The Tree Goddess Read online

  Rain drops; rain drops; increased rain… then Stephanie spoke out loud, “Ooo! Lightning!”

  Lightning was such an unusual thing to see in cold April. But the spectacle was not intended for Stephanie to enjoy! The wind picked up and the raindrops began to thrash upon the glass. The frightful display only reminded Stephanie of the calling heard seconds ago.

  Although nearly the opposite distance from Creek Highway where the murder took place years ago, Brad's body now resided in the farm field next door. The rain and thawing ground enabled the pale, lifeless, mud-caked corpse to emerge from the ground and walk slowly to the house in a quest of retribution.

  Stephanie took a sobering sip of her coffee. It was such a silly thought, imaginary corpses rising from the ground. And Brad wasn't buried in the farm field next door. Family had a funeral and put his body to rest at the cemetery.

  Suddenly, the rain came to an abrupt halt which was followed by a violent flash of lighting that streaked across the sliding, glass, patio door. The dance of falling water along with light and shadows produced the clearly, recognizable face of lifeless Brad peeking in. The cup was dropped on the floor as Stephanie ran out of the family room and into the hallway. Somehow she would have to return to close the curtains and clean up the stain on the floor. Obviously, Stephanie had too much caffeine for the day. Maybe it was best for her to switch to hot cocoa or decaf during her late night sanctuaries.

  * * *

  At the mention of getting the furnace fixed, Stephanie's new husband, Frank, only looked in annoyance at his wife. “What? We don't need to worry about the furnace, now. Spring's here! We can get it fixed in the fall. I'm not worried about little noises.”

  To silently suffer her own torment, Frank and everyone else would never understand what haunted Stephanie.

  * * *

  The imagined emergence of Brad's lifeless corpse along with his screams of torment through the furnace wouldn't be the only thing resurrected in the neighborhood of that year. Residents of the Maple Sap subdivision were unaware of a murder that had taken place during the 1970s.

  Nearly three decades previous; a wealthy, illegal immigrant from West Germany had escaped into the United States after committing a series of murders along with the theft that helped him gain that wealth. Mapleview was the ideal town to hide. A renovated house for rent in the Maple Sap subdivision was easy to obtain. The fugitive named Adahelm simply met the landlord with a briefcase full of money that contained two years worth of rent, upfront. Adahelm consistently paid cash for whatever needed. No background checks or bank accounts were necessary.

  Without friends or family; maintaining a low profile; and in possession of an exorbitant amount of money, Adahelm was soon in need of female companionship. He heard of the shameful boulevard located in the heavily populated, urban-like town that was a 45 minute drive from Mapleview. Adahelm hoped that a sizable stack of money would ensure that only the best of high class escort ladies who stood outside a nightclub and offered dates for the evening would be obtained.

  When greeted by the perfect escort lady, Adahelm simply brought her into the nightclub for an evening of drinking and dancing. She actually took a liking towards the wealthy immigrant with his intriguing accent and the money that was often flashed. Mixing business with pleasure, the escort lady saw her client as one who would be ideal to offer ala carte services somewhere in private. But she didn't expect the party to resume in a small home in the Maple Sap subdivision.

  Towards dawn, Adahelm was disappointed with the additional companionship provided. Intoxicated, he refused to pay for the services. That's when the escort lady made the mistake that would prove deadly by threatening to tell her manager of Adahelm's refusal to pay. She reminded him that the manager had an underground justice system. Of course this would only open the possibility of exposing the West German fugitive's hideout. So in Adahelm's massive strength, he seized the escort lady from behind and slit her throat.

  There, the problem was solved! Adahelm simply left the dead woman in a pool of blood and went to bed for the night! Awakening 4 hours later in a more sobered state of mind, the fugitive was now hit with the reality that he had senselessly murdered an escort lady. Why didn't he just pay her? That would have saved him some serious headache. No time to ponder his stupidity, Adahelm temporarily hid the body, cleaned up the mess and began to plan a more permanent means of disposal.

  By afternoon, there was a terrifying knock at the door. It couldn't have been the escort lady's manager; unless, of course, she was followed from a distance. No trace of a body and all fluids thoroughly cleaned with bleach, it wouldn't have been too difficult to play dumb. Adahelm could have simply replied, “No, she left early this morning.”

  But the horror that stood at that doorstep was far worse than an escort lady's manager. The FBI had successfully tracked down the fugitive and was now at the end of their manhunt. Adahelm was sent back to West Germany where authorities awaited the thief and murderer.

  * * *

  And then we have a little boy named Jeff, who for some years before moving to Mapleview with his mother and father had triggered a disturbing telephone call from his teacher to Mother. It was in the autumn months as small rodents such as mice and moles sought shelter from the cold. Many a home without a cat has been plagued by the sudden intrusion of unwanted small creatures at this time of year. Most homeowners resolve to lay out poison such as deacon in hopes to rid the presence of the unwelcome rodents. And because of this, Jeff discovered an unfortunate mouse, lying dead, near the outside corner of his garage. Never examining death so closely, the small boy concluded that it was a real mouse. The difference now: he could handle the small, furry creature; pet its head, even put it in the pocket of his jacket and keep it as a new toy.

  Of course Mother and Father should not have been able to see this new plaything! At night it was brought to bed with Jeff and tucked under the pillow as he awaited the good night kiss from Mother. He always wanted a mouse of his very own. Now he could pet one on the head while falling asleep at night.

  The following morning at school, Jeff slipped the dead mouse in his desk with the intention of bringing it out for company. Learning to add and subtract was the least event of excitement for Jeff. Perhaps a visit from Mousey would have entertained the boy while drowning out the discussion as to why four minus two, equals two.

  The girl who sat next to Jeff suddenly called out, “Jeff is playing with a mouse on his lap!”

  The teacher quickly approached the young boy and overshadowed his desk. Needless to say, she was deeply disturbed to see a dead mouse lying on her student's lap. She nearly panicked, bringing a garbage can over and demanding that Jeff pitch the dead mouse in.

  But Jeff refused, “No! He's mine!”

  “Jeff, honey; that mouse probably ate poison that could make you sick. Even worse, he has bacteria and germs on him.”

  The teary-eyed boy did as asked and then followed the teacher's escort to the restroom where she made sure he scrubbed his hands. Jeff's mother, Karen Greenstart, received a midmorning call from the school, advising her that a dead mouse had been handled and played with by her son.

  But it wouldn't end Jeff's fascination with creatures under the spell of suspended animation. An unfortunate bird that hit the window; a squashed toad that had seen its end under the tire of a bicycle; these often ended up in Jeff's pockets. And poor Mother would discover them in one place or another. There was just no convincing the boy that collecting dead creatures was a sick and disturbing habit.

  But nothing could have prepared the boy's mother, Karen, for what she observed through the kitchen window one autumn, Saturday morning. Little Jeff was making piles of leaves. It's nothing unusual for a child to play with leaves. But throughout the morning, Karen would glance out the kitchen window to notice that a neat, rectangular pile was placed next to another, next to another and next to another. By midmorning, she was horrified to see that nearly all the rectangular piles had wooden
crosses at the heads.

  She called out to her husband, “Bill? Bill!”

  Karen scampered out into the living room where her husband read the newspaper and only looked up to reply, “What?”

  “Look out the window and see what your son is doing!”

  Both watched little Jeff driving his toy go-cart along the perimeter of a dozen-some rectangular piles of leaves with crosses at the heads. Father didn't understand Mother's concern, “What? He's playing with leaves. What's so wrong about that?”

  “Bill, he's playing cemetery! That's so morbid! Did you ever do that as a kid?”

  “Oh, I'm sure there are worse things he can be doing right now. Let the kid play.”

  By noon, little Jeff was called in for lunch. Father asked, “So whacha doin' out there, Sport?” He rubbed the little boy's head. The smell of autumn's sun and leaves spread through the air.

  “I'm playing hearse driver. See all my graves out there?”

  “I sure do! Maybe after lunch we can throw the football around, huh?”

  Little Jeff looked at the ground in sadness. “I don't wanna. I wanna keep playing hearse driver.”

  But Father ensured him that the game would not be interrupted. “Sure you can, Son; as long as it makes you happy.”

  Later that night, Bill was startled awake upon the sound of the backdoor quietly opening. Was there an intruder? He quickly opened the sliding, closet door. The squeaking of the rollers and hardware woke Karen.

  She asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Shhh, someone was opening the backdoor.” Bill reached to the top shelf of the closet and pulled out his magnum .357 handgun. Karen soon stood in the corner of the bedroom, listening for any indicator to phone police while Bill sneaked through the house and into the laundry room where the backdoor was located.

  Then she heard her husband yell, “What are you doing outside, huh? You had me thinking someone was breaking in!”

  The voice of little Jeff provided an explanation as Mother darted out of the bedroom through the living room and to the backdoor where her son stood, holding a life-sized Raggedy Ann doll. It was a toy of Karen's when she was a little girl. It was now soiled with leaves stuck in various places.

  Mother had to ask, “Jeff, why do you have my Raggedy Ann doll, outside?”

  The bewildered boy softly replied, “I buried her in one of the graves but forgot. She was cold and crying; so I went out side to dig her out and bring her to bed so she can be nice and warm.”

  Although purely innocent and certainly not to be taken as it may have appeared, Mother and Father looked at each other in disbelief. Then Mother finally declared that any further games of cemetery or hearse drive were thereby forbidden.

  * * *

  Years later, grown from playing make-believe to playing games of sport, Jeff moved into the nice neighborhood of Maple Sap with his mother and father. Weary and very bored with the grueling task of carrying boxes and furniture into the new home, Jeff was later expected to assist his father in bringing items down into the crawlspace. Not terribly damp, the storage area had the smell of dirty, wet rocks that crunched when crawled through. The unflattering light of exposed bulbs that hung from the 4-foot ceiling revealed that the crawlspace reached through the entire area of the home. And in the orderly, meticulous habits of Father, Jeff was required to neatly store the items and boxes at the far wall.

  Upon returning from storing the last box, Jeff crawled over a 6 foot region of rocks that felt softer and produced the sound as-if hollow. In Jeff's imagination he believed that a hole had been dug in the ground, something was buried and the rocks now covered whatever that mysterious object was. But why tell Father? What if it was something unique and valuable? Perhaps it was a treasure that Jeff could enjoy all to himself. He waited in a longing fantasy for a time when Mother and Father were gone so that he could return to the hollow region and uncover the mystery.

  It would be nearly the entire summer before Jeff found himself alone. Although Father worked throughout the week, Mother was temporarily laid off from her job as the company was experiencing a lag in growth. This enabled her to settle in the new home and get acquainted with the neighborhood.

  Finally, one Sunday afternoon, Mother and Father announced that they would go to the store and return in a couple of hours. They felt confident that Jeff could be left alone. Aside from that, he would need to become accustomed to spending time alone as Mother would soon return to work.

  Every child knows in their stalking of parents that an occasional, quick return home for forgotten money or coupons is possible. Jeff sat motionless in the living room chair for several minutes until he could intuit that the embarking of Mother and Father was in solid motion. Then he excitedly ran into the garage for a shovel then brought it into the kitchen closet where the crawlspace entry was located.

  Unflattering lights were flashed on. The boy crawled through the damp smell of crunchy rocks as he pulled the shovel along his journey until reaching the area of hollow ground. And after a few minutes of digging rocks, he uncovered something that was both intriguing and disappointing. It was an old, wooden trunk which definitely peaked his interest. But it was sealed with a padlock. What could he do now? Jeff pulled at the rusty lock and hit it with a shovel, but did not have the strength to break it open. What in the world could have been locked and buried beneath the floor of a crawlspace? Was there treasure? Was there a sack full of money hiding from a bank robbery?

  Father once lost the key to the tool shed back at the old house. And as Jeff recalled, a large cutting tool that Father called “bolt cutters” had been used to snap the padlock open. Yes, of course; the very bolt cutters that now hung on the wall of the garage could be used. It was a decision paying no mind to consequence as only he knew of the buried trunk.

  Jeff returned to the treasure chest with an ever-growing sense of excitement. The padlock was snapped open just as easily as Father had done back at the old tool shed. The lid of the old chest creaked when opened and revealed nothing more than salt! Why in the world would someone bury a locked up collection of salt? As Jeff pondered on his treasure hunt that seemed to be in vain, he suddenly heard the sound of the garage door opening outside! Mother and Father were home!

  Quickly slamming the trunk shut and throwing the tools down the hole, Jeff barely had enough time to crawl out of the storage area, up into the kitchen where he would replace the panel on the closet floor.

  “Jeff, the knees of your pants are dirty! And those are your good pants! I told you to wear old clothes when going outside to play.”

  Like all mothers, Jeff's was unhappy to see her son's clothing soiled and stained, possibly ruined from the careless play in dirty areas. But little did she know he was on all fours, in the crawlspace and on a treasure hunt while she was gone. She sighed, “Well wash up for dinner.”

  Dinner conversation between Mother and Father revealed that Mother fretted over a box of dishes that may have been accidentally brought into the crawlspace. She had always been this way, senselessly worrying over petty things. And Jeff silently agreed with Father that it was unnecessary to journey down into the crawlspace in search of a supposed missing box of dishes. The conversation soon evolved into a small argument until Father had no choice but to give in.

  “Alright, I'll go down after dinner and give a look. I mean you would think we had enough plates as it is!”

  Jeff panicked! His father would surely find the hole he uncovered in the crawlspace and the old, wooden chest. “I… I'll go down and look for you, Dad.”

  Mother and Father looked at each other in surprise of their remarkable child. Why would he offer to do something like that? Father only roared in pride, “Well, I believe our little Jeff is becoming a big man, now! He wants to help his old man out! Sure you can, Son!” And as always, Mother reminded him to change into his old pants before crawling around in that filthy crawlspace.

  * * *

  Mother was striking up a friendship wit
h some woman named Stephanie who lived across the street. In the summer months of living in the new neighborhood, Jeff often observed the woman who had a way of displaying her legs in what appeared to be runner's shorts. Children are more observant than we know. Although not bad-looking, Jeff found the woman to be peculiar in her appearing to worship her own legs. The neighbors across the way had a boy Jeff's own age named Paul. But despite Mother and Father's persuasion, Jeff was the least bit interested in deliberate introductions. Parents just don't understand the code that kids follow. Only a dork would have gone out of his way to introduce himself as the new kid on the block.

  With Mother entering Stephanie's house and Father at work, Jeff saw it the perfect opportunity to, once again, sneak into the crawlspace for a closer examination of the treasure chest. There just had to be something buried beneath that salt! There was no point in locking it up and throwing it down into a hole to be covered by rocks.

  Carefully pulling back a mound of salt with the blade of the shovel, he soon learned that there was something, in fact, hiding underneath. More and more salt pulled back, his heart accelerated in joyful pleasure which produced the most frightening smile one could ever see a child wear. He always wanted one of his own, something dead to play with. The corpse of a woman who had been perfectly preserved under the salt for nearly 3 decades now lay before Jeff. But there had to be rules to follow! The first and most obvious was to only enjoy his treasure during moments when Mother and Father would not discover him. Second, the wooden chest must be closed shut with the rocks pulled over, each and every time he was finished with his play.

  Finding something dead to play with should be every boy's dream; at least Jeff believed this. A preserved woman who remained under the spell of suspended animation could have her clothes removed without resistance. And beyond this disturbing initial fact, I care not to even think of the adventures Jeff had during his remaining two weeks of summer vacation.