“Margaret Mead,” answered Christian.
Brandon said, “That’s just like you; quote some British lady.”
“She was born in Philadelphia?” said Christian, a confused look on his face.
“What, did you marry her?” Brandon chuckled.
The rest of that afternoon went by in a blur. For a while, there was the awkward feeling among everyone that the conversations were fake, and just to cover up the embarrassment Brandon now felt for his meltdown. After a bit, they returned to laughing, and during that afternoon everything felt normal at times. Like all good friends do, they forgave and forgot, until that evening when conversations returned, begrudgingly, to the lady.
All four of them were sitting around one of the small, rickety tables at the Maplewood Deli, where they had dinner because Michael’s house had nothing. The food was subpar, for sure, but the cheeriness Michael had felt in showing them each the restaurant, which they had never visited, made up for it.
Their conversations, up until then, had revolved almost entirely around Brandon, making snide remarks about the restaurant, and ultimately playing a joke or two on the grouchy old man at the counter. After getting told any more “funny business” would result in their being kicked out, everyone had sniggered quietly and returned to a peaceful, less rowdy talk.
“Groucho up there’s got a ‘tude,” Brandon remarked once the man went into the back room because of the quiet and peace offered behind the closed door.
“Groucho Marx died,” said Christian. “And he was funny.”
“Who? Groucho Marx? Or Groucho Clarks up there?” Brandon asked, laughing to himself.
“That’s the best you could come up with? Groucho Clarks?” Michael shook his head, mocking.
Crystal clicked her tongue and said, “Totally unoriginal.”
“Yo mama’s unoriginal,” Brandon countered.
“Yo mama’s so unoriginal, she still uses Yo Mama jokes,” Michael said, taking a bite out of his sandwich.
“Didn’t your momma teach you not to talk with food in your mouth?” Brandon asked.
The smile vanished from Michael’s face like lightning flashing across the sky, gone in a heartbeat. Brandon knew he was thinking about his mom again, and was not surprised. It was terrible, watching your mom fall into depression, and knowing there was nothing you could do.
I could get Lilly back, Michael thought. But will that actually change anything?
“Hey, man,” Brandon said, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. “Cheer up. It’s alright.”
Crystal stretched out a hand, hoping to cover his. She wanted him to feel better, to be happy. She would give anything to make him smile, especially now when they all needed it. They were in a gigantic, hopeless mess, but she tried to think of the future. If they turned out fine after everything, she wanted to ask him out on a date, admitting how much she liked him. Her parents would not mind, surely. And if they did, she would change their opinion.
Some of the lyrics from a Luther Vandross song with Mariah Carey began to play in her head, despite her attempts to block them:
There’s only you in my life; the only thing that’s right … You’re every breath that I take. You’re ever step I make … I want to share all my love with-
“Crystal? Hello?” Brandon asked, interrupting her lyrical thoughts.
“Huh?”
“I asked you if you thought it was a good idea,” he said.
“What’s a good idea?”
“That’s what I asked you.”
She looked around at the boys, cheeks aflame and very embarrassed. Michael was not at the table; that was peculiar. Stupid daydreaming. Always happened at the worst times. Now she was confused and looking like an idiot.
Christian explained, “We were talking about the lady. We decided we need to know more about her, and I said there’s a book at that small library here in town about the local legends. If she’s in there, it’ll be bound to tell us something good.”
“What’s that got to do with asking me a question?”
“We’re asking if you wanted to come along,” said Brandon.
“You’re going now?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course. Gotta get a move on,” Brandon replied with a faint grin.
“Yeah, I’ll come. Don’t we have to pay?” She jerked a thumb up at the counter.
They both looked at her as if she had horns growing from her straight, dirty-blonde hair. Turning around in her seat to look, she saw Michael exchanging dollar bills with the grumpy old man -Groucho Clarks, to Brandon.
Christian asked, “You sure you wanna come, sis? You might need a-”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted. “Let’s just go.”
Marching out of the deli, she did not look back. When Michael saw her, he strolled over to Brandon with a questioning look. Brandon just said, “Girls” with a sigh and walked out gruffly.
“What’s up with them?” Michael asked Christian.
“I don’t know, but neither of them went the right way. The library is to the left; they went right.”
He laughed and clasped Christian on the back. “Well let’s meet them, then. They’ll find their way, I imagine.”
18. Characters
All four of them were sitting down around a wooden, wobbly table in chairs that might not hold their weight. Lights hung from the ceiling overhead, although only one of the three worked. In a few hours, when the sun began to sink outside, this place would be too dark to read. For now, sunlight streamed in the windows enough to make out the individual letters of a book, but it would not be so for long.
Their feet rested on a thick, prickly carpet, the ugly brown-red slosh pot color. It smelled dank, with years’ worth of slush and mud from outside soaked into it. Everything seemed to be an dingy brown, a boring red, or a miserable mixture of the two. Only a few shelves with books stood in the single room, with a small desk beside them facing the front door. That hideous carpet covered every inch, and the color ran up the walls to the white ceiling, which looked like heaven compared to what was below.
Christian cleared his throat, before looking down at the book. It was old and rugged, with some pages ripped, taped, and ripped again. Peculiar stains dotted the pages almost as frequently as the ink. His hands held the book loosely, as if afraid that pressing too hard would make it crumble to dust.
“Looks pretty crappy,” Brandon commented.
“Yeah, but the author is fun to read,” Christian said.
“Fun? To read? Nope, never.”
Crystal stared at Brandon annoyed. “Can we just read the thing?’
Christian cleared his throat again and read:
“The Lady of the Woods.
“There is a legend in the Marcy-Hardy area, and I have taken a special interest in it. Unlike the other legends recorded in this book, I have seen the evidence and witnessed the stories firsthand. When you finish reading, you will understand greater what I mean, and how it is that I could understand and believe completely the stories and myths surrounding the Lady of the Woods.”
“I’m bored already,” Brandon said loudly. The others immediately shushed him.
“It started in the mid-1700s, although nobody can say exactly what year or when. This woman has no name that I have heard, and so for the purpose of learning we will call her the Lady.”
“Not a very cool name,” Brandon interrupted.
“Brandon!” Crystal threatened.
“Anyways.” Christian glared at the two before continuing. “The Lady was less than 20 years old when it all began, and she had mental issues that nowadays would result in her being sent to an asylum or psychiatric hospital. When she lived in the woods, she had one child, but the father of her child soon left when he realized how unstable and dangerous she was. Leaving her alone in the woods with the baby girl, he left in the middle of the night.
“While the baby girl grew up, she and her mother became especially close, and that child was the jewel of
her mother’s eyes. The Lady loved her daughter, and lived a happy life in the unsettled land. It was not easy, and yet she enjoyed it very much, never wanting to belong to a town or a village. The woods were her home. Of course, that child grew up, as all children do, and became a toddler.
“While the Lady was gardening by her house, one day, growing some little plants, nothing special, the child was playing out in the woods, still in sight of the shack they had built in a clearing. Apparently, the child wandered too far into the woods, and when the Lady looked up, she was gone, never to be seen again. Still, to this day, nobody knows what happened to the child. Some think she was taken by indians, or fell into a deep hole and died. Other say she was killed by a wild animal, or drowned in a river. Whatever happened, the Lady lived on her own for years after that, growing more regretful and more sorrowful every day, while all around her other people settled and a small village began to grow around her small shack.
“In the 1760s, just about twenty years old, she began to interact more with the townspeople, hoping to find a husband and start a family no doubt. Frustrated that no men in the village would fall in love with her, and still grieved deeply from the loss of her child, her mental instability grew to even more dangerous depths. One man was courting her about then, but that man was soon turned away by the issues she had and her poor lifestyle even in the midst of a quietly growing town.
“The Lady was beginning to age much worse than all the other ladies, and her face slowly became more wrinkled and ugly, worn from years in the wilderness and scarred from years of despair and agony. She lived a miserable life after that, drowning in despair, possibly attempting to kill herself, although nobody knows for sure.
“The man who had left her married another woman, having twins almost immediately, a boy and a girl. Then, around the early 1770s, they had another son. In 1775, she had another baby girl. Immediately after that birth, strange things started happening in the village. According to all of the legends, the man noticed a figure standing outside the house at early hours of the night. This went on for a while, until one by one the children went missing over the next three weeks.
“Many people then, and some now, say the father was immoral, and being punished by God for his sins. Others say animals killed them, the children wandered off, and theories like that. What I believe is the Lady took them, kidnapped them all rather quickly and with frightening efficiency. With only one child, the baby girl, remaining, the wife clung to her with a feverish frenzy, until many of the townspeople thought she was unstable.
“Then, one night, she took the baby girl out to the river to wash, but was found much later dead, and the child gone. This started quite an uproar in the town. Many people were blamed, some even thought guilty, but nothing came of it.
“Many people expect that some animal attacked her and carried the child away or she was washed down the river, but I do not think so. I believe entirely that the Lady took all of the children, and then took the baby girl as well. The father moved away, never to be heard from again.
“Twenty years after those horrific events, that man’s cousin, who lived in the same town, still, had all of his children kidnapped, three of them, all except for the baby girl they had. She was kept safe, and not taken. Every so many years since, a lady has been seen, and soon after children have gone missing. It’s a terrible cycle, unbreakable and undefeatable. Many people will not accept it, and I am one of the few who believe she is real. I urge you to accept it and prepare for it.
“This terrible lady, with all of her wicked deeds and lurking tendencies, is known by some as the Lady of the Woods, or the Lady of the River. Others know her by different names, but the story remains the same, and the consequences to others keep existing, no matter what police forces or townspeople try to do. It is terrible, and yet, as I said, unbreakable and undefeatable
“Everything started back at that river, however, when the Lady took the baby girl. It is my humble, quite possibly mistaken belief that the baby girl taken by her every so often, in some way, helps the Lady to go on living. I do not know how, and I do not wish to know, but let it be a warning to you. Watch your children carefully, and tell them to watch each other. You never know what is underneath the hood, or standing on the other side of the street. What once were peaceful nights outside and just strangers passing by now become more sinister events, and dangerous people. Watch your children, I implore you. To fail to do so is to welcome her into your house.”
Christian shut the book with dramatic flare, and the others looked up, trying to hide their fear. Brandon thought about cracking a joke to lighten the mood, but none came to mind. He was just as afraid, and feeling guilty once more.
To fail to do so is to welcome her into your house.
Had he welcomed her in? Was his lack of preparation the reason Grace was gone, and possibly the same for Michael’s sister? These were questions he could not answer, and perhaps did not want to. Sometimes mystery is a welcome blanket, because truth can rarely pierce through it. When it does, it stings, and along with it comes unwelcome, harmful change.
Michael glanced around at the others. “Is there anything else in the book, Christian?”
After a quick scan of the table of contents, he shook his head. “Nothing for us. Just that chapter.”
Crystal asked, “How come nobody realized this before? I’m sure others have read that. It’s in a book in the library; I mean, that’s something.”
Christian answered, “Well, it’s really just a local author. That’s the only reason it’s in here.”
She said, “Still, though. Somebody else has read it, right?”
Michael stared at the lines on his palm, thinking. Finally, he said, “Maybe not. There’s only one way to know.”
“How’s that?”
Christian answered for him. “The library records. I think they have pretty extensive ones here on every book, since this place is so small.”
Everyone hopped up from their places around the table and followed Michael to the front desk. A middle-aged woman sat there, glasses perched on his beak-like nose, eyeing everyone distrustfully. Her fingers were busy filing her nails, with a cherry soda sitting to the side.
“What’cha wanting?” she said in a pitchy tone.
“That’s not very polite for a librarian,” Brandon said.
She snapped her fingers at him, before returning to filing them. “Tell me what’cha want, or skadoodle.”
Michael dropped the book on the table, wondering if it might tear apart when it landed. It slapped onto the desk without incident, and he said, “We’d like to know who the last person was to check this book out, and the name.”
“The name of the book’s on the cover,” she said, irritated at them. Despite her reluctance, she dug through the drawers for a few minutes and pulled out a file.
“Name of the person who checked it out,” Michael corrected her.
She nodded, pursed her lips, and pulled out a paper. Reading off of it, she stated, “Last checked out in 1975, no month or day written. Just year. Name was... Olivia Frazier.” Looking back up towards them, she filed it away in the drawer and began working on her nails once more.
Crystal cleared her throat loudly, and the librarian looked back up.
“We’d like to check this out,” Michael said.
“Why?” the librarian asked in that same, bored voice. “You kids actually read?”
Without answering, Michael turned and asked his friends if anybody had a library card. All three shook their heads.
While Michael faced the librarian again, Christian said, “I have one for the Marcy library, but not-”
Michael interrupted, talking to the librarian. “Can I get a card?”
She glared at him, eyelids drooping. She sighed, and took a slurp of her soda through a straw. “Can we not and say we did? It’s a heckuva lot of work.”
“How am I supposed to check it out?” he asked. “I need a card.”
She wav
ed a hand in the air and yawned. “Just take it and come back later. I’m tired.”
Michael was about to argue, but she put her head in her arms, laid it down on the desk, and was soon snoring. He looked around at the others, astonished.
“Let’s just, um, go,” Brandon said.
“Yeah,” Michael agreed uncertainly.
When they all stood around later in Michael’s kitchen, his mother asleep still, they laughed to themselves at the awkward, abnormal librarian. It was so bizarre, and entirely unexpected, that they could not help but chuckle at the not-so-distant memory.
“What a day,” Brandon said with a sigh, watching the sun set over the endless rows of soybeans. Surrounding the glowing sphere, the sky was on fire, burning embers replacing the white clouds.
While the other three talked aimlessly and Christian read them excerpts from the book, Michael went over to the telephone. He picked it up, dialing Detective Smith’s desk number, since he would still be at the station, and waited only a few moments before the other end picked up.
“Detective Smith, here. Who’s calling?”
“It’s Michael. I’ve got a question.”
“Fire away, kid.”
“Back in 1975, what was the name of the teenager kidnapped?”
“Hold on, lemme check my notes. Why’re you asking? Got something on your mind?”
“No, just a hunch.”
There was silence on the other end, except for the rustling of papers, while Michael peered over at his friends. They were laughing at something, or somebody; probably Christian, judging by the look on his face. Brandon saw Michael on the phone and gave him a curious stare, but Detective Smith answered just then.
“Name was Olivia Frazier. That all you need?”
“Yeah.” Michael paused, deep in thought. “I’ll call you later if I need something.”
“Okay. Stay safe.”
He hung up the phone, and the other three immediately rushed over, asking who he had called.
“Detective Smith,” he answered.
“Why?” Christian asked.
“Asking for the name of the person kidnapped.”
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