ROBIN’S TOY CHEST
I straightened the shawl wrapped around Anna’s neck, stretched my arm around her opposite shoulder, and clutched her as we trekked through the snowfall toward the sleepy town square. I scanned the shops and stores lining the street just ahead, and the front window of each—the Book Corral, the Hardware Corner, Clara’s Restaurant, etc…— was dark and no smoke rose from their chimney.
I sighed. “Looks like everyone’s gone home for the evening…” Suddenly, Anna flinched, and after I glanced at her dangling head, I lifted her face and walked her to a nearby street lamp where I saw her tears had leaked into the gash beneath her eye. I snatched off my shawl, rubbed it in an untouched snow blanket, and dabbed her face with it… but before long, she seized the shawl, groaned.
“Okay, Anna,” I said taking it back. “I’m done now…” Across a snowy field nearby, I spotted the silent white bulbs of the town gazebo. “Come on, let’s rest there awhile…” I guided Anna along a frosted pathway toward the gazebo stairs while she herself glanced over her shoulder every few steps and dragged her feet a bit as though she wanted to turn back the other away. But since I didn’t hear footsteps, car tires, trotting animals, or anything else behind us, I only nodded and steered her toward the stairs. “Yes, Anna,” I said. “We have hiked some distance, but we’ll be able to rest soon…”
Once we reached the stairs, I climbed upon the platform where I glided her to a bench, but she wheeled around, peered somewhere in the yard behind me, and moaned. I turned, scanned the snowy yard and frosted pathway. Had I seen anyone darting across yard or ambling up the pathway I was prepared to scream, but as I examined the area, I saw no one there.
“Anna, you must be tired,” I said, seizing her arm. “Come—sit here…” She groaned, but I glided her to the bench near the rear of the gazebo and I sat her down. She sought to stand again, but I caught her shoulders just in time, yet with her opposite arm, she still pointed outside the gazebo. “Anna, please settle down… for me, please??”
She groaned, pointed again, and snapped her teeth at me.
“I know you’re hungry, sis…” I said. “But I none of the stores are open, and even if they had been, I don’t have any money…”
She shook my shoulders.
“Yes, little sis, I know—I’m cold, too… but I just need a moment to think for both our sakes…” I wrapped my arm around her. “Don’t stir, love…” I scanned the nearby trees and snowy yard. “You’re making me nervous…”
She smacked my arm off her shoulder, pointed somewhere across the yard before us.
“I looked all around,” I said. “No one’s there…”
Yet she persisted, so again, I peered over the frosted gazebo railing ahead… and before long, I saw it. Across the yard, no one was there, but if you peered at an angle, you could see the rear of a few shops lining the main road, and among them, was Robin’s Toy Chest.
I sighed, glanced down at Anna who then glanced back up at me. “A toy store… of course.” Earlier, when I was dabbing her face, she must have seen it. But to stir-up so much excitement about Robin’s at this hour? Sure, Anna doesn’t speak and her inner workings weren’t as fast as most children, but even she knew better… far better.
“Anna,” I said. “You know the toy store is closed… How could you even think getting so worked up about—?”
Suddenly, she sprang from her seat, darted across the platform, and raced down the stairs.
“Anna!!”
I leapt up, dashed over the platform, and jumped from the last few stairs after her. “Anna!! Stop!!”
She flew over the quiet yard toward the rear of the stores where I saw her shawl flurry and then whip from her shoulders.
“Anna!!”
Yet she kept sprinting. While the shawl lay in the snow, I soon tore for it but slowed only enough to snatch it and kept pace. I called out for her again. She was fast… much faster than I, though I hated to dwell upon it, and by now, I could only see her silhouette disappear into the shadows behind the rear of the shops. I slowed behind a dumpster which stood hushed behind the line of doors.
“Anna??” I said, huffing, hands on my knees. “This isn’t funny, Anna! You’d better come out right now!” Yet the night silence soon blanketed my words. “Anna??” I thought she might be hiding behind the opposite side of the dumpster or a nearby parked car, and hence to save myself the trouble of creeping around both I only stooped to the ground and peered beneath their underbellies—since both were on wheels—and hoped to see her feet.
But seeing nothing, I only rose back upon my feet and sighed. “Anna,” he said peering about the shadows. “Please come out… Please, Anna..!” Suddenly, I glanced at the Robin’s rear door and saw that it was ajar. Somewhere inside me, my heart plummeted through a bottomless pit.
“Anna!”
I scurried to the door, inched it open. “Anna?” I glanced behind me, saw nothing but the windswept yard and gazebo, and then crept inside the dim shop. I shut the door, felt the wall for a light switch, but could not find it. “Anna?” I whispered. The only light spilled into the room from a door ahead where, through a bulky window across the room, I could see the street and a lamppost. My eyes zigzagged my current room however, and metal storage shelves full of plastic tubs of various sizes stretched along the walls and rose up to the ceiling. A tall rolling ladder stood nearby, and I slinked over by it but slid one of the small tubs on a low shelf toward me and peeked inside. Miniature building blocks made of finished wood filled the tub. I slid it back, and then slid out another tub. Although the tub was larger, I was lighter, and when I peeked inside, I found several stuffed rabbits—each doll was the same type, yet each was a different color.
Suddenly, footsteps dashed by behind me. I shoved the tub back on the shelf and wheeled around. “Anna??” I slinked to the doorway from where the light entered and peeked out at several rows and aisles of toys. I crept along a side aisle, gazing at all the bicycles dangling on racks, racing car sets displayed on shelves, and a towering cages full of oversized rubber balls of all colors. I whispered her name as I scanned the soundless aisles.
“Anna??”
Soon however, a noise echoed from the opposite corner of the store. I wheeled around, hunched beside a bin which brimmed with foam airplanes, and started to call her name. But once I thought of the empty car parked in the rear, I pinched my lips and tiptoed along a back aisle toward the front of the store. Once I arrived there, I peeked along the front aisle and saw the bulky window, and through it, the shadowy street outside. Inside, shelves of roller skates, stuffed animals, toy trains, toy army walky-talkies, and giant lollypops lined the walkway toward the checkout desk.
Clink-clink-clank-clink!!
I gasped…
The noise echoed from beyond the checkout desk and sounded like several falling wooden blocks. I skulked along the front of the store and only just remembered that the store had a small play area for children who wanted to try out a few of the newest toys. I reached the checkout counter and followed alongside it to an enclosure where children could play with toys. I remembered during the good days, when I was much younger, mom would bring me here to play with toys and other children, but before this evening, never have I ever seen this area this littered with random toys. Tea sets, space swords, curly-haired dolls, action figures, and toy wooden blocks—everything seemed to be here until a dart-like object whisked past my face and stuck to the wall before me. I peered at it, and it was a dark with a suction-cup tip, and when I turned, I saw Anna drop a small tub and dash into the darkness of the storage room.
“Anna!!!” I said. “Get back here!! Now!!”
Her footfall trailed off into the room, and I rocketed down the aisle into the dark room where I saw her climbing the storage room ladder.
“Get down here, Anna!!”
She was almost in silhouette, yet when I saw her cheek puff up, I knew she was smiling.
“Now, Anna!” I removed the tub of Captain Astro dart guns from the bottom ladder step, slid it on the shelf, and seized her arm as she came down the final steps. “What were you thinking when you ran off like that?? Someone could have been here; or you could have gotten yourself hurt!” I clutched her shoulders. “Don’t ever ran off from me like that again, okay? Okay??”
Her shoulders then began to tremble and her head lowered.
I pulled her into me, wrapped my arm around her. “No, Anna,” I said. “Please don’t…”
Anna began to moan and sob.
“No, I didn’t mean to be so sharp with you,” I said. I guided her to the ladder and sat with her on the second step. “I care for you more than anything in the whole world and I don’t want to see anything else bad happen to you…” I brushed the hair from her face and her dim head rest on my shoulder. I kissed the top of it. “Right now, we’re all we both have, and we have to watch out for one another and be careful… okay?”
She nodded, sighed.
Suddenly, the air smelled like provolone cheese and ham. I sniffed about a bit until I found the scent on her breath.
“Anna?” I said. “Did you just eat something?”
Her eyes widened and then looked away.
“Don’t worry—you’re not in trouble… I just want to know where you got it, okay?”
She turned her head partway back toward me.
“Anna,” I said. “Can you please show me where you found the food?”
She nodded, arose from the ladder step, and crossed the dark storage room toward the toy area door. I followed past the shadowy toy aisles back to the checkout where I trailed her behind it, slipped with her through a doorway, and entered a small, titled-floor lounge area with a sink, snack table, and refrigerator which stood in the corner. She pointed at the fridge, and when I opened it, I found several sandwiches packed in separate small plastic bags. Some were marked ‘turkey’ while others read ‘salami’, but of the once marked ‘ham’, the sandwich on top had several small bites bitten into it. I glanced back at Anna who met my eyes and slinked out of the room. I took the partway eaten sandwich, shut the refrigerator door, and peered atop the fridge and saw several bags of potato chips.
I grinned, shook my head. “So Aunt Connie isn’t the only who stores potato chips atop the fridge…” I seized a chair from the beneath the table, slid it before the fridge doors, and snatched a bag of sour cream potato chips which was held closed with a large clip. I placed a few chips in the same bag as the sandwich, returned the chip bag and chair, and then slipped out the door. Anna was playing with the blocks in the play area. I shook the snack bag before her, and she shook her head, ‘no’.
I then slinked back to the rear door of the store, pulled it close, and then returned to the play area where I slumped in one of the chair placed there for adults who’d like to sit a moment while their child plays. Anna stacked the wooden blocks almost a foot before she elbowed the tower which toppled while she reached for another block lying about.
I chewed chips, grinned. Sure, Anna wasn’t my child, but I loved watching her have fun for the first time in a long while.
LAUREL AND SOMERVILLE BOOK CORRAL
…she trekked the forests behind the manors and estates and visited the Dark Ones — the unfortunates, hooded and shrouded with life’s innumerable shortcomings… who also wore cloaks. She also served the broken bodied – those whose limbs functioned little or not at all, whose minds were wedged in ditches of despair, whose hearts were lonelier than the winter wind herself or even the fellow at the window, hand against the glass… for these are the lonely at heart and to them, a special manuscript is handed over to be read alone in dim light—
“Excuse me, young lady,” someone said, snapping my attention out of the pages and back into the old bookstore where a woman stood beside my table buttoning the neck of her winter coat and shoving her hands into her gloves.
“The bookstore closed twenty minutes ago,” she said and gazed at an old man cowering beside the mystery/suspense rack, wearing large winter gloves and toting a grey bucket that seemed too heavy for him to carry.
He shrugged his shoulders. “She was so deep in her book I just figured I’d let her be until I was done shoveling and salting our walkway and Corrine’s place next door.”
“Mr. Jamison,” the woman said, “Corrine’s Curtains Shoppe is four storefronts down the lane. Corrine is seventy-three years of age and would appreciate your help with her snow removal, but might I remind you that our shop takes precedence—inside as well as out—particularly at closing time.” She turned to me, fixing a red scarf around her neck. “Leave the book on the table, and should you return first thing tomorrow, you’ll find it re-shelved.”
I closed the cover. “I’ll just check it out this evening, if you don’t m—”
“I do mind,” she said. “What you’re holding is a reference piece for scholarly use here in the shop, not to be loaned or sold.”
“Reference??” I said, turning the book about. “But there’s no reference sticker on its binding, and besides, it isn’t an encyclopedia or a dictionary… it’s general fiction.”
“Muriel,” Mr. Jamison said peeling off his gloves, scampering behind the counter. “Wouldn’t be any problem at all—I can check the book out for h—”
“Mr. Jamison,” Muriel said. “When I want your two-cents I hand it to you. And as for you, young lady, neither the sticker on the binding –or lack thereof—nor nature of a particular work alone qualify a volume such as this as reference… it is the importance of the piece to the literary institution that counts… which on falls on myself, the librarian, to discern…”
I glanced down at the book.
“Now, please,” she said. “Gather your things. Mr. Jamison and I will arrive first thing tomorrow morning with the shop reopening shortly after. Good evening to you.”
I stared at the book as I packed my notepads and slipped into my coat, and then strolled past the checkout counter toward the door.
“It’s dark out, Muriel,” Mr. Jamison said. “Maybe we ought to give a her lift home…”
On the welcome mat, I turned around. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t live too far from here… But if the librarian doesn’t mind, I do have a question for her…”
“Oh, what is it, child?” Muriel said, yanking her gloves taut upon her fingers.
“What importance does that book have to his institution that makes it a reference piece?”
She stared at me, jabbing, jerking at her gloves now. She glanced at Mr. Jamison, then back at me. “Because, young lady, I have reason to believe that perhaps one… maybe two… or possibility even every tale the author told in that book regarding happenings either in Hunting Hollow or those here in Somerville are—in one facet or another—factual… How this author obtained—” she glanced at Mr. Jamison “—certain histories and in some instances certain foresight is beyond me. That said, if in fact the works in this part-historic, part-prophetic volume are authentic and considering there’s only one, then that, young lady, would elevate this work from one of mere fiction to a relic of some sort that would deserve much more than one reference sticker stuck to its binding. Now, kindly let yourself out of the door. Let’s go out the back door, Mr. Jamison, I’ll drive you home.”
The moment I pulled the door shut the window fell dark behind me. I panned the street: closed shops, empty sidewalks, no buses or cabs.
No buses or cabs??
I smacked my forehead. How could I’ve forgotten I’d hitched a ride here? Brilliant, Laurel… just brilliant… and to top it all off, I had just turned down a ride home inside the shop. I curled fists around my mouth, blew and rubbed my hands together. Across the street and down a few stores in front of a lock and key shop, a bench sat where I could at least contemplate a game plan on how to get home, or for that matter, figure-out in which general direction Hunting Hollow laid.
Feet drawn beneath, I mashed my hat down over my head and pulled my arms into my coat trying to remember the route into town I took. I remembered finding the shop on the street after I had stepped out of the alley across from it, but everything else was a series of twists and turns. With no other recourse, I have to at least try to find a police station or someone who could help, but since my own body heat within the coat was warming my fingers, I decided to sit here a moment longer and then creep back up the alley.
Though Muriel the librarian seemed nutty before I found the book, after I slid it off the shelf and began to study it, she had fallen completely off her hinges. She not only knew as I did that stories inside were not fiction, but also that some of the stories were happening now and others had yet to have taken place. However, there was something else, something deeper, something one of the stories that involved her… or it could be that one of the characters in the story actually is her. But as I thumbed through my memory, I couldn’t think of a single story where there was a woman named Muriel. Furthermore, the book didn’t contain a story with regards to any adults at all. So I hadn’t the slightest I idea what could’ve made her that way. I leaned back on the bench, eyes wondering into the key shop. The sign dangling in the window claimed they crafted and sold keys for pad locks, brief cases, mailboxes, screen doors, car doors, garage doors and safes. Too bad the sign didn’t list literary mysteries. Somehow I lost myself in thought, pondering what a mystery solving key would look like: a bookmark in the shape of a key, a shiny gold skeleton key with the words mystery solver carved along the sides, or maybe a glass vile shaped like a key which stored a bubbly mystery solving concoction. Suddenly, I heard a long screech behind me. I sprang from the bench, and across the street, the bright brake lights of a car shined as it sat in the center of the street in front of the bookshop. A man in the long trench coat jumped out of the passenger seat jingling a small ring of keys, raced to the shop door and began fiddling with the knob. Suddenly the driver-side door and a woman lunged out—one foot in the car, one foot on the snowy road.
“Mr. Jamison!” she said. “What is the meaning of this?? I see no emergency!!”
“I’m sorry, Muriel, I thought I forgot to lock the door…”
“The door locked behind the girl when she closed it! Now get back in the car, sir, so I can drive you home.”
Mr. Jamison turned most of the way around before he let go of the knob. “OK, Muriel,” he said, waving her to sit, glancing in my direction. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” He then sauntered toward car eyeing each step as if on a balance beam.
“All day, you’ve acted as if you’ve been sniffing book dust,” Muriel said, watching him. “I shall have to report this to your wife. Maybe she would agree that a day off tomorrow is best.”
He opened the car door and shot one more glace… this time, hitting me between the eyes.
A moment later, the car was two red dots of brake lights lingering in the distance, and after they turned a corner, I stepped into the street, eyes glued to the bookstore.
He couldn’t have..?
He wouldn’t have…??
Did he???
Eyes peering at the door, I know there was only one way to know…
I strolled along my side of the street a few yards and then crept across staring at my shadowy reflection in the door window. As I stood there, I glanced both ways down the street, trying to look inconspicuous as I felt for the knob, found its cool smooth brass and turned it.
The lock clicked, yet the knob didn’t turn!!
“Oh, good grief,” I said, collapsing onto the door, heaving a deep sigh into the pane that sprinkled wetness about my face. I pressed my back to the door, snatched off my hat, and wiped my face with it, staring through the dark alley across the street. The moment I saw Mr. Jamison dash out of the car and fiddle with the door I thought for certain he had unlocked it. How could he not have? When we were inside the shop, there protested on my behalf against Muriel, he climbed behind the counter trying to check out my book, he even admitted leaving to the book a while though the shop had closed. Maybe he had actually made certain the door was locked. Maybe the door was unlocked and he had Muriel stop make certain the door was locked. Either way, it was locked, and I was stranded in Somerville with no way home.
Watching flurries drift down before my face, my first thought was that someone who had heard me with the door was on the roof and was kicking snow over the side to make fun, but once the flurries turned to thick clumps of wet snow showering along the streets and sideways, that thought flew out the window.
I yawned as I watched a cyclone of flurries whirl down the street. I chewed on my tongue as if I were curled up on the couch, head bobbing, eyes trying to stay open for the ending credits of some late night movie. I yawned again, pressed my back against the door despite the knob that felt less like a broad round surface and more like the prodding tip of a spear. I glanced in both directions down the street and could just see the key shop and the bench in front of it now resting under a coverlet of snow. I wiped a few sprinkles of snow from my forehead and cheeks, pulled my arms into my coat and slumped down a bit, coat rising up my back, eyes staring at the ground.
Suddenly, everything faded away: the sound of the wind which whisked by, the bite of cold on the tip of my nose, the crispness of frosted air which scratched my nostrils, and finally, the sight of the alley across from me. I could have been standing on air; I could have consisted completely of air…
Perfect peace is what this was…a state where nothing could harm me… a state where nothing could move me… a state where I hear something grumbling by in front of me…something grumbling by in front of me??
Suddenly, I heard a radio squawk. I snapped open my eyes and found myself slumped against the door watching the brake lights of a squad car rolling by.
I was asleep!
“Hey, stop!” I said, springing up, and being yanked back down. “Hey, come back!” I said thrusting myself up, but again, being snatched down on bended knee. My jacket was caught on something.
“Police!” I said. “Come back, come back!”
I shoved my arms back through my sleeves and then wiggled and wormed trying to reach behind to free myself. But whatever was biting my coat still had me caught in its teeth.
“Help, come back!”
I then unzipped my coat and only a few stores down I heard the squad car coming back. Now out of my coat, I continued to yell and make noise, fiddling and pulling my coat until I saw the key dangling part way out of the lock, stuck on a strip of lining in my coat.
I stared at the ribbed bit of brass hanging there. Somehow, it seemed too good to be true, unreal even, as if I reached out for it, it would not really be there. As if the key itself would just—
Just over my shoulder, a radio squawked so I jammed the key into the knob, fell inside the darkness, and kick the door shut just as I ducked just before a light brighter than the sun shone through the window snatching aisle of aisles of books out of the darkness. And after a moment, library and I plunged into darkness. For some odd reason, even after I heard the car grumble away, I sat cringing in the corner awhile before I climbed to my feet and hunted for a light switch.
HIDDEN
I won’t, but let’s say I did…
Let’s say when papa flicks out the light beside our bed, I tipped to our closed bedroom door and heard him close his own door for the night. And while we listened to make certain he’d climbed into bed, let’s pretend you didn’t have to ask me why I would soon tip down the stairs, put on my boots and coat, and wrap my scarf around my neck. Let’s pretend the story dad read us flickered through your mind, and before I reached the rear door where thrust my fingers into my gloves, you’d slip down the stairs coat in hand and we’d soon race out the door together.
They aren’t, but if this were the manor in the story, the trees at the end of the yard would be more than tall, frozen stalks of timber rising into the dark, starry sky. They’d be a place no grownup would approve of, especially Mr. Corral. When he stands at the front of our class and whips his thin wooden pointer at the arithmetic scribbled across the blackboard, I sometimes duck down in my seat… not that I don’t love math, I even help other students with their multiplication tables, but Mr. Corral has never given us a riddle, never placed a toy on his desk or shaped his bearded mouth into anything that closely resembled a smile.
“Sneaking into same trees as those you’d heard in a story book?” he’d say, “How impractical…”
But though his words were in our thoughts, let’s pretend they weren’t and trek toward the rear yard into the frosted scents of musty bark and crisp thin breaths of bluish mint. Among the trees, let’s say we trekked through the trunks made of shadow and stillness until ahead, we heard the sound of someone giggling. Let’s be honest and admit that we’d be frightened of the bodiless sounds and dive behind the bulk of a thick maple nearby. We’d hear both the footfall and the laughter grow with each snow crunching step and would crouch lower behind our tree until I’d feel you tap me on the shoulder. I’d glance over my shoulder at you and then follow your pointed finger to the shadow hunched behind the tree beside ours… a shadow with long dark hair flowing over its wool coat, a scarf knotted around its neck, and pajama bottoms for pants draped over the snow. The shadow seemed to be a girl about our age, and when she peeked around the tree in the direction of the laughter ahead, let’s pretend we didn’t really stumble backward a bit when we both noticed we could see through the girl’s moonlit grin and at the faded bark of the tree. She wasn’t a ghoul or ghost, or someone I’d ever laid eyes on before, yet her thick eyebrows, squinted-eyed grin, and high cheeks reminded me of Rosetta from Mr. Corral’s class. Two years ago, when I was a mere third grader, I remember the class period we’d stood before everyone and spoke about our hero. While some students claimed their doctor moms, lawyer dads, and loving grandpas as their heroes, Rosetta shared her elder twin, Rosaline. Rosetta said that while they were in their mother’s womb, Rosaline give her the top bunk and therefore showed her how to share, and the moment they were born, she taught her how to sing, as her mom said Rosetta’s cry was the loudest. But only three weeks after they were born, Rosaline taught her final lesson: how to become an angel. And that day in class—though Rosaline died before she and Rosetta spoke one true word—I could tell she’d still taught Rosetta something.
But now, while I hunch behind the frosted trunk, I hear the name ‘Rosaline’ in my ear, and though the girl crouching beside us then glances in our direction, she neither hears nor sees us, then peeks ahead again toward the giggling, and darts several trees behind us.
I glimpse back at you. “Rosaline,” I murmur with a nod, and we both stare back through the trees and see the shadow near the base peek out. Then, we both stammered again, but let’s say that we didn’t when another person crashed down into the snow just behind our tree. Though the giggle was something we’d come to recognize from the many times we’d heard it in Mr. Corral’s class, it was just somewhat different to hear it echo through the woods at night.
Bit by bit, I stand upright, and so do you, clinging to my back.
“Rosetta,” I whisper.
No response from behind the tree though you squeeze my arm. I pat your fingers letting you know it’s alright and then call again.
“Rosetta,” I said. “Rosetta, guess who I saw…”
I lean out from behind the tree and suddenly come face to face with Rosetta’s pigtails and high-cheeked smirk peeking from behind the tree. But much like Rosaline, through her face and body, I could easily see the trees ahead. I pretended I didn’t, but I heard you gasp, and I then reach out for her fingers clinging to the ridged bark and feel nothing but the jagged grooves of the trunk curved into the tree.
“Rosetta?” I said. “You can’t hear me either?”
Suddenly, Rosetta snapped her eyes left and right, but when she hears Rosaline’s giggles ahead, her body scampers through yours and mine and into the trees behind us.
We share a glance, you and I, likely pondering identical thoughts, only you were the first to share the words.
‘Rosetta was dreaming,’ you’d said, and I nodded, listening to both sisters’ crunches and laughs echo through the trees.
I’ll say that we didn’t, but we both took a moment to realize that the forest in the story dad read us, this forest, was a real place. Just like Rosetta already discovered, a person could make anything they ever wanted come true.
Soon, I scanned the trees ahead. “Let’s go deeper…”
You glimpsed behind at shadowy mountain that was the estate only just visible on the horizon… None of the lights were on. “But what if dad tips to our bedroom to check on us?”
“Dad may check just before midnight, but we’ll be back beneath our sheets before then. I want to hike a few yards further only to see what we’d find…” I turned to walk, but you yanked my arm.
“I know what you’re hoping we’d find alright… You may have thought I’d fallen asleep through the middle part of dad’s story, but I was only resting my eyelids…”
I sighed. “I’m not hoping to find anything… I told you, I just want to see if we stumble across anything…”
“Would that ‘anything’ be the wooded planks of the cloud castle bridge?”
I swallowed—you had only been resting you eyes…
“I thought that was what you were up to,” you said. “Well, I want no part of it. Now let’s go back to the estate before both of us stumbles into deep trouble…” You wheeled, marched back toward home.
“No! Please wait…” I said, darting beside you. “Can we please trek a few trees further, please? We won’t descend into trouble… Dad worked extra hours this evening, remember? So it only makes sense that he’s extra tired. Though you were only resting you eyelids, don’t you remember the way he yawned a few moments before he closed the storybook?”
You scratched your head. “Well, not exactly…”
“Well, he did… Because of his long work day, he had only just enough energy to finish our story… That should give us a few extra moments to explore a bit more…”
You glanced behind then back at me. “Do you really believe the cloud castle’s draw bridge lay ahead?”
I shrugged. “In the story, the bridge lay through the trees. But in reality, I honestly can’t be sure… But it sure would be fun to find out…” I held out my hand.
You peered at it a moment, took it, and we both raced through the frozen timbers.
On our way deeper into the forest, we passed so many see-through children skipping past the trees, darting into the brush, climbing about the branches, and hurling snow balls. A pair of girls was even twirling a vine like a jump rope while a third hopped into the middle, skipped and sang.
You giggled. “Did you see Dorothy from fourth-grade back there playing hop-scotch with that woman?”
I glanced behind but kept dashing ahead. “Yes, that was her actual mother… You know, the woman she said her dad married first… “
“Oh…”
We raced further when I felt you snatch your hand from mine and then slow to a halt.
“What now?” I said walking back to you. “Why did you stop??”
You pointed passed the bushes just off our course. “Look…”
I sighed, tipped to the brush, and thin branches aside. Never have I ever seen anything but people here in the forest, but only a few paces beyond the stems and resting in the moonlight was a small bed. I moved closer. No one lay beneath the sheets…in fact the sheets were tucked and smoothed all the way around the mattress as though the bed had laid unused for a while. Yet, near the head of the bed, sitting hunched over an open book was a man whose appearance was familiar.
I began to step through the stems but you seized my arm.
“What are you doing?” you said.
“I’m moving in for a closer look…”
“Why?”
“Well, you did point him out… besides, it’s not like he’ll be able to see—”
“No,” you said. “Why would you need to move any closer? Can’t you tell who that is resting on the bed from here? That’s Mr. Corral…”
I wheeled, squinted at the shadowy figure. “Yes, it is, Mr. Corral…” I whispered. “I wonder what he’s doing in this forest.”
“From the look of it, I’d say he’s asleep…”
I stepped closer, watched his pot belly stove stomach move up and down, up and down. I turned back to you and nodded. “He is asleep…”
You rolled our eyes at me.
“Well, I only meant that his being asleep here is a bit odd…”
“What’s so odd about it?”
“Don’t you remember dad’s story? Whenever we see someone in this forest, not only do we see the people who are dreaming, we see what they’re dreaming as they dream it…”
You scratched your head.
I pointed at Mr. Corral. “Somewhere out there, he’s dreaming about himself being asleep…”
“Dreaming about being asleep?? Why would our teacher do such a meaningless thing?”
I shrugged. “Not sure… but look at that bed… it seems way too small for him. Let’s take a closer look…”
We tiptoed toward the bed, watching Mr. Corral’s Santa Clause-like mustache and beard flare up and down as he wheezed and gasped through them. I glanced about the bed spread.
“Well, there’s not much to see, is there?” I said.
“Maybe there is,” you said leaning over the open book Mr. Corral was hold clutching. “Have a look at this…”
I rounded the bed and peeked at the book. “Hey,” I said. “This is the same book dad read us the story from.”
“What’s more,” you said. “Take a look at that.” You pointed between the pages of the book at what seemed to be an old finger painting… the sort of project a child would have done.
Without touching the piece, I read the words. “Happy birthday, Devin…”
We glanced at each other.
“Devin?” You said. “Mr. Corral had a son?”
Suddenly, we heard footsteps back through the stems on the trail behind us.
You slapped your hands on your cheeks and gasped. “That could be dad looking for us!” You hopped up and down, eyes darting about. “Come on then—tell me what we’re going to do?”
I slinked toward a tree near the trail.
“Don’t go over there!”
I glanced back at you, finger pressed to my lips, and peeked out from behind the trunk. And then, trekking side-by-side out of the darkness, I watched a line of see-through people. Young, older, short, tall, male, female, some holding hands while some were not—the pairs strolled by, each person, however, in pleasant conversation they walked with. I stood on tipped toes, peering ahead at their route through the trees.
I glanced back at you, peeking out from behind the bed. “I’ll be right back…”
From tree to tree standing just off the path, I followed the people through the woods. Ear aimed in their direction, I tried to make-out what some of them were saying but couldn’t until I heard someone say the word ‘draw bridge.’ I snapped my eyes in direction of the voice which happened be that of an old shawl wearing woman who was holding the hand of a school age girl.
She glanced up at the woman. “Is it just ahead, grandma?”
Her grandma smiled, nodded. “Shouldn’t be much further now, child.”
A tear then rolled down the girl’s cheek, but the woman caressed it away with her finger.
“Molly, dear, why do you cry?”
“Because you have to go away…”
“But you know better than anyone I will always be here, not just when you dream of me at night, but in here…always,” her grandma said, placing two fingers over the girl’s heart.
The girl nodded, and I followed them—studying their clasped hands, observing their exchange of subtle glances—for several hushed moments while they trekked through the trees having not noticed when or where the forest consuming fog came about us all.
I glanced back at the line of people who were now shadows moving through the cloudy timbers until the snow-covered forest floor ceased beneath my feet and was replaced with felt like wooden panels. I stooped down to one knee, waved away some of the mist, and swiped the snow away until I shuddered at the sight of timbered planks resting just beneath the snow. A rose to my feet, then glanced ahead into the trees where I saw two gigantic chain links spaced several yards apart. Both seemed to be anchored to the earth ahead, but both also stretched upwards past a tall archway and through the fog to somewhere unseen.
“The cloud castle,” I whispered.