Archie the Tree Monster

Lee-Roy White snickered as he took off the stolen rain jacket. He’d been warm and dry all the way home, even his hair, thanks to the jacket’s hood. It looked like a golf jacket, and it was big enough to fit him. On Wussy Wyatt, it’d come down to his bony knees. ‘Must be his dad’s.’

He hung it up in the entryway that his father called ‘the mudroom’ only cuz it had tiled flooring. ‘Mine now.’ He snickered again at the thought of that skinny little goomba soaking wet and shivering on his walk home from school.

He almost walked away but looked down at the pockets. He had patted them down earlier, they’d felt empty. Now, he felt inside each one. The outer two had zippers covered with protective flaps. Empty. The inner one had stiff papers in it, the size of the recipe cards his mother used to have. 

Photos.

Three were photos of himself. The fourth was one apparently taken on a Halloween night.

***

Thursday, one day earlier…

Wyatt Summerland the Third ate his lunch on the farthest corner of The Broken Field. The high school staff called it The Right Field. The jocks from decades past had called it The Field of Broken Bones. The current jock bullies continued the tradition of terrorizing the weaker boys by ‘accidentally’ tackling or tripping the smaller boys during games of flag football. The coaches turned a blind eye, they favored the jocks and most likely had been those same bullies in their high school years. 

Wyatt pushed the black frame of his glasses up his nose. He hated gym class; he was always picked last.

Starling sat down next to Wyatt. (Her name was Samantha Sterling) but the popular girls in the school renamed her right around the second grade. She was thin and as delicate as a bird after all, and black. She had fluffy pom pom pigtails and a mouthful of glinting pewter teeth. 

Starling peeled open her chocolate pudding and scooped some daintily into her mouth. Wyatt said, “You only eat pudding for lunch?”

Starling swallowed, took a sip of her milk, and said, “Once I made the mistake of eating a BLAT in the caff. A year ago, when I got my braces. It was so gross. Evvie made fun of me, said I looked like a monster from a lagoon cuz I had strings of lettuce stuck right in the front. It took nearly the rest of lunch hour to get all the crap outta my stupid braces. I was so embarrassed; every time someone came into the bathroom I hid in a stall.”

“Gross. Sorry. But ew. I get the pudding thing now. How much longer do you have to wear them?” 

“Six more months at least. The rest of the school year.”

“But you’ll have great teeth for the twelfth grade. Movie Star Teeth.”

Starling covered her mouth as she laughed. Wyatt figured it would be a long time before she lost that habit. He looked across The Broken Field. Lee-Roy White stood at the far end. ‘Of course he is.’

Lee-Roy said something to the boys on either side of him and pointed two fingers at Wyatt then at his own eyes. ‘I’m watching you.’ The three boys laughed.

Starling said, “Why does he hate you so much?”

“He’s just a bully. Like his dad.”

Starling nodded. Everyone talked about the fat, finger shaped bruises emblazed upon Lee-Roy’s pale arms and the occasional black eye. No one in school had done that to him. No one dared. The kid was huge. At seventeen, he stood six feet tall. He was lean and roped with muscley bulges and knobs. A teacher had told him once he needed a haircut, told him he looked like a hoodlum with it worn so long. 

From his desk at the back of the room, he shrugged then said, “Chicks dig it.” The class had laughed.

That teacher had later found her car had been keyed, two thick wavering lines ran down each side of the little blue Corolla.

Lee-Roy was not afraid of anyone.

Wyatt said, “He’s my nemesis. I stay out of his way.”

Starling rubbed her bare mocha colored shin. Her socks were short, her capri pants had risen over her knees. Wyatt noticed the spot she rubbed sported a very prominent lump. 

He said, “Field hockey?”

“Yup, you’re not the only one who gets bullied. I fucking HATE gym class.”

“Me too. Wyatt’s in my gym class.”

“That fucking sucks.”

The bringing-buzzing of the bell rang out.

Wyatt said, “And speaking of gym class…”

They got up and walked across the field. Starling veered off towards the corridor to the left. She waggled her fingers goodbye and said, “Good luck.” 

“Thanks.” He took one final glace at the sky. It was still blue in places, but heavy grey clouds were darkly taking over.

Gym class was okay that day, they played badminton because it was supposed to rain. Badminton was cool cuz was not a team sport. After the class, Wyatt was the first to head to the changing room after the hour was up- he liked to change quickly and be out of Lee-Roy’s radar field as fast as possible.

Wyatt jumped into the shower farthest from the lockers. He froze as a shadow paused at the curtain. He let his breath out as the shadow departed. He showered and rinsed as if he were in a race. With luck, Lee-Roy would still be showering when he was long gone. He peeked out the stall. No nemesis. He reached to the peg where his towel was.

Not there. 

He looked at the blue tiled floor. No towel. ‘Fuck.’ Not only was there no towel, but his jeans were also gone. He used his gym shirt to towel off, but it was moist with sweat, he had no choice but to put his sweaty gym shorts back on. They suctioned onto his damp thighs like limpets on tidal rocks. He buttoned his shirt, groaning at the way it clung to his chest and back.

Wyatt caught something dark from the corner of his eye as he passed the bank of urinals. In one of them, all balled up and soaking wet, were his Levis. ‘They were getting too short anyways,’ he thought.

The hill-billy guffawing behind him reddened his face uncontrollably. The grating laughter was followed by, “Check that out! You can see everything! Hey lil dude, that lil worm so small not even yer girlfriend, the black bird, could find it!”

He didn’t pause at the mirror, but finger combed his hair into place as he headed for the door to the hallway. Half the students pointed and laughed as he walked swiftly through the hallway. The other half whispered to their friends as they stared. Only a couple of kids looked away, pity painted on their faces.

He didn’t stop at the door to his history class, he kept going straight, into the nearly empty cafeteria, and out the side door to the bike racks.

As he pedaled as fast as he could, it began to rain.

His mother wasn’t home yet, she worked late Thursdays, and on those nights, he made dinner for them. She probably wouldn’t notice the absence of the Levis but if she did, he’d tell her they were too short, so he’d put them in the Goodwill box, which, by the way, he’d taken into town the day before.

The deluge of rain worsened into a fantastic storm. Wyatt’s invisible friend would be pleased. He particularly loved thunder and lightning and the violence of hurricane winds. His gleeful enthusiasm had infected Wyatt as well, he went outside into the pitch-black yard and put his face into the torrents. He said, “It’s a good one, eh, Archie?”

A voice drifted down from above, “Indeed it is, little friend…”

“Archie…”

“Sorry. Wyatt Summerland the Third.” The voice was deep but light and melodic, like Barry White speaking in sotto voce.

“Ha! What a laugh.” Wyatt Summerland the Second had left when he was two, leaving him nothing but a fancy name. Wyatt Summerland the First had died of a heart attack five years previously. He was technically Wyatt Summerland the Only.

White lights painted the fence for a second, dimmed by the downpour.

“She’s home. Gotta go,” Wyatt said to the shadow man.

“Ciao buddy.”

The next morning was drizzly and dark, with intermittent showers. Wyatt spent too long searching his drawers, his closet, the hall closet, for his hooded waterproof jacket. When at last he found it, he realized he was going to be late for school. 

At the school, he stopped at his locker, noting how empty the halls were. ‘Past first bell. Did I miss the second one too?’ He grabbed his binder and algebra book and slammed the door shut. He raced down the hall to his homeroom, slipping and sliding a couple of times like a cartoon character.

The second bell razzled shrilly and echoingly behind him as he leapt into the classroom.

“I’m here!” he exclaimed as he ran to his seat in the second row.

Hill-billy guffaws from the back row.

The teacher glared over his half spectacles which always seemed to hang on the end of his thin, pointed nose like magic. “Yes, I see that. I also see that you’re dripping all over my floor.”

Wyatt didn’t think it wise to point out the floor wasn’t actually his, but belonged to whomever owned the school. Maybe it was the county’s floor. 

There was a row of eight coat hooks at the back of the room. He hung his dripping jacket on the end, next to a green striped sweater that had been there since his first day. Kids claimed it was haunted, that it had belonged to Freddy Kruger. He hustled back to his desk and Mr. Altera continued announcing next week’s events in his nasally, monotone drawl.

Homeroom was fifteen minutes long. Today it seemed an hour.

Sure enough, when the bell rang for the first class of the day, Mr. Altera asked Wyatt to, “Hold up a sec.”

“I’m sorry I was late Mr. Altera; it won’t happen again.”

“Apology accepted. And seeing as this was your first time, I’ll let it go. Manage your schedule better. You’ll need to in the real world.”

“Thank you, sir.” He scooped up his books and took off for his algebra class.

As he sat in his seat near the front, he realized he’d forgotten his jacket. ‘I’ll have to get it after class.’

As he walked into his homeroom, he saw immediately that his jacket was gone. The room was empty. Mr. Altera was absent. He ran to the coat hooks, nothing on the floor. He peeked under the ugly sweater with a pencil, careful not to touch it… just in case. Nope. ‘Fucking Lee-Roy!’

***

Back to Friday…

“Fucking Wuss-boy! What the hell?!” He’d nearly dropped the photos. He felt…afraid. Of Wyatt. Ridiculous. He feared no one…except…

 His vision went red as he pictured a meaty fist darkening with knuckle shadows as it came towards his eye. He felt the sharp pain of his nose cartilage separating from bone and the thudding pain in his eye socket as it crinkled inwards toward his eyeball. He felt the pressure of the eyeball push inwards.

…His father. He was okay most of the time. No, that’s a lie. He drank every night. He morphed into a monster every night that he could not always avoid.

Lee-Roy looked at the photos in his hand and studied each one. He had sat down on the crumpled sheets of his bed without realizing he’d even moved, let alone found his way to his room. He shoved dirty clothes from the floor to uncover the toolbox. It locked. It was empty of tools and was stocked instead with cans of Coors he’d swiped after his father had passed out. He even had a travel mug half full of swiped Jack Daniels. It was the Jack his trembling fingers grabbed.

As he sipped, he studied the photos.

One showed his father and him on their front porch. He’d been wearing a tee-shirt; under the yellowy porchlight he saw the deep shadows under the fingers that were squeezing his biceps. The next was taken that same night, after Lee-Roy had been thrown to the ground. His father’s fist was raised high- high for greater momentum and greater impact. The third photo was a view through the living room window. Father’s left hand held Lee-Roy by the throat… the right was raised- high.

The fourth picture was the Halloween one. Lee-Roy smiled. The scary decoration revealed glowing eyes and sharp white teeth in an ear-to-ear grin, the gnarled outline of a tree behind it lit up by lightning added to the illusion of scariness. 

Later, in bed, Lee-Roy listened to the muted voices of David Letterman and his guest. By now, Pops would be passed out, and he was safe. As his breathing deepened, the last thoughts poked at the logic in his brain. ‘If it was Halloween, why wasn’t The Wuss in a costume?’

***

Monday came at last. 

Lee-Roy watched The Wuss eating his lunch on the far side of the field. The black chick (his father called them niggers, but Lee-Roy didn’t understand racism. He secretly thought Starling was kinda sexy) was sitting next to him eating her pudding.

Phil and Dave came up. Phil said, “Whatchoo got planned today for the little geek?”

Lee-Roy didn’t look away from the field. He said, “Oh, I’ll think of something.”

Lee-Roy followed Wyatt to his house. It wasn’t hard, the kid lived on a street lined with plenty of big oaks to hide behind. He saw the kid enter a small but neat house. He watched across the street as lights came on in the living room and deeper into the place. Kitchen. An older model Chevy Malibu pulled into the driveway and a petite brunette in a waitress uniform- old-fashioned, like ones he’d seen on 'Alice'-got out and went inside.

It was getting dark, and Lee-Roy felt bolder under the cover of night. He crept around to the back yard, unlatched the fence gate, and hid behind a maple in the yard.

He saw the kid and his mom chat for a bit then she left the kitchen.

The kid stirred a pot on the stove, turned a knob, then headed out the kitchen door.

Before coming out, Wyatt turned off the porchlight. He came into the blackened yard and said, “Archie?”

Lee-Roy jumped out from behind the maple and said, “We need to talk!” He grabbed the smaller kid’s arm and pulled him behind the tree. 

In pitch darkness, Wyatt said, “You found the photos, didn’t you?”

Lee-Roy grabbed the other arm and shook the kid. Then he let go. Red memories of his father let go as well. He said, “Why?”

Wyatt said, “I took them to help you.”

“What!?”

“Yes! I’ve been studying you. I was -am- writing a paper on, well, bullying. Figuring out why and what makes you be like you. It’s obviously because of your upbringing. Your father…and absent mother.”

Lee-Roy gawped at Wyatt. He gestured for Wyatt to go on, too stunned for words.

“I’m going to college to study psychiatry. I’m getting a scholarship. I got so involved with my study of your case that I may have stepped out of line. I took those pictures thinking I’d have proof of the abuse, take them to authorities…”

“But you didn’t, right?”

“No. I got to thinking that you’d be sent to foster care and that may make you even worse. As a person. And your dad too.”

“Why would you care about me?”

“You’re not stupid. You can change. And I’m studying it…you.”

“Hmm.” Lee-Roy fell against the tree as if the life-force had flown from his body.

“I can help you. In a totally unconventional way.”

Lee-Roy felt as if he’d been squashed under a boulder like the coyote in the roadrunner cartoons, but he also felt the boulder lifting. It was… hope. He said, “That other picture…it was weird.”

“My invisible friend. After my dad left, I started talking to him. He was just a black tree at first, this one.” He pointed to the old maple. One night the tree spoke back.”

“That thing in the picture wasn’t a decoration. It was real.”

“Yes. Archie. I call him my invisible friend because he only comes to me in shadows…”

“He’s really tall. And thin. Like a tree with a face and glowing eyes and teeth…”

“And horns like a Texas bull. He doesn’t like his picture taken cuz he needs to be invisible to humans. He fakes being a tree really well. I convinced him he’d pass for a Halloween decoration.”

“I think you’re just scaring me…to get even or something.”

A voice from the dark came down like Barry White whispering, “You want my help or not kid?”

Lee-Roy looked up but saw nothing. The moon was only ¾ full, but bright enough. 

From behind the tree came Archie. As he unfolded his thin, fifteen-foot body, he turned, revealing an ear-to-ear grin that glistened in the moonlight. His body was indeed like a gnarled, tall black tree. His eyes glowed.

***

After the visit to Lee-Roy’s dad, Lee-Roy never again worried about being beaten. His pop was going to AA meetings every night and Lee-Roy made sure they shared a healthy meal. 

Wyatt wrote his paper, got his scholarship, and went on to Yale.

Lee-Roy stayed in Ferndale, devoting his career towards troubled youths and coaching Ferndale’s high school in a fair and entirely new way. Him and Wyatt stayed in touch and became the closest of friends.

Archie moved on to be another lonely kid’s best invisible friend.