And what a valley it was.
By Caitlyn’s initial estimate, the valley was at least a half mile across with a shape reminiscent of a teardrop, most likely the remnant of a meteor impact from eons ago. The two of them had entered on the southwest side of the valley and now stood together taking in the illuminated scene below.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” whispered Trevor. Caitlyn could only nod in agreement, too filled with awe to respond with words.
The top of the teardrop was bordered by a cliff in which a hundred foot high waterfall flowed from a narrow gorge halfway up its face. The deluge of water streaming down the face of the cliff had formed a small lake and a stream that curved around to the south, exiting into the forest’s edge directly opposite them.
Above all, though, it was the lone tree in the center of the valley that drew their attention. Only once before had Caitlyn seen anything like the living colossus around which every other creature in the valley was focused. A decade earlier, in her early teens, Caitlyn travelled with her family on a long cross country road trip. Along the way, they stopped off at the usual sights: Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, and Carlsbad Caverns. Out of all the spots they visited, though, the park that made the greatest impression on her was Sequoia National Park. Never had she felt so puny. Even the Grand Canyon had not had such an effect on her, despite being much larger in size. Of course she saw it as an amazing wonder, but when you came down to it, the Canyon was just a huge hole in the ground. Sequoia, on the other hand, were living things, and the concept that a living thing could be so much larger and exist for thousands of years just blew her mind.
This tree made even the largest sequoia that she had seen in the park look like a sapling.
“Say hello to one of the last surviving specimens of Sequoiadendron Yggdrasilum,” Trevor said with obvious reverence. “She is why I brought you here.”
Sequoias were known to top out over 350 feet with a base 25-30 feet across. This goliath relative was easily over 400 feet tall, possibly reaching 500 feet, and as wide as three standard sequoia lined in a row. If a tunnel were to be cut through the tree, one could easily fit six cars driving in a row with room to spare.
Unlike its more common brethren which only had branches in the uppermost quarter, the branches on this tree began well before the halfway point. Thousands of them spread out for hundreds of yards over an area in which could have fit a dozen football fields. So dense and heavy were the broad twisted arms that the light could barely penetrate to the earth beneath their cover.
Dozens of flocks of birds swooped and dove in and out through the tangle of its branches as the breeze made them sway to and fro. The chorus of the chirps and tweets melded with the sounds of rustling leaves, creating a melodic white noise that hung in the air. At least four separate groups of deer could be seen grazing peacefully at the edge of the tree’s penumbra, and a number of moose were wading in the shallows of the lake. The valley teemed with life and the center of it all was the tree.
Caitlyn took Trevor by the hand and whispered gleefully, “Let’s go closer.”
So they did.
* * *
The trip into the valley took another fifteen minutes as they maneuvered their way down a rough path in the hillside. Overgrown and barely visible, it appeared to have been marked over a century earlier when the land had been placed under the auspices of the Special Territory Branch. Even so, Trevor guided them down with ease, avoiding obstacles with uncanny grace.
Once they reached the valley floor, the abundance of life was even more apparent. Insects of a wide range flourished. From colonies of ants, to butterflies of every color and pattern, to swooping dragonflies of prodigious size, the bugs were everywhere. Normally Caitlyn would have shrieked at the thought of multi-legged pests clambering up her legs or becoming tangled in her hair, but here it seemed utterly natural. Even when a stray grasshopper, green as an emerald, landed on her arm, she merely brushed it away. The way she felt now, nothing fazed her in this paradise.
The air was thick, redolent with the bouquet of flowers and spices as they waded through the hip-high grass. The buck in the closest group of deer raised its head as they passed by, its muzzle green with masticated vegetation. Caitlyn met its gaze with a mutual serene peace. It acknowledged their presence, but was completely at ease.
It doesn’t recognize the danger of humanity, she mused. I don’t think it has ever had a reason to be afraid of us.
A bird landed on a grass-covered mound within hand’s reach, cocking its head as if to say who are you and what are you doing in my yard? Caitlyn held back a laugh so she wouldn’t scare it away. It was similar in form to the common cardinal, ever present in this part of the country, but rather than the usual crimson coloring, it sported a coat of muddy brown on its belly which slowly shifted to a bright almost neon green on its head, wings and back. It stared at her with eyes as green as its verdant feathers.
She turned to Trevor, about to ask him the species of the bird when she looked ahead and saw that they had reached the umbra of the tree. Broad boughs reached overhead. Roots extended from the wide body of the trunk in every possible direction, disappearing and reappearing every few yards as they writhed out in search of light. Scattered among the knotty wooden tentacles were dozens more of the green mounds with nothing growing on them but the thick soft grass. They looked plush and inviting.
Shimmering motes of pale celadon green floated on the breeze beneath the branches like flakes of snow as the two of them ambled in a gradual spiral inward towards the deep shadow of the tree. Caitlyn was giddy.
“Is that pollen?” she asked. “There’s so much!” She swatted her hand through the air stirring up a cloud of the dust. Her fingers made swirling trails through the powder. It smelled like lemons or sage.
“Yeah, it tends to get in your hair and on every piece of skin you have exposed,” answered Trevor. “Not to worry, though, wildflower. Water gets it right off.” As he grinned, Caitlyn noticed that he even had some in his teeth. She giggled to herself. It looks like a chunk of spinach. No, cancel that. It’s more like he’s chewing on a bed of moss. Streams of grassy saliva ran down his chin into the snarled vines of his beard. The dust had covered his entire body and he was tinted green from head to toe.
She was about to comment on his poor dental hygiene when she realized something fantastic. My allergies! I’m not sneezing. My eyes are fine. Looking at herself, she realized that she too was covered, yet there were no symptoms at all. Not as much as Trevor, but enough to appear as if she were made up for Halloween. Caitlyn wanted to tell him the good news, but her tongue was tangled and the words would not form. She giggled again and had a sudden epiphany. Oh my God! I’m high. This dust has me stoned out of my skull! I’m hallucinating everything. Nothing is real. Nothing is real.
“Are you feeling sick, wildflower?” Trevor asked. He looked her up and down, brows knitted together with roots sprouting from his forehead. His beard was now down to his chest, threaded through with stalks and creepers. A trail of purple flowers had bloomed along his hairline. His arms and hands were haphazardly patterned with lichens and moss.
Not real. Not real. Ohmigoditsfuckingreal!
She pushed him away and began to run. Her prior glee had been washed away by a wave of pure terror. Trevor followed her, calling her name plaintively.
“Caitlyn! You don’t need to run,” he shouted. “Soon it will all be clear and you will understand.”
She fled blindly, her only goal to leave him far behind. Too late, she soon realized that she was somehow being herded inward toward the base of the tree. Roots burst through the earth or snaked through the grass to redirect and turn her back in towards the trunk.
One by one, the green mounds they had passed opened up to reveal a horde of skeletons, human and animal, exiting their pseudo-graves. As they approached, Caitlyn could see that they were wreathed in roots and vines that formed the musculature of their bodies. Flowers budded in the empty sockets
of their skulls. They didn’t attack. They only impeded her whenever she attempted to turn her path outward towards the sunlight. Silently, relentlessly, they blocked her exit and maneuvered her further and further from the edge until she collapsed sobbing at the foot of the tree.
Resigned to her fate, she lay helplessly where she had fallen. Grass and small vines slowly wrapped her in a jade green cocoon. The shade was dark and cool, and her sobbing had subsided to an occasional whimper. A muscular hulking figure walked steadfastly toward her, naked yet festooned with plant life. Every inch of the being was covered with leaves and roots bursting through its skin. Bugs, worms and multi-legged critters crawled through the leaves.
It stopped a few feet away and stood over Caitlyn silently. Vines lowered from the branches above to entwine and caress its body. The leaves whispered and murmured in tenderness and affection. In the few seconds before it spoke, she recognized the creature as the legendary Green Man which she had seen on the cover of a book.
“See? I was right along,” grinned Trevor through the wild green tangle on his face. “Mother likes you. She wants you to become part of the family.”
END
The Guy Down the Street
by Ray Garton
Ray Garton is the author of more than 60 novels, novellas, short story collections, movie novelizations and TV tie-ins. His first novel, SEDUCTIONS, was published in 1984. His 1987 erotic vampire novel, LIVE GIRLS, was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award and in 2006, he received the Grand Master of Horror Award. His most recent novel, the thriller MEDS, has been published by E-Reads and is available in paperback and as an ebook in multiple formats, including Kindle and Nook.
1.
Look at her. Bare ass up in the air, feet apart. A big smile on her upside-down face as she looks back between her thighs. Now she reaches down and moves her fingers between her legs. I can’t believe it. She’s laughing, having fun. She’s not being forced to do anything against her will. She’s enjoying herself!
The man shooting the video tells her to get on the sofa. He has a friendly voice, not exactly effeminate, but hardly masculine. Soft, gentle. And familiar. I’ve heard it before, but cannot pin it down.
“Beautiful,” he says as she spreads her legs on the sofa. “Yeah, that’s hot. You wanna tell us a little about yourself, Tiffany?”
Tiffany? What a repugnant name. I bet that was his idea. She would never choose to be called something as precious and tiara-friendly as Tiffany. But I could be wrong—it seems there is a lot I don’t know about her.
“Well, what do you want to know?” she asks.
“Tell us what kind of boys you like.”
“I don’t like boys. I like men.” She laughs again, fondles herself as she talks.
“And what do you like to do with your men?”
“Well, I like to…” She pauses, giggles. She is embarrassed. Sitting there naked, masturbating on the internet in front of anyone who wants to watch, and she’s embarrassed to talk about what she likes to do with her “men.” I don’t know whether to pull my hair out screaming, or to laugh.
“Go on, you can say it,” the man says. “They all wanna know.”
“Well, I like to… y’know, give head. Some girls don’t. They’re all, ‘Eeewww!’ and like, ‘It’s so gross!’ Some won’t do it at all. But I’m totally into it. As long as he, like, goes down on me, y’know?”
“So, you’re very oral.”
“Yeah.”
I feel a chill, and my stomach begins to churn.
They go on talking until she becomes distracted and quiet. He says nothing for a while and lets her masturbate.
I have to look away. Horror and rage and guilt mix badly in my stomach, like three kinds of cheap liquor. I am not supposed to see what’s on the screen. I don’t want to see it. But there she is, for all the world to watch. I clutch the small plastic armrests of the chair, squeeze and pull them so hard they creak. My fingers become numb, wrists hurt, but it keeps me from crying out. From throwing up.
They’re talking again. I turn my head slowly toward the screen—not all the way, though—eyes narrowed down to razor-thin slits, hand ready to cover them. The way I used to watch scary movies as a kid.
“You look like you’re really into that,” he says.
She turns on her side with a shrill squeal, presses her legs together. Says something into the cushion.
“What?”
“I said, I forgot you were there.”
“Well, don’t stop now. Looked like you were getting close.”
She sits up, tries to continue, but is overtaken by giggles.
The camera wobbles as he approaches her. “You just need something to take your mind off the camera,” he says.
“Like that big bulge in your pants?” she asks with a laugh, pointing at his crotch.
He turns the camera down so we can see his erection pressing against denim.
“Well, you said you like doing it, Tiffany.”
“I do.” As she leans forward, she looks up at the camera with a naughty, teasing smile. It’s a face I have never seen before. A face I was never meant to see.
She unfastens his jeans easily, pulls them down, and when his penis springs free, she takes it in her mouth.
My jaws burn from clenching my teeth. I turn away again and stand, walk around the desk. My voice is hoarse and unsteady as I say, “I can’t watch anymore of this.”
“He shows himself pretty soon,” Wylie says. He stands against the wall next to the window, behind the chair I was sitting in a moment earlier.
It is his office, his computer. With the exception of shopping for Christmas presents, I have managed to stay away from the Internet. I waste enough of my time as it is, I don’t need a new distraction. But over the last year or so, he had become an Internet junkie.
Wylie lives with his wife Nadine and their two teenage daughters, Erica and Cherine, across the street from us. “Us” being my wife Renee, our daughter Melinda, and myself. He is an officer of the Redding Police Department. Gregarious, generous, always asking us over for drinks or a barbecue. Sometimes we go, sometimes not. Wylie can be moody, temperamental, and quick to anger. This is sometimes, but not always, connected to alcohol. He’s fine as long as he sticks to beer, but as soon as he switches to Jack Daniels, it’s time to leave, or at least lay low. Sometimes something will set him off while he’s sober as a judge. But for the most part, we enjoy his company, and Renee and Nadine are good friends. But if Wylie and I were kids, he’d be the kind of kid I would avoid, knowing that sooner or later, there would be trouble, whether we got into it or Wylie caused it. Trouble just seems to be a part of Wylie Keene, like the smell of his cologne.
Wylie called me over earlier, said he wanted to show me something. He kept smiling. An odd smile, not friendly in the least. The smile of a crocodile.
“This isn’t going to be easy to watch,” Wylie said as he clicked his mouse a few times. He stood and told me to take the chair.
Wylie was right.
“Can’t you fast-forward it, or something?” I ask, pressing fingertips into my temples.
“Nope.”
“Then just tell me who it is, Wylie. I’m assuming you know, right?”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s important you see it.”
“Why? See what?”
“In a minute. Okay, here it is. Come on.” He beckoned me impatiently and I returned to the chair.
The camera apparently is mounted on a tripod now. Naked, the man kneels in front of her and puts his face between her thighs. She makes breathy sounds of pleasure. He is small, lean, and wiry, pale as milk. His back is covered with freckles, moles, and a patch of acne between the shoulder blades. He has rusty hair, pulled back tight in a ponytail.
I don’t need to see his face. I recognize him immediately. The name of the man having sex on the Internet with my sixteen-year-old daughter Melinda is Teklenburg. Charles Teklenburg, but he likes everyone to call him Chick. For short. May
be forty-five, a bit of a relic with his long hair, ponytail, and hippy clothes. He even drives an ancient Volkswagen van from the late sixties. He lives alone with his two Chows. Just down the street, at the very end. People sometimes use his driveway to turn around when they realize Gyldcrest goes nowhere. They never see the sign.
I stand so suddenly, the chair wheels away and Wylie catches it before it hits the wall. “My God, Wylie, why aren’t you doing something about this?” Tears burn my throat and eyes, and my crippled voice is all over the scale.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re a cop! Why is that son of a bitch still living comfortably in his house at the end of the street? Why are you coming to me, for Christ’s sake, you’re a cop, why haven’t you—”
He puts his hands on my shoulders, squeezes them hard. “Whoa, hold it down, okay? I haven’t told Deeny about this yet. Cherine’s on the website, too, Clark. So are other girls from the neighborhood. Our neighbors’ daughters.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Yeah, I’m a cop, and yeah, we’re gonna do something about this, that’s why you had to see it. But the two don’t have anything to do with each other, okay?”
“What… what do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re gonna kill the bastard.”
2.
There will be no sleep until we talk, but I get into bed anyway in my T-shirt and boxers.
I was unable to concentrate enough to hold a conversation at dinner, and Renee noticed. I snapped at her, she snapped back. A couple of martinis before dinner probably didn’t help, something I normally do only on weekends. On top of that, Renee tried Deeny’s recipe for spinach-stuffed chicken breasts tonight and thought I hated it because I only took a couple of bites. I did not eat it because I could not eat.
Widowmakers: A Benefit Anthology of Dark Fiction Page 10