Weepings of the Moss: The Fork in the Road (Chapter 1, Part 1)

 


Image taken by myself. St. Helena's Anglican Church in Beaufort, SC. Built 1712.

You got to tell me, brave captain, why are the wicked so strong, how do the angels get to sleep, when the devil leaves the porchlight on? Gabriel Blackwoode whispered the Tom Waits lyrics in his mind as the Spanish moss like a decaying drapery hung wearily from the live oaks. Looming clouds of grey drifted over the forest through which Gabriel now rode, occluding the still wood with a haze that beckoned darker memories. Live oak, loblolly pine, blue palmetto, and slash pine as thick as a church choir stood, they standing so thick their shadows hid the secrets of the underbrush. Only the occasional ray of light broke the somber clouds to touch the hushed shadows below.

“I told ya’ it’s a little far out didn’t I?” Mark Rutledge the real estate agent said in a soft southern accent with a chuckle as his Toyota Prius hit a bump on the sandy dirt road. It hurt Gabriel’s head as he leaned it against the window and stared at the tree tops whipping by against the sky.

“Doesn’t bother me none.” Gabriel replied wearily, the trees passing so quickly they were nearly like apparitions flying by his window, oblivious to him but vigilant all the same.

“Ya’ know sir there’s other options a bit closer to town, you could be right next to a golf course too! I’ll tell ya’ there’s nothin’ better than wakin’ up and driving the ball with a rising sun over the ocean as a back drop. Wouldn’t you agree?” He knew Mark was smiling at him expectantly, but no reply escaped Gabriel’s lips. The question hung in the air on a tight rope but it dissipated in the silence. Gabriel touched the still tender skin from his stitches removal under the sleeve of his jacket. The car emerged from the thick wood and onto a causeway that was only slightly above the pluff mud, millions of stalks of smooth cordgrass poked from the cool blue waters of the salt water tidal marshes that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was late spring in South Carolina, things were beginning to warm up but some of winter’s death still clung to the air and wind.

“Here we are! Pine Island!” Mark exclaimed, seeming glad to have something to talk about again. “Ain’t she beautiful? You know it really is a prime spot for privacy like we discussed, you virtually got your own bona fide part of the St. Helena Sound all to your lonesome. Well, apart from the Walker family on the south east side of the island but they’re quiet and shouldn’t bother you, no sir. They were quite happy to have some young blood who could help care for the island. You know this island has been occupied for quite some time, first the Indians had it from time immemorial then the French came in something like the 1500’s and built Charlesfort right on Parris Island near Beaufort, most folks don’t know the French were here first. Most folks presume the English and Charleston were first, but nope!” Mark chuckled and slapped his steering wheel. “Believe it or not it was the Frenchies. I love throwin’ that out, smacks all these high and mighty California types from their high horses. Know what I’m sayin’?” His blinker began it’s robotic clicking for them to turn left onto another road, they passing the Walker family’s two floor, clay shingle roofed home, their pier and dock not far off on the water. They were immersed in the trees once more. Mark continued talking but Gabriel was not listening, he kept rubbing the painful spots on his arms. The images flashed in his mind. The knife. The blood. Her laughter. Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, doing his best to push the images out of his mind’s eye. The car stopped. Gabriel opened his eyes, startled.

“Well,” Mark said, leaning forward, his slightly chubby face stretched as he leaned over his steering wheel, trying to look up as if there would be some street sign in the forest. They were stopped at a fork in the forest. “I…this might be a tad embarrassing but I’m not sure which way is up here. The Walkers were going to meet us at the property but I…” Mark pulled out his smart phone and began swiping at his messages. “Service ain’t exactly great out here but I got no messages from the Walkers. And uh, this place don’t got an address exactly, as we discussed, so I don’t think my maps will be terribly much use. I don’t recall them saying anything about two roads here…” The frustrated realtor said with a sigh as he frantically began flipping through apps on his phone. Gabriel looked out the window at the two roads. Neither of the sandy roads looked any more travelled than the other. The forest canopy here was nearly absolute, the arms of the trees reaching over the road like many stitches trying to seal a wound, and they seemed near to succeed, keeping all the darkness within.

The way they arc. Gabriel thought looking up at their morose beauty. It’s almost like a tunnel. He stared at the fork to his right for a time, seeing the weeds growing from the middle of the road, the Spanish moss dancing as the wind blew, making the fragile drape like plants dance and wave. There was something mesmerizing about it. His vision felt as though it were stretching down that long, lonely road. Like he was looking farther than human eyes could see. He felt the foreground of the forest pull closer to him while the farthest trees stretched even further. Almost every part of him felt as if he were going to glide down that road all on his own, through the car door, across the weeds and sand, and his feet would never touch the ground once. Like an ethereal omniscient hand were grabbing his eyes and pulling them gently but firmly down the path. Next he knew he was standing on the road, his vision carrying farther. Though he felt soil beneath the soles of his shoes his mind was not present, it was hundreds of yards beyond. He could feel them watching him. Staring back at him just as he was racing to them. Their eyes pierced his heart and mind, and he felt as if there was a word to be spoken on the very tip of their tongue, and that tongue was cold as ice.

“Mr. Blackwoode?” A wind kicked up, blowing pine needles and leaves across the road. Gabriel jerked from his trance, suddenly out of breath. “Mr. Blackwoode?” Mark asked again, his hands atop the car as he stared at Gabriel curiously.

“Yes…yes? Sorry.” Gabriel spun around, seeing that he had left the car door open behind him.

Location: Beaufort, SC, USA

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