The Tear Collector

by Shawn Burgess

  Twigs and macerated leaves crackle as I walk underneath the tall trees. Sunlight shines through the openings in the canopy, hitting the forest floor like small spotlights. The absolute silence of the woods rattles me, an eerie feeling collecting in my bones. Gnarled tree trunks spiral skyward, sunlight blotted out by an awning of leaves, casting looming shadows that slither through the timbers.

  Tiny hairs, as if pulled by static electricity, rise on my neck. Someone’s watching me. The pressing weight of unseen eyes sends a shiver to my spine. I cease walking.

  There’s a huge rustle of leaves and a brown flash launches from behind a cluster of trees. I let out a stifled scream, spin my head around, and stumble backward. I trip on a root and fall. The hind legs of a deer bound away from me, its white tail a flash of cotton against a juniper collage of forest. My heart rumbles in my chest, threatening to pry itself loose from its fittings. Holy crap! Calm down. Calm down. Breathe.

  I take a deep breath and lift myself off the forest floor, brushing the leaves from my shorts and shirt. Large twigs snap behind me. Sammy’s found me! I wheel around to face my attacker. But it isn’t Sammy, it’s Margo. She’s in a dirty white night gown, with no shoes, and she’s covered in mud to her ankles. My mouth lolls.

  I tilt my head and squint my eyes at Margo. She’s bobbing her head like she always does. She’s very different from the other kids, even goes to a different part of the school that Tee calls School for the Specials. But she’s smart too, figures things out—puzzles, riddles, complicated things. What in the world is she doing out here in the woods by herself? Never seen her without an adult outside of school.

  Her head stops rocking; she lifts it, and her eyes lock with mine.

  “Margo, are you los—”

  “It’s coming.”

  My eyes widen. Margo rarely speaks. Her focused eyes tunnel through me in the direction of Grief Hollow.

  “Coming? What’s coming, Margo?”

  “The Collector. The Collector is coming. And Grief Hollow will be its home.”

  “Grief Hollow? What? Wait, collector? What is the Collector?”

  “It’s coming.” Margo raises her arm and points behind me in the direction of Grief Hollow.

  I blink my eyes several times, and my face contorts. I turn and scan the forest. What in the world is she talking about? There’s nothing there, only forest.

  “Margo, maybe I can help you get back—”

  She’s gone. Vanished into thin air. I swivel my head in every direction, but there’s no sign of her. There’s only silence once again.

  “Margo?” My voice trembles.

  There’s no response.

  “Margo, this isn’t funny.”

  Still there’s nothing. No sound. No movement. Nothing.

  Chapter 5

  Grief Hollow

  A ROLLING TREMOR descends my body. What’s Margo doing in the woods? Who’s the Collector? How’d she vanish like that without me hearing her retreating footsteps? So many questions, and I’m starved for answers. My stomach is as hollow as a conservatory teeming with butterflies.

  I take a gulping swallow. Crap. I don’t want to go to Grief Hollow. Now, especially. I hate that place. I work to settle my trembling hands. Calm down. You can do this. You’re meeting Robby and Tee. I hoist a fabricated air of confidence and push forward. As I come to the top of a hill, I find a small stream that winds through a maze of trenched earth. Gnarled roots jut from its steep banks. I recognize this stream; it leads to Grief Hollow and Copperhead Creek. I mince down the hill using the dry streambed like a guide wire.

  The ground begins to flatten beneath my feet as I near the hollow. My parents warned me to stay out of Grief Hollow. This is different though. What choice do I have with Sammy and Myron after me? The terrible thing that happened here imprinted itself on the landscape. The blackened burn scars on the trees remind me of the stories: the fire, Misty Owens dying, Brady sent to juvie. A chill races the length of my spine.

  Inside the hollow, the thick tree canopy covers everything in a film of shadow. Quiet reigns, the normal animal chatter noticeably absent: no squirrels, no birds, no katydids, nothing. The charred remains of the tree fort stake claim to my eyes. The tree managed to survive the fire and serves as a horrible reminder of what happened that day.

  Enough lingering. Time to get out of here. Just follow Copperhead Creek to Jennings Bridge already.

  A sudden wind bursts into the hollow, a rustle of leaves drawing my attention to the tree canopy, the quiet forest opening its eyes with life. The branches and limbs stoop above me as if straining to hold the weight of something. A shower of green leaves somersaults through the air, swaying to the forest floor.

  A large stick snaps on the forest floor behind me followed by another. I spin around, but the footsteps stop. There’s nothing behind me. I feel eyes bearing into me through the trees, cutting away at my nerve.

  “I’ve got a knife!” My voice echoes through the trees. True, I have a knife. It’s a Swiss army knife, but it’s very small. It’s not much protection from anything. I’m just hoping to scare whomever or whatever is in the forest with me.

  Is that children’s voices? Faint whispers straddle the wind. I concentrate hard to try to understand them. The voices grow gargled and distorted. Just kids playing in the forest? Calm down. The wind dies and the voices stop.

  I can’t believe I did this. Why did I come here? So stupid. So what if Sammy beat the shit out of me? It’s better than this. I can’t control the trembling of my hands. My legs malfunction, failing to detect desperate signals from my flustered mind.

  The wind starts again, slow at first. But it begins to howl, blowing even harder than before. The voices return as well. This time they’re much louder.

  “You’ve come home, Brooks. You’re home.” The ominous voice trails off into a groan.

  This isn’t happening! I freeze.

  “Who’s doing that?” The forest swallows my scream. My heart races, thumps against my palm clenched tight to my chest.

  Wind gusts come in even harder, and the branches above me clash in a violent sway. A thick black mist coalesces near the fork of the oak tree where the tree fort once stood. I stagger back a step as the opaque mist renders itself with definite reptilian scales. It coils like a large black snake around one of the giant branches on the oak tree. Without warning, the branch snaps with a huge pop. I scream and dive for the creek, landing at the edge of the water with my hands buried into the sandy bank. The heavy branch shakes the ground as it crashes to the forest floor, inches from my face. I leap to my feet and take off running alongside Copperhead Creek. The black mist descends the tree and dissipates once it reaches the bottom.

  I let out a terrified scream as I run. Footsteps trail me, crackling fallen tree limbs with every stride. I yank my head around as I sprint, and large indentations form like footprints into the muddy bank of Copperhead Creek. They progress into the creek sending large splashes of displaced water hurtling into the air with each step.

  I dig deep, excavating a bounty of adrenaline that fuels my retreat. Several minutes seem to pass in an instant. My legs motor, and I’m nearly out of Grief Hollow. I don’t stop running until I burst out of the woods by Jennings Bridge.

  Chapter 6

  Jennings Bridge

  I COLLAPSE ON the edge of the gravel twenty yards downriver from Jennings Bridge, panting from my sprint through the woods. My knees dig into the dirt as I gasp for air. What the hell was that? The voices. Oh, Jesus! The mist thing. I don’t jump at that second and I’m dead. That branch would’ve flattened me.

  I lift my head, and Jennings Bridge climbs to the foreground of my peripheral vision, the gray, oxidized wood showing the effect of the perpetual advance and retreat of the seasons. A tall pine forest rises behind it, planted after a logging operation stripped it of its hardwoods. I pant for air, glimmers of light floating through my field of vision. Tee and Robby’s approaching chatter rises above a continuous
roar of the Waupecony River’s charging current. Thank God. They’re here. They work their way across the abandoned railroad bridge, taking careful steps to avoid any rotten boards. Tall weeds springing between the rails and rotting railroad ties slap their shins on their accelerating approach.

  Robby’s the first to arrive. “Dude, we thought you chickened out.”

  “Yeah, it’s ten-fifteen. What gives, Brooks?”

  My chest heaves for air, my lungs a stinging inferno. My stomach muscles clench tight, and I vomit into the gravel, the chunky splatter settling in between the rocks. From my hands and knees, I pant for air, the sweltering heat of summer spilling into my burning lungs. I settle onto my butt and drape my elbows over my folded knees.

  “Nasty!” Robby curls one side of his lip, eyes squinting.

  “Whoa. Are you okay, man?”

  Tee’s eyes grow wide as he inventories my disheveled appearance, lingering on my sweat-soaked shirt that’s covered in dirt, the sand and dirt caked on my hands, my ripped shorts, and my bug eyes. They saw me come tearing out of the woods like a mad man.

  “Give him some water, Robby.”

  Robby opens his canteen. He hands it to me, but his eyes still possess it, standing guard over the last gift his father gave him before the accident. I grab it by the olive-green canvas cover. The compass built into its face glints sunlight as I take a large gulp of the lukewarm water. My rapid breathing slows. I draw a couple of deep breaths before trying to speak.

  “Thank you.”

  I hand the canteen to Robby. Tee sweeps a clump of dirt off my shoulder as he examines me.

  “What happened to you? Did Sammy get you?”

  “No, well yes, well sort of…”

  What do I tell them? The truth? They’ll think I’m crazy. Might not let me in the Markland X Crew. But what else can I tell them? Nothing’s going to explain this. But the truth? Risky. And I really need the extra protection now. Sammy’s going to kill me. But lie to them? I can’t. I wouldn’t even know what to say. The truth it is. Here goes…

  Robby and Tee listen as I recount my near miss with Sammy and Myron.

  “I broke free and was going for my bike. Sammy jumped in front of me. I screwed up, guys.”

  Tee lifts a brow at me. “Screwed up how?”

  “I’m not sure how it happened. It didn’t even feel like me doing it.” I pause, expelling a deep breath. “I kicked Sammy in the nuts. Hard.”

  Robby and Tee erupt into a thunderous roar of laughter. Robby pumps his fist once as he grins at me. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you kicked him in the nuts.”

  “Brooks the Nut Cracker! That’s your new name.”

  Robby chuckles. “Man, I wish I’d been there to see that. Ole Sammy Needles, kicked in the nuts.”

  “Yeah, so long Sammy,” Tee says.

  “Serves that piece of shit right, Brooks. Ain’t no wonder he ain’t got no friends.”

  “Yeah, none ‘cept Myron and Bo. And they might be even bigger pieces of shit.”

  Robby nods agreement with Tee and gives me a pat on the back. “I guess we’ll let it slide that you’re late.”

  “That explains why you look like crap.”

  “Well, no, not really.” I swallow hard. Wide grins overtake Robby and Tee’s faces, but the rest of the story isn’t as funny.

  I tell them why I decided to go through Grief Hollow, which brings pause to their grins. No one plays in Grief Hollow. Not since the fire.

  “So, on my way to Grief Hollow, I got a weird feeling. You guys ever get the feelin’ someone’s watching you?” Both boys nod. “So, I stopped walking to just kind of listen. A deer jumped out from behind some trees and scared me half to death. And I fell down.”

  The chorus of laughter rises once more. Tee collects himself first. “Oh my god, Brooks, we gotta hang out more.”

  “You must’ve taken a hard spill to do all that.”

  “No guys, listen. I get up, and there’s Margo standing right next to me.”

  “Margo? Margo Combs?” Robby purses his lips, and his eyes meet mine. “I know you’re not talking about Mysterious Margo, right?”

  “Yeah, Mysterious Margo.”

  Robby narrows his eyes. He doesn’t believe me.

  “In the woods?”

  “Yes, in the woods.”

  “Oh man, now I know you’re lying. And you really had me going too. Next thing you’re going to tell us is she was doing them weird drawings she does.”

  “No, I’m serious, Tee. Seriously. She was there in her night gown with no shoes, just bobbing her head up and down.” Both boys’ postures perk. “You know like she does?”

  The boys both nod, and their smiles go slack. Robby digs his eyes into mine.

  “So Mysterious Margo did this to you?”

  “No, she didn’t, but she spoke to me.”

  “What, she spoke?” Tee’s eyes grow wider. “What did she say?”

  “She kept saying something weird like ‘the Collector is coming’. And then she said, ‘and Grief Hollow will be its home.’”

  Tee shoots a crinkle-faced glance to Robby. They’re sizing me up. Trying to decide if I’m full of crap. After a moment, Robby turns to me.

  “What the hell does that even mean?”

  “Yeah, what’s the Collector? That’s weird, man.”

  “I know, right? I don’t know. I have no idea. She pointed past me in the direction of Grief Hollow, so I turned to look.”

  “Then, what’d she say?” Tee’s brows furrow in the wake of his crumbled smile.

  “Nothing. When I turned back around, she was gone. I called out her name a few times, but nothing. Weirdest thing was that I never heard her walk away.”

  “Dude, you had one hell of a day. And it’s only eleven.” Robby manufactures a half-smile, but his lighthearted words fail to lighten the mood.

  “Wait, then how’d your shorts get ripped? And how’d you get so dirty?”

  “Grief Hollow.” My voice crackles, and I clear my throat. “Something happened in Grief Hollow. Something that I can’t explain.”

  Both boys’ eyes grow wide as I begin telling the story. Robby rubs his thumb and finger together, and a fidget slips into Tee’s foot.

  “At first, I thought I heard whispering, thought it might be children playing. Then, the wind died and so did the voices.”

  Robby’s stomach emits an audible grumble. “What did the voices say?”

  “I couldn’t make it out at first, but then the wind started blowing again, viciously. The trees were shaking. I was right by the old oak tree with the burned-out tree fort. Then, I heard the voice say, ‘You’ve come home, Brooks. You’ve come home.’”

  Tee grins. “Somebody’s messin’ with you, man.”

  “Right, that’s what I thought. Okay, so this part’s going to sound crazy, but there was some type of black cloud thing that began forming on the oak tree. It kept growing larger until it started to look almost like a snake. It wrapped itself around one of the giant branches on that oak tree. The branch snapped and came crashing down. I dove out of the way. It almost killed me, guys!”

  “Whoa, that’s jacked up.” A deep-set frown settles on Robby’s face in the wake of his words.

  “What’d you do?” Tee shifts his weight from foot to foot.

  “I ran. I ran as fast as I could. When I looked back, I saw something following me. I mean, I didn’t see it. I saw the footprints it was making as it chased me and the splashes in the water as it moved into the creek.”

  The blood funnels out of Robby’s face. His legs wobble, and he eases himself to the ground. Tee’s shaking his head and scrunching his lips.

  “For real, man?” Tee continues shaking his head.

  I nod.

  “Maybe, it was like lightning or something.”

  “There’s not a cloud in the sky, Tee.” Robby crosses his arms and shakes his head.

  Tee looks at the sky and frowns. Both boys appear troubled by my story. I let ou
t a slow exhale. Thank God. They believe me. Don’t think I’m crazy. I’d risked my future in the Markland X Crew by telling them what happened, but I already feel closer to them.

  Tee kicks up a cloud of dust, still trying to register everything. “That’s messed up, man. So messed up.”

  Chapter 7

  The Pact

  ROBBY AND TEE try to shake off the story I shared with them. We take seats on the old bridge, feet dangling above the swift current. Tee grabs a can of Force Energy Drink out of his backpack.

  “Stole this from my sister.”

  Tee’s older sister, Angela, graduated high school in May. She’s the same age as Brady, who lives on my street. She visited his house from time to time when I was younger. But the fire changed all of that. Brady went to juvie, and Angela didn’t come around anymore.

  After taking a sip, Tee hands the can to me. I recognize the can, but my parents vowed never to buy any of the stuff after what happened with Tommy Tanner. All the parents called him Tommy Tantrum because he used to pitch the biggest fits. Abhorrent, social-circle changing fits.

  “Guys, remember Tommy Tanner’s Force incident at the pool?”

  “Remember it?” Tee grins wide. “No way to forget that, Brooks.” Tee wiggles his index finger by his crotch and snickers.

  “Oh man, I heard that was a show. Can’t believe I missed that. I heard his whole family had to move to Knoxville because of it. I’m telling you, I would’ve easily traded Space Mountain to see that.”

  “That’s one warped dude. You shoulda seen it, Robby. He drank a can of Force, disappeared. Then, he shows back up, and Shirley Morris screams. And the crowd by the bathroom parts like a school of minnows racin’ away from a bass.” Tee brings his palms together and flings them apart. Robby snickers.

  “Basically, the whole town was there, Robby. It bein’ Labor Day and all.”

  “Come on, Brooks. This is my story.” Tee manufactures stern eyes but can’t suppress his budding grin. “So, where was I? Oh yeah. So, he was butt-ass naked. Stripped all his clothes off.”