Woods

by Finkelstein, Steven

  It seemed to him that neither a long time nor a short one had passed before he came to the part of the woods that he had come to identify as being the outer reaches of Daddy’s domain, or if not his, then perhaps that of his house, the forest that felt both ancient and powerful, with its mighty trees and its uninterrupted quiet. He padded through the moss that covered the forest floor, turning once to watch as his footprints faded, the deeper imprints of his heels lingering longer before the grass stood straight again, hiding all evidence of the way he’d come. He knew he was close, for now he could hear laughter and voices, though he was unable to pinpoint their source, and he could not help but be reminded of his dream, where he had stood in the empty house with the sounds of a nonexistent party taking place around him. And then he stepped out from the trees and the sight that greeted him swept away all other thought from his head, and he only stood and gaped, feeling insignificant and infinitely small.

  The grass that he had been accustomed to battling his way through was tonight neatly and uniformly clipped at a length of approximately one inch. It smelled freshly cut, and he found the scent as it mingled with the night air extremely refreshing, though he was not fully aware of it, the grass, or the trees lining the edge of the field, or the brilliance of the stars that hung so close that they looked as though he could reach up and pluck one from the sky. He had eyes only for the house. Where before he might have been able to safely describe it with a word like “large,” now that would have been like comparing Mount Kilimanjaro to a hill in a child’s sandbox. It looked swollen, like it had suffered an allergic reaction to a bee sting; it was so out of proportion to what Tad’s mind had expected it to look like that the field around it seemed to have shrunk to a tiny border. Where before it had been content to tower over him like a sleeping, sinister giant, now it was awake and hungry, swallowing him in its broad black shadow. The windows seemed to have multiplied exponentially, and every one of them was turned toward him, fixing him in their stare like a million lidless eyes, the brightest by far the searchlight that went shooting up into the night sky, emitted from the portal, that tonight, Tad was sure, would have no trouble seeing all the way to Alpha Centaury, should it have wanted to. Shapes passed back and forth, and he could feel a steady subterranean pulse making the very earth beneath his feet tremble like the aftershocks of a great earthquake, or possibly the warnings of its impending approach. He walked forward, craning his neck up, grinning stupidly, half fearing that the colossus would fall and crush him at any moment. Occasionally he would hear a crash, like furniture being overturned, or a bone jarring shriek, of fear or delight he could not tell. He was relieved when he had approached the porch without incident, and only then did he notice the figure standing motionless before him, that had probably been watching him since he had first stepped out of the trees.

  He stopped for a moment while still a few steps from the porch, noticing other differences between this new incarnation and the filthy, decaying shell that he’d grown accustomed to visiting for the past few weeks. All the mess had been cleared from the porch and the grass surrounding it, the bottles and beer cans, the empty aquariums, the baby carriage, the rocking chair, the animal droppings, feathers and glass beads, the ivy that had been choking the bottom sections of the building had all vanished without a trace. I’m seeing it in its natural state. The cracks in the brick all around the base were still visible, but from them seams of light shone out, as though the house itself were glowing from within. The brick itself was still the same off-color orange, but the light shining out seemed to give it a robust appearance, as though what Tad had first taken to be deterioration and disrepair had actually been intentional all along, a sham by the builder or builders designed to give the place some character. It looked, well, magical was the word that Tad came up with, now that he was this close to it, and he found that he was quivering slightly with the anticipation of going inside. I am about to enter the funhouse. This is the outside. But what is on the inside? And he adjusted his hat, giving it a more rakish, jaunty tilt, and stepped forward quickly and with confidence to climb the stairs.

  He now noticed something else that he’d also failed to register at first- the door was back on its hinges. He had grown used to seeing it leaning against the wall, and the sight struck him as inhospitable. Or maybe it was partly due to the expression of the person who was standing just to the right of the door, behind a sort of highly polished wooden podium. The podium was about five feet tall, and there were six human skulls sitting in a row on top of it, hollowed out, as it seemed, and each holding a burning candle of a different color. Also set on the podium was what looked like a very thick ledger, similar to a hotel guest registry. The person standing behind the podium was significantly shorter than Tad, and quite stout. His skin was a deep, waxy yellow, and he was wearing black silk trousers and a matching vest over a cherry colored shirt with many white ruffles at the sleeves and collar. He was mostly bald, but for a few white hairs hanging down from the base of his neck, and he had a wispy white beard that hung down past the ledger and out of sight behind the podium. Balanced on his head was a fez, the same cherry color as the shirt, with a gold tassel hanging from it. He had an enormous nose with a wart on one nostril, and his face was very wrinkled. He looked to Tad at least two hundred years old, but when Tad’s eyes met his, the boy could see that the person before him was still sharp and in good command of his faculties. He thought that this little mans’ piercing glance could probably see right through him if he were so inclined, and he made an immediate effort to shake off his feelings of wonder and get his guard back up. He had just begun to wonder how best to address this creature, when the man solved the problem by speaking to him instead. “A tolerable midsummer eve to you, sah,” he said. “My sincerest congratulatory on your being one of the chosen, or if you’re not and I’m mistook, then we’ll set you back on your path again, prim and proper, right as night. Might I have your name?”

  Tad spoke his first name, his voice cracking, and giving a hurried cough, he tried again. “Tad Surrey.”

  The man produced a quill pen with a long white feather at the end of it, held it up, and began thumbing through the ledger with his free hand, humming quietly to himself. Tad waited, feeling a bit anxious. The noise from behind the door swelled abruptly, and just as quickly died away again. Now that he was standing on the porch, he realized that he actually could feel the house pulsing gently beneath his feet, like the slow gestation of an enormous drowsy animal. After what seemed an inordinately long time, the man looked up. “Well sah,” he said. “Sorry to inconvenience, y’seem to be on the uncertain list. Let’s just have ourselves a little Q and A, shall we?”

  “Why not,” Tad said, feeling that at this point he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

  “Let’s see nah. In what state do you live?”

  “West Virginia.”

  The man winced as if he’d been struck. “Sweet beyond. In the name of the old folk, I hope you don’t take offense, sah, but that’s by far the worst opener I’ve ever heard. You’ll have to do better than that, nah. Try using that melon on your shoulders for more than holding up your questionable headgear. Let’s try this. If you were I, and I you, and I was in your position, then what would I be?”

  “A much sharper dresser,” Tad said, after a moment of thought. “And on the outside looking in,” he added, without knowing exactly why, other than it seemed somehow a good thing to say, in the way of vague yet enigmatic responses. He didn’t know whether this was at all what had been required. It was difficult to know whether flippant or profound was the better route to take here. He looked to the man for a clue as to how he was doing, but all he got was another question.

  “Would you rather your enemies’ fondest wish be granted or live your true loves’ worst day?”

  Tad thought about it, while resisting the urge to break into nervous laughter. He was fairly sure that he was too young to have ever had a true love, which made this a more difficu
lt question, and it wasn’t exactly like adding two and two to begin with. He looked up at the thatched underside of the porch roof, trying to think about it logically. The question seemed to be which of two bad choices was more preferable. Assuming for a moment that he had a true love, living their worst day would undoubtedly be very difficult, knowing that it was causing suffering, presumably, to the person who he most cared about. But there was something about the phrasing that made it harder to pin down. If he was living his true loves’ worst day, did that mean that he was actually living the day as his true love, and experiencing it as such, or did it mean that he was simply bearing witness to it? And should that matter? Then there was his enemies’ fondest wish being granted. This one was easier for him to imagine; the person who jumped most readily to his mind these days when he thought of an enemy was his brother. What was Casey’s fondest wish? To be drafted into the N.F.L, maybe? To corner Tad when their parents weren’t around and pound the tar out of him without the fear of any repercussion? To spend the rest of his life admiring himself in the mirror? Whatever it was, Tad didn’t want it to happen. But should he answer honestly? He discarded his previous line of thinking and instead tried hurriedly to come up with the psychological significance indicated by either choice. But he was finding it difficult with the little man standing in front of him watching him squirm, and he was aware of how much time he was taking. He decided honesty was the best policy, and the hell with it. “I would want to live my true loves’ worst day,” he said firmly.

  The short man nodded, but again his expression betrayed nothing. “Just one more, sah. How do you think it’s all going to turn out?”

  “How what’s all going to turn out?”

  “It,” the man replied, letting the word sink like a stone into a pond.

  Tad didn’t need much time to ponder over this one. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

  The man nodded again and scratched something into the ledger with the quill. Then he looked up and smiled at Tad, showing him a full mouth of foul looking green teeth. Tad thought there were far too many than there should have been. “I am satisfied, sah. You may enter, if that is your desire.”

  “It is.”

  “Then in the many names of your gracious host, I bid you welcome again, sah. Enjoy yourself.” Tad waited for more, but as none seemed to be forthcoming, he moved hesitantly past the podium, as though afraid of stepping into some hidden booby trap at any moment. “Come, come now, sah, inside,” the man said to him, not unkindly. “But if you don’t mind me saying so,” he added, just as Tad’s hand was closing on the knob. “They’re going to eat you alive in there.” And with this ominous pronouncement ringing in his ears, Tad opened the door and stepped forward.

  The first thing that registered, when he’d closed the door behind him, was the light. In the past he had noticed how the house wasn’t wired for electricity, and apart from natural light through the windows during the daytime, candles had been the main source of illumination. He supposed that was what he’d been expecting tonight- lots of candles in every room, either that or some sort of elaborate flambeaus. But there was no evidence of either. Instead there was simply…a glow, emanating, as it seemed, from the walls themselves, the floor, the ceiling- everywhere. It was not as bright, now that he was inside, or as steady, as the average eighty watt bulb. It was more like the orange glow of a Halloween pumpkin, and it did not remain consistent; instead it throbbed, sometimes a little brighter, more intense, then receding a bit, but constantly casting wavering bands of shadow over all. It was warm inside, enough to be ever so slightly uncomfortable. He stood there for a while, looking along the base of the walls and up toward the ceiling, watching the light, entranced. He thought he could hear it, almost, either the light or the house itself, humming tuneless and serene, now lower, now higher. He was so enthralled that until someone spoke, he was unaware that he was not alone, there in the front room. “What a pretty pretty,” someone said, and tittered.

  “Likes the lights, does he,” said another voice. Tad glanced over and saw three people, two of them seated on a couch, the third standing. Actually, when he looked closer, he saw that one of the people on the couch was actually sitting on the knee of the other, like a ventriloquists’ dummy. It was hard to see them clearly. Even when the lights cycled through to their brightest point, the room was still dim. The man seated on the couch was quite tall, Tad could see easily, without the benefit of him standing. He was wearing what appeared to be a kilt; it was plaid, with an enormous shiny buckle at the waist, and a piece of white material that looked more like sacking than a proper shirt, thrown over one shoulder like a toga. He was barefoot, and his legs and arms were covered with curly blond hair, a covering nearly thick enough to be called fur. He had a beard of the same color and a full crop on his head that didn’t look as though it had ever seen a comb, a brush, or any other beauty product. He had thick, threatening eyebrows, but his eyes were very blue, and they gleamed at Tad most expressively from across the room. He held in one hand a large wooden goblet or chalice, with red and green stripes running around it, covered in dark print in a language that was not immediately recognizable.

  The woman or girl seated on his knee was a mere sprite compared to him. She was dressed as a harlequin. She wore stockings, with purple, yellow, and green checks, and also had no shoes. Covering her torso was a yellow leotard with a crest on the left breast, a shield depicting a white unicorn being throttled by a green serpent. Her arms were bare, but she had green gloves which matched the stockings, pulled almost up to her elbows. The exposed skin from her shoulders to her elbows was a burnt caramel color the likes of which Tad had never seen before. Her face was painted white, other than for a pair of exaggeratedly large red lips that covered most of her chin and continued in either direction all the way back toward her ears, giving her the appearance of having a mouth three times too large for her face. Her eyelashes were very long and curled upward. When Tad met her gaze she batted them at him rapidly. On her head was a jesters cap in green, purple and yellow, with four protrusions, each one with a little bell on the end, and when she tossed her head they gave a merry jingle. She was straddling the man’s knee with her legs splayed apart in a most provocative fashion, and sometimes she rocked back and forth in a way that was, to say the least, distracting. She had, Tad thought, every inch a dancer’s body. In one hand she held a small gold cup with several glittering red stones set below its rim.

  The man standing was not nearly as whimsically attired as these two. He had on a collared gray button-up shirt with the two top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of black suit pants and casual black loafers. Tad could see a dark colored suit jacket lying behind him across the arm of the couch. On the man’s forearms were what looked like multiple tattoos, or possibly one larger, more detailed tattoo, lines of script in pale blue ink that continued down past the wrist and all the way into his palms. He had dark eyes and a full head of dark hair, neatly combed. The features of his face were soft; he was leaning backward against the wall, and in one hand he held a red plastic cup. As Tad was still taking him in he raised the cup to his mouth and took a sip, and when he swallowed, Tad thought his face softened still further, as his lips parted slightly in a kind of dazed, childlike smile. How best to speak to this trio? But again, he was the one addressed, and he needed only to formulate a proper response. Yet what could be considered proper in these surroundings, faced with people like these? The lights fading in and out. “So quiet,” said the woman, in a bemused tone. “The strong, silent type.” Now that Tad was watching, it was evident by her voice that she had spoken first.

  “Perhaps he’s a mute,” said the man on whose knee she was sitting. He was the one that had answered. The well dressed man had yet to speak. “Whose are you?” the seated man asked.

  “Whose what am I?”

  “He does speak!” said the woman, clapping her hands delightedly. The bells on her cap jingled. “To whom do you b
elong?”

  “No one but myself,” Tad said, trying not to be annoyed by this line of questioning either, while also making the effort to keep his face and voice smooth. They’re going to eat you alive in there.

  The man and woman looked at each other, a noise emitting from the mouths’ of each that sounded like Ooooooo; the haunting noise of an unimaginative ghost. Tad, not long out of elementary school, recognized it. It was the noise made collectively by the other students when one of their number had made a smart ass comment toward the teacher. The other man only smiled vaguely, less interested than his companions. “He’s his own little man,” the woman said, rocking her pelvis back and forth in a way that wouldn’t have gone over very well in polite company. The bells on her cap jingled. “Let’s play with him.” She looked back toward her mount. “Can we?”