Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) (4 page)

The first days of December brought sunshine and days in the 40°’s.  I ate the last of the deli meat and cheese that John bought weeks earlier.  The stale bread was gone and the fresh vegetables too.  The last of the oranges and grapes didn’t fare well, but there were apples and pears left.  With John’s well stocked pantry, in the root cellar beneath the kitchen, I was in no danger of starving.  Still, a fat New York bagel smeared with cream cheese or jelly donuts would be nice when I returned home.

Through the last days, I pushed myself harder.  I wanted to leave the cabin knowing that I had made the most of my time at the old place.  With nights dipping into the 20°’s the muddy path firmed up and I began venturing out for long afternoon walks.  My mood was so light, I caught myself singing Disney tunes as I walked.  The wild birds sang along with me.  The clearing and the whole area around it had a magical feel.  It was intoxicating.

After three wonderful weeks, my vacation was over.  John would be arriving at noon the next day and I would have to leave.  I looked around the cabin and shook my head at the mess I had created.  I prepared a light supper of chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers then started cleaning.  Through the evening, I did my best, scrubbing the bathroom, cleaning the kitchen, sweeping the floor, and dusting the book shelf. 

Early in the morning I packed my bags and placed them by the front door.  I let the fire die and carried the ashes out behind the cabin to bury them.  By 11:00 A.M. I was seated on the couch with one of John’s books in my hands.  I checked my watch frequently, eager to head out to meet him. 

By 11:30 I couldn’t wait any longer.  Excitedly, I rushed out to the shed and rolled the ATV outside.  The engine sputtered and I worried it might not start, but at last it rumbled to life.  With a smile spreading from ear to ear, I drove along the trail away from the cabin.

Driving faster than I should have, I bumped along the path.  Without a helmet, several branches whipped my face and neck.  It stung, but I didn’t care.  Everything was back on the right track again.  John and I would be eating lobster and fried clams for supper.  In just a few hours, I’d be cracking open a cold one.  I had already decided to stay in the Portland area overnight.   It would be good to spend time with John before I flew back to New York.  I missed him far more than I had thought I would.

John had always been compulsive about time.  He hated to be late for anything.  Years ago his friends called him Timex, because he always knew the correct time.  When we were kids, and we had a curfew, John was responsible for getting us home on time.  He was mature and conscientious from birth.  I knew he would be waiting for me when I reached the fallen tree.

I rounded the last corner and passed the stand of birch trees, fully expecting to see John sitting on the fallen tree tapping face of his watch.  He would be scowling at me for keeping him waiting.  I was more than a little surprised when I didn’t see him there.  Slowing as I maneuvered around the end of the massive, dead tree, I was sure I heard John’s truck approaching.

I shut off the ATV engine and listened to the quiet of the woods.  There was no hum of the diesel motor in the air.  The ATV made a ticking sound as the engine cooled.  It was a chilly December day but not unusually so.  I touched a scratch on my cheek, left by one of the branches.  There was a drop of blood there, but it was nothing serious.

Minutes passed and the sounds of the forest returned.  Birds and small animals moved around, busy with work and play.  Two squirrels ran up a large tree, spinning in circles as they wound their way up to the top.  I was certain one or both would fall to the ground and be killed.  As I watched, they leapt through the trees, leaving the thin tops swaying.

I grew bored quickly and jumped off the ATV.  I left it behind and wandered along the road.  Whistling, I kicked a pine cone ahead of me as I went.  Something big moved through the woods and I guessed it was a deer escaping my noise.  By 2:00 I had exhausted all diversions.  Confused by the unprecedented delay in John’s timely arrival, I drove the ATV back to the cabin.  I didn’t tuck it back into the shed.  I knew John would be arriving sooner than later.

My optimism didn’t fade until the sun dropped below the trees, late in the afternoon.  Grudgingly, I built a fire in the woodstove again and waited for it to take the chill from the room.  Dark took hold before I surrendered.  In the dim light, I walked outside to roll the ATV back into the battered aluminum shed.  Disappointed that all of my plans had been cancelled, I strode back inside.  The can of beef stew I would be eating for dinner couldn’t begin to compare to the seafood supper I had been drooling over.

The cheap, plastic clock on the wall above the table ticked off the hours.  I hadn’t realized how much I missed my brother.  I also missed my home, my friends, good food, cold beer, TV, and the Internet.  Whatever had prevented John’s return must be something big.  Still I knew if he couldn’t come on his own, he would send someone else to get me.  Maybe he did send someone, and they were confused by the directions.  One more night in the cabin wouldn’t kill me.  I would be departing the following day.  I smiled and swallowed the last of the salty, canned stew.

*

A crack of thunder shook me awake.  I sat up, trying to recall where I was and determine what had awakened me.  Rain pattered against the roof and a bright flash of blue lit up the night sky.  I huddled beneath the heavy quilt and listened to the storm.  Another clap of thunder rattled the windows. 

Sleep was calling to me, but with the storm stalled over the area I laid awake in the big bed.  My thoughts crept back through the decades to the summer when I first visited the cabin.  On a hot summer night, twenty years earlier, a violent thunder storm split the night sky.

Jimmy Flaherty, John, and I lay on top of our sleeping bags on the floor of the cabin.  Jimmy’s uncle was snoring loudly in the loft above.  John and Jimmy had finished telling their ghost stories.  The air was electric and an eerie sensation filled the room. 

“I stole my sister’s OUIJA board,” Jimmy announced.  His face glowed unnaturally, lit by another flash of lightning.

“Our grandma says you shouldn’t use them,” I offered, frightened by the idea of the thing.

“Your grandma is an old lady who talks too much,” Jimmy declared and John punched his arm.  “Oww!”

“Don’t say crap about our grandma,” John warned.

“Well let’s do it,” Jimmy pressed.  He jumped up and ran to the kitchen.  A tall book shelf had been cut to fit between the last of the cupboards and the wall.  Wedged into the slight space, the shelves were used to hold games, books, and other items for boring days when the weather kept us inside.  Alone on the top shelf, the OUIJA board was tucked back out of sight.

Jimmy pushed a chair over and climbed up to reach the brown box.  He lifted it down and rushed to the sitting area with it.  He pushed his sleeping bag aside and placed the board on the floor.

“You have to do it on the table,” John told him.  “Our fingertips can only rest on the pointer thing, Jimmy.  You can’t do it on the floor.”

“I know!” Jimmy snapped and moved to the small dining table. 

We gathered around it, kneeling on the chairs.  Jimmy lit two candles and we eyed the board warily.  He positioned the pointer facing toward the top of the board and nodded to us.  I bit my lower lip and touched it.  I fought the urge to yell and wake up Jimmy’s uncle, ensuring that the game would end before it even began.

“Don’t wuss out on us, Erik.  Are you a baby?” Jimmy taunted.

“Leave him alone,” John responded.  “He’s just a little kid.”

“Okay, what do we ask?” Jimmy continued.

“Ask if there is a spirit here in the woods,” John proposed.

With our fingers pressed against the edges of the planchette, we stared down at it.  We studied the details printed on it and waited.  Minutes passed as Jimmy asked one question after another.  A vibrant flash of lightning was followed quickly by an exceptionally loud burst of thunder.  We jumped in unison and the planchette skidded across the board.  The snoring upstairs was interrupted and we waited for it to resume.

“Did the ghost do that?” I asked anxiously.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jimmy answered.  “You did it when you jumped.”

“We all jumped,” John corrected.  “Lay off him, Jimmy.”

“Put it back and let’s do this,” Jimmy ordered, glaring at me.

Somewhere in the night an animal shrieked.  It was a horrifying sound as if it was being killed in some shocking manner.  I cringed and tasted copper as I bit the edge of my lip.  Hesitantly, my fingers inched toward the pointer again.  We watched closely and waited for some movement as Jimmy asked the questions.

“Just ask it what his name is,” John insisted.

“Fine!” Jimmy replied.  “Spirit, what is your name?”

The planchette began to move, and my stomach did a quick somersault.  I closed my eyes, determined not to cry as terror filled my body.  It moved too quickly for my shaking hands to affect it.  I looked from John to Jimmy, unsettled by the shocked looks they were unable to conceal.

“H-A-R-V-E-Y”, Jimmy spoke as it spelled out the name.

“Harvey,” John breathed, amazed by it.

“Are you a kid like us?” Jimmy asked.  He was so dazed by it all that he had referred to himself as a kid too.  At eleven, he considered himself a teen already.

The planchette moved quickly to rest on the word YES.  Collectively we sighed with relief.  Another kid was no threat.  The fact that he was a spirit didn’t change anything.  He was one of us.  There was nothing to fear from it.  Excitedly we began peppering him with questions until the pointer slid off the board to rest on the table.

“One at a time,” John demanded.  “He can’t do twenty questions at once.  “Erik, you can ask him one.”

“Why are you here at the cabin?” I asked, watching with wonder as the planchette bumped up onto the board again and swirled around the middle several times.

“Y-O-U”, Jimmy announced the letters as it stopped on them.  We looked to one another, feeling confused.  “Does it mean it’s here for us?”

“Maybe he was bored, so he came to play with us because we’re still awake,” John posed.  “Ask it if it came to play.”

The planchette flew to the word YES and stopped again.  We smiled at the idea of a spirit that wanted to play.  For several long moments we sat in silence, considering what to ask next.  The lightning lit up the room with shades of blue and white.  Thunder sounded, but it was moving away from the cabin.  The drumming of the rain slowed. 

“We can’t see you, Harvey.  How can we play with you?” Jimmy asked, and it pointed to the word NO. 

“Okay, so we can’t play with him.  Then why is he even here?” John queried.

“I W-I-L-L P-L-A-Y W-I-T-H Y-O-U.” Jimmy finished the words and I heard him inhale sharply.  I shivered as goose bumps rose on my arms in the hot room.

The planchette flew off the table and landed on the floor near the cold wood stove.  With shaking hands, Jimmy folded the board and placed it back into the box.  He pushed it away like a plate of cold Brussels sprouts and stepped away from the table.

John retrieved the pointer and found the tiny nail that went into the small circle in the center of it.  He placed it into the box and carried it back to the shelf.  Gingerly he set it on the top shelf and shoved it against the wall.  He carried the chair back to the dining area and pushed it in as if he feared it would draw him to the shelves to pull the box down again.

“John?” I began.

“Shhh, not now, Erik,” he responded.  It didn’t matter what I meant to ask.  He knew my question would be related to what had just happened and he wasn’t ready to discuss it.

We returned to our sleeping bags on the floor.  In the summer heat we couldn’t burrow inside them or cover ourselves with blankets though we wanted to.  We lay awake, feeling exposed and vulnerable.  Being uncovered violated the first rule of kids for keeping monsters and ghosts at bay through the night. 

The rain ended and a light breeze blew in through the windows.  The clouds stretched tautly and tore apart to reveal the full moon.  We welcomed the light it reflected in on us.  The shadows were forced deeper into the corners and that gave us a little relief. 

Something whispered in the dark.  The words were mumbled, but they were there.  It was not the voice of a child.  We all heard the sound of a man whispering inside the cabin that night.  We didn’t dare move for fear it would realize that we were awake.  Terrified, we lay still and listened, praying for sunrise.

*

Sunrise came eventually, as it always did.  It brought bright sunshine and the cheerful singing of the birds.  Jimmy’s uncle cooked a big breakfast and filled our plates.  We gathered around the table and stared down at our food.  We ate to keep from having to talk.  Talking about what had happened would only make it worse.

“What’s with you three?” Jimmy’s uncle asked and stood to refill his cup of coffee.  “I’ve never seen you so quiet in the morning.  How bout we go fishing today?”

We nodded agreeably, but not one of us spoke.  The eerie whispers filtered through our imaginations and were magnified.  They took on frightening tones that the light of day couldn’t cast off.  We picked at our food and tried to forget what had happened.  The OUIJA board was in the box on the shelf, pushed safely back against the wall.  We wouldn’t use it again and would need to force the thoughts of it aside.