In the Clearing (Part One)

Will and Alfred were 16 years old and walked into the woods near where they lived. It was early summer, and they parted the orange flowers of tangled trumpet vines to step through the snarl of thick weeds into the shade of the trees.

The sharp distinction of summer sun and cool, fragrant shadow ran like a fence along the trunks of sweetgum and loblolly pines stretching above their heads. Under birdsong, they crept into the dark and onto the soft orange pine needles lining each step.

The boys often hunted squirrels. They were easy to hear. Small and lithe but as loud as a man in the carpet of dead leaves and underbrush as they hurried each step of their short, frenetic lives.

Will shouldered a heavily oiled and well-cared-for .22 caliber Winchester. Alfred usually carried an old Remington, but today, he lugged his father’s .30-06 with a scope. He heard of some hunters “barking” a squirrel—shooting the branch out from under it and killing it with the concussion—and he needed the larger caliber to try it.

They walked arrow-straight through the dense woods toward a clearing a few hundred yards ahead. The boys climbed over downed branches and fallen tree trunks with oyster mushrooms growing like white ears on the rotting wood. There were clear shots at squirrels either of the boys could have taken, but both waited and walked toward the clearing they believed was theirs, though they had no rightful claim to any of God’s acres.

After a strenuous but relaxed hike, the boys saw the late morning sun stretched across the green of the clearing. It was an explosion of diffused gold clinging to every blade of grass. It looked like creation began, then stopped, frozen in one everlasting moment. They paused with reverence and awe at the beauty that most never saw. They wished to be frozen with the light, stuck in it forever like amber.

Quietly, like a hunter, Will asked almost inaudibly, “What was that?”

But a deep hollow rumble moved through the ground and into their feet and legs, shaking them from their sacred stupor. With a quick turn of his head, Will looked at Alfred, inquisition in his eyes.

Quietly, like a hunter, Will asked almost inaudibly, “What was that?” Alfred, immobile, put his finger to his lips for quiet. Neither moved for seconds that stretched like wax. The hollow rumble, now with the weight of malevolence, shook them again.

The woods were as quiet as death. Even the trees were still, their branches unbending, pine needles and leaves listless.

The boys stared at the clearing. Directly focused on one spot, they would see even slight movement in their field of vision. A flicker of blood red flashed in the clear light soaking the clearing. The red flickered again and moved to the left. Dirt rose in an arc like a child digging a hole at the beach and throwing sand over his shoulder.

The hollow rumble sounded again. Both boys contorted their bodies to look around the broad trunk of the silent trees. Alfred took a halting step before the sound faded to nothing. In the blue shade behind the trunk of a pine, he was momentarily safe. Will, standing behind the wide flaking trunk of a sycamore, had a clear line of sight into the clearing.

The hollow rumble became a growl as a fantastic serpent stretched and rose to its full, proud height in the sunlight. It was twice the height of a man. The monster shook itself, sending ripples surging through its blood-red body with waving spasms. Rear legs clawed at the dirt for a solid foundation to raise itself even higher in defiance of the beauty of the light. Will watched, riding waves of nausea and dread as the great beast stretched itself forward and, with coiled force, pushed bony wings covered with translucent red skin out of its slender back. The wings flapped once as smoke blew from its open mouth. The reptile crouched low and looked around with his smooth head only a few inches from the ground.

Will looked toward Alfred, who, with the slow, fluid movements of a burglar, had chambered a round in the .30-06 and raised the rifle to his shoulder. The stock held firmly in his twitching hand rested against the bark of the towering pine tree. Alfred looked toward Will, nudging his chin upward twice as a signal to raise his .22 and ready it to fire.

By now, the skin of the snake, warmed by the strengthening sun beaming into the clearing like a spotlight, looked like molten metal, the color glowing from red to gleaming gold. The hallucinatory beauty of the fluid skin caused Alfred a momentary pang of apprehension before his hand began to shake, moving to his joints and arms that steadied his weapon.

Alfred glanced at Will to get his attention, but he was intently staring at the snake. Immobile but alert, Will’s finger was on the trigger. When Alfred looked back to the serpent, the stock of his rifle scraped against the rough pine bark. At the sound, the beast’s head snapped toward Alfred, and a hissing screech burst out of its mouth with the gust of flame and the hellish smell of brimstone.

Next Week: Part 2

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