Ike Hamill: The Hunting Tree Trilogy

The kids nodded along with Christopher.

He continued: “So Liam went back to his bed and watched his father get ready for his own rest. His body was warm and safe, but his thoughts were still troubled. This time he thought about the Stage of the Hunt, what his uncle called the ‘Hungry Feast.’ That stage was supposed to be particularly dangerous. All the hungry hunters prowling the dark would make even a peaceful man’s blood boil. Liam realized he hadn’t been paying attention, maybe he’d even drifted off—his father was missing.”

“What happened to him?” asked Davey—his voice a smiling whisper. Christopher shuddered a little at his son’s morbid curiosity.

“That’s the question that drove Liam from his bed. All he could think was that somehow the shadow-monster was somehow real. He imagined his father struggling for his life, and Liam pushed off his covers to go help. He couldn’t bear the thought that his dad would be killed by something that his curiosity had called to life.”

“Because he stayed up too late?” asked Davey.

“Exactly,” said Christopher. He noticed that Susan’s chin was resting on her chest—she had drifted off at last. He lowered his voice to a whisper and continued the story for Davey—“So Liam crept away from his bed, tiptoeing across the room to the passage that led to the summer room. When he was about to round the corner, Liam got his second big scare of the night. Right around the corner, as if waiting for him to approach, came…" Christopher paused, but Davey offered no guess, “his father.”

Christopher waited for Davey to be disappointed again, but Davey just watched. If Davey had been someone else’s son, Christopher would have called him creepy.

He continued—“Liam was glad to see his father alive and well, and was even more comforted at what his father said next—‘Liam, you’re just jumpy tonight. You can sleep in my bed until you settle down.’ Liam nodded and followed his dad to the big bed, farthest away from the fire. His dad hugged him tight under the heavy covers, and Liam knew nothing bad could happen to him in his father’s strong arms. At least that’s what he thought until he felt his father’s hot breath on the back of his head. That’s when Liam remembered why the Stage of the Hunt was so dangerous. It was one of the most feared Stages because it was contagious.”

Davey understood—Christopher could tell from his eyes.

“The next thing Liam did was the last thing he would ever do. He rolled over to look his father in the eyes. He looked his father in his glowing… red… eyes.”

“Cool,” Davey breathed. His eyes fell shut with the word. As if, now satisfied with a gruesome ending, Davey could finally sleep in peace. Christopher shook his head reflexively—dismissing the revulsion he would never admit feeling.

He leaned over—“Ready for bed?” Christopher whispered in Susan’s ear.

“Uhh-kay,” she yawned.

Christopher reached towards her and she put up her arms. He plucked her from Davey’s bed quietly, not moving the bed more than an eighth of an inch. Christopher was clumsy, except when it came to his kids. With his kids he was strong and graceful.

Christopher carried Susan to her room and slid her under thick covers. She had a better room than her brother, but it would still be cramped for a teenage girl, which she would soon become. Their inadequate house pushed at the back of Christopher’s thoughts, like a forgotten errand. Now that the kids were in school most of the day, he was supposed to go back to work. It had been nearly a decade since he’d decided to be a stay-at-home dad; the prospect of a job-search was daunting.

“Cold,” she mumbled.

He pulled up the covers, kissed her forehead, and tucked her in tight.

“Good night, sweetie,” he said.

“Night,” she replied. She turned her head and closed her eyes.

He backed out slowly and closed the door to just a crack.

Back in Davey’s room, his son had already kicked most of the covers off. Christopher rearranged Davey’s limbs and folded back the heaviest blankets. Davey was always radiating heat, but he was even hotter tonight, still getting over the tail of a fever. Christopher leaned in to kiss Davey’s forehead when he saw the mark.

He dug in his pocket for a mildly-used tissue. Pushing Davey’s hair back, Christopher wiped the white smudge from his son’s neck. Christopher left the tissue in Davey’s trashcan and closed the door most of the way.

With the kids safely to bed, he turned his attention to his wife. She would be downstairs, either talking on the phone or watching television, a glass of wine clenched in her right hand. Some nights, maybe even most nights, she didn’t drink at all. They would stay up until the news, talking, making plans, and cleaning up the kitchen. Nights like these, where she would be on her fifth or sixth glass of wine when he tucked in the kids, had become a regular part of Christopher’s life. On those nights he had three children, and it was time for him to see the third to bed.

Christopher flipped on the light at the top of the stairs and put his hand on the railing. Even something he did dozens of times a day, something that any normal man of thirty-six years would completely take for granted, was affected by Christopher’s clumsiness. Ever since he was a little boy, as young as Davey was that night, Christopher had learned to always use a handrail when climbing or descending stairs. He started down.

A noise from the end of the long hall, from the door to the master bedroom, claimed his attention and he turned his head. He wondered if Melanie, his wife, had somehow managed to slip past him while he was tucking in their children.

MELANIE WOKE ON TOP of the covers, blinking away the light from the nightstand lamp. She rolled over and reached for the slender stem of her glass, but she wanted water, not more burgundy. Melanie glanced at the clock, suddenly confused and waking up quickly. It read two seventeen.

“Dad!” cried Davey, from the next room. “DAD!” he screamed.

She sat up. It felt like her body was two steps ahead of her brain and she settled back down on her elbows. Christopher would see to Davey. There was no need for both of them to get up if Davey was yelling for Chris.

Her eyes were half-closed again before her confusion came back even stronger.

“Dad?” Davey called.

Chris should have been there by now.

This time Melanie sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. She pushed to her feet and steadied herself on the bureau. She ran fingers through her hair as she consulted the mirror. She straightened her blouse and smoothed the front of her slacks. Her head began a slow drumbeat in time with her pulse. There would be a headache waiting for her in the morning if she didn’t get that glass of water. Davey’s room was two doors down.

“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked, as she pushed open Davey’s door. The hall light was on, so she didn’t open it all the way.

“I think I stayed up too long,” he cried.

“What? What do you mean?” she knelt next to his bed and smoothed his hair.

“I wanted to stay up until the Stage of Possibilities, just to see,” he said frantically.

“Shhhh,” she said, “don’t wake up your sister. Just tell me what happened.”

Davey started again, slower, as if explaining something very complicated—“I wanted to stay up to see the Stage of Possibilities, so I could see what it looked like,” he whispered.

“What does that mean, honey?” she asked, while she stroked his face. She reached over clicked on his lamp. The bulb came on slowly, with its slightly cold florescent light.

“Dad told us about how the night has stages. I just wanted to see the first stage, so I tried really hard to stay up. Even when the scary noises started, I just pinched myself on the arm, see?" He pulled his arm from under the covers. A string of welts ran from his wrist up to his elbow. One had a small spot of blood from his sharp nails.