Moonbog (13 page)

When she heard Georgie’s approaching steps, she turned, straightened her shoulders, and hoped to God that he wouldn’t see the lines of doubt and fear she knew were creasing her for
e
head.

VI

“
I
got you! I got you!
” Sammy shouted as he jabbed both forefingers at Jeffy and made a rattling, machine-gun sound in his throat. Jeffy hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of him, and rolled over behind a screen of yew bushes that marked the end of his backyard. He hurt his knee, but he didn’t care; it added to the realism—he could pretend it was a wound.

“Just a flesh wound, you lousy Commie!” he yelled, concealed behind the thick-needled shrubbery.

“I blew your head off,” Sammy yelled, running toward the yew zig-zagging and using the trees for cover.

Jeffy suddenly stood up, leveled both fingers at Sammy, and let go a wild spray of bullets. Sammy dove for cover this time, but he kept his head up and saw Jeffy dash down the path that led to the Bog. “Hey—” he started to yell, but stopped when he saw Jeffy’s blue windbreaker disappear in the foliage.

“You missed me, you lousy Commie,” Jeffy called, sounding far away.

Sammy paused, not quite as much into the war game as he had been. He looked over his shoulder at the sun, now low in the sky. The faint chirr of crickets and the peeping of frogs in the Bog were the only sounds he heard. The sudden absence of Jeffy made the late afternoon seem lonely, almost scary. Swallowing hard, Sammy got up from his crouch and trotted after his friend along the path. “I’ll get you,” he yelled, surprised at how weak his voice sounded. It amazed him; it almost seemed like magic the way Jeffy had disappeared. Like those Indians in the movies who just melt into the trees whenever the settlers chase them. Sammy slowed his pace after he had gone a short way along the path. The path was well-worn. They often played here and closer to the Bog, even though both of their mothers had told them a hundred times not to. And at least it wasn’t his fault; Jeffy had been the first one to go toward the Bog— he was just following.

Suddenly, Jeffy popped up from behind a large, lichen-covered boulder and let fly a hail of bullets. It was right where he had expected him to be, Sammy told himself as he spun in his tracks, grabbing at his shoulder. He fell down behind a thick blueberry bush and remained silent, except for his labored breathing. In the safety of his cover, Sammy admitted to himself that he had really been caught off guard. As he crouched, preparing to go after Jeffy, he promised himself he’d be more careful from now on.

Sammy walked slowly up to the boulder. There was a chance Jeffy was still there, hiding, waiting to jump out at him. Pressing his face against the cool stone, Sammy slowly edged his way around. When he got to the back, there was no one. Jeffy had gone.

Quickly, Sammy turned, his guns ready. Knowing Jeffy, he could pop out from anywhere. Sammy calmly scanned the darkening woods, but this time he didn’t think that maybe they should call in the game and go back to Jeffy’s house; the war was serious now.

Sammy heard a snapping of twigs off to his left. He swung around into a crouch, fingers ready to blast away when he saw something.

Nothing.

As usual.

Leave it to Jeffy to think of throwing a rock off into the woods to distract him. Sammy waited, tensed, his ears filled with the rising sound of the peepers and the blood hammering in his ears.

“Come on and get me, you lousy Commie!” Jeffy shouted. His voice sounded far away, and it made Sammy wonder briefly what
had
made that sound off to his left. It sounded like Jeffy was way down the path toward the Bog. But, then again, when you were hunting Jeffy, you could never be sure—he sure had a lot of tricks.

“Come ‘n get me, or I’ll get you, you lousy, stinking Commie!” Jeffy’s voice sounded even fainter now.

“You ain’t got a prayer,” he screamed, and then dashed down the path in the direction of his friend.

As he raced along the path, Sammy again started to think that they were wrong going so far from the house and so near to the Bog. He shuddered when he thought about the quicksand his mother said was in the Bog and would suck him down. Sort of like drowning in oatmeal.

The further he went, the more he remembered some of the stories his mother had told him about the Bog. The wild animals, the ghosts, the boogeyman. . . . When he had been Georgie’s age, he had believed those stories; now that he was twelve, he . . . well, he
half
-believed them.

The sun was gone now. The path was becoming indistinct. The night sounds of the Bog swelled louder and louder. Sammy felt a sudden, closed-in, spooky feeling. Abruptly, he stopped in the middle of the path, stood up straight, and listened intently for some sound beneath the sounds of the Bog that would tell him where his friend was. He still had his fingers stuck out like guns, but Sammy had forgotten the game entirely. A sudden, dull plop off to his left made him jump; but he quickly decided that it had been a frog jumping into the water and tried to push away his growing fear.

Sammy moved forward cautiously, wondering wildly whether or not he should chance calling Jeffy’s name. Shadows were deepening, and the sounds of the Bog grew almost intolerably loud. Sammy found his feet hurrying along the path, almost against his will, as he kept his eyes trained on the surrounding woods for any sign of Jeffy. It’d be just like him to jump out at him and scare the shit out of him. Sammy tried to convince himself that he was ready for the surprise and wouldn’t be startled.

To his right, the land sloped gently upward, rising to a boulder-strewn field. Beyond the hill, Sammy knew, there was a line of barbed wire fence that marked the end of the Judkins farmland. To his left, the trees and scrub brush thickened, making an almost impenetrable barrier. The winding maze of paths that threaded the Bog were well-known to him, but Sammy was wise enough not to walk them once it started getting dark. He paused again, considering which way to go. Then he heard another twig break underfoot.

He looked at the wooded area intently, expecting to see Jeffy reveal himself from his hiding place, but as Sammy’s eyes focused on the dimly lit path in front of him, he saw something that made him take a quick gulp of air. There, directly in front of him in the spongy earth, was a clear, well-marked print of a boot.

It wasn’t Jeffy’s footprint, of that he was sure. The bootprint was definitely a man’s. As he stared in silent horror at the footprint, his fear intensified. The mark was fresh; it’s depression was still filling with water. Fear clamped his chest as he watched the muddy water swirl in the clearly marked ridges and grooves of mud. Whoever had made it had
just passed by!

Letting out a low whimper, Sammy spun on his heel and started to run back along the path. He half expected to run smack-dab into the massive figure—
whoever had made that footprint
—who would suddenly materialize from the deepening evening gloom. He gritted his teeth and tightened his fists as he ran, wildly pumping his arms like pistons.

He tried to convince himself that
whoever had made that footprint
must have been going in the other direction, that there was no way he could be in front of him now as he raced away from the Bog, back to Jeffy’s house.

Jeffy!
he thought. Oh God!
Jeffy’s still down there somewhere! What if—what !f—Oh God!

His heart was hammering. The night sounds of the Bog were lost in the whistling of the wind in his ears as he sped along the path. He sloshed through the wet muck, careless now of trying to keep clean and dry. All he wanted now was to get out of the Bog. And he prayed more earnestly than he had ever prayed before that when he got to Jeffy’s house, he would discover that somehow Jeffy had doubled back on him and was waiting for him to get back. Boy, would they laugh about all this once it was over!

Sammy did his best to dodge the branches of trees and brush, but it was now so dark that it was almost impossible, running this fast, not to feel the stinging lashes on his face and hands. Suddenly, his foot sunk deeply in some mud. The suction pulled his sneaker off and held his foot just long enough to send him sprawling onto the ground. An out-cropping rock scraped along his cheek and made it bleed, but he didn’t notice.

On his hands and knees, he crawled back to the small mud-sink and stuck his hand in blindly, fishing for his sneaker. His eyes darted wildly about, watching for
whoever had made that footprint
as he stirred the thick mud. His cheek was stinging from the cut and he wiped at it with the back of his hand, but the dark color that stained his skin was mud, he thought, not blood.

He found it! His hand clenched the sneaker as if it was his last chance for life. Jumping to his feet, he turned and sped along the path holding the sneaker in his hand. Rocks, twigs, and exposed roots hammered at the bottom of his bare foot, but he didn’t notice them. His eyes were focused ahead now, waiting anxiously to catch the first glimpse of Jeffy’s backyard and house.

Will Jeffy be there? Oh God! What [—what if—Oh God, Jeffy, please be there! I wanna’ laugh about this when it’s over!

He slowed his pace as soon as the roof of the house came into view. He could see that Jeffy’s mother had the back porch light on. He wondered if she had called them for supper yet. He also wondered if Jeffy was at the house—or still in the Bog.

When he got up to the edge of the backyard lawn, Sammy stopped and leaned his back against a tree. He finally felt the burning in his lungs, the throbbing in his feet, and the stinging of the cut on his cheek. He looked down at the sneaker still clutched in his hand. His legs, from the knees down, were completely covered with mud. He could see where his jeans had ripped at the knee, and when he wiped his cheek with his arm, his sleeve came away stained. He knew it was blood because it was so much darker than the mud.

He tried to order his thoughts, but he could only think of two things: Jeffy must still be back there in the Bog; and his mother was going to
kill
him when he came home all muddy and cut.

Sammy looked up at Jeffy’s house, then twisted around to look back down the path. Was Jeffy still hiding, waiting for him to find him? What if he had met up with
whoever had made that footprint? What if— what if?

Suddenly, Sammy felt like he was acting like a kid. He was acting the way Georgie would act, for crying out loud! He had let the descending night scare him. He had let the swelling night sounds of the Bog and the closely-grown trail and just stupid, kiddish fear get to him. If Jeffy was hiding somewhere watching him, he must be laughing like heck.

“Jeffy—?” he called, softly, warily. His eyes were watering from running so fast. When he wiped his eyes, he scraped his hand along his cut cheek, and that made his eyes water all the more. “Jeffy—? Are you there?”

The only sound was a full chorus of the spring peepers, and then the sudden, startled screech of a night bird.

“Jeffy, I’m gonna’ go home if you don’t come out now.”

The nightsounds were uninterrupted, and the darkness thickened.

Heck, he thought, maybe Jeffy didn’t want to play with him anymore tonight. Maybe he had said or done something that had made Jeffy mad at him, and that was why he was hiding from him.

Sammy bent over and started to wipe the mud from his jeans as best he could. There was no way he would be able to hide it from his mother. Sammy just hoped his father wouldn’t be home when he got there.

“Jeffy. I’m gonna’ go on home now,” Sammy called, straightening up. He walked past the house to the street. “I’ll see yah tomorrow, OK?”

The peepers sang uninterrupted.

VII

“G
eorgie, you wait for me in the living room,” Leah said firmly, pointing her youngest son out of the kitchen. “And you, young man, you march yourself right up to the bathroom and get yourself cleaned up this instant! I’m surprised that Mrs. Hollis would let you boys play and get so dirty!” Her voice was steel-hard, and every word made Sammy wince.

“But Mom, I didn’t—”

“When your father gets home, you’re going to get the licking of your life. I’ve a good mind to give Mrs. Hollis a call and tell her what I think.”

“Mom—” Sammy pleaded. “You don’t understand, she didn’t know we were playing near the Bog.”

“And how many times have I told you not to play near that Bog? It’s
dangerous
. After what happened to Billy Wilson, I ought—”

“But Mom, I didn’t want to, I—Jeffy went down there first.”

“Then you shouldn’t have!” Leah snapped before Sammy could continue. “I thought you had enough sense to know better!”

“We were playing, and Jeffy ran ahead of me,” Sammy whined. Leah stood impassively, pointing her finger at the stairway.

“
March
, young man!”

“I—” Sammy began, then stopped as he walked slowly toward the stairs. He saw Georgie, who had been watching from the living room, quickly duck back out of sight.

“Jeffy should have known better
too!
He knows what could happen just as much as you do.
Especially
after what happened to . . . Billy Wilson. My
God
, Sammy!”