An Ordinary Fairy Read Free Page B

Woods?” Milford was a crapshoot; none of the old guys had told him of an actual pond there, or of a particular landowner to visit. At Jones Woods, he had directions, a pond, a name … and a mystery.
    “Jones Woods it is.”

 
    Two
     
    J ones Woods loomed up like an island in a sea of dry cornfields, extending far south from where the county road pierced the western wall of vibrant autumn hues. Oaks, hickories, ashes and maples mixed with white pines and hemlocks to form a broad palette of colors.
    “This looks like my kind of place,” Noah muttered.
    The trees blotted out the rising sun, and he passed through a leafy portal into dark woods, slowing until his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He slowed even more, and then rolled to a stop. A frown crossed his features.
    What feels so familiar?
    After a few moments, he drove on. The gravel road twisted and turned through the trees, its course laid to least disturb the natural surroundings; vehicles were intruders here. He followed the curves with confidence, feeling his way by instinct or unconscious memory, knowing which way the road would turn.
    There’s some new energy here. A thing I’ve never felt.
    Man’s only intrusion was “No Trespassing - No Hunting” signs, spaced regularly in matched pairs on either side: not the usual rusty, shot-full-of-holes signs, but shiny new ones on straight posts. At the thirteenth pair, Noah hit the brakes and skidded. The sign on the north side had no mate to the south. Where the sign should have been, two shallow ruts disappeared beneath a wall of pine branches.
    “This must be it.” He backed up and eased the Dakota into the ruts, which were filled with rock. The branches parted but more took their place. He crept along, keeping the wheel straight, and soon was enclosed on all sides by the needled boughs.
    Louie, you might have mentioned this. But this feels like the right way.
    The gauntlet ended after a hundred feet or so. Noah found himself on a narrow forest road, two rocky ruts through the trees. Two-foot weeds in the center told of little use. The lane twisted and turned and rose and fell, but Noah’s sense of direction kept him oriented: he traversed a wide loop through the woods and ended only a few hundred feet from the county road. A tree trunk across the lane halted his forward progress, as Louie had promised. Noah guessed the tree had been felled for that purpose, apparently many years ago, based on the rotting condition of the wood and the heavy undergrowth that covered the lane beyond. A small clearing paved with scattered rock provided a space to turn vehicles around.
    No welcome mat that I can see.
    Noah shouldered his small camera bag, climbed out of the Dakota, and surveyed the clearing around him. He was hemmed on all sides by large trees and thick undergrowth, though many leaves had fallen or taken on their autumn colors.
    “This place has energy. And … something else.” He tilted his head to one side, as if listening might reveal the trees’ secret, but they stood silent.
    Laughing at me, I suppose.
    At the southern edge of the clearing was a narrow opening, which Louie had identified as the short cut to Willow Brown’s home. Noah left the clearing and plunged into the trees. Brush grabbed at the camera case on the narrow path, but it was smooth and straight; he could see at least a hundred feet ahead. While the surface seemed worn and often used, Noah dodged many low branches. At one spot, the ground was soft. Noah edged around it, eyeing the prints of small tennis shoes that had plowed straight through. Large paw prints were there, too.
    Must be a favorite place for the neighbor kids.
    About three hundred feet from the truck, the trail opened into a clearing in front of a small house. Tall grass and wildflowers filled the space and linden trees surrounded it.
    Noah didn’t know if “house” was a good description. Large beams laid across the gap between two small knolls fashioned a sturdy roof,