The Scent of Blackberries

Water lapped at his feet in slow ebbs.  He was still sucking on his thumb, long after the thorn had punctured the soft flesh.  The scent of freshly picked blackberries betrayed his foul mood, and he stood abruptly to march away from his bucket down the shoreline, only to plop down on a moss infested rock.  The lake was a perfect mirror of the brilliant blue sky that slowly darkened with the waning hours of the evening.  Soon it would be painted with sweeping streaks of purple and gold, but he had to head back before then.  It did not bode well with anyone to linger after night fell.  
Fred sat and watched the glassy face of the lake as faint ripples riddled its surface from fish seeking to feast on tiny bugs.  After a time, he grudgingly retraced his steps back to his bucket of blackberries and hoisted it up from the rocky shore.  He'd rather leave it behind, after all the trouble they had caused him.  But considering the depths of the purple stained bucket at his side, he remembered the pleading eyes of his sister Susie, and thought better of it.  
He began the trek back to town kicking pebbles that lay in his way towards the water, some skidding across its plane a ways before disappearing into the depths.  The evening was warm and humid and the air was filled with the chirping of summer locusts.  Sweat trickled down the back of Fred's shirt as he traversed the final corner of the lake that led to the trailhead.  No one else was about this evening, of which he was grateful.  
Fred had willed the final days of school to end, and when the bell had let out its final toll he was the first out of the white double doors of the school house and into the mud.  He had learned soon enough that no one wanted to be near him when he was brown from head to toe, and that was just fine with him.  He made it a habit to plaster himself with the cool mud by the brook near his house once out of his mother's sight.  Most children annoyed him with their games of hide and seek or when they dared each other to do near impossible feats.  No, he rather enjoyed sticking to his younger sister, in whom he found a much more mature individual than the other children, and a great companion.  It was for her that he had traveled so far to pick these blackberries, and he soon left the memory of their disagreeable nature far behind him.  
Upon entering the shadow of the woods, Fred set to swinging his bucket to and fro, whistling a merry tune he had heard once about a cat chasing a mouse.  A merciful breeze swept through the trees and tugged at his shaggy brown hair in passing.  The leaves chattered as limbs swept side to side, and Fred fancied that he saw ladies attended by gentlemen sitting among the foliage, speaking nonsense as adults often to do.  This thought brought a smile to his lips and he stuck out his tongue at a rather sad looking aspen that must have been nearly ripped from the earth during a storm.  Its lean-to frame was shaken as another gust of wind swept through its leaves, sending an almost frenzied retort at his behavior down to him.  This sent laughter building in his throat, and as he imagined the adults glowering down at him in disapproval he could not hold it back.  
He was deep in the woods by this time, and the shadows only thickened as he made his way down the thin dirt trail.  Town was still off a ways; perhaps another thirty minutes or so.  His laughter had died down only after tears had filled his eyes, and now the woods stood quiet.  He peered curiously through the trees on either side, always secretly wishing for something to happen.  He did not know what exactly it was that he wished for, yet in his boyish dreams he could see majestic horses, brave knights of the under-kingdoms and fair ladies in need of rescue.  
As he fell into one such fantasy, a flicker of light caught his eye deep in the woods to his right.  Turning expectantly, he felt that surely his dreaming had somehow summoned something to him.  Yet he could decipher nothing in the woods, and he lingered for but a moment before lowering his head and starting back down the path.  The bucket seemed to droop in his grasp, no longer swinging gaily at his side.  Nothing fantastic ever happened to him, and in his moment of despair he knew his life would never reach those things often found only on the edges of sleep.
After minutes of silence, Fred caught the same flicker of light off to his right.  He turned in wonderment at the reoccurrence, having dismissed the earlier circumstance as merely a figment of his imagination.  Distracted as he was, he did not see the root protruding from the ground before him and tripped with a yelp.  Blackberries went flying as the bucket clattered to the ground with resounding bangs.  Sickly sweet juice covered the hand that had been holding the bucket, as his other felt a cold sting.  He propped himself on his elbows to examine his left hand where he could discern a small scrape on the palm. Blood oozed through the cracks of his skin, mixing a metallic tang with the scent of blackberries.  
His eyes began to water, but he refused to let tears fall down his face.  He could almost see the disappointment in his sister's eyes when he returned home with the empty bucket.  Kneeling on the ground, Fred considered going back for more.
Faint laughter came to him then as he sat considering on the ground strewn with wild blackberries.  He sat back on the heels of his feet, heart racing from the sudden disruption of silence.  There had been something vaguely familiar in that laugh, as if he had heard it before.  Maybe it was a group of the school children he despised so much.  Were they playing a joke on him?
It came to him again, louder this time as if whoever was out there had traveled a great distance in mere seconds.  His eyes grew wide as he felt the laughter dying away, for he knew where he had heard it before.  It was his own laugh that he had sent into the forest not ten minutes ago.  
Fear gripped him, tethering him to the ground as if invisible ropes kept him there.  His laugh came again immediately to his right, as if to mock him in his fear.  All at once he stood quickly, anger flooding his pale blue eyes, causing his brow to wrinkle and dip downward.  He searched the woods to his right with a piercing gaze, trying to show whoever was out there that he wasn't afraid.  
"Who's there?" he shouted into the darkness.
No answer came.  Yet as he stood there the shadows seemed to shift and he could see a tall figure several yards into the trees.  He could sense eyes on him, cold and penetrating.  But he suppressed his fear, telling himself it was only his imagination getting the best of him.  Fred roughly picked up his bucket, still dripping with blackberry juice and stepped off the path.  He felt as though the woods consumed him as he stepped further away from the little dirt trail.  If he turned around though, whoever was out there would only try to scare him again.  It was best to confront them now.  
The dark figure grew taller as he made his way, picking expertly through the bushes and ferns that littered the forest floor.  When he came within ten feet he stopped to peer up into a masked face.  Involuntarily he took a step back, yet the figure didn't move.  A memory came unbidden of people throwing fire, laughter and smoke through which faces masked in white drifted by.  A harlequin.  He remembered the name from a time when traveling gypsies camped near their town, attracting a much welcomed crowd.  The figure before him was entirely cloaked in black, complete with a black hood in which the white mask sat.  Hollow eyes sat above a long hooked nose.  A beak, he corrected himself.  It was a bird mask, and although some of the harlequins had worn similar ones, none were as eerie as this.  
Fred was unwilling to leave without knowing for sure that it was not someone in his class only playing a trick on him.  Yet the figure hovered over him and he was too scared to approach.  They stood in silence for a time staring at each other, hollow eyes peering down into pale blue eyes.  Impatient as ever, Fred knew he could not simply wait for it to move, and so hurled his bucket at the figure.  It bounced harmlessly off with a clank and skittered to the ground.  
Up until this point, Fred had failed to notice a small figure standing at the base of the scarecrow.  As the figure had not moved with his assault, he ventured a little closer to examine the smaller figure.  It was human-like in stature, small, and yet cloth covered the entirety of its body so that no features were visible.  He could discern a tilt of the head, which hung forward as though in defeat.  If he could pull some of the cloth off though, maybe it would reveal whoever was behind this.  
He stepped even nearer and stretched out his hand to remove some of the wrappings when he noticed that thin strings had been tied around the limbs of the figure and disappeared upwards into the folds of the cloak which adorned the harlequin's form.
All at once his own laughter erupted from the childlike form that stood before him, and the head was pulled upwards by one of the thin strings as though to look at him.  He could see depressions in the brown woven cloth where eyes should be, and a hollow hole where the mouth yawned widely open releasing the sound.  
Taking furtive steps backwards, his eyes traveled up the form of the figure to where the mask was pointedly staring down at him.  A faint light sparked in the hollows where the eyes of the bird should be, and all at once his back was to the creature and he raced to leave it far behind.  
Trees whipped past him, branches snagged at his clothes as he raced toward where he hoped the pathway was.  He could sense the creature close behind him, long black cloak shuffling loudly in the chase.  There was no other sound save for the rasping of his breath as it flushed in and out of his lungs.  Fred felt as one thrown into a nightmare, driven by nothing but the instinctual drive to survive.  
Within moments he spilled out onto the path, kicking dirt up in angry swirls that filled his nose with its earthy scent.  Noise suddenly erupted from every direction, disorienting him until he covered his ears.  He began to run again as the mask appeared from the shadows behind him in the woods.  He had to release his ears so as not to hinder his flight, and as he adjusted to the sounds he realized it was his laughter again, yet no longer coming from just one source.  
As the shuffling of the cloak seemed to fall behind, Fred allowed a quick peak over his shoulder.  It was no longer on the path behind him.  Something told him that it would not leave its quarry so easily, and so he pushed himself onward.  His laughter rose and fell about him, some sounding more crazed than others.  Memories of the masked figures in the gypsy camp came to him again, yet they twisted and warped in his mind painfully with the rise and fall of his own crazed laughter.  
His breath grew into a wheeze as he struggled to keep up his momentum, yet he knew he was slowing quickly.  The pathway was growing indiscernible in the darkening wood, and he knew that the sky had probably already faded from red to grey.  Lights flickered into life, scattered throughout the woods about him.  He could not help but look into the forest after them and realized that many masks were now appearing from the haze, as though conjured from his mind.  Various faces of different creatures stared at him, laughing at him, mocking him; wild creatures that roamed the land and others that were only conjured in the night next to a warm hearth.
The breath sputtered in his throat as fear constricted his lungs, leaving him stumbling along blindly and gasping for air.  Rocks and roots seemed to grow out of the ground to hamper his escape, and the darkness made him feel that the very cloak of the creature was suspended above him, waiting to ensnare him.  
He wiped sweat from his brow as it fell into his eyes, and at once he could no longer hold back the flood of tears.  They spilled as water from a burst dam, cascading down his cheeks to mingle with his sweat.  He longed for home as he never had before.  The cramped one room cabin now seemed a castle furnished with vibrant tapestries in his mind, and he wished only to reach their walls and remain safely hidden behind them with his sister.  
The hairs on his neck suddenly stood on end, and he could feel eyes on him from behind.  He trembled to think of what he would find, yet could not constrain himself from peering over his shoulder.  His fears were confirmed as the bird mask loomed up behind him riding on a sea of black.  The figure on strings was closer still held forward by the strings, wide mouth gaping open as it released its screeching laughter.  
In that moment his mind almost broke from the fear, almost gave into the darkness.  No.  He would not let it take him, nor would he let his mind even think of what would happen if he disappeared.  What would become of his sister?  Would she come searching for him?
The laughter ceased without warning.  Not even a wisp of an echo was carried to Fred on the breeze that cooled the sweat on his tear-stained face.  He turned to find that he had broken through the woods.  His relief was short-lived as he saw masks appearing on the fringes of the wood, grotesque smiles leering at him from the darkness.  A sea of faces it was, disembodied in the darkness of the fading light.  Peering behind him he could see that only the faintest line of blue-grey clung to the horizon, and in no time even that would be gone.  
Fred returned his attention to the masked creatures, wondering what they waited for.  Why did they not come for him?  The group suddenly split before him and the harlequin that had so closely pursued him stepped forward.  The fire in its eyes grew more intense, even as the masks around it seemed to darken.  Fred began to shake where he stood, breath coming in quick gasps once again.  
As if some silent cue was given, other forms like that of the one held by the first creature rose in unison from the trees.  Some were boys and others girls, held aloft by strings coming from within the cloaks of the creatures.  They formed a sinister sight; marionettes with gaping holes in heads that rolled from side to side.  With sudden realization Fred discerned that some of the creatures bore no fire in their eyes at all.  There were faint glimmers within some, yet none shone as brightly as the one that had followed him.
It took another halting step forward, coming almost out of the woods, leering on the very edge.  Fred stumbled backwards, wobbly knees giving way beneath him.  He could do nothing more than stare at the creature that had begun this nightmare.  It lifted its child-like puppet before him, and into its mouth Fred could see black vapors pouring.  It was as though the puppet fed off of a steady stream of blackness that seemed to appear out of nowhere.  Fred knelt as one entranced, watching as the little form began to grow and warp, becoming darker as the blackness filled its form.  The harlequin shuddered behind it, and at once Fred could see that the blackness going into the puppet came from it.  It fed off of the creature that had carried it, growing darker and darker as the cloak the creature wore began to fade.  
Within moments the cloak fell away, revealing stark white bones beneath.  They formed no shape of any creature he had ever seen, standing tall and angled forward as an animal stands on its haunches.  They quaked and trembled as the fire in the creatures eyes burst anew, but just as quickly it faded into nothingness.  The bones fell in a heap among the folds of the grey cloak, creaking as they hit one another.  Once they stilled, the puppet creature drew itself up to its full height, matching that of the creature that had borne it.  Fred dropped his mouth in astonishment as the black creature bent to retrieve the mask from the pile of bones.  The gaping mouth and hollow eyes disappeared as it donned the mask, becoming the harlequin.  
Fred sat in stunned silence as the rest of the creatures looked on.  Other puppets rose and fell as if in silent approval.  One by one the masks turned away to their wood, leaving nothing but blackness behind.  Soon it was just the one standing alone on the edge of the woods.  
The birdlike mask considered Fred as he sat in the dirt beneath the sky now set with stars.  It was only then that Fred brought his attention back to himself; so consumed by the creatures' proceedings he had forgotten everything else.  Yet as the moments passed, the creature did not move or turn away from its place.  
Warmth blossomed in his chest as he came to a realization: they couldn't leave the woods!  He almost laughed at this sudden twist of fate.  Fred rose triumphantly from the ground wiping the dirt from his hands onto his trousers.  
"Ow!" he bit back a curse as he realized that the cut on his hand had torn open from the friction.  Laughter swept across the space from the harlequin towards him, making him jump back.  The creatures head sat at an angle now, as if to smirk at Fred's folly.  The mask stared blankly at him, unsettling him even further.  
He turned quickly on his heel, no longer feeling the thrill of victory he had just moments before.  But even as he took a few steps towards home, a clanking resounded from behind him.  He turned quickly to see that his bucket was only a few feet from where he stood, battered and stinking of blackberries.  
As his brow turned down in confusion, strings shot out from beneath the robes of the creature and clasped Fred in a death grip.  He winced in pain as the strings cut into his wrists and ankles, twining around him in snake-like movements.  His eyes widened in horror as they didn't stop tightening, but continued to twist and pull until the skin around them ripped and bled.  He cried out as his feet were pulled from beneath him, and he could not bring his hands in front of him to soften his fall.  
Stars blinked and faded before his eyes.  A moan escaped his mouth as his head pounded incessantly.  Warmth came from his temple yet as he ventured to see what had happened, he remembered his arms were restrained.  The chase in the woods, the death and birth of the creature all came back to him in a flood of memories.  As his bearings came back to him he realized he was being dragged, slowly but surely by the strings in his wrists and ankles.  His chin trembled as he restrained a cry.
The ground bumped and rolled beneath him, and he felt as one lost at sea.  The stars were so beautiful lying across the heavens, and he was determined never to forget their beauty.  All at once darkness blotted out the stars overhead, and the bird mask came into view peering down at him.  He blinked away tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as he grimaced up at the harlequin.
As he began to slip away he chastised himself for ever wanting something extraordinary to happen.  Yet even on the edges of consciousness, as his body rose softly from the ground by the strings, his mind wandered to those things he had often dreamt of for comfort.  He could almost hear the pounding of horses as they ran, or the clash of metal as swords danced in the hands of knights.  But his last thoughts belonged to none but his sister.  The brilliant smile she always wore for him, and the deep penetrating blue of her eyes.  
"Susie" he whispered, and then the night consumed him.

~*~
Susie opened the door tentatively and peered out into the night.  She had kept this up every night since her brother's disappearance almost a year ago.  Ever since then, pale white faces hidden in a dark wood often lingered in her dreams.  She felt that Fred could be out there, yet her mother forbade her from entering the woods.  So she contented herself to wait for him every night, not willing to accept him as gone forever.  
Tonight the wind was livelier than usual, pulling at her long brown locks as though to invite her into the night.  She unwillingly took a step from the doorway into the tall green grass that felt cool beneath her toes.  Something glimmered at the very edge of the light that fell from the door, and abandoning caution she rushed forward.  
A bucket overflowing with blackberries sat in the grass, filling the air with its sweet aroma.  A light shone off of what appeared to be a string tied to the handle, yet before she could wonder at it her mouth dropped in surprise.  It was Fred's bucket!  
Susie raced back into the house calling for her mother in a soft lilting voice.  Yet upon reaching her room she found her sound asleep in her rocking chair; a habit she had formed after her son's disappearance.  Susie looked on her with quiet understanding, sadness glinting in her blue eyes.  She stepped away from the room and retraced her steps back into the night.  Her eyes searched for the glint of the bucket, yet it was no longer there.
The blackberries rested in a neat pile where the bucket had sat, and Susie knelt solemnly by them in the grass.  She plucked a rather large blackberry from the top of the stack and popped it into her mouth.  Its rich sweet flavor rolled over her tongue and she licked her lips in satisfaction.  
She stood in her excitement and stared into the darkness, her heart pounding.  Was Fred returned to them?  Had he found his way back?
"Fred!" she called, but could only hear a distant echo as it faded into the night.  
There were none to hear her plea but for the figure of a puppet obscured by shadows near the edge of the woods.  It peered on her with silent contemplation, wondering at her call and its own attraction towards her.  
Laughter gurgled in its throat, and it escaped the black hole that served as its mouth and out into the night.  The girl paused in her search and turned towards it, yet no light would reveal it to her.  
It watched on in satisfaction as the girl gathered the berries into her own bucket and retreated back into the cabin.  It could sense its master behind, and its head drooped forward in submission as the strings pulled it back to be embraced by the darkness of the harlequin's cloak.