The Light in the Woods

by Jean Marie Pierson

  “Excuse me.” A man in a fine linen suit walked between Hal and the girl and reached towards a box of Hershey bars on a higher shelf. He placed his hand on the counter for balance as he grabbed two bars. After he reached them he showed them to Hal. “Can’t go home without one of these,” he said with pride as a kind smile stretched across this face.

  As he walked away Hal noticed a glimmer from the counter. In the spot where the man’s hand just was sat a shiny new dime. He picked it up and rubbed it between his index and thumb. It looked as if it just came from the mint. Hal ran through the aisles looking for the man and found him at the register trying to make idle chat with Mr. Shiller, who was pressing buttons on the register and staring at his brothers. Hal ran over to the man. He held the dime in the air as if he was trying not to get it dirty.

  “Excuse me, Mister,” Hal said as he tapped the man on the arm and held the coin over his head. “You dropped this.”

  Mr. Shiller’s gaze finally broke from his brothers as he stared at Hal in horror. The man looked confused. “That’s kind of you, my boy, but I don’t think it’s mine.”

  “I know it is. You left it by those Hershey bars. It’s next to the ones I like,” Hal insisted.

  The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a small handful of coins. He moved the coins around his palm with his other index finger while his lips counted and examined the change. His hands appeared bent and gnarled, like broken branches off a tree. After closer examination, he looked down and shook his head.

  “No, I think that one’s yours. I have everything I need.”

  The smile on the man’s face traveled over to Hal’s as he lowered the coin to his eye level. A dime! He thought. A whole dime. Then suddenly the dime vanished out of his fingers. Christopher stood over Hal and flipped it in the air.

  “Thanks Hal!” he said as he slapped it down on the counter. “We’re taking this,” Christopher said as he held up a rolled-up copy of Adventure magazine. “Don’t say we don’t pay for nothing,” he said as he playfully smacked Hal on the top of the head with the rolled-up magazine. “Come on, little brother. Let’s get out of here.” The bell already banged the ceiling, signaling his older brother Tim’s exit.

  Hal shrugged and followed Christopher until he heard Mr. Shiller cry out. “Hey, wait a minute! What do you say to him?” Mr. Shiller asked, pointing to Hal. Hal turned around embarrassed.

  “Thank you, sir.” Hal said, giving the man with the broken hands a smile. Mr. Shiller appeared confused.

  “No, I was talking to your brother,” he hollered. “Come back here!”

  Christopher turned around, annoyed, as he thumped the magazine on his leg. “What else do you want? I already paid.”

  Mr. Shiller grabbed a brown paper bag from under the counter and opened it. “Since this is the first time you ever paid for anything in your life, let’s make it official and put it in a paper bag.”

  Christopher strolled over and threw the magazine on the counter. Mr. Shiller stuffed it in the bag and handed it to Christopher. Christopher reached for it but Mr. Shiller would not let it go. His thick grip and face were both swollen with rage. “I don’t want to see you or your older brother in this store again. You hear me?” He looked down at Hal. “Your little brother can be in here. But not you two.”

  Christopher yanked the bag out of his hand. “If this is how you treat paying customers, fine. We won’t come back and pay for anything again, Fatso.”

  Christopher turned on his heel and bounced out of the store. As soon as Hal walked through the doorway, Tim reached around and slammed the door behind him, causing a slew of magazines to slide in a wave off the shelves. Tim and Christopher laughed as they walked ahead of Hal down the sidewalk. Christopher took the brown bag off and flung it in the air.

  “Eat dirt, you old windbag,” he said. Hal watched the bag coast in the air but fall with a distinct thud on the ground. He walked over to the bag and saw something shiny peek out of the top. He reached down and slowly pulled from the bag a candy. But not just any candy. It was a row of his favorite chocolates encased in its cellophane sheathing. He held the candies up to his eyes in shock. Hal’s brothers kept on walking as he looked to his left and right for a possible explanation. The only eyes he found were the same little hazel eyes he saw in the candy store. The little girl in the purple coat. Surrounded by her siblings she had stopped and looked at Hal with the same shocked look. She too saw the magic candy appear and acknowledged the miracle with a smile.

  Hal put his teeth between two of the chocolates and drew one out of the package and into his mouth. The chocolate eviscerated the taste of smoke. It wasn’t a memory. It was real. And it tasted sweeter and more wonderful than he remembered.

  CHAPTER 12

  Jacob’s Lane – Southold, New York, 1944

  “Could you please go into the basement and get me the…” Oscar stumbled over his thoughts as he waved his free hand in the air. “The thingamajig.”

  Ray looked down the workbench at Oscar and scratched his head. “The what?”

  “You know? The whoziewhatsit.” Oscar tried to illustrate by making a clamping motion with his hand.

  Ray shook his head in confusion. He couldn’t decipher Oscar’s hand movements, the tone of his voice, or anything else he said through a mask. “What’s a whoziewhatsit?”

  Oscar lifted his welding mask up, slapped his hands on his knees, then began to whip the air around in front of his face as if he could form the word out of thin air. “Come on. It’s the whatchamacallit!”

  Ray kept looking at Oscar’s movements for clues. His words certainly weren’t giving him the answers. “Pliers? Clamp? Wrench?”

  Olive cried out over her shoulder, “Scissors?”

  “No, no, no!” Oscar said, clenching his hands in frustration. “You know, the thing that snips the tin.”

  “Tin snips?” Ray said with his one eyebrow raised.

  Oscar slapped the table. “Did I need to spell it out for you? Yes, the thingamabob. Be a good man, go to the basement and grab me my old pair. They’re on the workbench.”

  Ray nodded, stood up, wiped his hands on his apron and headed toward the back of the room. He stopped suddenly and turned around. “Wait. Where’s your basement?”

  “Go down the hallway by the kitchen. The door is at end on your left. The light switch at the bottom of the stairs on a…on a,” Oscar didn’t turn around as he held is arm up and made a fist. He brought it up and down as if he were hammering a nail with his hand. “On a…”

  “String?”

  “No, Smarty pants. A pull cord.”

  Ray looked at Olive, who sat hunched over a model zeppelin, meticulously painting a red letter “Z” on its canary yellow side. He crossed his eyes and shrugged. Olive let out a silent giggle before refocusing on the aircraft. They were getting used to Oscar’s funny ways and sayings. His tone often sounded harsh and gruff, as if everything he said or that was said to him was a bother. But he never acted mean or angry. He treated Ray and Olive more like adults than kids. He even let them come in the house without knocking. They would just walk in, throw their books on a chair, find their aprons, and get to work. Bottles of root beer were always in the fridge for them and they could drink one any time they wanted. He even let Olive take home an extra bottle for Paley, since he was doing such a swell job protecting the neighborhood from the “Not-so Germans.” He said the Germans who came to America before the war and the ones who didn’t belong to the Nazi party, like himself and his family, were the good Germans. The “Not-so Germans” were the bad kind. He said any group of people that called themselves a name that sounded so much like the word “nutsy” or “not see” had to be either off their rockers or blind.

  Ray headed down the hall until he saw a room lit by only the fading sunlight. He turned around to see if Oscar or Olive could spot him from the living room. When he
saw only a wall, he placed his feet gently in the doorway, grabbed the sides of the doorframe and leaned in as far as his balance would take him. Looking around the room, he saw a bed carefully made with a cream-flowered comforter and two pillows neatly tucked into the sheets. Long lace curtains hung from the ceiling and ended in pools on the floor. The vanity held a lace runner with a mirror tray filled with small bottles of women’s perfume, a hand mirror, and a long-handled hairbrush. The room, decorated in gold and yellow tones, seemed to be stained by years of sunlight, like an old piece of parchment paper. Dust danced in circles in the air as light filtered in through the lace curtains. The room was just like the other rooms of the house, filled with furniture and lovingly decorated but no longer in use.

  Ray looked down and saw a picture of a pretty woman with light hair and large soft curls on the bedside table. She smiled at someone off camera with her head tilted to the side. Her features were soft and round, like her curls. Ray thought she seemed nice and looked like a mom who could make good cookies. Wedged in the frame was a picture of a baby. The photo curled from age and leaned away from the glass. Ray reached over and pushed it gently forward to see the back. Behind it were words written in a female’s handwriting which read, “Friedrich Albert Taglieber, eight pounds, four ounces.” A strange pull came over Ray. His eyes automatically drifted to the corner of the room. Propped up against the wall sat a folded bassinet. That must have been Friedrich’s, he thought. The abandoned rooms no longer served a purpose. Oscar could not fold them up like he could the bassinet so he kept them untouched, hoping that time and sun would bleach them into a memory. Ray pushed himself out of the doorway and checked for fingerprints. He thought it was odd that a room that gold could make him feel so blue.

  He continued to the white door at the end of the hallway. The area around the doorknob was stained from constant use. Ray opened it and descended the dark basement stairs until he saw a string hanging from the rafter. He pulled it and a light came on, illuminating the area. Oscar’s basement looked no different than the one at his house. A workbench sat in the corner covered in tools, paints, oils, and wood blocks. A stack of logs sat in a large wooden bin ready to be used for his little potbelly stove. Hooks lined one side of the wall holding various ropes, saws, brooms, and even a coat. Ray walked over to the workbench and picked up the old pair of tin snips Oscar requested. Before he turned he noticed that above one of the hooks was writing. Ray recognized the words as soon as he read them.

  Angel of God, my Guardian Dear,

  to whom God’s love commits me here.

  Ever this night, be at my side,

  two light, two guard, two rule, two guide. Amen.

  Ray cocked his head to the side. Why did Oscar have a prayer written above his workbench? And why was it “two light” instead of “to light”? Beneath the words “light,” “guard,” “rule,” and “guide” were four hooks each holding something that looked like a harness for a large dog or reins for a tiny horse. Then Ray’s question was answered. Each hook held two harnesses. Except for the hook under “light,” which only had only one. He looked down on the workbench and saw its mate lying flat on the surface. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a small bridle. The straps smelled like earth and animal but were not heavily worn. After Ray inspected the reins he turned and noticed a sheet hanging over a doorway.

  Ray walked over to the large cloth and ran his hands over the material. He thought for a second that maybe he shouldn’t go inside that room. If Oscar wanted anyone to know what was in there, he certainly wouldn’t have put a sheet over the entrance. But then Ray thought he wouldn’t ask him to go in the basement if he wanted to hide something. If Oscar thought it was a big deal, he would have gotten the tin snips himself. Ray gently pushed the sheet over to the side and let the light from the bare bulb flood the small room.

  The musty smell of rotten wood filled the air. In the center of this small room sat a large wooden frame sitting on long steel rails. It looked like an old carriage or something the guys from Mick’s shop would have dragged out of an old potato barn. Whatever it was, it would need years of work for it to turn into anything resembling a car. There were no wheels or even axles. Then a thought came to mind. Maybe this could be something he could work on with Oscar after Christmas. It surprised Ray how appealing the prospect of working with Oscar seemed. Ray loved being around cars and working with tools. It would be worth it to work on this project with Oscar, if only for the free root beer.

  Then a voice came into the basement which made Ray jump. It wasn’t a voice he heard in the house before. Not Olive or Oscar. He flung the sheet down, yanked the light’s cord and ran up the stairs. His feet sounded like a hammer as he banged up the steps. When he reached the top steps he smiled. He did recognize the voice. It was Johnny Mercer.

  Olive sang “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive” as she stood in the middle of the room, pointing a paintbrush at Oscar. She moved her arms in the air as if she were conducting an orchestra as she danced in her oversized smock. She found Oscar’s old Philco radio and the only station that came in clear. Ray knew Oscar had a radio but didn’t think it even worked. He never heard music in the house. By the looks of it, Oscar was not a fan. Oscar stood up in a huff and put his hands on his hips.

  “I don’t pay you to sing and dance in my living room.”

  Ray put the tin snips down and began to knock his hips from side to side. “You don’t pay us at all!” he said laughing. Olive and Ray sang in tune and clapped in circles around the room. Ray liked the music. It was better than the constant ticking of the second hands that seemed to scream throughout the house. Oscar didn’t seem so thrilled.

  “Mr. In-between,” Oscar pouted. “I AM Mr. In-between.”

  Then he dropped his hands and started to shuffle back and forth. He leaned from one side to the other with his elbows bouncing gently in the air. Then he began to sing. Ray couldn’t figure out how he knew all the words to the song. But it didn’t matter. Olive and Ray laughed as much as they sang. They all yelled the lyrics out over the clanging of the bells which rang at four o’clock, letting them know it was quitting time. Olive and Ray headed out, grabbing their root beer and hollering a thank you back to Oscar as they scurried out the door. When they got to the street, Ray looked back through the window and saw Oscar walk over to the radio. Oscar dusted off the top of the wooden Philco and turned a knob. He must have had enough of music for one day, Ray thought. But instead of walking back to his stool, Oscar closed his eyes and smiled. His head bounced to the tempo as his arms floated in the air, cradling an invisible partner. Maybe it was the woman in the frame. Maybe Friedrich. He looked calm and happy as they waltzed around a room that normally held no noise other than the sound of alarms, chimes, and work.

  It was 10 p.m. and still Ray couldn’t sleep. He figured it must have been the two root beers at Oscar’s place. He would ask him about what he saw in the basement tomorrow, only he didn’t know how he would bring it up. He certainly didn’t want it to seem like he had been snooping. If he thought that, he might never trust him to come over again. Worst yet, he might not let him work on that wooden carriage hidden in the backroom of the basement. Ray looked aimlessly and waited for the lights to go out on the lampposts on Ship’s Drive. As he stared at the Van Dusen’s light, he noticed a light appear between the Goldsmith’s house and the Jernick’s. Maybe the Goldsmiths were putting their Christmas lights up early, Ray thought. His attention went back to the Van Dusen’s light when he noticed the light disappear. Ray shook his head and thought they must be testing the lights for their colossal Christmas yard. He looked back at the Van Dusen’s house when the light appeared again. This time it was between the Jernick’s house and the Van Dusen’s. He rubbed his head. The sequence of the lights going out on that street at night never changed.

  Ray looked at the light and watched it go off. Ray tried to focus through the dark until the light appeared again. This time
it was in the middle of the woods. It flashed on for only a few seconds and then went out into total darkness. Fear gripped Ray’s chest. What if it was them? The Not-so Germans. What if they were the soldiers coming for them? The soldiers Paley asked him to look out for. Ray pulled the curtain down as he flung himself onto the floor. He took several deep breaths into the floorboards. Ray knew he needed to go back and look. He promised Paley he would keep an eye out for the enemy. Paley would not cower on the ground in fear. Ray puffed out his chest and lifted himself up. The curtain rested on top of his head as he slowly raised his eyes over the window sill.

  The woods were pitch black. Ray waited only a few moments before the light appeared again. This time, behind the Mott’s house. Ray dropped down and moved to the window on the other side of the room. He grabbed his flashlight and held it up in the direction of Olive’s window but didn’t turn it on. He knew that she was fast asleep. Besides, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He remembered to breathe as he focused on the glow.

  Now the orb was moving. It swooped down and up like an endless string of cursive “Ws.” The light illuminated everything in front of it but nothing behind. Anything behind the light remained in total darkness. Ray could not see where the light came from or what it was attached to. It wasn’t a fire. It didn’t flicker. It was a solid beam and it appeared to be moving towards his backyard. The closest thing that came to mind was a flashlight.