Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Round 3 - Rodrigo Istalindir vs Piratecat
The Devil You Know
“You’re with child?” David stammered.
Strange how the same phrase uttered under different circumstances can mean so many things. I’d dreamed of being a mother for as long as I could remember, and had thought that the moment I told my husband would be among the happiest of my life. I’d imagined hearing those words in a rush of excitement and love and the promise of a life together as a family.
Instead, I heard disbelief and anger and resentment, and the promise of being shunned by my family and neighbors.
We sat in the buggy alongside the road, bundled in blankets amid the cool Appalachian air. (Picture 5) The harvest moon was obscured by clouds, yet the highway was brightly lit in stark contrast the forest encroached on either side.
It had been a full moon that night, too, when we had returned from the monthly trip to the town for medicines and other things we could not provide for ourselves. Some of the elders still resisted it, fought tooth and nail against any contact with the outsiders. They feared the contamination of modern life. My father had forbidden me to go, so I learned a secret path through the woods and would wait by the roadside for David to pick me up.
He withdrew his arms from around me, arms that had moments before been trembling with passion.
“I will deny it. I will deny you, Emily,” he snarled, ardor turned to anger in a heartbeat.
I sat silently. I would not allow myself to cry.
I knew that he would deny me, deny our baby, and that the elders of the community would believe him. The older women would know the truth, but their condemnation would sting no less for it. It was my duty to protect my virtue, to understand the weakness of men and be stronger in response.
The younger women would be worse. For several years, no child had been born to our community. Without fail, the glow of impending motherhood had turned to pain and confusion. For the lucky, the child was still-born; an unlucky few got to hold their baby for a few moments before its cries stuttered and ceased.
They would look at me with envy and resentment, and while their voices would speak kindness and good wishes, in their darkest hearts they would be praying that I shared their fate.
I looked at my lover, amazed at myself that I had once been swayed by his words, his touch. He looked now like the petulant little boy he was. Men carried that within them always, I realized. When a girl became a woman those things left her; her
Without a word, I jumped from the buggy and fled into the woods. I could not stand to be near him a moment longer, and the long walk home seemed a small price to pay. I pulled the blanket tighter and disappeared into the darkness.
*
For as long as I could remember, the woods had been my friend. I knew them better than any of the other children, better than most of the adults. Even when I grew older, and my time for play was replaced by chores and the other responsibilities of a soon-to-be adult, I snuck away whenever I could to explore.
I even went to the forbidden lake, once or twice. Though it was a good distance from our homes, before I’d been born it had supposedly been a swimming hole for the kids. No one talked of it now, save for the warnings we all received as young children. Some said that a child had drowned there; others that there were monster leeches waiting to suck you dry. In any event, our parents had dammed the creek close to home to create a place to frolic during the hot summers. The lake was mostly forgotten, save as a setting for the ghost stories we told each other around campfires.
In the summer I’d often sneak out of my stifling bedroom at night and sleep beneath the trees, but it was too cold for that tonight. I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to freeze, either.
*
Hours later, I lay in bed, nearly paralyzed by the enormity of the dilemma I faced. If I stayed, I would become a ghost to my friends and relatives, always seen but never acknowledged. I tried to convince myself that I could run away, find help from the outside world, but I knew that our life here had done nothing to prepare me for such an undertaking. I could no more leave the commune than a fish could leave the lake.
Red and blue lights teasing around the edges of the curtains distracted me. I pulled the fabric an inch to the side and peered down upon the green from my dormer window. Below, an automobile with spinning globes atop its roof sat like some fearsome beast surrounded by hunters. The adults encircled it, but kept their distance.
I threw on an overcoat and dashed downstairs. Other children and the unmarried adults had formed a second ring around the elders. In the back of the police car a young man sat, head in hands. Jacob, my father was arguing with an officer, gesturing at the forlorn figure. I edged closer.
“He left on his own,” my father argued. “He’s not welcome back.”
“Sir, with all do respect, I don’t care whether you want him back or not. He’s under eighteen, and that means the only people that got a say in this are his parents. Now, either tell me where they are, or get out of the way,” the cop replied, clearly getting frustrated with my father. I could sympathize.
Jacob appeared ready to continue the argument when a couple my parent’s age pushed past me. It was Brian and Emma Brenneman, and when I saw them I realized that the young man in the car was their son. Everyone called him ‘Fat Brian’ on account of how skinny he was.
Fat Brian had run away a few months before. That wasn’t uncommon, especially among the men. Most came back before too long, sometimes like Brian in the back of a police car. Others we never heard from. Sometimes, the police car would come with no one in the back, and that was always bad news.
Mr. Brenneman pushed between my father and the officer, and the two exchanged words. The murmur of the crowd kept anyone from hearing what was said, but it must have satisfied the police. He walked over to the car and opened the door.
The crowd gasped, in perfect harmony, as if they were singing one of the Sunday hymns eveyone knew by heart. The man that stepped from the back seat of the car was dressed as a woman, and atop his head was a blonde wig. He cowered at first, but then must have drawn upon some hidden reservoir of strength. His raised his head and coquettishly patted his wig, daring the crowd to say anything. (Picture 1)
There was stunned silence followed by a low rumble. No one challenged him directly, but there were murmured insults and cursing. His father removed his coat, threw it over the boy’s shoulders, and hustled him through the crowd. Mrs. Brenneman followed.
As the crowd started to disperse, I ducked away and hurried back to bed. If my father saw me there’d be a lecture at least. As I lay beneath the covers, I couldn’t help wondering what Fat Brian had been through, and what he would face in the morning. God forgive me, but for a while I felt better about my own problems.
*
Brian’s parents kept him away from view, but that didn’t keep everyone from gossiping. I went to his house and asked to see him, only to be politely but firmly refused. Nearly a week passed before he was seen again.
When he did reappear, he was wearing the overalls and flannel that served as a uniform for the men, and in place of the blonde wig was close-cropped black hair. There was a desperate look in his eyes. I’d seen that look on lamed horses, as if they knew that the merciful cut was coming.
Later that day, I contrived to meet him by the well as he fetched water for dinner. The desperate look remained, but if you looked closer you could see a hint of defiance as well.
“Fat Brian,” I said, “It is good to see you returned home.”
He looked at me, eyes judging, and he managed a flicker of a smile.
“It is good to see you too, Emily, though I’d rather it were in another place.”
“Pay no mind to the others,” I said, trying to comfort him. “Soon enough something else will happen to attract the magpies.” In another few weeks, I though, I would be the object of their ridicule.
“They know no better. I understand that. I just wish my parents could understand that...” he trailed off.
“Understand what?”
“That my leaving wasn’t about them. I don’t want for Hansen’s Grove to change. I want the people here to be as happy as they’ve always been. It’s just that I know now that I can never be happy here. And they would rather hold me here than admit that their ways aren’t the only ways.”
We chatted for as long as we dared. If we tarried too long, my father was bound to find out, and I didn’t need the extra attention right now.
Still we managed to steal a few moments together here and there. Fat Brian had been no closer to me when we were children than any other, but now I felt a strange kinship. I could sense that the isolation was starting to get to him, and so one morning I shared my secret with him.
He seemed genuinely happy for me. Whether it was his brief time among the outsiders, or his own internal struggles, he didn’t show any sign of judgement or condemnation. For the first time since I’d realized I was pregnant, I felt like my burden was bearable.
Things seemed almost normal for a few days, but then Sunday morning before church the morning peace was shattered by shouting voices. Folk went about their business pretending to ignore the commotion, but one couldn’t help but overhear. Fat Brian and his father were arguing again, and it seemed as if Fat Brian had planned on sneaking away during the service and making a run for it again.
I watched Brian’s house from the corner of my eye, and saw his father drag out the door and towards the church. In his other hand was a backpack. The elder Brenneman caught the attention of my father, and through the pack to him.
I desperately wanted to find out what had happened, but Fat Brian’s parents were watchful as a hound in the kitchen, and wouldn’t let him stray more than a few feet away.
*
I resolved that night to sneak from my room and visit Brian, find out if he was okay. I tiptoed down the stairs, sticking to the side nearest the wall so the ancient boards wouldn’t squeak. Across the way the Brenneman’s house was dark.
I stole around the edge of the green, flitting from tree to tree. Anyone watching probably would have thought my attempt at stealth pathetic, but sneakiness was becoming a habit with me, and it didn’t occur to me to just walk like a normal person. As I neared Brian’s side of the house, however, I was glad for my caution.
I heard the back door slam, and the sounds of a commotion. I peered around the corner and saw my father and another man carrying a struggling figure. They were heading for the communal barn, where most families kept their milk cows and the plow horses.
It was also traditionally the place where correction was administered. In public, we shunned those that transgressed, until such a time as their actions and contrition demonstrated that they were ready to be readmitted to society. In the worst cases an offender would be banished, but that hadn’t happened in my memory.
Privately, however, parents were free to discipline their children as they saw fit. Young children might receive a swat on the bottom in the privacy of their home. Older children, who might be tempted to resist, were taken to the barn and beaten by several adults. If you noticed a black eye at church the next morning, you looked away.
We are often cautioned about borrowing trouble, to not stick our noses where they don’t belong. This applied to our internal affairs as well as those of the outside world. I didn’t think Fat Brian deserved a beating, but I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. To my regret, I slunk home like a frightened child.
I was awakened in the early morning by shouting. Torchlight flickered through the window, and I threw aside the curtains to see what the disturbance was. Below, it seemed like every adult was rushing about, some carrying water-filled buckets that slopped over as they ran.
I went downstairs and onto the front porch. Off towards the woods I could see a flicker, and a chill ran through me as I realized that the woods were burning. Fire was one of our greatest vulnerabilities. A blaze had to be stopped quickly, for the hand pumps could never provide enough water for the bucket brigades to quench an inferno.
I ran to the kitchen to fetch a pail, then joined the line forming before the pump. The line moved quickly, and as soon as the bucket was filled I ran towards the tree line. The fire was spreading rapidly; already red and yellow tongues licked up the trunks of several trees. The fiery autumn leaves fell from the branches and drifted on the wind, and several of the women raced from place to place stamping them out before they could spread the flames.
I handed my bucket to one of the men, and grabbed an empty one from the pile. Seven or eight times I raced back and forth until finally I had to stop to catch my breath. Over the crackling flames I could hear a siren, and I realized that an outsider had spotted the blaze. The city folk generally left us to our own ways, but a forest fire threatened the town as well, and they wouldn’t hesitate to send their firemen.
With the modern technology, they quickly extinguished the fire. As the smoke subsided, we could see several smoldering logs, the charred remains still glowing like a giant’s roasting pit. The worst seemed behind us when one of the burned trees began screaming.
*
Somehow they managed to keep Fat Brian alive until they reached the hospital. Through the grapevine I heard that he wasn’t expected to survive. His parents returned late that night. Old Brian came to my house after all but my father had retired. I could hear them arguing downstairs.
“I don’t care what you all say,” the deep voice of Brian’s father cracked with grief as he spoke. “We’re staying with my boy until the end.”
“You will not. He was banished from here by order of the elders. He no longer exists; you have no son,” Jacob’s voice was cold and unyielding.
“This isn’t right. He’s my boy….my boy,” Brian lost control. “My boy.”
I heard footsteps on the wooden floors, and moments later the heavy oak door creaked open. The sound receded as my father walked Mr. Brenneman home.
I lay sleepless. The thought of what Fat Brian was enduring tortured me. The pain and the fear of dying must be unbearable, but the thought of him lying alone in a strange place, comforted only by strangers, enraged me. Tomorrow, I resolved, I would make my way to the highway and thence to Brian.
*
The hospital was unlike anything I’d imagined. I had spent entire life in a hand-crafted home. The sterile tile and glass and metal seemed like something from one of those comic books that mysteriously appeared in the hands of the children from time to time before being whisked away by an eagle-eyed adult. My wonderment must have been obvious, for no sooner had I set foot inside the building than a white-garbed woman asked if I needed help.
I told her I was there to see Fat Brian.
“I’m sorry, miss, but visiting hours aren’t until this afternoon,” she said loudly, but her eyes shifted from side to side. Seeing that no one was near, she leaned closer and whispered.
“I’ll take you to him. I’m sorry, but he probably won’t make until the afternoon. I don’t know why his parents aren’t here, but someone should be with him.”
She led me down the hall and pushed a button. Metal doors slid open, revealing a small chamber. She ushered me inside, pushed another button, and seconds later the door re-opened to reveal a similar yet obviously different corridor.
Taking me by the hand, she hurried me to one of a series of identical wooden doors. She cracked it open and urged me inside.
“So long as you keep quiet, no one will no. You can stay until noon – that’s when they’ll be by to check his meds.”
She closed the door behind me. The room was Spartan, with a couple chairs and a forlorn plant. The bulk of the space was occupied by a bed, tented in plastic. I walked closer, and nearly fainted at what I saw.
Behind the plastic, a red, raw face stared back at me. (Picture 4) Brian’s eyes were closed, and at first I thought he had already passed. After the shock subsided, though, I noticed that his chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly.
I nearly jumped from my skin when the eyes opened. The stared up, uncomprehendingly, and I wondered if the pain had rendered him insensate or if it was the drugs they had undoubtedly given him for the pain.
After a few seconds, his gaze focused, and I could tell he recognized me. His face twitched, and I hoped it was an attempt at a smile. I smiled back, struggling to keep from bawling.
The crimson wound that was his mouth moved soundlessly.
“Shh,” I whispered, “Don’t try to talk.”
Still his mouth moved, and his eyes pleaded with me. I leaned closer but still couldn’t hear. Glancing towards the door, afraid that we would be interrupted at any moment, I lifted the plastic curtain and lay my ear almost against his face.
“Backpack,” he whispered. His breath was hot against my skin. I pulled away and replaced the curtain. His eyes were closed. A machine on the other side of the bed began wailing incessantly.
Seconds later the door slammed open, and strange hands pushed me from the room. They seemed unconcerned with my presence; perhaps the rules against visitors were often bent in situations like this.
I don’t know what I expected. Our rejection of modern technology gave it perverse powers in our eyes. We wanted no part of it, but we all secretly believed that the wonders we had turned our backs on were all-powerful. I couldn’t image that here wasn’t a mother that had lost a child to sickness, or a husband that lost a wife to old age, who didn’t wonder in their secret hearts whether or not they should have turned to the outsiders for help when all else had failed.
I knew now first hand that however amazing the machines and medicines of the modern world, some things were inevitable. A doctor leaving the room saw me standing there and sadly shook his head.
The nurse that had snuck me into Brian’s room gave me a ride after her shift. I had her stop alongside the road, and made my way home.
*
No one remarked upon my absence. That should have struck me as odd. I had concocted a story about walking among the fall foliage and falling asleep in the woods, but no one asked where I had been all morning.
I was fortunate; my father wasn’t home when I returned. I went to the tiny room he called his study and cracked the door. This room alone in the house was forbidden to me. I had of course snuck in once or twice as a child, but it had been years since the stuffy room held any interest for me.
I found Fat Brian’s backpack under the hand-hewn wooden desk. I opened it and rifled through the small collection of clothes and personal mementos. I found nothing that seemed important, and I wondered why Brian had used his last breath to send me here.
I dumped the contents on the floor and felt around the empty bag. At the bottom I felt something square and stiff. I turned the pack inside out, and saw where a seam had been sliced open. Inside I found a folded piece of paper. I smoothed it on the desk.
Emily –
I am going to make a run for it again. I just can’t continue here. It’s bad enough having to return to a place that doesn’t understand me, but to know I’ll spend the rest of my life enduring the tittering behind my back and the disgust of everyone around me is unbearable. The only thing I will miss will be you. You have been my friend, and though I know you took pains not to let others know that, I forgive you. I know more than anyone how hard it can be to go against them.
I must warn you – there is evil among our community. This is more than the petty evil of the close-minded. This is the evil that we came here to avoid, the evil that tempted Jesus on the mountain. It has taken hold here, and I fear that the others cannot see it for what it is. Run, Emily, while you still can. Take your secret path to the road, beg a ride from the first person that comes along, and run. Make your way to the city. Find Father Martin at St. Martha’s. He will help you as he tried to help me. I would take you with me, but separately we stand a better chance. I will leave word with the Father on how you can reach me. Please, Emily—run.
Your friend,
Fat Brian
Tears dripped from my eyes, blurring both my vision and the writing. The sound of a door slamming nearly stopped my heart. I stuffed the letter in my pocket and hurriedly shoved Brian’s things back in the bag. I waited until I heard my father move past the door an into the kitchen, then stole upstairs.
*
The following dawn found me once more beside the road. The morning was chill, my breath billowing. I hoped I didn’t have to wait long before a car came by.
Unfortunately, I didn’t.
The police car stopped a dozen yards away. The officer got out and walked over. It was the same man that had returned Brian to his parents.
“Miss, I know some of you kids don’t want to stay there, but the law is clear. I have to take you back to your parents.”
“Please, please, don’t take me back there. They killed Brian, I know it.”
“Look, what happened to your friend was terrible. That’s not a way for anyone to have to die. But it was an accident. Your elder told me that he got trapped trying to put out the fire, and everyone else I talked to confirmed it.”
“Now, please, get in the car. I’ll take you back to the diner down the road, get some breakfast in you, and then take you home.”
I nodded numbly and got in the patrol car.
Ten minutes later I was picking at the bacon and eggs the waitress had brought. I’d protested, told Officer Jensen that I wasn’t hungry, but he’d insisted. I looked at the greasy mess and my stomach surged. I covered my mouth and raced for the bathroom.
I threw myself in front of the toilet and vomited until nothing was left. Wracked by dry heaves, I could barely answer when Jensen called after me. A minute later, one of the waitresses came in and helped me clean up.
When I returned to the table, Officer Jensen looked at me strangely. I stared back at him.
“So, that’s why you’re running away, huh? Do your parent’s know you’re pregnant?”
“My mother died when I was little. My father doesn’t know – he’d kill me if he found out.”
“Well, like I said, the law’s clear. But although we generally leave well enough alone with you folk, our laws still apply. We’ll go back to the station, fill out a report.”
I looked alarmed.
“Don’t worry, you won’t be in any trouble. But if I make it official, I can have Family Services look in on you from time to time, make sure you’re ok.”
I looked at him gratefully, and managed a wan smile.
“Thank you. If they know someone will miss me, they won’t try anything.”
“You’re going to have to tell them, you know. Won’t be too long before they can see for themselves anyway.”
My eyes dropped self-consciously to my belly. There was a definite swelling, and I knew he was right.
*
The police station wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, although everyone looked at me like I was from another planet. Which, I supposed, I sort of was. I sat at Officer Jensen’s desk, as he asked me questions and filled out a form. When he was done, he brought me a donut and tea while we waited for the woman from Family Services. While he’d been interviewing me, I could sense the other officers trying to eavesdrop. (Picture 3) I guess that they were curious. While Officer Jensen was away from his desk, they all made a point of stopping by and wishing me well.
It was strange, and a little sad, that I felt more at home among strangers than with the people I’d grown up with.
My thoughts were interrupted by a strong hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a matronly woman staring down at me, her concern evident in her eyes.
“Emily, my name is Maggie Magruder. I’m with the county. Officer Jensen here says you’re in a bit of a pickle. Let’s see what we can do about that.”
We talked for almost half an hour. Within minutes the tears I’d kept buried deep had burst forth like a summer squall, but she waited patiently until the storm had passed. By the time we were done talking, I felt stronger than ever.
“Now, without evidence of abuse, we have to return you to your father. But you’re in the system now, honey, and that gives us the right to check in on you up to once a week. Me, or someone from my office will be out there to check on you every Friday morning,” Betty said.
“Now, you’re seventeen, and that’s plenty old enough to get you declared an emancipated minor. That means you’d legally be an adult. I’ve already put in a call to Father Martin, and he’s saving you a spot in his shelter for women,” she continued.
“Everything is going to work out, it’ll just take a few weeks. You can hold out for that long right?” she finished.
I nodded.
“Good girl,” she grinned, and I gave her a tentative smile in return.
*
My father didn’t say a word, didn’t even start arguing with Officer Jensen when he mentioned that Family Services would be paying him a visit. That should have scared me, but I was so relieved that he didn’t make a scene that it didn’t occur to me.
That night, I was awakened from the first good sleep I’d had in weeks by a cold hand clamped across my mouth. I struggled, tried to scream, but several hands held me tight. My attackers bore me down the stairs and into the night.
At first I though I was being taken to the barn, and readied myself to beg for mercy. I didn’t fear the pain – the rage that coursed through me would see me through that, I thought. But I worried what what would happen to my child, and I knew I would have to reveal my condition.
But they continued to carry me, and after a minute the clear night sky above me was broken by the spindly fingers of overhanging trees. I realized they were carrying me deep into the woods.
For long minutes we travelled, and I exhaustion eventually forced me to cease struggling. I saw a break in the trees and heard a gentle splashing, and realized we’d come to the lake. I was tilted upright and felt my back pressed against rough bark. I felt something tight bind my chest, and I realized my abductors had tied me to a tree.
The shadowy figures retreated, but now that I could at least move my head about, I could recognize them in the moonlight. My father led them, of course, and several others gathered about. I saw my Uncle Robert and his wife Mary, my dead mother’s sister. I saw my inconstant lover David’s father, and with a chill I realized that they already knew my secret.
They gathered in the water, forming a loose circle around a round table made of woven plants. (Picture 2) They spoke in the old language, the one we only heard during holy days, or when adults wanted to talk in front of the children without being understood.
Their words became heated, and I sensed that there was some disagreement about what they planned for me. My Aunt Mary seemed angry at my father, but as in most things, he would tolerate no dissent, and eventually she acquiesced. Seeing that he had their obedience, he turned his attention to me.
“So, child, you have shamed me, and shamed our people. Bad enough that you snuck into town, but to spread your legs for an outsider and let him defile you, for that there is no excuse.”
“No, no, it wasn’t an outsider,” I babbled, the coppery taste of terror filling my mouth. “It was David Edgarson.”
“Liar,” Jacob shouted, and I could see a knowing smirk on Elder Edgarson’s face. “David told us about helping you sneak into town and has accepted his penance. Don’t make things worse for yourself by dragging him down with your lies.”
I realized it was a lost cause. They would not believe me. When David saw the police bring me home, he must have thought that our tryst would be discovered soon. Offering himself up to be punished for the real but minor crime of bringing me to town made his deceit all the more plausible.
He dismissed me with his eyes and returned his attention to the other elders. He stepped into the middle, surrounding himself with the rotten vegetation. They reformed the circle around him and held hands. Strange chanting issued forth from their mouths, and though I did not recognize the language, I sensed that it was related to our tongue yet far, far older.
The mass of plants and vines at the center of their circle stirred, and their chanting increased in volume and urgency. The formless pile started to spin slowly, and in the middle it rose above the water, climbing like malignant ivy until it nearly covered my father.
When the chanting stopped, only his head remained visible. In the dim light I could see that small lumps on his monstrous form wriggled and writhed. Giant leeches, I thought, and nearly swooned.
The truth was far worse.
Above, the clouds parted, and a moonbeam shone, illuminating the water like the gaze of God.
Slowly he moved into the light, sodden arms reaching out in an obscene embrace, and I realized that the forms that swarmed his body weren’t leeches. They were babies, their tiny forms hideously rotten. (Picture 6) I realized what had happened to all the mothers-to-be, and I vomited into the dank water.
“Why,” I begged. “Why have you taken the babies from us?”
My father’s voice, if indeed that abomination could still be called my father, gurgled, it’s fetid breath nearly making me sick again.
“Because we have been blessed by God. He has shown us where the path ahead leads. I have seen how you and your children renounce the old ways and surrender to the temptations of technology and the modern world. I have seen the long struggle against evil come to naught.”
“Better that our people and our way of life dies pure than become corrupted by the Great Deceiver. These babies died in a state of grace, their innocence unsullied.”
He was so close now I could hear the whimpers of the lost children, see how their tiny limbs waved about. I could feel the foul embrace of the thing that had once been my father, and I swooned.
*
When I awakened, the midwives were gathered around my bed. I could see by their expressions that the life within me was no more. Eventually I stopped screaming, and much, much later, I even stopped crying. When Maggie arrived the following Friday for my checkup, I could barely speak. I told her I didn’t want to continue the emancipation process, and then my father put his arm around my shoulders and turned me towards home.
The Devil You Know
“You’re with child?” David stammered.
Strange how the same phrase uttered under different circumstances can mean so many things. I’d dreamed of being a mother for as long as I could remember, and had thought that the moment I told my husband would be among the happiest of my life. I’d imagined hearing those words in a rush of excitement and love and the promise of a life together as a family.
Instead, I heard disbelief and anger and resentment, and the promise of being shunned by my family and neighbors.
We sat in the buggy alongside the road, bundled in blankets amid the cool Appalachian air. (Picture 5) The harvest moon was obscured by clouds, yet the highway was brightly lit in stark contrast the forest encroached on either side.
It had been a full moon that night, too, when we had returned from the monthly trip to the town for medicines and other things we could not provide for ourselves. Some of the elders still resisted it, fought tooth and nail against any contact with the outsiders. They feared the contamination of modern life. My father had forbidden me to go, so I learned a secret path through the woods and would wait by the roadside for David to pick me up.
He withdrew his arms from around me, arms that had moments before been trembling with passion.
“I will deny it. I will deny you, Emily,” he snarled, ardor turned to anger in a heartbeat.
I sat silently. I would not allow myself to cry.
I knew that he would deny me, deny our baby, and that the elders of the community would believe him. The older women would know the truth, but their condemnation would sting no less for it. It was my duty to protect my virtue, to understand the weakness of men and be stronger in response.
The younger women would be worse. For several years, no child had been born to our community. Without fail, the glow of impending motherhood had turned to pain and confusion. For the lucky, the child was still-born; an unlucky few got to hold their baby for a few moments before its cries stuttered and ceased.
They would look at me with envy and resentment, and while their voices would speak kindness and good wishes, in their darkest hearts they would be praying that I shared their fate.
I looked at my lover, amazed at myself that I had once been swayed by his words, his touch. He looked now like the petulant little boy he was. Men carried that within them always, I realized. When a girl became a woman those things left her; her
Without a word, I jumped from the buggy and fled into the woods. I could not stand to be near him a moment longer, and the long walk home seemed a small price to pay. I pulled the blanket tighter and disappeared into the darkness.
*
For as long as I could remember, the woods had been my friend. I knew them better than any of the other children, better than most of the adults. Even when I grew older, and my time for play was replaced by chores and the other responsibilities of a soon-to-be adult, I snuck away whenever I could to explore.
I even went to the forbidden lake, once or twice. Though it was a good distance from our homes, before I’d been born it had supposedly been a swimming hole for the kids. No one talked of it now, save for the warnings we all received as young children. Some said that a child had drowned there; others that there were monster leeches waiting to suck you dry. In any event, our parents had dammed the creek close to home to create a place to frolic during the hot summers. The lake was mostly forgotten, save as a setting for the ghost stories we told each other around campfires.
In the summer I’d often sneak out of my stifling bedroom at night and sleep beneath the trees, but it was too cold for that tonight. I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to freeze, either.
*
Hours later, I lay in bed, nearly paralyzed by the enormity of the dilemma I faced. If I stayed, I would become a ghost to my friends and relatives, always seen but never acknowledged. I tried to convince myself that I could run away, find help from the outside world, but I knew that our life here had done nothing to prepare me for such an undertaking. I could no more leave the commune than a fish could leave the lake.
Red and blue lights teasing around the edges of the curtains distracted me. I pulled the fabric an inch to the side and peered down upon the green from my dormer window. Below, an automobile with spinning globes atop its roof sat like some fearsome beast surrounded by hunters. The adults encircled it, but kept their distance.
I threw on an overcoat and dashed downstairs. Other children and the unmarried adults had formed a second ring around the elders. In the back of the police car a young man sat, head in hands. Jacob, my father was arguing with an officer, gesturing at the forlorn figure. I edged closer.
“He left on his own,” my father argued. “He’s not welcome back.”
“Sir, with all do respect, I don’t care whether you want him back or not. He’s under eighteen, and that means the only people that got a say in this are his parents. Now, either tell me where they are, or get out of the way,” the cop replied, clearly getting frustrated with my father. I could sympathize.
Jacob appeared ready to continue the argument when a couple my parent’s age pushed past me. It was Brian and Emma Brenneman, and when I saw them I realized that the young man in the car was their son. Everyone called him ‘Fat Brian’ on account of how skinny he was.
Fat Brian had run away a few months before. That wasn’t uncommon, especially among the men. Most came back before too long, sometimes like Brian in the back of a police car. Others we never heard from. Sometimes, the police car would come with no one in the back, and that was always bad news.
Mr. Brenneman pushed between my father and the officer, and the two exchanged words. The murmur of the crowd kept anyone from hearing what was said, but it must have satisfied the police. He walked over to the car and opened the door.
The crowd gasped, in perfect harmony, as if they were singing one of the Sunday hymns eveyone knew by heart. The man that stepped from the back seat of the car was dressed as a woman, and atop his head was a blonde wig. He cowered at first, but then must have drawn upon some hidden reservoir of strength. His raised his head and coquettishly patted his wig, daring the crowd to say anything. (Picture 1)
There was stunned silence followed by a low rumble. No one challenged him directly, but there were murmured insults and cursing. His father removed his coat, threw it over the boy’s shoulders, and hustled him through the crowd. Mrs. Brenneman followed.
As the crowd started to disperse, I ducked away and hurried back to bed. If my father saw me there’d be a lecture at least. As I lay beneath the covers, I couldn’t help wondering what Fat Brian had been through, and what he would face in the morning. God forgive me, but for a while I felt better about my own problems.
*
Brian’s parents kept him away from view, but that didn’t keep everyone from gossiping. I went to his house and asked to see him, only to be politely but firmly refused. Nearly a week passed before he was seen again.
When he did reappear, he was wearing the overalls and flannel that served as a uniform for the men, and in place of the blonde wig was close-cropped black hair. There was a desperate look in his eyes. I’d seen that look on lamed horses, as if they knew that the merciful cut was coming.
Later that day, I contrived to meet him by the well as he fetched water for dinner. The desperate look remained, but if you looked closer you could see a hint of defiance as well.
“Fat Brian,” I said, “It is good to see you returned home.”
He looked at me, eyes judging, and he managed a flicker of a smile.
“It is good to see you too, Emily, though I’d rather it were in another place.”
“Pay no mind to the others,” I said, trying to comfort him. “Soon enough something else will happen to attract the magpies.” In another few weeks, I though, I would be the object of their ridicule.
“They know no better. I understand that. I just wish my parents could understand that...” he trailed off.
“Understand what?”
“That my leaving wasn’t about them. I don’t want for Hansen’s Grove to change. I want the people here to be as happy as they’ve always been. It’s just that I know now that I can never be happy here. And they would rather hold me here than admit that their ways aren’t the only ways.”
We chatted for as long as we dared. If we tarried too long, my father was bound to find out, and I didn’t need the extra attention right now.
Still we managed to steal a few moments together here and there. Fat Brian had been no closer to me when we were children than any other, but now I felt a strange kinship. I could sense that the isolation was starting to get to him, and so one morning I shared my secret with him.
He seemed genuinely happy for me. Whether it was his brief time among the outsiders, or his own internal struggles, he didn’t show any sign of judgement or condemnation. For the first time since I’d realized I was pregnant, I felt like my burden was bearable.
Things seemed almost normal for a few days, but then Sunday morning before church the morning peace was shattered by shouting voices. Folk went about their business pretending to ignore the commotion, but one couldn’t help but overhear. Fat Brian and his father were arguing again, and it seemed as if Fat Brian had planned on sneaking away during the service and making a run for it again.
I watched Brian’s house from the corner of my eye, and saw his father drag out the door and towards the church. In his other hand was a backpack. The elder Brenneman caught the attention of my father, and through the pack to him.
I desperately wanted to find out what had happened, but Fat Brian’s parents were watchful as a hound in the kitchen, and wouldn’t let him stray more than a few feet away.
*
I resolved that night to sneak from my room and visit Brian, find out if he was okay. I tiptoed down the stairs, sticking to the side nearest the wall so the ancient boards wouldn’t squeak. Across the way the Brenneman’s house was dark.
I stole around the edge of the green, flitting from tree to tree. Anyone watching probably would have thought my attempt at stealth pathetic, but sneakiness was becoming a habit with me, and it didn’t occur to me to just walk like a normal person. As I neared Brian’s side of the house, however, I was glad for my caution.
I heard the back door slam, and the sounds of a commotion. I peered around the corner and saw my father and another man carrying a struggling figure. They were heading for the communal barn, where most families kept their milk cows and the plow horses.
It was also traditionally the place where correction was administered. In public, we shunned those that transgressed, until such a time as their actions and contrition demonstrated that they were ready to be readmitted to society. In the worst cases an offender would be banished, but that hadn’t happened in my memory.
Privately, however, parents were free to discipline their children as they saw fit. Young children might receive a swat on the bottom in the privacy of their home. Older children, who might be tempted to resist, were taken to the barn and beaten by several adults. If you noticed a black eye at church the next morning, you looked away.
We are often cautioned about borrowing trouble, to not stick our noses where they don’t belong. This applied to our internal affairs as well as those of the outside world. I didn’t think Fat Brian deserved a beating, but I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. To my regret, I slunk home like a frightened child.
I was awakened in the early morning by shouting. Torchlight flickered through the window, and I threw aside the curtains to see what the disturbance was. Below, it seemed like every adult was rushing about, some carrying water-filled buckets that slopped over as they ran.
I went downstairs and onto the front porch. Off towards the woods I could see a flicker, and a chill ran through me as I realized that the woods were burning. Fire was one of our greatest vulnerabilities. A blaze had to be stopped quickly, for the hand pumps could never provide enough water for the bucket brigades to quench an inferno.
I ran to the kitchen to fetch a pail, then joined the line forming before the pump. The line moved quickly, and as soon as the bucket was filled I ran towards the tree line. The fire was spreading rapidly; already red and yellow tongues licked up the trunks of several trees. The fiery autumn leaves fell from the branches and drifted on the wind, and several of the women raced from place to place stamping them out before they could spread the flames.
I handed my bucket to one of the men, and grabbed an empty one from the pile. Seven or eight times I raced back and forth until finally I had to stop to catch my breath. Over the crackling flames I could hear a siren, and I realized that an outsider had spotted the blaze. The city folk generally left us to our own ways, but a forest fire threatened the town as well, and they wouldn’t hesitate to send their firemen.
With the modern technology, they quickly extinguished the fire. As the smoke subsided, we could see several smoldering logs, the charred remains still glowing like a giant’s roasting pit. The worst seemed behind us when one of the burned trees began screaming.
*
Somehow they managed to keep Fat Brian alive until they reached the hospital. Through the grapevine I heard that he wasn’t expected to survive. His parents returned late that night. Old Brian came to my house after all but my father had retired. I could hear them arguing downstairs.
“I don’t care what you all say,” the deep voice of Brian’s father cracked with grief as he spoke. “We’re staying with my boy until the end.”
“You will not. He was banished from here by order of the elders. He no longer exists; you have no son,” Jacob’s voice was cold and unyielding.
“This isn’t right. He’s my boy….my boy,” Brian lost control. “My boy.”
I heard footsteps on the wooden floors, and moments later the heavy oak door creaked open. The sound receded as my father walked Mr. Brenneman home.
I lay sleepless. The thought of what Fat Brian was enduring tortured me. The pain and the fear of dying must be unbearable, but the thought of him lying alone in a strange place, comforted only by strangers, enraged me. Tomorrow, I resolved, I would make my way to the highway and thence to Brian.
*
The hospital was unlike anything I’d imagined. I had spent entire life in a hand-crafted home. The sterile tile and glass and metal seemed like something from one of those comic books that mysteriously appeared in the hands of the children from time to time before being whisked away by an eagle-eyed adult. My wonderment must have been obvious, for no sooner had I set foot inside the building than a white-garbed woman asked if I needed help.
I told her I was there to see Fat Brian.
“I’m sorry, miss, but visiting hours aren’t until this afternoon,” she said loudly, but her eyes shifted from side to side. Seeing that no one was near, she leaned closer and whispered.
“I’ll take you to him. I’m sorry, but he probably won’t make until the afternoon. I don’t know why his parents aren’t here, but someone should be with him.”
She led me down the hall and pushed a button. Metal doors slid open, revealing a small chamber. She ushered me inside, pushed another button, and seconds later the door re-opened to reveal a similar yet obviously different corridor.
Taking me by the hand, she hurried me to one of a series of identical wooden doors. She cracked it open and urged me inside.
“So long as you keep quiet, no one will no. You can stay until noon – that’s when they’ll be by to check his meds.”
She closed the door behind me. The room was Spartan, with a couple chairs and a forlorn plant. The bulk of the space was occupied by a bed, tented in plastic. I walked closer, and nearly fainted at what I saw.
Behind the plastic, a red, raw face stared back at me. (Picture 4) Brian’s eyes were closed, and at first I thought he had already passed. After the shock subsided, though, I noticed that his chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly.
I nearly jumped from my skin when the eyes opened. The stared up, uncomprehendingly, and I wondered if the pain had rendered him insensate or if it was the drugs they had undoubtedly given him for the pain.
After a few seconds, his gaze focused, and I could tell he recognized me. His face twitched, and I hoped it was an attempt at a smile. I smiled back, struggling to keep from bawling.
The crimson wound that was his mouth moved soundlessly.
“Shh,” I whispered, “Don’t try to talk.”
Still his mouth moved, and his eyes pleaded with me. I leaned closer but still couldn’t hear. Glancing towards the door, afraid that we would be interrupted at any moment, I lifted the plastic curtain and lay my ear almost against his face.
“Backpack,” he whispered. His breath was hot against my skin. I pulled away and replaced the curtain. His eyes were closed. A machine on the other side of the bed began wailing incessantly.
Seconds later the door slammed open, and strange hands pushed me from the room. They seemed unconcerned with my presence; perhaps the rules against visitors were often bent in situations like this.
I don’t know what I expected. Our rejection of modern technology gave it perverse powers in our eyes. We wanted no part of it, but we all secretly believed that the wonders we had turned our backs on were all-powerful. I couldn’t image that here wasn’t a mother that had lost a child to sickness, or a husband that lost a wife to old age, who didn’t wonder in their secret hearts whether or not they should have turned to the outsiders for help when all else had failed.
I knew now first hand that however amazing the machines and medicines of the modern world, some things were inevitable. A doctor leaving the room saw me standing there and sadly shook his head.
The nurse that had snuck me into Brian’s room gave me a ride after her shift. I had her stop alongside the road, and made my way home.
*
No one remarked upon my absence. That should have struck me as odd. I had concocted a story about walking among the fall foliage and falling asleep in the woods, but no one asked where I had been all morning.
I was fortunate; my father wasn’t home when I returned. I went to the tiny room he called his study and cracked the door. This room alone in the house was forbidden to me. I had of course snuck in once or twice as a child, but it had been years since the stuffy room held any interest for me.
I found Fat Brian’s backpack under the hand-hewn wooden desk. I opened it and rifled through the small collection of clothes and personal mementos. I found nothing that seemed important, and I wondered why Brian had used his last breath to send me here.
I dumped the contents on the floor and felt around the empty bag. At the bottom I felt something square and stiff. I turned the pack inside out, and saw where a seam had been sliced open. Inside I found a folded piece of paper. I smoothed it on the desk.
Emily –
I am going to make a run for it again. I just can’t continue here. It’s bad enough having to return to a place that doesn’t understand me, but to know I’ll spend the rest of my life enduring the tittering behind my back and the disgust of everyone around me is unbearable. The only thing I will miss will be you. You have been my friend, and though I know you took pains not to let others know that, I forgive you. I know more than anyone how hard it can be to go against them.
I must warn you – there is evil among our community. This is more than the petty evil of the close-minded. This is the evil that we came here to avoid, the evil that tempted Jesus on the mountain. It has taken hold here, and I fear that the others cannot see it for what it is. Run, Emily, while you still can. Take your secret path to the road, beg a ride from the first person that comes along, and run. Make your way to the city. Find Father Martin at St. Martha’s. He will help you as he tried to help me. I would take you with me, but separately we stand a better chance. I will leave word with the Father on how you can reach me. Please, Emily—run.
Your friend,
Fat Brian
Tears dripped from my eyes, blurring both my vision and the writing. The sound of a door slamming nearly stopped my heart. I stuffed the letter in my pocket and hurriedly shoved Brian’s things back in the bag. I waited until I heard my father move past the door an into the kitchen, then stole upstairs.
*
The following dawn found me once more beside the road. The morning was chill, my breath billowing. I hoped I didn’t have to wait long before a car came by.
Unfortunately, I didn’t.
The police car stopped a dozen yards away. The officer got out and walked over. It was the same man that had returned Brian to his parents.
“Miss, I know some of you kids don’t want to stay there, but the law is clear. I have to take you back to your parents.”
“Please, please, don’t take me back there. They killed Brian, I know it.”
“Look, what happened to your friend was terrible. That’s not a way for anyone to have to die. But it was an accident. Your elder told me that he got trapped trying to put out the fire, and everyone else I talked to confirmed it.”
“Now, please, get in the car. I’ll take you back to the diner down the road, get some breakfast in you, and then take you home.”
I nodded numbly and got in the patrol car.
Ten minutes later I was picking at the bacon and eggs the waitress had brought. I’d protested, told Officer Jensen that I wasn’t hungry, but he’d insisted. I looked at the greasy mess and my stomach surged. I covered my mouth and raced for the bathroom.
I threw myself in front of the toilet and vomited until nothing was left. Wracked by dry heaves, I could barely answer when Jensen called after me. A minute later, one of the waitresses came in and helped me clean up.
When I returned to the table, Officer Jensen looked at me strangely. I stared back at him.
“So, that’s why you’re running away, huh? Do your parent’s know you’re pregnant?”
“My mother died when I was little. My father doesn’t know – he’d kill me if he found out.”
“Well, like I said, the law’s clear. But although we generally leave well enough alone with you folk, our laws still apply. We’ll go back to the station, fill out a report.”
I looked alarmed.
“Don’t worry, you won’t be in any trouble. But if I make it official, I can have Family Services look in on you from time to time, make sure you’re ok.”
I looked at him gratefully, and managed a wan smile.
“Thank you. If they know someone will miss me, they won’t try anything.”
“You’re going to have to tell them, you know. Won’t be too long before they can see for themselves anyway.”
My eyes dropped self-consciously to my belly. There was a definite swelling, and I knew he was right.
*
The police station wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, although everyone looked at me like I was from another planet. Which, I supposed, I sort of was. I sat at Officer Jensen’s desk, as he asked me questions and filled out a form. When he was done, he brought me a donut and tea while we waited for the woman from Family Services. While he’d been interviewing me, I could sense the other officers trying to eavesdrop. (Picture 3) I guess that they were curious. While Officer Jensen was away from his desk, they all made a point of stopping by and wishing me well.
It was strange, and a little sad, that I felt more at home among strangers than with the people I’d grown up with.
My thoughts were interrupted by a strong hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a matronly woman staring down at me, her concern evident in her eyes.
“Emily, my name is Maggie Magruder. I’m with the county. Officer Jensen here says you’re in a bit of a pickle. Let’s see what we can do about that.”
We talked for almost half an hour. Within minutes the tears I’d kept buried deep had burst forth like a summer squall, but she waited patiently until the storm had passed. By the time we were done talking, I felt stronger than ever.
“Now, without evidence of abuse, we have to return you to your father. But you’re in the system now, honey, and that gives us the right to check in on you up to once a week. Me, or someone from my office will be out there to check on you every Friday morning,” Betty said.
“Now, you’re seventeen, and that’s plenty old enough to get you declared an emancipated minor. That means you’d legally be an adult. I’ve already put in a call to Father Martin, and he’s saving you a spot in his shelter for women,” she continued.
“Everything is going to work out, it’ll just take a few weeks. You can hold out for that long right?” she finished.
I nodded.
“Good girl,” she grinned, and I gave her a tentative smile in return.
*
My father didn’t say a word, didn’t even start arguing with Officer Jensen when he mentioned that Family Services would be paying him a visit. That should have scared me, but I was so relieved that he didn’t make a scene that it didn’t occur to me.
That night, I was awakened from the first good sleep I’d had in weeks by a cold hand clamped across my mouth. I struggled, tried to scream, but several hands held me tight. My attackers bore me down the stairs and into the night.
At first I though I was being taken to the barn, and readied myself to beg for mercy. I didn’t fear the pain – the rage that coursed through me would see me through that, I thought. But I worried what what would happen to my child, and I knew I would have to reveal my condition.
But they continued to carry me, and after a minute the clear night sky above me was broken by the spindly fingers of overhanging trees. I realized they were carrying me deep into the woods.
For long minutes we travelled, and I exhaustion eventually forced me to cease struggling. I saw a break in the trees and heard a gentle splashing, and realized we’d come to the lake. I was tilted upright and felt my back pressed against rough bark. I felt something tight bind my chest, and I realized my abductors had tied me to a tree.
The shadowy figures retreated, but now that I could at least move my head about, I could recognize them in the moonlight. My father led them, of course, and several others gathered about. I saw my Uncle Robert and his wife Mary, my dead mother’s sister. I saw my inconstant lover David’s father, and with a chill I realized that they already knew my secret.
They gathered in the water, forming a loose circle around a round table made of woven plants. (Picture 2) They spoke in the old language, the one we only heard during holy days, or when adults wanted to talk in front of the children without being understood.
Their words became heated, and I sensed that there was some disagreement about what they planned for me. My Aunt Mary seemed angry at my father, but as in most things, he would tolerate no dissent, and eventually she acquiesced. Seeing that he had their obedience, he turned his attention to me.
“So, child, you have shamed me, and shamed our people. Bad enough that you snuck into town, but to spread your legs for an outsider and let him defile you, for that there is no excuse.”
“No, no, it wasn’t an outsider,” I babbled, the coppery taste of terror filling my mouth. “It was David Edgarson.”
“Liar,” Jacob shouted, and I could see a knowing smirk on Elder Edgarson’s face. “David told us about helping you sneak into town and has accepted his penance. Don’t make things worse for yourself by dragging him down with your lies.”
I realized it was a lost cause. They would not believe me. When David saw the police bring me home, he must have thought that our tryst would be discovered soon. Offering himself up to be punished for the real but minor crime of bringing me to town made his deceit all the more plausible.
He dismissed me with his eyes and returned his attention to the other elders. He stepped into the middle, surrounding himself with the rotten vegetation. They reformed the circle around him and held hands. Strange chanting issued forth from their mouths, and though I did not recognize the language, I sensed that it was related to our tongue yet far, far older.
The mass of plants and vines at the center of their circle stirred, and their chanting increased in volume and urgency. The formless pile started to spin slowly, and in the middle it rose above the water, climbing like malignant ivy until it nearly covered my father.
When the chanting stopped, only his head remained visible. In the dim light I could see that small lumps on his monstrous form wriggled and writhed. Giant leeches, I thought, and nearly swooned.
The truth was far worse.
Above, the clouds parted, and a moonbeam shone, illuminating the water like the gaze of God.
Slowly he moved into the light, sodden arms reaching out in an obscene embrace, and I realized that the forms that swarmed his body weren’t leeches. They were babies, their tiny forms hideously rotten. (Picture 6) I realized what had happened to all the mothers-to-be, and I vomited into the dank water.
“Why,” I begged. “Why have you taken the babies from us?”
My father’s voice, if indeed that abomination could still be called my father, gurgled, it’s fetid breath nearly making me sick again.
“Because we have been blessed by God. He has shown us where the path ahead leads. I have seen how you and your children renounce the old ways and surrender to the temptations of technology and the modern world. I have seen the long struggle against evil come to naught.”
“Better that our people and our way of life dies pure than become corrupted by the Great Deceiver. These babies died in a state of grace, their innocence unsullied.”
He was so close now I could hear the whimpers of the lost children, see how their tiny limbs waved about. I could feel the foul embrace of the thing that had once been my father, and I swooned.
*
When I awakened, the midwives were gathered around my bed. I could see by their expressions that the life within me was no more. Eventually I stopped screaming, and much, much later, I even stopped crying. When Maggie arrived the following Friday for my checkup, I could barely speak. I told her I didn’t want to continue the emancipation process, and then my father put his arm around my shoulders and turned me towards home.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Oh sure, Rodrigo, *I* don't write about religion and... 
It still feels like an introduction of the type you get with the old "tales of the unexpected" or early TV horror stories, and I don't like them much. When the story is strong enough you don't need them.
