The Pines

edge of the marsh slumped the remains of a crude structure, just a few charred timbers scattered about the tilting remnant of a corner post.

He stared down at it, the sea air stinging his eyes. Could this really be the original shack? It couldn’t be reached without a rowboat, he now saw: floating vegetation had hidden the dark water. It could be the one. Or it could just be some old hut the locals liked pointing out to tourists. Did it really matter? If the Leeds house did still exist somewhere, it would be in similar condition. He hadn’t expected to find anything here; yet he’d felt compelled to come.

Below him, beyond the shack, beyond the marsh, sandy hillocks humped down to the sea, a grayly wavering band from which sunlight glinted in liquid fragments.

“You okay, honey? You sound sort of groggy.”

“The heat. And I didn’t sleep.”

“After last night, who did?”

“Hang on a second.” Athena set the phone down while she poured another cup of coffee. “No, I haven’t heard from him yet either, and I tried calling him again right after I talked to you the last time. I don’t understand it. A whole morning wasted.”

“Now you listen to me, honey. I’m going to come right over, but you are not to do anything until I get there. You understand me? I don’t care how antsy you are to get started. Under no circumstances are you to go anywhere yourself. Especially if you’re right about this guy. Hmm? No, I don’t think we should call the police until we’ve talked to Steve.”

“All right, Doris. You’re probably right…. No…I’ll wait for you. I promise.”

Pam was playing with the Ouija board. “You’re drinking more coffee, ’Thena? You’ll never sleep.” Pamela looked frowzier than usual today, and the hot kitchen reeked of bacon grease and unwashed breakfast dishes. “My name! Oh look, ’Thena! It spelled my name! See?”

“I still don’t understand, Pamela.” She set her cup down. “Why didn’t you mention this man last night?”

“I tried to tell you! But you wouldn’t listen. Nobody listens to me.”

Claws scraped dully across the linoleum. Stiff legged and wobbly, Dooley paced into the room. Following, Matty stumbled into the kitchen.

He watched the dog drink, listened intently to the lapping. Suddenly, the boy jerked his head around. “I…d- ddooo you…?” In the sunlight from the back door, his eyes glinted. “…know if…?”

Athena cringed away from his stutter, from the unbearably jumbled syllables.

“W-will it g-get like…?” His face twisted with concentration as he forced himself to hold his mother’s gaze. “Like when it gets all yella and thick like…will…?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Amazed, she stared at him. “No, Matthew, I don’t think it will get infected. I’ve been watching him pretty closely.” She refilled the dog’s water dish, the boy close beside her. “Though I think it’s time he had his pill. Would you like to give it to him? Then later we can change the bandages again and put on more salve.” She took a small brown bottle from the shelf—antibiotics left over from an illness of Matthew’s—uncapped it and broke one of the pills in half. “Just do it the way I showed you. Put it on the back of his tongue and hold his mouth closed.”

Taking the pill from her, the boy knelt by the dog. He took the animal’s large head in his small hands, and the dog swallowed. “L-Like this?”

She blinked. “Yes, just like that.” She watched while he stroked Dooley’s head. He didn’t look up at her again.

“It went to the L. That means love.” Starry-eyed and completely absorbed, Pam prattled on about the Ouija board, about the handsome stranger in Lonny’s old room.

Athena found herself standing by the door.

“You going out?” Pam asked.

“No.” She pushed open the screen. “Perhaps just right outside. For some air. Keep Matthew in here. I don’t want him out at all today.”

“Matty? C’mere and play, baby. You want to talk to Chabwok?”

Letting the screen door slam behind her, Athena went quickly down the porch steps and stood, blinking at the dazzling afternoon. Behind her, shadows muffled the house, and she heard the murmur of Pam’s voice. Even the insects had receded to a dull pitch, reiterative, everywhere and dying, spent. With some notion of watching for Doris, she went around the side of the house.

The headlights of the rust-eaten Plymouth glimmered almost invisibly in the daylight. “Damn!” She ran to the car, switched them off and tried to start the engine. “Damn damn damn.” The car didn’t even cough. “Oh, great going!” She slammed the door. Now she was really stuck here. She stamped away from the car and stood by the side of the road, fidgeting. “Okay, Doris,” she muttered to herself, “where are you?”

This man in town—he had to be the one. But what if he were gone by the time Doris and Steven got here? It seemed to her he might fade back into the woods as easily as he’d come, and there would be no way to trace him. But what could she do alone? Ask around at least, she thought. Find out if this were more nonsense of Pam’s before sending the others involved. Maybe get a look at him at least? No, she had to wait for the others, but she couldn’t just stand still.

The sky breathed down. Swatting away biting flies, she paced along the white-powdered road.

“Nobody ever listens to me.” Pam sat at the table, her fingers on the old jelly glass that scratched across the board. “W-I-C…” She stopped, confused about the spelling of “witch.” No longer moving from letter to letter, the jar hesitated a moment, then moved resolutely to the yes.

She smiled, remembering what Doris had said about the sex/magic bond between werewolves and witches. She held her arms close to her body, hugging herself. Everything she felt for her husband stirred somewhere deep within, mingling with a generalized misery and resentment that grew worse by the moment. “Them damn pineys. I’ll show them. I’m better than they are. It said L for ‘love.’ Didn’t I tell you?”

He knew it wasn’t really him she was speaking to. Breathing in the deep, warm smell of her, an aroma of sweat and coffee and some indefinable sweetness, the boy sat close, watching her move the glass back and forth across the board.

She told herself she was going for a walk, just as far as the bridge, just to stretch her legs.

The woods looked very different this afternoon. She wasn’t far from where she’d found Lonny. Maybe I should visit the spot, lay a wreath or something.

The water was low. Standing on the bridge, she gazed down: debris choked the stream. Or perhaps I should just take a stroll over to Pamela’s and check on things at the trailer. The water looked thick and brown. No one’s been there since that morning. But she didn’t turn aside at Hanging Tree. Instead, she trudged along, fighting the sullen lethargy of the day. It’s stupid of me to come this far without a gun. She climbed over singed-grass hillocks, and sand flew up dry in her face with the least breeze.

Even from a distance, the raw town had a beleaguered air, as though a great battle had been fought amid the rusting cars and the concentration of low buildings. Some trick of the light distorted everything. Heat seemed to press the shadows, condensing them till they bore no resemblance to the shapes that cast them. And she heard no dogs, unusual in itself. Something smoldered on the central garbage dump, leaving a thin haze through which the shacks and other structures seemed to waver, and the smell that washed across made her think of rancid glue— sweet, corrupt.

Nothing moved. Where is everybody? And what do I do now? The air seemed filled with floating particles, scented, invisible dust, which emanated not only from the houses but from the mean yards and rickety fences, an odor held in place by the pressing heat. Should I go from door to door asking if anyone has seen a monster? I’ve got to make some move. Taking a deep breath, she started forward. We’ve waited too long.

Constructed of dark cedar wood along more solid lines than any of its neighbors, the first house scarcely slouched at all. Somebody has got to do something. Approaching the mud-spattered door, she knocked solidly and had the impression of movement beyond the curtained windows. “Hello?” But no one came.