Hue set off for Leatherwood Bridge, and along the way he thought about Bobby and wondered what kind of pet he might choose. Hue very much wanted a pet, almost any kind. He really didn’t care. Bobby, on the other hand, didn’t deserve one. He was way too mean. He wouldn’t appreciate one at all. Pets needed love, and Bobby had no love, except for himself.

It’d be funny, Hue thought, if Bobby’s new pet ran away from him the instant he got home. He could hear his cousin now. “Mom, Mom, it hates me. Please buy me another one.” The funny thought brought Hue a snort and a chuckle.

Arriving at the bridge, Hue looked down one side of the iron relic and scanned the creek below. He saw little of nothing and turned back to check the other side. Never before had there been anything of much interest underneath the bridge, but this time something was there, something by the creek’s edge. Could it be the elusive good-luck sprit?

Although the bridge blocked most of his view, he thought he saw the tip of a fishing pole. It could be, however, just a stick or a tree limb swaying in the wind. He needed a better look.

He leaned over the side, his arm overstretching. Now, however, he could plainly see it was a fishing pole! Someone was fishing his fish! He had to stop whoever it was. After all, he was their King, and Kings protect their loyal servants.

He pulled himself back and raced mindlessly for the creek below, giving no thought to the possible confrontation.

When he reached the creek, however, he stopped cold in his tracks and had to rely on the positive proof of a double take to believe what he saw. Reclining on the bank, with his eyes fully closed, rested an old man in coveralls, paying not one bit of attention to his fishing pole.

“Hey! You can’t fish here!” Hue shouted from his safe distance.

Seemingly unstartled, the stranger lifted one wrinkly eye and then the other.

“Hello, young man,” he said, in a gravelly voice.

Hue wondered how anyone could fish with their eyes closed. Fishing required close observation. Well, at least good fishing did. “What are you doing here?” Hue asked.

“I’m fishing,” said the old man. “There appears to be a nice school of fish right here.”

Hue’s eyes grew apart. “You can’t eat those fish.”

The old man bent forward and pulled his pole from the water. “Don’t worry, son,” he said. “I wasn’t going to eat them.”

Hue scratched his chin. “What were you going to do with them?”

The old man smiled. “Catch them and throw them back.”

Hue was puzzled. “Why would you do that?” he asked.

“I just like catching them. So I throw them back.”

“I’ve never heard that before,” Hue said. “Around here people eat what they catch.”

“Is this your fishing-hole, son?” asked the old man.

Hue scratched his chin again. “Well, no, not really. It’s just those fish are kind of my friends.”

“Well,” said the old man. “I’ll just have to stop fishing here. I wouldn’t want to catch your friends. Friends need to watch out for each other.”

Hue was almost tearful. “You would do that for me?” he asked.

“I’d be happy to do that for you. Ah — I reckon, I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Hue — Hue Huxley. My friends call me Hue. Well, if I had any friends they’d call me Hue, I guess.”

“All right then,” said the old man. “I’ll call you Hue. That is, if we’re friends.”

“I guess we can be friends,” Hue said. “I don’t see why not. You’re a lot older than me, but that should matter much.”

“Well then, I reckon we’re friends,” said the old man. “But we’d better make it official.”

“How do we do that?” Hue asked.

“It’s really quite simple. We just shake hands.”

Hue paused. “If we’re going to be friends, I guess I should know your name, too.”

“The name is Cotton Jackson,” said the old man, offering his hand.

Hue approached. It would be rude not to shake his hand, especially after just becoming friends.

“Nice to meet you, Hue Huxley. I mean Hue,” Cotton said, correcting himself.

Hue smiled, barely noticing Cotton’s cool grip. This was going to be a good summer. It was the first week of vacation, and he’d already made a new friend.

“Do you live around here, Hue?” asked Cotton.

“Right up the road.” Hue pointed. “Back that way.”

“So, what do you do here, if you don’t fish?”

“I guess nothing.” Hue admitted. “I throw rocks and feed the fish. Nothing, really.”

“When I was about your age,” said Cotton, “we’d tie a rope in a tree and swing across the creek doing the Tarzan yell.”

“I wish I had a rope,” Hue said, wondering what a Tarzan yell was.

“Maybe I’ll bring one next time and we can tie it up there,” said Cotton.

Hue liked the idea. He gazed into the trees and pictured himself swinging like a pirate.

Cotton pressed his chest.

“I have to be going, Hue,” he said. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of your mother.”

Hue glanced at Cotton as he gathered his pole and started making his way up the bank.

“Goodbye, Mr. Jackson.” Hue waved.

“It’s Cotton,” said the old man. “Remember, we’re friends now.”

Hue smiled. “Okay Cotton.”

Hue watched the old man lumber away. He mustn’t be a very good fisherman, Hue thought. He didn’t even bring a tackle box.

The glint of a rock caught Hue’s eye. He picked it up to show Cotton, but the old man had gone. It seemed he’d vanished into thin air. He must have run, although Hue couldn’t picture the old man running. With the comical image in his mind, he skipped the rock across the water. Not a bad toss, he thought.

At his feet, the royal fish had returned to their favorite spot. He was happy to see they were all okay and gave them a sharp military salute then climbed the bank.

On his way home, his cheerful mood faded, replaced by the eerie feeling of being watched. He glanced back, but saw no one. He shrugged off the uneasy feeling and continued home, but the sensation persisted until finally he spun around and staggered back.

He closely scanned across the distant trees, searching within their shadows. Again, he saw no one. He shook his head. It had to be tricks of the mind. Maybe if he forced himself to think about something else, like baseball: tied score, two outs, bottom of the ninth. . . .

As the images of baseball filled Hue’s mind, the source of his ill sensation circled above him, catching pockets of rising air as it tracked its prey below.

***

Hue dove into bed with his book in hand. A knock came from the door.

“Come in, Mom,” he said.

Mary peeked in. “How’s your story coming along?”

“Okay, I guess.”

Mary closed the door. “You seemed awful cheerful today.”

“Yeah — well, it’s just that,” he looked into his mother’s eyes. “I made a new friend today.”

“That’s great. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that you might not like him.”

“Why wouldn’t I like him?”

“He’s a lot older than me.”

“How much older?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, “Older than you. Maybe Reverend Johnson’s age.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“At the creek. He was fishing. But I don’t think he’s very good at it.”

“You should be careful with strangers.” She warned.

“He’s not a stranger, Mom. He’s my friend. We shook hands on it. He said that made it official.”

“What’s his name?”

“Cotton Jackson.”

Mary frowned. “I don’t know of any Jacksons from around here.”

“Maybe he just moved,” he said.

“Well, you better have Mr. Jackson come by so I can meet him.”

“All right, Mom. Can you read to me a little?”

***

Hue brought his mother a heaping basket of laundry from the trailer. The clothesline had always been a sure backup to the dryer when it had overheated, as it had many times before. Mary wondered which one would give out first, the truck, the dryer, or her patience.

As they hung the clothes on a line, Mary spotted a mole hill rising in the yard.

“Hue, over there, over there,” she shouted.

Hue dropped the shirt he was hanging. “What’s over where, Mom?”

“The mole! It’s over there!”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Step on the mound,” she said. “It’ll go away.”

“But, what if it bites me?”

“It won’t bite you. You’ll scare it away.”

“Okay,” Hue said. “I hope it doesn’t.”

Hue had been leery of wild animals ever since a field rabbit had run up his pant leg when he wasn’t looking. He had panicked so much, he dropped his pants right there in the yard. The encounter had left Hue overly cautious when it came to wildlife.

Hue crept slowly toward the mound, wondering if moles could bite. Even though they had small mouths, they probably had strong teeth for chomping roots or fingers. And if pushed into a fight, they’d probably do whatever they had to, to defend themselves. The thought of confronting the unseen critter suddenly grew more unappealing, but he couldn’t disappoint his mother.

As he neared the mound, it showed no signs of movement. He should pounce on it now, while the mole was likely grubbing on a worm or snail. He leaped on the mound with both feet then immediately jumped off, fearing a mole counterattack. However, when no assault ensued, he pounced back on it, smashing it farther into the ground.

“Okay, honey,” Mary said. “That probably scared it off.”

A honk came from the road where the mailperson had stopped.

“Hue, would you hang the rest of these clothes? I want to say hello to Nancy.”

Hue nodded and returned to policing the ground. He wasn’t going to let a berserk mole ambush him.

***

“Hi, Nancy,” Mary said. “How’s everything?”

“The same as usual,” Nancy said. “Can’t get my husband off the couch. He thinks that because he works all day, he doesn’t have to do anything around the house. I tell him I work all day too. Sometimes, I think he wished I’d stayed home instead of working.”

“Have you ever thought about it?” Mary asked. “Staying home, that is.”

“We couldn’t do it. It takes both our paychecks just to make ends meet.”

“I guess you’re right,” Mary said. “Since Howard passed, it’s been hard paying the bills, let alone making ends meet. I wish we had more, for Hue’s sake. He’s such a good boy.”

“Hang in there, Mary,” Nancy said. “Good things happen to good people.”

“Thank you, Nancy.”

“Well, I’d better get going or I’ll be looking for a new job myself,” Nancy said then moved off.

***

Later that day, Mary finished sanding the last wooden truck. She had completed four others, and now they awaited their unpainted wheels.

Hue entered the garage carrying a newspaper and a cup of steaming coffee.

“Whatcha got?” Mary asked, as Hue handed her the coffee.

“Mom, look the newspaper says they’re offering one-hundred-thousand dollars for the location of Shawswick Station!”

“Let me see that,” she said, exchanging the coffee for the paper.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we could find it?” Hue said. “You wouldn’t have to work all the time and we could get a gardener to take care of the yard and a fix-it man to fix the clothes dryer, the truck, and everything else.”

“Honey, one-hundred-thousand dollars is a lot of money, but I don’t think we would hire a gardener. We might be able to get a repairman to take care of some of the things around here. Oh listen to me, talking like we already have the money.”

“It could happen,” Hue said. “We could find the station.”

“I’m sure they have all kinds of people looking for the station. They’ll find it soon.”

Hue gazed off. “It sure would be nice to find it.”

***

Hue took slices of bread from the microwave and dashed out the door. He jogged along the road with his fish on his mind. He hoped they were well and prayed no one had fished his fish.

He wondered why the good-luck spirit hadn’t watched over them. What had his father said? The spirit would watch over him, if he believed in it. Perhaps that was it. Maybe the fish didn’t believe in the spirit. But if he were a spirit, he would watch over all the animals, regardless of their belief. Maybe a spirit saw things differently. Not everyone had the same perspective.

When he arrived at Leatherwood Bridge, he was surprised to see pieces of bread seemingly flying out of nowhere. He snuck to the water's edge.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Hue asked.

“Well, hello,” came the reply. “How are you?”

Hue moved closer. “Okay, I guess.”

Cotton motioned him over.

“How’d you know I was going to feed the fish?” Hue said, stepping over some roots.

“I reckon great minds think alike.”

“I’ve never been told I had a great mind.”

“Well, now you have,” Cotton said, pulling another slice of bread from his coveralls.

“I can’t wait to tell Mom,” Hue said. “Oh yeah, she wants to meet you because you’re a stranger.” Hue threw a piece of his own bread into the water.

“I’d be happy to meet your mother,” Cotton said. “Here this is for you.”

“Hey! It has my initial on it!”

“Every king has to have his own flag.”

“Wow, my very own flag,” Hue said elated. “You’re the best.” Hue leaped across to his island and planted the flag into the rocks.

Cotton threw more pieces of bread into the water. “What about your father, Hue?”

Hue bowed his head. “Dad left us for a better place, Mom said. I sure miss him. We use to play and take walks together. He said walks were good for thinking. He was right, because I’m always thinking about him when I walk down here.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” Cotton said. “Did he ever tell you any stories?”

“What kind of stories?”

“Strange or fantastic stories.”

“No.”

Cotton grabbed his chest. “Hue, can you meet me here, the day after tomorrow?”

“I guess so. Why?”

“I’ve got a fantastic story to tell you. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yeah, what kind of story is it?”

“You’ll have to wait.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“You’ll have to wait until the day after tomorrow. It’s time for me to go. You tell your mother I said hello, and I’ll try to meet her. So long, Hue.”

***

Hue was excited about hearing Cotton’s fantastic story. He wondered what kind of story could be called fantastic. If it had a ten-headed dragon in it, that would be a fantastic. And if it also had magic, it would be real fantastic.

Yet despite of his excitement, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched that he’d felt before. He glanced back at the creek, but no one was there. No one was anywhere. He wondered why was he kept having this uneasy feeling? It was probably from watching too many scary movies. His mother had warned him about those kinds of movies, but he hadn’t listened. Mothers, it seemed, always knew more than what their kids thought. He shook off the feeling and continued home, thoughts of baseball running and sliding into his mind.

Meanwhile, overhead, circled the largest raven the Earth had ever seen. The behemoth, with a four-foot wingspan, glided through the sky, tracking the unsuspecting boy below. In this world and time, this flying creature had no equal.

Hue heard horrible shrieks coming from the trailer as he reached the yard. He dropped his flag and barreled into the living room. He found his mother standing atop the ottoman, clutching a severely bent flyswatter.

She pointed down with it. “He’s under there, under there!” she said frantically.

Hue stared at the floor. “Who’s under where?”

“The mouse! It’s under the footstool! Shoo it away, shoo it away!” She said in a high voice, tiptoeing higher.

Hue went by the backdoor to retrieve the broom.

“Open the door,” Mary yelled. ”You can shoo it outside!”

Armed with the broom, Hue flanked the ottoman, hoping the mouse wouldn’t squirm up the handle when he swept the broom under it. The mouse, however, had decided, on its own, to flee for the open backdoor.

Mary and Hue followed to make sure of its departure. But when it reached the door, it spun on its belly, twice in a circle, and veered back. On its tail, charged a dirty-ole cat.

Mary shrieked, flapping her arms as she raced Hue back into the living room. They leaped together atop the ottoman as the mouse slid back underneath it. The stay cat pawed blindly around the edges of the ottoman, hoping for a lucky strike. The mouse waited no longer and flashed from the ottoman, racing down the hallway. Fast on its heels, the cat chased it into Hue’s bedroom. A succession of loud crashing sounds echoed through the hallway.

Mary and Hue crept together, trying to glimpse the calamity. Then suddenly, the cartoonish scene popped into view, rushing straight toward them. They wheeled around, raced through the trailer, and out the backdoor, turning as the cat chased the mouse out the door.

***

Snuggled in bed, Hue stared at a picture of him and his father. It’d been taken the previous winter, when his father, Howard, had bought an inner-tube so Hue could ride it down the snowy slope behind their trailer. Howard, having wanted to showoff his tube-riding skills, had gotten a running start before jumping on the tube. But by the time he recalled this move had its flaws, it was too late. The tube had bounced him off, burying his head in the snow. Uninjured, except for his pride, Howard and Hue had laughed for a week. After the folly, Howard had decided it was best to get on gently and push lightly.

“Hue?” called the voice from the door.

“Come in, Mom,” he said.

“Whatcha got?” Mary asked.

“It’s a picture of Dad last winter.”

Mary laughed. “That’s when he tried to show you how to ride the inner-tube,” she said.

“Yeah, it sure was funny.”

Mary picked up his flag. “Did you make this?”

“No, Cotton gave it to me. It’s for my island.”

“Your island?” Mary questioned.

“Yeah, I have an island down at the creek. I call it Hue’s Island. Pretty cool, huh?”

“How is it your island?”

“I claimed it. Like Columbus claimed what he found.”

“Did you tell Cotton I wanted to meet him?”

“Yeah, I told him. He said okay.”

Mary went to the window and pulled the curtains closed.

“Mom, I found something in the shed. I think it was Dad’s.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a bow.”

“I totally forgot about it.”

“What did Dad use it for?”

“He was a champion archer when he was younger.”

“A champion archer? How come I never knew anything about it?”

“We wanted to wait until you were older. Well, I wanted to wait until you were older.”

“Can I keep it in the shed?”

“I guess so, but be careful with it, okay?”

“I will Mom, I promise.”

***

The moonlight shined through drifting clouds, forming marching shadows, cast from hedgerows and towering trees. In the blur of the moving shadows, a single shadow stood alone, unbending in the moonlight. First stationary, now moving, it drifted from cover to cover until it stood beside the shed, peering across the short distance into Hue’s bedroom.

Between the slightly parted curtains, the shadow zoomed onto Hue’s youthful face, a face that would not age much longer. The shadow will teach him that witches are real and that good doesn’t always prevail. It will show him, just as Baba Yaga had showed his father.

Then something from within the shed overcame the shadow. The feeling was old, unfelt since time long ago. It pushed itself through the cracks in the shed’s wall. It immediately spun and stumbled back when it faced the bow. The shadow was both repelled and drawn to it. It reached for the bow then shrieked in pain when the bow seared its dark touch. The bow dropped to the floor as the shadow sank under the door.

***

Hue woke bothered by a dream of being watched. He went to the window and stared at the shed. The uneasy feeling and dream faded away. It had seemed so eerily real. He cast the thought aside and readied himself for today’s unpleasant visit.

Cresthaven Cemetery, the oldest in the county, had rows of decaying headstones that merged into new as the cemetery had expanded throughout the years. Howard Herbert Huxley’s grave rested in the newest addition.

Hue loved his father, but he was fretful about visiting the cemetery. He’d heard many horror stories about cemeteries and their unhappy residents. And adding to his worry, he and his mother were going alone.

He was grateful, though, they were going in the middle of day. He’d never heard of zombies coming out in daylight. They must be like vampires and shunned the light. His father had once said that none of these creatures existed and that he shouldn’t be afraid of them, but that hadn’t stopped his imagination from bring them to life.

They drove through the old part of the cemetery, making Hue feel a little skittish. He figured the longer someone was dead, the angrier they would get. Death would probably make the jolliest person mad.

Passing into the new part of the cemetery, they parked. Hue gazed across the sea of headstones. The cemetery was eerily vacant, increasing his uneasiness about being here alone. And now, even the weather had turned against him. Thunderclouds began rolling in with wind gusts blowing objects across the cemetery.

Hue stared at his father’s headstone. “Mom, what are we supposed to do here?”

Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Some people pay their respects, while others remember their loved ones. It’s really up to the person.”

“What do you do?”

“I like to think about the good times we had together.”

Hue nodded. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

Hue read the gravestone as he recalled the good times he and his father had had. His mind, however, kept dwelling on how much he missed him, and that he would never see him again. If this is what happens when visiting a grave, he wasn’t so sure he ever wanted to visit again. He loved his father dearly, but coming here depressed him deeply. It was all he could do to hold back the tears. His father had said that some people rejoiced when someone died and cried when someone was born. Hue didn’t understand the thinking; it seemed backwards.

He looked up from his thoughts, seeing a figure kneel behind a distant gravestone. Or was it trying to hide behind the gravestone? It appeared to be looking directly at him. Hue even thought he could feel its stare. But was that possible? Could a stare be felt?

“Are you ready?” Mary asked.

Hue jerked from his concentration. “Ah — yeah, I’m ready,” he said pointing. “Who’s that over there?”

“Where?” Mary asked.

Hue pointed again. “Someone was over there.”

“They must have left,” Mary said. “Come on. Let’s go before we get wet.”

Hue followed his mother back to the truck, glancing over his shoulder repeatedly. The figure, however, was nowhere to be found. Could it be close? Could it be on the other side of truck or perhaps in it?

He grew anxious until he saw the other side of the truck, anxious until he looked in the truck, anxious until he locked the truck’s door. He stared off into the distance.

“What’s wrong?” Mary asked, rolling her window up against the blowing wind.

Hue stared at her unlocked door. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, weakly.

Mary turned the ignition. The motor cranked then stopped. Hue gaped at his mother.

“It’s nothing, Hue,” she said reassuringly.

A blown twig smacked the windshield. Mary and Hue jumped their seats.

“It’s just the wind,” Mary said, slightly startled.

She tried the ignition again. The motor cranked only briefly then stopped. She glanced at Hue and forced a weak smile. She tried it once more and to Hue’s great relief, the truck started.

He eyed his mother’s unlocked door. “Mom, would you lock your door, please?” he asked.

Mary depressed the door’s lock. “It’s okay,” she said. “Everything is okay.”

Hue eased back into his seat as they pulled away and the clouds began releasing their burden in a heavy downpour. Through the cascading rain, out into the cemetery, Hue thought he saw the figure behind a near headstone. It followed the pace of the truck, appearing behind adjacent headstones as they moved along. Hue angled for a better look, but it stayed at the edge of his vision.

Should he mention it to his mother? Or perhaps it was just his imagination. He needed to relax, unclench the knot in his stomach. He needed to—

Something struck Hue's door with a loud crash.

He jerked in his seat and held the door closed. Mary slammed on the brakes.

“No don’t stop!” he shouted.

Mary kept the truck moving. “What was that?” she asked, looking frightened herself.

Hue held the door. “It was probably a tree limb blown into the truck.”

Mary slowed. “I better check the damage.”

“No-o-o,” Hue said. “We can check it at home.”

***

Mary stopped at the library, hoping the visit would dispel Hue’s uneasiness.

They hurried through the rain, Mary glancing back at the truck's door where three parallel scratches dented its side.

Hue browsed the library until a vivid spine caught his eye. He slid the book from its shelf. Its title read, Cultural Mythology. It had a collage of mythical creatures spread across its cover. He flipped through it, admiring the colorful drawings. He tucked it under his arm, went to the library’s computer, typing in the word archery. It returned books on a list. He chose one, TheFundamentals of Archery. It seemed appropriate. Finding the book, he scanned its pages, then tucked it under his arm with the other.

Finding his mother, he asked, “Mom, did Dad have any arrows?”

Mary gave him a concern look.

“I’ll be careful,” he said. “See, I have a book on archery.” He held up the book as evidence.

“I’ll see if I can find them,” she said. “But you’d better be careful. You could hurt yourself or someone—”

“I know,” he said. “I’ll read all the safety stuff first.”

***

When they arrived home, the rain had subsided and left the ground soaked. Hue gathered his books and headed for the trailer, but then suddenly stopped in his tracks. Perched atop the garage was the largest bird he had ever seen.

“What’s wrong?” Mary asked.

Hue stood rooted to the ground, staring at the unbelievable sized bird.

“Honey what’s wrong?” Mary asked again, then followed his line of sight. She gasped at the bird’s enormous size.

“I don’t think it likes me,” Hue said.

“Don’t be silly. It’s just a bird,” she said then yelled, “shoo,” at the bird, waving her hands. The bird, however, remained as still as Hue. “Come on,” Mary said, “it won’t bother us.”

She tossed a rock, from the gravel driveway, at the bird. It sprang straight up with a beat of its wings then dove, its talons fanned forward. Hue dropped his books and pushed his mother to the ground as the bird swooped over their heads, scissoring off a clip of his hair. He spun on the ground as the bird sailed past and vanished up into the overcast sky.

***

The afternoon passed with hardly a word from Hue. Mary sat with him.

“What a creepy day, huh?” she said. “Sometimes we let our imagination get the best of us. But if you look at it practically, there wasn’t anything that happened today that can’t be explained. Don’t you think?”

“I guess so,” Hue said, unconvinced.

Mary knew it was something he had to work out on his own. Hue wondered whether she was right.

***

Hue was halfway under the covers when he noticed the curtains were partly open. After what had happened today, he thought he’d sleep better if they were fully closed.

He jumped back into bed, opening the mythology book as a knock came from the door. He rested his hands across a picture of Ganesh.

“Come in, Mom,” he said.

Mary pulled a chair next to his bed. She picked up the archery book and shook it. “Make sure you read all of this,” she said.

Hue glanced down, slid his hand from the page and closed the mythology book.

“I’ll read every page of it,” he said taking the archery book.

“I just want you to know,” Mary said, “that a bow can dangerous, and you need to be very careful. I just don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.”

Hue held his hand up. “I promise, Mom. I’ll be v-e-r-y careful.”

Mary noticed the mythology book on his lap. “Make sure you read some of that, too,” she said.