In the Woods

Fred grinned at Thomas and his father. He wasn't older than
sixty-five but he looked seventy five. He did not read or write and
spoke incorrectly. He walked with a limp and squinted when he was
talking to someone. He told stories and helped Thomas's father fix old
tractors and broken lawn mowers. On Fred's right arm, Thomas noticed
two scars. One was a bold scar across his wrist. It was a centimeter
wide and three inches long. Another one spanned his forearm. And Fred
was lucky. Chainsaws and tractors are less forgiving. The rest of his
body was scratched and bruised and hairy and brown, just like the
father's.

Uneducated and uncultured, Fred fostered the beliefs and ignorance of
the backwoods. He feared God, Satan, and Mother Earth. His Baptist
church prayed to Jesus every Sunday, asking for forgiveness and for
rain, or, perhaps, they prayed for forgiveness and sunshine. In the
springtime, babies began believing in Jesus, and, in the winter, their
beliefs grew stronger, and, in the fall, they believed in demons and
ghouls, and, in the summer, they saw God in the bleached pastures and
friendly games. Fred enjoyed simple things and had a lot of
faith.

The woods have a way of taking reason away from things. You start
assigning events to gods and devils. When Thomas walked around late at
night, he believed a scaled monster followed him, trailed him, waiting
until Thomas stopped, so the he could destroy Thomas. Rip apart his
chest and stomach and eat his innards. So Thomas kept running down the
darkened, dirt road. Scary oak trees crept over the road and kept
starlight away. Thomas ran until the forest ended. The road opened up
to the front lawn of his house and Thomas walked up the hill. Finally,
he felt safe again.

Fred told a story one time. He had a brother who lived in the hills.
People said he and his wife weren't right. They said he was
crazy.

But he had a wife and a kid. He had a following of chickens, cattle,
dogs, and cats and a garden. He and his wife and child went to church
on Sundays and prayed like a farmer. When he went to church, he wore
cracked loafers and white socks and a mesh John Deere cap. He had big
lips and outset eyes and a large forehead. His hands and feet were
bigger than they should have been and he walked slowly. He addressed
the ladies by ma'am and the men by sir, and he spoke with the
politeness of an eight-year-old.

One Sunday after church, the priest came up to Fred and told him:
"Fred, your brother told me something this morning before church. He
was checking the cattle one night and he heard someone or something. It
was a 'whisper,' he said, 'like a warm breath in his ear.' He was
coming back from the backfield, the one with the pines in it, and a cow
was lying down next to the gate. She looked at your brother and stood
up and walked over to him, slowly, methodically. Then your brother saw
its calf lying by the gate and it was dead. The vet said that it wasn't
sick or injured. He thinks it had a heart attack.

"Your brother is pretty shaken up and nervous. He kept mumbling some
stuff. I don't know Fred. He's a little slow-thi-this is probably
nothin' Fred but I wanted you to know what was going on. He seems to
have his health but he isn't all there. Will you keep and eye on him? I
know you don't like to go up there, but maybe you can stop by for a
while one night and keep him company. His wife doesn't talk too much
you know. Thanks, I know, its pretty far out there. But I'm sure he'll
enjoy it"

Fred went out the next night. It was cold and restless that night.
Skunks, armadillos, and opossums played chicken with his truck during
the thirty-minute drive to his brother's place, and Fred simply thought
about his wife, his farm, his brother, the calf, and some other things.
His brother locked the gate to his farm, so Fred walked the last mile.
The moonlight was hidden underneath the clouds, and Fred's little hairs
stood up with each step. The coyotes began their song. Fred thought
that they sounded savage and uncivilized as he walked.

Around halfway, Fred heard the screen door slam shut. His brother was
yelling but he couldn't see anything or make out the language. There
was a hill between him and the house. It was the first time Fred ever
heard him raise his voice. Fred ran toward the house, hearing another
yell. He decided to go over the hill.

When he reached the top, the coyotes yelped louder. Fred could see his
brother now. He was walking around with an undershirt and boxes.
Through the windows Fred made out him brother. Kitchen to bedroom to
kitchen to bathroom to kitchen again. He paced slowly and methodically,
mumbling. He saw his brother's mouth moving but the coyotes kept him
from hearing anything. Fred felt eyes.

Suddenly, bright, colored light fill every hole in the house. It was
godly and terrifying to Fred and he looked away. He couldn't move. The
coyotes climaxed and, suddenly, it was quiet, the house was normal.
Fred could feel the beast watching him, waiting, and he ran.