Chapter 14: Ben

  It was cold, and the narrow path through the forest kept vanishing, forcing Lester to stop repeatedly to peer into the darkness until he could pick it up again.  Usually, Lester felt more at home in the woods than anywhere else.  Among the trees and streams, the hurried pace of his everyday life fell away; his worries and fears distant, eclipsed by the peaceful harmony of the natural world.  However, as he ran through shadows cast by the silvery moonlight, everything was somehow different.  His bare feet slid on fallen leaves, and branches slapped him, pulling at his skin and clothes.  It was as if the forest itself was actively trying to prevent him from reaching the glow in the distance.

  Lester’s route was haphazard.  He detoured around dense groves of trees and underbrush, too thick to pass through, but was always careful to keep the light in view.  Muscles aching, his lungs burned as clouds of breath puffed out in front of him.  Still, he refused to stop.

  At last, he came crashing through a thorny thicket and stepped out into a clearing.  A whoosh of wind whipped back Lester’s hair, and the scratches on his face and arms stung under its icy touch.

  Ahead, a raging bonfire snapped and crackled, spitting a stream of orange sparks into the black sky.  Lester attempted to move closer, hoping to warm himself by the fire, but his legs had become inexplicably heavy.  It was as if he were suddenly standing waist-deep in the middle of an invisible river.  With each step, he could feel its powerful current pressing against him.

  Pushing on, Lester leaned forward, digging his toes into the dirt.  Little by little, he clawed his way closer to the flames.  If he slipped, he’d be born back to the edge of the woods and forced to start again.  Doubtful he’d have enough strength for a second try, he plodded carefully onward.

   Progress was slow and grueling, but there was a shift as he drew close enough for the heat to begin warming his face.  Like crossing an actual river, the nearer he got to the opposite shore, the easier it became.  Until, by the time he arrived, the pressure was gone completely, and he stood exhausted. 

  “You’re late.”

  Lester startled.  “Dad?”  

  His father’s face, bathed in flickering orange, stared at him from the other side of the bonfire. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “What are you doing here?” Lester asked, squinting through the shimmering heat.

  “Come closer.  I will show you.”

  “I can’t.  It’s too hot,” Lester said, gesturing between them.

  “Don’t be foolish.  It can’t hurt you.”  Then, as if to prove his point, Lester’s father reached forward.

  “Dad!  Don’t!” Lester cried.

  Ignoring him, Mr. North plunged his hands into the flames.

  “See,” he said, splaying his fingers.  “There’s no reason to be afraid.  Now you try.”

  Lester looked into the fire, and his stomach twisted.  “I don’t want to.”

  “It’s not as though you have a choice, son.”

  “But, I’m not thirteen,” Lester insisted.

  “Don’t be difficult!”  His father’s familiar stern tone was gone, replaced by something deep, guttural, and inhuman.  “You will do as you’re told!”

  Against his will, Lester’s arms suddenly began to rise.  He watched in horror as they moved forward, pulled on by unseen puppet strings.  Closing his eyes, Lester braced himself for the pain — but it didn’t come.

  Looking down, Lester marveled as the fire, which seemed to hold no heat at all, flowed around his fingers.  Fascinated, he swept his arm along as though dragging it through the water beside a drifting canoe.  The orange flames followed his movements.  The colors and intersecting patterns were hypnotic, reminding him of his brother’s lava-lamp.

  Then, as though spurred on by his touch, the flames began to rotate.  They turned slowly at first but soon picked up speed.  Panicking, Lester again tried to pull his arms free, but it was no use.  All he could do was stand and watch while the fire morphed into a swirling, burning tornado that no longer emanated from a pile of logs on the ground but shot out from his own hands.

  Lester gasped.  He wanted to get away, to run stumbling back through the path in the forest.  But at the same time, the power flowing through him was exhilarating.  Every muscle tingled with energy as the exhaustion he’d felt from the journey vanished.  Part of him was still terrified, but deep down, there was also something else.  It was as if a long forgotten memory tucked away in his subconscious was slowly awakening, urging him to let the fire grow.  

  While Lester fought to push the intrusive thought from his mind, a distant voice came calling up through the flames, weak and scared.

  “Please,” it echoed.  “Please.  Stop.”

  Despite the growing heat, a chill went through Lester as he saw his brother on his knees, in the middle of the fiery blaze.

  “Bernard!” Lester shouted.  “Get out!  Go!  Run!”

  “Why?” pleaded Bernard, staring up at him.  “Why would you do this?”

  “It’s not me!” Lester cried.  “This is not me!”

  Frantic, Lester looked to his father for help, but he was gone.  In his place stood a tall red demon with glowing eyes and black horns.  Its thick cord of a tail swished out, cracking the air like a whip, and sparks flew from its razor-sharp claws as it feverishly spun the flames.

  The fire raced past at lightning speed, and Lester lost sight of Bernard.  He opened his mouth to call out to him, but instead of the words of warning meant for his brother, a deep booming laugh rose up from his lungs.  The voice that was not his rang through the forest clearing.  It echoed into the night with all the malice and wickedness in the world.

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  Falling to his knees, Lester stared up into the dark sky, the white twinkle of stars blurring as tears rolled down his face.  He was powerless to stop the evil cackle that was being rung out of him, and his shoulders shook.  Alone in the woods, he feared he might never hear anything else, ever again.

Bolting up in bed, Lester gasped for air.  He was dripping with sweat, and his heart was threatening to pound its way out of his chest.  He reassured himself that it was only a dream, but the panic racing through his body remained unconvinced.

  His bedroom was a sea of black, except for the green glow of his alarm clock.  He didn’t need to get up for another hour, but he knew there was no way he’d be able to go back to sleep now.  Dressing in the dark, he tiptoed to his brother’s room.  The door was open, and he could hear the telltale rise and fall of Bernard’s snores even before he reached it.  Still, seeing him sleeping peacefully in his bed took away a bit of the sting from the nightmare.

  A faint glow was peeking over the eastern horizon as Lester opened the garage door and pedaled out the driveway.  He snapped on his bike light, adjusted the newspaper bag on his shoulder, and turned down Main Street.

  There was still no sign of Mac.  The North’s didn’t have any pets of their own, and Lester had come to think of the old dog as partly his.  Even though the bite on his hand was still sore, he felt a twinge of guilt at their last encounter. 

  Lester wasn’t surprised to see a light shining from inside the post office despite the early hour.  Whenever he thought of Ben, he always pictured him behind his counter.  As far as Lester knew, the old postmaster never went home.

  “Good morning!” Ben called as Lester came through the door.  “Usually, it’s just me, my bad back, and the cows up at this hour.  What brings you out so early?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Lester said with a yawn.

  “Is that so?  Did I ever tell you about the time I had a job as a shepherd?  I had to give it up.  Whenever I tried to count the sheep, I fell asleep.”  Ben laughed at his own joke but stopped when Lester barely cracked a smile.  “Tell you what,” he said.  “Since you’re not in a hurry this morning, why don’t you come on back.  I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

  Ben unlatched the half door that separated the work area from the customer lobby and shuffled off to the kitchenette.

  Lester always felt privileged to be allowed into the section reserved for postal employees, and he made sure to drop his bag out of the way.  Then he climbed onto one of the tall stools behind the counter.

  “So, what is it that’s keeping you up?” asked Ben, reappearing with a mug in each hand and passing one to Lester.  “Trouble at school?”

  “No.  Nothing like that,” said Lester.  “Just a bad dream.”

  “If memory serves, Just a Bad Dream was Mrs. Q’s nickname when we were in high school together.  Even back then, she could curdle milk with a look.”  Ben passed over the plastic honey bear and a teaspoon.  This time Lester couldn’t help but laugh a little.  “Anyway, if we didn’t have bad dreams, the good ones wouldn’t be as good.  Like my Molly used to say, sometimes it takes the sour to bring out the sweet.  I’ve had a few whoppers in my day, though.  I once dreamt I was out in the middle of the lake and I couldn’t remember how to swim.  Then, just as I started to go under, suddenly I was back at school standing in front of the chalkboard in soaking wet pajamas.”

  “I’ve had that one,” Lester said.  “Not forgetting how to swim, but being at school and realizing I wasn’t dressed.”

  “You have, have you?  Well, perhaps it’s like a wiser man than me once said, ‘all that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.’”

  They sipped their tea in the empty post office, the clock on the wall ticking loudly as the rest of the town slept. 

  “Ben,” Lester asked.  “Have you ever had a dream where you weren’t yourself?”

  “What?  You mean, like I was a dog or something?”

  “No.  You’re still you.  But you do things the real you would never do.”

  “Is that what’s troubling you?” Ben asked.  “You dreamt you did something wrong?  Listen, Lester.  There are good and bad people in the world.  I suppose you’re old enough to know that by now.  Everyone has disturbing dreams or thoughts from time to time.  The difference is the bad people, the truly bad people, aren’t bothered by them.  You feel guilty about something you didn’t even do because you’re a good person.”

  “But how do you know I’m a good person?” asked Lester, stirring his drink and watching the tea swirl around the spoon.  “Maybe, deep down, I’m not.”

  Ben put a hand on Lester’s shoulder.  “You’re at a tough age, not quite a kid, but not an adult either.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.  It’ll be the decisions you make along the way that determine what kind of person you become, not some dream.  Until then, the best you can do is be yourself.”

  “And what if I don’t know who that is?”

  “That’s okay,” Ben said.  “You’re not supposed to know yet.  The thing to remember is that your destiny is your own.  It’s a path only you can walk.  That said, a few companions to confide in doesn’t hurt.  I’ve recently noticed the Chase girl spending a lot of time with you and Amanda.   Did you know a triangle is the strongest shape in the world?  It can withstand a surprising amount of outside force.  So don’t be afraid to lean on your friends, Lester.  That’s what they’re there for, and you’d do the same for them.” 

  Lester took their empty teacups to the sink and rinsed and dried them.  Returning the dishtowel to its hook, he picked up a walking stick leaning against the wall.  Someone had begun to carve what looked like a beetle with a beachball between its front legs onto one end. 

  “It’s a scarab,” Ben said, from behind him, “or it will be when I’m done.  It’s the symbol of the ancient Egyptian god Khepri, who they believed renewed the sun each day.  He would roll it up above the horizon, across the sky, and protect it as it passed through the underworld at night.”  Ben looked through the window at the brightening morning.  “Looks like he’s done it again.”

  “Yeah,” Lester said, returning the stick to its place.  “And I’d better get going.  Thanks, Ben.” 

  “No need to thank me,” the old postmaster said with a wink.  “We delivery monkeys stick together.” 

  Pedaling his bike back home, Lester enjoyed the warmth of the bright sun.  It would be winter soon, the days growing increasingly shorter as a brittle cold slowly crept in.  The first snow of the season would wash away the fading autumn colors, freezing the town in a black and white photograph.  There it would remain atop its hill, fixed under gray skies until spring.  Yet, as Lester watched the day unfold before him, it all seemed far away, and for now, he coasted along, enjoying the light.

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