The Lost and The Found

The Lost and The Found

By Dorian Priest

Although Samuel's phone read 1:30 in the afternoon, the thick canopy of leaves obscured the day's light. Oak twigs and the brush of honeysuckle cracked under his boots. How many years had passed since he'd last enjoyed his once-perfect spot of seclusion? Would it be as he remembered? The only respite of quiet from the din of home. He hoped, no he wished--the first wish in so very long--that the clearing in these woods had not been peopled over. Yes, it would be there; he would finally find peace.

Years ago, these sparse woods felt more like a vast forest, an endless land of adventure. Nothing like his old neighborhood's predictable boredom. But now, crouching down to wash a prick of blood from his hand in the rushing stream, he feared this place wasn’t as remembered. Thorn-bushes sprung up where they weren't expected. And this stream once seemed a river.

He dried his hand on his jeans and zipped up his jacket. The breeze felt cooler outside the warmth of the sun, but thankfully, the leaves had not yet begun to turn. Seclusion would be necessary. Were it not for the cover of foliage, the neglected pet cemetery--his once-secret place--would be in open view of any of the nearby homes. 

Funny. When your only experience of the world is contained in a five-mile radius, a three-minute walk from your front door seems like a thousand miles away from the troubles of youth. But then, haven't most things changed over time? A magical forest becomes a dumping ground for the trash the local pickup refused. Freedom becomes an inescapable prison. A hero becomes an ordinary man.

"Hey, mister."

Dammit.

"Do you live around here?" The boy was dressed in a vintage Black Sabbath tee, and his husky acid-washed jeans were caked in dirt.

Samuel buried his hands in his jacket pockets. "I used to." 

"You know this place, The Forest of Lost Souls?".

"Seriously?" Samuel cringed. "Shouldn't you be inside playing X-box or something?"

"Huh?" The boy broke a fallen limb the length of his arm and wielded it like a sword. "Well, I've seen them, the lost souls. Of course, they're invisible without the artifact... A magical tool..." Glancing around, he said in a hushed tone, "I buried it for safekeeping." 

"Listen, kid, don't take this the wrong way," Samuel couldn't hide his annoyance. "I don't have time for fantasies. I'm busy." He refused to meet the boy's glance, staring instead towards the ground.

"Whatever." The boy said, reaching for a vine that hung beside a ravine. "I don't need you screwing up my quest. It's too important."

Quests. Adventure. Not something Samuel had thought about in quite some time. Once, he thought he might teach a son or daughter how to play Dungeons & Dragons. Of course, life never plays out like the script is written. Besides, kids these days lack the required attention span. 

"Hey," Samuel said, "Is there still a pet cemetery around here?" The erosion of time had altered the landscape considerably; he no longer recognized where to search. "Over this way... within the clearing." The boy pointed toward a patch of light shining through the brush a few hundred feet beyond the ravine. "I buried my treasure in that cemetery, under a monster of a tree. We should go together. Party up?"

Forget it, Samuel thought. Why should today be unlike any other day? Saturday was a poor choice. Monday then--a school day--that would be much better. Turning back, he left the boy to his fantasy.

The boy grumbled, grasped the vine, and swung.

Crack! Snap! Samuel turned back and ran to the ravine’s edge as the last strand of broken vine fell down on top of the boy, now collapsed in the valley below. The boy held his chest, powerless to breathe. The wind was knocked out of him, Samuel thought as he rushed down. "Are you alright?" The boy was unable to answer, still trying to catch his breath. 

Samuel rubbed the boy's back. "Tell you what," he said, "Once you get your breath, I'll help you find your artifact if you take me to the cemetery. I'd like to see it one last time before I head out."

The boy bent over and whispered, "I lied, there's no magic artifact. Just my stupid glasses. They suck, but I can't see without them." 

After helping the boy up and wiping off debris from his back, Samuel gazed at the boy's T-shirt.

"You like Black Sabbath?" Samuel remembered wearing out their debut cassette, having listened on repeat for three months straight. These days, there's no way he'd be head banging like a rock star, he thought while rubbing his neck. Not without need for a chiropractic adjustment, anyhow. 

"Oh yeah," exclaimed the boy, "They're the band all your favorite bands like."

"What's your favorite song?" Samuel asked. "Mine's 'The Wizard.'"

"That one's pretty good," the boy said, "but I could do with less harmonica. What's metal about the harmonica?"

Samuel smiled. "Exactly. I couldn't agree more. Though, I did enjoy fantasizing I was that wizard from the song, the one who demons feared. I loved the sense of wonder... of magic and possibility. These woods conjured that for me too, when I was your age." He stared down, trying to remember an event from long ago. "One time, I think I helped a king become reunited with his kingdom. Or maybe he reunited me with my magic." Unable to recall the details, he concluded, "Eh, probably an old movie." 

Looking with pity at the boy, Samuel said with hesitation, "You know... If I help you find what you're looking for, would you make me a promise? Would you promise not to tell anyone that you ever saw me." He held out his hand, waiting to shake on the deal. "It would be our secret pact."

The boy smiled as he took on the new demeanor of whatever character he believed himself to be. Squinting, he took Samuel's hand in most-serious agreement. "Oh good sir, this traveler has such poor vision, and if you help me find the Magical Spectacles of Lost Souls, I would forever be in your debt. You may consider your secret kept and my lips sealed." 

"The Spectacles of Lost Souls?" Samuel seemed incredulous.

"Uh, yeah." the boy said, "You know… 'The Forest of Lost Souls'… The enchanted lenses of these glasses are the only way with which to see them."

Samuel decided not to inquire further. In his imagination, however, the boy had buried the eyeglasses out of shame. If bullies were anything like they were when he was in middle school, they likely called him "four-eyes," and teased him about going blind from jerking off. 

Unwilling to break character for fear of undermining the boy's pledge, Samuel asked, "Don't you have members in your party--anyone to help you find the Magical Spectacles of Lost Souls?"

"Oh fine Sir," the boy answered, "They've all been vanquished... During our last trip into these forsaken woods."

Samuel patted the boy on the shoulder. "Well, let's go then… Together."

"Sure." The boy grinned and pointed. "The clearing, and the buried animals are just over that hill."

"By the way, what does a lost soul look like, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," the boy said. "That's why I need my glasses... So I can see them." 

Both smiled, and before taking another step, a squirrel darted inches from the boy, who leaped back startled, squealing in surprise. Samuel laughed. The boy laughed. Then they made their way towards the clearing to find the burial place of the magical treasure.

After climbing up what seemed like ten flights of stairs and nearly falling down more than once, Samuel was glad he brought his hiking boots with the good tread. He wasn't sure they'd still fit, having not worn them in almost eight years. A desire for adventure and for the freedom of the wilderness faded along with everything else in his life.

"Mister, are you a cripple or something?" The boy seemed quite curious. 

"Why would you say something like that?" Samuel scowled.

"Well," the boy said, "you keep hiding that hand in your pocket. Figured it's all contorted and twisted and mangled. A battle with a vicious ogre, maybe?" 

Samuel removed his hand from his pocket and wiped a sweaty palm on his jeans. "Nope. Look." He waved his hand as if casting a spell. "That vicious ogre had nothing on me. I was well-armed, naturally, of course." He stopped smiling and thrust his hand back into his jacket.

Samuel and the boy entered the clearing. The sun shined brightly off the green grass that had grown knee-height before bending over on itself.

"Is this fence new?" Samuel said as he clasped its chain-links and peered across the old pet cemetery.

The boy quickly scaled the fence and jumped over to the other side before answering. "No, it's been here for as long as I can remember." 

The metal was rusty, and its barbed wire all but stripped away. "The barbed wire." Samuel lifted up his jeans and rubbed a forgotten scar on his knee. "That I remember."

Expecting to hop the fence as easily as he had a hundred times as a child, Samuel now struggled to fit even the tip of his thick boot into the small holes between the links. "This was easier back in the day." With a leap, he reached up to grab for the top, but he couldn't hold himself without the sturdiness of even a single toe-hold. He fell backwards and landed on his ass with a thud.

The boy laughed. Samuel laughed and shook his head. "Over here," the boy shouted, lifting up a loose edge of fencing several yards down. "I'll hold this end up, and you can crawl through."

Samuel was less than thrilled to be entering a pet cemetery on all fours like a dog. The irony was not lost on him: A dog entering a dog's final destination. 

Walking over several makeshift headstones--most of them deteriorated over time--Samuel began to recall these gloomy but peaceful surroundings.

"Do you remember where you buried your eyeglasses?" Samuel paused. "I mean, the Magical Spectacles of Lost Souls?"

The boy squinted and scanned the clearing. "I think they're under that huge tree." The boy gestured toward a great oak casting its shadow across an entire edge of the cemetery.

Samuel walked over to the tree but didn't notice any freshly-dug dirt. "Are you sure?"

"I’m positive."

Samuel picked up a fallen limb and began digging around the base of the trunk. The surface of the ground was hard to penetrate. Nevertheless, Samuel found himself full of the burning desire to keep digging. The dirt became thick mud as he continued. Six inches down, he struck hard metal. "Kid, we found it! The lost artifact." He smiled with glee and finished digging around a small tin box. He held it up. The box was rusted and brittle. 

Samuel opened the box and found a pair of oversized, plastic-rimmed eyeglasses. Memories flooded in. He put on the specs and looked through the beams of light that shone between the leaves and branches that danced around him. He remembered. The glasses. The tin. They were his--buried with shameful humiliation in the sixth grade--from twenty-seven years ago. It couldn't be.

"Sammy?" Awestricken, he whirled back in search of the kid.

No one was there. Nothing but wilderness. Samuel was alone, and he gave a soft chuckle. Birds chirped, seemingly for the first time since entering the woods. 

Samuel let out a deep sigh, then reached into his pocket with care. He pulled out the Glock G-19 semi-automatic pistol, still warm from the heat of his constant grip. He closed it inside the box of tin and placed it into the hole. With both hands, he covered it over with loose dirt, brush, and leaves. 

He put on the glasses for one last look. Through their lenses, as the sun warmed his face, Samuel saw something he hadn't seen in many years... Hope. He tucked the artifact into his pocket and returned to the world.

THE END