Hunted Part two, Keeper of the Woods written by Neil Mfinn. Derec came
to see me a month before my mother died. Although he's my brother's son,
Derek is a year older than me, so our relationship was like that
of cousins more than aunt and nephew. Growing up in my hometown of Willard
Springs. We were close, but he graduated high school and spent a year
away at college before realizing that an advanced education wasn't for him. He came
home at the end of the spring semester and began working on my father's farm.
In time to wish me a fond farewell as I packed up my International
Scout and moved to Saint Louis, Missouri. I don't really know why I
chose Saint Louis. Chicago would have been a more logical place given our location.
Minneapolis would have made sense as well. I think I felt like they
were not far enough removed from Willard Springs. Big cities like New York in
LA were too far removed, and Saint Louis felt right. And here I've
lived for the past forty years. At the time of Derek's visit, I
had been home exactly once. That was when my grandfather died. I was
blessed to have good and loving parents in a large, closely knit family,
but my universe centered around Granddaddy. I followed him wherever he went and mimicked
his every move and did my best to model myself after him. My name
is Uliley Jane, after my granny, who died before I was born,
but it was my granddaddy who gave me the nickname Shadow. It was a
surprise to hear Derek voice over the intercom that morning. When I heard the
door buzzer, I assumed one of my fellow tenants had accidentally locked him or
herself out and was looking for someone to open the door for them. Good
lord, Derek, what are you doing all the way down here in Saint
Louis, I cried as he swept me up in a big bear hug that
pulled me off my feet. I had business down here, so I thought
i'd stop in. He lied, business, Yeah, right, What business
could a dairy farmer have four hundred miles from home? I chatted, Well,
maybe I just wanted to see my favorite aunt, he offered, as
he followed me across the little entry hall into the living room of my apartment.
I lived in an old building, complete with all the character and charm
of arched doorways and French doors, and old fashioned phone niches and outdated electricity,
plumbing and ventilation systems. But it suited me after all these years.
Feeling a bit melancholy, I said, oh, I don't know. He
put a little too much effort into his nonchalance. I felt a tinge of
suspicion creep over me, but I let it pass and offered him coffee.
When I came back in with his cup, my two cats had taken up
residence on the sofa beside him. One was glaring at him suspiciously, as
if demanding an explanation for his presence, while the other was busy batting out
his hand in an effort to force him to pet her. Are they planning
on eating me here or do they have a den somewhere that they'll drag me
off to, he asked, as I handed him as coffee. Calopee,
calypso get down, I scolded, Well, they ignored me. Sorry,
they're my watchcats. They'll like to play good cop bad cop. Calope there
distracts visitors with her overly friendly attitude, while Calypso works out of strategy for
immediate expulsion if the need arises. I don't think I've ever seen such large
cats in my life. Derek stroked Calopie's back and gave an oof when she
jumped out onto his lap. Wow she's heavy, he said. They're rag
dolls. I explained, they're not the largest breed of cats, but close
to it. I think main coons are bigger, and maybe one or two
other breeds. They're actually the friendliest breed I know of. Most rag dolls
think they're dogs. While I sat down in my favorite oversized chair next to
the little gas fireplace and opened my arms for Calypso to jump into my lap,
and with both of us now securely pinned to our seats by twenty pounds
of overly affectionate fur, I ask again why Derek had come so far for
a visit. Well, you know, Grandma isn't well, he began,
after a moment of consideration as to how to proceed. His statement left me
feeling cold inside, and I responded accordingly, Derek, I know, just
because I never go back there doesn't mean I don't keep in touch. I
talked to Mom and Dad at least two or three times a week, and
they come here a lot, especially since you boys have taken over the dairy
business. A lot of the city people don't realize that farming is a business
the same as manufacturing. Over the years, my family has gone a bit
further than selling milk to companies who package it under their own names. Parker
O'Connor is its own label. However, I left that world when I was
eighteen, and my knowledge of dairy farming is rudimentary at best, and my
memories of growing up on the farm feature creeks on hot summer days and my
mother's vegetable garden and the elusive blue ribbons offered at the county fair, and
snow covered hills and hollers through which snowmall bills were driven. Nevertheless, I'm
proud of my family, even if I don't fully understand their passion for milk
production. Sitting across from Derek now, I was painfully aware that he wasn't
here to talk butter, fat and protein content of milk with me. There
were questions in his eyes for which I was sure I had the answers,
but that I wasn't entirely sure I could provide what wasn't accusing you of anything,
he said, calmly, I was just saying that she isn't well.
He softened his voice even more and continued, Now, I know you love
Grandma and Grandpa. You've been a good daughter to them, even from so
far away. They brag on you all the time. Grandpa never fails to
mention how you came home from Granddaddy's funeral and enrolled yourself full time in college,
and you worked hard at it. He gave me a crooked smile before
saying, and we all know how hard you had to work. School was
never your forte Well, shut up, I laughed, relaxing a bit.
Grandma and Grandpa are proud of you, he said. Who would ever have
thought anyone in our family would go so far that they've actually become a professor
at a university. He said this with an easy grin. Well, I'm
not a full professor yet, I corrected. I've only just recently achieved the
rank of associate professor. You know, Tomato, Tomato, It's still more
than anyone expected. Again, he shot me a lazy grin from you anyway,
I picked up a pen from my side table and I threw it at
him. The tension was slithering out of the room. Well, thanks for
not brating me about that, And to be honest, I feel guilty not
being there. I hope that my smile hid some of the self loathing I
felt for my cowardice. We spent the next half hour making small talk and
catching up on the happenings of Willard Springs. It was nice having Derek there.
My own brothers were all grown up when I was born, and my
sisters were two, and I was closer to him than I ever could have
been to my siblings. Suddenly Derek asked what happened that week after Granddaddy died,
and there it was a shot in the dark, unexpected and painful.
All the tension flooded back in. Well, how much do you know?
I countered. I know that I hear things in the woods when I'm working
in the barn. I know that whatever's out there howling is too big to
be a wolf. I know that calves disappear and Grandpa blames it on coyotes.
And I know we have fewer barn cats in our neck of the woods
than on any farms anywhere else, and I know that I don't hunt anymore.
You don't hunt, that statement said at all? What have you seen?
I asked. He was silent for a moment, debating how much more
to say. All right, I have seen something, actually more than once.
Did you talk to your grandfather about it? I asked, No,
he exclaimed indignantly. I don't want to scare him. I burst into laughter
at that, and it left him sputtering nonsensical words until I interrupted with your
grandfather has known about those things since long before you and I were born.
The expression knocked him over with a feather, overused as it may be,
was exactly what I was sure I could have done to him at that moment.
No, how, you can't be serious, he stammered. I was
tempted to go find a feather. How do you know my story of the
house that i'd heard while staying at Granddaddy's house on the night of his funeral,
and the figure I'd seen lurking around the barns unfolded between deep size and
long pauses. He pointed out that my father would never have called the sheriff,
much less agreed with him if he already knew what was out there.
I suggested that he did that for my mother's sake, and she didn't know
what my father and grandfather other new, and he would have done anything necessary
to keep her from ever finding out. I stood up then and went over
to the far wall of my living room, where several floor to ceiling bookshelves
sagged under the way to too many books, and from a lower shelf,
I removed one of my grandfather's journals. A few days after I arrived home
from his funeral, they were delivered to me with a note that said for
safe keeping, love Dad. I handed the journal to Derek. He opened
it and began reading January seventeen, nineteen fifty six. I heard them howling
again last night. I asked loudly this morning if she'd heard anything, but
she said no. I think I might get a telescope, one of those
Spye scopes like a sea captain uses, and put it up in the attic
in the west window. Derek stopped reading, and I began to laugh.
What are you laughing at? He said, I don't know how I did
that. I said, there are two dozen journals on that shelf, and
that's number two or three. I just reached down and grabbed one, but
that's the very first one I read too. Well, what are these,
he asked, flipping the book over in his hand. What does the DM
stand for? I explained how I'd found the journals while cleaning out the office,
and Granddaddy had kept a record going all the way back to the middle
of nineteen fifty four, when he first heard the howling. He recorded every
date, every sound, every animal taken or missing, and every thought he
had about them from July twenty seventh, nineteen fifty four, to September twenty
two, nineteen seventy five. Most of the entries were no more than a
couple of sentences, stating things like I heard them last night, or bullet
is missing. He was a good dog. The more detailed entries were descriptions
and behavioral observations. As for the d MS, I can only guess,
I concluded. Why did he stop in nineteen seventy five, Derec asked,
I don't know. Maybe there are more note books. Maybe he was beginning
to see things that scared him too much. I offered, you think it
had anything to do with Julienna Dennison. Derec wondered aloud, Julienna Dennison.
I had to think for a moment. The name sounded familiar, but I
couldn't put a face to it. And then it hit me, Oh,
you mean Matt's old girlfriend, the one he was engaged to but never married.
You know, I liked her. The memory of seeing the two of
them skinny dipping in the river that night flooded back to me. Whatever happened
to her, shadow Derec said harshly, not understanding his sudden anger, and
I stared back in shock. Seeing that I was at a loss, he
said, don't you remember Uncle Matt almost went to jail for her. Well
baffled, I shook my head. Julianna Dennison disappeared one night when she and
Matt were on a date. They found her body all tore up. Now,
how can you forget something that gruesome? It was the biggest news ever
to hit Willard Springs, and Uncle Matt was damn near charged with killing her.
Dear God, I did remember. I remembered seeing them in the water
in the moonlight, and I remembered them splashing each other and laughing. I
remembered them coming together and in an embrace, and I remember her turning and
heading for the shore and disappearing in the woods and screaming. I remembered it
all. How could I have forgotten? It was the night I had slipped
up to the attic to play with the telescope when I was ten, and
somehow I'd managed to block it all out. But now the images came flooding
back to me. Now I could hear the distant screaming and pleading for mercy.
I could see Matt running into the break and coming out again and yelling
for her. And he swept up his jeans and he pulled them on as
he ran for his truck, and I heard him pull into the barnyard.
I heard him running into the house and my dad calling the police or was
it my grandfather? Shadow? Shadow? Derek's voice was coming from somewhere far
away. I looked up and saw his face inches from mine. His lips
were moving, and sounds were coming from his mouth, but I couldn't understand
them. I felt sick. Suddenly, I pushed Clipso off my lap and
shoved Derek away, and I ran down the hall to the bathroom. By
the time I was through, I was wishing i'd eaten more that day,
it would have been easier than the constant wretching. When I finally collapsed onto
the bathroom floor, certain I'd never be able to stand up again, I
dissolved into loud and ugly sobs. Fifteen minutes later, Derek knocked on the
door, shadow, are you okay? No? I was not okay.
I couldn't accept the image of Julianna Dennison, except to see a rabbit running
across a patch of snow and being swept up by a monster that until that
moment I never could have believed existed. What was worse, a fraction of
a second before it sank its teeth into the soft fur, the rabbit turned
into Juliana. I pulled myself back to my feet, and I opened the
door, and Derek's worried face loomed over me. His hands came up to
support me as I began to sway a bit, and gently he led me
back to my chair in the living room, and then disappeared down the hall
to return with a glass of water. I took it gratefully and sipped gingerly
for several long minutes before I was able to speak again, and Derek listened
in mortified silence as I described the scene I had witnessed that night when I
was a child. I told him that, as far as I knew,
the telescope was still intact, and then I remembered that Dad had interrupted me
the night I saw the dog man, and I didn't replace it. If
Mom was the one who found it later, it would likely have been tucked
back into a little space under the window. But if Dad went back up
the stairs that night, he may have gotten rid of it to prevent any
more unwanted incidents. We'll see, he said, when I get back,
I'll go there first thing. And look why, I asked, what would
you do with that little monocular? It's over forty years old. You'd be
better off buying a new one, a better one, And then I paused
and nodded, you'd be better off staying away from the subject altogether. I
can't, Derek answered flatly. I understood, and I hated it, but
I understood. After that, was sat in silence, and Derek spotted a
short plastic poll on the offee table and picked it up to dangle the attached
feather and bells over the cats heads. They danced around and batted at it,
and then at each other, and my eyes were fixed on the cats,
but my mind had me trapped in an attic, staring out a window
and seeing something that couldn't be. It could have been an hour before Derek
spoke. It could have been two hours. The cats had long since lost
interest in the dangled feather, so I doubt it could have been less.
And finally he stood up. I had been so deep in thought that his
movement startled me. Are you leaving? There was an actual fear in my
voice, for which I was ashamed. Yeah, he said, slipping into
the jacket that he draped over the chair earlier. It's getting late. Why
don't you stay, I pleaded, much to myself. Discussed I'll come back
tomorrow, he promised. How about I come and take you to breakfast.
I thought about that for a minute. Tomorrow felt like a long drive across
a frozen tundra away. But he was right to leave me. I needed
the time to process these new memories, to understand them. Okay, I
acquiesced, but not on farm time, I quickly added, I don't get
up before seven am. Look at you, lazy bones, he teased,
it was still early on Saturday afternoon. When Derek left, I felt restless
and uncomfortable, so I decided to head over to my office on campus,
where I had access to the new tool called the World Wide Web, and
there I searched for an hour to find all that I could about the death
of Julianna Dennison. The Internet was still young back then and not nearly as
healthful as it is today, and in the end I relented and walked over
to the library, where I scanned through microfish images of old newspapers until I
found what I was looking for. The headlines were harsh and accusatory. Local
man accused of killing fiance while swimming. Read the first. The article relayed
the story of how Matt had taken Juliana down to the river to spend some
time alone with her and talk about their wedding plans for this following summer.
There were several quotes from friends whose names I recognized and who declared Matt's innocence
and his inability to commit such a heinous crime. The second paper, with
a headline woman attacked and killed in the woods, fiance held for questioning,
was more of the same. This time they interviewed Granddaddy, who adamantly stated
that it had to be a wild animal. No man could do to another
human being what had been done to that girl's body. I flipped through several
more articles, each revealing a little more about the autopsy, the Matt's release
based on the autopsy results, and a search for large predators in and around
the river that ended fruitlessly. The last article declared her death to be a
direct result of wild dogs, all of which it said were rounded up and
euthanized. Juliana's obituary showed a face that I barely remembered. They had obviously
used a school picture. Her hair was long and dark brown and parted in
the middle, with two metal hairbows holding it back from her face on each
side. Her pale eyes were heavily made up in the electric shades of blue
that were popular at the time, and she was wearing a short sleeved,
light neck turtleneck. I stared at her with little sympathy. I never liked
her, Unlike us, she wasn't a farm kid, and for that she
looked down on us. She lorded her college degree over us, as though
it was somehow made her better, and my mother always acted awkwardly in front
of her, and my dad always found an excuse to work on something out
in the barn when she was there, and Granddaddy stayed away altogether. Despite
this, the thought of her being torn to pieces by one of those creatures
living in our woods was disturbing, and I suppose that no one should have
to suffer that sort of fate. I had the librarian print out copies of
all the articles I found, and I took them home with me. Derek
and I had been staring into our cups of rapidly cooling coffee for too long.
The din of people talking and dishes being cleared, and servers rushing past
with plates of food and bacon sizzling on the grill somewhere beyond the lunch counter
created miles of distance across a little for mica top table at which we sat.
Neither of us could think of a thing to say. It seemed impolite
to march into the top pick that dominated all of our thoughts, but because
it was all either of us could think about, it left us incapable of
any other conversation. I gave up. Tell me your story, huh.
I wondered if Derek had fallen asleep into his own thoughts that he'd forgotten I
was there. Oh yeah, well, he began with the impeccable timing that
only a server can have. Ours approached the table at that moment to refill
our cups and assure us that our food would be out Momentarily. I thanked
him with a smile and then turned back to Derek and waited. He took
a deep breath and blew it out slowly. His eyes wandered to the window
beside us. Rain was falling at a steady pace. Outside. Derek wasn't
fond of rain, but I, on the other hand, am a complete
cluvial file. Remember that time we all decided to canoe the Saint Croix and
we got all the way down to Hinckley before we realized we didn't have a
way to get back to our vehicles. It was a diversion, but at
least he was talking, and we had to call Grandpa and Granddaddy to drive
up and get us. He was laughing now it sounded nice, and then
it started raining before they got there. We had to turn the canoes over
and huddle under them for shelter. We should have stayed at the gas station
and had them pick us up there, I said, smiling back at him,
or we could have paddled back upstream like I wanted to, and poor
Ben. We had to make him wait there with our canoes while we walked
to a phone booth. And then we got back and he was throwing a
fit about somebody tossing rocks at him. Derek grew silent again as realization dawned
across his face. Tell me your story, Derek, I said again.
We had to wait in silence for a minute while our server, with his
unbearable himing, placed a plate of eggs and bacon, and I played a
biscuits and gravy, and I played of pancakes in front of Derek, and
a bowl of fruit and gorilla topped with yogurt in front of me. You're
gonna starve to death eating like that, he chatted. And you're gonna get
old and fat eating like that, I retaliated. It was a familiar banter
that helped us both relax. Derek shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth
and he grinned, at least I'll get old, and then, without further
prodding, he began It's been going on for so long, to be honest,
that I can't put a start date on it. I think I've known
since high school, maybe earlier, that something wasn't right in our woods.
Something isn't right in any of the woods around there, you know how.
Grandaddy never let us hunt alone in the woods, but used to slip in
there, and when we didn't know, I was sure there must be some
trophy buck roaming around in there, and I was just as sure as I
was going to be the one to bring it in. And I honestly don't
know what I would have said to Granddaddy if I had. There were times
in those woods when I seriously felt like I was being stalk For the longest
time, I thought it was Granddaddy. I kept expecting him to mention it
in the middle of some family dinner, but he never did, and after
a while I convinced myself that it wasn't him. But for the life of
me, I couldn't figure out who or what it might have been. It
was always the same. I'd be walking and everything would go sila, like
a predator was close by, and then I'd hear footsteps around me, not
stop and look around, but I never could see anything. It was always
so damn quiet. No birds, no squirrels, no insects, nothing.
And then I'd start walking again and I'd hear footsteps again. Sometimes a stick
or a rock would get chucked at me, and that was always when I'd
get too and I'd walk out. But whatever was out there always walked out
with me. But when i'd get to the road, it never came out
of the woods with me. Or if I was down the river, and
once I crossed it, it would stop following. I guess that started all
the way back in high school. But I can promise you there are times
even today when I go into those woods that I feel something is watching me,
something doesn't want me there, and something is chasing me out where You're
lucky there, Derek, I said, those were probably the Sasquatches. He
leaned in suddenly and he said, do you believe in Bigfoot? I thought
it was a ridiculous question. Of course, I believe in Bigfoot. I've
read all of grandfather's journals, and I've had countless conversations with my father about
the behavior he'd witnessed and the signs he'd recorded. Although I didn't see a
bigfoot in the woods that cold winter day. What I did see told me
that if they can't exist, then sure as hell a bigfoot can. As
quickly as he leaned in, Derek withdrew, he didn't wait for my answer.
It wasn't a sasquatch or a bigfoot that I saw last spring, he
said. I was turkey hunting, and there was a big time that I'd
been watching. I couldn't believe my luck when I managed to call him in
on that first day. God, it was frustrating watching him duck in and
out of the brush. I was waiting for a clear shot. He'd stepped
behind the bush, and there was a sudden movement and feathers went everywhere,
and the damn thing was gone. It was just gone. Derek's face mirrored
his astonishment as his hands came up to wipe the air like a giant eraser.
I was so shocked that I think I must have yelled or something.
And the next thing I knew, I was looking at the crown of a
head sticking up from behind the bushes. It kept standing until its eyes were
visible. The color drained out of Derek's face at the thought of what he'd
seen that day. Those eyes were like two coals of fire, staring right
into me. He looked at me as if he were waiting for me to
argue with him. But how could I when I remembered so well that horrible
feeling when a pair of similar eyes pinned me from an impossible distance away,
And he continued and its teeth, its canines were massive. I could see
the fear washing over him at the memory. Those bushes had to be at
least as tall as me, at least six feet, But when it rose
up, I knew it had to be well over that I was down on
the ground looking up, but I could still see its head over the bushes.
Derec was beginning to tremble. His face glistened with sweat as his skin
paled to a waxy white, and tears welled up in his eyes. I
sat silently while he pulled himself back together, and he took a bite of
food chewed it with his thoughts. I began to wonder again if he'd forgotten
I was there, And then he looked up and abruptly asked, why did
you leave so suddenly after Granddaddy's funeral? Well, that caught me off guard.
Something happened, didn't it. I mean, that day, after you
heard those howls, and after you found the note books, after you saw
it kill the rabbit, something else happened, didn't it. It was like
a strange game of live chess we were playing. The white queen would question,
in the black night would withdraw, The black rook would speak, and
the white bishop would counter. I could almost hear a distant, primordial trum
beat keeping time, or maybe it was my heart. Yes, something happened.
He held his breath as I told him how my dad had taken me
down in the woods to show me the signs of the dog men, and
possibly to look for an indication that the big Foot were returning. If they
were coming back, he'd said, then the dog men wouldn't be leaving again
until late fall. And then we were attacked. Attacked, he cried,
you were attacked, Yeah, I assured him. We parked his truck on
the river and were walking the farm road up to Granddaddy's house when we were
suddenly surrounded by them. Well, I marveled at how calm I managed to
sound. I wasn't feeling it. Visions of Juliana and the rabbit were racing
through my mind, and now they were accompanied by the sounds of grass and
dead leaves and crystallized patches of snow being crushed under massive paws. Well,
how did you get away? He cried, causing a disapproving stare from some
nearby diners. That was one question I wasn't certain how to answer, how
did I get away? The better question was who followed me out? My
father had insisted that he was never with me, and as soon as he
was certain that those creatures weren't going to follow me, he turned the other
way. He had chosen to die rather than to let them get me.
But I know there was someone or something behind me. I heard footsteps,
I heard him breathing, I felt his presence. And yet I know when
I turned around at the door, the barnyard was empty. If it wasn't
my father, who could have disappeared like that? If it had been a
dog man, would I still be alive to tell the tale? Over the
years, I've entertained the idea that it was the ghost of my grandfather seeing
me to safety, or perhaps it was a sasquatch. My father was fond
of saying that they had rules. Stay out of their territory, and don't
interrupt a hunting expedition. Announce your presence when you enter the woods if you
think they're around, and if you hear tree knocks or get something thrown at,
you walk calmly and to liberately away. Maybe they felt that the dog
men were breaking the rules, and their retaliation was to prevent them from turning
me into a meal. Dad said, they always returned in late winter or
early spring. Wait, this time it was me who drew the disapproving stairs
from the other customers. What Derek yelled back? People were staring openly.
Now we must have looked like a couple of looning tunes, yelling back and
forth at each other and jumping at every word. I might have laughed if
not for the sudden realization that Derek's story didn't make sense. It didn't follow
the rules. Did you say you were turkey hunting? I asked, Yeah,
what about it? Spring? Turkey season? Isn't it end like April?
It was the last week in April. Why. Having never read the
journals and not realizing that his grandfather was as close to an expert on the
subject as a man could be Derek couldn't have known that by April the dog
men should have been gone, or that they shouldn't be coming back until the
end of summer. Did it look like a dog, I asked, were
not exactly? It looked almost like I don't know, it was really dog
like. It was more like a mandrel, you know, one of those
big monkeys with the weird red nose and white Did it have ears? I
interrupted, what I guess, so I don't really remember they weren't obvious.
No, I guess not confused by by obsession with the ears. Derek finally
ask what difference does it make? It makes all the difference in the world,
I said. Dog Men generally look like well dogs. I mean,
I've read a few instances where people thought they might look like they're hyenas,
but for the most part, they have a canine appearance. I thought you
were describing a dog man. But it's the wrong time a year, Derek,
and all of Granddaddy's journals and everything Dad has told me. The dog
men leave the area sometime in late winter or early spring, and they don't
come back until the Bigfoot leave at the end of the summer or the beginning
of the fall. Julianna was killed in mid September. Right, I pointed
out, well, he nodded, well, that means the Bigfoot had already
moved on. Granddaddy and Dad had a theory that these things are all migratory.
They kept records of what they saw and when they saw them. I
suspected I was speaking too quickly for Derek to take it all in. Come
on, we need to go back to my place. I'm not saying.
It wasn't dog like he was saying. As I jumped up and signaled to
our waiter. I was already throwing cash on the table when he arrived.
Derek shot a mournful glance at his barely touched food and following me out the
door. I was trying not to run the two blocks back to my apartment
in the rain. It was uphill all the way, and I could hear
Derek huffing behind me. Too many biscuit and gravy breakfasts, I muttered,
slowed down, he yelled, and I ignored him. At my apartment,
I had to stop and dig my key out of my pocket, and then
I fumbled it and I dropped it and it bounced off the cement stooping into
the mud. We both had to crawl around on our knees and the shrubs
to find it. Unfortunately, we were already so wet that it didn't matter.
At my apartment door, Derek ll wrenched the key from my hand and
opened it for me with a look of disdain. He wasn't about to let
me drop up another key. I led the way across the living room to
a set of French doors that opened into a small glassed in sunroom that I
had turned into my office. Fall semester had just begun, and I already
had a stack of papers to grate. I pushed them aside and pulled a
small chair from the corner over so that Derec could sit beside me, and
then I reached into the bottom drawer of my desk and withdrew a large d
ring binder. It was full of notebook paper and sheet covers filled with type
pages or diagrams in them, and several drawings. Sections were separated by tab
sheets, all of which had seen better days. I opened the binder and
began to flip through it tab by tab until I reached the section I was
looking for the first page of that section was a heading sheet that read descriptions
and depictions. I turned to the second page. It had only one word,
typed in three inch tall capital letters, Bigfoot. The next page was
a type description copied from my grandfather's journal, and below it was another description
that my own father had given me via the telephone. The next page listed
a variety of descriptions pull from the books of those brave enough to put into
print their belief in a creature assumed to be mythical by the general population.
I turned the page again to stare into the first of a dozen or so
artists renditions of the big hairy beast. What you saw, I asked Derek,
as Calypso jumped into my lap. Did it look like any of these?
He was already shaking his head before he even began to look on page
by page. He looked at the drawings and then he shook his head.
No, I told you, it wasn't a bigfoot that I saw. The
next page said dog man, where the first had said Bigfoot. What about
these, I asked, turning the pages with the dog man drawings on them.
Derek took his time looking through these pictures. Included in them were rows
of werewolves by artists like Frank Frazetta. But I didn't mention that to Derek.
He studied each image and shook his head and then turned the page.
I skipped over the next several pages. There were all creatures that my father
and grandfather believed to exist in the woods and along the river banks around the
farm, but I highly doubted any of them would be what Derek had seen.
They included creatures like pugwadgees they were easily eliminated by the mere fact that
they stood only three feet tall, and ghost and demons that I dismissed for
a variety of reasons. And finally I got to the last section. It
was labeled unclassified. There I flipped to the drawing and Derek drew in his
breath. That's it, he cried, That's exactly what I saw. My
heart fell into my stomach. Derek had identified a Gugui Gugwi. He asked,
reading the name under the drawing, what does that mean? It means
face eater, I said, and you, my dear nephew, may be
the only man ever to have gotten that close to one and lived. Derek
lifted several pages of the binder at the top corner and let them slide over
his thumb back into place. What is all this? He asked, dumbfounded.
I couldn't answer him. Did he not understand that he had been face
to face with something even more terrifying than a dog man? Had he failed
to see exactly how close his life had come to being over? His face
registered no shock, His manner betrayed no level of concern. He did nothing
more than sit there and stare at the pages. I reasoned that perhaps he
was emotionally incapable of dealing with the magnitude of the situation, or maybe he'd
simply lost his ever loving mind. Shadow What are these? His voice brought
me back to the moment. I had to gather myself before I could speak,
and finally I managed to explain the binder. Shortly after I got home
from Granddaddy's funeral, Dad sent the journals to me. I've had them for
I stopped, and I calculated the time that had passed thirteen and a half
years. I guess At first, I kept reading them over and over again.
I guess I thought I was going to memorize them, and then I
realized the information in them needed to be sorted and categorized. That's when I
started making this binder. Well, what are all these other things in here?
He asked, flipping back to the pages showing creatures that he'd probably never
heard of. At one time or another, either Granddaddy or Dad had seen
all of these creatures, and most of them they didn't have a name.
For the ones that Dad saw, I was able to work with him to
identify some only Granddaddy saw. So they're not much more than an educated guest.
I actually have this to thank for my livelihood, what Derek asked.
How do you mean When I came back here, I had resigned myself to
a life of bartending and waitressing. Jobs weren't hard to come by and the
tips were good. But then those journals arrived. I was so obsessed with
them. I spent every minute that I could at the library, were searching
and reading and learning. While I was sitting at a coffee house pouring over
one of those books, when a man approached me and asked if I was
enjoying his book. Derek's browse shot up and I laughed, Yeah, he
was the author of the book that I was reading. So we got into
a deep conversation on the subject, and though I wouldn't tell him why I
was so fascinated, he was impressed by how much I knew and suggested that
I consider it as a profession. I had no idea people actually made mythological
studies of profession. But here I am today. Wow, Derek whispered in
amazement. I had no idea, Derek, how did you get away?
I asked. The question was burning holes in my brain. If he decided
to dance around the subject, I might have picked up that binder and smacked
him over the head with it. But instead he gave me an answer so
simple that it didn't make sense. Something tried to steal its food. Okay,
we have to stop this hole staring at each other in disbelief. Nonsense,
I said, even as I stared at him in disbelief. Straight talk
from here on out. Okay, all right, that's a deal, he
said. Then explain to me how something tried to steal you. I said,
no, no, not me, the turkey. Two seconds and I
was already staring in disbelief again. It took that time, I was after
remember, he said, Oh, oh, of course. The disbelief faded
away. Something tried to take it from him. I was sitting there on
the ground, staring up at that thing, and it was staring down at
me, and I knew I was gonna die. I can't explain how,
but I knew I was gonna die. It's like when a person bleeds out,
except it wasn't blood being drained from my body. It was hope.
It took a step toward me, and I thought, well, this is
it. And then I heard this sound like something crashing through the brush.
And it turned around and I heard growls and snarling like nothing I'd ever heard
before. Trees were breaking, and body sounded like they were being thrown around,
and something in the back of my head screamed at me to run,
so I ran. I turned, and I ran out of there faster than
I've ever run before in my life. I had parked my truck on the
other side of the river, but I didn't wait to get to the rock
path across it. I splashed into that cold water, gilly poncho and all.
And I waited across. I figured I was either going to be torn
apart by that thing he jetted his finger at the picture and the binder,
or be pulled under by my poncho. Drowning seemed like a better option.
Well, thank god I chose a fairly shallow spot to cross. We had
a lot of rain last spring. I really could have drowned. I drove
out of there like a lunatic, and I haven't been back since. It
took all the desire to hunt right out of me. Why did you think
it was trying to steal its food? I don't know. It was just
the impression I got, He said, Did you see what it was fighting?
I asked, Well, Derek thought for a minute and then said,
no. I imagine it was a dog man or Bigfoot. Bigfoot maybe,
I answered, as I flipped through the pages of the binder to a sheet
that folded out. It was a line graph showing the active seasons for each
of the creatures. Dog Men would have been gone by then. Derek ran
his finger across the graph, examining the rising and dipping lines, and they're
coordinating dates. He traced the red line indicating dogman activity, and then went
to the blue line for Bigfoot, And after that he ran his finger down
the left hand column looking for the word gugui. Where's the gugwi? Line,
he asked when he didn't find it, it's not on there. I
told him they don't have a season. The only way I can tell based
on Granddaddy's notes and what Dad says. The only way to tell if they're
in the area is lack of signs from anything else. Even the Bigfoot and
dog Man are afraid of these things, and they're not afraid of anything.
Derek added, gunfire, I corrected. You can sometimes chase them away with
gunfire. Derek spent the rest of the morning studying the binder in journals.
I gave him a notebook so he could take some of his own notes.
Once I was sure that church was out and my parents were back home,
I excused myself to go feed the cats from the other room. I called
him, my dad, and I told him everything. It came as no
surprise that he was angry, but I thought it would be better to tell
him over the phone while Derek was four hundred miles away from him. It
would give him time to calm down before he killed him. That afternoon,
Derek headed back to Willard Springs a wiser man. He promised to call and
let me know if he survived his grandfather's fury. Now that my father had
a new co conspirator, one who was on site, I felt a great
weight lifted off my heart. I wasn't completely at ease. My mother's health
was failing fast. I knew it was a matter of time before I'd have
to make the long drive back home. That was Sunday, September nine,
two thousand and one. Two days later, the world would change and all
thoughts of bigfoot, dog men and gugwi were replaced with the thoughts of terrorism,
war and retribution. I didn't speak to Derec again until October. I
went to church on Sunday, October seven, two thousand and one. I've
never been a devoted churchgoer. I read my Bible and I pray a lot,
but getting up on Sunday morning and putting on an ice dress and then
driving halfway across the town to the Baptist church of my choice had always seemed
to take a back seat to finishing the stack of papers on my desk that
had to be graded. That was before September eleventh. Sunday, October seventh
stands out in my memory for two reasons. That was the day that George
W. Bush announced that we had begun military action against al Qaeda. It
came over the radio as I was driving home after stopping for a bite to
eat, and every house I passed was flying an American flag. Grocery stores
had American symbolism painted all over the front windows. I had a few students
who decided to quit school and join the military. A couple of them eventually
came home in caskets draped in those American flags. We were a proud country
at that moment. Race, gender, religious beliefs, and most of all
political affiliation were of no importance. Being an American was the order of the
day, the only order of the day. My second reason for remembering October
seventh, two thousand and one was the phone ringing when I got home.
I knew it was my father. I had only recently begun carrying a cell
phone and was reluctant to give the number out to anyone. My parents had
it, of course, but they were old fashioned, and I wabbled across
the room under the onslaught of two giant balls of fur who seemed intent on
tripping me in their need to say Hello, I'm here. Don't hang up,
I cried, into the receiver. When I finally got to the phone,
you need to come home now, is she I couldn't bring myself to
say the words. She's still with us, but I can't promise she will
be for more than another day or so. So hurry put her on the
phone, dad, I need to hear her voice. My own voice was
shaking. Now, oh, baby, she won't just do it, please
Dad. There was a sigh on the other end of the phone and the
sound of the receiver being placed on the table. A few minutes later,
I heard the extension being picked up in the bedroom and my father's voice in
the background, saying, she's on the phone now, Mom, I said,
trying hard not to let her hear my tears. Shadow. I will
never forget her voice that day. It was so weak, so unlike my
mother's voice. My heart shattered in my chest. I love you, Mom,
I choked out. I love you too, Shadow, she whispered.
There was a moment of silence. I didn't know what else to say.
I was terrified that my father would pull the phone away from her, even
if it was only to hear her breathe. I didn't want to let go.
And then she said I know, baby, I know. Hold on,
mom, I croaked this time. I was completely incapable of stopping the
tears. I'm coming home, I know, baby, she repeated, I
know. A second later, my dad's voice came back over the receiver.
He said, she's asleep. Now, Shadow, now hurry home. I'm
on my way Dad. I'll be there as soon as I can. I
hung up the phone and called my department head. We knew this was coming,
so we already had a plan. I had only to let her know
that it was time. An adjunct was prepared to step in and cover my
classes for the next two weeks if necessary, and Doctor Witherspoon offered her condolences
and wished me a safe trip. My next call was to Brad, and
he owned the bar where I called myself a bartender for the last time before
going to work at the college. A single parent with a young daughter,
he'd often depended on me to watch her on the nights when I wasn't scheduled.
Peyton loved my cats, and whenever I had to go away, I
could always depend on Brad and Peyton to come and take care of them for
me. And then I went into the bedroom and I packed. An hour
later, I had dropped my spare keys at the bar, and I was
driving north to Willard Springs. The last time I had driven home it was
in my old nineteen seventy seven International Scout too. I loved that old truck.
She was ugly as hell, but she was mine. She died up
there, so I came home and my grandfather's four truck. I was determined
to take better care of it than I did the Scout. As a result,
it lasted right up until the turn of the century, when I finally
broke down and bought a brand new one, the first brand new vehicle I
ever owned, for my thirty sixth birthday. Now, as I drove,
I struggled with the overwhelming fear. I couldn't let it stop me. I
had to get there. I had to see my mom one last time.
I'ved at Mom and Dad's a little before eleven PM that night. It hadn't
occurred to me that anyone would be awake. Even more surprising, the house
was full, and I entered through the front door to see Kate and Jenny
in the living room sitting on the sofa together, arms wrapped around each other.
My brother Greg was sitting with them in a chair across the room.
As I made my way down the center hall to the kitchen, I counted
a dozen nieces and nephews, some sitting on the stairs and others gathered in
the side parlor, and a few sitting around the big oak table in the
dining room. Each of them in turn raised their heads and nodded to me.
At the end of the hall, I entered the kitchen to find my
oldest brother Mike sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee, with
his wife Penny, sitting beside him and gently rubbing her hand up and down
his back. Matt was there too, with his head bet his wife was
at the sink washing dishes. Derek was leaning against the counter, drinking his
own cup of coffee while his wife dried the dishes for Penny. He looked
up and set a soft hey shadow. The others turned to me. Then
they each got up and gave me a warm hug, whispering quiet statements of
relief. At my arrival. I looked around the room, but I didn't
see my father anywhere. Is she again? I stumbled on the question.
I couldn't say those words, I couldn't think about them. She's still here,
Mike said, Dad and Ronald are upstairs with her. Going up,
I met Dad on his way down. He pulled me into his arms and
let me have a good cry before leading the way up to the bedroom.
He said it would be better if I could get the tears out first,
for Mom's sake. He must have been right about the tears. When the
door opened, I saw my mother's frail, shrunken frame in the bed,
and I doubt I would have been able to hold up if I hadn't got
some of the emotion out of me first. Ronald, another brother, stood
up and motioned for me to take his chair, but I lifted my hand
in a refusal gesture, and I climbed tenderly into the bed next to her.
Both my father and my brother mate to deny me that right, but
one look from me told them there was no point in arguing. Hey,
Mom, I whispered into her ear. Watery blue eyes opened, and a
face creased with age and dark purple patches stained the wells beneath them. Her
cheeks, once full and painted in delicate shades of pink, sank inward,
now in ashing tones, and she broke into a smile. Hello, my
baby, she answered, in a voice so weak it was barely audible.
I wanted to fill my mother's arms around me at that moment, more than
I wanted to breathe, but I knew it couldn't be. I didn't dare
to so much as brush against her. She was too delicate and too brittle,
and too close to death. All I had was her presence, and
I knew I wouldn't have that for long. I watched in her silence for
a few minutes before she spoke again. I know, shadow, she said,
repeating the words she'd spoken to me earlier in the day. I wonder
if she did know, if she ever could know how much I missed her
already. Then she turned and stared deep into my eyes, and with more
force and deliberation than I thought she could have mustered, she said, I
know. I spent the rest of the night, taking my turn with the
rest of my family at Mom's bedside. For the most part, she slept,
and once she opened her her eyes and lifted a finger as if to
point at her dresser, and I looked over at it, but I had
no idea what she was asking for another time. She opened her eyes and
looked as if she might say something, but she didn't. I couldn't say
if her last words were I know, as far as I was concerned,
they were, But I wasn't always in the room, and none of us
spoke about our time with her, choosing instead to guard those moments within ourselves.
At first, we'd leave the bedroom and wander downstairs for another cup of
coffee or a can of soda, and each successive visit became more and more
wearing, until we finally began to pick spots along the hallway where we'd collapse
into private reflection until we were called to go sit with her again. We
visited her in groups of two and three except for Dad, and sometime in
the night we all reached the unspoken agreement that time with her should be his
own. I found myself staring at the tall window outside their door that marked
the end of the hall. It looked out over the front of the house
and down into the barnyard, and from the floor, all I could see
was the black velvet matt glistening with stars. Until the sun began to rise.
By little, it brightened into a deep blue separated from the earth below
it by long fingers of pink and gold. How could something be so beautiful
when the whole world is ending, I asked myself. At that moment,
the bedroom door opened and my father stepped out. She's gone, he said.
His eyes were red, and I detected a slight tremor in his voice,
but he was otherwise stoic. Mom would have been proud. Funerals are
for the living. I don't know who said that. I can only heartily
agree. They make those first few days before the reality of lossing sin and
the senses are dulled and go by so much faster. My mother was no
longer with us. What did she care now if her mouth stretched unnaturally wide
across her face, or if the mortician overdid the makeup. It was her
children who stood at the casket and wished they'd done a better job. The
funeral was much the same as my grandfather's or anyone else's funeral I'd ever been
to. A hundred faces passed before me. Platitudes were served in abundance and
answered with copious amounts of gratitude. Hands were shaken and stories were shared,
and people laughed and people cried. One second, I was staring into my
father's stricken face as he announced that my mother had ceased to exist, And
the next someone was pushing a plate of food into my ends and telling me
what a nice service it was. The dinner was held at the church,
but our family all congregated at the house afterward. Seven children, all but
one of whom had married and produced our own offspring, and who were now
counting grandchildren meant that the house was overflowing with people. I was surprised to
realize that more than half of my relatives came from out of town. Eighteen
years earlier, when I had fled Willard Springs, it was a novelty,
and now it seemed that most of my nieces and nephews lived elsewhere. How
are you holding out? I hadn't heard my father slip up beside me.
I'd been too busy staring around the room trying to figure out who belonged to
who. Okay, I guess, I answered, with a sigh. I
could have mentioned that it would be nice to find a place to sit,
but there would have been no point. How are you doing, he grunted
his answer. How long are you staying? He asked? I don't know.
Dad, a few more days, I guess. Doctor Witherspoon said to
take as much time as I need, But I think it would be better
to get back to my students before the adjunct makes too much of a mess
of my lesson plans stay to the weekend anyway. It was offered as a
suggestion, but it felt more like a plea. What are you going to
do now? Dad? You don't farm anymore. There's no reason to stay
in this big old house. I thought about moving into your granddaddy's house.
No one's lived there in years. He glanced down at my horrified expression and
put his arm around my shoulder. Don't worry, it was just a thought
I should tear the place down. Really. He mauled over that thought for
a minute, and then he said, none of this younger generation is interested
in farming. Derek and Benn are the only ones, and Mike doesn't do
much anymore. He and Penny liked to travel. Derek runs his operation and
Ben handles Ronalds and Matt still active, but it's only because as boys don't
farm. And again there was a pause. We had an offer on the
dairy, and I think I'm gonna take it. I knew our little regional
operation was struggling under the onslaught of modernization, but the thought of never seeing
a gallon of Parker O'Connor and milk in the store again left a hole in
my chest. I had to remind myself that Saint Louis is beyond the reach
of Parker O'Connor, and that I had therefore not seen a gallon of that
milk in decades. Maybe you could come to Saint Louis and stay with me
for a while, I suggested, hopefully, No, shadow, I can't
do that, he said solemnly. If I could have closed my ears,
tis next statement I would have. It wouldn't have done any good. Though
I knew what he was going to say. Someone has to stay here and
keep the woods. It's hot in here, was the best response I could
offer. I walked away from him. Then It wasn't hot inside. It
had in fact cool considerably over the last several hours, which made the house
a cozy retreat from the impending bad weather. I had a vague memory of
the weather man predicting the frost. It meant that no one was on the
porch when I stepped outside and finally found a seat in the swing, but
much to my chagrin, Dad followed me, as did Derek. I don't
see why you have to keep the woods, I stated angrily to my father,
because there are things out there that can hurt people. Dad argued,
don't worry, Shadow, he has me. Derek, of you don't need
to be involved in this either. I spat at him. Tears were welling
up in my eyes as the same cold fear that I felt when I saw
the dog man attack Scout washed over me. Aunt Shadow. I looked down
at a little girl in a pink dress with a white cardigan who had suddenly
materialized in front of me. I had no idea whose child she was.
Despite the dozens of senior pictures that my mother had sent me over the years,
and that I tucked faithfully into an album on my bookshelf, and despite
the hundreds of family photos she'd brought to Saint Louis with her on the many
visits, depicting images of laughing children and loving parents, I have never been
able to separate one from the other. Parker jeans are strong. We all
have my father's dark eyes and his short, square nose, with the slightly
flaring nostrils. We all have the obstinate, clefted chin and his full lower
lip. We all have chestnut curls and ears that stick out a little too
much. We're not the most handsome family, but one would call us ugly,
no more than anyone could deny a Parker when they see one. And
the little girl in front of me was a perfect specimen of Parker jeans in
action. What sweetheart, I asked, a shame that I didn't know her
name. Please don't cry, she said, as she climbed into the swing
and wedged herself between me and my father. Once she was comfortable, she
put her hand in mine, and she smiled at me. I guessed her
to be around six. Why do they call you shadow, she asked,
Well, I guess it's because I followed my grandfather around when I was your
age, like his shadow. I told her. Her hand was warm in
mine. It's moments like that when I missed, Never having had children on
my own, I think I would have been a good mother. Is he
your grandfather, she asked, pointing at my father, and then, ignoring
my father's frustrated huff, she added, mine is Mike. I looked up
at Derek, then realizing that this could be his daughter. No, sweetheart,
he's my daddy. My grandfather was Granddaddy O'Connor. He's not a father,
she said, indignantly, He's a grandfather. We laughed at her logic.
He's my grandfather, Derec told her. But Grandpa Great is aunt Shadow's
daddy, just like he's Grandpa Mike's daddy, and I'm your daddy. How
come he isn't your daddy? She asked, Well, if Grandpa Great is
your daddy, then Grandpa Mike couldn't be your grandpa. I tried to explain,
Well why not. We all looked at each other, knowing that this
conversation was going to take a while. Why don't you go play and I'll
explain it later, Derek said, But Daddy, go on, Kinsie,
he said. She slid off the swing and crossed her arms, and with
her head down and her lower lip out, she stalked away. She has
the Parker personality, I laughed, the Shadow Parker personality, Dad and Derek
said, simultaneously. I gave them both an exasperated look. I was still
watching Kinsey issue approached her cousins in the yard. When Derek said, Grandpa's
teaching me everything I need to know about the woods, I closed my eyes.
And when he's gone, I'll be here to watch over things. And
when you're gone, I asked, I'm never leaving. He laughed, but
at the sight of my angry face, he added, well, I should
be around for another fifty years or so. Anyway. I couldn't argue with
that. My father was sitting beside me, well into his eighties, and
he didn't look a day over sixty. My brother Mike looked older than him.
He was still spry and active, and I was sure still driving down
the river every day to look for signs. I felt a chill run up
my spine at the memory of the last walk I took with him. It
would help if you sent us your binder, Dad said, gently, at
least a copy of it. I made a mental note to finally purchase a
home computer. I needed to digitize everything anyway. If I bought a printer
two, I could make the copies at home and send the whole thing off
and then take my time entering everything into the computer. I wasn't about to
take it into work and have the department work study printed off for me.
I was an expert in mythological studies, but that didn't mean I was supposed
to believe in them. And then, realizing how easily I had accepted their
plans, I said, you wouldn't need that binder if you'd just stay away
from the woods shadow. My dad groaned. I knew I sounded ridiculous,
but I was afraid. I was afraid that my father was going to wander
out there and run into the same thing Derek had, But this time there
would be no other beast to steal a turkey and inadvertently rescue my father.
I couldn't lose another parent, not yet. I turned my attention back to
the children playing in the yard. They were in the midst of a serious
game of tag. I was thinking how wonderful it was to see children play.
Even as early as two thousand and one, that was becoming a rare
sight. All of their Parker faces were flushed and glowing, and most of
them were still in their dress clothes from the funeral, but they were all
in disarray. I noticed torn and grass stained pants and rumpled tops and adscuff
shoes. Once neatly plaided hair was coming loose, and there were more than
a few ribbons and neckties lying on the ground around them. And I glanced
around and I looked for Kinzie. There were several girls in pink dresses,
but I didn't see her among them. I wondered if she had gone inside.
I need a drea, I said, standing up, you guys want
anything, I'll take a cup of coffee, Dad said, Derek shook his
head. No. Inside the house was amaze of people, but I managed
to make my way to the kitchen, where I made myself a glass of
root beer and poured a cup of coffee for Dad. Penny was standing at
the sink doing dishes as quickly as they were being returned, and still not
managing to keep up. Jesse, Derek's wife, was on the drying detail.
Have you seen Jesse asked, as I filled my glass with ice.
He's outside talking with me and Dad. I told her, can you ask
him to find Kenzie. I don't want her playing with the other kids until
she's changed out of her dress. Well, I think she's inside somewhere,
I said. She was on the porch with me, and I wasn't sure.
I wanted to tell her that she'd been playing with the other kids already,
but there was no point lying. And then she went out to play
in the yard. But I didn't see her before I came in, so
I think she came back inside. Oh okay, Jesse said, with a
sigh, I'll find her. She put down her towel and headed down the
hall in search of her daughter, and I took the coffee and the soda
outside. Hey, if you see your daughter, let her know her mother
wants her, I told Derek. Typical of a man. He nodded,
and then immediately dismissed the request. Look, if we had that binder here
with all the information you have in it, he began. That binder isn't
static, you know, I interrupted. I add to it and updated constantly.
Well, I realized that, But if we had it here, a
copy anyway, it would be a great reference. You have Granddaddy's journal,
so all we have with the notes Grandpa made since he died. I rolled
my eyes and grunted my displeasure. There was no point arguing with them.
At least if they had the binder, Derek would have more knowledge. Dad
wouldn't need it. Much of the information in that binder came from him.
I looked at Dad then, and I recognized his age. Time is relentless.
It never slows, it never stops, and it never waits. The
future is a blind alley who knows what lies beyond the next minute. And
when my parents came down for a visit earlier that year, my mother was
as healthy and active as ever. A few months later Dad called to tell
me that she had had a heart attack, and today we buried her.
I'll send it, I conceded. There was no point in arguing. The
screen door swung open. Jesse came outside. Derek, have you seen Kenzie?
She asked. We all turned to look at the children playing in the
yard. I thought she went inside, I reasserted, she isn't there.
I looked all over. Jesse's voice denoted worry. Well, she's around here,
somewhere, Derek told her. But even as she said the words,
we were all moving off the porch and into the yard. Hey, Derek
yelled to the kids. Has anyone seemed Kinzie? A boy of about thirteen,
said she went off that way, pointing toward the barn. None of
us spoke as we all headed to the barn, but we were all beginning
to worry, Dad muttered something about history repeating itself. I was reminded that
I too had wandered off to the barn when I was young. I held
on to the prospect of another positive outcome At the barn. Dad slid opened
the wide door, and he called her name. I walked around the far
end and started into the pasture, and beyond it were the woods. Derek
turned and looked over toward Grandaddy's house in the woods behind it. Jesse,
go inside and check the house thoroughly, Derek told his wife. And make
sure you check every room, even the attic. Jesse turned and ran back
to the house. And have everyone help you, he called after her.
Dad, I whispered softly. You don't think He looked at me hard,
willing me not to finish the sentence. Derek, who had finished the sentence
in his own mind, sprang into action. Can I use the ATV?
He asked. He's on the hook in the barn, Dad answered, and
then he said, I'll go with you. No, it was my voice
I heard, but I couldn't believe it was me speaking. You stay here
and make sure no one else goes into those woods alone. I'll go with
Derek. I was pretty sure I had lost my mind. Nothing short of
rescuing Derek's daughter would have ever driven me back into those woods. No shadow,
he began, don't argue with me. I'm younger and more agile than
you. I doubted that, but it sounded like a good argument. I
marched off to the barn and I hopped onto the back of the ATV.
Derek guided us recklessly down the tractor path that separated the pastures from the hayfields.
As he maneuvered across the ruts and around the corners, I kept my
eyes open for signs of a little pink dress and a white cardigan. At
the wood line, he turned and slowed down considerably, searching along the undergrowth.
We traced the edge of the woods all the way to the gravel road
that split the property in half, and on the other side, we drove
slowly along the trees until we got to the river. We both called her
name repeatedly, and we listened for an answer, but the constant putter of
the ATV's engine drowned out most sounds. At the river, Derek turned off
the ATV. We're gonna have to walk, he said. I was suddenly
aware that neither of us had a gun. But what if, what if
my daughter's out there? He cut me off. He was right, guns
or no guns when needed to find Kinsey. It was late afternoon, we
didn't have much daylight left. I looked down at my feeble shoes and was
suddenly glad that my little black dress had been in the dry cleaners. It
meant that I had to bring dress pants and penny loafers, otherwise I'd have
been standing there in kitten heels. The sound of two more ATVs buzzing down
the road had us turning to see my dad and Mike coming toward us.
They pulled up and climbed off their vehicles, and Dad gave Derek a rifle
and handed me a nine millimeter go out. I took it and stared helplessly.
We've got everyone else looking around the house in the yard, Dad said,
as he and Mike checked over their own weapons, if they find her
there, to fire three shots. And then he looked at me. Do
you think you can handle this thing? He said. I hadn't fired a
gun in years. I respect the rights of others to own guns, but
I'm not a gun owner. I've watched all the movies, and I've had
all the day dreams where I take a pistol in hand and lock and load,
and tie a scarf around my forehead and dip my fingers into the mud
and run them across my cheeks and say something cool like let's roll. That
isn't how this played out. I stood there trembling until my father took back
the gun and told me to stay close to him. It wouldn't have taken
down the things that live in these woods anyway. Three shocked faces turned to
stare at Mike. He blinked at us as if he assumed that we knew
what he knew, and then he said, you can't be serious. Everyone
knows evil lives here. A damn it. Mike got the cool line,
shadow and I are going to head this way, Dad said, choosing not
to waste time discussing the things that Mike did or didn't know. You two
head down along the river bank till you get to the rock path, and
then circle back toward the farmhouse and cover the woods behind it, and keep
your eyes on the pastures. We'll meet you on the other side. I
was quickly beginning to realize how utterly useless I was. Mike and Derek headed
down the bank, while Dad and I headed into the woods ten feet in.
It already felt like night. The dense trees overhead were like weights pressing
down on us. Every step was a cracking twig or a crunching leaf,
and I felt eyes on us. Whether they were predatory or squirrels, I
couldn't say. Fear and anxiety were playing havoc with my senses. We should
have brought flashlights, I whispered. Sh was Dad's response. He had stopped
walking, held up his hand. I stood silently beside him, and I
listened for whatever he was hearing. It was a moment before the reality set
in and I heard nothing. Dad looked at me and raised his eyebrows as
if to say, well, we've come this far, and he began walking
again. I stayed close to him, remembering that day a dozen years ago
when I thought he was behind me, but he wasn't. That wasn't going
to happen again. The undergrowth of woods was varied. Patches of low growing
plants popped out of the leaf matter. In places, empty limbs lay scattered
around in varying stages of decay bunchberries with their red fruit gathered at the base
of trees, and moss covered rocks angled outward. As we climbed the terrain
upwards away from the river, we stopped and stared at a pair of saplings
that were snapped in two eight feet off the ground and bent together to form
a perfect I looked at Dad and he nodded. Are they still here?
I asked, as quietly as I could. He pointed to another ex formation
that had been knocked down. When the Sasquatch leave, he whispered, the
dog men come and push over their markers. We continued. My feet were
beginning to hurt inside my shoes. Night was approaching, bringing with it a
chill that was settling in my bones. I remembered again the overly jolly weather
man saying something about a frost. Was Kinsey cold? Was she alive?
Dad? I finally said, we can't continue to be this quiet. How's
Kinsey going to know we're out here looking for her. Well, it's better
than them knowing she's out there waiting for us, he answered, and we
moved on. When we crossed the gravel road, we looked at the setting
sun in dismay. Time was running out. I don't know how long we'd
been walking, but I guessed had taken an hour to get to where we
were. My feet were crying and my muscles were aching, and I made
a mental note to get a gym membership when I got home, if I
got home. The woods on this side were much the same as the other
crosses and rock piles, many of which had been desecrated, and warned us
that we were not alone, that we were not the Apex predators, and
dread pushed me closer to my father. Something snapped behind us, and Dad
swung around rifle raised. I mimicked his motion, but I didn't see anything
following the barrel of the gun. I squinted to see what was making my
father draw in his breath, and a pair of eyes glowed malevolently fifty yards
from us. Instinctively, I turned and put my back to my father,
scanning the opposite direction for signs being surrounded. There was another pair of eyes
at my three o'clock. Now nudged Dad with my elbow and pointed dog men.
I asked, amber eyes. He whispered, I don't think so.
His body pushed against mine as He began to back through the woods, and
slowly I moved forward, acting as our eyes so that we didn't fall over
any logs. And then there was that howl. It was louder than anything
I ever remembered hearing, louder even than the house that woke me all those
years ago, in my grandfather's house. It shook my breastbone and threatened to
burst my heart. And Dad turned then and began to move quickly through the
undergrowth. Almost had to break into a run to keep up with him.
We were heading directly back to the house. Now was he giving up?
Was my father as big a coward as me? And then he made a
sharp turn to us right, and he walked along the ridge line. The
drop off was no more than twenty feet, but the rocks and brambles and
dead trees made the thought of falling into the gully a miserable prospect. I
had no idea where he was leading us. I could only follow. Dad
was used to wandering these woods. He was wearing hiking boots. He changed
into his denims and flannels as soon as we got back from the funeral.
In my white dress shirt and purple mull hair cardigan, and penny loafer shoes.
I was no match for him. All around us I heard heavy breathing
in low growls, but we pressed forward. And then it happened. One
minute I was behind my father, doing my best to keep up with him,
and the next I was tumbling over the edge. I'd gotten too close
and stepped wrong and turned my ankle and lost my balance, and thorns gouged
at my clothing and tore my skin, while rocks and dead branches pummeled my
body. It was part barrel roll and part free fall. As I bounced
off the outcroppings and exposed roots, there was no way to stop myself.
Shadow I heard my father's voice call from the top of the hill. I
hoped that he wouldn't fall as well when I heard his footsteps crashing through the
brush looking for a path down to where I was. I rolled to a
breathless stop a foot from a down tree, moss covered and rotting. It
must have been lying there for ages. The bend of the trunk created an
arch barely big enough to crawl under, and I stared into the space,
aching with a knee to recapture the wind that had been knocked out of me.
And a pair of dark, frightened eyes stared back. Kinsie, I
said, She answered by placing her finger on her lips and then pointing upward.
There was a moment of understanding then, and I knew what I would
see. When I looked up. My blood froze in my veins. My
mind screamed not to look, but my eyes wouldn't listen. Standing ten yards
away on the other side of the fallen tree, staring over at me was
the largest creature I have ever seen in my life. It must have been
eight feet tall, but I was on the ground looking up, and from
that position it looked much taller. Amber eyes pierced me as it opened its
mouth to bear its canines at me. They were as long as my index
finger, if not longer. It didn't have ears, not that I could
see, but it did have a snout. I knew instantly what I was
looking at. My nephew told me once that he knew he was going to
die because all hope drained from his body. Until that moment, I couldn't
fully understand what he had meant. Now, however, I was going to
die. I knew there would be nothing to prevent that. Perhaps it's where
I drew the courage to think I would die, but maybe my death would
allow Kinsey to live. Kinsey, I said, without taking my eyes off
the beast, how could I explain what I had to say. It took
a step toward me, and I glanced up reflectively, and I warned her,
it's coming this way, and when it gets here, she whimpered,
baby, listen, when it gets here and it grabs me. I glanced
at her, now, making sure that she was paying attention. You need
to run. You saw where I fell from right, She nodded her head.
You need to get there. Great Grandpa's up there and he'll take you
home. The creature was moving ever closer. I laid as still as I
could, no matter how desperately I wanted to run. I knew I had
to lie still and let it take me, or Kinsey would not live.
It leaned over the tree and sniffed deeply of my scent. I don't know
if they have the ability to smile, or what a smile would mean if
they did, but that's what it looked like. This thing was doing something
in my scent was pleasing to it. In the nano seconds it had taken
me to fall, and to hear my father charging after me, and to
recognize my grandniece, and to acknowledge the beasts, and to accept my death.
My mind raced. I was sitting in the lounge at the College Eves,
dropping on a conversation between two of my colleagues from the science department.
They were discussing pheromones and fear. Someone had written a paper on predators playing
with their prey. It had something to do with making the meat taste better.
Was this monster trying to see scare me into being a better meal?
Even as I began to stand up, the sound of gunfire erupted from my
left. My father was firing his gun. No, I screamed, it
would go after my dad. I couldn't lose both parents in the same week.
They were all I had. I got to my feet and faced my
opponent, and it leaned down at me, mouth gaping, and hissed its
fetid breath in my face. Long claws or raked the top of my head
as it grabbed a handful of my hair and lifted me off the ground.
I grabbed its arm and held on with both hands as I mentally willed Kinzie
to run. As I dangled there, three more gunshots split the air.
It pulled me close, and it opened its mouth wide. I could have
counted the teeth if i'd had time. I kicked at it with my feet,
hitting it in the chest and stomach, and suddenly, from somewhere behind
the monster, another round of rifle fire exploded. Voices were screaming, and
Dad fired several more rounds, and I felt myself being flung away like an
unwarning toy, and my ribs cracked against the tree and my wrists snapped,
But I was conscious. Kinzie was what might he now? The monster was
turned around and staring up the hillside at the two men who were firing down
on it. Bullets were hitting it, but none of them seemed to penetrate,
and then one struck its net and blood spurted in a long arc across
the little holler. I ran. Then I had to get to Kenzie.
A bellowing roar, like a shock wave washed over me and nearly brought me
to my knees. But there was no time to look back, no time
to assess the situation. I kept running. I was reminded of Derek's story,
and something had tried to steal its meal. It had turned and fought,
presumably to the death, for the right to the turkey. My nephew
would certainly have provided more meat than the bird head, but this thing was
territorial. Owning what it earned was more important to it than allowing something else
to encroach on it. Would it view me the same way? Was it
following me to retain ownership, or was it fighting off the interlopers. I
reached my father almost as soon as Kinsey did. We didn't need to speak.
I knew he was going to stay there and fight it off if it
came our way. My job now was to get my grandniece to safety.
A scream like nothing I'd ever heard before echoed through the woods as more gunfire
pelted the behemoth. Kinsey stopped, and she tried to turn around and look
back, but I wouldn't let her, and fire shot up my leg With
every step, my wrist ached, and breathing hurt, and my head hurt.
But none of that mattered. This was my reason for existence. My
parents had me so late in life that I could be here on this day
to keep Kinsey safe, to keep her from seeing the carnage behind us.
Another scream assaulted us. This time it belonged to a man. I didn't
have to turn and look to know what was happening. He was being torn
to pieces. Tormented cries mixed with sounds of bones being crunched and bullets being
fired. My knees faltered and I found myself falling face forward to the ground.
There were three men behind me, my father, my brother, and
my nephew, and I loved them all. There was no hoping it wouldn't
be this one or that. At that moment, I knew there'd be another
funeral soon. Daddy Kinsey cried, I will never forget the expression on that
poor child's face when I looked up at her. In an instant, all
innocence was gone and her childhood was lost forever because, Dear God, forgive
me, I had let her turn around. More gunshots rang out. The
beast was screaming again, but this time I heard real pain coming from it,
and I was glad. I wanted it to die. I wanted it
to perish slowly in with as much agony as my father and brother could put
on it. I managed to get up onto my knees, but it was
as far as I was going, every breath was stabbing pain in my side.
My ankle was swelling rapidly, and bruises were forming everywhere. All I
could do was turn around and watch. And Kinsey climbed into my lap and
I held her face to my chest while she cried. I couldn't let her
see what I was seeing. Derek's body was straped over the law Kinsey had
hidden under, and Mike was dancing on the beasts, emptying his gun into
it with every step. Dad was moving down the hill toward it, ready
to take his turn. He couldn't fire yet. Mike was too close,
but he knew it would only be a few more steps before he too would
open fire and accept his fate. The monster stood and roared, its fury
at the sky and raged by the pitiful man creature whose bullets it somehow managed
to penetrate and spill its blood. Our greatest moments, our saddest moments,
our worst moments? Why do we always remember them in slow motion? What
could not have lasted more than thirty seconds felt like hours. Mike moved ever
closer to the beast, and Dad closed in as well, and the beast
erupted with one last mighty roar, and it fell. The longest moment I
remember came when my father and brother approached Derek. From my perch on the
hillside, I saw Dad's hand reach down and feel for a pulse. Mike
stood frozen in place, waiting and praying for an answer he knew he wouldn't
get, and Dad dropped his head and the two men cried. I felt
my own tears begging for release, but something inside me refused to set them
free. My memory beyond that point is vague at best. I remember Kinsey
and I being helped onto the back of an ATV, but where it came
from or who was driving it, I couldn't say. Derek's body was brought
back to the house, but again I have no idea how or by who.
Someone called Kinsey and I were taken to the emergency room via ambulance.
Jesse rode with us. I was grateful when the EMT told her to stop
asking me questions. He said my ribs were probably broken and talking was painful.
He was right. Speaking was agony, more so because I had no
idea what to tell her than from the physical pain it caused. She deserved
answers her husband was dead, her youngest child was in shock. The medical
bills I received tell me that I was in the hospital for two days.
I had multiple injuries that included cracked ribs, a broken wrist and ankle,
multiple contusions, and a mile concussion. In the end, they bandaged me
and gave me a prescription for the pain and sent me on my way.
I was too heavily medicated to attend Derek's funeral. I wasn't there when Kenzie
told her story, I got a second hand from my father. She said
that she was mad because she wanted to sit with aunt's shadow, but her
dad made her go play with the other kids. When the other kids wouldn't
play with her, she decided to go out to the barn to see if
there were any new kittens to play with, and while she was searching,
she heard a whistle. It came from behind the barn, so she went
out there to investigate. That was when she saw what she thought was a
big dog that she followed across the pasture and into the woods. It wasn't
until the dog stood up on two legs that she realized her mistake. Children
have no real relationship with time. They haven't had to answer to it yet,
not the way that we adults do. She didn't know how long she
was out there, or the exact order in which the events occurred, and
she only remembered being afraid and knowing that she had to hide. She was
in her third hiding place when I fell down the ridge and I found her.
The police had come that night. They were taken down into the hollow
where Derek was killed, but the body of the beast was gone. They
suggested it must have been a large feral dog, after all, Kinsey had
described it as such. My father chose not to argue. Mike would have
objected, but Dad put his hand up to silence him, and that was
enough. Despite all my grandfather's safeguards, my entire family was aware, had
always been aware that something wasn't right in the woods. Matt was the first
to admit it. He talked about the night Juliana had died. He had
always stubbornly declared that he had seen nothing, but that wasn't true. What
he saw when he went into the woods looking for her was more than he
could describe, and he had to run from the scene, and like me,
he berated himself for his cowardice. If he'd been brave, maybe Julianna
could have been rescued. My father assured him that he couldn't have saved Juliana
any more than he and Mike could have kept Derek alive. It was a
little comfort to Matt, but it allowed my other siblings to open up and
tell their own stories. None were as horrifying as Mats, but all were
enough to make believers of everyone. My father, at least was happy to
think that my mother had never known nor had to worry about the well being
of her children. In that respect, that theory was disproving. When my
sister Jenny brought my breakfast up to my room a few days after Derek's funeral,
I was sitting in a chair by the east window. I had been
allowed to come home from the hospital only on the condition that I not walk
up and down the stairs, so I was essentially trapped in my room.
Being able to sit at the window and soak in the sunlight was a little
compensation for my incarceration. And Jenny put the tray of food on the table
beside me, and she helped me as my seat so I could transfer it
to my lap. And then she sat down and asked how I was feeling,
and she checked my temperature and fussed over me in her big, sisterly
way. I in turn picked at the plate of fried eggs and bacon and
toast and took a few SIPs of orange juice before giving up and settling for
hot coffee with a splash of cream, just like Granddaddy used to drink it.
I have something for you, she said, after tucking one of her
mother's crocheted blankets around my shoulders. She reached into a pocket of her apron
and pulled out an envelope. Kate and I found it in mom's jewelry box
yesterday, and she handed it to me and written on it, and Mom's
precise handwriting was my name. I looked up at Jinny questioningly, and she
shrugged and said, I guess you'd better open it. It was a letter
that read shadow when you decided to move so far away at such a young
age. I won't deny that I was both hurt and worried for you.
I couldn't understand why you would make such a decision. Your father will tell
you, if he'll admit to it, that I did a lot of crying
those first couple of years, I'd hope that one day you would decide to
come home, And when your granddaddy died, I was sure that you would.
I wouldn't let anyone else move into his house because I believe that one
day you would come back and move into it yourself. All these years,
I've kept it up for you, waiting and hoping. I also wondered if
the day would come when you would regret not being here. I saw the
sorrow you felt for not being with your granddaddy when he died, and I
worried that you might someday feel the same guilt for not being here for me
and your father. And then last spring, while I was putting in my
garden, I began to feel as though someone was watching me. I looked
around, but I couldn't see anyone, so I attributed it to an overactive
imagination. A few days later it happened again, And a few days after
that, and a few days after that, something had happened to Derek in
the woods a couple of weeks before that. He wouldn't say what, or
even admit that anything did happen, but I saw the change in him a
grandmother always knows. Yesterday it all began to make sense. I was standing
at the kitchen sink, snapping beans and getting them ready to can when I
happened to look out at my garden. You can't imagine what I saw,
or maybe you can. I don't know if that's the reason you left,
but after your granddaddy's funeral, I'm sure that's what has kept you away.
And I want you to know Shadow that I know, I understand. In
fact, I'm glad these woods are not safe. Love Mom. I looked
up at Jinny in shock. She took the letter and read it herself.
We agreed not to tell our father that our mother had been aware of the
monsters in our woods. He had taken too much comfort in thinking that she'd
never known. I was reminded of the night when Mom died. She pointed
toward her dresser once. That's where her jewelry box sat. She was telling
me then that the letter was there. No. I tucked the letter into
my pocket of my robe. Three weeks after that, I was packing my
bag to leave when Kenzie came into my room. By the end, all
of her scratches and bruises had mended. I, on the other hand,
still bore quite a few yellow and purple marks on my body. My right
hand was in a cast, and my left leg was in a boot,
and there was little to do for my ribs except to ice them periodically,
and I had long since quint doing that. I'd been warned to stay in
bed and not drive until I was fully mended. I don't know if that
was due to the headaches I was still having from the concussion, or if
driving would somehow mean my bones would take longer to heal, but I wanted
to go home. Kensey climbed up on the bed and watched me quietly for
several minutes, and I smiled at her, and I asked how she was
doing. Fine. She said, Daddy says, you're leaving today. Yes,
I answered, I have to get back to my job. You're a
professor, You're as she was struggling with the word, I'm an associate professor.
I said for her, Yeah, that's what Daddy said. She agreed.
Why can't you profess here? I looked at her then. Her dark
eyes were full of pain that her young life should never have experienced. Well,
there aren't any schools around here for me to profess at I answered,
honestly, Daddy said you'd say that, but he said I should say thank
you anyway. It hadn't struck me immediately, but when it did, it
was like a lightning bolt of realization that shot through me. I stopped packing
clothes, and I stared at the wall for a minute, trying to make
sense of her use of the word daddy. Why was she speaking of her
father in the present tense. For the briefest moment, I thought maybe Derek
was still alive, that I had imagined or maybe dreamt all of this.
But I knew better. I'd seen his body. I had a cast on
my wrist and a boot on my leg to remind me Derek was dead.
You mean your grandfather, don't you, I suggested, thinking that perhaps she
had subconsciously substituted Mike as her father figure. No, Daddy, she insisted.
He also said that I should give you this message. She cocked her
head and screwed up her face as she mentally went over the words before saying
them. He said, He'll keep the woods. Now, now what does
that mean? Aunt Shadow? Driving back to Saint Louis, I heard Kenzie's
little voice say over and over again, He'll keep the woods now. It
came at such a shock that I was at a loss for words to answer
her. I had to stop the sudden flow of tears before I could even
find my voice to do so. In the end, I told her that
he was going to watch over the woods and keep us all safe from the
monsters from now on. It was the best answer I could give, and
I suppose it was the truth. Dad drove down to Saint Louis the following
spring to spend a week with me. He'd aged drastically in the months since
Mom died. I suspected that it would be the last time I saw him,
and with Derek gone, there was no reason to give him the binder.
He suggested that I turned it into a book. I didn't have the
heart to tell him that I was already working on that. I took him
to breakfast at my favorite little cafe down the road to celebrate the sale of
the dairy business. We took in a Cardinals game, and we watched the
Legend of Boggy Creek on DVD, and we laughed at the end when Bobby
Ford was attacked in the yard. The attack itself wasn't funny, But if
you stop the video at the right moment, you can see through the eyeholes
of the monster's masks to the face of the man in the costume. Dad
told me that he hadn't seen any activity of any sort since the previous fall.
What didn't surprise me, Derek was always a man of his word.
When it was time for him to go, he hugged me. I didn't
want to let go. We must have stood there for a good fifteen minutes,
hugging and crying. On July twenty seven, two thousand and two,
exactly forty eight years after my grandfather made his first journal entry, my father
died peacefully in his sleep. For once, the funeral was uneventful.