From the Woods

Sitting up in bed, he could not deny the fact that he had just heard his name called. Looking over to his wife, clearly sound asleep, a very subtle rhythmic breathing the only sound coming from her, he sat still and listened. The only other sound was the slight electric hum from his digital clock. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he put on his slippers and quietly walked downstairs. Standing in the middle of the living room, he could hear nothing but the gentle tick of the grandfather clock behind him.

Going back upstairs, he peeked into the baby’s bedroom and could hear her barely audible breathing. Everything was still and peaceful. Sliding back into bed, he drifted back to sleep and what seemed to be an instant after his eyes closed, he again heard it, “Edward!”

Quickly sitting up again, he strained against the silence of the night but again heard nothing. Stepping to the bedroom window, he looked out, wondering if someone was outside, playing some sort of odd trick. Scanning the yard and seeing nothing, he looked to the treeline and saw her. A woman in white nightgown, shimmering, almost glowing, her radiance reflecting the light of the moon, he supposed. The woman looked at him and smiled, tucking her long hair behind one ear, she smiled at him and motioned for him to come to her.

Grabbing his robe, he quickly but silently hurried to the front door. Putting on his garden boots, he rushed across the lawn towards the woman, now standing just inside the edge of the forest. Again she motioned for him and he went to her.

“I knew that you would hear me,” she said, smiling and caressing his check. Taking his hand, she led him deeper into the forest, the light of the full moon creating a lighted path of sorts, twisting its way through branches and leaves, an unseen path that left him untouched. “Hold me,” she said, “I’m getting cold.” Pulling herself up under his arm, she wrapped her arm around his waist and whispered his name.

“Where are we going?” Edward asked.

“It’s not much further, my love,” she said, “we’re almost there.” Within moments, they passed through the edge of the woods into a wide-open clearing. “This way,” she said, pointing ahead of them. The clearing became barren and turned into a rocky path. “Here, follow me,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the edge. “Here, be careful,” she said, slowly moving to the edge and then down a narrow path.

The two carefully passed over the narrow path and eventually reached the bottom, a sandy beach and gentle surf. “I didn’t even know this was here,” Edward said. “I’ve lived here all these years and I’ve never seen this. This is amazing.”

“I knew you’d like it,” she said. “Here come with me, walk in the surf. You’ll find that the water is quite warm.” Taking his hand, the two walked into the gently ebbing water. Ankle deep they walked for a moment, when she stopped and turned, looking into his eyes and kissing him. “You’ve been mine all along,” she said. “We should have been together but you’ve been so distracted, so busy, too busy for me, for true love.”

“Yes, I have been busy,” Edward answered. “But you have me now and it is beautiful.”

Edward’s wife stirred at the sound of the front door clicking closed. Rolling to her back, she responsively felt onto Edward’s side of the bed. “Edward, where are you going?” she asked. Slipping off his side of the bed, she walked to the window and looked out at the giant full moon that lit up the yard. Looking across the yard, she caught a glimpse of Edward as he disappeared into the woods. “Edward, where are you going?” she asked again.

Edward’s wife stood for a long time at the window, watching the space in the woods that had swallowed her husband. A shiver woke her from her focused observation and putting on her robe, she walked downstairs and out onto the porch. Pulling her robe tightly around her, she took one step down into the grass but then stopped, it’s dampness instantly chilling her feet.

Returning upstairs, she entered the baby’s room and gently lifted her from the cradle. Bundled tightly, the tiny infant remained asleep, and she held her close. Stepping to the window, she stared once again into the pocket of dark forest that swallowed her husband. Slightly bouncing and quietly humming, she stared into the darkness. “Edward, where are you going?” she asked again.

Edward and the woman stood in the warm caress of the ocean waves, embracing one another in a passion that Edward had forgotten that even existed. “You smell like wildflowers,” Edward said, pulling her hair to the side and kissing her neck.

Stepping away from him, the woman took his hand. “Come, let’s lie down,” she said. Pulling him down next to her on a small patch of grass that had grown at the foot of the cliff, she nuzzled in close and kissed him again. “Let’s stay like this forever,” she said. “You make me happy, and I can feel the beat of your heart, so I know you’re happy too.”

The two lay together for a very long time and the giant full moon shone down upon them. Rolling on this back, Edward let out a long, gentle sigh. “This is so wonderful,” he said. “So much has happened in these last few moments that I had forgotten was even possible.”

Slowly standing up, the woman looked down upon Edward and smiled. “Let’s play a game, my love,” she said. “You cover your eyes and I’ll hide and then after you count to ten, you will come find me.”

Sitting up, Edward crossed his legs and covered his eyes, slowly counting to ten. He could hear a few muffled steps moving away and then he could only hear the lapping waves. Speaking the word ten and then uncovering his eyes, he stood up and began looking around. “I’ll find you, my love,” he said out loud. “There is nowhere you can hide that I won’t find you.”

Edward searched for over an hour, but he remained alone. The air had grown cold, and a slight rain had begun to fall. “What am I doing?” he asked himself. “Where did she go? I didn’t even know her name.” Letting out a muffled sob, he slowly climbed back up the small path to the top of the cliff. Looking out across the ocean, the ache in his heart nearly made him sick. The moon looked down upon him.

Walking slowly back through the woods, he stepped into his yard and caught a glimpse of his wife standing in the nursery window. Giving a small wave, he crossed the grass and went back into the house. Halfway up the stairs, his wife met him at the top. “What were you doing, my love?” she said.

“I… I… just wanted to take a small walk,” Edward answered. “The night was so beautiful; I didn’t want to miss it. Come on, let’s go back to bed. I missed you.”

The Call of the Chocolate

 

Jonathan could only stand and look. He was too short to reach the top shelf and the chocolate bar contained therein. The room behind him lacked anything upon which he could stand and jumping availed him nothing. He even took a few steps back, for a running start, but only ended up smashing against the back wall of the closet.

He had a craving for chocolate like nobody’s business. He could even see it sitting on that top shelf, calling his name, mocking him. He knew full well the Aesop’s fable of sour grapes and he also knew full well that this would not be the end of his story. He needed that chocolate. It would not be a stretch at all to call him a junkie.

Turning his back to the closet, he could still hear the chocolate calling him. He paced around the room, sliding his fingers along the walls as he walked. There were no doors, no windows, no furniture and worst of all, no recollection of how he came to be in such an odd place. He stopped pacing and stood perfectly still, holding his breath and listening for anything, any sound whatsoever, but he heard nothing. Walking back to the closet, he stood and looked at the sliver of chocolate peeking over the edge of the shelf, tempting him to reach for it.

As far as he knew, he had always loved chocolate. He could feel its pull, its embrace, its appealing sweetness coursing through his veins. It had been a part of him forever, as far as he was concerned. “I mean, really,” he thought, “why not? It’s somewhat sweet, somewhat bitter. It’s natural and some have argued, it’s even good for you, in moderation, of course.”

This was an argument that had played over in his mind a million times. He examined it, twisted it, and spun it around, in every possible shape and his conclusion was always the same. Walking to the opposite wall, he leaned against it and slid to a sitting position, still staring at that tiny sliver of heaven on earth. Eventually closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths and began to resign himself to the fact that he may never taste chocolate again.

It was the clearing of a throat that caught his attention at that moment. With his head still tilted back and leaning against the wall, he slowly cracked open one eye and was immediately aware of the fact that a short and very fat man was standing in the opposite corner of the room. “Hey… what… who are you and where did you come from?” he asked.

“Who I am is irrelevant,” the man said. “The issue here is you. You are clearly at a loss of what to do and you seem to be teetering on the brink of giving up. I popped in for a moment to remind you that everything here is an illusion and therefore irrelevant as well. The closet, the walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the chocolate. It is all an illusion. To put it in the simplest terms, whether you eat the chocolate or do not eat the chocolate, doesn’t matter and the outcome will be the same. I hope that helps.”

Quickly standing up, Jonathan looked back at the corner but realized that the fat little man was gone. “Honestly, no, that was not helpful at all,” he said. “That does nothing to address my current desire for chocolate.” Walking again to the closet, he stared up at the corner of a chocolate bar peeking down upon him and mocking his vertical handicap.

“You know,” a heavily accented voice called out from the opposite corner, “You know that there were most likely some sort of animal products used in the manufacture of that chocolate.” With a sigh, Jonathan turned around to see a second individual staring at him with a rather dry scowl upon his face.

“Oh, great, now who are you?” he asked.

“You can call me Moe,” the man said, “surely you understand that eating chocolate like that is a clear violation of the rules. You just need to put that out of your head and  call out to God for help.”

“God? Seriously?” Jonathan answered. “And what do you mean by ‘a violation of the rules’? What rules? Whose rules?”

“Surely you cannot be that stupid,” Moe answered. “I speak of the rules that pertain to everyone. We must follow the rules or “they” will have to punish you now so that you can avoid the punishment that comes in the afterlife. But even then you cannot be too sure. God may just decide to punish you anyway.”

“Uh, thanks but no thanks,” Jonathan answered. Sitting down inside the closet, the small corner of the chocolate bar peeking down upon him, Jonathan rested his head in his hands and tried to piece together what had just happened. Looking up, the odd, hairy little man with the heavy accent had disappeared as well. Struggling to his feet, he stepped out of the closet to meet a very average man with a very long beard, who smelled rather sharp and earthy.

“Ho, wow, who are you?” he asked.

“I’m nobody special,” the man answered, “but you can call me Joe. We’ve been watching you for quite some time and honestly, I can completely relate.”

“Huh, well that’s somewhat encouraging,” Jonathan said. “So what’s your take on my problem?”

“Honestly,” Joe said, “don’t feel too special or too odd about your predicament. That problem is as old as the world. Contrary to what the first guy said, it is a real problem with real ramifications. And contrary to the second guy, it is not about rules. At all. The real question is about consequences. What will be the consequences of eating that chocolate? Will it help you? Will it harm you? Will it make you a better person? You’re not the first person to have this intense craving and this lack of ability to resolve it. Just know that you’re not alone and we are here to help if you want.” Stepping into the closet, the odd, earthy little man closed the closet door behind him.

“Okay,” Jonathan said, “I’m not sure that is really that helpful either.” Reaching out and taking hold of the door handle, Jonathan pulled it open and looked to try to catch a glimpse of the chocolate. But the closet was gone. The shelves were gone, the small space was gone and, most importantly, the chocolate was gone.

“Well then, I guess… hmm… okay.”

Colin the Large

 

Colin was horribly fat, morbidly obese, life-threateningly flaccid and everyone knew it, including Colin. Despite all the knowledge, the training, the pep talks, and the offers of free salads, Colin simply could not give up a life deep fried, not to mention ice cream, candy bars, and beer. In Colin's opinion, life was to be enjoyed and he thoroughly enjoyed life eating everything tasty.

The situation finally came to a head one day as Colin sat on his front steps eating a box of doughnuts. He had just bit into his fourth when Lanelle, his sister in law, jogged by. Lanelle was in fact, the 48th person to pass Colin, sitting there on his steps eating doughnuts and she was, in fact, the 48th person to acknowledge his presence. But she was also the first person to acknowledge Colin's presence with a negative tone.

"Good God, Colin, you're going to eat yourself into an early grave. How can you sit there like that? It's absolutely repulsive."

"Hi to you too, Lanelle," Colin responded with a smile. "Would you like a doughnut?"

"Ugh," she replied with a shudder. And with that she turned and jogged off.

"Don't let her get to you, Colin," Fred called out, having just stepped off the city bus. "Some people just cannot be happy and mind their own business."

"Hey Fred," Colin answered. "No, I know she means well, but I don't let her bitterness bother me. She's just not a happy person. I mean, really, how could anyone be happy only eating salad and exercising all the time?”

“Wow, man,” Fred responded. “You are way more gracious than I ever could be with someone like that. If it were me, I’d just tell her to bug off.”

“Yeah, I know,” Colin answered. “But really, some people are just unhappy and don’t know how to get out of it. Fortunately, that is not me. If someone is not open to help and growth, there is nothing I can do about it and me getting angry or unhappy won’t help matters. Here, do you want a doughnut?” he said, putting out his hand.

“Thanks, but no,” Marsha and I are going out for dinner as soon as she gets home,” he replied. “Hey, how about you walk down to the park with me? I’ve just almost an hour before she gets home. I’ve been cooped up all day in the office. I’m itching to get some fresh air.”

“Yeah,” Colin replied. “That’d be nice. I hope you don’t mind a slow walk though.”

Faithfulness

The McCallum family sat around the dinner table and exchanged small talk. Timothy, six years old, slid a rather large piece of roast beef off of his plate and into the mouth of the family dog, Biscuit.

“Timothy, I saw that,” his father said. “Don’t give people food to the dog. He has his own food.”

“Yes sir,” Timothy answered. “But it’s meat and he really likes it. Plus he said he was hungry.”

“He said he was hungry? What does that mean?” his father asked.

“Um, I… well he… he just said he was hungry, that’s all,” Timothy answered.

“Just leave him be, George,” his mother said. “It was just one little piece. It’s not a big deal.”

“Can I be excused now?” Timothy asked. “I’d like to go to my room to read.”

“You don’t have to go to your room,” his father said. “You’re not in trouble.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” the boy said. “I just like to be in the quiet and read. May I?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” his mother said. “Just make sure you’re ready for bed by eight.”

Sliding a piece of bread into his pocket, Timothy left the dining room and went upstairs to his room. Closing the door behind him, he opened his window and set small chunks of bread on the sill. Stepping back and sitting on the floor, he set a few more pieces in front of him. Within moments, a single pigeon and then a second and a third lighted on the sill and ate the bread.

“There you go, guys,” he said. “Here, come in, I’ve got more for you.”

The birds stood motionless for a moment, looked at the boy and then fluttered to the floor in front of him. Quickly eating the bread, they hopped toward him and stood motionless, just within reach. Timothy reached out and gently touched one on the back, stroking it’s feathers. 

“See, we’re friends,” he said. “I’m not like the other kids. I see them throw rocks at you. I would never do that. You’re my friends. I’ll call you Peter, James and John.” Picking up the chunk of bread, he broke off a few more pieces and held them out in the palm of his open hand. The birds hopped over and picked at the bread. He reached out with his other hand and gently patted them again. The birds walked in a small circle and then flew out the open window. Standing up, he watched them fly away.

Crawling up on his bed, he took the small booklet from his nightstand and began slowly reading the words. It was as he opened his eyes that he realized his mother was tucking him in. The clock on his nightstand read 8:10.

“Hey little man,” she said. “You left your window open. What were you doing?”

“I was talking to my friends,” he said, still half asleep. “I’m sorry I’m late for bed.”

“No, you’re okay,” she answered. “You were asleep anyway. I’ll see you in the morning.”

It was his thirteenth birthday and Timothy stepped out the front door for school. 

“Remember to come right home after school, Timothy,” his mother called out. “Grandpa and Grandma are coming over for dinner.”

“Yes, mom, I’ll be here,” he answered.

Walking the seven blocks to school, he climbed the front steps and started down the hallway toward his locker. He was a few minutes early and the hallway was nearly empty. But he did see three larger teens surrounding a smaller boy, backed up against the lockers.

“Give me your lunch, you little twerp,” the largest boy said, obviously the leader.

“But I’ll get hungry, Brant,” the little boy said. “Please don’t take my lunch.”

“Waa, waa, waa,” the large boy said. “Go cry to you momma if you’re hungry. Now hand it over.”

“Hey Brant,” Timothy called out. “I’m glad I found you.”

Turning, the three larger boys approached Timothy. “Whattaya want punk?” he answered.

“I’ve got that five dollars I owe you,” he said.

“What? You don’t owe...me… Oh yeah, give it here. Hand it over.”

Reaching into his pocket, he slowly fished around. Glancing up, he made eye contact with the smaller boy, who smiled at him and then ran the other direction. “Oh, yeah, here it is,” Timothy said. “I knew I had it with me.”

Handing the brand new five dollar bill over to the boy, the birthday gift from his father, Timothy made direct eye contact with Brant and smiled. “I’m glad I was able to get that back to you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the boy said. “Now get lost.”

Later that day, during lunch, Timothy sat down next to the small boy. “I’m glad to see you’ve still got your lunch, Will,” he said.

“Yeah, thanks to you,” the boy answered. “Why did you do that? Did you really owe him money?”

“Naw, I didn’t. But it’s only money. I needed to help you out. Maybe you can help someone else out another time.”

Timothy stood on the sidelines of the football game. Though not an athlete himself, he loved to watch the others play. The 48 ounce soda suddenly hit him and he made a quick exit to the restroom. Just about to swing the door open, he heard a female voice around the corner.

“Stop it, Brant, I mean it. Don’t touch me,” the girl said, clearly frightened.

Leaving the door, Timothy walked around the corner to see Brant standing over a younger girl backed up to the wall, one of his arms on one side of her head, and the other pulling up her skirt.

“Hey Brant, there you are,” Timothy called out.

“What do you want, punk,” the boy answered. “Can’t you see I’m busy.” Turning his attention back to the terrified girl, he continued to grope her.

Timothy drew back and kicked the boy in the side of the knee. Crying out in pain, Brant dropped to his knees and fell to the ground. “Kid, you are dead meat,” he said. Struggling to his feet, he turned and grabbed him by his shirt. The girl looked at them both and then ran off in the other direction.

Receiving a fist to his stomach in a very rapid manner, Timothy doubled over and gasped for breath. Brant then swung an upper cut and laid the boy out on the grass. Stepping on his hand as he limped away, he swore under his breath and returned to the grandstands.

With a groan, Timothy pulled himself to his hands and knees, wiping the blood from his nose, he hobbled into the bathroom and cleaned himself up the best he could. Taking a few deep breaths, he left the bathroom and began walking toward the parking lot. Seeing a swift movement toward him from his peripheral vision, he feared the worse. But it was only the girl from earlier.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you alright? Thank you for doing that. I don’t even know you. Do you go to our school?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Timothy answered. “No one should have to put up with guys like that. Just be more careful next time.” Slowly walking off, he returned to his car and drove home.

“Hey, Tim, you’re still here,” the face said as it peeked over the cubicle wall.

“Uh, yeah, I work here, remember. And it’s lunch time,” he answered.

“Yeah, but it’s Tuesday,” the face said. “You always leave during lunch on Tuesdays.”

“Ah shoot, yeah you’re right. Thanks for the reminder,” he answered. Grabbing his keys, Tim hurried out of the building and across the street. Doing a mixture of a walk and a run, he hurried into the small grocery store and caught sight of Mrs. Meyers in line. Walking up to the bagging end of the grocery line, he waited for her groceries to reach him. 

“Hello, Timothy,” the elderly woman called out to him, smiling and gently squeezing his arm. “I was starting to think that you forgot about me.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Meyers. I could never forget about you,” he answered.

“I sure do appreciate you helping me like this every week with my groceries,” she said. “I don’t know if I could do it without you.”

Placing the last items into the bag, Tim picked up the two sacks and walked with the old woman out of the store and across the street to her apartment. Though her room was only on the second floor, they took the elevator. Opening the door, she let him in and he placed the groceries on the counter. “Well, you have a good day, Mrs. Meyers,” Tim said. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay for a few minutes and talk?” she asked.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I really need to get back to work but thanks anyway. Goodbye.” Hurrying down the stairs and out of the building, he jogged up the sidewalk and returned to work.

That evening, as Tim had just finished his workout, an abrupt and powerful knock erupted on his front door. “Sheesh, yeah, just a minute,” he called out, reaching for the knob. But before he could unlock it, the door burst open and two police officers tackled him and cuffed his hands behind his back.

“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer began. Listening to his rights being read, he was roughly led out of his apartment building to a dozen nosy neighbors peeking through their blinds. Shoved into the back of the police car, he cleared his throat and asked for an explanation.

“You are under arrest for the murder of Mrs. Rosalyn Meyers,” the officer said.

“What?! Mrs. Meyers is dead?” he answered. “But… no… I didn’t… no… that can’t be.”

The trial ended and Timothy was found guilty for the murder of the old woman. 

“Mom, Dad, this is all wrong. I didn’t do it,” he said, his head swirling at how this could have happened. 

“We know, son, we know,” they answered. “but all the evidence makes it look like you did. We know you’re innocent. We’ll do our best to get this straightened out. Don’t worry.”

Timothy sat on death row for the third week in a row until the notification came. “Sorry, Tim,” the guard said. “The governor refuses to grant you a pardon. I don’t understand it myself but the official date has been set. You’ve only got two more days. I’m sorry.”

Slowly walking down the hallway, his steps were small as the ankle chains restrained his movement. Laying down on the hospital bed in the cold and nearly empty room, the leather restraints were placed on each limb and finally across his forehead. At the very edge of his peripheral vision, Tim could see a small number of people behind a small window. The slow ticking of an analog clock was the only sound. The guard squeezed his shoulder as he left and again apologized to the young man.

The ticking of the clock continued and finally a nurse entered the room and filled the syringe that lay on the small table next to him. Tim began talking with the older man. He asked about his day, his family, and what his plans were for the rest of the evening. He told the nurse of his job at the health department and how he loved to go fishing with his grandfather.

The nurse suddenly stopped his methodical sequence and leaned on the edge of the bed. Tim could see him remove his glasses and wipe his eyes. The man let out a restrained groan and placed the syringe back on the table. Putting his glasses back on, the man left the room. And the clock continued to tick, a slight echo in the empty room. Tim lay in silence for several minutes before another nurse came in, this time a younger woman.

Tim began chatting with her as well. Asking if she was married, if she had any children, and where she went to school. He complimented her on her long red hair, making a reference to being ten percent Irish but not being so lucky to get any red hair. He told her about how wonderful Mrs. Meyers was and how they had been friends for many years.

The young girl let out a muffled sob and ran out of the room. The clock continued to tick. Tim took a deep breath and began to wonder exactly what was going on. He waited for nearly ten minutes until a middle aged man entered the room, grabbed the syringe and quickly injected Tim with the concoction that would stop his higher brain activity, his heart, and the rest of his organs. 

Timothy took a big, deep breath and breathed no more. Another nurse entered the room and felt for Timothy’s pulse. “Record the time as 6:20 pm,” he said. “Wait a minute. Why do I smell flowers? Is that flowers? It’s… what is that?” he asked.

Several people entered the room and marveled at the undeniable and powerful smell of flowers. Pulling the sheet over Timothy’s now lifeless body, the gurney was rolled out of the room and into the morgue. 

“Uh, sir, you need to come see this,” the young nurse said. Leading the head physician into the morgue, he pulled the sheet back from Timothy’s corpse. 

“So, what’s the problem here,” the doctor asked.

“Well, sir, he has been here for three days and his body is still warm and supple,” the nurse answered.

“Nonsense,” the doctor ordered. “You must have this body confused with someone else. That is impossible.”

“No, sir, I don’t,” he answered. “I’ve double checked everything  and even had a blood test run. This is who the paperwork says it is. Timothy Johnson died three days ago by lethal injection but… well, you can see. Something is going on and no one can figure it out.”

The head physician sat at his desk, looking out the window as the small group of priests carried the plain, black coffin out of the building and placed it in the back of the truck they had arrived in.