Beware, The Willow Wood

By: Lawrence Falcetano
September 11, 2008

I snapped the reins for “Old Johnny” to get up a bit as I turned the wagon onto the Oldwick Road. I tried looking ahead; but even in my fear, I couldn’t keep my eyes from darting a look into the wood. I could smell the dankness as we passed through a cold shadow where the trees blocked out the afternoon sun and I became aware of the silence--no sounds from birds or insects, just the squeak of the wagon wheels and “Old Johnny’s” clip-clop.

I turned eleven that summer, that age when a boy can foolishly believe he has become a man. And although I gloried in my self appointed manhood--secretly, I had never been more terrified of anything than that acreage of trees blemishing the rolling hills of Pennsylvania’s farmland.

From my bedroom window, I could see the Weeping Willows on the distant hillside, their dangling arms reaching to the ground, swaying in the moonlit breeze. Each night, I pulled down the shade and drew the curtain but I knew the trees would be there in the morning, searching…reaching…waiting for someone to pass beneath them so they might snatch them up.

Mikey couldn’t see the trees from his bedroom, but my eight-year-old brother wasn’t very
much afraid of anything and didn’t quite understand what Father Corrigan was saying at the end of each Tuesday night bible class.

I can still see the Father standing before the students in his black robe with the gold crucifix stitched below his left shoulder like a badge, shaking an admonishing finger as he spoke: “Beware the willow wood,” he would say, “and dare not stray off the Oldwick Road on your way to or from church. For those who have sinned will be snatched up by the tree servants and held tight until Satan himself comes to take them to Hades.”

I was sure that meant me. There was the time Bobby Brenner lost his pocketknife and I’d found it the next day by the barn. I would have given it back if his Grandfather hadn’t given him another so quickly. Then, there was Sarah Hutchin’s Sunday hat. The boys had snatched it from her head and tossed it about like a ball. I’d laughed with the others even though tears rolled down Sarah’s cheeks.

I wouldn’t admit it then, but I knew I was a sinner.

And I wasn’t eager to make that delivery to the church on Saturday like my father had requested. I knew I’d have to travel the Oldwick Road passed the willow trees, the only way to and from the church.

“Father Corrigan will need six crates of eggs for the congregation breakfast this Sunday morning,” my father said. “I’m sure you’re responsible enough to make the delivery, Andrew.” He ruffled my blond hair looking for a sign of reassurance, but I offered none.

Since taking a spill off the tractor and fracturing his leg, my father had been depending on me to help with the farm chores. Especially since Uncle Harlan had gone to New Castle to visit his ailing daughter and wasn’t sure when he’d be back. Since losing his wife, Uncle Harlan had been living in the attic rooms and helping around the farm. He was like a second father to Mikey and me and I’d never mentioned my fear of the wood to him or anyone else and didn’t want it known now while my father was counting on my help.

That afternoon, after I’d hitched “Old Johnny” to the wagon, my father, leaning painfully on his crutch, instructed me to lay a horse blanket in the bed of the wagon and load the crates of eggs so the blanket would cushion them during the rough ride. With the wagon loaded, I climbed into the seat next to Mikey and took the reins. My mother hurried out of the house and kissed us on our cheeks. “Now don’t dilly-dally,” she said. “You should be back long before dark.” She smiled as she lifted the bottom of her flowered apron and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Mama seemed happy and sad at the same time.

“Mama’s right.” my father said. “Those eggs need to keep cool else they’ll spoil.”

“Keep an eye on Mikey,” my mother added. “And don’t let him carry any eggs.”

“We’ll be okay,” I said, trying to sound responsible. I snapped the reins and the mare pulled the wagon through the front gate into the open road…in the direction of the willow wood!

***

The sun was low in the afternoon sky as I turned the wagon onto the Oldwick Road. The wood was dark and I couldn’t see through the trees closest to the road or what lay beyond them. As we approached, the trees loomed larger and I felt that familiar bolt of fear bristle the hairs on the back of my neck. Instinctively, I felt the front pocket of my overalls for my pocketknife. Mikey sat beside me, unconcerned, munching caramel candy out of a bag Mama had given us for the trip.

Father Corrigan was waiting by the side door of the rectory as we approached, and I felt a sense of comfort in seeing him. He looked different in his worn jeans, denim shirt and work boots, but as we got closer, I saw it was the same Father Corrigan with his short cropped yellow hair and big smile.

“Well, you boys made it,” he said, “with no broken eggs, I hope.” He ran his hand over the crates as if he could tell if there were broken eggs inside.

“Papa says to get’em cool else they’ll spoil,” I said, climbing down and tying off to the wrought-iron fence. Mikey jumped down, spilling caramels into the high grass. He stooped over quickly to retrieve them.

“We’ll do just that,” the Father said, giving Mikey a pat on his backside. “Hold that door open, ‘mister helper’ and we’ll get them inside.” Mikey retrieved his last caramel, opened the door and leaned his small body against it.

We carried the crates down a long corridor into a stainless steel kitchen where the Father placed them inside a huge refrigerator. After closing the door like a vault, he turned to me. “Come to my office, Andrew,” he said, “I have something that will interest you.”

“Mama says we should get right back with no ‘dilly-dally’.”

“You won’t be long,” he persisted.

I got the feeling this was something I shouldn’t be doing as I pulled Mikey by his shirtsleeve and followed the Father to the end of the corridor.

Inside his office, the Father removed a small wooden box from the top drawer of his desk. “Open it,” he said.

I wondered what Father Corrigan could have that would interest me as I lifted the lid. Inside, I saw an array of colored rocks. The Father knew how much I liked collecting rocks and how I’d discovered a wide variety digging around the farm.

I scanned these treasures, wide-eyed with wonder, until I saw nestled in a corner, the largest of them, with its brilliance reflecting the light from the office window--it was quartz! That elusive beauty I had yet to find to complete my own collection. I lifted it into the air, turning it between my fingers, unable to take my eyes from it for a long while. I stood mesmerized by its pristine beauty until I was brought back to reality by the knowledge that the rock didn’t belong to me. Where did the father find it? Was there a place to dig, nearby?

With excited anticipation, I turned, my head filled with questions but found myself facing an empty room! Where had Mikey and the Father gone?

I placed the quartz back into the box and walked out into the corridor. I called to Mikey but heard only the echo of my own voice bouncing off the tiled walls. Mama would have a fit if she knew I let Mikey out of my sight. But…he was safe with Father Corrigan. He probably had to wiz and the Father took him to the boy’s room. At the end of the corridor I leaned my shoulder against the boy’s room door, just enough to poke my head inside. “Mikey, you here…?” My answer was the syncopating sound of a dripping faucet. I let the door close and jogged down the corridor, pushing through the rectory door where “Old Johnny” was waiting outside. I called again, “Mikey! Father Corrigan!” Across the road, I could see the willow trees, their arms swaying ominously in the evening breeze. It’s like the entrance to Hell, I thought. As I listened, I was sure I could hear them whispering my name, beckoning me to come to them.

Then I saw “Old Johnny’s” ears perk up and I listened harder. A sound was coming from the trees and it sure sounded like Mikey calling! Forgetting my fear, I darted across the road. “I hear ya, Mikey!” I shouted as I ran, but with each courageous step I took, my apprehension increased. Torn by the unknown evil before me and the knowledge that my brother needed me, I stopped short of the entrance to the trees.

As I stood staring into those portentous shadows, I thought of my father and the trust he had placed in me to make the egg delivery and keep a close watch on Mikey. And of my mother, who was so happy to see her eldest son taking on adult responsibilities that it brought a tear to her eye.

I mustered these thoughts into a bundle of courage, took a deep breath and bolted through the dangling arms awaiting me, swinging my own arms and trying not to get caught up. As I ran, I could feel the bony fingers of the tree servants scratching at the back of my neck, trying to grab hold and keep me for Satan, but I fought my way up the hillside until I stopped to rest behind a large tree. Only my labored breathing and the hissing wind moving through the treetops broke the silence. I was afraid and trembling and wanted to run again, run as hard and as fast as I could and keep running straight passed the willow trees until I came out on the other side. But, Mikey was in here somewhere.

Where was Father Corrigan? He must have heard Mikey.

“Andrew! Andrew! There it was again, coming from up the hill. I ran ahead, darting from tree to tree like a frightened rabbit, trying to avoid the arms reaching down for me.

It was darker here than it had been when I entered. The sun had set quickly and the full moon hung like a new silver dollar in the night sky, but I pushed my way deeper into the wood, forgetting Father Corrigan’s warning until I stopped, stiff with terror at what I saw ahead of me. Shafts of moonlight had sliced obliquely through the willow limbs and pierced the earth floor like silver spikes. They stood, like an embedded army, trying to keep me from getting to Mikey. “Signs of the Devil!” I said aloud, expecting to see the demon appear at any moment. Was I too late? Did the trees servants snatch Mikey already? But…Mikey wasn’t a sinner. He didn’t know how to sin. And then, I remembered, I was the sinner and the Devil wanted me!

I bolted between the silver spikes and ran to a larger clearing where I dropped beside a fallen tree. Squeezing my eyes shut, I buried my face in my folded arms, hoping, when I looked up, the nightmare would be over. But, the nightmare was just beginning. When I raised my head, I saw on the crest of the hill, engulfed in an aura of shimmering moonlight, a makeshift wooden shack, windowless, with a single door swinging on its hinges. The hissing wind became a crescendo of howling whirlwind as the debris it carried encircled the shack as if protecting it from intruders. “Mikey!” I shouted.“ You in there?” If Mikey answered, his cries were lost in the turmoil of wind and debris and I knew I’d have to go into that shack. What I might find inside only added to my fear. Then I remembered I had with me the bit of courage I needed--my pocketknife! With trembling fingers, I opened the four-inch blade, sucked in a lungful of damp air and moved toward the shack.

As I pushed against the wind, I saw Mikey appear out of the darkness of the doorway. His shirt was off and his overall straps were down below his waist. With tear-filled eyes, he called to me. Confused and frightened, he moved away from the shack as I hurried toward him, slashing at the groping arms that tried to keep me from him. I ran until my aching knees let me down and I stumbled over a tangle of roots and found myself with my face in the dirt. I got to my feet quickly but froze--wide-eyed with disbelief at what I saw before me. A black robed specter was emerging from the shack like a huge bat; its fluttering wings aided by the whirlwind as it barreled toward me and pushed me to the ground again. This is the Devil, I thought, come to take me! Father Corrigan’s words echoed in my head as I struggled under the weight of the black shroud …“Beware, the willow wood!”

I grimaced when gnarl-knuckled fingers, tipped with black talons, appeared from beneath the shroud and pierced my shoulders. Mikey’s cries continued and I felt myself weaken as terror brought me to the point of panic. The wind howled around me, the trees waved their arms above me and Mikey’s cries grew louder.

And then, I heard Uncle Harlan calling my name and I thought I must have been slipping away and hearing voices as the Devil took me. But the voice came again and louder. It was Uncle Harlan calling from down the hillside. I managed to shout once, “We’re here! We’re here, Uncle Harlan!” just as I was lifted off the ground and engulfed into the blackness of the flowing shroud. Smothered in darkness, I could hear Uncle Harlan’s muffled voice, “Andy, we’re comin’.” Then, my mother’s voice echoed above Uncle Harlan’s. “Andrew, its all right, dear. We’re here!” And I was sure that I had been brought to Hades and was hearing voices from my past.

Suddenly, there was an opening of light and I felt cool wind on my face again. I saw my mother rush to Mikey and wrap her arms around him while Uncle Harlan bolted toward the black shroud like a charging bull, his massive body hit the specter low and it tumbled to the ground, releasing its grip on me. I scrambled behind a tree and watched Uncle Harlan battle with the Devil. They rolled around on the damp ground until the shroud seemed to float above Uncle Harlan, its long fingers squeezing its talons into his neck. I could see my uncle’s face turn purple-red as he struggled to free himself, but I knew the Devil had the power and Uncle Harlan couldn’t save himself or us.

I fought off the urge to run to my mother but, instead, moved slowly and cautiously closer to my Uncle, knife in hand. When I was close enough to smell that stench of evil the Devil carries about him, he suddenly released his hold on my uncle, reared up and turned to me. Cold fear congealed into icy terror as I watched those watery red eyes and pointed teeth move menacingly closer. The talons reached out quickly again, pressing themselves against my throat. I struggled as the Devil’s face came close, its foul breath beating against my own face, discharge spilling over its thick black lips as they stretched into a sardonic smile. And then, I saw Father Corrigan’s face appear over the Devil’s like a Halloween mask and the Father said: “Beware the willow wood,” before the face dissolved back into the ugliness as suddenly as it had come.

I took a deep breath and held it; raised my arm above my head and brought my knife down, plunging it into the black cloth. The Devil’s body jerked once then tumbled backward to the ground taking the knife with it. I watched the dark figure before me as the demonic face melted back into the gentle face of Father Corrigan, his lifeless eyes staring wide, up through the limbs of the willow trees…still now in the calming wind.

Uncle Harlan rushed to me; fell to his knees and wrapped me in his arms. Squeezing my eyes shut, I buried my face in his chest, grateful for his comfort and strength.

“It’s okay son,” he assured me. “It’s over now.”

But I wasn’t sure as I peeked over his broad back, just enough to see the black robe and the crimson stream bubbling out of the knife wound below the left shoulder, as it ran down over the stitching of the gold crucifix.