1
When I was ten, my father bought me a beautiful bicycle in a local secondhand store. It was purple with yellow stripes and riser bars. It was the happiest day of my childhood, and I couldn’t stop thinking that, even though he was sometimes difficult to live with, I loved him very much, even when he was intoxicated. I was the only one in my group of friends without a bike, and now I could ride my own instead of always riding pillion behind Herbert, one of my friends. I was ecstatic, and as soon as I got home, I called my friends one by one and told them to meet me in Honeycomb Park, just outside the town’s library, in twenty minutes.
As I rode there by myself, I felt as alive as ever, with the wind licking my face smoothly and making my eyes water with speed. I thought I was flying, reaching a speed unknown to man, and for those glorious moments, I was one with my new bike. Just a girl and her metal steed, like nature had intended.
I arrived and saw Herbert was already there, and hesitated before approaching him. I liked Herbert, I really did, but he was infatuated with me, and it was awkward whenever it was just the two of us. He always tried to hug me and touch my hair, telling me how much he liked being my friend and blah, blah, blah, but it still made me really uncomfortable. I finally decided to talk to him while we waited for everyone else to arrive.
“Hey,” I said. “Look! Neat, huh?” I showed him my new bike.
“Nice,” he replied. “You planning on adding playing cards to it?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve always found that addition, err, unnecessary.”
Herbert looked down sullenly. I glanced at his metallic blue bike and remembered that he had added playing cards to the spokes. “I—I mean, I find them unnecessary,” I babbled. “But they look good on your bike. Y’know, whatever floats your boat.”
“That’s okay,” he said, looking up and pretending to brush away a tear. “Apology hug?” he opened his arms and came at me.
I saw the rest of our friends and seized the opportunity. “They’re here!” I ducked under his outstretched arms and ran to them.
We were five in total: Fernanda, Phil, Jessie, Herbert, and me. We went to school together and had met each other on our first day of first grade. We’d all been new and had no friends, whereas everyone else had already lived in town for years and already had friends of their own age. Of all the coincidences I’ve seen in my life, I think meeting all four of them by chance because our situations were the same is the craziest of all. And believe me, I’ve seen my fair share.
“Hey! Look what my dad bought me!” I displayed my bike for them to admire.
“Neat!” Jessie said. “How fast can it go?”
“Pretty fast,” I replied with pride. “I felt like I was flying all the way here.”
“How about a race?” Phil suggested. He was that kid who was really into sports. We all knew he would eventually become a professional athlete.
I felt cocky because of my bike. “$10 say that you can’t beat me in a race around the park.”
“I’ll raise you 20,” Fer said. “We start and finish here,” she leaned on a tree. “Whoever touches this tree first, wins.”
“Sounds good,” Jessie said. “Let’s do it!”
Fernanda won. She was one of the most competitive people I’ve ever known, and took any competition seriously, no matter the stakes. All she wanted was victory. And this time, victory included $10 from all of us.
After that, Fernanda bought ice creams for all of us and we sat on a park bench, talking about our summer and how it was a bummer that school would begin the week after. We were sweaty and full of energy, the soft summer breeze of the evening energized us and made us wish that we could stay outside all night. But like everything, the day eventually drew to a close and we had to return home. I told my father what we’d done (obviously leaving out the part when I gave Fernanda $10 of my allowance).
“Glad you had fun, kiddo.” He ruffled my hair with affection. I couldn’t help but noticed that he held a glass of Bourbon in his hand. When I was about to climb the stairs to my room, he called, “Hey, I know you are aware of this, but your mother wanted me to remind you not to go to the forest, you know it can be really dangerous. Especially at night.”
“Yes, Dad, I know.” I climbed the stairs and went to take a bath. Little did I know how true those words would ring a week later.
It happened a week later, just two days before going back to school. Jessie called us to tell us that she’d seen a red cardinal close to the woods. We got on our bikes and raced down to meet her, just at the edge of the forest that surrounded the town in every direction but North.
Every kid has their weird hobby that others can’t even fathom ever liking. Some of them like collecting coins, some stamps, some read, some like gardening. Our collective hobby was birdwatching. We’d wanted to see a red cardinal for the longest time. It was supposed to be in our area during summers, but we’d never seen one. Until now.
“It sat on a branch outside my window. It must have flown for hours before landing here,” Jessie told us. “I followed it and it entered the forest, so I decided to call you.”
I looked apprehensively at the spot where the trees grew close together and wondered if it was wise to go in. It was almost sunset, and even though the shade looked inviting and harmless right now, come downfall it would look threatening.
After some discussion (in which they all called me craven because of my caution), we decided to go in and search for the cardinal. We all left our bikes outside, since the forest paths were far too narrow and irregular for them. They left them lying on the ground, I set mine on its kickstand and followed them in.
Long story short: we didn’t find the stupid bird. We wandered around the forest for two hours and didn’t find a thing. I kept suggesting to go back before dark, but everyone else was too worried about finding the cardinal. When night fell, I was positively begging to turn back, and they finally agreed. The woods just weren’t the same in the dark. Every jagged branch seemed like an upturned maw filled with fangs and every turn hid the possibility of a monster lurking behind.
After about an hour of going back, it began to rain. And not a soft, refreshing drizzle, and full-on downpour. We quickened our pace, but we all knew what we wouldn’t say out loud: we were lost. Thirty minutes later, we were drenched, hungry, and exhausted. I regretted disobeying my parents’ one rule, and I knew they regretted going in too.
Then, all of a sudden, we heard squelching noises coming from ahead. Thank goodness! I thought. It sounded like footsteps in the muddy ground. That meant we were safe. Either we’d reached the end of the forest or someone who could help us had found us. I was half right. The sounds were footsteps, but the owner of the footsteps wasn’t our friend.
The figure we ran into was wearing a raincoat and galoshes. When it raised its left hand, the raincoat’s sleeve rolled down to reveal a sharp shiv. I panicked. I saw as the person in front of us reached down and slashed at Jessie, who was leading the group, and then hold the knife up covered in blood. Jessie collapsed at the figure’s feet, but I became more worried with escaping than helping her. Being the one bringing up the rear, I just turned and sprinted back. I left the trail and weaved my way through the trees, stumbling on roots and falling a couple of times. I didn’t know where I was going; I was trying to escape. And finally, panting and out of breath, I reached the exit and ran home, leaving my bike behind, not looking back.
They found them the next day. Two of them, Jessie and Phil, dead in the woods. Their bodies had been washed by the rain and ended up lower than where they’d been killed. I never forgave myself for running, but what could I have done?
Fast-forward fifteen years later. My life was a mess. I was in college studying art and had no idea what to do with my life. My parents didn’t talk to me because of all the life decisions I made. I dreamt about what happened in the forest on a regular basis, and more often than not, woke up screaming and drenched in cold sweat. I started drinking just like my dad. Herbert and Fer were still my friends. After the murders, we got closer than before, and Herbert stopped being creepy not long after. He became my confidante. I could tell him everything and he could tell me everything in turn. Suddenly, our hugs were genuine and with no double intentions.
We went to a party one summer. I didn’t have a significant other, but he had a girlfriend. She was always jealous about us being so close, and he had to tell her that he’d be going just with male friends. The party was boring, but I got pretty drunk. He didn’t. He said he was taking care of me. When we got back in my dorm at two in the morning, he offered to spend the night here with me. I told him I wanted him to do me. I guess the alcohol got me going. I wouldn’t have done that had I been sober. But he was sober, and he still did it.
I woke the next day with a vague recollection of what had happened the night before, and when I found Herbert sleeping next to me, I remembered. I told him he was a pig for doing what he did and for cheating on his girlfriend, then kicked him out, buck-naked and told him I didn’t want to see him ever again.
Fast-forward five more years. I was thirty, living in a small apartment in a big city and making a meagre salary by selling some paintings and artworks. My only friend is Fer, who moved in with me to open a yoga studio and preach about her new age philosophy. She knew I was miserable, and wanted me to help me. She’d been badgering me into visiting a psychic for almost a year, and I always told her I didn’t believe in psychics, that they were frauds. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I finally gave in and visited her fabled psychic in late September.
“You’ve had many a heartbreak, my girl,” the psychic told me as soon as I sat down in front of her.
“Yes, so?”
“I know that and a lot more. I know you don’t believe that I speak the truth, but I can make your life better.”
“Really? How?”
“I can’t tell you. Let’s make a deal. If I can tell you every small detail of your life, you let me help you.”
It sounded so much like Fernanda that I had to chuckle. Always making a game out of everything. “Sure, why not?” I replied. “I’ll enjoy watching you fail very much.”
The crazy thing was that she did tell me everything about my life. Every single regret, trauma, fear, and happy moment. When she finished, my jaw was almost touching the table between us. She saw my expression and smiled, satisfied.
“It’s all a trick. Fernanda told you everything, didn’t she?”
“No, she didn’t. Did she know about Herbert?” The truth was, I hadn’t told Fer about Herbert. She hadn’t asked about why we’d stopped talking, she’d just assumed we’d had a falling out (she’d never liked Herbert much).
I sighed. Maybe it was worth a shot. “How much do you ask and what will you do?”
“Oh, I only ask for a small favor. And you’ll see what I’ll do. Tomorrow.”
“What do you mean, a small favor?” I regarded her with suspicion
“You’ll know when it’s time to pay up. And if your life doesn’t get better by tomorrow, you won’t owe me anything.” She smiled and offered her hand. I hesitated, but shook it anyway.
She then proceeded to read my Tarot cards and my palm, which all predicted a bright future. Then she let me go.
The next day I sold three paintings and an art collector called me to buy the rest. A month later an art dealer contacted me to display my paintings in her gallery. He’d only take a 30% commission and would be free to continue painting whatever I wanted. I could finally afford my own art studio and move to a better apartment. The psychic had actually helped me. All I feared now was the day when I had to finally pay her.
The time finally came about a year later. It was raining in the city, so I put on a raincoat and galoshes. I had a meeting with my dealer. We were planning on buying a new gallery to display my art and to provide up-and-coming artists with an opportunity they wouldn’t have otherwise.
I was late, so I decided to take the short route, which required me to go under a bridge I generally avoided, because a lot of robbers lurked inside. I thought that maybe, since it was pouring, no one would be inside.
I arrived at the mouth of the tunnel and ventured into the dark. I couldn’t see much, it felt like a thousand eyes were following my footsteps in the gloom. I retrieved my cell phone and activated its flashlight, waving it frantically in every which way. A flash of light reflected back at me from a shiny surface. I shone the light back and found a knife on the ground. Just to be safe, and in case someone attacked me, I picked it up and held it in front of me.
I came out on the other side of the bridge, still under the pouring rain, but the buildings were gone. I was standing in the middle of a country road surrounded by forest. It was oddly familiar, but I didn’t know where I was. I looked over my shoulder, but there was only road, no tunnel at all. I felt a shiver go down my spine.
I continued walking and finally found an opening in the forest, where a path started, going down deep into it. There were four bicycles on the ground and a purple one standing on its kickstand. A yellow stripe decorated it. It was late night now, and a moon peeked from behind the clouds. At that exact moment, the psychics voice echoed in my head. It’s time for you to pay. You know what to do. Oh, I knew alright. And I was bound to pay, it was my fault for letting her help me. But if I were to do this, then I would do it my way.
I approached the spot where the bicycles lay and caressed mine’s seat softly. Then I approached the path and immersed myself deep into the woods, water pouring over me and a shiv in my left hand.
