Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales (3 page)

"No ... leave ... beach,” she said, still gripping his ankle.

His guilt for using Paulo flared. “I'll be back by tomorrow, Peka. Don't worry."

"No leave!” Peka struggled to her feet, grasping at his clothes.

Impatient with the interruption, Simon wanted to push her away along with the guilt he felt for tricking her son. Instead, he gently disengaged her hands.

Saving Peka's life had made them family, and he felt a strong kinship and tenderness toward her. Many times in the past she had inquired about his own family and the sadness she saw in his eyes, until finally, dispassionately, he had shared the details of his life. She could not understand his numbness and how his tears did not flow, considering his loss. So like his own wife, she would do anything to love and protect her family, her
ohana
, the people she cherished, even Simon. With what little patience that remained before his journey to the cliffs, he guided Peka back to her spot in the circle.

The elder woman next to Peka said something harsh in their native tongue, chastising her and forcing her to focus on the ceremony. The old woman turned to Simon, and with a fierce squinty look, she thrust her chin toward the jungle. There it was again—somehow the natives all knew where he was heading—maybe word had spread that he was looking for a guide. At least no one tried to stop him, so Simon moved on toward the edge of the jungle, to the path that would lead him and Paulo to the cliffs.

The boy was there waiting with a fiery torch. Flickering against the wind and rain, its light cast ghoulish shadows across his face. Simon shivered at the sight and lifted his own bright lantern to dispel the shadows.

The boy smiled. “Come, Mr. Simon! It is long walk to
Pahulu Pali
."

Leaving the drumming and the memory of Peka's worried face behind, Simon followed the boy into the dense jungle.

Trekking high up the side of the jungle cliff, the thick canopy muffled the noise of the storm. Rain collected into rivulets along thick tree trunks and leaves, falling in fat drops like pebbles from the foliage. The deeper into the jungle they traveled the steamier the air became, making it hard to breathe, but Simon plodded on, trying to keep up with Paulo's youthful stride. As they drew nearer to the cliffs, the jungle became quieter. Trudging along, he glanced into the dark canopy—the jungle was devoid of the usual cacophony of animals and insects. After the relentless noise of the storm, the silence unnerved Simon, but it was more than the absence of sound. Lifting his lantern to the darkness above, he saw a flash of gold and glowing eyes blinking all around him in the foliage. He was startled by the sight, and with his attention off the trail, he tripped over a thick root. To catch his balance he grabbed at a smooth-barked tree, where his fingers sunk deep into a layer of warm, sticky slime. He yanked his hand free with a sense of revulsion, the stench of the substance making him instantly nauseated. Scanning the jungle nervously, he did his best to rub the slime off his hand onto wet leaves and moss, but the stench remained.

The eyes seemed to have disappeared, but Paulo had pulled far ahead of him. He rushed to catch up, not really admitting to himself that he didn't want to be alone on the trail. When he finally reached the boy, Paulo made a face at the foul smell wafting around Simon. The boy picked up his pace to get away from the smell. Simon said nothing about the eyes—it must have simply been a trick of the light in the wet leaves.

After an hour of hiking in a cloud of rank odor, Simon felt lightheaded. His sense of smell had never been keen, but it seemed that things in the jungle were different somehow.

"Paulo.” The boy was again out of sight ahead on the trail. “I need a break."

He could hear Paulo stomping through the foliage, but there was no reply. They'd been hiking for hours, and Simon knew they should be near the entrance to the cliffs. It would be dawn in a few short hours. The boy was probably eager to get to the top, but Simon needed to stop. He would catch up with Paulo as soon as he did something about the putrid odor on his hand. By the light of his lantern, he dropped his pack and unhooked the canteen. After a couple of lukewarm swallows he nearly swooned.
Must be the heat and exhaustion catching up with me ... or this damn stink.
Shaking off the feeling, he dug his hands down into the wet jungle soil, rubbing the dark mud over his skin in hopes of removing the reek left from the tree slime. He glanced up at the trail ahead, but no longer heard Paulo moving through the jungle.

"Paulo?” he shouted.

Still crouching on the ground, wringing his hands with the mud, he felt the gritty paste turn slippery. When he looked down, his hands were awash in a thick red liquid—blood. Simon gasped. Alarmed, he checked to see if he was injured, but found no cuts or gashes on his hands.

Then the whispering started. It came like a buzz in the center of his head, unintelligible but relentless. Simon grabbed his lantern and held it high, searching the shadows of the forest in an attempt to find where the sound was coming from. He turned in every direction, but the noise remained constant. Finally, Simon covered his ears—the sound was still there, inside his head. At that moment, Paulo came crashing down the trail toward him.

"Mr. Simon, we here before,” he shouted. Worry etched the boy's usually carefree features. “I see Sister Fork tree ahead on path and we passed her long time ago. We go in circle."

Disoriented by Paulo's news and worried about the whispering in his head and the blood on his hands, Simon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of what was happening. After a moment, he noticed the feel of grit on his palms. Opening his eyes, he saw that the blood was gone and the wet jungle soil was all that covered his skin. He snatched up the canteen and dowsed the mud from his hands, rubbing them dry on his pants.
I've got to get a grip here
. He tried to ignore the buzzing in his head, to stay calm, but his irritation sizzled. Finally, he looked up at the frantic boy.

"How?” is all he managed. He was trying not to think about the wasted hours and the strange effect exhaustion was having on his senses.

"I walk cliffs many times. Never go in circle, but..."

"But what?” The violent edge in his voice made the boy flinch. Simon gritted his teeth and continued with a barely controlled calm. “What happened, Paulo?"

Hesitating, Paulo scanned the jungle around him and spoke in a hushed voice.

"Spirits here now, Mr. Simon."

Simon rolled his eyes and struggled to keep his cool. The buzzing in his head was a hiss now, causing a maddening itch deep inside his ears. “Like I told your father,” he said as he dug in his ear with a dirty finger, “they're not spirits. Those things on the beach—whatever they are—they're dead!"

"But it is legend, Mr. Simon. They sleep on beach and their dreams demand a feast in jungle on
Pouli
moon night. The elders say today is twenty years. I no believe stories before, but now..."

"What stories? I've been here for months and I've never heard any of this."

"Spirits come from mind of the white man, and only nightmares can fill spirits’ hunger. The prayers of my village provide for spirits—bring visitors, like missionaries and men from broken ships. Ancient promise—village bring sacrifice, then spirits make peace with my people and leave bounty.” Tears trickled down the boy's face. “I think you the sacrifice, Mr. Simon."

The buzzing in Simon's head suddenly escalated into electric shrieks that ripped like spinning blades through his brain. He clutched his head, falling to his knees. Paulo rushed to him as Simon collapsed unconscious on the jungle floor.

It was unclear how long he'd been unconscious, but when Simon came around he was relieved to find the excruciating pain in his head, as well as the noise, was gone. He was surprised by a sweet taste in his mouth—thick like honey. He didn't much care what it was, he was just happy the pain in his head had subsided. When he passed out, he thought for sure he was having a stroke.

Still lying on the soggy jungle floor, he blinked at the shimmery light that ringed the leaves on the trees above him. Slowly sitting up, he saw the same shimmer around everything—including Paulo, who stood wide-eyed and stone still, staring into the jungle.

"Paulo?"

The boy didn't respond. Idly noticing the absence of the normal stiffness in his joints, Simon climbed to his feet and turned to see what had gripped the boy's attention. A brilliant light shone behind the foliage ahead on the trail where the entrance to the cliffs should have been. Simon grabbed his pack and canteen and moved to Paulo's side.

"What's going on here?” he said.

Startled, the boy looked at Simon. A big smile brightened his face and he threw his arms around him. “Oh, I so glad you okay, Mr. Simon!"

"What happened?” Simon backed away from the enthusiastic embrace.

"I did not know what to do, Mr. Simon. I know I promise not to eat bark, but ... I remember stories from parents. They say with no
akaku ‘ili
on
Pouli
moon night, the spirits make men lost and mad. You look mad—I am lost, so I put bark in your mouth—and my mouth. That's when light come from path."

Simon smacked his lips at the sweet taste still lingering on his tongue, and he noticed that he felt strangely energized.

"At least the damn buzzing in my head is gone. Come on."

Paulo looked confused and more than a little reluctant, but Simon pushed him forward up the path toward the light. It wasn't long before they broke through the foliage and out onto the plateau that topped the Nightmare Cliffs. They stood motionless, mouths open and eyes squinting at the source of the brilliant glow.

A maître d’ in a black tuxedo stood at the door of an enormous glass atrium. It radiated dazzling light, and inside a thick mist swirled. The man's slicked back hair and tiny mustache sent Simon's reeling mind in search of a foothold, anything to make sense of what he was seeing. His memory flashed on the image of a French maître d’ in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Not exactly the foothold he was hoping for, but he figured in this context it was the best his mind could do.

With a sweep of his hand toward the glass doors, the Frenchman offered Simon and Paulo a silent invitation to enter the atrium.

"Paulo! What is this?” Simon whispered. He nudged the boy to get his attention.

Paulo stumbled a bit and looked at Simon, shrugging and shaking his head.

"Tsst ... tsst.” The maître d’ motioned again, a hint of impatience at the corners of his smartly pursed lips. When Simon and Paulo didn't respond, he clapped his hands twice, his manner crisp and curt. A moment later, two golden fish-scaled beauties drifted out from the edge of the jungle. Black hair floating weightless as if buoyant in the sea, the first of the Sirens glided to Simon's side, her fishtail swaying gracefully beneath her. She threaded her arm around his and, resting a hand on his bicep, offered a coy smile of approval at the muscle beneath his sleeve. Alarmed, Simon tried to pull away, but her webbed fingers with their gold-tipped talons held him like a vise.

The other dark-haired beauty moved forward to face young Paulo, her mist-kissed cleavage full and radiant in the glow of the atrium's light. Beckoning him with a wink and a webbed finger, she smiled with deep red lips. As if attached at the throat by an invisible chain, seeming to float, Paulo followed her to the wide glass doors.

"Paulo!"

Completely entranced, the boy did not, or perhaps could not, respond.

But Simon continued to resist, pulling at the steel grip of the Siren. He tried to dig his heels into the rocky surface beneath his feet, but he was floating above the ground. Like Paulo, he glided toward the glow of the atrium. His escort's face beamed up at him, like a woman eager to join the most anticipated party of the season. Alarmed at his loss of control, Simon looked around frantically for a way to stop his movement toward the glass doors.

"Hey, hey! What's happening here? What have you done with the boy?” he said, his voice tight with panic. “Lady ... lady, what are you doing to me?"

Simon struggled to wrench his body free, but unyielding, the woman wrinkled her brow in a feigned look of concern. Reaching up, she tapped his temple with the tip of a needle-sharp talon. Simon flinched and a perfect pearl of blood formed on the spot. Suddenly, all of his concerns melted away and Simon relaxed, floating on an invisible cloud toward the open doors. Bright light poured from inside. Paulo had passed through the door some time before. Now, with cool satisfaction, the maître d’ grinned as Simon floated across the threshold with his companion.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Rodan. We're delighted to have your company this evening. The guests have gathered and are awaiting your arrival."

Simon offered a contented nod. Head held high, he felt like a benevolent king entering his court, but a gnawing sensation in his gut made him feel as if he'd forgotten something urgent. He pushed the feeling away and continued to enjoy his ride. He couldn't see in the dazzle of light from the misty room, but the sound of music swirled around him, a Chopin Nocturne, one of his favorites. Ethan, his son, had played Chopin at a very young age, he mused. He missed hearing him play. The gnawing returned with a spike, and a blanket of cold sweat wrapped around him. A sudden change in the weight of his clothing caught his hazy attention—he reached up and felt a crisp collar, a bow tie, and a satin lapel. The feeling in his gut had mercifully dissipated with the discovery of his new clothing.

The mist faded, and stretching out in front of Simon was a grand piano the length of a limousine. Sitting at the keyboard was a blue-skinned woman with multiple arms and hands. Two hands moved with inhuman grace, fingers sweeping along the keyboard, while the other hands busied themselves with primping the woman's raven hair and toying with the necklace of shrunken heads hanging like fat pearls around her neck. Simon chuckled when one of the heads stuck its tongue out. His escort nodded to the piano player and dropped a plump red ruby in the tip jar. Simon felt bad he had nothing to offer, but then he remembered his fancy white tuxedo. He reached for his cuff and removed a diamond cufflink from his sleeve, adding it to the odd collection of eyeballs, jewels, and nuggets of gold in the jar. The blue woman smiled at him, and with a free hand she blew him a kiss.