Black Moss Bridge

Tommy knew they’d be waiting to jump him where Odessa Drive meets Skylark. They had told him so just after 4^th period before shoving his small body into his locker and securing the padlock. Mike Tanner, Billy Langley and that tall fat kid who transferred from Spencer before summer break. The Soldier War Boys, they called themselves. They laughed to the end of the hall. Only when the echoes of their laughter faded into silence did Tommy fill his lungs with air and shout. The sound of his voice struggled to be heard beyond the suffocating metal box but, inside, it boomed. Thirty minutes felt like hours when a soft curious voice answered his pleading cries for help.

“Hello?” the timid voice replied.

“Hey!” Tommy clamored to the sweetest sound he’d heard all day. “Please help me! I can’t get out!”

Easter Bloome stood facing the 6” navy blue aluminum box, adjusting her black plastic glasses thoughtfully. A plump faded red backpack with frayed stitching slumped against the locker door.

Easter examined the padlock, nudging the pack to the side with one long push. “It’ll cost ya!” she teased wittingly as she took the lock up into her hand.

“Anything!” exclaimed the voice inside.

“What’s the combination?”

Listening to the numbers panting through the thin metal door, she spun the dial right, left and right again. The lock sounded with an anticipated click and the door burst open. Tommy launched forward with a gasping stagger as though the locker spewed him out in one violent belch.

Sweat glistened on his red face as he propped his hands on his knees and took in the cool fresh air between the only words he could utter. “Thank you,” he wheezed.  

“How’d you get stuck in there anyway?” Easter poked the plastic saddle nose of her glasses back up, but the disobedient frames continued to crawl down their slippery, slightly crooked slope. Lazy hooded olive eyes watched him with concern.

“Just some punks,” he admitted to the all-too understanding Easter. With a name like Easter Bloome, with thick-rimmed glasses perched on a battlefield face of acne, buttery pale skin and knobby knees, she was no stranger to teenage tyranny. Tommy gripped the straps of his 3-year-old backpack and slung it into the locker that, moments ago, had been his prison.

“Hmph,” the girl nodded. She interviewed him further. Why doesn’t he speak to her in Social Studies? Isn’t he the kid who choked on a cheeseburger last year? Did he miss the bus on account of being incarcerated in his locker?

Incarcerated, he thought the word over. Insult to injury. Salt in the wound. He shook his head. “No,” tiptoeing on the fine lines of aggravation and anger. You would still be locked up if it weren’t for her, he reminded himself. He cleared his throat patiently and looked at her- really looked at her for the first time. “I walk, but I have to find another way home today. They’ll be waiting on my usual route.”

Weak. That’s how he felt hearing those words tumble confidently out of his mouth- but the only confidence he had was in those words. The knowledge that those boys could, and would, beat him to a bloody broken mess just for muddying their world with his existence. He wasn’t cool enough to breathe the same air as them. He wasn’t wealthy enough, handsome enough or strong enough to deserve a hostile-free school life.

“They don’t know when, or if, you’ll even get out anytime soon. Their Soldier Wars Online is more important than waiting to break your nose,” she speculated knowingly.

So, she knew of the Soldier War Boys. Suppose that wasn’t any bigger surprise than hearing the small-framed nerdy blonde-haired girl acknowledge such a brutish game as Soldier Wars. Awestricken by her nod to the popular first-person shooter, Tommy cradled a finger to his lips and tucked his thumb beneath his chin contemplatively. His eyes narrowed with thought.

No, he thought. I shouldn’t risk it. He pressed his lips tightly. So tight, they blanched. So badly he wanted to believe she was right. But—

“I’ll just take the long way. It’s not much farther. The woods behind Otis Tire Shop.”

“No!” she gasped. Those sleepy eyes widened into dark peridot marbles studded by the florescent lights. Her dirty blonde ponytail whipped behind her thin shoulders as she shook her head adamantly. “You can’t go that way!”

“Why not?”

Easter’s voice flattened into a whisper. “The Lady of the Wood.”

Tommy swatted his hand and rolled his eyes. “You don’t believe all that, do you?”

“How else do you explain all those missing people over the years? Even my grandma remembers when people went missing! They say you can hear the cries of lost souls.”

Tommy belted with laughter. “It’s just a story meant to scare kids from going out there to smoke.”

Cheeks flushed; Easter’s thin pink lips tightened into a scowl to which Tommy sighed. He smiled at his heroine and thanked her again for coming to his rescue.

“You know,” she said gravely as he turned heel. “You can’t take the long way every day. Unless you stand up to them, make them believe they can’t scare you anymore, they’ll never stop.”

Tommy deliberated. His mind sifted through scenes of standing up to three bullies twice his size, at least. Each image ended with him flat-faced on the ground. “Tell you what,” he proposed. “I’ll take the long way this time. Sit with me at lunch tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about it.”

The fleshy contours of her face rouged, almost hiding the angry red blotches spackling her cheeks and forehead. A blushing smile spread and her eyes livened, unconsciously aware of her body eagerly swaying. Enthusiastically, she nodded.

⁂ ⁂

Alone with his thoughts, Tommy’s walk home started like most other. Kicking the occasional rock and humming some golden oldie his mom would play on the loudspeaker when she cleaned.

Otis Tire Shop came quicker than he expected. He waved a friendly ‘hello’ to Finley, the bloodthirsty Rottweiler guarding the shop from the other side of the fence. A fence that he could, assuredly, tear down with one swipe of his massive paws. Tommy had only met Finley once, the day his mother stopped to see Otis about some bald tires.

Heat branded Tommy’s face and radiated down his body as the monstrous canine bared his teeth and leapt against the shaky chain-link. Finley could smell fear, a stale damp musk, and would soon be intoxicated. Tommy commanded his feet to walk calmly by, afraid that running may provoke the man-eating guardian of Otis Tire Shop. Finley growled and snapped in warning at the boy passing along on unnerving trembling legs. The theoretical scent of fear would soon be lost to the overwhelming pine.

Black Moss Woods. Contrarily, the trees were neither black nor mossy. Here, the pines loomed like a wall of giants standing shoulder-to-shoulder.  The sounds underfoot transitioned from quiet crunching of gravel to the rustling of pine straw and snapping of dry twigs. Dense foliage welcomed its young visitor and swallowed him as he cautiously entered the mouth of the woods.

The sun was an unwelcome guest beneath the canopy of branches and needles. At the mercy of what little light bravely filtered through, Tommy concentrated on the songs of the forest. The warbling of songbirds, the skittering of squirrels racing on crackling bark and the soft lethargic sigh of Black Moss Creek.

Despite the warm invitation of Black Moss, Tommy couldn’t ward his mind against the Soldier War Boys. Imagination run amok, blinking images of pummeling fists and swift kicks to the ribs turned his stomach into a bubbling nexus of dread and worry.

Lanky, beanstalk legs trekked nearly a mile deep when he heard it.

“What is your wish?” A whisper so soft.

“Huh?” The boy spun on his heels, eyes passing between the trees. Nothing but the bed of grass, forest debris and thorny bushes. The vast umbrella of dark evergreen pines swayed in a slow songless dance, raining thin green needles down on their guest. Parched fallen leaves playfully tumbled. Through his hair, a flirtatious tickle of a gentle breeze. Tommy scoffed and continued along his presumed path.

“What is your wish?”

Frozen, he strained to hear the chatter of the woods over the booming thunder of his heart rapping in his ears. “Who said that?” he braved. “I heard you! I know someone’s here!”

His throat bobbed, knowing full well who had spoken. The curator of Black Moss. The lone legendary resident. The fabled Lady of the Wood.

“What is your wish?” The sober voice nearly washed by the murmuring wind-touched crown of the softwood giants.

Tommy balled his hands into fists and held them sternly at his sides. Loudly, he answered, “I wish…” He hesitated before drawing a breath and shouting. “I wish I was big and strong, so those guys won’t mess with me again!”

Responding to his request was another excitable gust of wind charging through the treetops that cheered and applauded. For his fortitude, a gift from the storied mother of Black Moss. Before him, twenty feet ahead stretching over the listless Black Moss Creek was a bridge. Tommy blinked. It hadn’t been there just moments ago! Or had it? He shook his head and sighed. The strips of sunlight were succumbing to the early evening hour. He had to get home.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the bridge except for its mysterious manifestation. With aged, weathered wood so dark, it almost appeared black. The boards groaned and shivered beneath his feet. Heat rose into his face and his heart battered nervously with every careful step. It was a short bridge. Only took six steps to cross. For that, he was grateful.

On the other side, the sun spilled through an open curtain in the trees ahead. Home. Twigs crackled and snapped as he hurried to the edge of the forest, silently thanking any preternatural being for sparing his life. The thick trunks and barbed bushes spat him out onto Birch Street. Relieved he had successfully bypassed Odessa and Skylark, he briskly paced down the sidewalk. Offering a friendly wave to a young mother removing her toddler from a brand-new cherry wine box sedan, he received a wide-eyed stare in return. She retreated a cautionary step up the driveway as he marched along.

Several houses passed. A slouched old man collected mail from a simple decorated mailbox. His dark wrinkled eyes widened into saucers. An uncertain frown tugging at the deep creases in his face, the man lifted slow pruny fingers in a wave. “Are you alright, son?” he called out.

Tommy smiled broadly. “Yes, sir! Just heading home!”

Birch Street came to a stop with only two options: left or right. Tommy cut left onto Nobleman Lane. What wasn’t there to be happy about? He evaded the beatdown of a lifetime, it was Friday and he survived to tell the tale of the Lady of the Wood! It’s the small victories. He had bested those fools! Brains over brawn! One final right onto Skyfire Lane halted him in his tracks. Feet anchored; Tommy’s nauseated guts squirmed. He had counted his blessings too soon.

Beneath the stop sign in thin patches of dry broken grass, Mike Tanner and Billy Langley took turns punching each other’s arms. Tommy counted only two bikes lain on their sides nearby. Silver linings. Though minus one Fat Frankie (more a term of endearment than a tease among the kids at school), Tommy’s heart seized with fear. He had no other way to go except back. Back to the woods. Back over Black Moss Creek. Back to the ghosts that whisper wishes in the trees. Easter’s words emerged soundly in his mind. Stand up to them. Make them believe they can’t scare you anymore.

Tommy deeply inhaled with feigned courage and stomped towards his tormentors. Mike was the first to raise his full brown eyes, then Billy. Sharp twisted angles of their faces quickly fell into perplexity at what they saw standing before them. Tommy’s full shadow consumed every trace of sunlight around the two boys in the grass. Their faces paled.

Billy gasped. “Tommy?”

Grinding teeth bared at the boys below him. “You pushed me in that locker! But I got out, see? You can’t hurt me! I’m not scared of you anymore!” He roared.

Puffing panicked expletives, Mike and Billy scrambled to their feet and clumsily bumped into one another. There could only be one explanation for Tommy’s escape. He ripped that locker to pieces! And they’re next!

Advancing another step, Tommy released a low, angry growl. “Did you hear me?” He seethed. “I’m not afraid of you anymore!”

Visibly shaken hands went up in surrender. “Okay, man! We’re sorry!”

Snatching up the worn rubber handlebars of his red marbled bike, Billy retreated. Mike followed. The boys ran alongside their bikes into the sleepy street before mounting in flighty swoops. Pedaling faster than the wheels could turn, Mike and Billy whooped anxiously as they put distance between them and their 6^th grade prey.

It wasn’t until the boys disappeared into specks in the growing twilight that Tommy doubled over, short-winded by his uncharacteristic confrontation, and propped his hands on his knees. On his knees, two large hands. “Huh?” Flipping palm-side up, he examined those hands. Leathery hands. Deeper grooves. What his mother called workman hands. His smooth emaciated arms now broad and hard with muscle, covered in fine black hairs. No longer weak and pale, but sun-kissed. His legs, miles long and solid. His pants! His shirt! They were in tatters! A fistful of shredded fabric filled his large hands. His body burned with apprehension. Fingertips patted coarse prickling hairs on his chin.

No! This wasn’t possible! Tommy trotted two houses down to a simple white sedan parked at the curb of a charming brick flat, its yard dressed in a garden of Camellias. Reflected in the window tint was a massive construct of a man made of steel flesh and rippling brawn. Arms like cannons! Taut chiseled face fell into his hands as he staggered away. He couldn’t go home! Not like this! Short distressing whimpers rolled into panicked grunts.

“Can I help you, big guy?” a voice sounded with suspicion from the front stoop. “You’re looking awfully interested in my car, buddy.”

“I- I-” Tommy stammered and glanced up at the man who stood with hands shoved tightly in his jean pockets, his hard eyes fixed and full of warning.  “No sir!” Tommy promised. He clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t noticed before, the sound of his voice!

Tommy’s feet pounded the ground as he raced up Skyfire and blindly sprinted for Birch Street where the spindly shrubs and shade of the woods welcomed him back. Thrashing through the forest floor, he hurried to the bridge. The bridge! Where was the bridge? Eyes peeled in panic, a cold sweat bled from his pores. Hurling further into the woods, the bridge was nowhere to be found.

Tommy split the peaceful silence. “I wish I was normal again! I want to go home! Please! Just turn me back!” He had never heard a grown man cry until now. The unleashed hysteria in his own unfamiliar voice was startling. The giant child collapsed to his knees in a bed of leaves and straw, skin scuffing on serrated spines of pinecones. He sobbed uncontrollably.

“Tommy!” It was faint at first. The breath caught in his lungs. He heard it again, louder this time and much like the rhythm to an old forgotten song. His mother! The cups of his hands warm and damp with tears, but soft. Normal. Small hands! Fewer lines! Fair skinned!

“Tommy!”

Wincing through the growing darkness, he sprung to his feet and rushed forward. The sun had retreated into a cool blanket of night, freckled with stars. “Mom!” he shouted.

His name resounded, an echo to himself as though shouting in a hollow cube. As though shouting in that damned locker! Then another voice joined. Mixed in a medley of voices was Easter Bloome!

Gyrating in tight circles, he could not see them, but knew they were close. He could feel the desperate hope of salvation in his cold trembling bones. Louder. Nearer. So close, he could touch them! The voices trailed. Fading. Every moment, further.

“I wish-” he sobbed forcefully, gasping for his next words. “I wish I could get out of here!”

A rush of wind tilted his chin. Camouflaged in the piercing darkness was Black Moss bridge. He’d never run so fast, so aimlessly. Feet stamped across the old wood as he screamed her name. “Mom!”

No, they couldn’t hear him! The suffocating crowd of haunted trees smothered his voice. The Lady of the Wood wouldn’t let him leave. He would become another lost soul! Another ghost story! Until he saw the sweeping beams of lights. In a renewed burst of faith, he jaunted forward. Several lights! A search party!

His name was called with less panic and more reprieve as he crashed into his mother, fixing his arms tightly around her waist. She had been crying. She still was.

“I knew you were here,” a soft, shy voice whispered. “I could hear you crying.” Tommy nodded to the girl beside his mother. Her face lit by the residual glow of flashlights. “Tomorrow,” he whispered. “Everything.”

⁂ ⁂

The Soldier War Boys stared with blank vacant eyes as Tommy approached his locker behind them. He stared back with conviction, silently promising the next time they touched him would be their last. He wondered if they recalled what happened. Their eyes said it all. Frankie scowled at the boy. Mike smacked him and shook his head in silent plea. Don’t provoke the smaller boy.

They gave one last glance, nodded and walked quietly down the hall.