Chapter Thirty-Six

Isaac Abramson

Isaac was a tall and slender child with lanky arms and unkempt sandy brown hair that fell over his eyes, making him resemble a sheepdog. He and his family sat in the back pew of Holy Cross Church, having arrived later than was their usual custom. Isaac fidgeted in the uncomfortable wooden bench, allowing his attention to wander anywhere but toward Father John whose morning sermon was even blander than usual. He looked past the gray-haired priest toward the violet and burgundy panes of stained glass facing west. Through the windows Isaac watched gray clouds thicken ominously over the green waters of the bay.

The spectacular water view was his favorite part of going to the lovely stone church on Bay Settlement Road. Located on a ledge about one and a half miles east of the bay, the Italianate and Romanesque architecture granted the building a regal air of stateliness as it stood sentinel over the residential homes and small businesses that dotted the waterfront. The west lawn offered a breathtaking panoramic view of the bay, from the mouth of the Fox River north to the far reaches of Brown County.

Dense forest separated the western lawn of the church from the shoreline. Thick clouds of smoky gray billowed over the dark woods. Isaac imagined he was one of the seagulls, gliding above the bay, calling out a cry of loneliness. He felt like he was dreaming. He didn’t know where this thought arose, but it haunted him.

As he followed the path of one lone gull, his eyes were diverted to the western perimeter of the church grounds. At the edge of the forest stood a solitary gray animal. Isaac was almost certain that it was a wolf. He strained to see more clearly, but the autumn morning light was weak. The creature prowled closer to the church and stared directly through the stained glass into Isaac’s eyes.

Isaac looked to his left and right to determine whether anyone else saw the creature outside. The congregation continued to focus on Father John’s mass, oblivious to the rare sighting beyond the candelabras at the rear of the altar. He excused himself as if to head for an urgent rest room visit and then walked silently past the baptismal font toward the heavy oak doors at the church’s east entrance. He was amazed no one noticed him.

Isaac exited the church with stealth, and then crept along the windowless south wall until he reached the west side. Here Isaac held his body rigid like a statue. He craned his neck around the corner but pulled it quickly back when he caught a glimpse of the lone wolf. He repeated this maneuver several times, each viewing lasting slightly longer than the previous one. Finally he built up his courage to approach the creature. The wolf turned his body to face Isaac.

It looked to be the size of a Labrador retriever, its fur a dense mixture of gray, black, and tan. Its ears stood erect, highlighted by flecks of cinnamon. Its long, blocky snout pointed directly at Isaac’s eyes. He noticed the creature held its tail stiff. He didn’t know very much about timber wolves but recognized that this particular creature had an all-consuming fixation on him. Somehow the thought did not make him uneasy.

The creature’s eyes were by no means tame but seemed to communicate that it meant no harm. Isaac walked cautiously toward the wolf, curious but not confident. He stopped dead in his tracks when the wolf issued a low, guttural growl.

The wolf seemed satisfied that it had arrested Isaac’s approach. It then walked slowly to the west, into the forest. It turned its head back toward Isaac as if urging him to follow. Isaac complied.

Keeping a distance of about twenty yards, he followed the creature into the timberland. He ducked beneath bare black cherry and paper birch until the forest deepened. The wolf disappeared from sight, leaving Isaac alone in a place that reminded him eerily of another dream. Why does this place seem unreal?

Isaac crept deeper into the gloom, toward the smoky wisps of light in a clearing. Reaching the open space, he was greeted by an angel spanning ten feet in height.

Gracefully sculpted wings of gray stone seemed almost to quiver, suggesting a pose of near flight. Years of harsh weather and neglect failed to diminish the creator’s attention to fine detail. Isaac gazed upon its face.

Time had sculpted a look of worn sorrow upon a countenance that at one time may have borne haughtiness. The angel’s body was gracefully adorned with lines suggestive of flowing robes of fine linen. Years of neglect in this wooded hollow could not diminish the regal air borne by this mighty creation.

The stone angel held a lantern aloft in its left hand while its right pointed deliberately north, over the barren tree tops of the lightless wood. Below the statue’s feet was a brass plate, covered by dead leaves and thick green vines. Isaac brushed these away.

A patina of green covered the inscription but it remained legible. It read, “That your connection to all life may never be lost.” Isaac had no idea what that meant but had little time to think. The bells of Holy Cross began to chime the end of mass. He retraced his steps up the densely wooded hill and then across the west lawn. He opened the heavy oak door to find the church completely empty.

Isaac’s walk home was less than one quarter-mile. He could not fathom why his parents would have abandoned him. He had been gone mere minutes. He wondered if they were searching the neighborhood for him but then had a more disturbing thought. How did the church empty so quickly? Dozens of parishioners should have been waiting in line to wish Father John a good morning. Were did they go?

He wore only blue jeans and a red cotton dress shirt, which did little to fend off the autumn chill. Luckily the journey home took only five minutes. He walked into his front yard to find his home was changed.

The orange and yellow garden mums, which he and his mother planted together last April, were now brown stalks. The blue cedar siding was peeling and faded, though he and his father painted the house one year ago. White shutters lay broken on the ground, most with rusted hinges still intact. Panic rose as he took in the scene of ruin and neglect. What the hell happened?

He tried to open the front door but found it deadbolted from the inside. So, too, were the garage and back doors. He peeked through the curtainless windows and saw only darkness and abandonment. The house seemed a façade.

“Mom! Dad!” he screamed, but only his voice echoed back. He looked across the street for signs of life but saw no one. No Williams children playing in their front yard, no lawn being mowed anywhere along Bay Settlement Road. His heart raced as he sprinted next door. Maybe the Wiezbiskies could explain what was happening. He pounded his fists against their front door. No answer. He continued pounding but no one opened the door. He peered inside their living room window but saw only darkness and the silhouette of broken furniture. He ran to the next house and tried again. “Help,” he screamed with all his strength. No reply. Panic grew.

A metallic sound echoed from somewhere in the near distance. Isaac felt he was being watched. He looked around the neighbor’s yard and then across Bay Settlement toward the church but saw no one. He walked back to the entryway and peered through the front windows. Three hooded figures had their leathery faces pressed against the glass and peered back at him with predatory eyes. The creatures were born of decay, their malignancy not well hidden beneath peeling layers of gray parchment skin. Isaac screamed.