Clay: The Silence of the Woods

2: Tree Murmur

"RUN."

I flipped through the channels. There was some TV program about auto mechanics, the kind my dad likes to watch. The man on the screen pointed to a car's interior parts and babbled while the man next to him nodded until his head almost fell off.

Commercials came, and my eyes opened a bit — they caught my attention with more success.

Saturday afternoon left the house quiet and vacant and I sank deep in the sofa. My thoughts kept on tempting me to go out and look at the engravings again, as if they were a crying infant. I'd twisted my head in all directions, drawn them on paper, and even though the script was so crooked – I couldn't find another reading of the letters. Clay told me to run away.

The thought made me shudder every time.

But what exactly was I supposed to run away from? Why didn't he tell me? Maybe he really is just... a sick man...

These thoughts had whirled in my mind since last night, the same cycle repeating itself. The TV kept on prattling and I realized I was doing the equivalent of blocking out music by playing a monotonous buzz. I turned it off.

I used to go for long walks when my head was as jumbled as now. It cleansed my thoughts and tidied them up like spring cleaning.

I got up from the sofa and, after clearing up the mess, went out into the yard again. Mom had gone somewhere, probably some errands, and Al must have been roaming around outside as he used to do in his rebellious age. Dad worked. I took the liberty of taking a spot on the stone stair that separated the yard level from the forest level.

A thick layer of clouds still hung over, letting chill air travel freely underneath it. Still, I felt alive again sitting here on this cold stone rather than on the sofa at home. The scents of the forest welcomed me with a rich greeting and birds sang in turns deep among the trees. It was quiet; the quiet of slow breezes and animals hiding away food for the oncoming winter.

Several times I thought I saw Clay's figure in the trees. A smudge of brown, white and gray condensed into a lean shape — I was so used to recognizing it, and longed to see it now. When was the first time? Two years ago?

The engravings he left for me remained intact under the tree he'd crept behind. Yesterday's drizzle hadn't managed to wipe them away.

Tell me why I have to run away, Clay.

At first I supressed the thought, but after two hours during which sunlight dwindled in the sky, I admitted to myself that he wasn't coming. Something had happened in Clay's world. Something that smelled like danger, and something he wanted me to get away from.

I bit my dry, cold lips. A gust of wind came, causing stray twigs to bump against rocks with a hollow patter. I put two hands on the dirt-covered stone ledge and landed at the forest level.

If Clay won't come to Harper, Harper must come to Clay.

I would've liked the coat, but I didn't feel like climbing back to the house to fetch it. I settled for my sweater and began to drift into the woods. My right leg shuffled a bit behind me, but familiar sensations began to wash over me.

I entered under the foliage and inhaled its fragrances. The trees had grown so densely that their branches intertwined in a few places, leaving me with unpaved trails to walk as I weaved my way around them. Daylight, already depressed by the clouds, filtered through the greenery overhead with effort. An animal cried in the distance against the sound of my feet shuffling in the dirt.

The deeper I delved into the forest, the more I sensed that something was occuring around. I ignored the odd feeling at first, but my senses picked up signs involuntarily. The birds' singing seemed to grow louder at times – or maybe only grow in numbers, or both. Branches seemed to rustle around me even though the wind was weak.