Wailing Under the Willow

The year was 1945, and wildlife sprung from every facet of the soil, coating the Virginian landscape in a verdant riot. Jacob Eben had just purchased a new powder blue ford to go along with his baker of a wife, and picket fence home. Though his most precious possession was his son.

Every day, along about evening
when the sunlight is beginning to fail
I ride through the slumbering shadow
along the Navajo Trail. - Dinah Shore

The radio blared the song of the generation, echoing out the rolled down window, and down the winding mountainside. Life couldn't get better, he thought. His fingers lightly tapped on the steering wheel as the pickup rode smoothly down the open road, leaving him in his own little world.

The sun glistened against the solid steel frame of his vehicle, blanketing life with its nurturing warmth. Around him, the forest breathed and the branches swayed as the winds hand outstretched, and beckoned its movement. Jacob loved nature. He thought about last deer season with his son, Adam.

"No-no, hold your rifle like this," explained Jacob. He shouldered the gun, pressing it firmly against his shoulder pocket, elbows tucked and arms firm. "Now you try."

The boy tried his best to imitate his father. He held up the rifle, which was almost as tall as him if sat vertical, and attempted to steady.

"Am I doing it right dad; am I just like you?" He turned to his dad, smiling a big toothy grin.

"You are doing just fine," said Jacob. He rubbed his son's shoulder. His mustache wrinkled and upturned to reveal a smile. "Oh!" In the distance, beyond a pair of laced trees in an open meadow, grazed a massive elk, the biggest he ever laid eyes on. "Okay, do what I taught you Adam." He leaned down to get eye level and said soft words of encouragement. "You can do it." Instead of eagerness and excitement, Adam sat down the gun. His eyebrows were lifted, eyes watering, and legs shaking.

"I can't do it," whimpered Adam.

"That's okay son." Jacob patted his back. "I will get him," he said, hurrying to lift up his gun in firing position.

Jacob aimed through his scope. The elks golden fur heaved up and down, up and down, oblivious to the cross marking its ribs. Boom! Small threads floated from the barrel. The elk straightened up, stiffening as the bullet bit it's chest. In a moment, it fell to its death.

He still remembered the words Adam told him that day.

"Why did you shoot him daddy? Was he hurting anything?" Tears ran down his small reddening cheeks.

"No, he is only an animal, and it's what we hunters do," said Jacob struggling to find a good reason. They walked to where the deer lay.

He had never considered this animal as one to suffer, but now it lay still, grimly in its demise. Jacob reached back, shielding his son's eyes from the ugly beauty held in its brown coat and icy eyes.

"I don't want anyone to hurt," interrupted Adam, sweeping Jacobs hand away and burying his head into his dad's chest, weeping.

The thought seized as he pulled into the driveway. He stopped and stared at what had become a life-long dream. He had achieved all that he dreamed of.

Lines of red hued brick banded around the foundation of the home, blending with the creamy shade of yellow that sprouted upward to the reddish brown roof. The windows were lined with the brightest shade of white on opposite sides of the same shade of door.

He stepped out of his truck, shutting the door loud enough for his family to hear, and leaned on the hood, waiting for his son to come running out. Adam was especially excited about the new vehicle. Ever since that morning when he left for the lot, Adam kept asking the same question.

"Can we go for a drive now daddy, just like you promised!?" yelled Adam running towards him, his orange cap nearly falling from his head.

"Alright bud, I just need to give mommy a kiss goodbye." He leaned over his son and gave Lynn, his wife, a quick peck.

"Eww, let's go now!," complained Adam, pushing to no prevail on his fathers hip.

"Haha! alright, alright." Jacob and Adam loaded up into the truck. It came alive with a healthy sputter, and he blew a kiss to Lynn. "We will be back soon, hun, no need to worry." He smiled and pulled out of the driveway.

Adam bounced in his seat, pointing to various objects in the sky, or whatever intriguing came from the forest.

"What does that cloud look like," he said, pointing to an especially rounded cotton cloud. "I think it looks like your mustache!" He burst out laughing, holding his hand over his mouth, trying to push his cheeks together through his wide grin.

"Oh yeah?" He looked up to the cloud, wiggling his nose, causing his upper lip to move. They were having a great time.

However, after hours and hours of cruising the back roads, he noticed Adams demeanor began to change. Adam was no longer talking and his blonde hair nestled against the door. It was getting late anyways.

"Okay, one more stop bud, and we will go straight home," Jacob spoke lightly, gingerly placing his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Where?" His son spoke groggily, less enthused than he realized.

"Remember where grandpa used to take you? We are going to pick a few peaches at his favorite tree, and if we are lucky enough, mom will make us some peach cobbler," said Jacob cheerfully, trying to bring his spirits up.

"Really?" Adams voice became richer and he bolted up.

"Mhmm, and it looks like we are already here." Jacob smiled and pulled into a patch of grass that lay in front of a fence marked "O'Rourke orchard"

The place had long been abandoned. There was not a vast plantation of fruit bearing plants that used to be the custom here, instead the land was cryptic and naked. Only one shred of evidence lies in which proves its historical achievements. Behind walls of hanging willows, lies a peach tree as ripe and as full of life as spring itself.

Although, not so welcoming, was the legend behind the tree's existence. It was said that when Miss O'Rourke died, she took all the sweetness of the land and embedded herself into the tree forever to guard and protect her life's work.

"Maybe we should wait until tomorrow when it's lighter outside," said Jacob nervously wiping his palms on his pants, then firmly taking hold of the steering wheel. The car lurched backward, halting as if something solid lay behind them. Suddenly, the headlights dimmed, flickering light against tall grass and without reason, shut off. Panic opened the door to his fears, forcing adrenaline to shoot and expand throughout his body.

"Okay-okay-okay..." His voice veered off. "You stay here and I will check what's wrong," he said finding firm control over his voice again. The door swiftly swung open, knocking on its hinges as he made his way to the front of the truck. Hsss, the sound of pressurized steam rushed to his ears. "Damn! This truck is brand new!" He threw his arms in the air and slammed them on the hood. Though his anger didn't last long, subsiding when he was met with a pair of worried eyes.

Those eyes dreamed of happy days; those eyes looked up to him, and through them shown the innocence of a caring heart. All discomfort he was facing no longer mattered. His son was first priority over all, and nothing would ever change that.

"Don't be scared buddy, I will protect you." He popped open the hood and went to work. His hands fumbled in the dark, looking for a valve to release the tension a bit more. "Ah, got it," he whispered to himself. Just as he twisted the top, a sorrowful cry pierced the midnight air.

It didn't sound like a cry for help, moreover, a dreary wail of one weeping a loss. It was terrible, horrid, a painful dispute between a victim and the victims will to live. It's dreary wallow built up like steam building and building until it bursts, crashing, confessing it's terrible emotions to the moon. It saddened him deeply, sinking into him with all the heartache of loss.

"Come," joyfully elated Adam, appearing suddenly and taking hold of his hand. "It will be okay." Adam gave him a big cheeky grin that caused his eyes to squint. They walked towards the forest.

Jacob could not speak, though he felt a yearning that it must be, the battered soul of 0' Rourke and the wary screams. Then, silence enveloped them as they broke the tree line, under where the willows droop. Sitting in the middle of the shrouding shades, sat a peach tree with the greenest of greens, illuminated by the ghostly remains wearing white.

The banshee hushed, her screams replaced by deafening flashes and a distorted face, encrypting a crooked neck and slender limbs. It circled the peach tree, taunting all to come pick it's sweet fruit tinged with pink. Adam showed no fear, dragging his father along like a child crossing the road with his mother.

His grip loosened, leaving a droll zombie of a man to watch his son walk to a woman of pure white. Her face shifted from the crooked creature of forgotten lore and instead, transformed into a woman of unspeakable beauty. She dropped to her knees, arms spread, welcoming Adam. She took hold him, his chest embracing her head, and she wept. She wept not that of a banshee, but as a woman who would suffer no longer.

There, under the willow where his son lay, her frosted tips hushed his lips to bed. No tears did he cry as her face turned from dread. There, under the tree so divine, his last words were said.

"I don't want anyone to hurt daddy."