Salamander

A late autumn sun burned over Franklin Hill.

Phoebe and Sarge had been moving through the forest for about half an hour and had already crossed the first creek. As they continued deeper through the birches, the echo of running water behind them softened to a trickle, then vanished.

Phoebe was eleven years old, raven black hair, pale skin. She was adopted and raised only by her mother. Sarge was nine, surly and curious. He sported a rust red crew cut. Sarge never had an older sister and to say he’d always been fascinated by Phoebe is a profound understatement. She lived three houses down and he’d been having recurring dreams about her since he was five. Phoebe suddenly stopped in her tracks. She gazed upward through the canopy of maples –

“I think this is it.”

“Yeah?” said Sarge. “You sure?”

Phoebe closed her eyes and became still as stone. As Sarge scanned the forest, Phoebe drew a deep breath. Then lifted her eyes open with a certain tranquility.

“This is it.”

Phoebe kicked some leaves around to reveal two shallow stones jetting from the forest floor, each with a flat edge for sitting. They settled onto the rocks. As they fell silent appreciating the journey, the cicada’s drone began fill the evening woods.

Phoebe picked up a small sturdy stone, felt the weight of it in her hand, then turned to Sarge –

“I’m going to bang your knee with this rock.”

“What.. why?”

“It’s a ritual. It knocks on your soul’s door. Then we wait for an answer.”

A firefly cracked its white spark in the trees overhead.

“That sounds weird. How hard are you going to hit me?”

Phoebe sighed, “Jeez Sarge, I thought you were tough. Maybe you’re just like Jimmy Redhook up the block, who got dusted by those kids two years his junior.”

“I’m nothing like Jimmy! My pops was in the navy, did you know that?”

“So you’re gonna be a soldier just like him?”

“Maybe.”

“Then roll up your pant leg.”

“I thought we were coming out here to find salamanders.”

“Just let me bang your knee with this stone,” said Phoebe, “and you’ll see what you don’t even know.”

Sarge contemplated. He then stood up, trotted a few feet from where Phoebe sat, and snatched a long fallen tree branch from the forest floor.

“You bang my knee with that rock and I’ll whip your head with this switch,” warned Sarge.

“Now you’re just talking out of your ass,” replied Phoebe.

“You’re not the only one capable of violence” argued Sarge.

Phoebe threw her face into her hands. “Grrrrrrr… you make me want to scream and bleed and run till I crumble, Sarge. You just don’t get it.”

“I guess I don’t,”

Phoebe put the rock at her side, rose to her feet and placed her hands together like an ancient open book.

“Seven centuries ago in a mountain commune outside Vienna, a sleepwalking widow was sent to the gallows for murders she committed in the night. She was to be hung in front of her family and the rest of the village. But as the noose was pulleyed skyward, she folded to the cobblestone square, pleading for her life. When the bone of her knee struck the ground, the square burst into molten lava. Every soul in her midst, her family, the townspeople and executioner alike, were burned alive. Their bodies evaporating in the ocean of liquid fire.”

Sarge sat still for a long moment.

“Did you get into your mama’s liquor cabinet again?”

“Saaaaaaarrrrrrrggggeeeee!!!! You’re driving me friggin crazy!! Just let me knock your stupid knee with this rock and I promise you, everything will be different.”

Sarge sat and scratched his chin. “Well hell Phoebe, if you really feel that strongly about it, go ahead.”

Phoebe shivered, “Really??”

“Yeah, jeez. Just get it over with,”

Phoebe picked up the rock. “Pull your pant leg up.”

Sarge rolled up one pant leg, revealing the skin of his knee. He shot Phoebe a look of false confidence.

“Go ahead. Make it a good one,”

“Oh, it will be,” said Phoebe.

Phoebe closed her eyes and became suddenly calm, beginning a quiet chant. As she mumbled, Sarge strained to decipher the words.

“Roschklamenzinon… into the nightmare…. azhalousrhieanha…. anhiya…. ANHIYA!!!!”

Phoebe hissed and raised the rock over her head, her voice now combusting into a bold howl.

“I shall now strike thy flesh with the power of the black moth!! The black moth shall shroud the waking world in infinite darkness!!!!!”

Phoebe’s eyes shot open with wild fervor. She threw her vision down unto Sarge like Medusa possessed, her young arms lithe and taught, ready to hammer down the stone onto Sarge’s exposed knee –

“Waaaaiiiiiit!!!!!” begged Sarge, thrusting his arms forward, fighting back tears. “I don’t want you to do this!! I don’t know what happened out here. I… I want to find salamanders. I just want to find salamanders!!!”

Sarge fought valiantly to hold back his tears.

Phoebe stood in her place, gazing at Sarge. She then casually tossed the rock into the brush, dusting the dirt from her hands.

“Okay,” said Phoebe. “Let’s go find some.”

Sarge stared at the ground, traumatized.

“God almighty Sarge. You make me feel like some kinda monster. Whatever happened to your imagination?”

“I just… I didn’t like that one.”

“Okay buddy. Let’s go explore. You’re safe with me.”

Sarge stood and attempted to shake off the moment like a corroded coat. He then clapped his hands together and held still, listening to the echo reverberate through the birches.

“We’re done with that moment,” declared Sarge.

“We’re done,” said Phoebe.

Together they continued north into the forest, the paper leaves crackling beneath each step.