Growing Grounds

Chapter 13: Foliage Urges

The coffee pot beeped, coffee’s ready! Matt looked toward the kitchen and then listened for movement upstairs. Tammy was apparently still in bed. The upstairs was still silent. The coffee could wait another minute or two.

Matt bent at the waist to inspect the front legs. The legs disappeared up behind the seat skirt—the piece of wood that hid the underneath side of the seat and made the piece look prettier—and where the each leg met the skirt, bits of moss stuck down, barely visible when Matt squatted. Confused, he tugged at a scraggly strand of the moss, knowing there was no way he missed that too when he cleaned the chair.

The moss pulled free and Matt held it up in the light. It didn’t look as if it had been there for years. No. It looked quite fresh, actually. Matt stood, hefted the front of the chair up until the back lay on the floor. The underneath side of the seat was fully visible now. There was more moss than he could have guessed. He tugged and pulled until it was all gone and he had a handful.

Walking quietly out the front door, Matt gave the moss a final look, and tossed it over the banister. Closing the door as he entered the house, Matt heard a squeak followed by a thud. Surely Tammy was up and about. Throwing the lock, he rushed to right the chair and place it back in its corner.

Matt’s bowels turned to hot, thick liquid when he stopped in the living room. The chair was sitting properly in its corner again. The fine hairs on his body stood erect and an icy finger traced his spine.

He searched the room for Tammy. She had moved it, surely. That was the only logical explanation. Chairs don’t move themselves. That kind of thing does not happen in real life.

Matt searched the entire downstairs as he went from the living room and made his way to the kitchen and its adjoining rooms. Ascending the stairs two at a time, Matt wondered about the chair and the claims Tammy had made about it. No. That was impossible. He refused to believe any of that could really happen.

Tammy lay in bed, curled under the fat, rumpled comforter so far that only her face was visible.

* * * *

Pouring a cup of coffee, Matt considered the slight, very slight, possibility that the chair had moved of its own accord. He didn’t want to believe that, but there it was, staring him in the face. That chair moved and he hadn’t touched it.

Fear crept into his brain and he could feel it nibbling away at his beliefs like a rat gnawing on a piece of meat. The world shifted under him. That was the foundation of all his beliefs cracking, crumbling, getting ready to self-destruct.

Drinking coffee, looking at a chair that had just moved on its own, Matt Milner decided that he was going to pay young Mr. Todd another visit and ask him about the chair and Mrs. Todd. The stories that floated around about Mrs. Todd and the chair were numerous from what Matt had heard. Now he needed to ask Son Todd just why he was so eager to be rid of his mother’s favorite chair.

Not waiting for Tammy to get out of bed, and not waking her, Matt left a note for her. He had gone to the library and would be home in a few hours. If she needed anything, text. Then he poured another cup of coffee, found a lid for the mug, and hurried out the door before Tammy woke and kept him at home long enough for his sanity to return and he delayed, or even canceled, the Todd house visit.

* * * *

The chair called to Tammy in her dream. It beckoned for her to come sit, bring the babies, and let them connect to the gods through the chair.

Tammy awoke, warm and comfortable under the comforter, and from the slant and brightness of the sunlight, knew it was far later than normal for her to be in bed. Pushing hair out of her eyes, Tammy threw back the cover, cursed the blast of air that felt frigid against her sleep-warm skin, and looked at the small digital clock on her nightstand. It was after ten in the morning.

Had she ever slept that long on a Saturday, or any day? If she had, she could not recall it. In the bathroom, she listened for the telltale sounds that meant Matt was downstairs fixing breakfast, or watching television. Nothing but silence.

Dressed in fuzzy night pants and a baggy sweatshirt, Tammy plodded downstairs barefoot, calling for Matt.

Peeking out the front door, Tammy saw that Matt’s truck was gone. That explained the silence, and maybe her ability to sleep so late. She smelled coffee. He hadn’t been gone that long, if she could still smell coffee.

A crow cawed loudly from the front porch. Tammy turned, looked at the window, then turned back toward the kitchen. She was going to ignore the damn bird today. She didn’t feel like ruining her whole day as soon as she woke up because of some stupid bird.

Two steps down the hall and Tammy stopped. The crow was pecking at the front door again. Loudly and frantically.

Glued in place with indecision and fear, Tammy chewed at her bottom lip as she listened to the knocking.

“Tam-me! Tam-me!” Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

Over and over, the crow repeated this until finally, curiosity and fascination won over Tammy’s fear and indecision. She went to the window by the door and pecked on the glass with her fingernail.

The crow stopped beating at the door and hopped backward four steps. He was still looking at the door.

Tammy pecked at the glass again, and when he looked up at her, she said, “Hey! Stop that. Go away. Fly home; I don’t have any food for you. Shoo!” She made a shooing gesture with her hands.

The crow c****d his head first to one side, then the other, blinked several times, and squawked, “Tam-me!”

“No! Go away! You can’t talk. Go away, I said!” This time she slapped both palms against the glass and the bird fluttered its wings, hopped backward again, then stopped.

This time, it sounded as if the bird said, “Let me!” He hopped to the door and began knocking again.

Tammy stood there, assessed the size of the bird and the logical amount of danger she would be in if she stepped out with a broom and ran him away.

Tammy decided that one single, annoying bird was not going to cause her significant harm. What’s the worst a lone crow can do to an adult? She surmised it wouldn’t be worse than the possible scratch from its claws, if it fought back.

Broom in hand, she returned to the front door and pounded on it with her hand to stop the bird’s incessant knocking for a moment. In the interim between knocks, she yanked open the door and pushed the broom out in front of her, wielding it as if she were Lancelot wielding the mighty sword.

“Shoo! Go away!” Tammy pounded the porch boards in front of the bird, causing it to flutter its wings and hop backwards.

Cawing and hopping backwards each time the broom landed near it, the bird hopped right off the porch, landed awkwardly on the top step, squawked, and bounced off the next riser. Tammy waved the broom at the bird as it turned and took flight, cawing wildly as it went.

Laughing, Tammy watched it fly out over the field toward the forest. Looking in that direction reminded her that she should go fill her gallon jug at the stream before it got much later. Matt would return soon from wherever he’d gone and he would have a lecture for her about the stream’s water being unclean, possibly unhealthy for the babies, blah, blah, blah.

It was easier and there was less tension if she filled the water jug when he was away. What she would do about that over the Thanksgiving holiday when he would be home from school, she was unsure. There might be arguments then, because she could not and would not drink the bottled water and certainly not the foul tap water.

Leaving the broom just inside the doorway for future use, Tammy hummed and rubbed her tummy as she walked into the kitchen. The jug of water had only a bit left in it and she turned it up, drank the water, and smacked her lips. That water was delicious. She couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t drink it from the stream.

She poured a cup of coffee and sipped. Matt’s note caught her eye. Reading over it, she wondered why he’d gone to the library. He hadn’t mentioned any books he wanted to read lately. Shrugging to herself, she took the jug and grabbed a light jacket on her way out the door.

Halfway across the field, the babies began moving. Tammy stopped and put her hands on her tummy, pressed lightly, and smiled at the movements under her palms. It was amazing and she was still in awe of the whole process. Her babies were special. She knew that now. They would be here sooner than the nine months promised by the doctors, and all the texts she’d ever read in school.

The movements settled a bit under her hands and she continued toward the forest. A sense of deep relaxed calmness enveloped her as she passed the tree line and entered the dense, old, dim forest. The place seemed magical; as if at any moment, sprites, elves, or fairies would pop out from behind a tree or rock, unafraid, and frolic right by her.

Tammy didn’t really believe in those things. At least she didn’t think she believed in them, but if magic was real, and magical creatures existed, she truly believed they would exist in a forest such as the one in which she now stood.

The air was thicker somehow, and cleaner. It smelled sweeter as she inhaled deeply. The urge to touch trees as she walked was satisfied. Slowing her pace, Tammy walked with her left hand outstretched, running her fingers lightly over the rough bark of some trees, and the smooth, spotted bark of others. Sometimes she would stop, close her eyes, and listen to the forest sounds all around her. They were safe sounds. Comforting sounds.

The familiar gurgle of the stream signaled that she was close to her intended destination. Shaking off the trance-like state, Tammy moved over a small knoll and walked down a slight incline to the flat, grassy area of the stream bank. She walked to the edge, knelt down, and submerged the jug into the crystalline water.

The icy water stung her skin after a few seconds, but she held her hand under the water until the jug filled completely. Replacing the lid on the jug, Tammy sat it on the grass. She inhaled deeply again, pulling the green, fresh aroma into her stomach and lungs. Her mouth watered hard enough to hurt her saliva glands. Grunting at the pain, she gritted her teeth together, scrunched her eyes shut, and leaned on a large moss covered rock.

The pain passed slowly and Tammy opened her eyes. The moss was soft under her hand. She pulled a piece away from the rock and sniffed at it, testing to see if that was what caused her mouth to water. It was not. Looking around at the different greens, fading as autumn claimed the land, the urge to taste the foliage overwhelmed her.