Through Childs' Eyes

By Joseph D Lemon

Come sit by the fire and listen to the Storyteller's tales of all sorts. Enjoy everything from fantastic adventures to spooky encounters. Even real stories blend the lines of what is possible. Relax as you spend the evening letting your mind carry you away. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph D Lemon
• Release date: Mar 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201204754

Book preview

Visiting The Storyteller

After a few cold snaps , silent mornings of everything frozen in frost, we gather. The warning of months to come, leaves turn color in a day. As they fall just as fast as they change, the woods become canvas of wild colors splashed everywhere. The gods paint the forest with the visions of the seasonal fires. Burnt orange, red, and yellows hang from the trees. Darker reds and browns stir in the mix below. All fall to the forest floor dimming in color like the used litter of a fire. The color floods in and washes out just as quickly.

The food for the season has become thick, hearty, and fattening. Drinks grow stout, fermented and bitter. All to push through the dead months of winter. Harvest season is upon us so says the moon, time for reaping the labors of the year. Hunters grow in excitement for the busy season. An opportunistic smorgasbord of game meat to smoke and cure. All eyes on the lookout for that grand elusive buck, the prize reaping of the season. We celebrate and gather, as it seems the world is dying around us. We push off our fears of making it ourselves until the following spring. The moon itself grows large and favors the seasonal colors, beckoning back the spirits of our ancestors. The veil between worlds weakens. You can hear the other side calling on the wind, whispering, wishing to be among the remembered. Listen closely to the creatures of the woods, the spirits of the night.

It’s the time to seek out the wise man of the woods. The storyteller who lives beyond the reaches of the village. Down the grown over path, into the wood line. Careful to keep out of the creek which heads to the pond. There his sod shack settles, looking abandoned, seeming run down. Grass grows thick over his uneven roof. A warm welcoming fire can be seen in the windows. All the wonders and tales of magic circle about his home. The mist settles in bringing with it a steady chill.

His contentment and comfort are unmistakable. Bring him a gift of food, drink, or smoke and he’ll stoke the old fires. Follow him the short trip to the pond’s edge where he takes his inspiration beneath the moon by water’s edge. Gather round, stave off the chill of the water and the night. Watch as he waves his stick over the flames with tales of delight. Wonder how he commands the flames to dance at his whim. Keep an eye to the wood’s edge you’ll see many forest critters come to hear the tales as well. Perhaps even a spirit or two gathers among you.

As the moon rises and fades to pale steel blue, he’ll command the flames to dance in color too. With words of wisdom, he’ll tend to the kids. Fables and lessons he’ll together spin. For those older kin, adventures abide of monsters that creep and creatures that fly. As you gaze into his dancing flames his words carry your mind away to various times. Take the journey alongside your favored heroes. For a simple fee, beside the pond, beneath the moon, an evening of stories he’ll share with you. For a simple night, the stories come to life. Gather close around the dancing colored flames. Hear the master storyteller weave magic into the tales again.

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ii

Beneath the fallen woods

WE WERE KIDS THEN. Two neighbor boys who got along because we had no other options in friends. We begged and pleaded all week long to go camping out in the woods away from the houses. Friday afternoon we were so busy making numerous trips across the fields from our neighboring houses all the way back to the woods. I grabbed my sleeping bag from church camp and a thick pillow. I snuck around and found a few things to keep us entertained. Out to the back fence, tossing over the sleeping bag that had everything hidden away. Then I climbed the corner and jumped over. They’d tan my hide if they caught me on that fence. You’ll tear the whole damn fence down climbing around on it like that. I never once had a fence fall down under me.

Paul, good lord, was pulling a cooler and a wagon packed full over the rough ground and overgrown field. It was knocking the grass down, making a rather nice trail. Ol’ Jet and Rusty our two loyal dogs were right at our sides before we could even get away from the corner fence post that marked where our property met. They were always right there with us whenever we were ‘exploring’ the area around where we lived. Back then the concept of trespassing meant we were tearing something up, instead of passing through.

We went deep into the woods. With a good pair of binoculars my step-grandmother would be able to spot us if we stayed near the edge. She definitely had just that pair. We found a suitable spot, cleared it out well enough to set up camp. Paul was being pretty secretive about the cooler. He even took the beers I smuggled out in my sleeping bag and put them in it himself. We put up the tent and dug a fire pit. After a few trips back to his house we were set for the weekend.

We lit the fire and lanterns as the sun began to set. We kept the fire small and low. We only needed it for cooking and light. No reason to give my nosey step-grandmother anything to focus on. Paul shocked me when he reached into the cooler and pulled out two good sized aluminum foil wraps. He laughed at my wide eyed reaction as he tossed them into the coals and put a few more logs over top. I asked about the beer, and he said he had something even better. He pulled out two cans of Big Red and a bottle of vodka. Again, that country boy’s stuttered laugh rang out. We spent the early evening eating steak, potatoes, carrots, and onions. It was a wonderful dinner prep Paul made in those foil wraps.

As the night progressed we become a drunken mess. Paul taught me how to light farts on fire. We pissed ourselves laughing when he lit his jeans on fire and was scooting his crotch all around the camp like some dog with worms. We just finished the bottle when there was a rustle in the woods just past the light of the campfire. We wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but the dogs went into the tent cowering and softly whining, refusing to come out. They were worse than pups pulled from their momma’s tit.

Paul and I had been on many camping trips, and we grew up almost as country as you could get. We were used to hearing coyotes out, and possums and coons rummaging around. Even the more rare night noises like an owl catching a mouse in the woods was little more than a delayed startle. The moon was full and bright. It was doing very little to pierce through the dense canopy What we began hearing was no normal nighttime occurrence. It was closer to hyena’s cackling, mixed with the shrills of a newborn baby, and that low first pitch of a mourning dove’s wail. They came from all around surrounding us staying just past the light’s shadow.

We both became spooked. Paul wanted to head to the house. I barely got the sense in him that we were safe for now in the light. There was no assurance in the darkness of the woods or the field between us and either home. We sat between the tent and the fire wondering what to do.

Too bad we drank the bottle. We could at least catch a glimpse of what’s out there. I rolled the bottle around. Nothing like being scared shitless to sober you right up.

We still have fuel in the lanterns. We just need to be smart and time it right. Paul was right, but one huge firebomb wouldn’t let us see anything. I knew the flash would blind us just as likely as whatever was out there.

I have an idea. I mustered up all the courage I could. I didn’t feel brave, but if anyone was going to be mauled and drug off in the woods tonight it was going to be me. Paul was a good person with a good family. I was the kid no one wanted. I was the one most called a bad seed. I unscrewed the fuel containers from the lanterns. I took a deep breath and started walking out to the edge of the fire light.

What the hell are you doing? Paul shrieked sitting in the tent holding the dogs.

Probably going to burn down the whole damn woods, knowing my luck. I shot him a smile hoping to at least calm one of us.

As I walked I slowly poured the lantern fuel out. My heart was racing with all the visions in my head of some animal waiting to pounce. I wasn’t so afraid of death but being eaten alive did not rank in my most preferred methods to go. I tried to keep my wits about me to measure out the fluid by how much it weighed in my hands. I was shaking so much it was almost an impossible task.

Just beyond my sight in the darkness of the brush a twig snapped. I must have jumped five feet out of my skin. I got ready to fight the first sight of movement I seen. Instead of being attacked I heard the feintest scurry away. That was promising. Whatever was out there was more curious at the moment than hungry. One of the dogs coughed and I spun around expecting to fight for my life. Paul was holding the dogs around the neck so tight he apparently choked one. I turned my attention back to the darkness realizing I had just turned my back to it. I was frozen solid.

Nothing happened. It took a few moments to gather myself and start moving again. I adjusted my plan mentally realizing I would need to draw it in a little closer if it were indeed curious and not hungry. I circled back emptying the rest of the oil and sat between the fire and the tent. I grabbed two sticks and poked at the fire helping it burn lower. As I repositioned the logs I made sure to keep fire at the end of my two poker sticks.

Slowly there were hints of rustles as it followed the darkness creeping in. Still, I waited. Paul never left the tent, and the dogs huddled up with him. I rested my hand on the side of my head looking rather bored as I waited. I finally heard it, snap, just beyond the brush line actually in our camp area. I slipped my hand under my nose and set the hottest poke stick to both sides of the oil trail. Vawoof, the camp lit up, but with my hand in place to shield my eyes I could see. Right there at the edge of camp surrounded by the sudden flames came a terrible shrill as it was momentarily blinded.

There at the edge of our camp. Just in front of the forest scrub stood the likes of something I’d never seen before. It hunched on its back legs that folded like some four legged animal. It shielded its eyes with its hands, or paws, something odd in between. It was about the same size as Paul and I with unusually long thin arms. It was covered in brown fur even to that thin tail. If I had to guess, given the odd shape of its muzzle I’d say it was some type of hominoid rodent or possibly canine. It absolutely hated the bright flare up of light. Within an instant it was gone. We barely even detected enough movement to see the direction it fled. Paul and I kept the fire burning bright the rest of the night. Our dogs refused to leave the tent until daylight. Sleeping was cramped and much warmer than we’d preferred for the season.

Paul and I had a pretty intense argument that morning. We were both pretty scared and wanted to pack up and head to our homes. We were also very curious. If we went back no one would ever believe what we seen, and we’d be teased endlessly. As it turned out when one would agree one way the other held firm to the opposite and back and forth we went. We finally agreed that it responded to the flare up, it was definitely nocturnal. Which meant out in the sun we weren’t in any danger to track it back to where it came from. We found tracks by the edge of camp. They were oddly small for something that large. They were paw like prints, though more bird like in that W on top of a Y shape. They weren’t deep. So, we knew it was light, fast, and moved more on top its toes. The tracks lead north deeper into the woods.

Usually, the dogs liked to lead the way and snoop as they scouted ahead. They did not like the scent of the trail we were on apparently. They stuck behind us, but close to our heels. We came to a small clearing with a tiny pond. It seemed a nice enough spot to stop and eat lunch. Nothing really spectacular on the menu. We had homemade jerky, day old biscuits, and a pouch of dried fruits and nuts. We shared a bit of the biscuits and jerky with the dogs. The pond was a little disturbing. There was scrub brush a little over head high all around the north half. We couldn’t see where it fed in or let out. It seemed to drop straight off from the bank. There was no telling how deep it was. Even more disturbing, it was unnaturally quiet. No frogs or insects disturbing the surface. No noise at all as you sat by the water’s edge and peered into its deep dark depths. I mentioned to Paul we’d have to come back and wet some lines sometime. Who knew what we may or may not catch.

It took a bit longer than we liked to refind the trail. We noted the great strides through the clearing. This creature could move extremely fast and had unbelievable strides with its legs. It was like we were learning a lot and still had no clue as to what this creature was. We were really deep in the woods now. We should have passed a road or a house or something by now. We were lost deep somewhere in a forest that shouldn’t exist. We followed the trail of a beast none had ever heard of or mentioned, and our only company was two dogs who acted more like scared field mice.

We came to a part of the forest that seemed to be extremely old growth. These trees were huge and ancient. Here the trails were worn down and easy to follow. We were now on a fairly used path. Many trees were knocked down or upturned by what seemed to be a windstorm at some point in time. Huge balls of dirt and roots stood upright leaving large holes in the ground.