Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) by Lydia North, Kim Scott Page B
Authors: Lydia North, Kim Scott
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have it slip off the edge again. My coat snagged on a branch of the dead tree, tearing a jagged hole where the insulated lining poked through. At last the ATV was on level ground again. I turned the key and the engine protested. With curses flowing, it sputtered and faltered then stuttered some more. It started, but the vibration grew stronger. I didn’t feel good about it.
Moving at a snail’s pace, I travelled along the dirt road, a simple fire lane cut through the woods. The excitement I felt when I left the cabin had been replaced by trepidation. The ATV hesitated again as it rolled over a snow covered patch of ice. I studied the gas gauge as I rocked it loose and moved forward. Suddenly the motor stalled.
I turned the key to off then attempted to start it again when I heard the first whisper. The wind had stilled and my blood ran cold. The sound of dozens of hushed voices swept through the trees. I heard the faint whispers of men, women, and children. Snow fell from pine boughs here and there as if the sound frightened the evergreens too.
The volume increased and took on the cadence of a song, a mournful song of grief and misery. I let go of the key and sat still on the seat. It felt as if the temperature had just dropped 40° degrees. I shivered and pulled my gloves on. A strange wind stirred along the surface of the road. It whirled through the weighted boughs, churning more snow up into the air.
In a flash, I was sitting in the middle of a peculiar blizzard. The scent of wood smoke and freshly cut pine circled my head. The wind didn’t touch me it simply whirled around me, spinning faster. Yet as it spun wildly it could not drown out the whispers.
“Don’t go! Don’t go! Don’t go!”
“I waited for you, Erik.”
“Don’t go!”
“You called me into the cabin.”
“Don’t desert me, Erik.”
“Come home to the cabin.”
“Don’t go! Don’t go!”
Dozens of different voices called to me, talking over each other. I sat terrified as the crazy storm spun around me. Abruptly, the wind died. The snow settled again, and the air cleared. The whispers faded high in the tops of the tallest pines. Shocked by the display I’d witnessed, I looked to my left and right. I feared what might come next.
The clouds parted and the sun warmed my face. Desperately, I wanted to believe that I had imagined the magic, but the evidence lay all around me. An inch or more of fresh snow covered everything around me, yet none had touched me or the ATV. An intense debate began in my head. Should I continue on my way or return to the cabin? Did I dare risk defying something so powerful?
My deliberation ended when I saw the coyotes at the end of the fire lane. Three coyotes sat side by side. I watched fixedly as they stared at me, no more than 200 feet away. To reach the next road, I would need to pass them. I knew they wouldn’t allow that.
With my stomach clenching and my heart thumping crazily, I touched the key with my gloved fingers. The faint click sounded and two of the coyotes stood. The largest of them sat in the middle and bared his teeth. I removed the key from the ignition and closed my eyes. Slowly, I exhaled and opened them again. The coyotes had moved to a spot only 100 feet from me.
I raised both hands with palms forward and climbed off the machine. I removed the straps that held the shotgun in place. The birdshot would not be lethal for the coyotes, but it would frighten them away. I leveled it and aimed toward the largest of the three canines. It stared back at me and offered a low growl. I pumped the shotgun and the coyote tilted his head back. He released a spine-chilling howl into the air and the others chimed in.
Along the tree line, snow shivered in the air, and several more coyotes stepped up onto the road. They sat unnaturally, watching me calmly. Warily, I shouldered the rifle and
Moving at a snail’s pace, I travelled along the dirt road, a simple fire lane cut through the woods. The excitement I felt when I left the cabin had been replaced by trepidation. The ATV hesitated again as it rolled over a snow covered patch of ice. I studied the gas gauge as I rocked it loose and moved forward. Suddenly the motor stalled.
I turned the key to off then attempted to start it again when I heard the first whisper. The wind had stilled and my blood ran cold. The sound of dozens of hushed voices swept through the trees. I heard the faint whispers of men, women, and children. Snow fell from pine boughs here and there as if the sound frightened the evergreens too.
The volume increased and took on the cadence of a song, a mournful song of grief and misery. I let go of the key and sat still on the seat. It felt as if the temperature had just dropped 40° degrees. I shivered and pulled my gloves on. A strange wind stirred along the surface of the road. It whirled through the weighted boughs, churning more snow up into the air.
In a flash, I was sitting in the middle of a peculiar blizzard. The scent of wood smoke and freshly cut pine circled my head. The wind didn’t touch me it simply whirled around me, spinning faster. Yet as it spun wildly it could not drown out the whispers.
“Don’t go! Don’t go! Don’t go!”
“I waited for you, Erik.”
“Don’t go!”
“You called me into the cabin.”
“Don’t desert me, Erik.”
“Come home to the cabin.”
“Don’t go! Don’t go!”
Dozens of different voices called to me, talking over each other. I sat terrified as the crazy storm spun around me. Abruptly, the wind died. The snow settled again, and the air cleared. The whispers faded high in the tops of the tallest pines. Shocked by the display I’d witnessed, I looked to my left and right. I feared what might come next.
The clouds parted and the sun warmed my face. Desperately, I wanted to believe that I had imagined the magic, but the evidence lay all around me. An inch or more of fresh snow covered everything around me, yet none had touched me or the ATV. An intense debate began in my head. Should I continue on my way or return to the cabin? Did I dare risk defying something so powerful?
My deliberation ended when I saw the coyotes at the end of the fire lane. Three coyotes sat side by side. I watched fixedly as they stared at me, no more than 200 feet away. To reach the next road, I would need to pass them. I knew they wouldn’t allow that.
With my stomach clenching and my heart thumping crazily, I touched the key with my gloved fingers. The faint click sounded and two of the coyotes stood. The largest of them sat in the middle and bared his teeth. I removed the key from the ignition and closed my eyes. Slowly, I exhaled and opened them again. The coyotes had moved to a spot only 100 feet from me.
I raised both hands with palms forward and climbed off the machine. I removed the straps that held the shotgun in place. The birdshot would not be lethal for the coyotes, but it would frighten them away. I leveled it and aimed toward the largest of the three canines. It stared back at me and offered a low growl. I pumped the shotgun and the coyote tilted his head back. He released a spine-chilling howl into the air and the others chimed in.
Along the tree line, snow shivered in the air, and several more coyotes stepped up onto the road. They sat unnaturally, watching me calmly. Warily, I shouldered the rifle and
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