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Any World You Choose
James Gilmer | | | | | |
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It came back to him again, the smell of the damp forest at
night. The oppressive trees, old and twisted things with bent
limbs that blocked even the meager light from the pale moon. He heard
the sounds of that night come back to him, the snapping of twigs and
the whisper of the wind among the underbrush. He could feel the sound
building out there, in the silence. He felt the terror again even
before the banshee wail was struck up. Poor little Richard, twleve
years old and standing alone in the dark forest, clothed only in his
nightshirt and briefs. Spinning this way and that, calling his friend's
name into the night.
The sound came again. Nails upon a chalkboard were nothing.
This was the song of the lost soul, this was the sound his
grandmother had warned him about. The song of the banshee, come to
announce the death of some poor sinner.
The silvery light burned suddenly in the forest. It seemed to
erupt around Richard, and his scream was lost in the banshee's
wail. He saw Peter again, standing there against the glow, only a few
yards away and bathed in the unearthly light.
"Listen to the music Richard! Isn't it brilliant! Come on
Richard, we have to go. They won't wait long!" Then as now,
Richard wondered how he could hear his friend over the din. He could
see Peter smiling and laughing. Arm upraised and beckoning Richard to
join him.
Against the light Richard could see the shadows moving behind
Peter, dark and bent shapes that seemed to flow and waver.
There was Peter in the middle of it, seeming oblivious to the tormented
wail that nearly deafened Richard. Peter seemed to be receeding into
the light, or perhaps the light was enveloping him. His figure became
more indistinct, as if he was losing his substance and becoming but
shadow.
The light grew brighter and Peter's form was swallowed as
Richard turned and ran. Branches whipped across his face as he
tore through the underbrush, bloody trails mixing with the tracks of
his tears as he screamed his way through the forest.
He awoke to morning's light and an empty bed. Sweat soaked the
sheets and the pillow was speckled with blood. He wiped at his
mouth and his hand came away bloody from where he had chewed through
his lower lip.
He rose and strode to the bathroom to spit the blood from his
mouth and shower away the cold, fear-induced sweat that clung
to him. He spat in the sink and stared at the blood for a few moments
before washing it down the drain.
In the shower he let the water get as hot as he could stand, as
if he hoped the heat would cleanse him of the damp night in his
past. He stood under the shower and let the water pound against the
back of his neck, watching the blood from his torn lip mingle with the
water as it spun down the drain.
He closed his eyes and saw Peter standing at the window of the
cabin, pointing out into the darkness of the forest and
laughing. Pure joy was splashed across his face as he told Richard
about the music he had heard in his sleep. It was not music that had
stirred Richard from his slumber, instead it was a chill whisper on the
wind. A mournful wale that had raised goosebumps and drawn him from a
deep dream of twisting shapes and strange cities.
He saw in his mind's eye Peter raising the window and climbing
out into the night. Peter called and cajoled him to follow him
into the woods, to seek out the strange music that Richard could not
hear. Richard's own voice had been stolen away by fear and so he
uttered not a sound as his friend slid through the window and darted to
the forest. All the while Peter skipped and spun as he ran, as if
keeping time with the alien music he heard.
Richard knew he should call for his father. Richard knew he
should go to his parents room next door and shake them awake.
Richard knew all this and yet he sat shaking in his bed, sheets pulled
up tight around him.
Shadows flickered across the wall. Thin, and bent forms that
flowed across the wood panels. It seemed as though they danced,
and their dance held Richard captive as he watched the spiralling
motions of the shadows.
Richard's eyes snapped open as he shivered under the suddenly
chill water running down his back. He stepped from the shower
and pulled a towel from the rack, wondering how long he had been
standing there lost in the past.
Through the cloudy dew on the bathroom mirror he saw his
reflection. He looked a haunted man. Dark circles outlined his
sunken and red eyes. Almost three days of stuble covered his once
clean-shaven, angular face. His eyes blurred and for a moment he almost
saw the face of Richard of eleven years ago, poor Richard standing
alone in the forest with his once bright eyes and sandy-brown tosseled
hair.
He thought about shaving and then remebered the lack of hot
water. He also realized he didn't have the energy and stumbled
into the bedroom to pull on a pair of boxers and jeans.His eyes drifted
across the bed to rest on the right side. Susan's side.
He could almost feel the warmth of her body under his hands.
The smell of lavender and honey that lingered in her chestnut
hair. Richard remembered the soft warmth of her breathing on the back
of his neck as he would lay in bed in the mornings. Laying there as
not to wake her and enjoying the feel of her breathing.
He walked into the apartment's living room and lay down on the
sofa. The blank face of the televison stared back at him, for a
moment he thought he saw shapes twisting in the dark and dead screen.
He was losing it. He had never had the dreams this badly since
high school, when he had seen Peter's father outside the
supermarket and went over to talk.
Peter's father did not remember him. Peter's father did not
remember Peter. The huge, barrel chested man with the deep
voice that Richard remembered so well from his childhood, the man who
had borne Peter and Richard both upon his shoulders when they were
young, the man who had cried in deep sobs and shook without control
when they couldn't find his son, this man did not remember him.
They had found Richard two days later, almost seven miles from
the cabin. Blood caked and near catatonic they had pulled him
from the river's side where he lay and carried him up to the road and
to the hospital. All the while they asked him questions. Where was
Peter? What happened to you? Why did you go out at night like that? Was
there someone in the woods?
Richard told them about the banshee's wail, told them about the
shapes in the forest. He told them about Peter going into that
silvery light and about the shadows htat chased him through the woods.
They said he was dehydrated. They said he was delusional. They thought
he was covering up for Peter. Peter had run away before in search of
adventures, perhaps he had again.
The woods were searched again and again. Cabins were checked
and everyone in the area was questioned. They dredged the river
where Richard was found. They never did find the body.
Peter's father hadn't known him. Robert Layton recalled neither
Richard nor Peter, the son he had lost. Richard looked into the
man's eyes, remembering the sobbing giant from years before standing at
a candlelight vigil for Peter, and saw nothing. He had run home that
day, heart pounding and his ears filled with the fainstest whisper of
the ghost wail of his past.
"Mom, you remember Peter don't you?", he had forced his voice
to remain neutral as he asked. His mother looked up from the
televison for a moment, eyes distant as if struggling for the answer.
"Oh, of course I do! You're little imaginary friend from when
you were a kid. I haven't thought about that in years, that's
funny you should mention it. Why did you want to know?"
Imaginary friend. The empty look in Robert Layton's eyes. Blood
roared in Richard's ears and he swayed slightly. His vison had
blurred but he could still make out the concern on his mother's face.
"No reason, I just thought about it today at school because
this girl was talking about one she had as a kid...I'm gonna go
to my room, I've got a headache or something"
Stumbling to his room he could barely hear his mother asking
him if he was all right. The roaring had increased in his ears
and pin pricks of ice trailed down his spine.
In his room he pulled a dusty footlocker from under his bed. It was
filled with pictures of him and Peter, filled with newsclippings he had
saved from the papers of the time of his disappearence. He threw the
lid open to reveal dozens of pictures and a score of yellowed
newsclippings. Peter was in none of the pictures. The clippings held no
mention of the missing boys, either of them.
His mother found him in his room a few hours later, catatonic and laying amidst
torn up photos and newsclippings.
He must have fallen asleep on the sofa, drifting in and out of vague
dreams of indistinct shapes and whispered conversations carried on the
wind. At first he thought it was the televison, then he realized the
screen was still dark and dead. He groaned and sat up, head spinning
and stomach clenching. The message light on the answering machine
blinked steadily at him and so he jabbed his finger down on the
playback button.
"Richard, it's John. You haven't been in class for a few days, I wanted
to make sure everything's all right. Anyways, give me a call if you
want, you haven't been looking so hot the past week or so. Anything you
want to talk about you just give me a call man."
As if John could help him anymore than the therapist his parents had
gotten in high school. How do you help someone who insists on
remembering an event that never happened and a friend who never
existed?
"Rich, it's Susan. Look, I know it's kinda early but I've been worried
about you. I...I shouldn't have gotten so mad and left like that. It's
just that you've been so withdrawn. I...I thought maybe it was me,
or...or someone else maybe...and I called your mom this morning to talk
to her. She...um..she told me about your problems in high school. Look,
I want to talk to you okay? Give me a call at Jodie's when you get this
message."
Great, now Susan would really think he was a freak. Before she had just
thought him eccentric, perhaps a little moody, now she knew that he had
had a breakdown years earlier.
"Richard, it's mom. Give me a call when you get in okay? Susan called
me, and I've already called Dr. Adams, you can make an appointment
anytime you want. Call me when you get this, I'll be home all day."
He could already hear his mother talking to Suasan. Telling her how
sullen he used to get, how withdrawn. Telling her it wasn't her or
another women. No, it was just poor Richard losing his mind again.
"You can either lay there feeling pitiful Rich, or you can get up and
do something." The voice that came from the machine was a ghost's
voice. Peter's, still the voice of the Peter of his youth, a child's
voice.
He looked at the machine in horror, waiting for the voice to come
again, but the machine only switched off with a quick beep and click.
He pressed playback and heard the messages again, all save Peter's.
Richard had gone after Peter of course. Even as the terror gripped him
in that tiny room of his parent's fishing cabin, the shadows on the
wall dancing around him, the strange song of pain and promised death
carried on the night air. He had shaken it off and followed out the
window, more fearful for his friend than himself.
Peter was the daredevil, the one who danced without fear on the edge of
roofs and bridges. Who had once stared down a neighborhood bully twice
his size and three years older. Peter with his devil's grin and
quicksilver smile and his incredible luck. Always pulling Richard along
as his partner in crime. Richard, the quiet and sullen boy who followed
his friend into adventure, muttering warnings all the way.
Into the night he ran after Peter, under a sky full of stars that were
nothing but pin pricks of light and yet seemed all the more oppresive
to Richard for their vastness. Into the forest where the giant sentinal
trees stood guard against the ages. Into the forest where the shadows
waited for him.
Richard knew the cabin would still be there. That part of his memory
was true even though no other evidence of that night existed. The
fishing cabin up north where his parents had taken the both of them on
vacation when Peter had asked to come along.
It was about a two hour drive with the new interstate, a nice change
from the almost five hours of winding back roads Richard remembered
from his childhood. He had thought about calling his mother or Dr.
Adams before he left, just so neither thought he had done anything
drastic. He had rejected the idea quick enough. After all, he was doing
something drastic, chasing the ghost memory of that long ago night.
He thought about Susan as well. He had thought about calling her,
trying to explain things to her, but he knew it would just sound like
rambling. There was nothing he could do about her right now. First, he
had to go back to the woods and follow that strange cry as he had once
before.
The road to the cabin was overgrown and he had almost missed his
turnoff thanks to the brush which obscured the road's entrance. It was
little more than a trail that had been worn away by the trucks that
made their way to the half dozens cabins that lay deeper in the forest.
His little car bounced and struggled down the beaten trail as he went
deeper in the woods, overhanging branches and an overcast sky making
the woods seem oddly silent and dark for midday.
The cabin was still where he remembered, about a half mile into the
woods. The last cabin in a line strung out over the old trail. Richard
could remeber the old wood burning stove that doubled as the cabin's
heater. He could remember helping carry split logs into the cabin, damp
logs with ants spilling out of cracks and a musty smell about them.
He didn't bother going into the cabin, even though he had a spare set
of keys for it. Instead, he made his way around back and stood under
the window that was his old bedroom. He thought about Peter sliding out
that window and dancing towards the forest. The skies began to darken
as the clouds grew grey and heavy with autumn rain. Shadows began to
fall across the backyard. Long shadows that Richard could swear twisted
themselves into new shapes as he stared at them.
Richard could feel the tension building, the song about to be sung. It
began softly, a faint echo of the wind, than began growing in volume.
It was a low moan, almost like a foghorn sounding at night, but with a
drawn out and almost human quality. The pitch suddenly began climbing
rapidly to peak at a piercing whine. Then, nothing more but the sound
of the wind blowing through the trees.
Richard felt the rough wood of the cabin against him as he pressed
himself back against the it. He realized he was shaking without control
and tried to tell himself that the wail was not the sound he had heard
on that night so long ago.
It was then that he realized how dark it had gotten. The grey clouds
had darkened further and now it seemed as if night had come upon him.
Impossible as it seemed the shadows still wavered and flickered across
the yard, though there was scarce enough light to cast them.
It wasn't until the shadows began rising that he screamed. They seemed
to pull themselves off the ground and flapped in the brisk wind. Vague
shapes, humanoid perhaps and yet posessing little depth. They resembled
black fabric snapping in the wind. Richard dug his nails into the old
wood of the cabin, blood seeping out from splinters and the pain
pulling him to his senses a bit.
Then he saw the figure at the edge of the woods. Peter, capering about
with a jaunty Robin Hood hat perched upon his head. He laughed and
waved when Richard saw him. Peter, not an older Peter, but the Peter
that Richard remembered so well.
"Welcome to Sherwood M'lady! Ha! Come on Richard, you missed out last
time." Peter snapped off a mock salute and turned towards the forest,
arm upraised and beckoning Richard to join him as he had so long ago.
Again Peter ran into the forest, and again Richard followed. Darting
past the silent shadows that drifted and twisted through the yard. They
did not come near Richard as he ran for the forest, nor did they
attempt to follow, and for that Richard was grateful
Into the forest again, and a dark forest at that. Any daylight that had
remained in the sky was gone, replaced by that strange silvery glow
Richard remembered so well. The glow did not seem to come from
overhead, instead it was all around. As if the forest itself was
infused with the light.
He wasn't sure how long he ran until he came upon Peter. Time itself
had seemed to lose meaning, the silvery glow making the clearing he
entered seem dreamlike and unreal. Richard wondered for a moment if he
was not still home in bed, gripped in a hallucination or fever dream.
Perhaps he had finally gone over the end, succumbing to what Dr. Adams
had called delusional schizophrenia.
"You're not in bed Richard, and I suppose for the most part you're as
sane as any person." Peter grinned at him as he sat cross-legged on a
fallen log, a blade of grass clenched in his teeth and a raven's
feather in his cap.
"I do however, suppose that you could think of this as a dream, in that
everything is a dream. Row, row, row your boat and all that." Peter
laughed and sprung to his feet. Somewhere Richard could hear the
mournful cry being struck up again.
"Why are you afraid Richard? It's just their music, nothing can hurt
you here. What is here is only a reflection of what you bring." Peter
jumped from the log and walked a few steps closer.
"You're afraid of me. Why? " There was only open curiosity in Peter's
eyes, and Richard knew he had found his friend again. Yet, the wail was
beginning to build in the distance.
"I...I don't hear any music Peter, I just hear that scream, that weird
noise that sounds like...I don't know what it sounds like...there
aren't any words for it. Are you dead Peter? Am I dead? Why doesn't
anyone remember you?"
Richard had slowly backed away a bit from his friend, at the edges of
the clearing he could see the shadow shapes twisting and spinning.
Peter glanced over at them for a moment and shook his head.
"We aren't dead Rich. Well...you're not, and I'm not really...at least
not in the sense you mean." Peter spread his hands out to show he meant
no harm and sat down on the ground, motioning for Richard to follow.
Mindfull of the shadows around him and of the howl on the wind he did,
his trust in his friend and his desire for answers outweighing his
fear.
"I wish you could have come Rich, you should see..you should see what's
there.The music, oh Rich the music...it's amazing really."
"Where Pete, where did you go. Wha...what music? Why do I remember? Why
couldn't I go with you. For christ's sake Pete what the hell are those
things!" Richard pointed to the shadows that waited outside the
clearing, the same shadows that had followed him through the woods
eleven years ago.
"They're yours Rich, your fears. The reason you couldn't come with me,
even though you could have. I wanted you to come with me Rich, you
always came with me on my adventures. You should have seen the
adventures I've had, and millions yet to come. But it's lonely Rich,
I've all the worlds to choose from and it's still lonely." It only
lasted a moment, but Richard could see the sadness on his friends face.
A deep longing for something given away long ago.
"You can't come back can you Pete? Where ever you went, who ever took
you there, you can't come back."
The devil's grin of long ago replaced the look of sadness. The glint
returned to Peter's eyes as he looked at his aged friend.
"No, no I can't. It was worth it though. If you could have seen me
Richard! If you could have been there! It was like Peter Pan, Alice in
Wonderland, John Carter of Mars, and Tarzan all rolled into one!
Worlds, Richard! Worlds without end. All our dreams and adventures
given form. The tastes, the sounds, the songs! Amazing!"
Richard felt the infectious excitment he had always felt around Peter.
Peter, for who the whole world was an adventure. With a sudden shock
Richard longed to have been at his friend's side through all the things
he had seen.
"I'm sorry Pete, I...I was afraid. I didn't hear what you heard, didn't
see what you saw." Richard felt his friend's fingertips on his chin as
Peter raised his head to stare into Richard's eyes.
"That's your problem Rich, you were always afraid. You couldn't come
because...well, because the other place reacts to what's inside you.
You heard the music, but it was distorted by fear. Fear's a fine thing,
and important too. I been scared plenty of times. Remember Brian
Johnson? That bully who lived down the street? Remember me standing up
to him? I almost crapped myself."
"Heh, you didn't show it. I thought we were both dead, but you just
stood there with a split lip and telling him to take another shot. You
just looked at him and he chickened"
Peter smiled and laughed at the memory. Richard joined him and it felt
good. Somewhere, the wail was changing. Becoming softer, losing the
piercing quality. Peter looked at him again and his grin widened.
"I'm sorry you've carried this around with you for so long Rich. You
should have forgotten like everyone else, but you were too scarred by
that night. The trauma of coming in contact with them was too much."
"What are they Peter? My grandma used to tell me stories of the old
country, sprites and changlings and..."
"Forget all that. It's not really easy to put the other place into
terms like that. It's just the place where our dreams go I guess, and
they are the keepers of that place. The keepers of our dreams, that's
the only way I know to descibe it. Worlds without end. We're full of
worlds, did you know that? Except I miss this world sometimes. I miss
you and my parents, and I miss real people. Flesh and blood people who
live and die and hurt and cry. It's different when you know it's not
really real."
A little of the sadness had come into Peter again, his eyes had lost
some of their shine. Dimly, Richard was aware that the shadows had
gone. The wail was gone also, replaced by a lilting melody that spoke
of far off lands.
"Can I come this time Pete? Can I come with you this time?" Around them
the light was growing brighter. Richard could see that Peter seemed to
be losing some of his solidity.
"Only if you really want to Rich. It's funny in a way. You were always
the withdrawn one, moody, and introspective. Like the world was just
too big for you, like the whole universe was crushing down on you and
it was too much. I was the one who always wanted to get away. I wanted
to runaway. I thought there was a better world out there somewhere,
that there had to be, and I ended up running into my dreams."
Richard thought of them as they had been years ago. Both unsatisfied
with what the world seemed to offer them, as if it were not enough, as
if the bargin was a poor one.
Both of them wanting more, Peter chasing his adventures and dreams, and
Richard looking inside himself for something more, afraid of the hurt
around him.
"You can come this time Richard. If you stay nothing may change. You
still might be afraid, you'll still get hurt, you may lose Susan. Yes,
I know about her from your dreams. You're afraid you'll lose her.
You're afraid she doesn't love you. That's the real world Richard."
The light was beginning to envelope Peter again, and Richard knew that
his time of choosing had come. Peter stretched out his hand for him to
take.
"Choose Richard, I can't decide for you. Choose your world." There was
a smile on Peter's face, simple and caring. Behind him lay the door to
all the possible worlds Richard could imagine.
He took a step forward to grasp Peter's hand, and then he caught the
scent of lavender. The smell of her shampoo and the feel of Susan's
breathing on the back of his neck. Ice blue eyes that seemed to glow in
the light and were framed by chestnut ringlets. He remembered his
other friends, he remembered all those he knew past and present. In an
instant that seemed to stretch forever he remembered his life, his
world.
"There aren't any guarentees Rich, nothing's certain in the real world.
But if you're happy than that's the place that's heaven." Peter had
dropped his arm as a sudden realization came over Richard.
"I don't think I'm going Pete. I want to but...maybe I can stay here.
Maybe running away isn't right...maybe I don't have to. Maybe, just
maybe I can be happy here too. That's what you lost isn't it? The
chance that life, real life offers, all those possibilites that you
gave up. You can live your dreams, but there's really no risk to it is
there? You can fly, but can't fall, that's what you miss isn't it? "
Peter smiled, though it was a bit of a sad smile. He raised his hand in
a salute as he stepped backward into the light of the doorway.
"You can still choose the world you want to live in Richard. Even here,
in the real world. It's all a matter of perception. Maybe you won't be
happy, maybe you won't get the girl, maybe you won't have the
adventure, but maybe...just maybe you will."
Peter's clothing changed and he stood before the doorway in what looked
like an outlandish pirate's costume. His devil's grin was back again,
and he drew the rapier with a flourish.
"Another adventure awaits Rich! A thousand damsels to rescue! No limit
to my dreams Rich! Good luck, you won't forget me and I never you! See
you in your dreams!"
"In my dreams Pete, always." The light blinded Richard as it exploded
from the doorway and enveloped Peter,taking him away again to whatever
adventure awaited him. The music from the doorway lingered a moment,
and Richard waited until the echo of the last notes died away to begin
walking back to his car.
The sun had returned within a few moments, scattering the clouds and
leaving a wide open, blue sky as Richard walked from the forest to his
car. He drove back to the main road and took it up to the hill that
overlooked the river where he had been found all those years ago.
There was a small tourist center where you could park and look out over
the river below. He stood there at the edge and looked out over the
river and the setting sun casting its last orange-red hues over the
forest.
"Any world I choose Pete?." With a grin on his face he pulled away from
the park, heading south along the interstate towards home. He needed a
shave and another shower, and then maybe he'd call Susan. Humming a
song from another place, another world, he drove into his world.
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