A Door in the Woods

School was out for the summer and Marion walked down the street from the bus with her backpack dragging behind her. Seventh grade was done. In front of her were weeks of stomping through the woods, reading in the hammock, soccer camp (sleep away this year) and endless hours of video games while her mom was at work.

She had friends to text, plans to make and a couch to melt into. Last summer she’d spent three nights a week at friend’s houses. There’d be one big sleep over somewhere then everyone would scatter into double’s, bouncing back and forth for the rest of the week, before coming back together in someone else’s basement or living room the next weekend. Like a nuclear blast of kids, exploding and reforming somewhere else every week.

Last summer it didn’t matter whose house she stayed at. Everyone in the group traveled freely into the other houses and refrigerators, but she doubted it would be as free this year. Her mom raised her eyebrows at boy’s names now. ‘You’re going to stay with whom?” she’d ask - her way of saying no without actually saying no. Jedi mom tricks. All because they happened to be a boy. Puberty is a time when your parents go through some weird changes.

The divide that split the girls and boys started with the moms and dads then spread towards the kids. If I was still alive, I might even feel the same way.

Marion got her key out of the backpack, a key with the Patriots logo on it (a very cool thing), and let herself in. The house smelled like chicken noodle soup, bay leaves and rosemary, thick like oil in the air, seeping out of the crockpot.

“Mom’s special,” said Marion halfheartedly to the empty house.

Her mom didn’t eat seafood and didn’t really like red meat so they ate a lot of chicken. A lot. On the weekends her mom would take the leftover chicken bones, chop vegetables and cook them for hours to make a deep rich broth. There was a yellow pot, an old pressure cooker bright at the top and dark from age and heat at the bottom that her mom would use to finish the soup when she’d get home.

“Just like my mom used to make,” her mom would say.

The kitchen would steam up with it. It gave her weekends their own smell, their own humidity. It smelled safe and secure.

Marion knew her mom made the soup as a special meal because it used to be Marion’s favorite, so her mom went back to it like a connection, like food therapy. Marion didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d rather have a sausage pizza from Trackside. Sometimes you have to spare your parent’s feelings.

She went into her room, let go of the backpack, flopped on her bed and closed her eyes for a fifteen minute nap.

It wasn’t long before she woke up. A quick power nap, just enough to pick her back up for whatever she was going to do now that school was out.

Even from inside her nap she could hear the whap whap whap of her dog’s tail against its kennel wall like a helicopter, so she got up, stepped over her backpack without a thought and walked into the den where the dog crate was.

Roxie was a big pitbull, squatter than most but still had the big block head. And like a typical pitbull she was super excited to see her owner. Roxie’s tail wagged. Roxie’s butt wiggled. She made little growling noises that Marion knew meant a licking attack was coming. Sure enough, Roxie burst out of the kennel as soon as the door was cracked open an inch and almost knocked Marion over. Happy whining, licking and jumping, and more licking came until Roxie realized she hadn’t peed since that morning and it became a race to the backyard.

Roxie was an excitable dog. It was one of her charms.

Putting the leash on Roxie, Marion took her out past the garage to use the bathroom. The back yard was long and thin, just wider than the house itself, stretching back to the woods behind. Tucked behind the garage was a chicken coop with and small run, a compost bin and, further back, a rusting swing set.

Roxie pulled hard. The chickens were out of their run and Roxie wanted to get one. Being a squat pit meant Roxie’s center of gravity was lower so she could really pull and she tugged hard on Marion.

“Oh, come on,” said Marion, “like you’d have any idea what to even do with a chicken if you caught one.”

One chicken was still in the yard and the other two were just into the woods, roosting on a big broken branch. Marion had to dig in her heels to tug back on Roxie but was able to pull her back to the swing set. Reaching up she detached a swing’s chain from the frame and put it through the loop on Roxie’s leash. When she clipped the swing chain back on the frame, Roxie was attached to the swing set and Marion could let go. The swing chain clinked as Roxie pulled at it and Marion wondered if Roxie could actually pull the swing set from the ground but all Roxie seemed to be able to do was run back and forth, not getting very far.

“And as for you,” said Marion, putting a lot of dryness into the last work, “chickens. You better not make this difficult.”

Chickens, well, chickens are dumb but we didn’t know this when we got them. With their bird brains they can’t think about much, just eating food and not becoming food. But they’re also fast. Marion fed them every day, sometimes out of her own hand. She had held them since they were chicks and cared for them every day of their lived but they still ran from her every chance they got.

“Alright, birds,” she said as she walked, slowly, into the woods and got behind the chickens on their roosting spot. “Time to go home now.”

They clucked and bocked nervously at her over their shoulders, finally jumping back into the yard with more noise than necessary when she got close enough to grab them. They ran around like rubber balls bouncing in a box. Stupid chickens.

“Stupid chickens,” she said as they streaked and clucked around the yard. They bolted towards Roxie who pulled at the swing so she stood on her back legs, her tail swishing on the grass. They ran near their open coop but didn’t go in. That would be too easy. Instead they veered off and ran to some other part of the yard. They hopped against the chainlink fence, forgetting they could fly (though just a bit).

Thankfully they didn’t run around the house into the front yard. Getting in front of them to corral them back would be a nightmare.

If she let them stay out now they’d be all over the neighborhood soon enough, digging up gardens and causing a ruckus. Cars would slow down to watch them cross. Once a person had even stopped and asked why the chickens were in the road. Marion said, levelly, “to get to the other side,” without even cracking a smile.

Some neighbors thought they were fun. Some of the little kids would follow them around and laugh when they pooped on the sidewalk. Some of the neighbors probably didn’t think that was fun.

Marion made a large arc around the yard and started to reign them in. She walked slowly toward them. They moved away from her then away from Roxie into the corner by their run and the back of the garage. The pecking order is a very real thing, Marion learned that early, so once she got the top chicken into the run, the rest didn’t fight as hard. She lifted the lid and dropped the chickens in one at a time, then spread some oatmeal out, shaking it through the wire, so they wouldn’t feel so bad. Give a chicken food and all was forgotten.

“Here you go,” she told them, “have uncooked oats. If you could cook, I bet you wouldn’t try to leave so much.”

The door from the coop to the yard was wide open, that’s how they’d gotten out. And it covered in whaps of dried mud.

“Who opened you?” she asked the coop door.

Marion had no idea where the mud had come from. It hadn’t rained since last week.

“Nice work!” barked Burress behind her and Marion jumped a country mile. Roxie barked with excitement and Burress laughed when he saw the excitement he caused.

Burress lived on the cul de sac that was the next road over, in the opposite direction of the woods. He was the son of her mom’s best friend, practically a cousin.

“Perfect timing, you got here just after the work was done,” said Marion sarcastically.

“Just after?” asked Burress. “I just waited in front of the garage until you were done.”

“Thanks,” said Marion with even heavier sarcasm.

Burress walked over and looked at the coop.

“What’s with all the mud?” he asked as he poked at the splattered door.

“You hope it’s mud,” said Marion and Burress pulled his fingers away quickly.

“Egh,” he said wiping his hand on the coop roof.

“Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to your grandma’s for the weekend,” said Marion.

“I am. Four days, actually,” he said. “Dad’s packing the car now. I waited until he’d packed everything in before reminding him we have to take the dog, too. Oh man, the swearing. It was priceless. I got the video on my phone to listen too later.”

“Nice!,” said Marion. “Send it to me so I can check it out. We’ll compare notes when you get home.”

“Already did, so now I have enough time to finish my yearly tradition,” he said and walked over to Roxie.

“Your what?” asked Marion.

“My tradition. That I do every year,” he said rubbing Roxie’s ears. Roxie leaned in and growled in approval.

Marion just looked at him, eyebrows up, not knowing what he was talking about.

Burress stared back with the same expecting expression.

“Are you trying to beam it to my head again?” asked Marion. “Because that doesn’t work. We tried. Worked on it for a whole month. You’re not psychic. It’s proven. You actually need to talk with your mouth.”

Burress sulked, “Your attitude it what’s squashing it, M. My psychic powers are massive.”

Marion closed her eyes and breathed out her nose.

“Ok,” she said when she opened her eyes, “ok. I’m - we’re - this . . . this isn’t how we’re starting summer vacation. It’s just not. Tell me what your ‘tradition’ is and we’ll go from there. Ready, one, two, go.”

Burress stood there looking a little peeved. “Don’t appreciate the air quotes, M. But sure, let’s start again. Let’s shake it off, ok?. Ready? Go.”

They both shook out their arms like they had fallen asleep and they were trying to get the pins and needles out. They popped, rolled and waved their arms to get their jitters out.

Then the arm shaking morphed. Marion pinwheeled into an air guitar. Burress started walking like The Mummy, hands out in front. They acted out for a few seconds. Each one made the other laugh and then everything was fine.

“Ok,” said Burress, “I’m here to continue my vaulted and amazing tradition of peeing in the woods on the last day of school.”

Marion hung her head.

“Ugh,” she said, “last year I didn’t have my key to the house and you didn’t want to go to your house because your other grandma was there. It’s not a tradition, it’s a product of laziness and forgetfulness.”

“That,” said Burress, “if I do again before I leave, will be a tradition.”

“Your joy for this saddens me,” said Marion. “Why do boys like peeing on things?”

“‘Cause it’s fun? Girls don’t? Why wouldn’t you?” asked Burress honestly unsure.

“Because we use toilets like normal people,” said Marion.

“Huh,” said Burress not quite sure if he believed her.

Burress stopped scratching Roxie’s ear so Roxie got bored and walked over to Marion, the swing’s chain clinking as she walked. Marion unhooked the swing chain and slipped the leash off. Now that there were no chickens fluttering around Roxie was a calm and relaxed dog. Marion just dropped the leash on the ground and went back up to rehook the swing’s chain. Roxie didn’t move, she just stood there and waited to be petted some more.

“Well,” said Marion as she bent to pick up the leash again, “I’m sure as spit not going with you, and your dad will strap you to the roof if you’re late so . . .” Marion pointed dramatically, and very sarcastically - if you can point sarcastically, - at the woods.

Burress shrugged his shoulder and started towards the woods by the swings.

“Nope,” said Marion and Burress stopped. “Poison ivy.”

Burress went wide eyed for a second then said, “Right. Wow.”

“Past the pile of lawn clippings, over the mushroomy stump,” said Marion as she pointed toward the other back corner of the yard. Burress marched off.

Marion didn’t wait around and went to get some chicken food pellets to refill their actual food dish. There was an old aluminum trash can with a bag of feed inside. Marion unstrapped the top and filled the scoop inside.

The chickens had eaten all the oatmeal but they are greedy birds so they clucked and jumped for the scoop even as Marion lowered it to the food dish. One chicken was roosting on the dish lid and Marion had to use the scoop to shove it back, the chicken took a few pecks at the scoop before squawking and flapping off it’s perch.

“Hey, M?” called Burress from the woods.

“Do NOT” said Marion, not looking back as she dumped the food pellets in and spread them out, “talk to me while you pee.”

“Um, no. No,” said Burress. “I’m done but it’s weird.”

“You are peeing in my woods for a tradition you totally made up,” said Marion, “of course it’s weird, because it’s a weird thing.”

“All traditions are made up. Anyway, come see this,” he said from somewhere in the trees.

“No,” said Marion with disgust.

“M,” said Burress, “come here, please.”

Marion’s eyes rolled just a little as she walked back to put the scoop in the feed and re-latched the top of the trash can. But as soon as the bungee cord was on tight, she turned and walked back towards the corner of the woods.

Roxie trotted along beside her, ears perked and ready to go into the woods.

The woods were in full summer mode. Spring had been pretty rainy so the summer growth was strong and bright. Small vines reached out under the trees with tiny light pointy leaves on them, trying to reach the lower branches and climb up. Grass grew out in tall patches where the trees parted enough for the sun to hit the ground.

Once she was in the woods it was easier to see Burress. Scrub and brush stood out below the trees but weren’t all that high yet. She could see Burress, standing near two squat evergreens. He was holding something by his waist but Marion could only see him from the shoulders up.

Roxie zagged around sniffing new trees and old stumps looking for something to chew on.

When Marion got to the squat evergreens near Burress, Roxie planted her feet like someone said the word ‘bath.’ Marion was yanked back like a ship that dropped anchor too quickly. She tried to pull the dog, leaning all her weight into the leash, but couldn’t budge her. Roxie didn’t turn and run like she was frightened but just sat there, her front paws pushed into the soft thick earth with her tail between her legs looking sad. She just didn’t want to more forward anymore and, clearly, wasn’t going too for any reason.

“Really?’ Marion asked Roxie, or maybe Burress, or perhaps just the woods in general.

Marion, already annoyed by the whole situation, glared at Roxie then looped the leash to a tree branch and stepped toward Burress.

Burress was standing holding a thick short branch with both hands but something about his position was wrong, his posture was weird. He was leaning back and Marion could see he was having a little trouble holding the branch but the branch was short and not too big around, so what was the big deal?

“What’s the big deal?” asked Marion

Burress took two steps back. He went back about a foot and a half and, as if by magic (because it was), the branch grew a foot and a half at the other end. It was like he’d pulled it from behind an invisible wall.

“What?” asked Marion not quite able to process what her eyes were seeing.

“Right?” said Burress, it wasn’t a question but an agreement, like he knew exactly what was happening.

He took a few more steps back and each time more of the branch, exactly the same distance he’d stepped, appeared. More and more of the branch was appearing from thin air.

He walked back to her, almost brushing against her as he passed. More and more of the branch was there. Finally, as he passed her, the pointed bright split raw end of the branch appeared from nowhere.

“See?” said Burress.

“Nope,” said Marion. “Not at all. I don’t get what just happened.”

“I think there’s a hole we can’t see.” said Burress. “Right there.”

“A hole,” echoed Marion. “That we can’t see.”

“Right there,” said Burress and he started to move forward again. Nothing happened for a few steps, then the tip of the branch, where it once held onto the tree, lost an inch.

The pointed end just vanished leaving a small blunt flat end. A few more shuffling steps and the angled end was completely gone. Just a flat end was left. Marion could see the marks on the bark move toward the hole and vanish into the flat line of the end. Knots slipped by into nothing.

“And I get credit for not giggling when you said ‘a hole.” Mark it down somewhere,” said Burress.

“How’d you find it?” asked Marion.

“I kind of peed into it by accident?” said Burress.

“Where’s it going?” asked Marion.

Burress’ brow furrowed.

“Not one clue -” said Burress right before the branch, with Burress attached, were yanked into the invisible hole with no warning.

He just flew forward and was gone. Marion stood alone in the woods.

Roxie whined lightly behind her.

From a block over she heard Burress’ dad yell his name.

“Oh, shiitake mushrooms,” she swore then stuck her hands out in front of her like a bad copy of Burress’ Mummy imitation and walked toward the general area he’d vanished. She stepped forward slowly and unsure, like she was walking around in the dark trying not to bump into anything.

Watching her arms she saw her hands disappear. They didn’t feel different, she could still feel them on the ends of her arm, they weren’t gone, they were still there, just not there. Her fingers wiggled when she wiggled them. She could feel it. She just couldn’t see them.

Suddenly she felt someone she couldn’t see grab her invisible hands and pull.

That’s how Marion vanished the first time.

Next Chapter: 2: Into The Thinny