Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“Yeah,” admitted Davey. “They were going to put it in her lunchbox.”

“How did you find out?”

“I heard them talking near the cubbies,” said Davey.

“And you took the mouse out of the lunchbox and put it in Ted’s book?”

“Nope,” said Davey, smiling. “They never got it into her lunchbox.”

John smiled and quickly covered his mouth. “How did you get it?”

“I could smell it in Nicholas’s cubby. It was in a sandwich bag, behind his book. I said I had to go to the bathroom and then I found the mouse. It was covered in little white bugs. I dumped it out in Ted’s book and then squished it closed.”

“That must have smelled terrible,” said John.

“It did.” Davey beamed.

“So how did Paul get in trouble?”

Davey puffed out his cheeks and sighed. “He was right near Ted when he found the mouse. I told him not to laugh, but he pointed and laughed at Ted. When Mrs. Roberts came, Ted said that Paul did it. They started to take Paul down to the office and that’s when I told her it was me. I didn’t want Paul to get in trouble for what I did.”

“Your heart was in the right place,” said John.

“I guess,” said Davey, turning to look out the window.

“Seriously, Davey, it takes a lot of guts to stand up for someone who is being teased by a bully. It also takes a lot of guts to admit it was you instead of letting your friend get in trouble.”

“Yeah,” said Davey.

“You pretty much screwed up the most important part though,” said John.

Davey turned back to John and looked surprised.

“It’s not enough to do something for the right reason,” said John. “You also have to do the right thing.”

“What? Like tell?” asked Davey.

“Sometimes, yes. But not always,” said John.

“What then?”

“Well, when you heard that Ted and Nicholas were going to put the mouse in her lunchbox, you could have gone to them and told them not to do it, that it wasn’t right.”

“Yeah, then they would have said I was in love with Christina,” said Davey. “They would have told everyone.”

“Are you?”

“No,” said Davey. “No way. I don’t even like her.”

“Then what’s the harm? If you’re worried that someone like Ted will lie, then you’ve got an awful lot more worrying to do. People like Ted lie all the time. He could say you love Christina no matter what.”

“That’s true,” said Davey. “But just because I tell him not to put the mouse in there doesn’t mean he won’t do it.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” said John. “More often than not, people like Ted are cowards. They’re afraid of confrontation, and they’re usually pretty insecure about themselves. I bet if he found out that you knew what he was up to, it might discourage him from even trying it.”

“You think so?” asked Davey.

“I do,” said John.

“That would be good if I didn’t have to tell on him,” said Davey. “I hate doing that.”

“There are some things you should still tell about,” said John. “But I think you’ll know those when you see them.”

Davey grunted.

“Have you been sleeping okay?” asked John, risking a change of subject.

“Okay I guess,” said Davey.

“Any bad dreams?”

“Sometimes,” Davey said slowly.

“Could you tell me one?” asked John.

“I don’t know,” said Davey. “I don’t remember.”

“I’ll tell you one of mine if you want,” said John.

Davey nodded.

“I haven’t had this one in years, but it used to scare the bejesus out of me,” John said as he rubbed his temple. “I would wake up, and it would be a few minutes before sunrise. You know when you can see everything even though the sun isn’t quite up yet?”

“Yeah,” whispered Davey.

“I’d be about to get up, but then for some reason I would look across the room before I would swing my feet off the bed. In my old room there was a heating vent a couple of feet to the left of the door, and just for a second I would see a little face looking out from behind that vent.”

“Really?” asked Davey.

“Yeah, well it was a dream, but you couldn’t have convinced me of that at the time. That little baby was scary. It would back away just when I saw it. Sometimes I would try to scream, but nothing would come out.”

“Then what happened?” asked Davey.

“Most of the time that would be it,” said John. “I’d wake up and I would be sweating all over, but by then the baby didn’t seem as scary. But sometimes the dream would keep going, and I would be walking through the house and everywhere there was a vent, that baby would be looking out at me. I just knew it was waiting for me to stop looking so it could get out and come after me. It was just a baby, but I knew it could hurt me.”

“But you stopped having that dream?” asked Davey. His eyes had grown wide.

“Yeah, eventually,” said John. “I learned about lucid dreaming. Have you ever heard of that?”

Davey shook his head slowly.

“I’m not surprised. Nobody talks about it much anymore,” said John.

“What is it?” whispered Davey.

John took a sip of his water and coughed into his hand. “Tell me about your dream and then I’ll tell you about lucid dreaming. My throat is a little scratchy.”

“Well,” Davey paused. He concentrated hard for a second and then his face softened, from his brow then down to his chin, as he dropped into a trance. “Most of my dreams are about the giant man.”

John held very still; he knew not to interrupt.

“I used to think that I created him, but that was wrong,” said Davey. He spoke low, just above a whisper, and at a measured pace. “I thought that he was like the sideways-head thing, but he’s not. He’s been around almost forever, but he’s been asleep.”

John almost prompted, but then Davey continued—“Something has been waking him up, and he smells me. He’ll come to find me some day, and he can’t be stopped.”

John waited for several moments, but decided it was important to get as much information as possible before their hour was up. “What do you know about him?” asked John.

“He’s big,” said Davey. His eyes looked beyond the walls of John’s office—wide, but focused on nothing. “He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen, and he can kill with a single swing of his hand. He hunts people like me—people who are sick, or … flawed,” said Davey. He swallowed a hard knot before continuing. “He started by eating his entire family. He ate their brains, and lungs, and muscles until he took their strength and smarts.”

John wished he had the capability to record Davey’s monologue. He was certain that nobody would believe that this nine-year-old had dropped into a self-hypnotic trance to talk about a cannibal monster who stalked his dreams.

“Why does he hunt you?” asked John.

“He has to,” said Davey. “His family was poisoned, so they killed themselves. Now he’s a wandering spirit.”

“But why you?”

“Because I have the disease, too. When I grow up, I’ll spread it,” said Davey.

“What disease?”

“Don’t know,” said Davey. “But he can smell it. When the power came and woke him up, his eyes opened in the dark, and he could smell me from miles and miles away.”

“Where is he now?”

“He rests during the day,” said Davey. “He’s underground somewhere, where it’s wet and smelly. But he stirs.”

“I thought he was coming for you?”

“He wants to. He can smell me.”

“Where is he?” asked John.

Davey’s brow knit with concentration—“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t see that.”