Buxton School - Yearbook (Williamstown, MA)

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floor with a gurgle. I bent over to make sure it was dead, and only then did I realize who it was ff- for, in the last moments of life, the voice of my uncle hissed something into my ear which caused my flesh to crawl. I fled blindly, gropingly from the room, even from the house itself. My next step was to find lodging elsewhere. I managed to secure a room in a small house on the outskirts of a town a great distance from the hideous mansion. Several weeks have passed since I have been living here. As I sit in my room, writing this confession ofthe killing of my uncle, a strange feeling has possessed me that perhaps I will not live much longer. It may be the dark, sinister storm which is roaring outside, or it may be the weightiness of my conscience and the realization ofthe enormity of my deed. Or it may be because ofthe horror of the last words of my uncle. But I must write this document for whoever may find it. Even now, as I am finishing this, I hear mutiled sounds out- side the French doors of my room - scraping, scuftling, groaning, half-animal sounds .... -- ilffafge Jlurpfzy .- f Nl l L'7r- 1'4 ,,:I'3:I, .4 -- ' 1,93 .K- 31

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The next day, while I was wondering just how long I'd be able to continue, this boy walks into camp saying that he's heard I need a guide and that he'd be willing to show me the way, no matter where I wanted to go, as long as I'd help him get a job when we returned to civilization. He was lean, hard, and would have been exceptionally good-looking had it not been for a scar that began just below his left ear and ran across the side of his face seeming to enter the corner of his mouth: this made him look tough and mean, yet at the same time he was gentle. Well, that night I lay back against the tent pole and dozed on and off, half watching the movements of my guide. He was squatting beside the fire staring into the flames as they leaped in a victory dance. The unscarred side of his face was turned toward me. His profile was silhouetted. He was unmistakably some creature from the deep areas of the wood, clear cut, manly, and beautiful. Through half-closed eyes I watched him, not thinking of anything important. He began to croon in a soft insidious voice. When I say croon I mean just that. He didn't sing any of the songs Pete had. The loud raucous songs that drive loneliness out of a campfire and bring all sorts together. It was more a chant. When I'd been in medical school I'd heard just that sort of noise from a nurse breaking under the pressure of an operation, but then her voice had risen into hysterical weeping. The boy just sat there rocking imperceptibly back and forth moaning softly. The undulating chant rose and fell in the same manner. I was under its spell. I felt any movement to be impossible. My eyes grew heavy and I knew that sleep was coming. When I woke there was no fire and no camp. I seemed to be high in the air. I wasn't floating, walking or moving. I was just there. There was no feeling in my arms or legs. In fact the only part of me that I had any control over was my eyes. Somewhere I saw a tree fall. It too was in the void. There were no other trees around. Yet I saw a tree fall where there could be no tree. There was no place where it could grow or even stand. As the great weight hurtled down, a boy, my new guide, ran under it. A branch caught the side of his face tearing the flesh away, leaving it hanging by a mere fragment. The boy never stopped. Reaching out his hand, he grabbed some cobwebs from nowhere and jammed them into the wound. He drew near me and in his one good eye, I saw a steady, gleaming look of horror. I was appalled by the soul-tearing depths that it seemed to reach. I believe I must have cried out loud. The next minute I was back lying against the tent. Mister, do you want your supper now? was the first thing I registered on. I sat up rubbing my eyes. The tent was still there. The fire burned just as brightly as it had when I last saw it. I looked carefully at the boy's face. It was no different from any other time. The obvious answer was that I'd been dreaming. I still felt queer. Taking my plate I began to eat slowly. Where'd you get the scar? 55