Cry Wolf

“Seth, Wylie’s on the phone. Would you like me to have him call back later?”

“No, I’ll get it.” Setting aside a dripping ice pack, he got to his feet and strode to the doorway with much less effort than the pain would suggest. He’d said he’d be all right, and now he’d have to show it, as he knew his father would be watching. There was a second set of eyes illuminated by the television’s glow and peering out from a darkened living room. They followed his every step through the kitchen. Nate’s developing talent for lip-reading made it necessary to face away from him.

“Hey, Wylie, what’s up?”

The words had scarcely left his mouth when Wylie broke in, quite beside himself. “Get your ass over here right away. There’s a strange light floating around out back of the pines. Ya gotta see it.”

Apprehensive about his friend’s intent, Seth blurted out, “Oh, you mean like last time?” A week ago, Wylie had called him, Wade, and the Moeller twins claiming an orange light was stirring about in that same area northeast of the cottage. He and Wade had showed in minutes, while Alec and Thomas Moeller covered seven miles of winding blacktop in record time. It was a lot of excitement only to have it conveniently disappear before they arrived.

“I’m not shittin’ ya, so hang up and get movin’!” These words were followed by a click and a dial tone.

He approached his mother and whispered so as not to be detected by Nate’s hearing, which was as acute as his eyesight. “I’m going next door to give him a hand. Shouldn’t be too long.”

She motioned to the countertop nearest his exit. “There’s a little something to bring over, if you please.” Centered within the flowered rim of stoneware, neatly covered with plastic wrap, was a healthy slice of supper’s dessert. “Don’t take any unnecessary chances, your foot the way it is and all.”

“Not to worry, Ma. Wylie wants me to give him a hand, not a foot.” Shuffling toward the care package, he wondered how she could’ve prepared it so fast. He wasn’t on the horn more than five seconds. Nevertheless, Nate was at his side before he’d slid the plate into his hand and pleading in a tone drenched with hope.

“Can I go?”

“Not this time, Little Brother, maybe next.”

He shot back, “Where have I heard that before? It’s always the next time.”

Seth pushed open the screen door with his free hand, irked by the pestilence. He rolled his eyes and snapped, “Stop bugging me.” As he left, a tension spring pulled the door shut with a bang, finalizing his harsh words.

The subtle limp that had gotten him inside also got him to a dusty pickup truck in the driveway. He opened a squeaky driver’s side door and positioned Wylie’s pie on the seat, confident that the work gloves tucked beneath would keep it level. Wheel in hand and engine running, he glanced over the porch before dropping gear. Indoor lighting had created a silhouette of mother and son, or more accurately, a concerned mother standing beside a son frozen in disappointment. Guilt briefly took its toll, but Wylie had managed to inject enough extraterrestrial venom to keep absolute shame at bay.

His father had since assumed squatting rights to the porch swing and called out above a weakening muffler, “Don’t dilly-dally; ya oughta be givin’ that foot a rest.”

“All right, Pa!” he yelled as he drove off. Many infectious phrases had entered his head over the years, and unable to resist his father’s influence, he felt natural mumbling, “There’s no rest for the wicked.”

Wylie Barone lived a quarter mile east of Seth’s home on a small farmstead set against a stand of white pines. Some people called them monarchs of the north. Mature hardwoods complemented a swath of land untouched by the lumberjack’s teeth a hundred years earlier. Willow Creek flowed along the road to the south, its timber-lined banks making it barely visible. From either direction, River Road crested in open pasture and then descended into a tunnel of foliage so thick it was reminiscent of a subterranean passageway. If not for a tilted mailbox at the roadside, the gravel driveway might go completely unnoticed. By day, Wylie’s settlement was a wooded oasis in a sea of rolling farmland; by night, it was a daunting black forest defending its ground.

Seth's headlights found the Barone mailbox and an open gate. A sharp left with a little pedal spit gravel into the roadway, pushing him up and around the bend. He skidded to a stop at Wylie’s doorstep, where the monarchs overlooked a small cottage hidden behind cedar and lilac shrubbery. Across the courtyard, a modest barn, machine shed, and chicken coop were humbled by the surrounding oak and maple giants. Both conifer and deciduous trees combined to the north to form a dense wood, through which a well-worn trail had been blazed to open pastures.

Wylie scurried from a dimly lit entrance and, poking his head through the open passenger-side window, forcefully whispered, “Pull the keys, hit the lights, and follow me.”

They met in front of the pickup and ventured out into the looming darkness, picking their way down the cow trail with hardly enough starlight to sidestep scattered mounds of cattle dung.

Wide-eyed and nervous, Wylie continued, “While I was checking on my herd, a green light shone through the pines near trail’s end. We both know any light back in here ain’t normal, so I went back to the house and called ya.”

Seth was leery of Wylie’s story. The light had been orange the last time around. Still, he couldn’t suppress the possibility of truth and hence the foreboding nature of their journey. A big part of him wanted to be proven wrong, so he matched his pace with his neighbor’s, more alive than ever before and unmindful of the damage caused by Delma’s heavy hoof. If Wylie was acting, he was doing a damn good job of it. The tall trees began to thin as they neared the access to open pasture. Coming to a halt, Seth murmured his first words. “So, whereabouts did you see that strange light?”

Wylie pointed to the shadowed undergrowth. “It was back in there and a lot smaller than the orange light a week ago … Take a walk through with me.”

“I don’t see anything, and humping through a dark woods looking for your boogeyman sounds awfully stupid to me. Hell, I was an idiot for coming over here in the first place.” He spun around and began his humiliating trek back to the pickup.

“Ya don’t suppose an idiot can tell me what the hell that is then?”

Allowing his friend the benefit of the doubt one more time, Seth glanced over his shoulder and was instantly paralyzed by what he saw. Slowly turning about, he inched closer to Wylie’s side. “Holy shit, what on earth is that?”

“I asked you first.”

Together, they stood motionless, speechless, completely absorbed by what was taking place before them. Emerging from behind several inky pillars of pine, floating over the forest fern, was a soft, glowing light. Lime green in color, it moved forward while wavering about—a little up, a little down, a little from side to side. The nearer it came, the more it took on a vaguely human form. A freakishly large head wobbled on a pale torso without legs. Long arms were joined hand in hand below the waist as though in silent prayer. Closing in at thirty yards, it abruptly stopped, seeming to have become aware of their presence. Time spent in mutual awareness was stretched to the maximum before it, once again, began to advance.

Renewed movement changed Seth’s demeanor toward the thing. Excited curiosity rapidly turned to one of feeling downright threatened. In his mind, progression indicated aggression and deserved an immediate response. “I think we better get outta here; it sees us.”

Wylie grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute; it might be friendly.”