The Woodlander

by Kirk Watson

“Yes, you’re welcome to join us. We have plenty.”

  “Can we?” Violet asked Gary.

  Gary looked down at her. “Party with the gypsies? I think not! Look at the size of that pot. They’re probably stewing babies.”

  Violet scowled. “You’re just trying to scare me again, Gary.”

  “No, I’m not. They eat their own, I tell you.”

  “You mean they’re cannibals?” Lisa asked.

  “Why would they eat cannonballs?” Gary asked. “Why would gypsies even have cannonballs? They’re not the navy, you idiot. But they are flesh-eaters, each and every one.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes.

  Gary ignored her and turned his attention back to the gypsies. “Away with you, you carny-whores! We’ll not be stewing in your pots tonight!”

  “But we’re vegetarians!” the mouse replied.

  “I have no interest in your voodoo religion, either.”

  The gypsy mouse shook his head. “Then go in peace, strange little man.”

  “I’ve got your piece right here,” Gary said, brandishing his pistol. He fired a single shot in the air. The gypsy children shrieked and hid behind their mothers’ skirts while the men shook their fists at the passing barge. Violet gave Gary the meanest look a little squirrel could muster.

  “A curse on you and your boat!” the gypsy mouse called from the shore. “May you both find the river bed!”

  “It’s a barge, you bumpkin,” Gary shot back, his whiskers twitching as he snickered to himself. Whistling his dire river tune, he propelled the barge onward.

  As they left the gypsies behind, Violet sneaked one last look back. One of the youngest mice stood on the shore, holding his mother’s paw and staring after the barge. Violet waved to him wistfully. After a long moment, the young mouse raised his paw and slowly extended a single finger into the air.

  Chapter 8

  THE WELCOME COMMITTEE

  Within the inner ear lies an elaborate system of tubes called the labyrinth. These fluid-filled tubes are responsible for maintaining one’s sense of balance. When the labyrinth detects a sudden acceleration, a falling sensation is experienced. It is only on initial acceleration, however, that this sensation is felt. In a sustained fall, such as a free fall, the acceleration diminishes as maximum velocity is achieved. Though the fallen may continue to plummet, the inner ear quickly acclimates, and the falling sensation fades. In essence, the fallen get used to falling.

  They continued up the river for the better part of a week, only stopping at night to camp. The farther north they traveled, the fewer inhabitants they encountered. At first, John was relieved not to run into any more trouble, but he began to wonder why the area was so desolate. The surrounding forest was thick and lush, beautiful in its melancholy stillness, but not a soul stirred in the flora. Even the birds seemed to have disappeared.

  Where is everyone? John thought. Has someone driven them off? Or some thing?

  On the sixth day, the river rat Gary guided his barge to the sandy shore. In the distance, snowcapped mountaintops peeked through the forest’s canopy. A well-worn path led from the shore into the dark woods, and on the path sat a two-wheeled wagon, resting on its handles. A massive badger stood between the handles, staring off with a blank look on his face. Despite the cold, he wore no shirt, but gave no sign of discomfort.

  On the wagon sat a fat possum bundled in a coat; his tiny face peeked over the top of the scarf wrapped around his neck. He pulled a watch from his pocket as the river rat approached.

  “A bit late, aren’t we, Gary?” the possum asked.

  “We ran into some trouble,” Gary replied, leading the captives ashore, “but nothing Ray and I couldn’t handle.”

  “Of course,” the possum said. “And how did our cargo fare? Please tell me you didn’t lose any this time.”

  “I told you that couldn’t be helped. But these are just fine; see for yourself.”

  The possum hopped down from the wagon and put on a pair of glasses that made his tiny eyes appear three times larger. He walked down the line of prisoners with his magnified eyes peering at them from above his scarf. Stopping in front of Billy, he pulled a notebook from his coat pocket.

  “You there, what’s your name?”

  “Billy. Billy Harwood.”

  “Let me see your teeth, Mr. Harwood. Say ‘ah.’”

  As Billy opened wide, the possum poked a finger in his mouth and stretched his cheeks, peering inside.

  “Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm,” he said. “You know that stuff will rot your teeth, Mr. Harwood. No matter.” The possum jotted some notes in his book before turning to Rollie. “What’s your name?”

  “Rollie Malloy.”

  “Mr. Malloy, let me see your paws.”

  Rollie held out his paws in front of him.

  The possum took each in turn and examined them. “Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm. Oh dear.” He jotted another note in his book.

  “What is it, doc?” Rollie asked. “Scurvy? I don’t want to lose my fingers!”

  “It’s your nails, Mr. Malloy. Tell me, do you fancy the spirits?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Rollie said. “I’ll have a whiskey and water, easy on the water.”

  The possum gave him a perturbed look. “I’m not taking drink orders, Mr. Malloy. I’m asking you how often you drink.”

  “Oh. Not too often, doc. Just socially, you know?”

  “Yes, if you consider every waking moment to be a social occasion.”

  Rollie smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. “Good one, doc. So, I don’t have scurvy?”

  “How would I know?” the possum said. “I’m not a doctor.” He turned to Violet. “And you—what’s your name, little girl?”

  “Violet. Violet Gala… Gala…”

  “Excuse me? Don’t you even know your own name?”

  Violet looked to Lisa, who said, “Violet Galavant.”

  “Of course you are,” the possum said. “And you two are sisters, I presume?”

  “That’s right. I’m Lisa Galavant.”

  “Good enough for me. Will you two please turn around?” He made a spinning motion with his paw.

  The two girls turned nervously, careful not to trip over the ropes binding them together.

  “Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm,” the possum said as he scribbled into his notebook. He stepped over to John. “And you are?”

  “John Grey.”

  The possum consulted his notebook. “Hmm… we weren’t expecting you, Mr. Grey.”

  “I could come back later.”

  “No, not a problem. You’re here now.”

  “This one’s a gift from Lawrence,” Gary interjected. “You know, to make up for the last shipment.”

  “I see. Can you show me your feet, Mr. Grey?”

  John picked up his bare feet one at a time.

  The possum took each foot in paw and examined John’s toes. “Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm. You have city feet, Mr. Grey, but otherwise you seem healthy enough.”

  “Healthy enough for what?” John asked.

  “In due time, Mr. Grey.” He jotted a few more notes before returning the notebook to his pocket. “Well, Gary, it’s a sorry lot, if you ask me, but they appear to be relatively undamaged. I shall accept delivery.”

  As the possum dropped a small purse into Gary’s outstretched paws, John wondered how much their lives were worth.

  “You’re too kind, Neil,” Gary said, stuffing the purse in his pocket. “I’ll see you next month.”

  The river rat returned to his barge alone, leaving Ray behind with the other squirrels. Pushing the barge from the shore, Gary called back, “Don’t forget to write!” then snickered in his high-pitch squeal.

  “Shut up, Gary,” John and Ray said in unison. John gave Ray a weak smile, but was met with a stone face.

  “Everyone in the wagon,” Ray ordered.

  The captives loaded into the back of the wagon while Ray and Neil sat up front on the perch seat.

  “Let�
�s go, George,” Neil said to the badger.

  George lifted the handles like a rickshaw and began hauling the wagon up the path. Despite the heavy load, he didn’t seem to strain at all; his furry back rippled with muscles.

  What a brute! John thought. But why is he taking orders from that possum? He could thrash every one of us.

  “Isn’t he cold?” Violet whispered to Lisa as they huddled together for warmth.

  George overheard the girls whispering. “Oh, not me, miss,” the badger said. “I like the cold. My mom says I was born in a snow bank. It don’t bother me none. Are you cold back there?”

  “That’s enough, George,” Neil said from the perch seat. “Concentrate on the road.”

  “Yes, Neil.”

  The possum pulled a pipe from his coat and lit it with a match. “With any luck, we should arrive before nightfall, Ray,” he said between puffs.

  Ray simply grunted, staring into the distance.

  “I’ll go faster, Neil,” George said over his shoulder. “We don’t want to get caught in the woods at night. There are bad things in the woods.”

  Neil chuckled. “Relax, George. Nothing in this forest would touch us. They know who we work for.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” George said, but he didn’t sound convinced. John wondered what could possibly scare the giant badger, and even worse, who his employers were.

  The badger’s just an overgrown child, John told himself, scared of his own shadow. But John kept a wary eye on the forest just the same.

  The path grew steeper as they approached the mountain. John marveled at George’s strength as he pulled the loaded wagon. John had seen a badger once before, a strongman at a circus, but this one was even larger.

  As they ascended up the path, the air grew thinner and colder. Patches of snow spotted the ground between the tall pine trees. Ray handed a blanket back to John. The squirrels wrapped it around themselves and huddled together for warmth. Soon, a light snow began to fall, but Ray seemed indifferent to the flakes accumulating in his black fur.

  They emerged above the tree line, and the jagged mountain finally revealed itself, rising up in front of them before disappearing into the grey clouds above. The narrow path upwards hugged the mountain’s rocky face, bordered by a steep drop on the other side.

  Night was beginning to fall. Between the darkness and the snow, John found it difficult to see, but George appeared oblivious to the conditions; he actually seemed to pick up speed as the path grew steeper and the sky grew darker. John surmised the badger must have hauled the wagon up the mountain many times before, but he couldn’t help but wonder what had become of its cargo.

  A few hours later, the sky had grown dark. As they approached the mountain, a fox stepped out from a small guardhouse along the path and opened the gate barring the way.

  “Hey, George,” the fox said, waving the badger through the gate.

  “Hey, Dexter,” George replied without slowing. After the wagon passed by, the fox closed the gate behind them and returned to his post.

  The path led to a cave-like opening in the mountainside; a flicker of light emanated from deep within. The badger pulled the wagon into the dark tunnel and continued towards the light.

  They emerged in an underground grotto. A shallow lake spanned the breadth of the subterranean chamber, lit by lamps hanging from stalactites above. The stalactites appeared to be frozen, but an occasional drop landed in the basin with a sploosh that echoed throughout the cavern. George pulled the wagon across the narrow bridge running down the center of the underground lake. John stared down into the dark water on either side, wondering what creatures might live in its inky depths.

  The bridge led to a small sliver of shore on the far side of the cavern. A large door was set into the cavern wall with a velvet rope hanging beside it. In front of the door sat an ermine in an upholstered armchair, reading a book. As the wagon approached, the ermine set his book down and stood to greet them.

  “Very good, George,” the ermine said. He was all white except for the black tip of his unusually long tail, which hovered over his head as if it were listening in on the conversation. He placed a silver coin in the badger’s paw. “That’s enough for today. Go get yourself something to eat. You can stay here tonight if you like. I know how much you hate to travel through the forest after dark.”

  “Thanks, Ernie,” George said. “I’ll sure sleep good tonight. See you later, Neil.”

  “Good night, George,” the possum replied.

  George set the wagon’s handles down and returned to the tunnel, lumbering off into the dark passageway. Ray unloaded the captives from the back of the wagon and untied the ropes that bound them. He ordered them to stand in a line.

  “What have you got for me today, Neil?” Ernie asked the possum. His black-tipped tail swayed behind him like a cobra as it peeked over his shoulder.

  “Five squirrels,” Neil said, “not including Ray, of course.”

  “Of course not,” Ernie said, pinching Ray on the cheek. “Not our good friend, Ray.”

  John wondered why Ray didn’t snap the ermine’s arm off and beat him with it, but the giant squirrel stood there stoically.

  “But we were only expecting four squirrels,” Ernie continued. “Who’s the fifth?”

  “Someone in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Neil said, gesturing toward John.

  “Oh, we have an adventurer,” Ernie said to John. “We don’t get many volunteers.”

  “I was told there’d be benefits,” John said.

  “Oh, of course. Lots of benefits: fresh mountain air, home-cooked meals, all the exercise a growing boy needs. We’ll even cover any funeral expenses you might incur.”

  “That’s very generous.”

  “I think so. Funerals are so expensive nowadays.” Ernie turned towards Rollie and poked him in his ample belly. “But we’ll need a bigger coffin for this one. And sooner than later, by the looks of him. What’s the matter, Neil? Woodland run out of skinny bums?” The ermine sighed. “No matter. If he dies, we’ll just have to cut him down the middle and bury him in two boxes.”

  Rollie grew indignant. “Nobody puts Rollie Malloy in a box!”

  “Calm down,” Ernie said, “nobody’s putting you in a box, big boy.” He leaned close and whispered in one of Rollie’s ears while his tail tickled the other. “We’ll use two boxes.”

  Rollie swatted at his ears as if a bee were circling him. The ermine snickered and turned to the sisters, licking his paw before running it through the white fur on his head.

  “Why, hello, ladies.”

  “Piss off,” Lisa said.

  The ermine threw his head back and laughed. “Feisty! I like that. But you’d be nicer to me if you knew what was good for you. Life up here in the mountains can be harsh; it gets so cold and lonely. You could use a friend to keep you warm at night. And you’re sisters, am I right?” He licked his lips and made a guttural sound. Violet bared her teeth and snarled.

  “We’d rather die!” Lisa said.

  “You say that now, but you’ll come around. Just you wait.” Ernie pointed to Billy, who was holding his stomach and looking rather green. “Hey, Neil. What’s wrong with this one? Is he defective?”

  “I believe he’s in withdrawal,” Neil said, “but otherwise he’s healthy.”

  Ernie snickered. “Afraid you won’t find any candy up here, boy. But I’ll extend the same offer I made the ladies to you.” He traced a finger down Billy’s face. “You can call me Dr. Feel-real-good. Say ‘ahhhh’ for me.”

  Billy turned his head away, looking sicker than ever.

  Ernie laughed. “Very well, Neil. I accept delivery.” He handed a small coin purse to Neil, who nodded and walked away.

  Ernie turned to Ray. “Well, come on, chuckles. We shouldn’t keep our lords waiting.”

  The ermine walked to the door set in the back of the cavern wall; it seemed much larger than necessary, even for the massive badger George. Ernie pulled the
velvet rope hanging next to it. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang. The faint sound grew louder, echoing through the grotto before fading away.

  Ernie stood waiting, rocking back and forth on his heels while his tail twitched behind him. He smiled broadly at the captives, but said nothing. John shuddered, wondering what sort of creature could possibly need such an immense door. Several minutes passed before he got his answer.

  The door slowly swung open. Two amber eyes peered out from high within the darkness of the doorway; the eyes glowed in the lamplight, darting back and forth in a most unsettling manner.

  Ernie bowed before the eyes towering over them. “Our guests have arrived, my lord.”

  “So I see,” the eyes said. The voice was deep and majestic, with an exotic accent John couldn’t quite place.

  John’s fur stood on end. There was something about those eyes—or maybe it was the voice—that stirred a deep fear inside him. Something primal. His tail quivered uncontrollably behind him.

  The squirrels huddled closer together as the glowing eyes darted from one captive to the next. After a long moment, it stepped forward into the light.

  John’s eyes widened in terror as he realized what was coming through the door.

  Lisa and Violet shrieked.

  Billy fainted on the spot.

  Rollie’s jaw dropped. “Oh, balls…” He turned to John. “Still don’t believe in ghost stories?”

  John swallowed hard. “I’m starting to come around.”

  Chapter 9

  NATURAL ENEMIES

  Labyrinthine vertigo is a condition of the inner ear in which the tubes become inflamed, resulting in dizziness and a spinning sensation that can make it difficult to stand or walk.

  The haakönen stepped through the door and into the light of the grotto. John had seen sketches of haakönen before, but never one in the flesh. When he was a child, his grandfather had told him gruesome tales of the massive birds of prey, but even those were thirdhand stories passed down from his grandfather’s grandfather. Haakönen were just the villains in grim fairy tales and campfire ghost stories. “Watch out or the haakönen will get you!” his grandfather used to say. Like most Woodlanders, John thought the haakönen were a myth—a bogeyman in the clouds.