The Mile. The Black Creature. The Hole
by David C. Card
The lake was my destination when I struck out to walk the mile on my eleventh birthday. Crossing the stone path which led me to the gates, corn from the near fields waved and wished me good morning. All that could be seen in the sky was the sun, so hot that it had already scorched my bare legs, turning them reddish in colour like that of an over-baked apple.
When I reached the lake gates I was met by an elderly man dressed entirely in brown. He was walking his dog, a little chocolate fluffy thing it was, yap-yap-yapping at his ankles.
“You alright, lad?” the man said.
“It’s the sun,” I said.
“Aye,” he said chuckling, titling his cap. “Put your tongue away, lad, I can’t tell you from Harry here.”
No doubt. Harry was by the lake side now, sniffing, and digging his nose about in the butter-yellow grass. He had seen something.
“Here boy,” the man called, but Harry didn’t come. “Don’t make me get the leash.”
As if he could understand.
Harry, with his paw, slapped at the water, trembling the surface. Suddenly, something black and fast whizzed past.
“Leave it boy,” the man shrilled.
“I’ll get it, Harry,” I said.
I ran along the muddy lake side bank, through brushes, through shadows, snapping branches, passing trees. By the time I reached the footbridge I began to lose faith; with the speed the black thing possessed it was probably long gone, I knew that, but it was intriguing, to me, what fascinated Harry so much for him to disobey his master. It was an adventure. It was the farthest I’d been in the woods before; I’d never seen the waters run so deep. I wondered for a moment whether Harry had caught up with whatever it was, or whether it was his friend another dog maybe, probably a bird. Then I wondered the time when it got so dark. I glanced at my wrist watch, it was noon. How the hell did it get so dark so soon? I looked up, green leaves roofed the sky, not a single ray of sunshine crept through. God, I thought, how many footbridges have I passed? I didn’t panic. I took off my shoes and socks, and dipped my hot toes in the cool water. Heaven. I dipped my hands in the water, and with them eased my raw neck; I needed that. And then I heard it again: what could only have been the black creature.
It was behind me.
I turned sharply.
It stood, motionless, on the opposite side of the footbridge. It was staring at me, peering through branches with those neon emerald eyes. It had to have been it.
I put on my socks and shoes, my feet still sodden from the lake, not taking my eyes off the creature. I climbed the rocky hill which led me to the footbridge. Below me the waters raged, and made me think of how father would react if he knew where I had been all morning, as if it was a reflection of his anger. It reminded me of the time three years ago when father and I went fishing. Out of sight in an eye blink, I disappeared, drifting quite a distance up the bank. The tide was strong, but fortunately the waters were shallow; nonetheless father dove in, fully clothed, rescuing me safely. He didn’t speak to me for days, afterward. I hated the silent treatment, much more than a tanned backside and slapped wrists, I can tell you. To father, the silent treatment didn’t mean he was angry with you, it meant he was disappointed.
When I crossed the bridge, a string of green flew by: it was the creature. I ran and I ran and I ran, tree branches snapping and snaring at my feet. I was far in the woods then, but that didn’t matter, I’d share my day with the creature, find out where it slept, what it was and what it looked like. I’d tell my friends about it, write about it in school, tell everyone I know.
I ran after the creature for what felt like miles, but at no point did I get out of breath. My legs ached as if they were the only things which carried me, lifeless limbs separate from my being, guiding a weightless upper body, until they suddenly fell from under me, and I was falling. Falling. I fell for what felt like days, before landing gently into where I now know was the hole.
Darkness surrounded me.
First I attempted to move, and did, second I cried; I cried and I cried until there were no tears left, eyes dried out like over-squeezed lemons. Every time I’d click the luminous yellow night light on my wrist-watch an hour had passed here or there, and soon it was late evening. It was the fear of what I might hear which paralysed me the most; if only I knew sooner how calming those sounds were. I called it the silence, a concoction of a wolf’s howl with a song bird’s melody; and it sounded so close. I rose to my feet. I jumped reaching out arms, stretching, groping the surface surrounding me. But it was no use. Maybe the sounds weren’t so close after all? I sat back down and listened again to the silence. It was beautiful. Then I thought about father, but without the excruciating weight that clamps my gut when I know I have done something wrong. No. I imagined what he would do in this situation, what he would be thinking, what he would do next. I took great excitement in acting grown-up, playing hero, playing dad. I took residual deep breathes, controlled, like how midwives advise pregnant women to breathe during birth. You didn’t gain progress balling your eyes out, I told myself, and then remembered how soft the earth felt when I landed and how easily it swam through my fingers.
I rose to my feet, and with my hands clawed and tore at the wall of darkness surrounding me. I dug my feet into the wall, tried to climb it, but couldn’t. It was no use. I was getting no where. I slumped back down, defeated, heels tucked into my groin, head floppy, and again listened to the silence. I glanced at my wrist watch; it was midnight.
God, I pleaded, how long will I be trapped here?
But wasn’t god the reason I was trapped here in the first place? Didn’t god create that beautiful creature, that beautiful creature the very temptress who bated me?
But isn’t life sweetest when we strive to feel alive? At the time, the very thought of me criticising my maker, never regretting what I did, never blaming the temptress herself, never for a moment crossed my mind. Of course it didn’t.
Soon morning came and the silence was no longer, the green leaved sky blinding me with promise. And then the sweet words came:
“Thomas, Thomas.” It was father’s voice, which bellowed like church bells.
My adventure was over, and I never did find the true identity of that breathtaking black creature: my Shepard.
THE END