Bells In the Woods
Richard
Brown
The tub sat in a clearing,
off to the left of the trail as you hiked toward Crystal Falls. Jan saw it clearly,
about seventy feet from the tub. It crouched alone, surrounded by nothing but
dirt and small rocks. No vegetation grew in the clearing, even though the
entirety of the forest was famous for its lush ground cover. The tub was an
old-fashioned claw-footed design, made of pristine porcelain. Jan could only
just make out the long, thin, metal pipe jutting up from the foot of the tub.
It looked to be six and a half feet tall, with a gooseneck at the top, curving
down to end in a showerhead the size and shape of a giant Hershey’s Kiss – the
kind Jan often saw at Christmastime.
Jan couldn’t figure out how
it had ended up here. There were no roads nearby, not even access roads used by
rangers and firefighters. There was no way for anyone to haul this tub out
here… and for what reason? It looked new, if quaint, and in good working order,
but there was no water supply to it, and no one to use it if there was! This
part of the trail…of the forest… was deserted, and had been for ten months, at
least, since the new road was laid.
The mystery of the tub
pulled at Jan’s natural curiosity, and she found herself crossing the gravelly
landscape toward the tub to investigate. The faint aroma of strawberries caught
her nose as soon as she stepped off the trail, and as she neared, lavender
intertwined its soothing fragrance, relaxing Jan.
She stood by the tub and
looked in. She could see naught but polished porcelain, but she stared for
several long minutes. Then she knelt.
She caressed the low-slung
belly of the tub and, with her other hand, reached for the spigot to run the
water. Nothing happened.
Jan stood, and removed her
down vest, followed by her fleece jacket. She lovingly untangled her ponytail
from the hair-tie through which it was knotted. She unbuttoned her flannel
shirt, pulled off her thin tank-top, and unclasped her bra. She continued
shedding her clothes until she was fully nude, and then she stepped into the
tub, and slowly sat, as though settling into a hot bath.
The instant Jan’s naked
bottom touched the cold, dry porcelain, the faint tinkling of bells filled the
air in the small clearing. Bells like you find on cat toys.
While the old man paused to
sip his iced tea, the young men who were his audience gaped at each other, then
at him. They were a cute couple, the old man thought. Familiar and comfortable
with each other, but still freshly in love. He estimated their relationship at
about a year old.
The dark-haired one finally
spoke. “She stripped and took a dry bath in a tub in the middle of the woods?”
he asked. “Is she here? Can we ask her about this?”
“Jan’s dead, sonny.”
They both looked sad and
sympathetic. Nice boys, the old man thought.
“She died in that tub,” he
continued. “I was hiking with her that day. Jan was my wife.”
“What happened?” they both
asked in unison.
“The bells grew louder,
and…fiercer. Like the cat that was playing with the toy was a bobcat, and it
blamed the toy for taking its tail. Then Jan started screaming. I couldn’t do anything.
I had taken that first step off the trail with her, but had been unable to move
after that. I just stood there, frozen in place.
The screaming finally died
away after about half an eternity, and I began to feel the pull toward the tub.
It surprised me, though, and I took a step back, which put me back on the
trail, and the spell broke. I hurried back down the trail and told my story to
the ranger. I could tell he didn’t believe any of it, but he went up there to
check it out. He said he didn’t see any tub, or any sign of Jan.”
“So what do you think
happened?” came the whispered question from the blond-haired young man.
“I think it only appears,
and calls, to couples. I think that whatever jingles those bells wants one of
the partners to see what happens to their loved one. It’s happened before. I
know that because the tub did fill after my Jan started screaming. I saw some
of the bigger cuts, the slashes, even from that far away.”
“That’s enough! Let’s go,
Jason. This old man just wants to scare us. Just having some fun with the gay
boys, aren’t you, you phobic old-timer?” the dark-haired lad said.
“Yup. I know that it sounds
like that. You two enjoy your walk. I urge you to run if you start smellin’
strawberries, though. It ain’t the season for ‘em.”
Jason hesitated, and asked
in a low tone, “How do you know it happened before? Just because the tub
started to fill—"
“It’s a deep tub, sonny. My
Jan was a petite gal. Ain’t no way she had enough in her to overflow that tub.”
“Enough…?” they asked in
unison again.
“That tub filled with
blood. You enjoy your walk, now. And you fight like hell for each other, okay?
Don’t you just stand there.”
The old man slouched on the
bench, dropped his chin to his chest, lowered his straw fedora over his eyes,
and said no more.
#
Four miles up the trail,
the argument raged on between the lovers. “Have you looked around? There are trees
and bushes everywhere! There’s no barren clearing like what he described!” said
the brunette.
“All I’m saying is—"
The sweet, relaxing aroma
flooded their nostrils at the same moment that they each saw the ivory gleam
through the undergrowth.
Jason thought about his
feet, then, and how they wouldn’t move.
Richard Brown is a multi-genre author who has contributed to
Black Petals twice before (issues #91 and 96), and is currently working on two
novels – a dark psychological thriller, and a young adult fantasy/adventure. He
and his Guide Dog haunt the Pacific Northwest, rain or…well, rain.