The Turtle Boy

Rather than taking the regular gravel path back to the pond, a path that could be spotted from most of the houses, they cut across Mr. Patterson’s field, pausing only to look at the large puddle, which was all that remained of the hole Timmy and Pete had been digging. A pile of earth like a scale-model mountain sat next to it.

“We were looking for gold,” he explained.

“Did you find any?” Kim asked.

He shrugged, strangely ashamed. “No. We found some red clay though.”

Kim smiled. “Maybe that would be worth something in some other country. Maybe some country where they have gold to spare and kids dig for red clay?”

He nodded, a silly grin breaking out across his face. He knew it was a foolish notion — he’d never heard of a place that had too much gold — but it was a nice fantasy, and he silently thanked her for not making fun of his efforts.

They carried on through the high grass, chasing crickets and wondering what kind of exotic creatures they heard scurrying at their approach. The field ran parallel to the gravel path, but the trees shielded them from view and they hunkered down, the grass whipping against their bare legs. Much to his surprise, Kim kept the pace as he raced toward the narrow dirt road leading into the pond. At times she drew abreast of him and, more than once — though he would never admit it — she began to inch ahead of him, forcing him to push himself until he felt his chest start to ache.

At last they reached the makeshift bridge. Kim, her legs braced on the wobbling boards, leaned over to catch her breath. She looked down at the stream trickling beneath them. “They’ve ruined it, haven’t they?”

It took him a moment to realize what she was referring to and then he told her that yes, they had ruined it. The construction crews dedicated to tearing up the land they’d once played in seemed equally driven to foul whatever they’d been prohibited to touch. Gullies became dumping grounds for material waste, streams became muddied and paths cracked beneath the groaning and shrieking metal of their monstrous machines. Timmy joined her in a moment of mournful pondering at the senselessness of it all, then tapped her on the elbow and pointed up at the sky.

Shadows rushed past them, crawling through the grass toward the train tracks and spilling from the trees as the breeze gained strength. Over their heads, the sky had turned from blue to gray, the sun now a dim torch glimpsed through a caul of spider webs. All around them the trees began to sway and hiss as if the breeze were water, the canopies fire.

Kim nodded at the change and hurried to his side. She mumbled something to him and he looked at her. “What?”

“I said: my dad says they’re going to fill in the pond.”

Before Timmy had met Darryl, this might have hurt him more than it did now. Still, it didn’t seem right. “Why?”

“I don’t know. He says in a few years all of this will be houses and that the pond is only in the way. Apparently Doctor Myers’s son sold this area of the land so they’re just waiting for someone to buy it before they fill it in.”

Timmy knew her father worked on a construction site across town and would no doubt be privy to such information. It was a depressing thought; not so much that they would be taking the pond away, but because he suspected that would only be the start of it. Soon, the fields would be gone, concrete lots in their place.

They carried on up the rise until the black mirror of the pond revealed itself. Timmy’s gaze immediately went to the spot where he had seen Darryl, but he saw no one sitting there today. Kim walked on and over the bank and made her way around the pond toward the brace of fir trees weaving in the wind. She paused and looked back at him over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah.”

But he was already starting to question the logic behind such a move. At least the last time he’d been here he’d had the escape route at his back; if The Turtle Boy had tried anything it wouldn’t have been hard to turn and run. Going into those trees was like walking into a cage. You would have to thread your way through brambles and thick undergrowth to be clear of it. And even then, there was nowhere to run but the train tracks.

A quiver of fear rippled through him, and he masked it by smacking an imaginary mosquito from his neck. Overhead, the clouds thickened. With a sigh, he followed Kim into the trees.

On this side of the pond, dispirited pines hung low. The earth beneath was a tangle of withered needles, flattened grass and severed branches. The children had to duck until they’d cleared the biggest and densest stand of pines.

At last they emerged on the other side, a marshy stretch of land that offered a clear view of the train tracks but soaked their sandaled feet.

After a moment of listening to the breeze and searching the growing shadows around them, Kim put her hands on her hips and looked at Timmy, who was preoccupied with trying to remove sticky skeins of spider web from his face.

“He’s not here,” she said, stifling a giggle at Timmy’s dismay.

He didn’t answer until he was sure some fat black arachnid hadn’t nested in his hair. When he’d cleared the remaining strands, he grimaced and looked around. “Sure looks like it. Unless he’s hiding.”

“Maybe he’s gone.”

“Yeah, maybe.” It was a comforting thought. Behind them in the distance, the hungry heavens rumbled as God made a dark stew of the sky. “Maybe he caught a train out of here.”

Kim glanced toward the tracks, which were silent and somehow lonely without a thousand pounds of steel shrieking over them. “Or maybe a train caught him.”

Before Timmy could allow the image to form in his mind, he heard something behind him, on the other side of the pines.

“Did you hear that?”

Kim shook her head.

A twig snapped and they both backed away.

“It’s probably a squirrel or something,” Kim whispered, and Timmy was suddenly aware that her hand was gripping his. He looked down at it, then at her, but she was intent on the movement through the trees behind them. He ignored the odd but not entirely unpleasant sensation of her cool skin on his and held his breath. Listening.

“Maybe a deer,” Kim said, so low Timmy could hardly hear her above the breeze.

They stood like that for what seemed forever, ears straining to filter the sounds from the coiling weather around them. Timmy could hear little over the thundering of his own heart. Kim was holding his hand even tighter now. A terrifying thought sparked in his mind: Does this mean she’s my girlfriend?

“C’mon,” he said at last. “There’s no one there.”

She nodded and they both stepped forward.

Timmy was filled with confused excitement. Then, just as quickly, uncertainty came over him. Was she waiting for him to let go of her hand? Was she feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed now because he was holding her hand just as tightly? He tried to loosen his fingers but she squeezed them, and a gentle wave of reassurance flooded over him.

She wasn’t uncomfortable. She didn’t want to let go. His heart began to race again but this time for a completely different reason.

And she continued to hold his hand. Continued even when something lithe and dark burst through the pines in front of their faces and dragged them both screaming through the trees.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Timmy’s mother opened the front door. Her look of surprise doubled when she saw the rage on Wayne Marshall’s face.

She stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. “What on earth is going on?” she said, crossing her arms. The gesture meant to convey that she was prepared to dispense blame wherever it was due.