The Forest

by Collings, Michaelbrent

  “Has that ever happened?” asked Alex.

  Sam shrugged again, this time a “yes” shrug. “Twice. Once in second grade. Once… well, once two days ago. She said he almost caught us that time. We were in Minnesota.”

  “And now here?” said Trish. “Weird place to come.”

  Alex noted she didn’t question Sam’s story. Neither did Alex. The fear on Sam’s face was too real, and his tones too strained for it to be anything but the truth.

  Sam took a deep breath, then held it. “She owns a place here. Out in the forest.”

  “The old cabin?” said Trish, beating Alex to the punch. “The one near the stream?”

  Sam started. “How did you know?”

  “Everyone knows about the Haunted Cabin,” said Alex with a guffaw. He waggled his eyes and said, in his best impression of a campfire storyteller, “And if you go to the stream and follow it down a ways, then turn into the woods, you’ll find a path. You’ll discover the cabin in the forest, and…” Suddenly it seemed too spooky for Alex to continue. Too real. He swallowed, then forced a smile to his face before he said, “Do ghosts really lurk in the mist?”

  Surprisingly, Sam didn’t join in the mocking. Alex thought he would have – indeed, the reason he brought it up wasn’t curiosity, but to give his friend an out to change the subject for a moment. Instead, Sam shrugged and said, “I’ve only been there for two nights. Which is two too many nights, if you ask me.”

  A shiver ran through Alex, and he saw Trish shudder as well. They had both caught Sam’s unusual wording. Anyone else would have said “days,” but Sam said “nights.” The look in his eyes said there was more to that story, too.

  Alex loved to ask questions. He loved answers. But suddenly he wanted anything but answers. He didn’t want to hear that there were things in the mist; that the forest came alive at night with strange lights and even stranger darknesses.

  “Why here, though?” Trish asked nervously, obviously affected by Sam’s story, too – or maybe just by the dark shadow that had seemed to fall over them when Sam mentioned where he lived. “I thought that cabin was just a derelict, and no one owned it.”

  Sam shook his head. “Not derelict. Mom said it was hers, and said it had actually been in her family forever.”

  “Wouldn’t that mean your dad knew about it?” said Alex.

  Sam shrugged and coughed, like this was a source of embarrassment. “She said he wouldn’t come here. Because he knew better.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Trish; the same question Alex wanted to ask.

  “I don’t really know,” admitted Sam. “She got drunk the first night we came here, though. She said…” He looked away, considering a point far beyond the horizon. “She said he knew he’d die there someday, so he wouldn’t come.” He shook his head. “Have you ever been to the cabin?”

  “No,” said Trish. “I don’t know anyone who has. It’s got quite the reputation. And the county sheriff’s office has made it known a number of times that it’s out of bounds for play. A kid tried to go there a few years back, and actually got hauled into a holding cell overnight. Everyone stays away.”

  “It’s…” Sam’s voice petered out, and he stared at nothing before finally concluding, “… strange.”

  “Strange how?” asked Alex.

  “Nothing fits right. Nothing belongs to anything else,” Sam answered. “So you’ve never been there?” he asked a moment later.

  “No,” said Alex.

  “Not in a million years,” agreed Trish. “Do you… I mean, have you… seen anything out there?”

  “Only thing I’ve seen since I came here was you guys,” said Sam, but he said it in a strange way, like he wasn’t here at all, but somewhere else. He sounded drugged.

  Silence stretched out. Not the comfortable kind. “Have you ever actually seen him? Your dad?” asked Alex quietly.

  “You mean, do I think my mom’s telling the truth?” He thought about it. “He’s real enough that she keeps putting me in different schools under different last names.” He sighed. “I caught a glimpse of something in her papers once. Had a picture of her and a man kissing her. I think he was my father.”

  “What papers?”

  “I don’t know. But it had my name on it, and what looked sorta like a family tree, only with my name on the top, and some of the names she’s had me use below it. I was only four or five, I think. I was already reading, of course, but wasn’t old enough to figure out a lot of things, just the same.”

  “Can you remember the rest of what was on the paper?” asked Trish. “Maybe if you –”

  Sam interrupted with a shake of the head. “I can’t remember it very well at all. I remember thinking it looked odd, and that there was this weird symbol all over it – like she’d been doodling, only it gave me the wigger-jiggers big time. Not just a doodle, it felt, like, ominous somehow.” He laughed quietly, a self-deprecating sound. “I know I sound loony.”

  “Not at all,” said Alex, and Trish nodded in total agreement. “The situation sounds loony, but you sound pretty sane. Which is scarier in a way.”

  “Tell me about it,” whispered Sam.

  “What was the… the doodle?” asked Trish.

  Sam shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

  “Get outta here,” said Alex. “You’re too smart to forget anything. You’re smarter than me or Trish, and we both remember all the way to the good ol’ fallopian tube days!”

  Another self-deprecating laugh from Sam. Maybe more than that, maybe a self-hating one. “I don’t have a lot of memories before five or six. I think that’s because of my dad, too.”

  “Why?” Alex and Trish spoke as one.

  “I don’t know,” answered Sam.

  “Then why do you think it’s because of him?” said Trish.

  “I don’t know.”

  Alex cleared his throat and said, “What were some of the other names on the paper?”

  Sam laughed, but it sounded almost like a moan. “You’ll get a kick outta this. “Some of them actually matched –”

  The bell rang, and Sam shut his mouth. Like the resumption of classes meant the fairy land of learning and understanding they had carved out in this shadow of theirs had been overthrown.

  “Go on?” said Trish.

  Sam just started stuffing books back in his bag. Silly, since they were just going to end up on the bench again, talking about the same exact books

  “Maybe some other time,” he said.

  Alex opened his mouth to keep asking questions, but Trish held his arm. Not romantically (though he would have taken it, even in the weirdness of the moment because Hormones), but to shut him up.

  “We’ll see you in a sec?” she said to Sam as he stood.

  Sam looked at the two of them. He had to know that Trish wanted Alex to stay back so they could talk about him, but the smile that lit his face was both sincere and relieved. “Sure,” he said. “We haven’t even got to the Abrahamic astrological symbols yet today. That stuff’s cool.”

  He left, heading in the direction of the bench the three of them were already referring to as The One True School.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Alex whispered, “Why’d you –”

  “Dude, cool it,” said Trish.

  Alex gaped. She had never said something like that to him before. There had never been a need to. They each knew what the other was thinking; when to talk and when to let silence do the talking (which he knew was a rare skill), and when to let silence just be silence (which he knew was even rarer).

  Now he didn’t know what she was thinking. That scared him in a way he couldn’t easily define. “I just wanted to –”

  Again Trish interrupted him. “I know what you wanted.” She paused, and smiled as though to say, It’s okay. We’re still the same as before. We’re still good together. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

  Alex nodded. She was right. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Not me
you have to apologize to.”

  “I’ll tell Sam, then.”

  Trish shook her head. “Not him you should apologize to.” She stood. “He’ll tell us, though. I know he will.”

  But he never did. Not that day, not the day after or any time before now. But that didn’t matter as much as Alex thought it might have. He and Trish didn’t know much about Sam’s past, but the three of them understood each other on such a deep level that it made life-facts seem almost irrelevant.

  Sam was walking up now, and Alex was wondering whether to ask him if he wanted to help Alex and Trish ditch their parents so they could spend the whole weekend together, or if he should wait for Trish to show.

  Even though he and Trish spent as much time together as possible, even though they hung out every day all day at school, still their parents insisted they go to school on a staggered schedule. It struck both Alex and Trish at times (they had discussed it) that this was a lot of organization; that their parents must be talking to – or more likely yelling at – each other when Alex and Trish weren’t around, solely to keep their kids apart.

  However it worked between Alex’s mom and Trish’s dad, the system worked like this: the person to leave for school earlier – school was just a mile away, and they mostly walked – left, then just waited a few blocks away for the other to catch up. Those walks were the best part of Alex’s day, where he and Trish could talk to each other without parents, without teachers, without other students. Just them, alone in a world they made for each other.

  But Trish hadn’t been there when he passed by their spot today. He hoped she wasn’t sick.

  Just as he decided to ask Sam about going all-in on No Parents Weekend, Trish appeared. She walked into the school, entering the gates that delineated the boundaries between high school and reality only five or six seconds after Sam did. Alex had been waving Sam toward him, but his wave died almost immediately. Something was wrong with Trish; he could tell even before she walked head-first into the flagpole just inside the school entrance.

  The hollow bong that sounded was enough to make Sam turn around, see what was wrong, and rush toward Trish, his backback bouncing up and down ridiculously as he pumped his legs.

  Alex overtook him because of that, getting to Trish first. She had reeled back after hitting the pole, staggered a bit, then started walking again as though the impact never happened. It might not have, too, for all the difference it made. She had already looked dizzy and sick when she walked into the school. Hitting the pole made her look less loopy, if anything.

  Alex grabbed her a moment before she fell. He would have fallen himself under the sudden weight of her sagging form, but Sam caught up and helped Alex ease Trish over to a nearby bench.

  “You okay?” asked Sam. He was looking at her head. The beginning of a bright red welt was appearing on her forehead.

  “What happened?” asked Alex. He wasn’t talking about the pole, which he figured was of secondary – or tertiary, or hundred-and-fifty-seventh-ary – importance based on how she had walked in.

  Trish blinked. She seemed to see him for the first time. “Oh, hey,” she said in a vacant voice.

  “What happened?” asked Alex.

  She stared, uncomprehending for a moment. Then her mouth sagged open. She threw her arms around him, buried her face in his chest, and began sobbing.

  Alex just waited. A few students walked by, sparing barely a glance for them before walking on. No doubt they would all be the topic of much discussion – “Even Nerds Cry”: a panel to be held at noon on the quad! – but for now everyone avoided looking at them as she wept.

  When she finally looked up, Alex realized he was so freaked out about her behavior that he hadn’t even taken the opportunity to revel at the feel of her in his arms. Bad omen.

  “My guppies,” she finally said.

  He blinked. “What?”

  Her only answer was to start crying again.

  16

  (When Tricia Was Young)

  Friday started off normally enough. Tricia woke up. Went to the bathroom, where she wondered if she was going to get bigger boobs and wondered if Alex was going to get bigger muscles. She hoped the first would happen, though she was loathe to admit it, and hoped the second would not. She liked Alex just the way he was. He was perfect.

  It was hard to reconcile at first – growing to realize that she had started capital-L-Loving a guy she had lowercase-l-loved for her whole life. Or maybe not. The feelings of confusion had been intense to the point of painful, but it had actually only lasted a week or so. Then she decided to just roll with it.

  Not that she would actually admit it to Alex, or dare act on her feelings. She had never been as smart with feelings as she was with more purely intellectual pursuits, but she knew that friendships were generally over when one person or the other wanted more than what they already had.

  Plus, what if Alex didn’t feel the same way? Sometimes she thought he might. Sometimes the way he looked at her made pleasant tingles run up and down her legs and spine and arms, and she almost said something.

  But she held back. Confessing her feelings to him seemed like a bad idea. Wrong. She didn’t want to try for more, because more would signal the death of what she already had with enough statistical certainty to make her shy away from any declaration of affection. She wouldn’t take a chance on anything that might damage her best and only friendship, and that decision was final and permanent – even though she knew as she said it to herself that “final and permanent” meant “until I see Alex or hear his voice or think of him again.”

  Sigh.

  Her daily Moment of Silent Confusion dealt with, she got dressed, had a piece of toast for breakfast, then re-thought her earlier conclusions about Alex before deciding she had been right and should never ever ever tell him of her feelings.

  Final and permanent for real this time… until I see him again.

  She was putting away the bread when her dad walked in, even quieter than usual if such a thing were possible. She asked how he slept, he grunted. He looked at the calendar on the wall, then fuzzed out for a long time. Just stood there holding a gallon of milk in one hand, a glass in the other.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He seemed to come to himself. He shrugged, then put the unopened milk back in the fridge, the unused glass back in the cupboard. He stood at the sink and stared at nothing.

  A muffled thud sounded outside: the sound of Alex slamming the door to let her know that he was leaving for school. She couldn’t leave right away – Dad would stop her, just like he always did; like Alex’s mom always stopped him from leaving at the same time Tricia did.

  She waited the obligatory five minutes. She watched the clock on the wall, which clicked louder with each passing second, while seeming at the same time to go slower and slower. Time had ceased to have meaning, frozen in this moment: See Exhibit A, the static figure of Dad, obviously in a stasis field between temporal intervals.

  Her dad whispered something. She didn’t hear it. It sounded like, “Who are we?” which made no sense but what else was new?

  “Dad?” she said. Partly out of genuine concern, but also because it was what she figured was expected of a daughter. She hadn’t felt like much of a daughter recently. Dad had always held her at arm’s length, as long as she could remember. He rarely hugged her, and when he did it was always a rigid embrace, like he wasn’t really sure how hugging worked, or even why he was supposed to do it with her.

  Things had gotten even stranger in the past few weeks. He came out of his bedroom, he drank a glass of milk for breakfast. He went into his office where he telecommuted, doing web design and maintenance for enough clients to keep the bills paid. He emerged at night to eat something, then went to bed. The only time he said anything was when she mentioned school or Alex.

  Actually, he didn’t speak a word even then. But the silence got frostier, which said a lot in its own way.

  Now, Dad whispered something
again. This time she heard it clearly. “We are who we are.”

  She wanted to ask what he was talking about – out of genuine curiosity this time, not any pretense at familial concern – but in that instant a look of revulsion came over his face. It looked like every bad smell, every bad taste, every bad noise ever created had all struck him at once.

  The look scared her. She wanted to ask him what he had meant, but not if the price was understanding what had just happened in her father’s head. Some things were better left unknown. Ignorance was never really bliss … but knowledge could sometimes be misery.

  She stood to go to the door and head out to school – to Alex. She grabbed her bag, but before she left she realized that she had forgotten something important.

  Gotta feed the fish before I go. Especially with the new fry in there.

  Tricia had discovered guppy breeding in a book at the local library, and used some of her own money to buy a small tank and a dozen fish. Most of them died, but she bought a few more. Guppies were fairly cheap, even on the salary of a very-occasional babysitter for the Rolfes down the street.

  And the fish were worth it, because guppies could be bred to be beautiful. The ones she bought originally were pretty plain, all things considered, but by pairing a few she thought had a desirable quality or two, by isolating them so they would mate, she started seeing some amazing changes. Their breeding cycle was fast, too, so she was already on her eighth generation. The seventh had some truly gorgeous specimens, with long, flowing tails and colors so bright they almost looked unreal. A few of them had bred, too, and she had the fry – the babies – in a specially-designed isolation tank that sat in the main tank but kept the babies apart from the sometimes cannibalistic parents.

  No doubt some would be born mutants, hideous or sickly or both – that happened when you had a family tree that was mostly a single branch – and would have to be discarded from the breeding pool. But if the pattern held true, some would be even more beautiful than any that had gone before.