Far From the Truth

Misty dew covered the forest like a blanket of damp and cold. Green turned to orange, to brown and yellow, eschewing color theory as summer dissipated into fall.

Eschew.

That's a fun word, Bob thought to himself as he adjusted his sights, scanning the woods for movement. That's one of the only words I remember having to memorize in high school. To avoid using, or neglecting.

He shuddered at the meaning and put it out of his mind for the moment. He was here in the woods, in good old Maine, and he was hunting. He was hunting, and there was nothing that could take that from him.

Take that…

No, his mind was firm, and he was the hunter, not the hunted, not the victim.

She is.

He rested his rifle on the edge of the blind and wiped the sweat from his eyes. This was just like her, just like Jess to pull a stunt like this on him. To try to take his joy away because...why? Because she wanted a change of scenery? Because she wanted to focus on her career?

He shook his head and thought of the trees, the gentle whispers they pushed his way, the caress of the wind as it carried the scents and tastes of the woods, the beasts and the birds, the quiet yet distinguishable notes of the river down the way, babbling on and on and on…

“You have to spend some time with us!”

“Woman, let me be.”

He pressed his face into his palms and rubbed his temples in a clockwise motion, moaning slightly.

“Eaugh,” the sound flowed out as a puff of breath in the cool morning. The pressure started to dissipate into the rest of his body, like a dam releasing its waters.

She did not, would not understand that the woods were precious to him. His father had taken him here every weekend since he was two, a dangerous time for a child to be around wildlife, much less firearms.

“That’s why the boy has to stay. He’s too young.”

“He's five.”

“Too young for this kind of thing. Let him grow some before I take him.”

“Your father took...why are you being such a hypocrite?!”

Why was he not bringing the kid? It wasn't that he didn't love the child, but...this was his. This was his space, his quiet, his temple of silence and peace. A kid, no matter if he were two or five, would only break that. He was justified in that, right?

Besides, Jess would be there for the kid. That's what women were there for, to care and to coddle. Never mind that that was considered...what was that word his teacher had used...miso..misogi...massageonistic? Shoot, that didn't sound right. It made his shoulders feel sore, but...that wasn't the word he needed.

Besides, he had no real problem with her wanting to start a career of her own. But someone had to take care of the child, the boy.

He looked up again as movement in the brush stirred his attention. Yes, this was what he needed. He deserved this. She could have what she wanted, and he could too.

A fox stepped gingerly into the open, ears turning this way and that. The mid morning sun found its way between the leaves, glistening off its red coat of fur, its gentle socked paws gingerly moving it forward, nose twitching.

Bob remembered his father, who had whispered in triumph as he'd aimed his rifle, its chamber filled with his very soul. "Eaugh," he'd groaned as his finger pulled against the trigger and his being flew forward to silence its prey

Bob waited until the beast plopped down and began to clean its fur with a series of furious licks, the line of sight encircling the red rascal.

Breathe, Bob reminded himself.

“Jimmy!”

“What?”

“His name is not the boy. It’s JIMMY! You don’t even know your son’s name!”

“Ridiculous, woman!”

“I need help!”

“That’s for damn sure!”

He closed his eyes as feelings of shame twisted around his heart at the memory of his conversation. She was right of course, but he would never dare admit that. This was his, and she had no right to take it from him, nor did the boy.

He opened his eyes again to peer through the lens as the fox disappeared into the brush, its tail wagging slightly as it vanished. He cursed her name under his breath, blaming her for yet another moment lost.

The worst thing, the absolute worst thing to him, was how much he believed her words. He wasn't there. He was here. He had no real reason not to let his child share in this experience, no reason but the mere fact that it was his. No one else could understand how important it was to him, and he couldn't bear the idea of sharing it.

But wouldn’t that sharing help? Wouldn't that show them how important it was to him, why these quiet moments were healthy and vital to his well being?

There was that voice, that voice of hope that she would understand. That the boy would love it as much as he did…

But what if they didn't?

What if they saw this, shared this, and it somehow took away the magic, shattered it so that he no longer held it in the way he did now?

He could not imagine a worse fate.

Another movement in the brush, this one rustling the trees, the grass, the very earth itself. Bob smiled as he eagerly waited for the beast to emerge, but his eyes widened at the spectacle that appeared before him.

A moose, white as snow itself, stepped out into the open, its antlers covered in moss and twigs. Twice...no three times the size of a regular bull moose, legs long as timbers and fur thick like the brush around it. It stood majestically, glowing in the glory of the noonday sun..

Bob let the sight drop as he witnessed the beast, shuddering at the silhouette.

He knew what he was looking at. His father had spoken of this beast before, if only in hushed tones and with his friends. Each of them had a story about this monster, this moose specter, each bigger and wilder than the last.

Some described the moose as just that, a big white moose that wandered the forests of Maine, living its best moose life. Big as a house! Strong as an elephant! Faster than a cheetah!

Those descriptions definitely fit what he saw now.

“Can’t kill it,” one of his father’s friends had said. “Bullets pass right through it!”

“Gotta use silver,” another had added. “Kills most monsters, silver does, I reckon.”

“Nah,” another had replied. “Mistletoe arrows, that does the trick.”

“It's an omen of doom,” his father had said in the woods that day. “A beast of prophecy. A harbinger of great dismay. Something has happened to us, and we have been warned.”

Bob remembered his father’s face of concern and anguish, gathering up his hunting gear and pulling the boy with him out of the blinds and away from the shape that Bob had been unable to make out.

When they’d returned home…

Why now? Why appear to him now?

He pulled the rifle up again, aiming at the beast’s head, which seemed to stretch into the sky. The moose turned to look directly at Bob and let out a sad, mournful cry:

“Eaugh.”

Wait. Did it say...enough?

“Eaugh.”

Enough of what? Of the massageinomy? Of the neglect? Of the eschewing?

No, it was just a beast. It was just an animal, nothing more. And while it was the biggest beast he had ever seen, it was still just that.

It would make all of this worth it.

When they’d returned home…

Or maybe it was to blame for everything. Maybe it was the reason he was alone in the woods today, and not just today but every hunting trip he had ever been on since…

He aimed and took his breath, breathing into the rifle, filling it with his soul, just as his father had so many years ago.

The woods echoed with the sound of thunder, sending the world into a quake, the birds and the beast alike leaving the woods in search of safety.

The moose was gone. Not dead, just gone. Bob looked up in panic, and then back through his scope, eyeing the woods to see if the animal had run off into the thick of the trees.

Nothing. No tracks, no broken branches, no missing leaves. It was as though the thing was never there in the first place. Bob sat with his breath in the gun, before inhaling and letting himself return to the blind, the sounds of the shot faded into memory.

Memory.

When they’d come home, that was when it all fell into place. When boyhood and manhood merged into a monster that Bob had never truly managed to kill, never managed to understand. And it was that truth that he knew, deep down, why he couldn't bring himself to take the boy into the woods.

And now the moose.

“A bad omen,” Bob whispered to himself, his mind reflecting on that day again. And the result when they’d come home.

And the result that had come after that.

Taking shallow breaths, Bob grabbed his gun and gear and flew out of the blind, through the thicket, branches slapping his face and his arms, tearing at his jacket. A cut here, a scrape on the chin. It didn’t matter.

His drive home was one of swerves and scrapes, his equipment rattling in the background of his mind and bed of his truck. That day came flooding back to him, that day his father had claimed to see the spectral behemoth with antlers the size of a van. That day they had returned home to find the blood on the coffee table, the body of his mother still twitching. The sound of breath escaping her lips:

“Eaugh.”

Before he knew it, he was home again, his panicked hands fumbling with the lock, his rifle slung around his shoulder. The door swung open into the living room that he had left this morning, the coffee table centered in front of the well worn sofa, the TV off and covered in a small layer of dust.

No one was one the floor.

“Jess!” he called out. “Jess!”

Nothing.

He set the rifle down against the entryway and began to search, room to room, throwing doors open, first the bedroom, then the bath. No water running, no sounds of sleeping.

Then he saw them, through the window, by the pool. She was sitting at the table with an umbrella shading her, while the boy...while Jimmy swam and laughed and played.

There was no blood.

Sighing, he made his way through the living room and out the patio doors, closing them behind him. Jess looked up at him, her laptop open, spreadsheets pulled up, composed of so many numbers he couldn’t understand.

“Hey,” he said, his voice nearly betraying what he felt.

She smiled at him, a hint of red eyes, but the joy was genuine.

“Hey,” she replied, half closing the screen. “I thought you would be gone longer.”

He stopped, unsure of what he should say. What could he say? That he saw a ghost of an animal? That he was scared they were in trouble? That he had panicked for no good reason?

That he blamed her?

No, none of that was true. At least not the whole truth.

“I’m…” he hesitated. She looked up at him with curious eyes, inquisitive eyes. Hopeful. He cleared his throat and began again. “I’m sorry.”

She closed the laptop completely.

“Sorry for what?” she asked. Fair point.

“I...I put my…”

“DADDY!” The boy, Jimmy, came running up to Bob and embraced him with a sloppy wet hug, pool water dripping over his hunting coat and pants.

“Eaugh!” he groaned, before catching himself. This was his child, his son.

Bob recalled the aftermath of the tragedy. His mother being taken away, her face disappearing behind a curtain of a black bag, hidden under a coffin, all the pictures turned face down.

His dad never took him hunting again.

“Hey,” Bob said, the word becoming sticky in his mouth. “Hey boyo, how's it going!”

“Daddy,” Jimmy said again. “Can I go hunting with you?” Jimmy pulled back to look his father in the eyes, his great big blue eyes reflecting joy and excitement over his father. Bob smiled then looked at Jess, who narrowed hers.

“If it's ok with mom,” he responded, letting the sentence linger. There, that was what she wanted right? Spend time with the kid?

“Mommy?” Jimmy asked, turning around, sending a spray of water onto Bob’s face.

Jess looked down at the ground, before looking at both the boys. “If you are safe.”

“Yay!” Jimmy ran a lap around the pool in excitement, his little feet pitter-pattering as he circled them. Both parents let out a laugh at his joy.

“Careful!” Bob yelled. “No running at the pool!” Jimmy slowed down near the end and instead danced.

“Jimmy,” Jess said, resting her hands on Bob’s. “Go ahead and dry off, then head inside. Daddy and Mommy need to talk a bit.”

“Ok!” Jimmy said and ran back into the house, trailing a towel like a cape.

Jess waited until the screen door closed before turning back to Bob.

“That is not remotely what we talked about,” she said, her voice still and controlled but full of frustration. Bob rolled his eyes.

“You said I needed to spend more time with him,” he grumbled. “This is me spending time with him.”

“At home!” She pulled her hand back. “I wanted you to spend time with us! With me and him. This is just you continuing your obsession and dragging him into it all!”

Bob tucked his hand into his pocket..

“This is me,” he said frustrated. “This is part of who I am. I wanted to share it with him. You’ve made it clear you don't want to go hunting.” He paused. “You don’t approve of my interests!” He rose as did his anger. How could he have been such a fool?

“I do…” she said, rising as well. “I just...I want to be part of it, of you. But I…”

She looked down.

“This is a partnership,” she said, her arms visibly shaking. “I need your help raising our son. I need you to be here. It feels like when I need to talk about it, your solution is to run away. Run away into the woods, into the blinds, away from your...our responsibility.”

Oh.

That wasn’t far from the truth.

“I can do better,” he whispered. “I think...I think I’m just…” His eyes reached out to hers and hers reached out to him.

“Just what?” she inquired.

He began to swallow his pride, recalling the deep rooted fear in the forest, the memory of his father and his father’s failure to be there for him when he was alone.

He readied himself, his words, his mind picturing his fears, manifesting as his soul in the barrel of the rifle.

Thunder erupted across the pool, echoing in the trees beyond the house. Both their heads shot back to the house, at a crumpled figure on the ground, a silhouette of a gun laying next to it, smoke rising gently into the air.

Jess ran screaming, leaving Bob to stand in silence, stunned, his eyes drifting beyond the limp figure on the floor, beyond his house, into the hills in the distance at the distinct outline with giant antlers, white as snow, letting out long mournful cry:

“EAUUUUUUUGH!”

Then, as he blinked, the beast vanished into the mist, Jess’s sobs matching, then overtaking the voice of the moose that never was.