She

by David Duane Kummer

  “Worst case scenario, it’s some kind of racial show. The crosses up there and the bizarre circumstances make me think that. Another possibility is that some kids were pulling a prank and it got out of hand. I can’t imagine them intending to burn down a whole cornfield. And there were no deaths, at least that we can tell. Bodies could’ve burnt, though.”

  “What’s the best case?” asked the detective.

  “Best case, and also what I think, is that this is an accident. Some kids probably left their bikes over there, and some farmer left a fire blazing. It’s a big cornfield; any amount of things could have sparked it. I’d say it’s a tragic but completely innocent event. No arrests need to be made, and no investigation carried out. Good way to wrap it up, I say. Keep it low and just use it for publicity for Marc- I mean, Hardy.”

  He was surprised to see the detective nod in silence, apparently contemplating what he had said and agreeing. It was rare to see him give up an opinion, but the ridiculous one about the lady who took kids was one of his worst yet, and seeing him give it up brought hope. Maybe this man could be great.

  “You’re wrong.”

  Those two words erased every thought and hope the chief had been thinking. Then, in an act of clear defiance, the detective turned his back and walked away, strolling along.

  “Stupid rebel,” the chief growled. Seeing the detective get in the car and speed away towards the main town, he began to devise a plan where he could get the man fired. Enough is enough; that detective had crossed the very generous line and now he was going to choke on his own leash.

  Within half an hour, the field was deserted and everything pitch black. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, too far to appear visible, but close enough to set a change in the atmosphere. That night, the town’s hotels were packed full, but by tomorrow they would be empty, just like before. One solemn, lonely house stood beside the cornfield that was no longer, the wood stained black from the fire and being pelted by rain that could have prevented the catastrophe if it had come a day earlier.

  If anyone slept in that house, however, and spent a long night staring out of the windows, they would have most uncomfortable thoughts about the cornfield. It seemed an eerie place, with the three crosses standing like generals, surrounded by a circle of their common, wooden soldiers. All around them, the bleakness and depressive nature of the land cast a strange, peculiar feeling on anyone who saw it. Not a car drove by that night, and the only lights were from off in the distance, where Hardy’s main buildings stood.

  At some point around midnight, one figure began to walk across the ashes. Step by step, it crunched underneath her feet, while only the moon and stars were looking down. Even they may have felt fear and uneasiness, for a person should not be out at that time. The figure walked patiently and with no hurry, taking deliberate steps, easing through where fire had ruled just over a dozen hours ago.

  Reaching the crosses, she stepped towards the center one. Slowly rubbing a hand over its brittle outside, she stroked it gently, as if it were her child. With a silent turn, she strolled towards the large house, hardly visible. Within a matter of minutes, she stood in front of it, repeating the stroking motion on its side. A piece of wood stuck out, flapping without speed and yet quickly all the same. She smoothly ripped it from the surface, before throwing it up towards the roof. Before it struck, she turned around to begin her long walk back across the field and then the road, going into places unknown.

  The board landed on the roof, and slept there for the rest of the night, until the sun rose and the roosters crowed in the distance.

  Back at Michael’s house, Crystal woke up first, curled in a ball on the bed. Below her, Michael and Christian slept on the floor. Despite all the terrible events, she had slept remarkably well in his bed. That’s how she prefered to think of it: Michael’s bed, with Michael’s blanket, and Michael’s pillow.

  About ten minutes later, while she had been laying there awake, staring at the ceiling, Christian woke up, too. He sat up, yawned, and used the bed to pull himself to his feet. Crystal yawned too, in that strange way you do after someone else does.

  “Wonder why yawns are like that,” Christian said. “Contagious.”

  “Huh?” Michael said groggily from the floor. He looked up to find Christian and Crystal both peering at him, and startled. “What are you doing here?” he said surprised.

  “We spent the night…” Crystal said giggling. “Remember, silly?”

  “Don’t say that,” he said seriously.

  “Say what?” she asked.

  “Call me silly.”

  Crystal raised her eyebrows in amusement. “Why not? Your old girlfriend do that?”

  “No,” he said, not even the hint of a smile on his face. “Lilly did.”

  “Oh,” she said. Her cheeks felt hot, and her stomach squirmed in disgust at her own actions. “I’m... really sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” Michael said, waving his hand to emphasize the point.

  “You got any food?” Christian said, bringing their conversation to a close. “I’m starving.”

  “Don’t know.” Michael shrugged his shoulders, looking helpless. “You two go check the cabinet. I’ma get the mail.”

  Not long later, he was crossing the street, cold air snapping at his ears and cheeks. Shivering, he opened the mailbox and saw the usual: a few bills. Something else was there, though. A small envelope was tucked into the side, but the usual, white color was marred by water and dirt stains.

  What the heck.

  Grabbing the contents, he began walking towards the house. Looking down at the envelope, he found there was no information on it whatsoever; no name, no address, no destination for the letter. Yet somehow, it had come to be in his mailbox. Coincidence? Hardly. Another thing he noticed, the top fold was not held down. It slapped open in the wind, and he warily, but readily pulled out the two parts of the envelope.

  First was a picture of a bridge. It was completely stone, with small juts on the sides that acted as railings to keep children from falling off. All around it, a wild forest was growing, and on the side of the picture he could see a creek down below. No, that was not a creek; it looked more like a river. But none of those things held his attention quite like the center. Two little girls stood hand-in-hand, peering over the edge at the dangerous drop. One had curly, red hair frozen in the midst of bouncing down her shoulders, while the other, smiling in picture-frozen time, had braids in her black hair. Grace. The other was Lilly.

  At this point, he took off running towards the house. Soon, he was bursting through the front door, to the shock of Christian and Crystal. They opened their mouths to speak, but before they could he jumped into the kitchen and slammed the picture down on the table. Staring agape, both of them tried to speak, but no words came out.

  “What is this?” Christian finally managed to ask.

  “Don’t know. Was in the mailbox,” he said panting.

  Crystal was still gazing intently at the picture. “From who?”

  He tossed the envelope at Christian, still out of breath. With a quick glance, Christian saw nothing was written on it, and relayed that information to Crystal.

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing,” he answered.

  They both looked over at Michael, who sat in silence with another paper in front of his face. His eyes darted back and forth over it, growing more anxious with every inch they traveled across. Slowly, his features morphed into one of horror.

  “What is it?” Crystal asked.

  “Michael?”

  “A note. From her.”

  Crystal’s hand shot over her mouth, and Christian reached for the note. Michael shook his head and held it tighter.

  “No; I’ll read it.

  “She says hello. He says hello. All three say hello. Do you want to find these three? You will have to search the trees. If you know where you should go, nobody call tell you no. She says goodbye. He says goodbye. All three say goodbye. Don’t
let them die.”

  “No,” Christian said. “No, no, no. They died. In the cornfield.”

  “There were no bodies,” Michael said, more to himself. “Of course! There were no bodies at the cornfield.”

  “So? They would have burnt up,” Crystal said.

  “Not the bones,” Christian said, putting his hand on his head. “I should have seen it. Stupid!”

  “What about that picture? They’re on a bridge,” Michael said, ignoring Christian’s outburst, “but there’s no bridges like that around here. Not even in Marcy.”

  “Yeah, what about that?” Crystal asked, not to anybody in particular. It was not so much a question as a statement of defeat.

  “There is,” Christian said, surprising them both.

  “Where?” Crystal asked.

  “If you follow Highway 62 far enough to the south,” Christian said, “there is a forest. I went here once for a boy scout-”

  “You were in boy scouts?” Michael exclaimed.

  “Yeah, for a year or two. Went on a few trips. But the boys started being really mean -don’t laugh, you two- and eventually I quit. But it was kinda fun.”

  “So what were you saying?” Michael asked.

  Crystal looked with intrigue at her brother; she had known he was in boy scouts, but never heard about that forest. Apparently, it was a lame trip, according to her brother, but was now yielding its educational fruits.

  “I was saying that while we were camping in that forest, I remember crossing this river. It was small, but still looked dangerous. There were a lot of wild looking trees, like in that picture, and the way we crossed it was over a stone bridge, just like that one. Our guide said it was one of the only remnants of a town that used to be over there, a really old one. Started back in the 1700s, lasted until... I think he said 1850 or so.”

  “Wait,” Michael said, “a town? From the 1700s?”

  “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

  “You oaf!” Crystal exclaimed. “You didn’t mention it?”

  “Why should I?”

  Michael threw his hands in the air and shouted, “It’s the town! The town that the first one lived in.”

  “The first what?”

  Crystal started hitting his arm and said, “The first lady. Who took the kids.”

  Christian fended off her attacks. “Ahh. I see.”

  “You know what we have to do,” Michael said. He gulped, straightening in the chair “We have to go in. To the bridge.”

  “Why not get the police to help?” Crystal asked. “Detective-”

  “No,” Christian interrupted. “Check the back of the picture.”

  Flipping it over, she read aloud, “Come alone.”

  “Get your stuff,” Michael said, standing up from the table. “I’ll tell Detective Smith where we’re going, buy us some time. My mom won’t notice, and you two are allowed to be here for a day or two. Your mom will think you’re just staying over.”

  “Wait, what?” Christian asked in awe. “Go where?”

  “To the bridge.”

  “But that’s... that’s a few days away on foot?”

  “I know. There’s some bikes in my garage; we can pump them up and oil the chains. Make ‘em go fast. Then we’ll ride down to the forest and carry on foot.”

  Crystal asked, “I’ll go to a store and fill up my bag with snacks. Christian can carry blankets and stuff in his.”

  “Hold on, hold on. What are you two talking about?” Christian interrupted, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, you go do that,” Michael said to Crystal, ignoring Christian. “I’ll go call the-”

  “Stop!” Christian shouted. “What are you talking about?”

  “We’re going to the bridge,” Crystal said.

  “Today?”

  Crystal got up from the table, checking her pockets for cash, and finding a wad. Heading towards the front door, she flirtatiously blew a kiss to the boys. Christian was still staring at Michael expecting an answer, when they heard the door shut and she walked off down the driveway into the morning air.

  “Yes, today,” Michael finally answered. “I’m not waiting any longer. This is it.”

  “It’s a trap,” Christian said. “Can’t you see that?”

  “She’s given us another chance. Even if it’s a trap, it’s the last hope we’ve got.”

  23. Going

  Michael hung up the phone, and for the first time it dawned on him the enormity of their actions. In less than two hours, they were running away. Of course, they would return; at least, he liked to think that. Still, it was running away from the comfort of everyday life and towards the shadows and darkness in the forest.

  Strolling out the front door, feeling both afraid and exhilarated, he marched to the garage. The door was open, and Christian sat there with two bikes. One rested against the floor, a deep blue, with the paint chipped off and handlebars in terrible shape. Another one, the same color with a thin ribbon of white, now painted brown by dirt and grime, leant against his knee. The front tire was plump and prepared, while he worked on the back, squeezing air into it by means of a foot pump.

  “How is it?” Michael asked.

  Christian looked up hurriedly, a mixture of disbelief and fright. He was still reeling from Michael’s explanation of the plan, using the miniscule workload to keep his mind off of it. Sweat was beginning to form in tiny mountains on his forehead, while his leg shook from the effort he had put in.

  “This was flat; completely flat. Took a while to pump it up. Almost done now.”

  “Completely flat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No air?”

  “Zilch.”

  “The other one?”

  Christian pressed the front tire of the plain blue bike on the ground, and then repeated the process on the back. Moving to the pedal, he tried to move it forward back with his foot, but it begrudgingly scraped forward only an inch.

  “Tires need pumped. Chain’s really bad.”

  Michael pointed to the one he had just finished pumping up. “How’s the chain?”

  “This one will need some oil, too. When’s the last time you rode these?”

  “Years and years ago,” Michael answered. “Mom used to bike with me before she had Lilly.”

  “Little big for a six-year old Michael.”

  “I was a daredevil. Always wanting big bikes and big slides to play on.”

  “Yeah, lots do.”

  “Of course not you, though, Christian. You probably wanted big books, right?”

  “Nah; back then I was into scouts, not school.”

  Christian stood up, looking around for something to lubricate the chain with. His eyes scanned the garage, while Michael turned and looked towards the road. A little off from the house, he could see Crystal walking, arms dragged down with grocery bags. How much money’s she got? he wondered.

  “Hey, man,” he addressed, turning around to face the bewildered Christian.

  “Hm?”

  “I’ll oil ‘em up. You go help Crystal with the groceries.”

  “She back already?”

  “Almost; I can see her.”

  Rubbing his hands on his shirt, he peered in that direction and nodded when he saw her walking along. “Okay. Don’t forget to pump-”

  “Got it. You two just pack up the stuff in a bag, and make sure to bring blankets, pillows, those things.”

  After a moment of silence, when Michael took a seat and began to pump up the other bike, Christian asked, “How long do you think we’ll be gone?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Do you think the police will come looking for us?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Is it a trap?”

  Michael looked up for a moment and smiled. “Definitely.”

  By then, it was getting near lunchtime. The sun was nearly to its peak in the sky, and riding on the road would be hot and tiresome, but still Michael was determined to leave that day, as he voiced man
y times to Christian. Leaving Michael there with the bikes, Christian marched down to help Crystal with the bags, but she did not accept his help and carried them herself.

  Returning to the house, Crystal spotted Michael working with the bikes, and thought about going over to him but decided against it. Soon, she and Christian were packing up one backpack with all sorts of snacks. Chip bags, a few plastic tubes of nuts, beef jerky, even some sunflower seeds were pulled out of the grocery bags. Even more things got slammed inside, until Christian pulled out a couple cans, which on the side said in bold letters: SPAM.

  “What the heck is this?” he said disdainfully. “Spam?”

  “It doesn’t go bad, like ever. And it’s got lots of-”

  “Spam? You spent my money on freaking spam?”

  She gave him a reproachful look and said, “Your money? Part of it was mine.”

  “And you spent it on spam?”

  “What’s wrong with spam?”

  He stared at her for a moment, lots of thoughts tumbling around in his mouth, before finally answering, “I opened a can of this once. You know what happened? I threw up. And then I threw up some more, because my barf looked like spam!”

  “It’s not that bad,” she muttered while he walked to the trash can and opened the lid.

  Before he could throw it away, Michael walked in the front door. Seeing Christian, he asked, “What’re you doing?”

  “She bought spam!” he answered, pointing to Crystal accusingly.

  “And?” Michael look at him, eyebrows raised.

  “Spam is disgusting! Terrible, nasty; don’t you think so?”

  Crystal sighed in exasperation, and Michael just squinted, turning his head in a confused manner. “Why would I?”

  “You don’t like it do you?” Christian exclaimed in horror.

  “Um, yeah, actually; I do.”

  Crystal even looked at him in surprise, while Christian gagged. They both laughed at him, and he just glared, throwing the spam into the trash can anyways.

  “Shut up, you two. Let’s go,” Christian said, ending the conversation. He headed towards the door, which Michael pulled open for him in a mocking gesture. Crystal giggled and came up next to him, and they both followed Christian out of the house and towards the bikes, which rested against the ground, held up by the kickstand.