and how did he disappear so fast? She had just been standing there talking to him, and…poof!
She looked back at “The Pond,” half-expecting—and desperately hoping—to see him standing there in the gloomy afternoon light, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m heading back now,” she called out, feeling a lot less courageous than she sounded.
“…back now… “
“You wanna screw around? Fine!”
“…Fine…”
The echo of her voice faded away. There were no other sounds, not even the song of birds—chickadees or sparrows—tweeting in the pine trees.
Foolish childhood fears reared their heads as they began to untangle inside her. Too many memories of being out here—either with friends or alone—and getting spooked only served to fuel her rising panic. When she was a kid, she had never come out here alone after twilight.