Wind Whisperer Read online

  Wind Whisperer

  by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  Published by L&L Dreamspell

  Spring, Texas

  Copyright 2009 by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people is a coincidence. Places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  ISBN- 978-1-60318-107-5

  Published by L & L Dreamspell

  Produced in the United States of America

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  In memory of my father,

  Frederick Comstock Jenner,

  who taught me how to listen for

  the Whisperer.

  For an eternity I stood rooted to the soft, needle-carpeted forest floor like the trees around me. Pitch ran through my veins instead of blood. I became part of the forest— waiting…watching. When I couldn’t bear it a second longer, I lowered my body to the damp ground. Tiny pinpricks of fear ran up and down my arms. My body trembled, the individual cells dissolving like a sugar cookie left in the rain. If the Thing had seen me, it was just too bad. My whole sense of being disintegrated into a thousand heartbeats.

  ONE – MIDDLE EARTH

  “Jonah. For crying out loud. Wait a minute, will you? My shoe’s untied.”

  My cousin ignored me as usual and kept on going—headphones on and Walkman turned up to the loudest his ears could tolerate. He’d been plowing right ahead, climbing over immense trees lying across the path like he thought he was Daniel Boone or something. Now he was leaving me behind without so much as a backward glance. Typical.

  Quickly tying my shoe, I straightened and couldn’t see him. Of course he’d already disappeared through the impossible underbrush of this impossible forest. I might as well have been the last person on earth.

  “Jonah. You’re a brat. You know that? Will you just hang on a sec?”

  No response.

  Fine. This was the last time I’d go on a stupid walk with him. Next time he could go alone. As if.

  I looked around. The forest closed in…suffocating. Downright scary. Impenetrable vegetation and towering trees covered everything in sight. The Olympic Peninsula was a jungle. That’s the only word I could think of to describe it. And it was old. Older than old. Older than life itself. Created so long ago that it seemed older, even, than Eden. Just standing here made me feel like time didn’t exist, and it gave me the creeps.

  I remembered reading somewhere that time isn’t linear. It doesn’t travel in a straight line, but loops around, in and out, over and under, like a ball of yarn. As I struggled through the labyrinth of shoulder-high ferns, salal, nettle, and salmonberry, I could almost believe it. Almost.

  After rounding the millionth fallen tree, I finally got a glimpse of Jonah ahead. By the time I caught up with him, I’d had enough. “Jonah.” I panted, “Let’s turn around. I’m beat and I want to go back to the cabin.” He ignored me. “Jonah. I know I agreed to go exploring with you…to see the moss and stuff, but, come on, haven’t you seen enough moss to last a lifetime? Let’s take the rowboat out on the lake. Okay? Jonah? Jonah!”

  Of course he couldn’t hear me. His music was too loud. The idiot. Anger and frustration won and I lost it. “Jo-nah.” I yelled. He still didn’t hear me so I lunged forward and punched his arm. “Jonah. I want to go back. C’mon. I want to do something more civilized. I hate these woods.”

  He tore off the earphones and glared at me. “What’re ya hitting me for? Jeez. What’s eating you, anyway, Hannah?”

  “I’m tired of tramping through Middle Earth, that’s what. This place is straight out of Lord of the Rings. I half expect to see a Hobbit walk by. And it’s boring. Nothing happening. Come on, Jonah. Let’s turn back and take the boat out or something. And besides…aren’t you getting hungry? We’re having barbecued hamburgers tonight.”

  Jonah, two months older than I, took fiendish delight in making an issue out of everything. Now, sighing like a martyr, he feigned injured dignity, “Dear, dear little Hannah, if you knew you weren’t up to it, why did you tag along?”

  “Tag along!” I exploded. “Tag along. You’ve got to be kidding. You wouldn’t have stuck a toe past that first trail marker if I hadn’t tagged along, and you know it.”

  He turned crimson. “Well, I know more about the Olympic National Park than you do. I read. There are bear, and elk, and, and things out here that can be dangerous.”

  I had to laugh. “Oh, pooh. You read, all right. Too much, if you ask me. That last story about Lake Crescent taking lives and not returning them is all a bunch of nonsense. Just an old legend handed down over the years and growing bigger and bigger in the telling.”

  Jonah pursed his lips and shook his head. “All legends, my dear little walnut-brained cousin, are based on truth. It happens to be a fact that Lake Crescent is deep. So deep, that until around the mid-fifties, everybody thought it was bottomless. The Clallam Indians wouldn’t even cross it in their canoes. They said the evil spirits that lived at the bottom of the lake would reach up with icy-cold hands and drag unsuspecting fishermen down into its awful depths. That’s fact. Plain and simple. You can Google it yourself.”

  I just brushed his words of doom and gloom aside. “Pooh. If it’s so dangerous around here then how come you’re wearing your headphones and listening to your stupid music? Hmm? Seems to me you’d be better off paying attention to the things around you. One of your so-called bears could sneak right up behind you, and you’d never be the wiser. C’mon, let’s turn around and head back to the cabin. Aunt Patricia and Uncle David told us not to stay away too long.”

  As usual, Jonah didn’t listen to me. He only nodded, muttered for me to hold on, replaced the headphones, and continued to plow through the thick undergrowth toward a magnificent tree that was big enough to house the Swiss Family Robinson. Registering just how immense this tree was shut me up for a minute. I’d never seen a tree as big in girth or as tall. It boggled the mind. In fact all the trees in this rain forest—the Sitka spruce, Douglas fir, western red cedar—were so huge, so gigantic, that I couldn’t describe them, if you’d paid me. I hadn’t brought my camera with me, but even if I had, it wouldn’t have done any good. A single tree was so huge, I wouldn’t have been able to get the whole thing in a picture, anyway. I’d only be able to take sections at a time. As I said, it boggled the mind.

  This particular old-growth tree was a really imposing monument to a time before time began. As Jonah approached the giant, he actually appeared to shrink right before my eyes. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought he’d stepped through a time warp, into a Jurassic Park where, at any moment, a t-rex would come crashing through the jungle to devour his puny body.

  “Okay.” I called to him. “What are you going to do now?”

  Jonah ignored me and circled the behemoth. He looked mesmerized by the giant, and it was obvious he couldn’t care less what I was doing or feeling. I sat down on a lichen-covered stump with a grunt and crossed my arms against my chest. I was really peeved. It was times like this that reinforced my total revulsion toward the male of the species. Except for Peter Adamson, who’d sat behind me in math class last year. But that’s another story. I didn’t want to think about him right now. I wanted to savor my peevishness for a while.

  When Jonah had made one complete circle he came
to a standstill, looked at me, and gave me the OK sign with his left hand. He removed his headphones, wrapped the cords around them and stuck them in his jacket pocket. Then he waved and started skirting the giant tree again. When he came around for the second time, he was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

  “So, what are you grinning about?” My impatience was swelling. “You look dumber than Larry Beasley did when his pants ripped at our eighth grade picnic.”

  “I just wanted to give this big fellow a closer look.” Jonah made a face. “And, man, it paid off. Look what I found. It’s cool.” He lifted his arm over his head and waved what looked like a toy of some sort.

  “What is it?” I yelled back. My curiosity piqued but I didn’t get up. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Heck if I know.” he returned. “But it’s really tight. And I think it’s old. Looks like something early Native Americans would’ve made. Come and see.”

  I sighed, then scrambled to my feet, brushed the dried needles from the seat of my pants, and ambled over to where my cousin was beaming like he’d just unearthed King Tut’s tomb. “Okay,” I tried to sound indifferent. “What is it?”

  “Here.” He shoved the wooden thing up to my face, almost hitting me in the nose. “Isn’t it sweet?”

  I examined the odd little wooden piece, trying hard not to appear too curious. It looked like a small totem pole. Or, to be exact, half of a small totem pole. It was in the shape of a bird with outstretched wings and a pointed beak. I had to admit that it was kind of neat—painted in vivid red, black and green. “Yeah, it’s nice, Jonah, but it’s too colorful to be really old.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It was wedged behind a humongous root and kind of protected.”

  “Whatever. What do you think it’s for? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I don’t know but look what happens when I pull the string.” He demonstrated by tugging at the slender piece of braided grass, making the brightly painted wings move. “Isn’t that awesome?” he asked with a grin.

  “Yeah,” I grudgingly admitted. “It is awesome but let’s go back, now. Okay? Please, Jonah? I’m tired of standing around looking at a bunch of trees, no matter how big they are. This place is giving me the creeps. It’s weird in here. Don’t you feel it?”

  He looked over his shoulder as though expecting to see something creeping up on him and then shrugged. “Yeah, it’s sort of creepy in here, but that’s why I like it. The silence is cool. Like we’re on another planet or something.” His grin widened.

  That did it. I stamped my foot. “Oh, please. Don’t you dare talk to me about how cool the silence is, Jonah Green, when you’ve been wearing those stupid earphones practically the whole entire time.” I turned around, crossed my arms, and waited for some sign of capitulation. Good thing I didn’t hold my breath.

  “Okay, okay. Just give me one more minute, okay? Just one more minute. There’s something really weird about that tree, and I want a closer look. Maybe there’s more cool stuff like this totem-thing. It’ll only take me a second or two.”

  “Well, hurry up.” I said between clenched teeth. “I’ll give you five minutes, max. And that’s more than you deserve. Then I’m going.” He grinned at me, saluted, and disappeared around the base of the monster tree. Resigned to the fact that I had to wait another five or so minutes for him to do his thing, I flopped down on a nearby mossy log to wait.

  I set my watch for exactly five minutes. I was going to time him and stick to my threat. If he wasn’t back in five minutes, I’d turn around and head back to the cabin. Alone. I could find the way. No problem. Jonah had made trail signs along the path, pretending he was an experienced woodsman. They were crude—only a small pile of stones or a few sticks he’d laid out—but they’d be enough. They’d at least point me in the right direction.

  Waiting was tiring. And as I sat there, legs stretched out in front of me, arms still crossed, I noticed for the first time the curling mist that eddied and swirled around the dark, lichen-covered trunks…like smoke from a dying ember. It was eerie. Ghostly, in fact, and a tiny shiver crept up my spine. It unnerved me so much that I reached down and picked up a fir cone and began to pull it apart, piece by piece, just for something to occupy my hands.

  Silence. The dense canopy of living, breathing plant-life cushioned every sound. Always, back home in the city, there was sound of some kind. You know, the ticking of a clock, the faraway screeching of tires, the honking of a distant horn, the murmur of human voices.

  But not here. Here, deep in this rain forest, stuck in the western corner of Washington State, there was only numbing, deafening silence. Contradictory as that may sound, the silence was making my ears ring. I jumped to my feet as a new sensation filled my senses: panic.

  “Jonah. Come on. Time’s up. I’m leaving now whether you are or not.” I threatened with false bravado. “Jonah. Answer me.”

  He didn’t return my shout. I stood on tiptoes and craned my neck to see if I could spot him. He was nowhere in sight. I called again. “Jo-nah. Answer me. If you think this is funny, you’re in for a big surprise.”

  Still no answer. I exhaled loudly, clamped my lips together, and tromped over to the base of the gigantic tree. The closer I got, the smaller I felt. If they hollowed out the trunk of this behemoth, the space would be bigger than my bedroom back home. I could hardly conceptualize it.

  Mincing over rotting debris, tangled vines, and the omnipresent ferns, I rounded the fantastic root formation that skirted the tree like the tangled legs of an octopus. This phenomenon was due to seeds germinating on fallen logs, called “nurse trees.” The seedlings’ roots would grow down, through, and around the rotting log, and when the decaying log finally disappeared, it left the new trees “standing” on their roots. I knew this because Jonah had told me—in minute, extremely annoying, detail.

  Fascinating as this phenomenon might be, I was hardly in the mood for idle musings about botany. Uppermost on my mind was the fact that Jonah was not there. He’d left me. The stupid creep had left me. Yet, on the tail of this thought, deep down I knew that wasn’t like him. For all our arguing and verbal tussles, he’d never been deliberately cruel to me. I didn’t think he would really abandon me in the middle of the forest just to play a practical joke.

  Something wasn’t right.

  “Jonah? Jonah, can you hear me? Where are you? Jonah?” I yelled his name over and over until my voice cracked. Really frightened now, I sat down at the foot of the tree and searched the thickening gloom that wrapped its dark cloak around me…like a smothering blanket…or a shroud.

  I winced. Maybe I was the one who read too much.

  TWO – INTO THE BEHEMOTH’S MAW

  I sat for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. If Jonah was playing a joke, I wanted to give him time to get it out of his system; let him know the stupid prank had backfired. I’d force him to surrender. When he showed himself, all mad that I hadn’t lost it, I’d tell him what I thought of him and his childish behavior—in no uncertain terms, of course. And then we’d go back to the cabin where I’d take special delight in the reprimand he’d receive from my aunt and uncle.

  But after sitting there in the eerie primordial silence for over fifteen minutes, I gave up. Jonah was gone. No longer there. I was alone. Really alone. I got to my feet and looked in every direction, expecting to see…I-don’t-know-what. Then I looked once more at the intertwining “legs” of the Titan in front of me, as though this one last look would magically reveal my impish cousin’s hiding place. I guess I still clung to a shred of hope that he was hiding; hoping—praying—he’d jump out at the last minute and try to scare me silly. I’d almost be willing to play along.

  On a hunch, and for one last thing to do before I bolted back to the cabin, I circled the tree again. This time, I examined every inch of the first vertical ten feet, desperate for a clue to what could have happened to Jonah. Maybe he’d gotten stuck inside a hollow place, although that seemed unl
ikely since he’d have been screaming his head off for help by now, if that were the case.

  I’d almost made it completely around the mammoth trunk when I spotted it. Above my head, higher than I could reach, a gaping hole about four feet high and two feet wide waited in mute testimony to the inexplicable. Large enough for a person to wedge into, it was worth examining further. I climbed up the twisting roots, finding numerous toeholds and places to grab, then peered in. It was amazing. A veritable tree-cave fit for a Hobbit.

  Hesitating only a second, I squeezed my five-foot-four-inch frame through the opening and found myself actually inside the tree. The “floor” consisted of decayed wood, moss and lichens, and was spongy underfoot. Just thinking about sinking through and being unable to climb out gave me the willies. The inner walls of the little tree-cave were moist to the touch and had driblets of amber pitch streaking their sides. It smelled earthy and felt all mushroom-y and soft.

  More noticeable than the smells and sponginess was the silence. Inside that tree, the only thing I heard was my own heart beating. So bizarre it made my skin itch. I wanted to hear something—anything. Even my stupid cousin’s annoying voice.

  Satisfied that the cramped space, although very intriguing, did not hide my cousin, and desperate for some noise of any kind, I turned around to climb out. Getting out was more difficult than getting in. I had to slide down the gnarled roots on my seat. It took several jarring bumps before I reached the ground. My jeans were wet in places and my hands were raw but I was past worrying about little things like that. At this moment I’d other, bigger worries to gnaw on.

  I called out one last time. “Okay, Jonah. Good-bye. I’m not playing your game any more. Sorry. You’re in big trouble, buddy. I’d hate to be in your shoes when you do get back. They’ll ground you for so long, you’ll never get your driver’s license. See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.”