The Hunting Tree

by Ike Hamill

“Tell me,” said Crooked Tree.

  “It’s not for me to know,” said Talking Bird, “but I’ll tell you what my uncle told me. He said that a roaming spirit must find and destroy others of its kind. If I understand correctly, you must now hunt.”

  “Hunt,” Crooked Tree repeated. He straddled Talking Bird and lowered himself, squatting just above the old man’s chest.

  “You have the strength of our disease,” said Talking Bird. “You’ve eaten our knowledge and wisdom.”

  “Yes,” said Crooked Tree, beginning to understand. “I’m no longer the Crooked Tree. I’m the Hunting Tree.”

  “You will become our vengeance and cleanse the world,” said Talking Bird.

  “Beginning with you,” whispered Crooked Tree. He cupped Talking Bird’s skull in his massive hands and crushed the dying man’s head.

  Crooked Tree stood tall and looked up to the moon. To the south he could see across the fertile valley on either side of the river. He flexed his repaired and strengthened arms, and locked his powerful legs as he took a deep breath. He felt that he could smell the whole world. Something off to his right caught his attention. He turned and discovered that it wasn’t something that he could hear or see, but something he could sense—it was prey.

  Crooked Tree crept off into the night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Davey

  “MOM!” HE SCREAMED.

  “Davey, what is it?” Melanie sat on the edge of his bed and shook his shoulders gently.

  “Mom,” he whimpered as his eyes opened.

  She pulled him to her shoulder and patted his back—“What is it, honey?”

  “It was the man again, the hunter,” he said. “He’s coming.”

  “Nobody is coming Davey. It was just a bad dream,” she said. “You’re nine years old. You’re getting a little old for these nightmares.”

  “This wasn’t a nightmare. I saw him,” he objected.

  “Saw him where?” she glanced around. “This is your bed, and you’re safe and sound. If you saw a man in here then it had to be nightmare.” She pulled a tissue from the sleeve of her robe and cupped his chin while scrubbing his cheek. “I swear, you are the dirtiest boy in the world,” she commented.

  He pulled away and buried his head under his blankets.

  Melanie stood slowly and pulled her bathrobe tight. She waited until Davey peeked out from under the covers. “Do you want me to leave the door open?” she asked.

  “And the hall light on?” he asked back.

  “Okay, but just this once,” she said.

  She pulled his door halfway shut, so the light wasn’t directly on his face, and waved goodnight. Davey flipped the covers back over his head and felt his own breath close. He didn’t want to poke his head out from under the blankets, but he was afraid fall asleep with his head covered.

  When he was four, his sister had told him that if you slept under the covers you would “suffocate to death.” He took that advice very seriously, but that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t like being under the covers. Davey also didn’t like the new smell his body had begun to make. His new smell reminded him of his gym teacher—a very hairy and perpetually sweaty, overweight man.

  He closed his eyes tight and inched his head from under the blankets until his nose was greeted with fresh air. Careful not to glimpse the dark, he arranged his arms and drifted back to sleep.

  * * * * *

  DAVEY WAITED AT THE CORNER for the bus. His mom had packed his backpack while he took a shower before getting dressed. Without being told, he had started taking a shower every morning. No matter how much soap he used, or how many times he bathed, he couldn’t erase his musky smell. At school, some of the other kids had begun to tease him, and he didn’t blame them. He thought he smelled gross too.

  Davey kicked the backpack at his feet and wondered why it was so plump. A realization dawned on him and he unzipped the top compartment. He found a towel and bathing suit in a plastic bag, stuffed in with his lunch and folded homework.

  He looked around in a panic until he spotted the neighbor’s trash can, left at the curb. The bus turned onto Wakefield Street as he darted to the can with his open pack. He removed the towel and bathing suit and stuffed it in the can. He was back at his spot by the time the bus got close enough for him to see the driver.

  * * * * *

  “OKAY CHILDREN,” SAID MRS. ROBERTS. “Everyone who’s taking swimming please line up by the cubbies.”

  Davey kept his chair and hunched over his workbook. This was his first line of defense—he would play dumb.

  “Davey,” she asked from just behind his desk. “You’re signed up for swimming, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not supposed to,” said Davey. “I don’t have a suit.”

  “It’s okay,” said Mrs. Roberts. “I’m sure Mr. Mulgrove will find you one.”

  “I can’t,” said Davey. “My mom said so.”

  “I talked to your mom just last week. She didn’t mention anything.”

  Davey looked up to Mrs. Roberts’s wrinkled face and tried to decide if he could insist she was wrong.

  “Come on.” She touched his shoulder.

  Davey flinched away from her touch. He lowered his head and shuffled towards the line of kids waiting against the far wall. The three boys in back were the ones who regularly teased him—Ted, Matthew, and Nicholas. He lined up behind Ted and glanced back to Paul, happily filling out his worksheet. Paul looked up and nodded.

  “That your boyfriend, Stinky?” Ted leaned in and whispered.

  Davey looked at his shoes.

  “Davey?” called Mrs. Roberts from the front of the line.

  He looked up to see that all the other kids had their hands raised. He raised his own and held it high.

  “Yuck—you stink,” hissed Ted, turning his head slightly.

  As the line began to move, the children put their hands down and followed their teacher around the corner and down the stairs. They marched down the hall and out the front door to the waiting school bus for the short ride to the high school pool. Davey’s heart beat faster as he passed Mr. Mulgrove who stood with his clipboard at the front of the bus, checking off names. He wanted to declare himself ineligible for swimming, but couldn’t muster the courage to bring up the subject in front of a busload of his classmates. He took a seat near the front and waited for the short ride to end.

  When they reached the parking lot of the pool, Mr. Mulgrove stood and addressed the kids as the bus slowed to a stop.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “I want you at poolside in five minutes. No loitering. You know what that means?” he asked, turning to Hannah. She began to turn red. “That means no hanging around. I want you out the other side before I come looking.”

  He backed into the Davey’s seat to let all the other kids passed, giving Davey a good excuse to talk to him after his classmates left, but an unwelcome view of the wide seat of his pants. When Nicholas had exited down the stairs, shooting a hateful look back at Davey, Mr. Mulgrove sat down on the edge of the bench seat and addressed Davey.

  “You forgot your suit?” he asked.

  Davey looked down at his empty hands and nodded.

  “That’s okay,” said Mr. Mulgrove. “I’ll borrow one from the swim team. They have plenty.”

  Davey shook his head but didn’t look up at the giant head of his teacher. “I don’t want it. I can’t swim today,” he said as he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Why not? I thought you liked swimming?”

  “No,” said Davey, clipping the word to keep control of his voice.

  “Didn’t I just talk to you last fall about getting ready for swim team next year?”

  Davey nodded slowly.

  “What changed?”

  “I just,” began Davey, “I just don’t want to. I’m not even suh-supposed to,” his voiced hitched as he blurted the sentence.

  “Whoa Davey,” said Mr. Mulgrove. “Why are you getting emotional? It’s just swimming.”
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  “I don’t know,” Davey said through his tear-strangled throat.

  Mr. Mulgrove reached for Davey’s shoulder and then stopped his hand and put it on the seat back behind the boy. “Did I ever tell you about my son, Davey?”

  Davey shook his head.

  “Tyler got taller than all the rest of the kids when he was in fourth grade. They used to call him Stretch, and Bigfoot, and then Twin Towers, which really didn’t make that much sense. Some kids just lash out at anyone that’s different. They feel insecure themselves, and the only way they can cope with it is to make fun of other kids. Does that make sense?”

  Davey nodded.

  “Well it shouldn’t,” laughed Mr. Mulgrove. “It’s rotten, and they shouldn’t do it. But Davey, everyone’s the same and everyone’s different. That might sound weird, but it’s true. You just keep your head up and don’t let anything they say get to you. And if it does get to you, you come see me. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Davey, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He still dreaded getting out of the bus, but sensed that the conversation was over.

  “Come on, I’ll get you a suit and towel." Mr. Mulgrove rose and let Davey lead the way.

  Behind the counter in the lobby of the pool, Mr. Mulgrove pulled out a box filled with tiny suits. He dug through the box and handed a boy’s size to Davey. Next, he pulled a towel from the shelf and handed that over as well. Davey stared at the suit, but Mr. Mulgrove didn’t address his knitted brow.

  “See you at the pool,” said Mr. Mulgrove. He smiled. “Get moving, don’t be late.”

  “Thanks,” said Davey and turned to push through the door to the locker room. When he entered the warm, humid locker room, almost all of the boys had exited. He saw the door on the other side swinging shut as the door behind him thumped closed.

  The only boys still at the benches were Matthew and Nicholas. They didn’t notice Davey. They were attempting to snap their thick towels at each other and dancing around the wooden bench. Both boys wore normal bathing suits that hung to their knees and would make swimming slow, but private. Davey turned towards the corner and opened a locker, sitting on the corner of the bench.

  “Let’s go, Ted,” called Matthew.

  “I’m coming,” said a voice from the bathroom section. Davey heard the voice of his tormentor enter the changing area. “Hey, it’s Stinky.”

  Davey ignored him and placed his shoes and socks in the bottom locker.

  “I’m going out,” said Matthew, and Davey breathed a little easier. “Last time Mr. Mulgrove made me do extra laps because I was late.”

  “Hey look what’s Stinky’s got,” said Ted from directly behind Davey. He turned his head to glance at Ted and saw him holding his borrowed suit.

  “Give it back,” said Davey.

  Ted held up the skimpy suit and regarded it closely. “Are you going to wear this? Are you sure you’ll fit? My dad calls guys who wear these walnut smugglers. Is that what you are? A walnut smuggler?”

  “Give it back,” repeated Davey.

  Nicholas laughed and drew up behind Ted.

  “Nicholas, help me stretch this, will ya?” asked Ted. He kept hold of the bottom of the suit and Nicholas grabbed the waistband.

  Davey rose, and stood in just his shirt and underwear, and balled his fists. “Quit it,” he said.

  The two bullies pulled the suit, stretching it further.

  “I said QUIT IT,” yelled Davey. Nicholas looked up first and dropped his end of the suit. Davey stood a few feet from Ted’s back with a wide stance and shoulders back. All three boys stood approximately the same height, but Davey suddenly seemed larger and more imposing than both of the other boys put together.

  “Relax, you baby,” said Ted, turning around with the suit. His confidence ebbed when his eyes hit Davey, but he tossed the bathing suit in Davey’s face.

  Davey let the suit hit him and fall to the ground. He didn’t break eye contact with Ted. All of his muscles were clenched and he felt strength course through his body as his anger flared. Nicholas tapped Ted on the shoulder and the two bullies left the locker room to go to the pool area.

  “See you out there, Walnuts,” Ted called back over his shoulder.

  Davey bent over to pick up his stretched suit and returned to the bench to finish dressing. As he pulled on the garment it occurred to him that Ted and Nicholas might have done him a favor. The misshapen fabric helped him conceal himself more than he expected. As his adrenaline waned and he began to breathe more naturally, he slipped easily back into self-loathing.

  With his clothes tucked away in the locker, Davey picked up his towel and folded it around his hands so he could carry it in front of his crotch as he exited the locker room. Lost in thought, and regretting his hasty decision to throw away his bathing suit, Davey didn’t notice the puddle on the floor of the locker room. His feet came out from under him and he looped forward, coming down hard on his elbows. Eyes darting around the room, Davey first made sure that nobody had seem him fall. All alone except for the occasional faucet drip, he exhaled and regained his feet. Shoulders back, Davey pushed through the door to the pool area.

  On the other side of the pool, Mr. Mulgrove addressed the assembled students. Davey rounded the aromatic pool, feet slapping on the cold tiles.

  “Hey kid,” Davey heard from his right. He looked over to see high-school girls, assembled on the risers, calling to him. He pointed over to his class and kept walking. The girl closest to him called out to him as he walked—“Nice buns.”

  Davey blushed and kept walking, but felt an uncomfortable heat growing in his stomach. He was confused by the attention from the older girls, and his ears began to burn. When he approached his class, Mr. Mulgrove was just completing his opening instructions. “Everyone grab a kick-board and jump in the water.”

  Davey put his towel down on the stands behind the diving board and grabbed a kick-board from the rack. He quickly crossed to the edge of the pool, anxious to get in the water.

  “Hey,” said Ted, pointing. “Stinky’s got a chubby.”

  Davey paused and looked down. After a few heart-stopping seconds, he regained his wits and jumped in the water. Before his head ducked under, he heard the echoing laughter of his classmates.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mike

  “OKAY, WE SEE IT. Back it off. BACK IT OFF!” yelled Mike into his radio. He looked to his left to check on his ashen companion. “You okay?”

  The man clicked his mouth open and shut it slowly.

  Mike watched for seven anxious seconds while the apparition drifted towards them, becoming more and more transparent. The figure had opened the far door and strode through, carrying a stack of folded laundry, before closing the door behind itself. Mike recognized it as a residual haunting—a psychic movie of a dead person, trapped in a loop.

  He saw no recognition of their presence in what he could still see of the thing’s eyes. By the time the ghost came within touching distance it had all but disappeared, they could only detect a faint fog where the thing should be.

  “Was that?” Mike’s companion croaked.

  “You tell me, was it?”

  “I think it was,” he said. “I think I would have run out of here if it hadn’t been her. I loved her so much.” He shivered. Mike sensed that the man used his words defensively, trying to convince himself of their veracity as he spoke.

  “I think you have your story,” said Mike, putting his arm around the scared man. “Let’s go check the footage.”

  Mike had chosen one of the most respected local newspaper editors to come along on their latest hunt. Their guest, Bruce, wrote a popular column, had a good relationship with the police, and had made it known in certain circles that he was a fan of the paranormal. Once they had opened a discussion, finding out that Bruce also had a lead on haunted house further sealed the decision.

  When they reached the van, Gary and Katie burst out of the back doors.

  “What did you
think, Bruce?” asked Gary, smiling.

  “I want to see the tape,” said Bruce.

  “Yeah, but wasn’t it great? Did you get really close?” asked Gary.

  “It was…” Bruce said, trailing off. “Astounding. It was astounding. I want to see the video.”

  “Sure thing,” said Gary. He ushered Bruce to the van.

  Mike stayed back from the others and watched Gary demonstrate the capabilities of their research van. He covered all the instrumentation and ended with video from several angles and various spectra. The video included their encounter with the spirit.

  They had taped a photo of Bruce’s grandmother, Jane, below the monitor. As Gary stopped and reversed the images of the walking entity, Mike leaned forward slightly. The photo showed a middle-aged woman dressed in clothes that must have been purchased in the seventies. She stood by a birdbath with a cigarette hanging from her hand.

  “Do you recognize the clothes she’s wearing?” Mike asked Bruce, as the editor ran his finger over a monitor.

  “Not really,” said Bruce, “but she looks younger than I remember.”

  In the early part of the video, when the ghost maneuvered past the door, she was most solid. She wore a floor-length dress, mostly white, with a bib and shoulder straps that covered a light-blue blouse.

  “How old was she when she moved here?” Mike asked, interrupting Bruce’s concentration again.

  “Uh, fifty-five, maybe sixty,” he said.

  Katie approached Mike from behind and whispered in his ear—“Leave him alone if he wants to think that’s his grandmother,” she said. “How can you be so sure it’s not?”

  Mike backed away and stepped out onto the lawn with Katie.

  “That residual is at least a hundred years old,” said Mike. “Look at how she’s dressed. Besides, she’s headed from a door that’s not there anymore. He told us his grandparents remodeled the place before they moved in, and not since. That spirit remembers a floor plan that predates them moving in.”

  “I thought you were doing this for press and for credibility?” she asked.