Christopher looked up. He couldn’t see the cloud face anymore. That’s how thick the trees were. He could still hear the rain, but not a drop fell to earth. The ground was still dry. Cracked like old skin. It felt like the trees were a big umbrella. An umbrella keeping something safe.
Christopher
Christopher turned around. The hairs on his neck stood up.
“Who’s there?” he said.
There was silence. A quiet, shallow breathing. It might have been the wind. But something was here. Christopher could feel it. Like the way you know when someone is staring at you. The way he knew Jerry was a bad man long before his mother did.
He heard a footstep.
Christopher turned and saw that it was just a pinecone falling from a tree. Thump thump thump. It rolled down the ground and landed on
The trail.
The trail was covered by tree needles. And a few twisted branches. But it was unmistakable. A trail worn into the earth by years of bikes and ramps and races. By kids taking shortcuts to the other side of town. But now it looked abandoned. Like the construction fence outside had kept the kids away for months. Maybe even years. There wasn’t a pair of fresh footsteps on it.
Except one.
He could see the imprint of shoes in the dirt. Christopher walked over and put his little sneakers next to it. They were about the same size.
It was a little kid’s footprint.
That’s when he heard a little kid crying.
Christopher looked down the trail, and he saw that the little-kid tracks went on for a long long time. The sound was coming from that direction. Far away. In the distance.
“Hello. Are you okay?” Christopher yelled out.
The crying got louder.
Christopher’s chest tightened, and a voice inside told him to turn around, walk back to school, and wait for his mother. But the little kid was in trouble. So, he ignored his fear and followed the footprints. Slowly at first. Cautiously. He walked toward an old creek with a billy goat bridge. The footprints went through the water and came out on the other side. They were muddy now. The little kid must be close.
Help me.
Was that a voice? Was it the wind? Christopher picked up his pace. The little-kid tracks led him past an old hollow log that was carved out like a big canoe. Christopher looked ahead of him. He saw no one. The voice must be the wind. It didn’t make sense to him. But there was no other explanation because he saw nothing.
Except the light.
The light was far down the trail. Bright and blue. The place where the crying was. Christopher began walking after it. To help the little kid. With every step, the light got bigger. And the space under the trees got wider. And pretty soon, there were no trees above his head.
Christopher had reached the clearing.
It stood in the center of the woods. A perfect circle of grassy fields. The trees were gone. And he could see the sky. But something was wrong. He went into the woods a few minutes ago when it was day. But it was nighttime now. The sky was black. And the stars were shooting a lot more than usual. Almost like fireworks. The moon was so big that it lit the clearing. A blue moon.
“Hello?” Christopher called out.
There was silence. No crying. No wind. No voice. Christopher looked around the clearing and saw nothing but the trail of footprints leading to
The tree.
It stood in the middle of the clearing. Crooked like an old man’s arthritic hand. Reaching out of the earth like it was trying to pluck a bird from the sky. Christopher couldn’t help himself. He followed the footsteps. He walked up to the tree and touched it. But it didn’t feel like bark. Or wood.
It felt like flesh.
Christopher jumped back. It hit him suddenly. This horrible feeling that this was wrong. Everything was wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He looked down to find the trail again. He had to get out of there. His mom would be so worried. He found the trail. He saw the little-kid tracks. But there was something different about them now.
There were handprints next to them.
Like the little kid was walking on all fours.
Crack!
Christopher turned around. Something had stepped on a branch. He could hear creatures waking up all around him. Surrounding the clearing. Christopher didn’t hesitate. He started to run. He following the trail out. He reached the edge of the clearing. Back into the woods. But the minute he stepped under the trees, he stopped.
The trail was gone.
He looked around for it, but the sky was getting darker. The clouds were covering the stars now. And the moon was shining through the cloud face like a pirate’s good eye.
“Help me!” Christopher called out to the cloud face.
But the wind moved, and the cloud covered the moon like a blanket. Christopher couldn’t see. Oh, God. Please God. Christopher fell to his knees and started digging through the pine needles. Frantic. Looking for the trail underneath. The needles sticking to his palms.
He could hear the little kid now.
But it wasn’t crying.
It was giggling.
Christopher found the trail with his hands and began to crawl on all fours. Get out of here! Faster! That’s all he thought. Faster!
The giggling was closer now.
Christopher started running. He moved so fast that he lost the trail. He ran in the darkness. Past the trees. His legs buckled when he stumbled into the creek. Past the billy goat bridge. He fell and ripped up his knee. But he didn’t care. He kept running. A full sprint. He saw the light up ahead. This was it. He knew it. The streetlight. He had somehow found the street again.
The giggling was right behind him.
Christopher ran faster toward the street. Toward the light. He ran under the cover of the last tree. And he stopped when he realized he wasn’t in the street.
He was back in the clearing.
The light was not the streetlight.
It was the moon.
Christopher looked around and could feel things staring at him. Creatures and animals. Their eyes glowing. Surrounding the clearing. The giggling was closer. Louder. Christopher was surrounded. He had to get out of here. Find a way out. Find any way out.
He ran to the tree.
He began to climb. The tree felt like flesh under his hands. Like climbing arms instead of branches. But he ignored the feeling. He needed to get higher to see a way out. When he reached halfway up the tree, the clouds parted. The moon made the clearing glow.
And Christopher saw it.
On the other side of the clearing. Hidden behind the leaves and bushes. It looked like a cave mouth. But it wasn’t a cave. It was a tunnel. Man-made. Wood-framed. With old train tracks in the ground running through it. Christopher realized what that meant. Train tracks led to stations, which led to towns.
He could get out!
He climbed down the arms of the tree. He reached the ground. He felt a presence in the woods. Eyes on him. Waiting for him to move.
Christopher ran.
All of his might. All of his speed. He felt creatures behind him. But he couldn’t see them. He reached the mouth and looked into the tunnel. The train tracks went through it like a rusty spine. He saw moonlight on the other side. An escape!
Christopher ran into the tunnel. The wooden frames held up the walls and ceiling like a whale’s rib cage. But the wood was old. Dilapidated and rotting. And the tunnel wasn’t wide enough for a train to pass through it. What was this place? A covered bridge? Sewer? Cave?
A mine.
The word hit him like water. A Pennsylvania coal mine. He saw a movie about them in class. Miners using handcarts and rail track to bring out earth to burn. He ran deeper. Racing to the moonlight on the other side. He looked down at the tracks to get better footing. That’s when he saw the little-kid footprints were back. And the giggling was back. Right behind him.
The moonlight faded ahead as the clouds played hide-and-seek. The whole world went black. He groped into the darkness. Trying to find the walls to guide his way out. His feet scraped the tracks as he reached out like a blind man. And he finally found something. He finally touched something in the dark.
It was a little kid’s hand.