Ariel's Crossing

It was completely dark on my walk to the sycamore tree. When I got there, the moon was just starting to rise behind the distant trees. I sat down across from the opening on the side of the hill and stared at it, waiting.

The air was cool but not cold enough to make me shiver, and it was light enough to see the tree but not light enough to make the forest any less frightening. Now that I was being still and quiet, the forest noises crept in around me. I wasn't sure I recognized all of them. Maybe they were all familiar creatures making familiar noises, but just then every sound I heard was magnified into a shadowy menace. I imagined the creatures that would be stalking me, creatures out of nightmares and childhood fears. As far as I knew, anything could exist here, anything at all. Real and unreal were categories that I couldn't describe anymore. Was there any limit to what could be stalking me right now?

As the moon rose, its silver light cast the rest of the world into shadow by contrast. The tree, lit from behind, appeared to glow. Down among the roots, an opening appeared. I was sure that this was it, my way home. I reach between them and felt only dirt again. But the moon wasn't behind the tree itself yet, and I resigned myself to wait at it crept higher in the sky.

Finally, with the moon shining through the branches, leaving shadows of leaves on the forest behind me, the illusion of the opening was complete. It looked exactly like there was really an empty space behind the roots. There was no definite point of change, only the gradual deepening of shadow.

Hesitantly, I put out my hand, reaching between the dangling roots and felt - nothing. There was an opening there! I threw myself down and wiggled under the roots, crawling gratefully into the cave that was next door to being home.

I didn't stay there long this time, I was in too much of a hurry to get home. You know the next bit. As near as I can tell, I wasn't gone long enough for anyone to notice that I was missing. Cassie has a theory that I wasn't gone at all, or at least no time passed. I have no idea how that would work, but I've read books where things like that happen, so I guess it's possible.

I didn't have any way to tell time. There was no day or night there. Just this ever-present shrouded gloom. I was tired by this point. Not having anyplace better to go, I went to the cherry tree and sat down beneath it. The dark woods seemed even darker and spookier now, and I had no idea how I was going to get home.

I woke up to find someone prodding me on the arm. I hadn't planned on sleeping at all, and I had no idea how long I had been asleep. In fact I thought that I was still dreaming when the rabbit with the antlers spoke up. "You shouldn't stay here."

"I wish someone would explain to me what is going on," I said.

"Ah," it said, apparently struck by a thought. It stood up on it's hind legs and rested its chin on one paw as it pondered. "You don't know. Well, that makes more sense. There's no telling what you've managed to set in motion."

"No one here makes any sense at all," I said, more to myself. I wasn't going to start having a conversation with a rabbit. That's probably a sign of going mad.

"You least of all," it said. "Going to the face-stealers is bad enough, but to saunter right up to Her garden! And then you talked with Ariel. Either you're completely mad or your plan is too deep for me."

"I'm Ariel," I said. "I don't know who she is, but she's not taking my name."

"You took her name, actually," it said, "And I'm not sure what effect that has. It's outside of my realm of experience. But it's Her bread and butter."

I stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Look, who are you? Or what are you?"

"My name you mean?" It made a sound that might have been laughter. "You are either naively dangerous or dangerously naive. Names are some of the most powerful things that you can exchange. But you can call me Chaplin."

This was unbelievable. "As in Charlie Chaplin?"

He bowed. "My favorite actor, of course. And as for what I am: the newcomers would call me a jackalope."

"Can you tell me how to get back home?"

He looked at me strangely. "That is a thornier question than you realize. But for the question I think you meant to ask, the answer is that the gate you came through will be opening again soon. If you're there when the moon is rising behind the tree you can return to where you think you want to go."

"You're surprisingly helpful," I said. "Aren't you supposed to trick me?"

"Caution is good," he said, "But I have a reason to help you, even if you don't remember it. I may not be safe, but I'm not one of the newcomers." He nodded in the general direction of the sycamore tree. "Right now you had better hurry."

"Well, thanks," I said, standing up and wiping my hands clean.

"I chose to get involved," he said, "But others might not make the same choice." He hopped off, and I set off for the tree.

I expected that there would be something different about my house, but at least it was somewhere familiar in all this strangeness. I knew the way home, so there was no problem finding my way through the woods.

No problem until I got there, anyway. I stepped out of the forest into my own backyard and discovered that it wasn't my house at all. It looked like my house, from a distance. But as I got closer my heart sank. It looked like someone had once seen a picture of my house and decided to paint it from memory. All the details looked just a little bit wrong. And my house didn't have a picket fence around it. Or a giant flower garden. Or vines growing up the walls.

There was a girl in the garden, flitting between the flowers. She was wearing a frilly, old-fashioned pale green dress and looked like she'd never come into contact with dirt. I shoved open the gate and strode up to her. The girl turned and I found myself looking into my own face.

It took me a moment to realize that the comparison was superficial. In every detail she and I were different. And she was beautiful. She had the face that I always wanted, the face I could never even pretend to have. I decided that we really looked nothing alike. But at first glance the resemblance was uncanny.

We stared at each other for a minute. I recovered enough to ask her "Who are you?"

"Oh, it's you," she said, frowning at me, "Shouldn't you have crutches?" Confused, I just stared at her. She tilted her head to one side. "Who brought you here?"

"No one brought me here," I said, "I came on my own."

She didn't seem to be able to frown for very long. "Ah. Someone must have tricked you into coming, then."

"Not really," I said, but she wasn't listening to me. She was walking around me in a circle, staring at me. I snapped, "What are you trying to do?"

"I have to say that you're a disappointment," she said. "I was expecting someone who was at least a little presentable."

"I'm so glad you care," I said. "Who are you anyway?"

She started giggling. "You really don't know?" She had my laugh, the one I hated. "I was sure that was why you were here. I am the real you. You're just the fake."

I stared at her. "I'm pretty sure I'm real."

"Of course you're real," she said, "But you're not you. I'm who you should be."

I took a step back. "I think I should be going."

She looked serious for a moment. "It'd be better if she didn't find out that you were here. You'd better leave," she said, like it was her idea. Opening the gate, she pointed to the woods. "I don't know how you got here, but you'd better go back for now."

"It was a tree," I said, "And it doesn't work anymore."

"You're probably just doing it wrong," she said, tossing her hair. I'd seen that exact gesture before, in my mirror. "You'd better leave before she catches you."

It felt like a retreat, but I still didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. Everything about that place felt familiar, but so subtly wrong that I had to concentrate to remember what my real memories were like. I had to get out of there.

I turned as I left the garden, "I'll be back," I said, more to make myself feel braver than anything else.

"I'll bet you will," she said, in a tone that suggested that she was used to having the last word.

I clawed at the dirt behind the tree roots, half-expecting to find something, an opening, anything...but there was nothing. I whatever had caused the doorway to open was now closed. I hadn't expected it to close from this end, so I was at a loss for what to do.

A movement glimpsed in the corner of my eye made me freeze. Was it that thing again, or something worse? Instead, a fuzzy creature hopped out of the bushes and nodded at me. It looked like an extra-large rabbit, except for the rack of antlers on its head. "I didn't recognize you before," it said.

"What?" I said. That was the first thing that came to mind to say, so I said it and felt kind of stupid afterwards.

"I should have known that you knew what you were doing when I saw you going to the face-stealers," he said, "But it had been so long. Well, I'm sure you know what you're doing." And then it hopped off.

Once it was gone I thought of about six different things to say, but without the rabbit thing there it seemed kind of pointless to say them. I asked anyway. "How am I supposed to get back?"

My teacher once told me that saying something out loud sometimes helps you think of an answer. It seemed to work this time, because the thought came to me: what if I didn't have to go back to get home? The forest was the same, right down to the same trees. There was still the ridge over there and the marshland down here. There were new things living over there, but they were additions, not subtractions. Why couldn't I just walk home?

That thought was encouraging. Maybe I could figure this place out. Retracing my steps back to the cherry tree let me avoid the willows (and all the wet spots). When I got to my cherry tree I had another thought. I could climb it and get a view of what was over by my house. At the highest point I had ever dared climb, I could just barely see my house through the trees.

I thought it was worth trying, especially if it would let me avoid any more nasty surprises, like attacking trees or weird scavengers. Hopping up on the lowest branch, I started making my way towards the top. I had to be careful not to lose my balance, but at least in this tree I was used to dealing with that, and the branches were close enough together I was never in any real danger of falling.

About twenty or so feet off the ground was where I usually stopped. The branches started getting thinner and further apart above that point, and this particular branch had a gentle curve near the trunk that I used like a saddle to steady myself.

In the twilight darkness I wasn't sure how much I'd be able to make out, but I didn't need to worry. The moon was still overhead and as I looked through the trees I saw a light. A light near my house. I couldn't see it very well, but between the shadowed branches I could see the roof. My house was there!

I didn't want to see that hill ever again. I didn't think that the thing was going to follow me through the woods, since it gave up as soon as it got tangled in the branches behind me, but I kept running long after it's struggling noises were out of earshot.

The moonlight filtered straight down, splashing in puddles of light on the forest floor. I hadn't been paying attention to where I was running, I'd just been getting away. I wasn't sure exactly where I ended up. I'd been all over these woods for years, but it looked different in the foggy twilight. I was sure that I would eventually be able to find my way out. I didn't really feel like blundering around in the dark, though. Who knows what else was out there?

Downhill seemed the safest bet, as long as I avoided the wetlands and the willow trees. Something fluttered through the treetops above me, where I couldn't see it, but I hurried onward. I didn't want to learn anything else about this place if it was all going to be like that.

The forest wasn't quiet. I was straining to hear any sign of danger, and that made me aware of every little sound, every shaking branch and rustling leaf. A cicada started chirping and I jumped and almost started running. There were a couple of times I was almost sure that something was following me, but whenever I looked around there were only the trees.

Finding the cherry tree was a relief. My old friend was still the same as always, standing proud on the edge of a clearing, it's lowest branches almost touching the ground. Now that I knew where I was, I knew which way I needed to go to reach the sycamore tree. I had to go a little bit out of the way to avoid the willow trees, but it didn't take me long.

The tree stood there in the silvery moonlight, the patchy shadows of the other trees contrasting with the patchy colors of its trunk. I rushed toward it, relieved to finally be going home and escaping, and ducked beneath the roots. And stopped short as I felt a wall of dirt. There was no cave, no opening, no space at all behind the roots. Not even the illusion of one, now that it was no longer in shadow. I was trapped, with no idea how to find my way back.

The person in the hooded cloak lead me by the elbow to one of the near stone huts. I noticed that there was a trail all along the top of the ridge, a trail that wandered from beehive to beehive. The sharp, fresh, familiar smell of spruce permeated the whole scene, making me feel both at home and very alien.

The hooded thing lead me down the two steps to the sunken door and waited for me to enter. It was very polite about it, and once I had ducked under the low lintel it hurriedly followed me inside and busied itself with making the place presentable. Or at least what it seemed to consider presentable. The dim interior of the hut was filled with discarded debris, stuff I could only think of as junk: broken wheelbarrows, bits of driftwood, half a chair. Nothing livable. I couldn't really tell the difference after it finished whatever it thought it was doing, but it seemed to be trying to be hospitable. I sat down in the spot it indicated, and it bowed and sat down across from me, crossing its spindly legs and throwing its hood back. I got my first good look at my host.

The dim light softened the shadows on its face, making it harder to distinguish its features. Its face had a stretched, pained look, but that was its blank state, because its expression was entirely empty of emotion. Except for the bright eyes that darted around between peering at me, it barely moved a single muscle on its face, even when it spoke. It had only wispy hair. I couldn't figure out if it was supposed to be male or female, it didn't seem so much to be inbetween but rather to not have the question apply at all.

It had found a a mug with a broken handle and a jug with a chip missing from the lip. Pouring a liquid into the mug, it offered it to me. "You shall drink," it said.

I took it and smelled it. I had no idea what it was, but it didn't look very pleasant. I pretended to sip it to be polite. It reminded me of visiting my fussy aunt with the weird cooking. I tried to think of a way to ask where I was.

"You like it?" It seemed to be eager to please. "I like your face. I wish that it was my face. I don't like my face anymore." I couldn't really think of much to say to that.

"I was born with it," I said, "So I don't see how it matters."

It cocked it's head to one side and wiggled its ears, which made the skin on its forehead stretch tight. "You came from somewhere else."

"Yes," I said, relieved that I didn't have to find a way to ask about it. "Do you know where I came from?"

"No," it shook its head, stretching its mouth into what was probably intended to be a friendly grin. "If I knew how to go there, I would have gone for a visit. If everyone there is as pretty as you, I would like to visit that place."

"Most of them are prettier," I said, "But I would like to know why I couldn't visit here last time I tried."

"I've heard tales," it said, steepling its bony fingers. "There are rules for such things. The powers have their own rules, but the lowly must obey them all."

That sounded worrying. I asked, "The powers? There isn't some kind of wicked witch who is going to hunt me down or get you in trouble or something, is there?"

"No, I live by myself. A collector. A dabbler. Not one to get involved in the problems of others." It stood up and started pacing. "The others stay away. That's better, because they are ugly and I am ugly too. I thought I was going to be beautiful, but she tricked me."

"Maybe I should be going," I said, starting to stand up.

It was right there, taking the mug from me. "You are a guest. You have no worries."

"I need to be going," I said, taking a step towards the door.

It spread out its arms, blocking the light as it screeched, "I will be pretty when I have your face! Trade me your face!" It grabbed at me and I yelled. I shoved it. Even though it was taller than I was, it was so light that my push sent it toppling. I ran for the door, trying not to trip on anything sharp or jagged.

It was on its feet quickly, its cloak torn on a broken chair and its limbs waving wildly. It was definitely not human. No human was ever that skinny. It barely had any body at all, just a trunk that held its bony limbs together. In one hand was a dull-colored knife it must have had hidden in its cloak.

I was outside before it caught up to me, but it was fast and I had to stoop down to duck out of the doorway. Running on four limbs, it crashed up the low steps and leaped at me, stabbing at my legs. I went down, rolling over and kicking at the thing's face. The face tore, and I realized that it was tied on, a stolen mask of skin stretched to cover the thing's real face. It screeched and slashed at my feet with its bronze knife.

The knife cut right through my denim pants. I felt the knife slide off my leg brace, too dull to penetrate the plastic. Kicking back at it, I pulled away. Struggling to my feet, I plunged downhill and into the woods, leaving its screeching cry behind me.

I've had a really confusing morning. Apparently today is Tuesday and no one noticed that I was gone. I'm confused, but I guess I've come to expect weird things over the past couple of days. Or however long it's been.

See, the first thing that happened while I was walking uphill was that I heard a voice. At the time I figured that I was imagining things. I mean, when no one's around and you hear someone say, "You might want to turn back," you get a little worried about your mental state. Or at least I did. Then whoever or whatever it was said, "It's dangerous to disturb them."

That's when I figured out that whatever was talking, it wasn't in my head. I wasn't thinking anything like that at all. And invisible voices seemed kind of mundane at that point. Still, it seemed to be trying to warn me about something, so I figured that it'd be a good idea to be cautious. I switched off my flashlight and tried to walk quietly.

Without the light, the woods were dark. The red moon hung in the hazy sky, casting long shadows through the trees. Anything could hide in them, and I walked hurriedly, not wanting to encounter whatever might live in such a forbidding place. I had a feeling that it was something more dangerous than the robins and blue jays I usually saw near the woods. But it was when I reached the top of the ridge that I knew that something was definitely different.

There were stone buildings arranged in a rough line along the top of the ridge, all facing west. They were shaped like enormous beehives and had dark, open doorways sunk below ground ground level. It was a foreboding sight in the twilight fog.

There didn't seem to be anyone around at the moment, but it felt as if at any moment someoneor somethingwould emerge. Whatever lived here was something I had no idea how to deal with, and I didn't want to get any closer.

Unfortunately, they had already seen me. I was going to leave, but when I turned to go there was someone standing behind me. I say someone, because the person was wearing a cloak. In the twilight and the shadow of the hood it was difficult to tell what he or she or it was, but just looking at the half-hidden face in the gloomy light was enough to make me shiver. There wasn't anything exactly wrong with it, but it still somehow felt wrong. Maybe it was utter blankness of the expression.

The thing spoke. It had a nice voice. "You have a pretty face." That put me on my guard, a little. I certainly don't think that my face is at all notable, but maybe if you had a face like this thing I'd look good by comparison. Not that it would let me get a good look at its face. I was pretty sure it wasn't human, anyway. "You must join us," it said, and took me gently by the arm.

If it had been rough about it I would have fought it, but the way it said it made it sound like an invitation.

I know that everyone is probably worried about me being gone so long, so posting this is the first thing I'm doing after getting back. I haven't even changed my pants yet, even though they have mud on them! At least you guys care. My mother didn't even say anything when I came through the door just now.

It was really windy out Monday night, with the trees waving in the wind and shadows dancing all over the place. But the wind died down as I got near the tree.

I took a flashlight with me to the tree. I wasn't sure that I'd find anything, but I couldn't just drop it without wondering forever if I was going crazy. I had to know for sure. And boy did I find out! When I got to the tree, it looked pretty much like it did last time, right down to the full moon, and it looked like the opening was there. At first I thought that I was wrong again, that there wasn't any space behind the roots at all. It looked like it might be an optical illusion. The space beneath the tree was deep in shadows, and I had to crouch down and shine my light between the roots to see that there was an opening back there. I know that it wasn't like that on Saturday.

I crawled in of course. Inside looked pretty much the same as before, but with the flashlight I could see that it wasn't a natural cave. Or at least I don't think so. It was carved out of stone, not dirt like I had thought at first. There was dirt around the entrances, with the roots and things, and some of the tree's roots made a tangled pattern on the ceiling, but it was mostly made out of a slate-blue stone that sparkled a little as I played the flashlight over it. The cave didn't
have any straight lines, but it still didn't look natural. It looked like something had clawed it out of bare rock.

That symbol I saw before was there, of course, but it wasn't just carved on the floor either. There was another one repeated on one of the walls. Three straight lines and one curved one.

Now, there's no way I would have gone that far without seeing if I could keep going to the other side, so I crossed the chamber to the downhill side, where light was creeping around the roots of the tree.

And I was in that twilight place again. The tree was the exact same tree as on the other side, and the woods looked the same, as near as I could tell. Nothing seemed to be out of place except for that weird half-light in the sky. The thing I don't quite understand was that it was the same side of the tree. It's not like I went in the front and came out in the back, but that I went in on the front and came out on the front. It made no sense.

Naturally, the first thing I checked was the back of the tree. It was in most respects a perfectly ordinary sycamore, with patchy grey bark and gnarly branches. But there was a carving there: three straight lines and one curved one. I shivered. Looking at it made me feel uncomfortable somehow, like I was supposed to remember what it was for but couldn't.

In the past month I've had a lot of time to think about what I would do if I found myself in that place again, so I've sort of had a plan in place. First step: avoid the low, wet places where the willows are growing. Toward the eastern side of the forest behind my house there are some hills. Not very big ones, but higher than most places in the immediate area.

A lot of stuff happened after that, as you can imagine from me being gone two whole days, but I'm exhausted right now. I'm going to bed, and I'll have to post the rest tomorrow.

 

I'm going out to look at that tree again tonight. I don't know what would be different, but I just can't give up without trying to find out what was going on.

I found the tree. After all this time, I wasn't sure what I was going to find, but this wasn't what I was expecting. It's a Sycamore tree that's growing on a hummock on the other side of the wetlands. But there's something weird going on. I'm sure that it's the right tree, it looks exactly like I remembered. But there's no sign of any cave behind the roots. At first it looked like there was, because there is some space there and it's partially in shadow. But that turned out to be an illusion. There's just the dirt bank behind them.

Cassie has been telling me that the willow tree moving and my losing time must have just been my imagination. Well, maybe. I wanted to convince myself that I really had seen all that. I can remember it so clearly: that's got to mean I really saw it, right? I can't go around doubting my memory all the time.

But this new wrinkle has made me do just that. Maybe I could have imagined the willow, but I was definitely in the cave. I have a pretty good idea of its exact shape and size, and there's no way that I could have somehow dreamed up that part. But it's not there. The tree is exactly like I remember it, but without any opening behind its roots.

This has made me rethink a lot of things. I thought that finding the tree would be the thing I needed to convince myself that I'm not a hopeless dreamer, but I've been feeling out of sorts since I found it again. Am I going crazy? I don't even know what that would feel like, from the inside. I think I feel the same. I feel like me, anyway, the same old boring, misfit me.

I feel all alone sometimes, even when I'm with people. At least I have Cassie. She doesn't believe me, but she sticks by me anyway. That's nice to have in a friend. I haven't told anyone else at school about all this. My mother has no idea, of course. I had another fight with her today, about clothes this time. I was tempted to tell her that I was going mad, but I think she would have said that I was just plain old mad. She'd be right, too.

Still, I have to wonder. If I could have been mistaken about the whole tree thing, what else am I wrong about. Maybe I really am going crazy and just can't tell.