Beezer crept through the trees as effortlessly as the heavy mist spiraling amongst the ancient forest giants. The young man felt more at home here in the woods than under a solid roof. He had stolen from bed as soon as the whisper of soft snoring told him his mother slept.
Before leaving, he’d paused to gaze fondly at her, and listen to the rattle of her breathing, sense the faint pulse of her heartbeat. The cabin was full of the spirits of the dead and it was sucking the life from the old woman, Myra, his mother. It wouldn’t be long before they bled her completely dry.
Once, he’d tried to warn her about the spirits of those who had lived and died in the tiny one-room cabin, but she had scoffed at him and called him an ignorant child. Now, even though he’d seen eighteen summers, she still refused to listen. She called it superstitious bunk. Nowhere was it to be found in the books she so dearly loved. Sadly, her books were written for life on Earth, not Ganth. She would pay with her life for her refusal to believe.
With reluctance, he returned his mind to the deep woods where he lingered. He had no clear destination other than to be absent from the oppressive, numbing influence of the log cabin. It was as lifeless as the spirits that haunted it, the spirits of his long forgotten ancestors who had no knowledge of survival in the forest. Disastrously, they had carved a niche in the dense undergrowth, burned and felled ancient trees, erected shelters, planted their crops…and died.
Ethereal rays of the harvest moon sliced through the mist and shimmered across the humpbacked, turtle figure of the moldering barn built by his grandfather. Only a few planks were still visible beneath a thick layer of smothering greenery. The disintegrating beams groaned in protest as yet another creeping vine attacked its façade, crushing it forever. A month ago, the structure had protected the family’s meager horde of livestock. By tomorrow night, there would be nothing left to mark its death throes.
That was the way of the forests of Ganth. Anything left untended by man soon succumbed to the creeping advance of the tropical forest. Most of the settlers had simply given up and returned to First City, and some even to Earth. A hardy (or perhaps foolish) few like Beezer’s grandparents had refused to surrender. Now it was just Beezer and his mother. Soon it would be just Beezer.
Already the creeping foliage had wormed its way into the pores of the tiny cabin that his mother called home. These days she never left her single room, relying on Beezer to bring her food and water. Occasionally, he’d clear the door for his access and the tiny window to allow enough light for her to go about her few chores. She no longer bothered to keep a fire in the grate, eating whatever raw morsels her son provided.
Beezer sighed, resigned and padded to the deep, clear pool he favored for bathing. The day had been unbearably warm, and now the thick mist ripened the odor of his own sweat. With the grace of the
bantus that shared his swimming hole, he slid into the water barely creating a ripple.
As he floated upon his back savoring the moment, he contemplated how it would be when Myra was gone. He would be truly alone then, but would he mind? He spent most of his time alone anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…he just didn’t know.
For all he knew there wasn’t another human left on Ganth. He often wondered if they’d all gone back to Earth. According to Myra, communication between First City and their minuscule settlement had ceased abruptly while she was still a young girl. He’d asked her once about finding the other humans, but she had no idea where to start looking. She had lived her entire life in the one room log cabin.
Several sleek, young
bantus butted him gently with their wet noses, enticing him to play. Instead, he said, “Go away, I’m not in the mood.” Quickly he rolled to his stomach and swam the short distance to shore.
Still wet and with an armload of fruit, Beezer climbed the precipitous path to his favorite hideaway. The slippery trail was tough going at first, but he managed to reach his sanctuary before the heavens opened wide. Beneath the giant overhanging slab of granite, he watched the sleeping forest through the pouring rain.
He’d stashed enough dry wood and tinder in the far recesses of the small shelter to build a comforting fire. This was a clean refuge free of haunting spirits where he could enjoy his bounty of fruit, and dry out while he waited for the rain to ebb.
As the clouds scudded clear, the hoary moonlight dappled the water far below and shone full over the top of the forest, before the rain closed in again. The steep path he had climbed served as the only access. It was easily defendable. Yes, this place might serve well as a safe haven once Myra was gone.
A terrifying, low snarl pierced the night, then swelled to a painful scream; first from his right, and several more from across the water. It’d been a long time since he’d heard the hunting cry of the forest cats. Shivering, he hastened to build a fire. The cats would not approach if they smelled smoke.
When he was a child, he often begged Myra for stories about the great brindle cats that both thrilled and terrified him. Over the years, so many men had disappeared before the settlers realized the forest cats were methodically taking the easy human prey. The cats’ screams herded their victims into the deadly jaws of the waiting pride. Then, they struck in terrifying silence.
“Yes, I will miss Myra,” he said, startling himself. Angry, Beezer stood at the very rim of his sanctuary and uttered his own hunting cry, but it deteriorated into a forlorn wail of despair. She was the only other human he’d known since his father died fifteen summers ago. To his surprise, he would miss Myra terribly.
Tears sprang into his eyes and mixed with the blustering rain as he scanned the forest for sight of the cats. “Hey! I’m up here,” he shrieked. “Why don’t you come get me? Take back your damn forest for all I care.”
Eerie silence returned as his voice scattered into the night. The soft pattering of rain all around him mocked his sad heart, foreshadowing his coming abandonment.
Shortly before dawn, Beezer awoke with a start, his skin prickled with goose bumps. The time had come; if he hurried, he might be in time to bid Godspeed to Myra on her final journey.
Slipping and sliding down the steep trail, he threw all caution to the wind. Young saplings blocked his path where there had been none the evening before. Thick, creeping vines sprang to life before his eyes, nourished by the balmy rain. In his haste, Beezer became disoriented. He wasted valuable time heading north when he should have been going west and home.
Panicked, he grasped his error and turned oonce again toward home, and Myra. Running as fast as he could, he dodged around and under trees, bushes, vines and nettles. He skidded to a halt as a huge striped snake suddenly dropped to the forest floor directly in front of him. Evil eyes, luminous in the pre-gloaming of the newborn sun, followed his every move as he backtracked to find a way around.
His face lashed to the bone by a run-in with a razor sharp
serange branch, Beezer approached the log cabin fearfully. He need approach no closer to know he was too late. The lament of his mother’s soul crying for release chilled him to his very core. Myra was dead; the rain forest had already begun the inevitable expunging of the small cabin.
Beezer pondered tearing his way into the only home he’d ever known. He would reclaim a small trinket, anything that had belonged to Myra, a small memento of her love. Yet, even as he thought it, he turned away defeated, knowing Ganth had played her cruel game and won; he was alone for the remainder of his life.
THE END
