Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales Read Free Page B

jungle cliff, the thick canopy muffled the noise of the storm. Rain collected into rivulets along thick tree trunks and leaves, falling in fat drops like pebbles from the foliage. The deeper into the jungle they traveled the steamier the air became, making it hard to breathe, but Simon plodded on, trying to keep up with Paulo's youthful stride. As they drew nearer to the cliffs, the jungle became quieter. Trudging along, he glanced into the dark canopy—the jungle was devoid of the usual cacophony of animals and insects. After the relentless noise of the storm, the silence unnerved Simon, but it was more than the absence of sound. Lifting his lantern to the darkness above, he saw a flash of gold and glowing eyes blinking all around him in the foliage. He was startled by the sight, and with his attention off the trail, he tripped over a thick root. To catch his balance he grabbed at a smooth-barked tree, where his fingers sunk deep into a layer of warm, sticky slime. He yanked his hand free with a sense of revulsion, the stench of the substance making him instantly nauseated. Scanning the jungle nervously, he did his best to rub the slime off his hand onto wet leaves and moss, but the stench remained.
    The eyes seemed to have disappeared, but Paulo had pulled far ahead of him. He rushed to catch up, not really admitting to himself that he didn't want to be alone on the trail. When he finally reached the boy, Paulo made a face at the foul smell wafting around Simon. The boy picked up his pace to get away from the smell. Simon said nothing about the eyes—it must have simply been a trick of the light in the wet leaves.
    After an hour of hiking in a cloud of rank odor, Simon felt lightheaded. His sense of smell had never been keen, but it seemed that things in the jungle were different somehow.
    "Paulo.” The boy was again out of sight ahead on the trail. “I need a break."
    He could hear Paulo stomping through the foliage, but there was no reply. They'd been hiking for hours, and Simon knew they should be near the entrance to the cliffs. It would be dawn in a few short hours. The boy was probably eager to get to the top, but Simon needed to stop. He would catch up with Paulo as soon as he did something about the putrid odor on his hand. By the light of his lantern, he dropped his pack and unhooked the canteen. After a couple of lukewarm swallows he nearly swooned. Must be the heat and exhaustion catching up with me ... or this damn stink. Shaking off the feeling, he dug his hands down into the wet jungle soil, rubbing the dark mud over his skin in hopes of removing the reek left from the tree slime. He glanced up at the trail ahead, but no longer heard Paulo moving through the jungle.
    "Paulo?” he shouted.
    Still crouching on the ground, wringing his hands with the mud, he felt the gritty paste turn slippery. When he looked down, his hands were awash in a thick red liquid—blood. Simon gasped. Alarmed, he checked to see if he was injured, but found no cuts or gashes on his hands.
    Then the whispering started. It came like a buzz in the center of his head, unintelligible but relentless. Simon grabbed his lantern and held it high, searching the shadows of the forest in an attempt to find where the sound was coming from. He turned in every direction, but the noise remained constant. Finally, Simon covered his ears—the sound was still there, inside his head. At that moment, Paulo came crashing down the trail toward him.
    "Mr. Simon, we here before,” he shouted. Worry etched the boy's usually carefree features. “I see Sister Fork tree ahead on path and we passed her long time ago. We go in circle."
    Disoriented by Paulo's news and worried about the whispering in his head and the blood on his hands, Simon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of what was happening. After a moment, he noticed the feel of grit on his palms. Opening his eyes, he saw that the blood was gone and the wet jungle soil was all that covered