The Walam (Part 1)

Steven Richards sat in the heated cab of his Chevy pick up. He watched quietly as small flakes of snow began to stick to his windshield. The dim glow of his low beams penetrated the early morning fog and illuminated the forest only a few yards away. The sun had yet to rise above the horizon and darkness sat heavy around him and his tiny truck. 1

His eyes were fixed on the thick tree line that stood towering before him. Ice had covered the bare limbs of each tree and they bent warily beneath the weight. A thin layer of fog had settled close to the frozen ground and, in the glow of his headlights, the snow seemed to glimmer and send bits of light shimmering into the vapor. 2

“Ghosts.” he whispered.3

Steven was startled by the sound of his own voice. It had been deep and gravely with age, not the high exuberant smoothness of youth that he had expected. The sudden break of silence had made him painfully aware that he was alone in the cab. He quickly grabbed the mug of coffee between his legs and took a swig. The liquid burned his tongue and throat with a sharp stinging pain that had him spouting profanities until the worst had subsided. 4

In his anger he opened the car door and threw the foam cup into the darkness. The sudden burst of winter air hit his face like a slap and he slammed his door closed. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he took in a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. The scalding coffee had left his mouth feeling dry and sore. He reached blindly for the six pack of beer on the passenger side floor. 5

The cans were still chilled from his fridge and made his already cold fingers feel numb and useless. With some effort he was able to open the top and take a large swallow. The familiar bitter taste was a comfort to him and the coldness of the beverage soothed his burned tongue. 6

After a few swigs he leaned back against the seat and ran a hand through his thinning hair. It felt greasy and dirty but he hardly cared. Hygiene was no longer a major priority in his life. 7

His eyes drifted to the green dials of his dashboard and he found himself staring into the face of a young boy. Steven let out a shaky breath as he gently picked the photo out of the small crevice in which it sat and brought it closer to his face.8

The boy had had his mother’s feathery red hair and freckles but he shared his father’s dark eyes. His smile had always been his predominant feature. The boy was constantly smiling. Even when he had broken his arm at the age of five, he laughed at his bulky cast and went on and on about all the things he could doodle on it with a marker.9

Tears stung at Stevens eyes as he looked into the photograph. It had seen better days. One corner had folded over and a thin white crack stretched across the boys green striped shirt. He slowly turned the picture over and looked at the delicate handwriting.10

Calvin-age eight.11

Steven took another swig of his beer before putting the picture on the seat. He looked bleary eyed towards the forest. The sun had begun to rise and the frozen landscape no longer seemed as daunting as he once thought. The fog was thicker now but the sky was turning a whitish gray with streaks of dark pink outlining the clouds. Some shadows were still lingering around the base of the trees but he could see further into the woods than before. The snow was falling a little heavier and a breeze was stirring the ice bound branches.12

He knew all to well that it was not the best of conditions for a hunt. It was not even hunting season anymore. It had ended over a month before and he knew he could be heavily fined if caught. It was the photo of his son that kept him from turning around and taking the hour long drive back to his home. 13

Steven had made a promise and he intended to keep it.14

***15

Once the sun had completely risen over the horizon, Steven turned off his truck and stepped out into the frigid winter morning. The sudden cold stung at his face and the falling snow settled into his beard. A sharp wind blew against his side and stirred his hair. 16

As he gathered his gear from the back of his truck he mentally cursed himself for throwing out the coffee in his anger. When his pack was securely on his back he yanked a pair of gloves over his hands and pulled his hood over his head. It did little to block out the cold but it was better than feeling the wind on his bald spot. 17

Just as he was about to set out he looked into the cab and found the photo still laying there. His son’s eyes were staring back at him and a clenching pain wound through his chest. He opened the door and retrieved the picture.18

“I wouldn’t forget you, son. I promised you a hunting trip on your thirteenth birthday and you’re going to have it. Weather be damned!”19

Steven carefully tucked his son’s picture into the inner pocket of his jacket before heading towards the woods. His heavy boots made crunching noises over the snow covered ground as he walked. It seemed like the only sound in the world. He could hear no birds or any other woodland sounds. Not even the trees cracked beneath the heavy weight of their icy prisons.20

Just as he was approached the entrance to the forest he thought he heard a voice in the wind. It was faint but he thought it sounded like singing. Steven looked in every direction but found only his truck and an endless amount of ice and snow. He listened harder but he could no longer hear what he thought he had heard.21

“Ghosts.” he said to himself chuckling.22

He new the rumors of this particular area. It was a nature preserve that had been protected because of an old Native American burial ground that had been discovered back in the thirties. No one new the exact nationality of the tribe buried there but excavation had been prohibited by some protestors. So, the burial site was kept safe by two hundred acres of protected forest with the promise of legal action if anyone tried to hunt within the area or disturb anything.23

There had been stories of some hikers that had entered the area in an attempt to have a weekend party free from the watchful eyes of the law. They had returned sickly looking and talking about spirits with painted faces.24

Steven laughed again and finished off the beer he had started in the truck. He crumpled the can in his hand before chucking it to the side. It landed in a small snow bank that had piled against a tree. 25

“No cemetery is going to stop me from fulfilling a promise to my boy.” he said.26

With a deep breath and alcohol induced confidence, Steven penetrated the tree line and began his journey to the center of the forest.27

***28

Steven trudged through the frozen undergrowth and rising snow. From the moment he had stepped over the property line he felt as if he were unwelcome. The bare canopy looked wicked against the slate gray sky that loomed above him and the woodland itself seemed to be rejecting his presence. 29

Sharp gusts of wind would sting at his face and send snow to blind his eyes. Endless twigs kept getting snagged on his pack and jacket, as if they were trying to prevent him from traveling further. The snow laden path came up well above his ankles and made walking difficult for him. The landscape had no pleasing colors for him to admire. Only the dark brown of tree bark stood out amongst the wintry mix of white and gray that had enveloped the world around him.30

The worst for him was the silence. It lay heavily over him like a living presence. Nothing stirred within the trees. No rustling on the ground. Everything was silent. It made Steven feel like more of an intruder.31

Every crunch of his boot upon the snow seemed offensively loud to him. When an unseen branch cracked beneath his step it echoed like a firecracker through the air. Even his breathing seemed obscene within the stillness. It wheezed from his chest as though filtered through a rusty vent and in the cold he could watch it exit his mouth in a putrid vapor that seemed to pollute the very air.32

As he made his way further into the alien landscape he could remember only one other time he felt so profoundly rejected. The memory bubbled into his thoughts and overcame him. 33

***34

“I just can’t do this anymore.” she said quietly.35

Steven watched unspeaking as the love of his life slowly packed her clothing into a duffle bag. She kept her head down and her red hair shielded her face from him. Her movements seemed mechanical as she put item after item into her bag and her breathing was heavy in attempt not to cry.36

He wanted to go to her. To wrap his arms around her thin frame and hold her to him. To tell her that everything was okay, that they would find a way through their pain and mourning, but he could not. He had become a shell of his former self. The intensity of his guilt and loss had swallowed him whole and turned him cold and unable to show any love to her. He did not feel he deserved her love anymore.37

“Where will you go?” he asked.38

His voice seemed to lack any life. It droned out of him in a morose hush that he could barely hear but somehow she had.39

“My mother’s.” she said.40

She looked at him then and the pain in her eyes brought a sharp twist of pain to his tortured heart. The normally vibrant green eyes that he had fallen in love with were bloodshot and swollen. The tears that spilled over her lashes were the only sparkle left, leaving a dull emptiness in their wake.41

He lowered his eyes and nodded solemnly. 42

“Steven, I’m sorry. I just can’t handle how distant you have become. You act as though Calvin’s death affected only you! He was my son too, you know! It hurt me just as bad when I watched him die in that bed.” she said. 43

His gut spasmed at the memory and he took a deep gulp of the Scotch in his hands.44

“You see? You are drowning your pain in alcohol. You refuse to talk to me! You refuse to go to counseling! Dean called me last week. He said that your work at the university is slipping. He recommended you take a leave of absence.” 45

His lip quivered in an attempt not to curse his boss for his interference.46

“Vera, I go to work everyday.” he said.47

“But you need to take time off! How do you expect to heal if you don’t take time to cope! It has been over a year, Steven” she said.48

“Do you expect me to just forget? To forget my son and everything about him?” he yelled. 49

The sudden outburst made her jump and he was instantly sorry for scaring her.50

“No. I don’t expect you to forget him. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of his smile. That I don’t miss the sound of his laughing and constant questions. He was my baby. I carried him. I gave birth to him and nursed him. I taught him how to tie his shoes and how to sing ’Mary Had a Little Lamb’. 51

“I made him tuna sandwiches with no crusts and cookies for lunch. I watched from the porch while you two played catch and cheered when he finally caught the ball. I laughed while you tried desperately to build a tree house in the back yard even though you have no clue how to hammer a nail. I know the love he had for his father.52

“It is those memories, Steven, that help me through each day. That keeps me from sinking beneath all hurt in my heart. I am not like you. You have let the bitter memory of his death become the only thing to remember. It has overshadowed every wonderful moment of his life in your mind and if I stay here, it will do the same to me. I won’t let him keep dying in my heart, Steven. Not like you.” she said.53

Her words filled him with such shame and self hate that he was left speechless. 54

Vera sighed and gathered her bag into her arms. She walked past him and into the hall. He followed silently and inwardly screamed at himself to stop her, to say something that would convince her to stay with him but he remained unspeaking. 55

She stopped at the door with small red lettering scribbled in marker. Calvin had written his name on the white door, much to the anger of his parents, but his excitement over claiming the room as his own quickly had them laughing. 56

Vera opened the door and stepped into empty room. Daylight filtered through the thin blue curtains and the sun shone on the Power Rangers comforter. She gently lifted the stuffed lion that lay against the pillow.57

“I want Tony Lion.” she said affectionately. 58

“Take it.” he whispered.59

“It was his favorite. I have pictures and his lion. I don’t need anything else. I think it would be good for you, Steven, if you chose what you wanted and gave the rest to charity.” she said.60

The idea pained him but he nodded anyway.61

“I’m leaving now. I’m so sorry it has to end this way. I just hope you can forgive me one day. And I hope you can forgive yourself”62

***63

A sudden gust of winter air stirred him from his thoughts. His face felt colder than he remembered and when he wiped his eyes he realized he had been crying. The sudden tears shocked him because he had thought on his wife’s leaving numerous times without more than a heavy ache in his chest. Even when she drove away he had not cried, even though he loved her dearly and her rejection of him was agonizing.64

Dropping his pack to the ground he reached into a side pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a rag. He scrubbed at his face and cleared the small icicles from his lashes. When he finished he looked at the small clearing around him. 65

It was not very large and dead tree had split down the middle, leaving one half standing and the other, thinner half lying on the ground. The canopy was slightly more open and allowed for more light to brighten the area. A few snow covered rocks cold be seen beneath the drifts and he was sure he could make a small fire pit. 66

“Not a bad place to make camp, I guess.” he said aloud.67

His voice seemed to echo over the clearing and it made him all too aware at the stillness around him. 68

Despite the how wide and open the forest looked, he felt claustrophobic, as if the trees and shadows were watching him. Waiting to see what he would do next. The realization that there was a burial ground within the same woods crept into his thoughts and sent a shiver through him. He thought momentarily about turning around and heading for the safety of his truck. As he was about to make good on his idea he could feel a heaviness in his breast.69

He touched his gloved hand to his jacket and could feel the outline of the picture beneath. Guilt rode through him and he mentally scolded himself for almost breaking his promise.70

“I’m not going to let you down, son. Your old dad will keep his promise.” he said.71

Quickly dropping to his knees, Steven began to dig through his pack for his supplies. As he did so he was suddenly aware of a strange scent in the air. Lifting his nose he inhaled deeply and detected the faint aroma of fresh tobacco. It was not the familiar scent of cigarettes that most would smoke, it had a pleasant woody fragrance that he had never smelled before.72

The feeling of someone watching him was all around him and he looked over his shoulder with caution. He was alone. There were no woodland creatures amongst the trees and the only movement was from the falling snow. 73