The Trees Have Eyes

by Tobias Wade

  But I really can’t remember how he died.

  The night before my memory fails me we were in our treehouse and staring through a torn blue tarp at the stars. I wasn’t supposed to be there because, for some reason, if a boy and a girl are in the same place by themselves something sexual is gonna happen. Mostly adults just thought that. We were best friends, nothing more.

  We were also neighbors and sneaking out of my first floor window was an easy task. Scott didn’t have it as good, nearly killed himself climbing down the rain gutter. But we did this most nights during the summer, just to get away.

  “You see Mars?” he asked. We were lying beside each other on a turned-over van chair that we got from the scrap yard. “The little reddish dot there?”

  “Yeah, cool.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, Kells, what’s going on?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the sky as he stared at the side of my face. I was annoyed that night. I got in a fight with both my parents over some rumor another girl in the neighborhood started. I was tired of being the scapegoat. “Nothing, why?”

  “Because you’ve been bitchy all day.”

  “Well, according to most people I am a bitch so…”

  “Oh, stop that crap.” He swatted my arm. “Come on, Kelly, spill.”

  “You ever think about just… I don’t know, staying here?”

  “Where else would we go?”

  I shook my head and sat up. He turned his gaze to me, eyes squinted and dancing over me. “I mean, just be away from it all… for a while at least.”

  He shrugged and turned back to the stars above. “All the time, but where are we going to go?”

  “I don’t know. I hate it here.”

  “Sorry I’m such a bore.”

  I scoffed and flopped back down on the chair. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane. Let’s leave.”

  He just laughed. I wasn’t joking. I wanted to get out of the neighborhood, away from all the parents and kids who hated my guts. I wanted an escape but he had a point… we had nowhere to go.

  “We could go camping,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “I mean, we could leave for a bit. There’s that pond in the woods, it’s far enough away that no one would probably stumble in on us, but close enough in case you try to kill me.” He grinned.

  “Sounds like you thought all this out.”

  “Got to always have an escape plan when I’m around you.”

  “Asshole.”

  “We all got them.”

  “Yours just stinks more than others.”

  We made plans, told lies to our parents, and met on the trail that we had forged back in the fall. It was mostly overgrown, but the trail still showed through the brush. I went first as I was a bit taller than Scott and could see over the bushes. We walked for what felt like an hour. The sun was heavy on our backs and the air felt like a blanket, so it was one of our less fun hikes. Scott had to take three breaks before we found ourselves at the pond.

  The pond was fed by a steam and the water was mostly clear. It was deep enough that the water would reach just over my waist, which was just perfect to relax in if you could stand the ice-cold water and the odd small fish getting a bit friendly with your underwear.

  When we first found it we spent almost two weeks there, building dams to bring the water higher and Scott tried to warm the water using heated rocks. Didn’t work out that well, but we had fun.

  We set our tent up a few feet from the water’s edge and then settled down to cook hotdogs over a fire. The day turned to evening and the forest became colder. We huddled against each other under a blanket and watched the flames, enjoying our first night of freedom from it all.

  “Wow…” Scott said and I jerked awake from the slight doze I had fallen into.

  “What?”

  “Look at all of them.”

  I lazily looked up and then gave a small gasp. It was like a light show in front of us. Fireflies of all different colors danced between the trees and above the water. The way they blinked to each other was almost magical.

  “I wish I had my camera,” I said after a few minutes.

  “Yeah… you hear it too, right?” I looked over to see him gently swaying back and forth. “It’s nice.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The music they make. It’s lovely.”

  “Okay, I think it’s time we get to bed if you’re going to be this nuts.” I stood and held my hand out to him. When he didn’t even look over I flicked his head. “Let’s go. I’m tired already.”

  “You go on ahead, I’ll be in later.”

  “You sound like my dad. Come on, I won’t be able to sleep with you out here.”

  “I’m not a kid.”

  I laughed. “We’re both kids. Don’t make me drag you into the tent, I’ll do it.”

  “I think I agree with everyone else right now, you are a bit of a bitch.” He stood slowly, his eyes never leaving the dance of light.

  I picked up the bucket that was beside the tent and went down to the lake to fill it so I could put the fire out. I bent down and then froze with the bucket just above the lake. I noticed something then in the reflection of the pond. A… person stood on the other bank. But it was strange, tall and thin and seemed to be watching me.

  I jerked my head up and looked at the other side. Nothing was there. “Scott…?”

  “Hm?”

  “Did you see something over there?” I pointed to the tree line and looked back at him. “Something standing there?”

  He shook his head. “No, but that music stopped. Are you sure you didn’t hear it?”

  “Maybe we should head home.” I stood with the bucket full and dumped it on the fading fire. “What do you think?”

  “What, are you scared, Kells?”

  I swallowed my pride and nodded. “What if I am?”

  He looked up as if ready to make a joke and then his face almost blanked. “Sorry. There’s nothing here to be scared of. Besides, there is no way in hell we’re walking back in the dark. We’d totally get lost.”

  “Yeah… but I know I saw something and you said you were hearing music and—“

  “I hear shit all the time. Don’t mind me. Come on, we’ll be fine. We are more likely to get hit by a crashing 747 than having to worry about someone being out here.”

  “So our choices are creepy person or flaming wreckage?”

  “It’s all about the odds.” He grinned and pushed up his glasses. He went to the tent and unzipped the front. He slipped in and the lantern inside turned on and the hazy light from it drowned the fireflies out a bit. I watched them dance for a few more seconds before following Scott into the tent.

  We talked for a bit. Then Scott read, and I quickly fell asleep.

  I woke in the morning, freezing. I sat up to see my sleeping bag was bunched up at my feet and Scott’s bag was empty. There was also a film of water along the grey bottom of the tent… and my clothes were soaked through. I thought maybe the pond had risen in the night, but the water was only on my side, as if I had gone for a swim and didn’t dry off.

  My teeth chattered as I unzipped the flaps to the tent and looked out at the pond. Only it wasn’t a pond anymore, just a hole in the ground. I stood there for a moment, not seeing what was there, and slowly it sunk in. All the water was gone. The little stream had dried up and the bottom of the pond was… black.

  I moved closer and realized that it wasn’t only black, it was brown and orange and it wasn’t just a color. The entire pond was covered in dead fireflies. They were stacked on top of each other, dead insects over every rock and pebble.

  In the middle was a mound of something; it was covered as well, but I didn’t need to guess what it could be, a memory that I could not fully grasp gave enough of a hint.

  “Scott?” I called and nothing came from the mound. I could feel tears burn in my eyes as I slid down, the fireflies crunching under me a
nd streaking me in their blood. “Scott, please don’t let that be you.”

  The mound wasn’t moving at all. My hands shook as I started to swipe away the fireflies and then I froze. Fabric the same color of Scott’s shirt showed. My heart felt like it stopped and my breathing hitched. Then time seemed to return to normal and I dropped to my knees while uncovering the rest.

  Scott laid in fetal position, his glasses broken and skewed on his face. His mouth was open, but a smile was frozen on his face even though his eyes were wide in what I could only guess was fear. I gingerly touched his cheek and his skin felt like paper. He was gone.

  I stayed beside him for hours, just staring at his face, trying to remember what could have happened. That’s when I heard what sounded like music; it was far off in the forest, echoing off trees. I stood and looked around, trying to find its source, but by the time I had turned completely around the music stopped and the birds filled in the silence. It must have been what Scott had been talking about.

  I still can’t remember everything. The only thing I distinctly remember from the entire night was an itching in the back of my skull, a dam that seemed to hold back any memory.

  That dam is slowly breaking, though, and I’m remembering bits and pieces of it. That night I hadn’t imagined the shadow on the other side of the pond. Scott hadn’t imagined the music.

  My newest memory is the dark form of a woman standing on the water in front of us as fireflies danced around her, and telling us that we are still wanted. Needed. That she could only take one for now.

  I remember holding Scott under the water. I remember him struggling. But did he die then? Did I kill him? I don’t think I want to know.

  Maybe some dams are best left alone, no matter what they hold back.

  Patrick McGrail

  Tongue's Bondage

  I loved the way her tits bounced when she laughed.

  She knew it, too. That’s why Zenia drew her jacket more tightly around her chest as she guffawed at Steve’s joke. She didn’t look at me, but she knew where my eyes had wandered.

  She had always known.

  Covering her chest had been a new development, of course. God, the subtle things have a way of stinging so much more.

  Brenda was sitting on Steve’s lap. His fingers were gently grazing her hand, stopping occasionally to fondle the newly-placed ring on her finger.

  Zenia and I sat on opposite sides of the campfire. She and I had agreed that the four of us would still be able to spend time together, and that things would not be weird.

  I mean, of course I went along with it. Anything less would have meant cutting Zenia out of my life entirely.

  I couldn’t bear the thought.

  “Okay, Barry,” Zenia shot in my direction. My heart fluttered and I felt nausea at the same time. “Tell us the one about that damn Nighttime Clown.”

  I cleared my throat and began. Maybe it would impress her.

  “Okay, this wasn’t told to me as a campfire story—my cousin Lenny says it happened to a family in his hometown.” Obligatory snickers. “Hey, I’m just letting you know the source. I’m a man of my word.”

  Zenia was listening. Good.

  “There was a married couple, relatively young but still together long enough to have two kids. A boy and a girl, like elementary school age. White picket fence, 1913 Craftsman bungalow. Happy family all around.” I paused for effect, letting the crackling fire dominate the soundscape. The dwindling sun was finally beginning to burn out from the summertime Idaho sky.

  “The couple gets woken up in the middle of the night, like 3:30 a.m., by a knock on the door. Thing is, it’s their fucking bedroom door. It scares the shit out of both of them, because their kids never knock on the door if they need something—they just kind of walk in. Not so good for their sex life, but whatever.”

  Brenda grinned and nuzzled her head into Barry’s neck. Zenia acted like she didn’t notice.

  I cleared my throat again. “So this knocking ends, and the twisting of the doorknob begins. The couple, they grab each other and don’t know what to do, because the door is the only way out and they’re on the second floor. It opens, and there’s this silhouette standing in the frame. It’s got a pointy hat with a fuzzy bobble on top, and they realized that it’s a goddam clown.”

  It was almost too dark to see Brenda shudder.

  “So the clown slowly points to his right, lowers his hand, then turns and points to his left. They don’t know what the fuck to do, so they just hold each other and tremble.

  “And that’s when some sort of rope creeps across the bed and entwines them like a goddamn snake. The wife is pulled away from the husband, and she starts to scream, but the thing gags her mouth. The husband reaches over to try and help her, but he gets bound and gagged by the rope, too. And whatever is holding them in place fucking pulls them into a standing position.”

  I tried to see if I was getting to Zenia. She had heard this story before. It had gotten to her before.

  Now she was in the dark.

  “Whatever is holding them in place is both warm and wet. That’s when they realize why the clown is silent. His tongue is protruding from of his mouth, and has wrapped around them both like a snake.”

  “Ick,” came Brenda’s voice, but she was otherwise silent.

  “The couple wants to get to their son and daughter, because the whole family is clearly in danger. But they can’t move, and the clown keeps pointing to the left and then the right. They each realize at the same time that he’s asking them to choose one of their children. They squirm, they shake, they try to get free, but the tongue, it only pulls them tighter. It keeps them there for like an hour.

  “Finally, the husband looks at the wife, and he nods. She starts to cry, but she doesn’t try to stop him. He wiggles a solitary finger free from the tongue’s bondage, and he points to the right—the boy’s bedroom—he’s the older one.

  “So the tongue slackens immediately, and rolls back toward the clown silhouette like a measuring tape getting rolled up. They get out of bed and sprint to the boy’s room, but he’s already gone. The clown is gone, too, with no trace of him anywhere. The daughter, she’s safe, she’s only like four years old, but the police never find any sign of the son.

  “Of course, the cops never saw the big, floppy shoe prints. The mom and dad had cleaned them off the ceiling before calling anyone.”

  I let the fire speak for all of us after that.

  “Well on that lovely note, I’m off to bed,” Barry offered cheerfully. He stood and lifted Brenda playfully with him. They trotted off to their tent, hands held and eyes locked the entire time.

  Zenia stood and faced me; I reciprocated the action.

  It was uncomfortable.

  “Hey, Zenia,” I began, using an entirely different tone from the one I’d employed while telling the story, “if you want—I know that you always did like sharing a tent when we went camping—”

  “Thank you. But I won’t be doing that.” She paused, and I could tell that she was sad that I’d asked. “Good night.” I heard her walk away, but it was far too dark to see her go.

  ***

  I had to get up and pee. It really pisses me off to think just how much my dick controls my decisions.

  The moon was shining brightly when I emerged from the tent flaps.

  And something wasn’t right.

  A figure was silhouetted against the trees, not twenty feet away.

  “Zenia?” I whisper-shouted. The shadow did not react. “Barry? Brenda?”

  Something was just so fucking wrong about the way it refused all body language after my speech. I wondered for a fleeting moment if it was even a person at all.

  Then I noticed the hat.

  It was perfectly conical with a small sphere at the top. I felt sick.

  I hadn’t been aware of how silent the forest had gotten until I heard the creeping. Twigs snapped as a long, thin, invisible
object wormed its way along the ground by my side. It stayed low as it inched behind me and began to form a circle.

  Panic set in. I looked to the right, where Barry and Brenda were sleeping in one tent. I turned to the left, and stared longingly to the spot where Zenia slept alone.

  The creeping on the ground grew closer.

  I lifted a trembling finger, and pointed left.

  Whatever had been crawling along the ground whizzed loudly around me and quickly disappeared. I blinked, and could see no figure in front of me.

  I began breathing normally again.

  Now don’t judge me for what I did next.

  Whether or not I had imagined the whole thing, I didn’t want to awaken Zenia to find out the truth.

  I went back to sleep, andlet the morning decide.

  ***

  We never found Zenia. No one did.

  I may be a coward. But I believed I was making the right choice when I brushed away all of the footprints leading into and out of her tent.

  They were far too large.

  J.D. McGregor

  California Dreaming

  Natalia knelt on the mattress and looked up through the sunroof. The natural light of a night's sky filled with stars shined through onto her face.

  I pulled the last of the worn grey curtains over the back windows of the van and collapsed down flat against the mattress. I folded the pillow in half and let my neck sink in. While I lay flat on the bed, I watched my girlfriend gaze above.

  It seemed her anger, in full heat less than twenty-five minutes earlier, had subsided. The tired lines that stretched across her cheeks and forehead were gone. She didn't like that I hadn't arranged for a proper campsite that evening. She made that very clear from the moment she discovered the fact.

  My eyes fell from her head and down to her body. I admired the slender curves and her back arched neatly above her calves. I adored every bit of her figure. It was still the fleeting body only a woman less than twenty-two could possess.