In the Woods

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." So the not so old man began, sipping at hot ginger tea, slapping unseen mosquitoes, before elaborating: “The candle flame was blue, shifting as sea waters, bright like Venus at sunrise. The few who witnessed it could not understand what it might have meant.”

Huddled near him within the piney smoke of the campfire, we certainly didn't know. Caitlyn, Becky, Brad and me were then too young and ignorant, as yet not introduced to many of the realities of the world, not to mention nuances of the supernatural. To us, a blue flame was a blue flame.

“That candle flame, you see, burned not for light or comfort. It was”--Gerry broke the syllables into a slowed staccato for emphasis–“an em-i-na-tion, or a sort of signal.”

Funny Gerry’s eyebrows arched, as he scanned us with mud-brown eyes.

“It probably wasn’t a message to any such as us.” Such words made Caitlyn, the youngest in the group, squirm while Brad, who was oldest, looked deliberately cynical. Becky and I stared steadily at Gerry, waiting for his tale to unwind.

“First, you need to understand some history of this place, of this land. Alright, then.” Gerry pushed up the bill of his well-worn cap, put an impressive fist under his chin.

“Now, boys and girls–and whoever else might be listening--picture yourselves two hundred years ago or so, in these same parts. No tended roads close by, no cars or SUVs at all, just some trails and horses. Not a single familiar campground–instead, long stands of much heavier woods, wild fields between. The stream beyond was a true river, with rapids and deep pools for thousands of years before the dam we saw on the way was ever planned. That splashing river, the thicker woods, teemed with life. Much of it, not visible to the ordinary human eye.

“But, people gradually pushed in.” Gerry abruptly scratched at some itch. Our campfire spat out a couple of sparks.

“Some of those early people passed down records or stories about their experiences here. Or, should I say, their experiences–over there?” Gerry pointed past a clump of thickets to a rather barren spot heaped with stones and mossy lumps.

“There was a basic cabin right where those scraps of it lie. Stone foundation, stone chimney, rough log walls. One precious window lined with glass. A family resided there, three generations of one, together.

“The family was very isolated, and only went into the town up the valley once every month or so for supplies, less often in winter. They owned one horse. Lived on fish and pheasants, on the other fowl they raised. They planted potatoes, carrots and herbs. Traded kindling and eggs for made goods. The women sewed some, primarily for themselves, but did some piece work for the towners.”

Brad expressed some impatience at these mundane details, vigorously tossing dry refuse into the fire that lit up our faces as it crackled and popped. Gerry’s calm demeanor took on fresh features and shadows.

“Think of the billions of humans who’ve led such a similar existence. Just striving to be warm enough, eat enough, pass on what you know, however meager, from whatever little patch of the deep world you tell yourselves you have tamed.

“Hey, we think we are different, in this day and age!

“Now, if you will, imagine a small hard-scrabble group back then, maintaining a toehold in these not especially human-friendly woods.

“Comes a day, a child supposedly discovers something out past some sheds and tilled tracts. She’s digging at herbs, and sees a strange glow over the ground. She moves to touch it, the glow feels slightly hot and seems to weave around her fingers. She runs to tell her family about it. They trudge round and out to the spot. And they all see it, a flickering wave of thin light floating low to the earth.

Gerry paused, gazed at the campfire’s minor lightshow, its rising wisps of smoke. “This glow was neither red or yellow, or even a smokey gray–it was blue. Felt warm, but not too warm.”

He went on quickly, and I thought Brad listened a bit more attentively then: “These were not highly scientific times. Education was uncommon, instead children learned practical skills in the home. Most people didn’t have a clue about abstract laws of physics, only how their own machines functioned. They didn’t understand chemistry and didn’t know anything about real medicine, or fuels. On the contrary, superstition was widespread.

“To many, blue lightning rising from the ground seemed likely as not spiritual in origin. Demonic, for sure. Among the most enlightened, perhaps yet another unsolvable puzzle of Nature. …Either ghosts of Christmas past, or ye olde swampgas!”

Gerry smiled broadly, pleased at his own wit. As the calendar showed early June, I found it hard to imagine anything Christmas-y, except for maybe those tall forest evergreens.

“The family–let’s call them the Whitleys–took turns, then, observing the light. But, it wasn’t constant at all–would come and go, glow and tease for days, then disappear for weeks. They put small flames to it–no difference. Tried to bottle it–equally impossible. The light wholly evaded their touch, insensibly played around their poking toes and fingers.

“The Whitleys took to calling it, their ‘blue friend.’ Soon enough, busy surviving and avoiding natural disaster, they basically forgot about it, for some duration.

“Living so isolated, the Whitleys hadn’t been able to share news of their ‘friend’ much with other folk. Early on Whitley Sr. did make some inquiries down in the river town, particularly of the doctor and pastor. Nearly everyone said the glow had to be swampgas. Whitley argued with them that the mystery event had happened nowhere near swampland, and pointed out that it seemed rather unique to his farmstead location. He earnestly questioned anyone who would listen about the health of the ground, the more remote history of the place, whether it had gone through a period of plague or general spiritual confusion.”

Gerry toed back a firelog that had fallen a little outside the circle of flame. He cocked his head slightly then and looked at Caitlyn with a fixed gaze. “No revelation was forthcoming. The Whitleys proceeded to go about their rustic simple lives, with the occasional blue ribbon of flame flickering out back. The young daughter who first found the blue light, Katerine she was called, had the strongest attraction to it. When she was free and on her own, she would at times go run to feed her fingers with it, never feeling a thing.

“Then, one day, several seasons after the glow had first appeared and just when Katerine was turning into a young lady, the tiny blue wavelets felt more warm, and even resisted as she brushed a hand through them. …What had changed?

“The girl was turning fourteen. The household had been established some twenty-five years, and new families were beginning to dot the surrounding country. But, those facts didn’t seem to explain the transformation.

“As soon as she went to tell her mama what had occurred that day, Katerine’s mood went from eager to disturbed. All the Whitleys gathered round the two, while Katerine stuttered out her story, and grew even more agitated. ‘What is it, girl?’ Mrs. Whitley cried out. She moved to hold her daughter, but the child turning woman shrank away from her. Katerine stared first at her own hands, then those of her mother, brothers, father, grandmother. She looked aghast. ‘It is you all that have changed,’ she shrieked. ‘Your fingers are all turning gray!’”

Gerry shifted his position slightly now and looked at Becky, who was holding her own fingers tightly together. “The family reacted in great shock, of course. Katerine had gone suddenly deranged. As we well noted, these were times of limited science and strange beliefs. Her parents’ first impulse was to soothe; however, they would also have quickly assumed that Katerine must be injured, physically or mentally ill, or a combination. And, if they couldn’t calm her themselves, it might be necessary to take her into town immediately for more informed treatment.

“When Mrs. Whitley held her hands up for general inspection, the others quickly followed suit. Each member of the family firmly denied noticing the least change or strangeness in the others. ‘Dear, it’s the usual winter chafing and paling, only.’ But, at that, Katerine only pulled away more tightly, covering her face with her palms. The girl was so upset that her veins virtually stood out from her skin, her entire flesh going faintly bluish. This sure sign of sickness convinced her family to back away in turn, gently encourage Katerine to bed, and plan to take her to the village the very next day.

“Katerine slept like a stone, and in the dawn nibbled at some bread and eggs. She was persuaded to travel posthaste to Edgerton for help. She didn’t object to sitting tightly between her parents in their small buggy for the ride, especially since it was a cool spring morning and the agreement that all carefully wear full gloves seemed quite natural. Katerine sat stoically between the two through their rumbling journey, not looking once at their hands or their faces.”

Gerry paused for some more ginger tea, then continued. “It took some time to arrange the doctor and the minister. Edgerton was expanding but lacked many professionals. The doctor worked out of the parlor of his home. It was a well-furnished space, in which he sat her parents at one end, and took Katerine to the other. Mr. and Mrs. Whitley stared at the walls while Dr. Smit studied the girl’s hands and complexion, then examined her eyes. He scribbled a few notes, took other measures, then asked Katerine to relate the last two days’ events.

“When he had finished, Dr. Smit brought the girl back over to her parent’s sitting place. In accented English, he explained, ‘I believe she has developed a circulation problem, possibly a heart condition. The symptoms are not at all of any illness, or poison.’ He added that the condition could nonetheless strongly affect her emotionally and mentally. The doctor found Katerine’s parents’ hands to be perfectly normal. He attributed her paranoid vision to a kind of ‘projection.’ He could supply dietary and other adjustments.

“The Whitleys were naturally both relieved, and too, very concerned for their daughter. Dr. Smit, to some degree, had reassured them all. However, both parents kept their gloves on throughout the visit and for the return home. They had decided not to seek out the pastor.

“Soon enough, Katerine’s moods became more level. Her mother thought the blue tinge to her skin, however, looked pronounced, especially in the sunrays or moonlight. Her general health grew obviously more vigorous, nonetheless.

“As the days turned to weeks Katerine’s treatment struck the family as largely successful. She remained peculiar in that she avoided looking at the others’ fingers, and did not further venture to look for her ‘blue friend’ again, or even mention it.

“Her parents, unfortunately, must have contracted a sickness in Edgerton village, or taken in bad airs on the trip. To her horror, just as she recovered they began to turn ill and weak, and then passed the same symptoms on to the rest of the household–even while Katerine appeared strangely resistant to them.

“Within two weeks everyone but her was too sick to work; they could hardly move. The responsibility for nursing reversed itself, with Katerine determined to bring her ill relatives in tandem to Dr. Smit in town. Having swathed her grandmother and mother in loose blankets over fresh spring clothes, she set out, trusting the better-off males to tend to themselves well enough while she was gone.

“In Edgerton, Katerine’s grandmam and mother were soon placed in sickbeds near the doctor’s. They grew paler and frailer through the hours. Dr. Smit could not find the means to aid them, and they died the next day. Smit declared the cause as some nameless wasting disease. After tremendous weeping bouts while making arrangements for the bodies, Katerine rushed back to her father and brothers, sans medicines or advice.

“But, Mr. Whitley and the boys had too died in the interim. When she found them, their hands and limbs in repose looked as if turned ash.

“Katerine in the end had little choice but to sell the farm off, then set herself up modestly in Edgerton. Never seeking to marry, there she remained to the end of a long life, occupying herself with clothes-making, church-going, and quiet contemplation.

“Perhaps two to three years after she moved into the town she learned that the new family at the homestead had sickened, too, and succumbed to some strange wasting element. She decided to visit her former home before it traded hands again, or was left to rot, or the rapidly developing town authority simply razed it down for either sound medical reasons, or out of superstitious fear.

“When she arrived by the already improved roads she saw that the farm structures had been little changed, although the growing plots were fallow and the animals gone. She perceived that the interior of the main cabin was empty as well. Summoning up a perverse curiosity, Katerine wandered to the site of the old blue ‘friend.’ The ground there, by the evidence of her senses, had been covered over with rock, dirt and a layer of lime.

“Tight-lipped, Katerine scanned the back of the farm one last time. Then she exhaled deeply, and stepped around to the front of the cabin again. She had assumed the house empty, so it had looked from a quick glance through the one window. But now she thought she saw something there, beyond the dusty panes in the center of the floor.

“There was what looked like a single wide white candle set into the floorboards. Unattended to, it somehow burned, unmelted, with a shifting blue flame.”

Gerry’s lips pursed for a moment as he concluded his tale. His ginger tea had gone lukewarm. Beck and Cait were smiling and acting duly impressed by the performance. But Brad had returned to his doubting, smug expressions.

“What’s the point of any of that?” he complained. “Does it make any sense? I bet you made the whole thing up!”

Gerry went on swirling the remainder of his tea, watching the fire die down. He brought his other hand up to the bottom of the mug, extending a rough index finger to it. Both began to glow cobalt blue.