Wood Song

Amanda had been waking up for weeks with something calling her just under her day-time conscience. She’d jump up, scanning the dark woods behind the house for several minutes, waiting. Sometimes Jim stirred in his sleep, reaching to find her gone next to him in bed, and he called, “Amanda” but in a weak voice and then he was back asleep.

They’d got married in a hurry a few weeks ago, and she moved in with him in his house at the edge of the mountain he’d inherited from his grandparents although he grew up in Connecticut with his parents. Silver mining had been done in ancient days in the back on the mountains, and although Amanda was madly in love, something in those mountains made her uneasy at first.

Jim laughed it off, “Amanda, my Amanda – nothing’s there. I’ve been here all my life for summers, and nothing ever happened in the woods. It’s just old wives’ tales.”

He was all business, getting up at five on weekdays to drive the two-hour drive to the glittering New York City to work in the Office – or so she called it, while she stayed home taking care of the home and waiting for their baby to be born. She also called the city The Beast – she’d never been keen on New York City although she’d been born and raised in nearby New Jersey.

Now in the Catskills, its mood slowly caught on her during the lazy summer days, when she spend days dreaming of her baby and watching the tomatoes and basil grow in her first ever garden on the back porch.

The first signs of trouble came when Jim had to stay with his parents in Connecticut several nights a week when The Office had a mad push to get their advertizing campaign out. “When I’m done, we’ll take a vacation,” she assured Amanda on the phone. “We’ll go away, just the two of us.”

She held her tummy, wishing for her baby to be born soon, but it hardly showed. She was only just over two months – they’d been married for one month.

Then the voices started.

They weren’t exactly voices, just a feeling, and even when Jim returned to his normal rhythm of driving away to The Beast at dawn and returning home late – at least most nights – she still heard them. A couple of times she asked him if he heard anything, but he just shrugged.

“Birds, foxes. It’s normal here in the woods.” He’d grown up spending parts of his summers here with his grandparents, and although he was a part nature-lover, the love of The Beast was stronger, planted in him by his stockbroker dad.

The voices kept calling from deep in the woods, giving Amanda no rest. She started spending time exploring the woods, going deeper and deeper, loving the cool darkness inside the canopy of the maples and hemlocks, climbing hills in search of wild blueberries later in the season. She’d spend days lying on the mosses near the waterfall she’d discovered, dreaming of days to come when her baby was born and Jim would spend more time with them at home.

The voices got louder.

“Come away, come to the woods. Get away, come find your soul,” they urged. “Heal your spirit, let the trees heal you!”

She’d started to suffer of unbearable headaches that got worse every time Jim called that he had to stay with his parents again because of a deadline in The Office.

Finally she blurted it out at the breakfast table, the only time she could catch him now.

“Let’s get away. I find this place oppressive. I want to move further in the country, or you please find a job close by even if it’s less money. If you’re here, then I want to be here too.”

Jim looked at her, his eyes blank. He’d hardly heard her.

“What? Are you out of your mind? Less money – with that baby on the way? And my job’s going well!”

He glanced at her belly, still smooth as it was early. Then he just took off, and for the first time, Amanda cried.

The voices from the woods got louder, “Come to us, let nature heal you.  Lie under the maples, drink in the dew.”

When Jim came home, she told him, “We’ve got to go. This can’t be anymore. Let’s move. Or you find work nearby.”

He shook his head, uncomprehending.

“You’re not well, got one of your headaches? It’s dangerous to leave in your condition, and I have the best job I’ve ever had!”

The voices went silent when she decided to stay, silent of her worries, ignoring what they said.

The wind came without warning, rose from behind the mountains, the woods got dark, the sky darker.

Jim was home, lying in bed next to her when the storm shook the house. Amanda clung to him next to him in bed, hoping against hope he’d see reason.

But the wind grew, breaking branches, furiously blowing on the old roof and shutters.

Then they heard it.

Windows shattered, cold wind blew through the house, furniture broke.

Amanda got up, running to her car, screaming to the wind, “This is what you told me!”

When Jim caught her, she was at the wheel, clutching the bags she’d prepared, ready to go.

“Where are you going?” he asked, breathless from running, lightning flashing behind him in the sky. “Come back, we’ll fix the windows!’

“No!” she shouted. “No, never. I’m leaving.”

She started the car, driving away, heading no one knew where.

Jim stood in the driveway, rain pouring over him. When he saw her backlights disappear in the dark, he sank on his knees in the mud, and screamed.