Enough rain had finally settled upon Meadowton’s parched fields to make traversing the woods an expedition designed solely for the agile. In pursuit of their friend, Robby and Casey abandoned their bikes along Adler Lane and began their trek through the muddy thicket in route to Murden’s farmhouse. By the time they neared his property, they were lathered with enough debris from the forest to make it appear as though they had purposely camouflaged themselves in their surroundings.
Rather than confront Murden on his own turf, Robby determined that they stood a better chance at estimating the level of danger from afar. By the time Andrew arrived at Murden’s home, the boys had already staked out a position in the encompassing woods. Armed only with two flashlights and their wits, neither boy felt adequately prepared to handle the situation as it developed. They both shivered as their saturated clothing began to stick to their skin.
“I keep telling myself that I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” Casey complained in a whisper, “but yet I keep comin’ back for more.”
Robby continued to adjust the flashlight’s strobe so that Murden’s shanty was at least partially visible through the thicket. At a distance of more than twenty-five yards, it was nearly impossible for them to observe what was happening inside the house. But soon after the rain subsided, Robby detected the shadows of three people moving in tandem from the farmhouse. Fearing that the beam of his flashlight would draw attention to them, Robby cupped his hand over the light and hunkered into the underbrush beside his friend.
“I see them,” Robby said to Casey. “Three people just came out of Murden’s house.”
“Three? I thought you said that Kyle came here by himself?”
“That’s what I thought, Casey, but there are two men with him.”
“So what do we do now?”
Robby appeared to be engaged in deep concentration as his stare shifted toward the surrounding woods. It wasn’t difficult for him to surmise where the trio planned to go. “They’re going to the peach grove,” he said tonelessly.
Casey’s memories of the grove were much too vivid for him to seriously contemplate a return visit. He shivered at the idea before saying, “I already told you, Robby, I ain’t going back into that grove.”
“We may not have to actually go into it,” Robby mused. “Maybe we just need to get close enough.”
“Close enough to do what?”
Robby shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m not sure, Casey. Can’t you tell that I’m making this up as I go along?”
“Who can arguer with that kind of planning,” Casey quipped. “I’m not even gonna bother to tell you what my next move will be because I probably won’t stick to it anyway.”
Although this might not have been the most appropriate time for joking, Robby and Casey smirked at each other before setting off on the trail to the peach grove. They were mindful to keep at a safe enough distance so that they remained undetected by Ben Murden and his unfortunate guests.
After the last remnants of rain had descended from the sky and the faint traces of thunder became less constant, the woodland’s insects resumed their evening chatter. All but one region of the forest echoed with the sound of meadow crickets. The peach grove still revealed no visible signs of life. The trees’ decayed limbs stretched from crooked trunks as if they were searching for an ounce of mercy in the open sky. But the darkness provided the withered trees little solace. As they had for thirty years, the trees stood exposed to the elements, prematurely stripped of their glorious pink blossoms in spring, and the sweet golden fruit of summer.
Tonight marked a new hour for these diseased trees, and the crescent moon cast its luminous glow upon the orchard with a resurgence seldom known to these woods. In terms of appearance, the trees revealed nothing to suggest that anything of this world could offer a cure to their blight. But what if a remedy did exist and it stirred just beyond the natural process of creation?
With his shotgun in hand, Murden guided Andrew and Kyle into the peach grove. He forced both of them to walk in front of him so that they weren’t more than two paces ahead of the shotgun’s barrel. Andrew had been given the chore of carrying the shovel, and he waited somewhat patiently for the right moment to use this tool as a defensive weapon. Just as Kyle had initially thought, Andrew suspected that the old man would eventually leave himself open to an attack. But Murden’s astuteness surprised them both. He seemed temporarily invigorated by the notion of redemption. There wasn’t a single sign of fatigue in Murden as they meandered between the peach trees.
Just as Murden predicted, the rain had softened the earth in the grove. His boots sank into the dirt when he neared the designated spot. Andrew hesitated to gauge the old man’s reactions, but Kyle hadn’t altered his blank expression since they departed the farmhouse. Suddenly, Murden’s eyes centered on the precise spot in the grove; it was beneath the branches of one lone peach tree on the edge of the field.
“Right here,” Murden said to Andrew as he shone the strobe light on the tree. “Doesn’t this look familiar to you?”
Andrew’s breathing became increasingly erratic as Murden urged them to move forward. Thirty summers may have passed, but this portion of the woods triggered a series of unwanted memories in Andrew’s mind. He sensed himself growing woozy as the old man pushed them forward.
“It’s all comin’ back to you now, isn’t it, Andrew?” Murden asked confidently. “As much as they have been for me, these woods have become a part of you.”
No amount of pleading would’ve altered Andrew’s presumed fate at this point. He chose not to respond to Murden, but this silence permitted the horrible memories of Sylvia’s last screams to amplify within his mind. Meanwhile, Murden’s eyes were still fixated on one particular peach tree. At this moment Kyle and Andrew realized that they had arrived at their destination.
The crescent moon hung like a gilded sickle over the grove tonight, providing just enough illumination to light the earth. Murden wasted no time as he separated Andrew from his son. He then ordered Andrew to position himself beneath the designated peach tree’s branches. The purpose of their journey was no longer a mystery. Andrew understood what Murden wanted him to do as he motioned for the shovel.
“I don’t reckon I need to tell you what to do,” Murden said to Andrew. He then checked the chamber on the shotgun and aimed the barrel at Kyle’s head. “You best get started. We wouldn’t want any more unfortunate accidents to happen.”
“Think about what you’re doing, Ben,” Andrew shivered as his fingers tightened around the shovel’s handle. “I’ve been trying to cooperate.”
“Then dig the hole, Andrew. We have nothing more to discuss.”
“Nothing will be accomplished by any of this!” Andrew cried.
Murden slowly maneuvered the shotgun in Andrew’s direction. The strobe light clearly defined the fear in his eyes. “Thirty years ago,” Murden stated, “a fragile soul was lost beneath the soil of this peach tree. We now have a chance to make everything right again. A soul must take her place.”
Andrew’s eyes centered on his son and the notion of surrendering Kyle’s life brought forth an outpouring of emotion. Andrew slumped to his knees and dropped the shovel from his hands. “Don’t do this, Ben. I’m begging you—my son is innocent! If you must, sacrifice me instead.”
The point of negotiation was over. Murden decided to emphasize this fact by squeezing the shotgun’s trigger and releasing two shells into the soil beside Andrew’s leg. “Are you going to make me ask you again?” he hissed at Andrew.
If he wished to remain alive, Andrew’s only option was to pick up the shovel and obey Murden’s command. While he toiled with this work, Kyle stood expressionless beside the old man. The possibility of an escape no longer entered the boy’s thoughts.
Meanwhile, Robby and Casey had relocated to the dense woods surrounding the peach grove. Murden’s strobe light offered the boy’s an opportunity to position themselves within thirty yards of the peach tree. Once crouched in the
thicket, they could vaguely distinguish the events as they unfolded.
“What the heck are they doing?” Casey asked excitedly. They were both close enough to hear the clang of the shovel as it connected with a buried rock. Robby couldn’t make sense out of the situation, although his vision was not obscured.
“I—I can’t be sure,” Robby stated, “but I think someone is digging a hole…”
“Maybe Murden’s burying another body out here!”
“No, Casey,” Robby whispered. “The old man is standing next to Kyle holding a gun. Someone else is digging with a shovel.”
“Who?”
“We’ll have to get closer. I can’t make out who it is.”
The boys slunk through the thicket without trying to make noise. They nearly reached the grove’s perimeter. Only a thin line of trees separated them from the peach grove. Despite the proximity from them to Kyle, they still hadn’t developed any plan to rescue him.
“What do we do now?” Casey asked.
“We wait,” Robby replied as softly as possible. “I can’t figure out what they’re doing.”
Casey’s eyes briefly centered on the shotgun in Murden’s hands, but he quickly redirected his stare to the man prying at the soil with a shovel. “What the heck is that guy doing? He must be working for the old man…”
“Not by choice,” Robby determined once seeing the gun. “I can’t be sure, Casey, but I think that’s Kyle’s father…”
The boys were suddenly hushed by the sound of Murden’s voice. Apparently, Andrew had dug the pit deep enough to meet the old man’s satisfaction. The hole was about two feet deep and about the width of a small child’s body. After Andrew climbed out of the pit, Murden instructed him to crouch to his knees. Andrew offered no resistance at this time.
“We’re almost ready,” Murden declared victoriously. He then raised his nose to the trees and inhaled the muggy air. “I can feel her in my bones. She’s coming home tonight.”
Kyle’s eyes were fixated on the pit in front of him, but his lips remained tightly pressed together as if he was withholding an urge to scream. In these moments, Andrew begged Murden to reconsider his plan. When Murden refused to acknowledge Andrew’s concerns, he turned his attention back to his son.
“Kyle,” Andrew called in a near panic, “tell Ben that what he is doing is wrong. We can’t change the past.”
Kyle’s face was nearly expressionless when he turned toward his father and said, “We need to help him, Dad. Ben deserves that.”
“What are you saying? He wants to kill you, Kyle! He wants to bury you in this damn hole!”
Kyle’s voice was still monotone when he replied, “He needs to end this curse. I think we should help him…”
“This is insane,” Andrew whispered. “You must be in a trance or something! Wake up, Kyle! Don’t you realize that this is wrong?” Within seconds, Andrew stopped trying to communicate with his son. Somehow Murden had manipulated the boy’s thoughts. In desperation, he directed his rage at the old man. “The police will be here soon…they’ll stop you.”
“That doesn’t give us much time then,” Murden said. Without warning, the old man took aim with the shotgun again. “Your boy seems to be more mindful of the concept of justice.”
“This isn’t justice,” Andrew countered. “This is pure lunacy, you crazy bastard.”
Murden’s attention suddenly swayed to the far side of the peach grove. A silvery mist began to form at the base of the trees’ roots. The old man’s smile indicated an intense degree of satisfaction. His voice was laced with anticipation when he spoke again. “She’s with us now,” he murmured. “We must begin.”
Even as the old man spoke, the fog thickened and slid across the ground as if originating from beneath the soil rather than from the air. As instructed, Andrew remained squatted on his knees with his arms crossed in front of his body. Murden’s eyes were visibly glazed, as if covered in a layer of silk, while he stared at the crescent moon.
Murden’s voice sounded hauntingly forlorn when he announced, “For thirty summers I’ve waited for this precise moment. In all that time my thoughts have wandered to this grove and beneath the limbs of this withered peach tree where my daughter breathed her last traces of air. A man may ask his god for mercy as he endures life’s sorrows, but what god can cure the pain of knowing that his child died such a frightful death? There can be no prayer uttered to heal such a menacing turmoil.”
The old man then swayed toward Kyle and shoved him in the back with the shotgun’s barrel. Kyle moved reluctantly in the direction of the open pit beneath the peach tree. “I suppose by now you know what must be done, boy,” Murden said. “This earth is calling for you tonight, and you will soon understand where souls go when they no longer grow.”
Despite the urgency of his father’s cries for mercy, Kyle did not resist the old man. He edged toward the shallow hole and jumped down into it. The old man then instructed Kyle to kneel down and wait for his next command. By now the mist had transmitted a greenish hue and slid freely into the indentation where the boy stood. If Andrew still possessed any doubts about the curse’s validity, he quickly changed his mind. Though the consternation in his expression was evident, he detected no apprehension in his son’s face. Surely the boy must’ve been terrified by the prospect of being buried alive, but his eyes remained dispassionately blank.
Andrew thought about the possibility that he had somehow lost touch with his son’s emotions. Couldn’t he even recognize the sensations of love and pain in the face of his own son? Perhaps he had never understood the principles about fatherhood until now. It was at this moment that he realized that he had in fact left the boy alone for too long and the connection between them had decayed like the trees in Murden’s grove.
As the fog continued to accumulate, Kyle found it easier to shift his position upon his knees without being detected by Murden. For a boy who seemed relatively resigned to surrendering his life a few minutes ago, he had concocted a plan to escape. He remembered where his father had placed the shovel, and he was able to locate it by just edging his hands along the perimeter of the pit. He grasped it and held it beneath the mist that swirled around his shoulders.
During this time, Murden appeared mesmerized by the mist rising from the peach grove’s soil. When the fog had almost completely enveloped the entire grove, Murden lowered his shotgun and tossed it to the ground. The gun disappeared into the mist, but Andrew was certain that he could overpower the old man and prevent whatever the old man had devised. By throwing down his weapon, Murden left himself seemingly vulnerable. Andrew decided that he needed to strike quickly, so he lunged forward in a bid to tackle the old man. But when he motioned to move his legs, Andrew realized that his feet had become knotted in the peach trees’ roots.
Andrew’s panic intensified once his restraint was certain. His violent screams were silenced by Murden’s eerie cackle. “Think about what you’re doing, Ben!” Andrew called out to him. “Do you really want to destroy another family? Why can’t you just forgive me?”
Murden pretended not to hear Andrew as he pulled the bracelet from his pocket. Unlike before, the energy within the gemstones glowed in his hand as well. Only now, the colors were more resplendent and constant. The old man’s fist shook convulsively as he extended the bracelet to the sky. Beams of energy spliced through the darkness, illuminating the entire grove. At first this energy seemed to dissolve in the atmosphere, but it soon formed into a translucent sphere above the trees. Within this aura of green light a human shape began to slowly emerge.
“Her energy is all around us now,” Murden announced with glee. The flesh on his palm appeared to be burning from the bracelet’s intensity, but Murden showed no reaction. His vision remained transfixed on the human shape materializing through strands of filtered light.
If Kyle still possessed the stamina to make a motion to save his own life, he needed to do so now. But the boy found it difficult to maneuver in the pit. His le
gs felt restricted by something that he could not see. He still had control of his upper body, however, and swinging the shovel was not beyond his capabilities at the moment. All he required was for the old man to step within his range. But despite Murden’s preoccupation with the emerging spirit, he still hadn’t strayed near enough to the pit for Kyle to initiate an attack.
At the same time, Robby and Casey scampered from the thicket. The fog had not strayed beyond the grove, but they could barely see any of the three in front of them. They recognized the danger at large now and knew that they only had seconds to make a difference.
“We got to do something, man!” Casey shouted, no longer concerned about the loudness of his voice. Robby thought about charging the old man and overtaking him in that fashion. Perhaps they could provide enough of a distraction for all of them escape unharmed, but the chances of that were less than favorable.
As Robby peered at the gathering mist, he knew something was afoul. “There’s something in that fog,” he said. “But I’ve got a feeling that if we go into that grove, we might not make it out again.”
Robby’s observation was enough to restrain Casey for now, but he was still fidgeting in the darkness. Though he didn’t wish to express this realization, he knew that something unearthly had invaded the grove. As he thought about his next action, Casey’s eyes focused on a smooth stone sticking partially out of the soil. The stone was about the size and shape of a baseball. He quickly unearthed the rock and held it in his trembling fingers.
“Hey,” Casey called to Robby, “I think I got an idea.”
Robby turned his attention to the stone clasped in Casey’s hand. He then looked twenty yards deep into the grove in the direction where Murden stood. Casey peered at the old man with determination before saying to his friend, “The way I see it, I can get one good shot at him with this rock. If I hit him in the head, it’ll surely knock him cold.”
With no plan of his own in the works, Robby stepped aside and gave his friend enough room to test his pitching skills. Under normal circumstances, the old man would’ve been an easy target for Casey to hit from this distance, but the opaque fog had proven to be an obstacle because the old man was partially submerged in it.
“Wait for an opening,” Robby advised his friend. “You won’t get a second chance…”
Casey was at first aiming for the old man’s head, but when he saw the glowing object in his hand, he decided that this was the source that needed to be removed from Murden’s clutches. The exact moment to toss the stone seemed nearly impossible to calculate. The mist kept changing patterns and Casey lost sight of Murden’s hand several times.
“Wait for a clean shot,” Robby urged him. “Don’t take any chances!”
Casey sighed with frustration, but his friend correctly instructed him to act with caution. There weren’t too many instances where Casey could recall that he actually missed his target, but it wasn’t the right time to start settling for mediocrity. This pitch was undoubtedly the most important one of his life.
Chapter 24
Songs of a Peach Tree Page 24