Petals on the Path

by Brian Grisham

Thomas waded through calm, cool waters. He closed in on the dry rocks and fallen trees that made up the other side of the riverbank. With each careful step sand and stones squished in between his toes. This, and the sounds of water trickling from far up stream, made Thomas feel like he was truly a part of the mountainous landscape. It was all a river of life, binding and, at the same time, unwinding. Thomas knew that another step brought him closer to a dark-seeded world.

He crossed this river many times before to play in the woods beyond. His house was nearby, built some sixty years ago, perhaps by the previous owners or the owners before them. Now he lived in the old house by the river. He was somewhat lulled by it, and the vast acreage that surrounded it.

Every night he heard a voice call out to him. It sang in such a lullaby that was longing and familiar. The voice was sweet and tender like soft feathers touching down on his body. A chord sang by a little girl. A child. She sounded both at peace and awake at the same time. Her melody of tone and innocence put Thomas to sleep within minutes.

After reaching the other side of the river, Thomas stopped and peered through the density ahead. A sudden shiver came over him — a shiver he always felt once he caught sight of the figure standing deep within. Six months ago he came to this same clearing, and there he found the little girl. She was dressed in white and her hair was brown and flowing in a wind that did not exist. This day was no different.

“Come with me,” the little girl said to Thomas. Her lips moved like the tide of night time oceans, and her frosted breath vanished high overhead.

As before, Thomas walked up the clearing to a pathway at the edge of the woods and followed the girl in white. The trees grew thick around him and their branches jabbed all along his arms and shoulders. But to Thomas, these were the hands of the dead, reaching out for him... reaching out for life.

The girl wasn’t too far in front of him now. She walked slowly, almost like she were in a trance, although Thomas knew that she was very aware of his presence. The girl then slowed to a halt and waited for Thomas to catch up with her. Once he did so, she took his hand in hers and continued onward.

The girl’s hand felt cool and damp, as it was each time he held it. Her fingers seemed to cling onto his like she was afraid to let go. In truth, Thomas was the one who was afraid. He also smelled an aroma of roses about her. It was a waif of a scent — something he would remember in an afterthought. There was an even stronger odor of a chimney in use from a house that wasn’t very far away. Thomas didn’t know where the house was, however, the girl momentarily turned her head to the right and Thomas figured that she too had smelled the burning wood.

The lush surroundings grew cold, and the natural sounds of birds ceased altogether. The world of the living was behind him, and a touch of the other side was not very far away. Indeed, the thick woods always became silent once they reached the end of the trail and into the grassy clearing.

The sun shone down on them. Thomas welcomed the light, but the girl didn’t seem to notice it. She continued to the center of the clearing where a black tree stump was present. The little girl ran her fingers over the charred remains of the stump and peered up at Thomas. It was covered in symbols with white chalk.

“Somebody else was here,” said the little girl.

“What does it say?” Thomas asked, troubled that someone else may have invaded their unworldly sanctuary.

The little girl peered back down at the stump. Her eyes focused hard on the strange writing. “Can’t you read this?” She asked at last.

Thomas stiffened. He shook his head in a slight motion, keeping his blue eyes on the girl in white.

“I can’t read it either,” said the little girl. “I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place. It’s never been on here before.”

Thomas brought his hand close to the chalk and touched it quickly as if all of this was something poisonous. She was right, though, on both accounts. This strange writing had never been on the tree stump during his previous visits. And nobody, at least that he knew of, had known of the existence of this place.

“Someone’s close by,” said the little girl. “He’s calling out for me, but I don’t want to leave.”

“Who?” Thomas asked.

The little girl looked at Thomas with frightened eyes and replied with a trembling voice, “My daddy. He doesn’t like it when I’m in the woods by myself.”

“But- but, you’re not by yourself. I’m here with you,” Thomas muttered almost frantically, hoping that she would not leave him there alone.

The little girl looked at Thomas for a long time, as if confused. She then said, “You know what I mean. I am alone. My daddy doesn’t know you’re here with me.”

Yes, that was true. And if the girl’s father did happen to find her here with him, what unexplained horrors would take place? Thomas didn’t want to find out. Did her father know of this place? Surely he did. Surely he did because he was like her.

“Oh, he’s getting closer,” the little girl said with a lowered voice. “I don’t want to leave.”

Thomas looked all around him and found another path on the opposite side of the clearing. He had seen it before but paid little attention to it. Except this time, the path was covered with red petals. The aroma of roses was stronger than before, reminiscent of a funeral of not so very long ago.

“I think he’s going to find us,” the little girl cried.

Could he hear her father’s voice? Thomas listened carefully again, imagining what it would sound like. “Is he angry?” Thomas asked the little girl.

The little girl didn’t answer. Instead, she looked straight toward the pathway. Standing there was her father. The man’s face was heavily bearded. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and he had a demeanor about him that was very forceful and stern. He was healthy looking in all aspects — the man’s beard was black and full, and his curly hair grew wild on his head. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms that were muscular and flexed. Fresh mud was caked on his dark, heavy boots. And, Thomas noticed something else on them as well. White chalk.

“Jaline, what did I tell you about wondering in these woods alone?” her father shouted, causing the little girl’s eyes to tear up.

The little girl couldn’t answer right away. She turned to Thomas then back to her father and replied, “I like playing out here.”

The little girl’s father glanced toward Thomas’ direction. “Step away from that tree stump, honey. There’s important stuff written on there.”

Both Thomas and the little girl stared at the man with narrowed eyes. He knew what the symbols meant. Thomas suspected that he was the one who wrote the mysterious words on the stump. Was it a spell? A hex? What phantom magic did the man cast on this sacred place?

“Come on, Jaline. We’re going home before the storm starts,” said her father with an outstretched hand.

The little girl took a step toward her father then turned and faced Thomas one last time. Thomas looked into her brown eyes and knew that this was going to be the last time they would see each other here again. The man peered at Thomas and their eyes met. He then took his daughter into his arms and together they started on the path of petals.

Thomas waited a few seconds before following. As he neared the second path, he touched one of the rose petals with his toe. The rose petal moved in the dirt and he felt protected, as if home was nearby. They were real, it seemed. Perhaps even more real than he was. Thomas planted one foot on the path and then another; the petals on the path kissing the bottom of his feet.

Within minutes he exited the dense woods and came upon the edge of a clearing with a river just beyond it. Thomas desperately gazed at his new surrounding and quickly caught sight of the girl and her father. They were both crossing a river and heading for a house visible behind the trees. Busy smoke bellowed from out of the tin chimney and the reek of burning firewood carried throughout the air.

Thomas made his way toward the river and the little girl spotted him almost instantly. “Thomas,” she said to her father. “I see Thomas. That’s who I was with, daddy.”

Concerned, the little girl’s father set her down and said in a grave tone, “Six months ago, a little boy was found dead out there near that tree stump. His name was Thomas. The house we moved into belonged to his parents.”

“But, but...” The little girl insisted.

Her father quieted her down, then he said, “I called the city last week. They are going to dig up the tree stump tomorrow, that way no one would have to be reminded of that horrible incident. You hear me, Jaline? You stay away from that stump, and stay away from the woods. There are a lot of wild dogs in this area and you could easily be mauled by them too. You got me?”

The little girl nodded sadly. She didn’t want the tree stump to go. She wanted to see Thomas again.

Thomas followed Jaline and her father to their house, which looked remarkable like his own. In fact, it was exactly like his. The rooms, the balcony that overlooked the river and the fence-line that ran across the property were the same as well. Thomas hid in the house, and when it was late, he laid down in bed and stared up at the dark ceiling. From outside, a thunderstorm began to brew. It was then he heard the tender voice of the little girl.

“I will let you lie in my bed,” she told Thomas. “And I will sing you a good night’s sleep.”