Mist and Shadows: Short Tales From Dark Haunts (7 page)

It was a silver willow.

Silver as moonlight. Silver as the tea tray in the china hutch. Silver, with silver leaves it grew.
Even with the rushing wind, its leaves were still and steady.

Bethany took a step towards it, then jumped back. She turned to Joe. “How long has it been here?”
 

He shook his head. “It wasn’t here last week. I come here a lot. The day before the Devil’s Wind, I was up here poking around. It wasn’t here then. Two days ago, I came up here and found it.”

“What do you do up here?”
 
Bethany sidled closer to the tree.

“Think, mostly. What do you suppose it is?”

Bethany took a step forward, then another. She squinted at the leaves. “I don’t know.”
 
She reached out one hand, stopping as Joe cried out.

“Don’t!
 
We don’t know if it’s safe.”

“How can something so beautiful hurt you?”
 
She reached out again and laid a gentle finger on one silver leaf. A shadow of a big cat streaked by as the wind howled.

And just like that, Bethany was gone.

“Bethany!”
 
Joe stared at the empty space beside the tree. “Bethany!”
 

The wind died as swiftly as it had risen, and as he watched, Joe saw the silver sapling grow into a young tree. There was a face in the bark, formed of the cracks and knots and gnarls. The face seemed familiar, and when Joe looked closely at it, Bethany smiled at him. He turned and ran like the Devil’s Wind was at his back.

The talk of the Devil’s Wind died down as new gossip filled the ears of Painter’s Peak. Bethany Ann McAllister had disappeared while out with young Joseph Greenly. Mr. and Mrs. McAllister accused him of raping and murdering their daughter, and burying her up on the slopes of Painter’s Peak. After all, that sort of thing was in the papers every day, and on the news, and everywhere you looked. And Bethany was a pretty girl and Joe, a wild thing.

So, even though Joe had never had a bad reputation before, now accusing stares followed him around town. His own buddies, pals from school, began to pick it up and throw it back in questions that ranged from a mild “How far did you ever get with her?” to the outrageous “Hey, you the next Green River Killer?”.

Finally, after the Sheriff and his men had combed the mountain and come up empty, after Joe stuck to his story that Bethany went off for a drink from the stream and hadn’t come back, the talk lowered to whispers and one more mystery was added to the meadow of Painter’s Peak. Parents warned their children to stay away from the meadow, and fewer people went up the slopes of the mountain.

Joe’s parents stood by him, though they felt their son had slipped away from them somehow. Mr. and Mrs. McAllister moved away a year later. They were sure Bethany was dead. A young couple bought their house and kept to themselves.

Joe found himself with no friends, even though the talk had died down. It seemed that nobody really believed him. He took to going for long walks after school, and sometimes he would get up early, fix his own breakfast, and walk out on the slopes of Painter’s Peak to eat it. He did not go back to Riva’s house for a long while.

He thought about Bethany’s disappearance every day and the one thing that he kept coming back to was this: How could the search parties comb the meadow and not see the strange tree? He always ended up with the same three possibilities.

The Sheriff really hadn’t searched the area. Or the tree had vanished along with Bethany. Or maybe Joe had imagined the whole thing, and if that was true, had he really done something awful to Bethany Ann?
 
The more he thought about it, the more nervous he became until one day he couldn’t stand it and he knew he had to go see if the silver willow was still there.

He left early, taking his pack with him, and before anyone was up to see where he was going, darted up the mountain into the trees. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Joe became aware of the breeze playing around him. It was stronger, more alive here, and he remembered how it had gusted up before Bethany Ann touched the willow. He wound through the woods, listening to the crows and robins and swallows. He wandered further into the grove until he reached the clearing.

The tree was still there. He could see it plain as the nose on his face.

The willow had grown taller since he had been here with Bethany, and now it stood lean and graceful, long supple limbs arching over the ground below.

Joe hesitantly stepped closer, ready to run. He looked at the face in the tree. It was Bethany, sure enough, and then she smiled at him, the knots and cracks moving to form her welcome.

Bethany
...her name crackled on the wind.

Bethany
...her name sparkled in the grooves of the silver tree.

“Bethany?
 
It’s me, Joe. Can you hear me?”
 
Joe watched the face in the tree carefully. The shining eyes followed his every move. “Bethany, everybody thinks I killed you.”
 
He knew it was crazy, talking to the tree, but he didn’t know what else to do.

The breeze picked up and prodded him closer to the tree. He looked closely at the image staring back at him. The lips began to move and he stumbled back again, afraid.

“Jo-s-s-e-e-p-h!”
The tree breathed. Its mouth spoke and the wind rushed through its lips to give it voice.
“Jo-s-s-e-e-p-h!”
 

The ground rumbled and shook as Joe tripped, falling on the thick mulch of leaves underfoot.
 

“Come here.”
A command, not an invitation.

Joe crawled forward to the base of the tree, waiting expectantly.
 

Silver eyes stared down on him with pity.
“Are you so afraid of me?
 
You kissed me. You were my friend.”
 

Joe swallowed. “Bethany?
 
It’s you? You’re alive?”

The tree exhaled slowly.
“More than you can imagine. I am your wildest flight of fancy. I can be the woman you will love forever...but not just yet.”

“You’re really in there?”

“Yes. Joseph?”

He placed his hand lightly on the trunk and a tingle of magic ran through his fingertips. “What?”

“You must do one thing for me, if you ever want to see me free again.”

He stood, wiping his weeping eyes on the tail of his shirt. “I’ll do anything, Bethany. It’s all my fault. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

Bethany’s smile froze him from marrow to blood.
“You must go away.”
The wind whistled through the tree-face.
“Go away until you are grown. Come back then, and I’ll be here, waiting. When you return you are to bring no one and nothing with you. Then, and only then, will you be able to free me.”

Joe nodded. “How long until I’m grown?”

“When you are a man. When you have tasted love, your love will set me free.”

The face melded back into the tree and once again became immobile. Joe strained, looking for the slightest movement, but the willow remained silent. Bethany was sleeping. Joe turned and quietly walked back to the village of Painter’s Peak.

When he reached home, he went into his father’s study and asked to be sent away to boarding school. After a quiet discussion on the advantages and disadvantages of the idea, Joseph found himself on a train bound for New York. He would not return to Painter’s Peak for ten years.

Time ran slowly for Bethany Ann. Or rather, it did not seem to run at all. When she first touched the leaf of the silver willow and the spark of electricity raced through her, she knew that she had either made the greatest mistake or the best decision of her life. Her body ceased to feel, her senses would not work. She was encased in a warm, shining light and in this light she floated, enjoying the gentle rocking sensation.

When she thought to ask Joe what happened, she tried to open her eyes but they would not respond. It was impossible to worry, however, so she drifted again. And then, however long after she could not tell, someone was beside her. As she began to understand more about where she was and who she was becoming, she learned to open the eyes of her new mother’s womb and stare out into the world. One day, as she was listening to the bees and discussing the weather with the grass, she opened her eyes and saw...

Joey.

Joseph.

Joe.
Who had run away, leaving her to her prison.

Joe.
Who had been the first to call her name...the first to kiss her lips...the first to caress her heart with his brown eyes and shocking black hair.

Joe.
Who was crying as he looked at her face etched in the bark of the silver tree.

Bethany told him what he must do and he left the meadow. And so she fed on the drone of insects and sucked nectar from the earth and watched the seasons pass as she waited for the day her beloved would return to her, for she knew in her heart that was no longer a heart, that he
would
return.

Painter’s Peak looked almost the same as it had the day he left. Joe stepped off the bus and craned his neck, striving to notice any change, but apart from a few new shops, nothing had moved, nothing had altered. Ten years can make a difference in a man, a town, a life...but it seemed that Painter’s Peak had been frozen, and the meadow still stood tall on the side of the slope with the sun grazing the top of the peaks.

The man, on the other hand,
had
changed. Joe was taller and stronger than the wiry kid he had been when he left. His eyes were darker, with a gaze that might frighten you if you looked too long. Most people glanced away quickly, fearing that he might see right through them. Joe held his suitcase securely as he slowly climbed the porch steps. He knocked on the door and as it opened, his father peered out. Joe dropped the bag and finally smiled.

“Pop!”

“So you’ve finally come home. After all this time, you’ve come back.”

“I’ve come to stay.”
 
Joe stepped inside. The same wallpaper stared at him, faded and pale, rolling back the years.

“No jobs in town, son.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to worry about that.” Joe carried his suitcase into the living room.
 

His father nodded and, when the door closed the world away behind them, he leaned close to Joe and whispered in his ear. “I know why you came back, boy.”

Joe looked warily at his father. “Oh?”

“I’ve been up there. I’ve seen the tree. I don’t know what it is, or what happened that day, or why nobody else ever managed to see it, but she’s still there. She’s waiting for you, isn’t she?”

Joe leaned against the arch and brushed his hand over his eyes. “She’s really there?
 
It wasn’t a dream?
 
Over the years I’ve been afraid it was all a dream...that when I came back, there’d be nothing up there but brambles and rubble and...maybe her body.”

“No, you didn’t imagine it. Son, I had to search those hills myself. You’re my blood but I had to know whether you were telling me the truth. You’d better go see her tomorrow. Spend tonight with us, then before sunrise, before anybody knows you’re back, go up to meadow and do what you need to do.”

Joe heard the words his father did not speak. “Pop, I may not come—”

“You will. You will one way or another so don’t say it. But if you don’t get around to visiting us again, I’ll tell your mother you were called away and I’ll write the letters she would expect, and you will always be a success in her eyes.”

Joe touched his father’s arm. “Where is she? I need to see her.”

“In the back bedroom. She’s not well—the cancer got her. It won’t be long before she goes to sleep for good. Tell her anything tonight, anything that would please her.”

Joe nodded. “All right.” And then, for the first time in twenty years, Joe embraced his father. “You love her, don’t you?”

“With all the world and all my heart. Just like I know Bethany is waiting for you. I don’t pretend to understand this, but she’s there and you must go to her. Come, for one evening be part of the family again. Your mother’s waiting.”

As the sun kissed the top of Painter’s Peak and disappeared below, Joe settled into the heart of his family again. Outside, the wind was beginning to howl.

Painter’s Peak was so full of Indian Paintbrush that the fields blazed with streaks of orange and red. Joe slipped through the knee-high grass, thinking that everything looked different from his new height, wondering if Bethany Ann would look different too.
 
But as he climbed the slope, years slipped away and he was now twenty...now fifteen...now fourteen again and racing to see if Bethany was really waiting for him or if it had all been a crazy dream. Maybe she was really back in the village, waiting for the second kiss which he had been too scared to give her.

But the trees weren’t as tall as they once had been, and the shoes that at one time only touched ground long enough to push off for another step, well—they were too large for a boy of fourteen. And so it was that Joe’s years caught back up to him, and he stopped running when he entered the clearing.

The silver willow was there. So was the face on its side. But the face had grown older too, now lovely and haunting and subtly altered. Bethany’s eyes curved up towards their ends, her pupils were gone, her lips bowed thickly.

“Bethany?”
Hesitate. Listen.
“Bethany? Are you there, are you awake?”
 

Panic, swift and sudden, caught hold of him and Joe ran in a frenzy to the tree and fell at its base, screaming, “Haven’t we suffered enough? Let her out!”

Then slowly, with the speed of an unfolding rosebud, the eyes focused and the mouth quivered.
“Jo-s-s-e-e-p-h?”

Joe gasped and coughed as tears choked him. “Yes! It’s Joseph. I’ve come back to you.”

Bethany stared down at him.
“Have you tasted love?”

Joe colored and nodded. “Yes.”

“Tell me what she was like.”

He tugged at his sleeves. “Well, she was...beautiful, I suppose. I don’t know...I thought I loved her. I made love to her. Is that enough?”