Ain't No Orphans Here

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window," Ms. Whicker whispered under the canopy of oaks that spread crooked overhead like the broken arms of God and flickered red with fire light. The children are sparsed in a loose arc about the fire sitting on worn wooden logs fashioned years ago for these kind of nights as the rock ringed fire spits cinders into the air which rise in hot columns of their own trajectories. They lean in, some tapping their feet on the needle covered ground while others sit on their hands and all sparkle eyed. She squints and reads from the printed page handed to her by the camp directors and trying to find her place. “Where am I in this thing? Dammit, I’s already lost. Oh, okay here…” She continues, “They said bad things happened in that cabin years ago. Terrible things. Tales say there was a man who was friends with bears and goats and he was mean and ornery and liked to…” She stops and turns the page over then looks over her shoulder towards the lodge that perched just up the rise and throws the pages into the fire.

“You burnt the story!” Myles yells wide eyed and huddled up in his leaf covered hoodie.

“I know I done burnt the story.”

“Why’d you burn the story?”

“I ain’t like readin’ from notes and they always want me readin’ from notes and I ain’t like the way it’s writ. Darla, would ya quit pickin’ with yer nose? It’s unbecomin.’ Darla!” Darla shoots her hand down into the pocket of her jacket, grinning the grin of one not old enough to know guilt. The pages curl up into themselves like they were dying. Ms. Whicker puts her gnarled hands on her and leans in. “Let’s start this again, shall we?”

“Sooooo…” Ms. Whicker continues in a low hush, taking her time with her eyes wide like gleaming coins and scanning the the now enraptured faces. She suddenly shoots both arms out like wooden spikes capped with her pale crooked fingers over the fire as the children leap back. “That there cabin in the woods?! It got a history! A history darker than the blackest hell. So dark ain’t even God could look at it. They say it was built by some foul thing of the night that followed them old settlers movin’ west all them years ago. West cross lands that weren’t theirs. Weren’t theirs ya see! For ya see, this was its land. Long before there was people and when there was more stars in the skies ‘cause when ya see a star fallin’ from the sky, it because that star were so a’feared of this beast and that it die by leapin’ outa Heaven itself and burnin’ a trail to the earth below. Some say it were a spirit older than the earth itself come back for vengeance, but some say it was conjured long ago by evil men of the pit who wanted the earth for themselves and sent it forth to destroy both man and beast and every livin’ thing that moved under the sky. And it murdered and it ate and gorged itself and weren’t never satisfied.”

Myles had his head on his hands as Ms. Whicker swept her arm slowly through the air. “And this thing, this beast had a cave deep in them mountains where it had store up the bones of all it slain in heaps of rot thirty feet high. Ribs stickin’ up like long black fingers, the putrid flesh still hangin’ from them and a stench so foul it choked the mountain itself. And when the winds came it spread this stench across the plains and all knew that when night came it was the killin’ time.”

“What did it smell like?” Darla burst out.

“What did it smell like? It smelled worse than old vomit in garbage water sat out in the sun for days mixed with a little bit of poop.”

Darla covered her mouth. “Oh. She said poop…”

“But now when them settlers came, it grew even more fierce, more angry and it weren’t gonna let none pass. And this creature were some twelve feet tall and droolin’ like an open soldier’s wounds whose arms were blown off as he lay cryin’ for his mamma and this thing it layed up in them old foothills waitin’ for them unknowin’ settlers with eyes like sapphire and flame. And when them settlers bed down for the night, it shot out faster than any mountain lion could run, faster than any train, like its legs was made of lightin’ and steel and descended upon them like a hairy mountain with talons like black hack saws.” Darla and the others’ eyes shot wide.

Ms. Whicker leans forward, her crooked arms across her knees. “It saved the children for last.” Darla now begins to whimper as Myles stares at her. Ms. Whicker slowly stretches her arms wide. “Ya see, it came for the horses first ‘cause without them, there’d be no escape, not that any horse nor beast could outrun it. It tore their legs off so fast that them horses still thought they had legs and as they lay there dyin’ all pittiful on their sides, their bleedin’ stumps would gallop fake like as if they thought they was still runnin’. And as their swollen bleedin’ eyes rolled back in their heads, their screams belched steamin’ breath into the night air like dyin’ boiler engines made of meat. And it left their hewn off legs to twitch in the dry grass each not knowin’ where to run and lookin’ like hairy worms havin’ a seizure.”

The children all stared gape mouthed in horror.

"It went for them grownups next. Now, they was all cryin’ up a storm as you can imagine with their legless horses and all. And it stood there loomin’ against the sky and pulled the guts outa them still screamin’ horses’ rear ends like dripping sausages and wore ‘em round its neck like a wet scarf of gore. Them grownups tried runnin’ with them children in their arms but there weren’t no runnin, not from this. Them screams for help echoed off them hills like a chorus of sorrow but there weren’t no help comin’. And one by one them screams ceased till there weren’t none left alive but the children. Did ya know a human head can live twenty minutes after being cut off? Well, them grownups’ heads did and they lay there with their jaws movin’ tryin’ to scream but there weren’t no screams no more. Just their eyes rollin’ in their dyin’ heads tryin’ to see their children on last time. Then the great beast tore them wagons apart board by board, spoke by spoke and tied them children to its back. And off it loped to this here forest where it built that evil cabin from every wagon that crossed them plains as a warnin’ to all who would cross these lands. And it nailed them boards together with the bones of the slain.”

“How did it get all that stuff there?” Myles's asked.

“What?”

“How did it get all that wood and everything there? That’s a lot of wood.”

Ms. Whicker glared at him for a moment. “Cause it saved a wagon from before, that’s how.”

“What did it do with the kids? Did it eat them?” Darla glared and elbowed him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Ms. Whicker stood. “Oh no, children. It ain’t eat them. Not yet. It made them kids eat the grownups’ meat till they became fat and plump and if they puked it up it would make them eat it again. Then when they was all ready and swollen, it boiled them there kids alive and slow in a great pot in that there cabin to get their fat out...to make the candles. And every ten years a candle from one of them candles must be lit and set in the window to keep the creature away. And that cabin still stands today and ya wanna know somethin’? It’s right...over...there,” as she points her finger up the hill and towards the lodge. “Okay, time for bed.”

**

Inside the lodge David and Kathy wait for the children to return. A couple in their early forties, they’ve run this camp for foster kids for years and each summer they choose who they can afford to bring from a roster of potential children. Never an easy choice. Kathy looks at her watch.

“Kinda late aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like they have to be to bed super early. Let them have fun. It’s summer. I’m sure they’re just hanging by the fire eating marshmallows.”

The door kicks open as the ashen looking children file in and head straight to the bunk room and shut the door. Kathy looks at Dave bemused. “She didn’t stick to the script.” Myles opens the door and gently helps Ms. Whicker up the stair.

“What did the creature do with all the grownups heads?”

“Whatever it wanted I reckon.”

David glances askew at Kathy, “She definitely didn’t stick to it. Helen?” Ms. Whicker looks over.

“Yes’m? Myles, you go to bed. I be by in a sec.”

At the bunk door, Myles turns, “Ms. Whicker? I really really liked your story.”

“Well, thank ya kindly there, young Myles. What part ya like the most?”

“The part where the monster pulled the horses guts out through their butts!”

“Well, I like that part to. Now you get goin’” Myles gives a shy wave and shuts the door.

Kathy closes her eyes, “Helen…”

“Don’t you Helen me, I be doin’ this for longer than you both been takin’ craps.”

David taps the table, “We’re just saying that your stories are just a little...much.”

“Ain’t no such thing. These youngins eat this up like doughnuts in tittie milk. What do ya want me to read ‘em? Lil’ Bo Peep? These be campfire tales. They gotta stick. They be what they be tellin’ their youngins later on down.”

“But monsters pulling guts out through horses butts?”

“Easiest way to get ‘em I reckon.” Ms. Whicker shuffles over and opens a drawer on the lamp table.

“Helen, what are you doing?” Ms. Whicker pulls out a candle, lights it with a worn Zippo lighter and moves towards the bunk door.

Kathy turns, “Helen...No. No no no no. Helen!”

“Hush.” She opens the door and vanishes into the room as the children audibly gasp. “Now, don’t you been lettin’ this candle go out now. Puttin’ it right here in this here window.”

“What if it goes out?” Myles exclaims.

“Well, I figure you all gonna die, that’s what. Young Myles, you in charge. Now, go to sleep. All y’all.” And she comes out shutting the door. “Don’t be givin’ me that look. ‘Sides Myle’s in charge. I gotta use the loo. I’ll be seein you all in the mornin’. This could take awhile.” And then she hustles into the door down the hall shutting it quickly behind her as David and Kathy stare blankly at each other. “Helen...”

**

The morning burned in through the trees in long streams as the last of the dew turned to air and all that could be heard were the snaps of twigs from the deer that grazed upon the ridge among the low ferns and chaparral till darting away in their private circuits and vanished in the thick of the oaks. Myles sat with Ms. Whicker by the last of the smolderings of the fire which he stirred with a long stick.

“They called you Helen last night. I heard it.”

“Yep, that’s my name. Don’t you be wearin’ it out now.”

“You got family, Ms. Whicker?”

“Not no more. Ain’t had no kids myself. Almost married once. Chuck was his name. Prob’ly dead now too. Hope so. Rat bastard.” Myles covers his laugh. “And you can use my name, just don’t be tellin’ Dave and Kathy. They like their formalities, know what I’m sayin’?”

Myles nods and stares at the ashes. “I don’t have any family either.”

“I know you ain’t. I’m sorry ‘bout that. It’s a lonely thing. Life ain’t a fair thing it seems. Not to no one. Some less’n others.” Myles nods slowly hitting a charred ember with the stick.

Kathy calls down from the lodge.“Myles?” Looking up, the kids were are all there in their jackets with improvised walking sticks. “We’re going on that hike now. You want to come?”

“No, I think I’m going to stay here with...um, Ms. Whicker.”

“Okay, suit yourself.”

Darla calls out, “Are you going to tell more stories tonight?”

“Well, I might just tell y’all ‘bout my grandpa’s farts! You thought last night was scary. Hoo boy. You c’aint imagine.” The children all look at each other tittering. Kathy shakes her head smiling. “You two have fun.” Myles and Ms. Whicker watch as they march up the trail head and vanish from sight.

“That candle burned out.”

“All things do I reckon.”

“Where are you going to go when we leave?”

“Oh, just go back I guess.”

“Where’s back?”

“Back is...well, back is a place for folks like me.”

“You mean old people?”

She looks at him askew. “Yes, for old people, smart mouth.”

“So you don’t have a real home?”

“They call it that, but no, it ain’t no real home.”

Myles sits quietly, his hands pressed between his knees. “So you’re an orphan too?”

Ms. Whicker stares out at the trees. A flock of starlings have lit upon the upper branches of the oaks darkening the canopy in a shimmering of black wings and then on some invisible clue explode into air in a cloud of their secret murmurations. “Ain’t nobody an orphan. Not if ya got love. You listen careful. This can be a cold world, a cruel one even, but if you got that fire, that love burnin’ in ya, it will find a place to go and out there somewhere there’s a someone maybe many someones with that same fire and y’all will find each other. You understandin’ me?” Myles nods still looking down. “Lookit me here. You still a youngin’ but you aint’t gonna be one forever. This may make no sense now but someday it will. You have a love that will find a home someday. It’s in ya. Trust me. No, ain’t no orphans here, young Myles.”

“But I already have four homes.”

“What do ya mean ya got four homes? What kinda talk is that?”

“I mean I’ve been in three homes already. And this one they put me now in is number four.”

Helen stares plaintively at him for a moment, then looks down. “Well, at least ya can come back here next year.” Myles looks back at the empty trail head and then back at Helen, his eyes beginning to well up.

“You’ll never find me.” He chokes back a quick sob and covers his face. “They move me. They move me around all the time.”

Helen holds his eyes for a moment then looks up towards the sky. “Dammit,” she says under her breath. They sit in silence till finally she reaches in her pocket and pulls out a small worn tablet and begins to write. “Okay, I ain’t supposed to be doin’ this but…” She rips off the paper handing it to him. “I’m breakin’ all sorts a rules with this one.” Myles holds it in his hands.

“Peppermint Ridge Retirement Home.”

“You c’ain’t say nuthin’ to nobody ya hear?” Myles nods quickly. “Ya can always write me there. I ain’t goin’ nowheres.” Myles smiles broadly and stuffs the note deep in his pocket then reaches out giving Helen a hug. “Don’t lose that now. Alright alright, enough. I ain’t the huggin’ type. Why don’t you go catch up with the others. I’m sure Darla be holdin’ them back by now.” Myles leaps up and begins running up the ridge turning to wave and continues his caterwaul towards the trail, his arms flapping at his sides till he’s out of sight. Helen watches after him even long after he’s gone. “This ain’t never get easier.”

**

The waves sound their low thunder along the coast as the shore arcs north fading to black in the blue twilight. Fire pits line the beach like orange beacons as young families gather and frolic, and in the distant sky a single kite loops in figure-eights a shade darker than darkness. A woman in a puffy jacket comes to sit on the blanket next to her husband and eyes his face in the firelight.

“Is that a grey hair? It is isn’t it?”

“Where?”

“On your chin. Right there. No to the right. Yeah, there.”

“Huh. Well, I think I’ve probably earned it by now.”

“You certainly have. Happy anniversary. I’m glad we brought the kids.”

“Me too. Hey kids! Kids! Time for those s’mores! You want s’mores?” Two beaming children, a girl and boy, six and eight run wet-legged and sand-footed in from the shore and nestle between the parents who open up the packages of marshmallows, chocolate and crackers, spreading them out on the blanket. The father wraps his arm around the girl who holds the tongs fitted with marshmallows like two little hats and holds them tentatively to the fire. “Okay, here’s how you do this. You want to go slow, like this. You don’t want to catch it on fire, you just want to...Oh, you caught it on fire!” The girl giggles and swirls the stick in the air. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you can just blow it out. There, you go. It’ll be fine.”

“Hey, Dad! How ‘bout this?” the little boy asks.

“Yep, that’s perfect there, buddy.”

The wife leans back on her elbows looking up at the night sky. “Do you know what would be perfect right now?”

“Tell me,” he says helping the girl. “Okay, now you get the crackers and put that with the chocolate.”

“A story.”

“A story? What kind of story? See, sweetie... there you go. Perfect.”

“You know, one of those old scary campfire stories.”

“I’m not so good with stories. But…” He sits pensively for a moment. “But there was a woman I met as a kid who was real good at them. Scared us to death when I was about your age.”

“What was her name, Dad?” the boy asks.

“Her name was Ms. Whicker. Helen. She was...a character.” He sat there quiet for a moment. “And she meant the world to me.”

“What happened to her, Daddy?” the little girl asked.

“Oh. She’s long gone, sweetie. Long time ago. We wrote each other for years and then one day the letters just stopped coming.”

“Did she die?”

“Yes, sweetie she died.”

The woman puts her hand on his knee, “Well, then why don’t you tell us one of her stories?”

“Well, okay...I’m not going to tell it the way she did but here’s my version of it.” The woman lays her head on his shoulder as the kids, chocolate smeared and enraptured lean in. “Sooooo…long ago there was this dark evil cabin that lie deep in the woods…”

And the waves pounded dull in the background, like the metronomic pulse of the earth. Each swell the ancient story of creation told and told again, each in their variations and passed down through eternity.