by Max Talley
In the open meadow at the edge of the forest where David had slept, the grass felt wet with dew. He gazed across gentle rolling hills that descended toward unseen houses and farther along to compact, tree-shrouded neighborhoods.
He ran away from home yesterday, his third attempt, and on this jaunt had traveled a mile and even made it through a night outdoors alone. The mild fall temperatures helped. After finishing a cold Pop Tart, David knew hunger would eventually drive him back. Not prepared to yield yet though. This could be a rehearsal for his next escape, where he jumped a train, or lived off the land like tribes he studied in school once did. Every day seemed intense for David and each moment mattered to the extreme.
He guessed it to be after nine a.m. but felt no guilt at missing school. He already understood that everything important in life, all critical learning transpired outside of classes. Though his stomach churned and growled, he pledged not to surrender until dinnertime.
David turned his attention to nature. Maple trees and dogwoods showed October colors: red, orange, yellow. Closing his eyes, he saw flames, then black smoke. Hallucinations and inner voices visited him whenever they wished.
Just behind, tall pine trees rose in walls with small breaks for animal trails. A stream ran somewhere deep in the woods. He remembered counselors at camp claiming a person could survive for days without food, but wouldn’t last long without water. David just needed to locate the chattering brook and drink from it. During the night, after the sirens faded, all manner of sounds came into focus: creaking branches, owls, critters rustling in the bushes. Any time he got nervous or frightened, he reminded himself he was eleven, no longer a child and soon a teenager.
He missed sleeping with his stuffed bear Oliver. His parents confiscated Oliver when David turned ten and burned the poor creature in their fireplace. Too old to play with dolls or his imaginary friends. That was the first time he ran away. Maybe just so they wouldn’t see him cry. When David returned six hours later, they locked him in his room without supper.
He scanned the humped meadows for people searching for him. No one. There was the rumble of heavy car traffic approaching from the near distance. Unusual.
Go hide, his friend Charlie told him in a voice like the wind.
David followed a dirt trail into the shadow forest.
Sunlight spattered through branches. Various birds called or trilled, and the percussive sound of a woodpecker drummed in the distance. He didn’t know where he wandered but home was less than a half-hour away. He listened for rushing water among the wind in the branches, the faraway car motors, and hum of machinery. Though he’d never hiked clear through, farms lay on the far side of the woods, with tractors and cows, crop fields and open pastures.
Something white fluttered ahead, but on the incline that rose above the trail. A flag? A garment? Who used this swath of forest beyond small foraging animals? David’s only concern was discovery. Some pompous adult outraged to find an errant boy out of school. Determined to report him and ruin the lazy possibility of the day.
Instead, David heard music. Not a flute, but a wind instrument. A soft throaty thing. Straying from the trail, he followed after it, climbing past stumps and the gnarled corpses of trees clutching one another in death—as if storm-tossed into an embrace. He felt dizzy gazing back down at the trail, but giddy too. The notes played louder. He clambered up a mossy rock outcropping to a ridge, the highest point of the forest.
David scanned the clearing with squat stones set in a circle. A meeting place. On the farthest stone sat a girl dressed in a long skirt and frilly blouse. Old-fashioned clothing. She ignored him and played a recorder, head cocked at an angle, so that only the bob of her hairstyle and chin showed in the clerestory light. David listened for a time, then cautiously approached—as one might toward a skittish deer. Music ceased.
“Finally,” the girl said. “I’ve been waiting ages for you to join me.”
“What?” David suddenly felt self-conscious, his clothes and brown hair mussed from sleep.
“I saw you last night, lying in the grass,” she said. “I called out, but you must not have heard me.”
“Really?” David squinted at her, looked away, then back quickly. Not a hallucination. Not Charlie or Brunnie, the imaginary friends his parents had sent him to therapists to dispel. He thought of his required daily medication. Thankfully, no pills for the last two days, and he felt so much clearer. “Who are you?”
She laughed, combing a hand through her long bangs. “Priscilla,” she said. “But call me Pid.”
Priscilla sounded British, out of a history book. David did like the name Pid. It reminded him of Pip from a Dickens story the school librarian read aloud last year. “Where are you from?”
“From my home, of course.” She crackled over dead branches toward him, then studied David as if he were a museum display. “You smell smoky. Did you build a campfire last night?” Her eyes widened.
David shook his head. “No.”
“That’s strange.” She plucked a leaf from his hair. “I thought I saw flames flickering in the distance.”
He shuddered. At eleven, David hated girls in his class. They thought they were so smart and talked and talked—as if that was important. While boys might punch another boy, girls would insult and torment a boy with ridicule. Much worse. David did understand that at some point he was expected to marry one.
His singular hope lay in older girls, those teenagers charged with babysitting when his parents attended dinners or parties. They either listened to David’s wild stories, or just let him do as he pleased while they watched television and ate snacks. Pid looked about twelve, taller and calmer than his classmates. Assured but not a damn show-off.
“Is your house on the other side of these woods?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking.” She smiled. “Beyond, beneath, betwixt.”
For an instant, David felt uncertain. He gripped her forearm.
Pid’s expression showed a mix of amusement and slight annoyance. “Checking if I’m real? Ha, I was about to do the same with you.” She beckoned him. “Come on. Time is flashing by. Let’s play while we can.”
“You like to…play?”
“That’s all I ever do.” She twirled her recorder as if a baton. “Mostly alone, so if someone else comes along, I’m absolutely thrilled.” Pid descended from the high ground to a saddle below.
Follow her, Brunnie whispered.
David caught up. “I’m hungry,” he said. “I was searching for water when I saw you.”
“The stream’s ahead. Want to go skinny-dipping?” Pid giggled. “Just kidding.”
She led him to the brook that snaked through the forest, widening into pools, spattering over rock upthrusts. David drank and drank, then washed his face. Afterwards, Pid showed him plants and berries to eat. He soon forgot his hunger.
She initiated elaborate games involving pirate ships, a settlers’ cabin in the wild west, prisoners escaping a German castle, and plans for a bank robbery. Pid’s imagination boundless. David only queasy when they played house and discussed their ten children. Time became elastic. He wondered had their shenanigans spanned three hours, all day? Whenever a break showed in the canopy of trees, he studied the sky. Light blue and no signs of night.
Their make-believe took place across large boulders, atop giant tree stumps, and even inside a dilapidated shack with a missing wall. Moss sprouted on the weather-stained wood and the corners were threaded with spiderwebs.
“I should probably go back now.” David didn’t want to leave. Home meant punishment, school, and therapy sessions. He did need to eat real food though, and not get lost in the woods after sunset.
“Wait.” Pid squeezed his shoulder. “I’ve saved the best for last.” She pointed to a wall of rocks with a slender opening.
“What’s in there? A cave?” David had no interest in dark places filled with bats and dripping, slimy liquid.
“Yes,” she said. “But more importantly, it’s a portal.”
David stared at her, mystified. “A portal?”
“A passageway. It’s how I got here, the way back to where I come from.” She smiled. “Come on. Unless you’re chicken.”
Insulted, David led the way. “Sounds crazy. Doesn’t make any sense.”
They walked through the cleft in the giant slab, then ducked to move inside the tunnel. It slanted downward and became pitch black.
Pid lit a candle she plucked from her skirt pocket. “It’s just ahead.”
“Good,” he replied, sensing this adventure was a mistake.
They arrived at a wider space where old clothes lay scattered. Drunks or hobos perhaps spent nights there during heavy rain and snowstorms. In the center, David saw a pool, the water muddy—even oily. As he watched, bubbles formed and steam ghosted from the surface.
“What is it, a sulfur pit?” He didn’t smell that gassy fart odor.
“Ignore what it looks like,” Pid said. “That’s just magic to scare strangers away. It’s the portal I went through last night.” She put her arms over her head and pantomimed a plunge.
“You come here a lot? And from somewhere else?”
“No.” Pid looked sad. “My home is always the same. But the portal brings me all over the world. Usually to a forest. Somewhere away from people, so no one gets startled.” Desperation flickered in her eyes. “Kids mostly run away, or think I’m strange. You’re the only one who played with me all day.” She turned toward the pool. “That’s why I’m showing you.” She nodded. “You have to go home now. But maybe, just maybe I’ll return here tomorrow or the next day.” Pid’s face squinched. “I’m not sure though. If you come back and find this pool, then you know we can play again.”
“I’d like that.”
“Again and again.”
“Forever and ever.” He wanted to believe it.
“And ever after,” she said and sighed.
David poked a stick into the frothing pool. “You came up through there? It would burn you, coat you with mud.”
“No.” She bent down and dipped a hand into the thick waters then lifted it out. “Not hot and see, my skin is clean.”
David saw no redness or dark stain on her. “Oh, okay.” It confused him.
“You really have to go.” Pid brought him back into the forest. Long tree shadows crossed their path and the sky overhead looked hazy, vaporous. “We’re going to gallop like horses.”
And together they ran the trail leading back south, jumping and splashing across the brook, under felled trunks, up the incline, and out to the hilly grasslands. David stopped, gasping for air. When he turned, Priscilla had vanished. “Pid!” No response. He thought he heard distant music, but was uncertain of everything.
#
David staggered back the mile to his parents’ house, imagining their lecture. He’d endure it though for a hearty meal. Tomorrow he could sneak out after school to find Pid again. With a flashlight and snacks.
Remember what you did?
Don’t go home.
The medication kept his special friends at a distance, as well as erasing his short-term memories, but it had been days without pills.
Thank you, his stuffed bear Oliver told him.
Why did his parents always argue, throw plates and books at one another? Why did they hit each other and when they were done beat him, punish him? David started to remember. The older boys at the school playground talked about pranks to pull on parents to keep them occupied, to keep them from hassling their kids. Were they exaggerating, lying? David had listened intently.
Afterwards, he went home and extinguished the pilot lights, then turned the gas on in the oven and atop the stove. He closed all the doors downstairs while he heard his parents shouting and cursing upstairs. He used a long fuse that ended in the kitchen wrapped in old newspapers.
David paused halfway on his trek home. Did he actually do that? The real and the imaginary had no boundary within him. That’s why the therapy sessions. What happened? Did he run away before doing it, or was it after? All his parents’ fault, never allowing him to invite real friends over, isolating him. Of course he befriended Oliver, and then Charlie and Brunnie. They were all he had. Until today. Until Pid.
The sky held a muted, dusky light when he reached the hill overlooking his house. Even in the new dark he could see the ruins. Burnt black and brown, mostly crumpled, and still moist from water dousing the flames. Safety lamps shone out front by the driveway, but no one was around. Approaching, he noticed gouges where large vehicles had been parked in the grass and dirt earlier.
The back porch remained standing, connected to a solid back wall, the rest of the house devastated. David climbed over the yellow tape to lie down on the porch amid the smell of smoky wood and burnt wiring. Though only about eight p.m., he felt exhausted.
#
David woke with a start sometime after dawn, shivering in the cold. He heard engines approaching. Big vehicles. In a panic, he ran and climbed the hill until he found a place to crouch in the tall grass and watch safely. It wasn’t really his fault, but he knew the police wanted results, someone to take responsibility. With his parents not present, David was the only donkey to pin the blame on.
People walked around the ruined structure. They stared off in every direction, hands shading their eyes. One resembled the town sheriff, another the school principal, while others were firemen. David lay flat so that even with binoculars they wouldn’t spot him.
He felt hungry, tired, dirty, confused.
You have to go back, Charlie told him.
Back to the woods, Brunnie added.
Find Pid, they said in unison.
David moved, first crawling, then eventually scuttling along, hunched over. He had traveled a quarter mile when he first heard the barking from behind. Dogs. They unleashed dogs to find him. Did they imagine he was dead, or alive and a menace? Even in his weakness, with voices caroming about inside his skull, David began to sprint as fast as possible. He searched for familiar landmarks. Maybe someday he’d look back on this as a grand adventure, his rocket-blast to a new life. Pid will understand.
Thank you for avenging me, Oliver whispered.
Another five minutes and David reached the break in the forest wall, everything the same. He felt sick—though his stomach was empty—so he caught his breath while listening for the recorder playing. All he could hear was wind thrashing the branches, the brook running in the distance, and as he hesitated, the throaty howl and yawp of beasts on his trail. He estimated himself to be a half-mile out in front.
David dashed downward, tripping over roots, to eventually lose his balance and land in the stream. He barely noticed the scrapes or the bump rising on his forehead. Find the cave. It lay beyond the giant tree stump and past the decrepit three-walled shack. Finally he spotted the wall of boulders fused into a hillside and rushed toward the entry.
Being early in the day, more light penetrated the cave’s interior. David found the hollowed -out center with the pool. He squatted down and squinted into its murky water. Then he dipped a hand in. Warm, very warm, but not scalding. “Pid,” he cried out and it echoed. Something flew by his ear. It’s just a bird, Charlie said, though David knew it was a leathery bat. He circled the pit and studied the slabs of rock, where he found a knapsack holding a stale sandwich, a child’s hat, and a yellow hair ribbon that might belong to Pid.
Moving back to the lip of the pool, he gazed downward, hesitant.
It’s a portal, Charlie said. A passageway.
She’s waiting, Brunnie said.
“You close your eyes and hold your breath until you feel about to explode,” Pid had instructed him yesterday. David thought he heard her recorder notes bubbling up through the pool. Then came barking and wailing, the hounds in the forest, drawing closer. Pressing hands together above his head, David dove deep into the brown soupy waters. The bottom of the pool funneled into a tight passage walled by stone. He kept swimming forward.
#
Pid sat with her parents at the dinner table. “I met the most interesting boy in the woods yesterday.”
Her parents glanced at one another. “Really? Are you sure, Priscilla?” her mother said. “Another of your…friends.” Her brow scrunched.
“Ha-ha, no,” Pid replied. They never believed her. “I liked him. He was special.”
“We think you are too.” Her father’s mouth twitched.
“Now eat your dessert,” her mother said. “And look, you burned your hand. It’s all red. Please stay away from the stove, Pid.”
Both adults moved into the kitchen and shut the door tight behind them. Pid pressed an empty glass against the outer door to listen.
“Jesus,” her father said. “We’re getting old and she still looks twelve. Should’ve gone to college two years ago.”
“The doctors told us it was an extremely rare case.” Her mother paused. “They might be wrong. She could start developing at any time. It’s possible…”
“We’ve had to move, take her out of schools to avoid gossip and questions.” Her father sighed. “Now we’re on the outskirts of Danford Falls, totally isolated.”
“Well, we can’t stay in this town,” her mother said. “Did you read the papers? A house burned down a few miles away. Possibly arson. And three children have vanished into thin air in the six months since we arrived.”
“I don’t know if I can take it much longer. We might need to put her—”
“Remember what the doctor said,” her mother whispered. “She may not make it past thirty.”
Pid lost interest and wandered out to the porch. She had heard many variations of these conversations. Every day was magic time: passageways, portals, divergent realities. Tomorrow she would go back into the woods. Maybe David would be there, or maybe she’d lure a brand new friend into her world to play with, again and again, forever and ever. And ever after.
Max Talley was born in New York City and lives in Southern California. His writing has appeared in Vol.1 Brooklyn, Atticus Review, Bridge Eight, Santa Fe Literary Review, Litro, andThe Saturday Evening Post. He won the 2021 best fiction contest in Jerry Jazz Musician for “Celestial Vagabonds,” later nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Talley’s novel, Santa Fe Psychosis, debuted in early 2022 and his story collection, My Secret Place, was published last September by Main Street Rag Books. www.maxdevoetalley.com