Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow

“Shoot.”

“Are you afraid of something?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“You tell me. I mean, is something troubling you? Something I don’t know about?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I hear you sometimes. At night. You talk in your sleep.”

Leo was instantly on the alert. “When? When did I?” “Well, one time was the other night after the ghost stories. You went – where did you go to anyway?”

Leo rolled over and looked at the Steelyard house. “Over there.”

“Are you kidding? What made you do that?”

Leo shrugged. “I guess it was Hank’s story about Mary and – and the m-murder. I just wanted to look the place over again.”

“Jeez. I don’t get it.”

“I guess it sounds crazy, but – remember I told you about the butcher shop and us living over it? Well, the Steelyard place keeps reminding me of that house. I got this screwy idea – I don’t know, I can’t figure it out – but there’s something about it – it’s spooky. Even the inside was like our house.”

“Cripes! You mean you went inside?”

“Yup. It was really weird, the layout was practically the same. There was this dark spot on the floor – in the front hall – it looked like blood.”

“Come on, kiddo. You’re jazzing me.”

“No, I’m not. Then I went upstairs.”

“In the dark? By yourself? You’re either fearless or you’re nuts. Oh wow, sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, forget it. The doc’d probably say nuts; I say fearless.”

They smiled at each other, then Tiger asked, “Did… did anything… happen?”

“Yes…”

“You’re kidding!” Tiger was on his knees, his eyes flashing his eagerness.

“I went into Mary Steelyard’s room. The corner room. It was like my mother’s room.”

“Oh, jeez, you’re not going to tell me you saw the ghost.”

“Worse. As I was coming down the stairs, I knew there was something there, something was hiding, I couldn’t hear it but I could feel it. When I reached the bottom step the door flew open and this thing rushed in-”

“Thing? What thing?”

“It was just a thing. A big dark thing. I couldn’t see what it was, but it grabbed me and it picked me up. I was hollering. I knew I was going to die. It was going to throw me into the cellar, but I kicked myself free.”

“You kicked?”

“That’s right. I kicked him… in the eye. Get it?”'

“Oh my gosh! In the – Oh cripes, you mean to say-” Tiger’s eyes grew wider; Leo was nodding to beat the band.

“So that’s how he got the shiner.” Tiger hooted, then launched himself at Leo, and they rolled over together in the grass, laughing as hard as they could; Harpo, who was drowsing in the shade, leaped up, tail a-wag, and joined in the fun. After a few moments they subsided, then, brushing themselves off, they lay back on the turf and were quiet for a while.

“What kind of things do I talk about?” Leo asked when Harpo had settled himself again.

“Well,” Tiger began, gazing up at the sky, “once I remember you said ‘Don’t do it.’ Right out loud. Then you said ‘Put it down.’ ”

“Did anyone else hear?”

“No one, as far as I can tell. At least nobody’s said.” Tiger stopped and chewed his lip. “Is there anything… I mean, you’re not exactly a blabber-mouth, I know, but if you wanted to talk ever

…”

Leo wanted, wanted so badly to get it all out, but he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come.

“That’s okay,” he managed. “I mean, it’s nothing, honest. It’s just… well, nothing. But thanks, anyway.” He moved a little way away and squinted at the pond.

Tiger sat up, his eye on the back of Leo’s neck. “Come on, kiddo, don’t go clamming up on me again.”

“I wasn’t. I was just thinking about something.”

“What?”

“I was wondering what’s going to happen when camp's over.”

“Same old thing, I guess. It’ll be back to school for me, and for you-”

“It’s back to the Institute and the grease pits, I guess.” Come September Leo would be apprenticed as a mechanic in the Pitt garage, a prospect he detested. “But we’ll see each other, won’t we? This winter?”

“Heck yes.” Tiger was firm. “My mom’s going to invite you and Bomber to come stay overnight. Up in the attic. I’ve got a swell room. Double-decker bunks just like at camp, and the electric train.”

“Yeah,” Leo said, “I can’t wait to see that.”

“Just remember, until then, try and keep your nose clean.”

“Can’t I even pick it?”

“That’s not for me to say. And you need a haircut.” In a final burst of laughter Tiger was on his feet, Harpo too, and away they sped like a pair of jackrabbits.

Leo watched them go, then, relieving a foot that was going to sleep, he craned his neck, checking the sky for the time. By now the sun had shifted several degrees; he felt a bright beam shining into his eyes, and angled his head into its warmth. Behind his lids lights danced green and red and yellow, pinwheels of color, a vivid burst of patterns and shapes like Fourth of July fireworks exploding in his retina. He reminded himself that he should practice some more, but it was hard to concentrate when his thoughts flitted about as errantly as the dragonflies that hovered above the surface of the water, or – he glanced upward, his eye attracted by a flashing motion in the air. Overhead, limned sharply against the opalescent blue, two pale-yellow butterflies whirled in a frantic spiral of passionate activity. There was evidence of desperate persistence in their wild gyrations as one pursued the other, driven to mate, now joining her, now parting, now joining again. Leo observed the ritual with a certain cynicism. Why wouldn’t, couldn’t she simply give in and accept his advances? What need to lead him such a mad chase when ultimately there would come the gossamer embrace, and death? Poor butterfly. Maybe that was the real meaning of the song…

Poor Butterfly!›

’Neath the blossoms waiting Poor Butterfly!

For she loved him so.

He went back inside the icehouse, where he took up his violin again and resumed his practice. And as he played, he imagined her, Emily, seated in her chair, listening to the melody that was her favorite, brushing out her hair as she nodded and smiled approval. He could see the old woman who lived in the back room at Mrs Kranze’s, sitting in the iron bedstead in the corner, her bony fingers clasped under her chin, her eyes bright as she listened; and John Burroughs, the day they went to the park, when the merry-go-round played the song and he sat astride the painted horse with John standing at his side so he wouldn’t fall off; and the night of the big storm, when John – suddenly the light seemed to dim around him. The bridge – the bridge was going to be washed out, it would fall into the river, carrying with it anyone unlucky enough to be on it. He had known it was going to happen, hadn’t he? Somehow he’d imagined it every time he crossed the bridge. Why hadn’t he warned them? Was he to blame? The questions pin-wheeled in his head as he looked and turned away and looked again, saw the bridge falling into the river, saw the truck engulfed and Mother!

Mother!

MOTHER!

He stopped playing. His hand was shaking. It was true. Here, beside the lake, in the shade and the summer sun, he was shaking. Why should that be so? Here, beside Moonbow Lake, he still felt afraid.

The sun had moved on. He didn’t need a watch to tell him it was already three, and that he should get back to camp. No more practice today. He replaced his violin carefully in its case, gathered up his music, then turned to retrieve his knapsack. As he did so, in a shaft of light at the back of the icehouse, he spotted a spider, a big fat black-and-yellow one. He fished out his notebook and made one of his customary notes on the creature’s web and habitat, then flipped it into a box. He was just sliding the lid home when the deep-throated roar of the Chris-Craft engine shattered his sanctuary, and, glancing out the door, he recoiled in alarm. The Moonbow Maid was speeding across the water, heading in a beeline for the China Garden – was only a hundred yards away. Even now, Reece, with Honey beside him, was cutting the motor, and Leo could make out their features clearly, including details like the radium-dial watch on Reece’s wrist, the barrette in Honey’s hair. What were they doing here? Had she come to pick the water lilies?