Forest Views

Forest Views

By Mark Stevenson

Eric took pause to watch the first flash of sunlight strok the edges of the mountain range before him.  Sun-warmed wood beings to squeeze out pine sap, saturating the air and enticing animals out of their burrows with its sugary scent. 

“This is the peace I missed.”

Awash with joy, tears welling, and with beaming smile he lets the scene surge through him. This is his world, the world he once shared with his father, Hank. Eric had grown up in this valley, lived off the land, and known nature like a brother. It is nice to return home to the tranquility of the trees. Cars, powerlines, giant brick buildings, none of the obtrusions of the city to be seen. Leaning back against the helve, he brushes off the dust and dirt from his jeans as nostalgia finds root in his mind.

Eric was three when his mother died and Hank, Eric's father, took them to live in the forest. It had been all he knew, all he could remember. As a former army ranger, Hank was well-equipped to survive in the wild. He had bought all they needed to set up a life away from civilization. At first, they dwelled in tents with canned food,  but as the seasons passed Eric grew, and so too did what they bought with them. As more space was needed a self-built shack with a garden for fresh produce would serve as home. Hank would venture into town and buy textbooks to home-school Eric, fabrics, new tools; any items that were hard to make or forage from the land. 

The city was taught to Eric as a place of great danger and vice, something to be avoided unless required above all else. At ten years old this came about. On an adventure, Eric had become lost when a rogue storm swept through the valley. When he made it home two days later he was pale, limp, and shivering. A great sickness rocked his body. Hank wrapped him up and feed him herbs from the garden. After two days of fever taking dominion on the verges of sanity, he gave up and took Eric into town to see a doctor. Sent on their way with a tub of antibiotics Eric was left with a half-faded dream unsure if there had been a room full of dogs or if it was delirium. 

One day, Hank didn’t rise. Time had gotten the better of him. Eric, now 38, found him collapsed and unconscious by his bed. Two days on a stretcher made of branches and vines Eric managed to deliver Hank to a hospital. A stroke left him in need of rehab and he was housed at Forest Views nursing home.

With Hank unable to return to their woodland home. Eric not wanting to be far from his father, got a small studio apartment down the street above a florist. It was little more than a bathroom and a large open room with a kitchenette. This suited him as there were less walls to make him feel closed in, and the bouquet wafting in the open window from downstairs helped remind him of home. 

Living in the city grew many changes. There were now bills to pay, which meant Eric had to work and gained employment stacking goods in a warehouse. No longer able to harvest what he needed Eric had to learn to solve the puzzles and nuances of supermarket shopping. Fumbling through the canned goods, trying to identify what things like Spam and Sauerkraut were, Eric jumped at the sudden realization of not being alone.

“Can I help you at all Sir?”

He turned to see a petite, auburn-haired clerk with light brown eyes and freckles awaiting his response.

“Um… Yes, please. I’m used to more, fresh foods. Are these good for anything?” She looked back at him with endearment, like someone coming across a lost fawn.

“If you like fresh flavours these might not be for you. Follow me. Oh, and my name is Fiona.”

Fiona. The name stuck with him, as did her help. Each week he came to ask questions and get aid. One day, confident enough to invite her to experience all she had taught him in the store.

Two years later they bought a house together. Two stories, white wood panels, a dark blue tin roof, and a crooked slat fence. Nothing grand but enough space to plant a couple of trees and a garden. The journey to visit his father was now increased but Eric made sure to do it each week. Visiting, he could tell Hank wasn’t happy in the city. A sadness followed him, distance sat in his gaze, his thoughts far away from the concrete jungle with desire for one more natural. It took its toll, and eventually, that toll grew too great. 

“I’m sorry for your loss Sir.”

“He was never content here. I plan to take him home for burial in the woods he loved. Please prepare his body for transport.”

“I’m sorry sir. I know he is your father but county laws require everyone to be buried in a registered cemetery.”

“But… I understand. If that is how it has to be I will register a plot.“

But Eric didn’t understand. Why couldn’t he bury his father in the forest, back home where he belonged? He left confused but determined. On the way out spied an access card on the desk of the morgue, slipping it into his pocket plans began to flood his mind.

Darkness fell heavy that evening. From the shadows, Eric approached the loading bay of Forest Views. Night patrol had passed by leaving the rear entrance silent. In nervous command he held the swipe card to the door, the light turned green, and he was in. Through the darkness, he found his way through the memories of that afternoon to the cooler draw his father had been allocated to. With the aid of a nearby gurney, he was back outside as quickly as he had gone in. It wasn’t until he was back in the car that Eric noticed he could breathe again.

“But how did… You can’t just… And he's in the car?”

Fiona stumbled on her words trying to comprehend the situation before her as Eric ran about packing up what he could into suitcases.

“It’s what he wanted.”

“It is illegal, you can’t steal a body to bury it where ever you want.”

The argument grew and Eric got confused. He knew it was the only correct course of action, to fulfill his father's wishes. Why was she being so selfish?

“You do what you want but do it without me.”

He followed her as she huffed up the stairs

“Take your father and go, I may not be here if you come back.”

White rage blinded Eric. Why did she not understand, this is best for them all. When his vision returned he exhaled as is shoulders and face sagged. Fiona lay there contorted staring up at him from the ground floor, her eyes piercing through him.

Eric spins around at the crack of a branch in time to see a fox take off. His focus returns from the fading memories. Tension easing a little as he picks up the shovel again and shifts more soil into the hole, slowly engulfing Fiona.

“You will learn to like it here sweety. You can keep Dad and Mum company while I’m out hunting.”