“The Forest Behind Stanley Lane” - A Horror, Short Story

It was a brisk November morning in the backwoods of Derrick’s neighborhood, Stanley Lane.

“What a ‘beaut-ful day. Did you notice if you look all the way up to the top of a tree you can see the thing dance?” Manny said staring at the gray sky. I looked up to see.

“It’s making me sick,” I said.

The woods are right behind both our houses. There are no paths or direct ways to get around the forest. We can navigate just by our sense of direction alone. It's easy anyway. Left is Manny’s house, and to the right is mine.

The real question is what lies outward. The woods for all we know never end; and as you walk directly out, directly down the middle, for all I know, it just keeps going and going. Maybe it spits out at some other kid’s house, somewhere on the other side of the world.

Plenty of times Manny and I have walked deep into the trees. We’ve gone a decent way out before. As you go, you find hidden treasures like milk jugs hosting little habitats for ‘scitter creatures and worms. There are a lot of dead worms after rainy days around here.

Even further you might fumble across the ‘tetanus. These damn fences.

“This was once cattle land, my Daddy said so,” Manny said.

“Yeah. I know.” I said rubbing the stinging slash on my leg. I took a thick leaf to begin soaking up the gash. “Indian toilet paper,” I said, showing Manny the bloody leaf.

The ‘tetanus. That’s usually how far we go.

Today, Derrick and Manny are gonna go see what lies beyond.

“I packed jelly and lettuce ‘samiches, chocolate drinks, ‘abuncha chips, and a bottle of water. We can share I ‘spose.” Manny called out, rummaging through his backpack.

“Good job. I figured you’d cover food so I went ahead and planned for emergency situations. Let's see…sunscreen.” The sun wasn’t bad today. I said it anyway. “...and I made sure to pack glow sticks, the real bright ones, and a map of Indiana…” I said listing off all the items in my knapsack. I knew Manny would outshine on the food preparations.

Today was the real deal. We vowed to venture past the ‘tetanus and to see what lies beyond the other side.

Rumor has it, and this is what Manny said his older brother said; but beyond the ‘tetanus lies a gas pumper and a shack. What a cool wonder.

I told Manny it’d be a perfect clubhouse. Our own crashpad, out in the freedom of the wood.

I’m hoping for a clubhouse today.

It took fifteen minutes of walking a straight path when Manny and I made it to the first signs of the ‘tetanus.

“Alrighty.” He said.

Manny tossed the food bag and made a daring leap over the tangled metal thorns.

The fencing stretches over a teeny-tiny ditch, just deep enough to assume little critters are slipping under it. It’s not tall either. Deer certainly jump over it. It looks just beaten down enough, reassuring that it has been crossed and surely can be.

Manny cleared it with no problem. Now it was my turn.

“‘Here Derrick!” Manny asked for my bag. I wasn’t sure about giving it to him.

“I may need what's inside. It's safer with me anyway!” I yelled at him.

Manny shrugged and picked up his own bag. I clutched the straps on mine and backed up for a running start.

This is nothing, we jump over stuff all the time. Truthfully, this was only like my third or fourth time jumping over the ‘tetanus. Yeah, we’ve done it before, like all those other times when we’ve dared each other. Today we were jumping it and going past. Yeah, I might be a little spooked.

I hurled myself over the fence with no problem. My feet stung a little as I hit the ground, but that was normal I ‘spose. That was that.

Manny and Derrick walk a while.

It’s been a ways since we started walking from our houses, and a decent while since we passed the ‘tetanus. Manny and I have already eaten the sandwiches and drank the yoo-hoos.

The woods have looked all the same. The same-lookin’ trees, same ‘ol ugly stumps, the occasional glass bottles, the dirt - it’s no different than five minutes ago.

I was really starting to doubt the whole ‘pumper in the woods’, and the secret clubhouse idea. Manny’s brother’s words felt too good to be true.

It was almost a perfect day.

Then, as Manny was grabbing for the chips I noticed something in the distance that made him roll that bag right the heck up.

It was the freaking pumper after all.

Oh yeah! The rumors were true. Manny’s brother wasn’t kidding. I wondered when or how he knew about this. He is way older.

I hadn’t noticed the light snow patches popping up beneath us. The ground on which we were now running upon had turned wet and snowy and looked much different from the constant blanket of dead leaves that covered nearly everything by our houses. It was new and it was neat.

I guess I was fooled, the woods had become a little different. I looked up at the swaying trees. The sky looked the same. It wasn’t snowing today. There just happens to be residual snow back here. It is November so I’m not terribly surprised.

We sprinted with immense joy.

“Wha!” Manny screamed, as he slipped and fell on his back, popping and crushing the chip bag upon impact. Little pieces exploded out from his backpack.

It sounded like his spine cracked in half. The pop was dense, like a thick thud or a heavy clap. The chips were totaled. Does a bag of chips make a pop in the woods even when nobody is around? Super silly of me.

I laughed at him. Even though he slipped on the ice, Manny didn’t care. He was staring right at our new clubhouse.

Oh boy! It is old. Very old. Older than what I pictured in my head.

Let's see. From what I know about time periods, this gas pumper had to have been from at least 1950. It wasn’t for trucks and it wasn’t made for cars; no it was for tractors. Strictly farm equipment.

The pumper and the fuel box sat tall and skinny. The red paint was looking far more pinkish from the years and years of sunwear. It needs sunscreen.

The surrounding area was a mess. Rusted barrels, old tires, and plywood sheets leaned up against the yellow-white walls of the shed. The pumper was completely broken. The numbers and dials were blinded by fog, stained on the pumper’s glass. I jiggled the gas spout from its cobwebbed socket.

“‘Dere!” Manny cried. “‘Lookit!”

Manny pointed to an overgrown tractor parked elegantly next to the shed. I couldn’t help it. I threw myself toward it, brushing off the leaves and crude surrounding it.

“It’s magnificent, Manny. It’s the greatest tractor I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” I said with utmost sincerity.

It truly was the most beautiful tractor I’d ever seen. Old, but the shinest gold. Nicer than my Daddy’s, and no doubt everybody else's ‘Daddy in all of Stanley Lane.

Manny joined me at the tractor. His face in pure awe.

“This is ours now,” he said, rubbing its mangled wheel with his big ‘ol mouth open. He was losing teeth faster than me. It made me jealous.

“I think we should take it home,” I said, not breaking eye contact with the engine block. It was busted but I could fix Her.

“You know…with todays grace…I’m thinkin’ that there may be another, now hear me now, another…I SAID TWO…tractors…maybe one ‘not five more minutes that way,'' Manny said holding his dirty fingers up and pointing further into the woods, way past where we were. standing

“I don’t know. It's further away.” I gripped my knapsack again. I had my bag. I was ‘spose I was good, I was prepared.

The snow beneath us looks grayer and dirtier. A dumb thought entered my mind.

Maybe the snow is growing older, like the tractor, it gets gray and duller.

I was thinking like Manny. Manny gets D’s on his spelling tests. I realized I never gave him a good answer. He was kicking at his leg.

“‘Bug ‘itches.” He muttered.

“Alright, let's go see. I betcha it's better than a tractor. I betcha it’s a car.” I bet him and felt better about it all.

Manny and Derrick walk further past their new clubhouse.

I keep turning around to make sure the clubhouse is still there, and the tractor. Like ‘them tractors gonna get up and move.

Manny looks psyched. The idea of a car, and maybe the fact I bet him made him crack the biggest smile ever. He looks happier right now than he did at his birthday party.

I think it was just me hyping him up and he’s just excited. Plain ‘ol excited. I’m excited. I'm very excited. I am.

I’m looking at my feet, the discolored snow. The snow’s riddled with dark spots, shaded by the barren trees. Distorting. I remind myself it’s just plain ‘ol mud and dirt.

I also look up at the trees. Still swaying, I’m still sick.

“Want what's left,” Manny said, passing a single remaining sip of water my way.

Damn, that was all the food. I was hungry too. I wonder what Momma’s making for supper. Pot roast and steamed cheeser-broccoli again. I drank the last bit of drink we had.

It’s been plenty long now and I can’t see the clubhouse anymore. The more I think about it, it’s been a long while since I’ve been able to. It’s not like we’ve been climbing hills or anything; but as the shed turned into a dot in the background, it has now completely disappeared.

I keep pestering Manny to watch his step, and not dare step in any other direction.

I feel dizzy, like if I close my eyes for too long or if I forget to focus really hard on our direction, I think we might get lost.

I keep looking up at the trees. Swaying. Manny keeps walking. We’ve got daylight. Darker snow.

The thought occurs again within a minute. If I don’t focus, I’ll lose track of where I'm going.

“Walk straight,” I say. I should've said, “that's enough.”

“I am!” Manny laughed, hopping blindly around, oblivious to the fact that we were miles and miles from our houses.

More snow. More walking. This foot. That foot. I get a bad feeling again. A minute goes by. I look up at the trees.

“Swaying…woah…Manny ‘lookit.” I said spotting something. Something new. Neat.

As much as I thought these woods were all the same, in fact, they were not at all. The excitement we spawned from our clubhouse was gone by this point. I was more focused on our walking path and not of our cool discovery.

I looked closer into the branches, grabbing Manny’s neck, stopping him from moving any further.

High up in the tree, and I never noticed this from earlier, was a brown platform. It’s a very sturdy, square wooden platform, big enough for someone to sit. It was very neat. I know of those.

“It's one of them shooter-spots,” Manny said, beating me to the observation.

“Yeah. Pretty decent,” I said.

Finally, a break from my mind. For a good second, I wasn’t scared ‘nomore. It was an engaging sight and it briefly took my attention away.

It took me way too long to even realize, that as I was staring up at this hunter’s post, I hadn’t thought about what direction we were in.

I totally forgot which way we were walking. I forgot which way I was facing. I forgot my footing. My throat tightened.

Manny lives on the left, I’m on the right. That was all I could think of.

“Manny. Buddy, where do we-”

BANG!

A snap rang out and I felt the sound rattle through my hand, reminding me of something like a summertime bee-sting. My hand was resting on the back of Manny’s neck just the moment before. I was showing him the post, I was stopping him; feeling my friend, and asking him where to...

I watched as a hole the size of a smartie form on the front of Manny’s neck.

He looked at me and then angled his eyes down at his wet neck, sort of like he was trying to look at his nose.

I pulled my hand off him. Manny collapsed forward into the snow.

It’s bloody snow. Dark, disgusting. Dirty, bloody snow.

I stared at my buddy. One hand, gripping my knapsack.

He wasn’t moving. It was a single and clean shot.

I didn't notice how my hand was ripped apart because I stuffed it into my pants pocket, way out of view. I didn’t even feel the blood soap into my jeans and dress my leg.

I was too busy looking at Manny’s haircut, the one his Mother gave him yesterday.