Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

Crooked Tree crept off into the night.

“MOM!” HE SCREAMED.

“Davey, what is it?” Melanie sat on the edge of his bed and shook his shoulders gently.

“Mom,” he whimpered as his eyes opened.

She pulled him to her shoulder and patted his back—“What is it, honey?”

“It was the man again, the hunter,” he said. “He’s coming.”

“Nobody is coming Davey. It was just a bad dream,” she said. “You’re nine years old. You’re getting a little old for these nightmares.”

“This wasn’t a nightmare. I saw him,” he objected.

“Saw him where?” she glanced around. “This is your bed, and you’re safe and sound. If you saw a man in here then it had to be nightmare.” She pulled a tissue from the sleeve of her robe and cupped his chin while scrubbing his cheek. “I swear, you are the dirtiest boy in the world,” she commented.

He pulled away and buried his head under his blankets.

Melanie stood slowly and pulled her bathrobe tight. She waited until Davey peeked out from under the covers. “Do you want me to leave the door open?” she asked.

“And the hall light on?” he asked back.

“Okay, but just this once,” she said.

She pulled his door halfway shut, so the light wasn’t directly on his face, and waved goodnight. Davey flipped the covers back over his head and felt his own breath close. He didn’t want to poke his head out from under the blankets, but he was afraid fall asleep with his head covered.

When he was four, his sister had told him that if you slept under the covers you would “suffocate to death.” He took that advice very seriously, but that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t like being under the covers. Davey also didn’t like the new smell his body had begun to make. His new smell reminded him of his gym teacher—a very hairy and perpetually sweaty, overweight man.

He closed his eyes tight and inched his head from under the blankets until his nose was greeted with fresh air. Careful not to glimpse the dark, he arranged his arms and drifted back to sleep.

DAVEY WAITED AT THE CORNER for the bus. His mom had packed his backpack while he took a shower before getting dressed. Without being told, he had started taking a shower every morning. No matter how much soap he used, or how many times he bathed, he couldn’t erase his musky smell. At school, some of the other kids had begun to tease him, and he didn’t blame them. He thought he smelled gross too.

Davey kicked the backpack at his feet and wondered why it was so plump. A realization dawned on him and he unzipped the top compartment. He found a towel and bathing suit in a plastic bag, stuffed in with his lunch and folded homework.

He looked around in a panic until he spotted the neighbor’s trash can, left at the curb. The bus turned onto Wakefield Street as he darted to the can with his open pack. He removed the towel and bathing suit and stuffed it in the can. He was back at his spot by the time the bus got close enough for him to see the driver.

“OKAY CHILDREN,” SAID MRS. ROBERTS. “Everyone who’s taking swimming please line up by the cubbies.”

Davey kept his chair and hunched over his workbook. This was his first line of defense—he would play dumb.

“Davey,” she asked from just behind his desk. “You’re signed up for swimming, aren’t you?”

“I’m not supposed to,” said Davey. “I don’t have a suit.”

“It’s okay,” said Mrs. Roberts. “I’m sure Mr. Mulgrove will find you one.”

“I can’t,” said Davey. “My mom said so.”

“I talked to your mom just last week. She didn’t mention anything.”

Davey looked up to Mrs. Roberts’s wrinkled face and tried to decide if he could insist she was wrong.

“Come on.” She touched his shoulder.

Davey flinched away from her touch. He lowered his head and shuffled towards the line of kids waiting against the far wall. The three boys in back were the ones who regularly teased him—Ted, Matthew, and Nicholas. He lined up behind Ted and glanced back to Paul, happily filling out his worksheet. Paul looked up and nodded.

“That your boyfriend, Stinky?” Ted leaned in and whispered.

Davey looked at his shoes.

“Davey?” called Mrs. Roberts from the front of the line.

He looked up to see that all the other kids had their hands raised. He raised his own and held it high.

“Yuck—you stink,” hissed Ted, turning his head slightly.

As the line began to move, the children put their hands down and followed their teacher around the corner and down the stairs. They marched down the hall and out the front door to the waiting school bus for the short ride to the high school pool. Davey’s heart beat faster as he passed Mr. Mulgrove who stood with his clipboard at the front of the bus, checking off names. He wanted to declare himself ineligible for swimming, but couldn’t muster the courage to bring up the subject in front of a busload of his classmates. He took a seat near the front and waited for the short ride to end.

When they reached the parking lot of the pool, Mr. Mulgrove stood and addressed the kids as the bus slowed to a stop.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I want you at poolside in five minutes. No loitering. You know what that means?” he asked, turning to Hannah. She began to turn red. “That means no hanging around. I want you out the other side before I come looking.”

He backed into the Davey’s seat to let all the other kids passed, giving Davey a good excuse to talk to him after his classmates left, but an unwelcome view of the wide seat of his pants. When Nicholas had exited down the stairs, shooting a hateful look back at Davey, Mr. Mulgrove sat down on the edge of the bench seat and addressed Davey.

“You forgot your suit?” he asked.

Davey looked down at his empty hands and nodded.

“That’s okay,” said Mr. Mulgrove. “I’ll borrow one from the swim team. They have plenty.”

Davey shook his head but didn’t look up at the giant head of his teacher. “I don’t want it. I can’t swim today,” he said as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Why not? I thought you liked swimming?”

“No,” said Davey, clipping the word to keep control of his voice.

“Didn’t I just talk to you last fall about getting ready for swim team next year?”

Davey nodded slowly.

“What changed?”

“I just,” began Davey, “I just don’t want to. I’m not even suh-supposed to,” his voiced hitched as he blurted the sentence.

“Whoa Davey,” said Mr. Mulgrove. “Why are you getting emotional? It’s just swimming.”

“I don’t know,” Davey said through his tear-strangled throat.

Mr. Mulgrove reached for Davey’s shoulder and then stopped his hand and put it on the seat back behind the boy. “Did I ever tell you about my son, Davey?”

Davey shook his head.

“Tyler got taller than all the rest of the kids when he was in fourth grade. They used to call him Stretch, and Bigfoot, and then Twin Towers, which really didn’t make that much sense. Some kids just lash out at anyone that’s different. They feel insecure themselves, and the only way they can cope with it is to make fun of other kids. Does that make sense?”

Davey nodded.

“Well it shouldn’t,” laughed Mr. Mulgrove. “It’s rotten, and they shouldn’t do it. But Davey, everyone’s the same and everyone’s different. That might sound weird, but it’s true. You just keep your head up and don’t let anything they say get to you. And if it does get to you, you come see me. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Davey, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He still dreaded getting out of the bus, but sensed that the conversation was over.