Howie Fisher
Country Pastimes

"This sucks," said Arnold as his father backed the van out of the garage for yet another drive to their house in the country.

His mother pleaded with him.

"It's only for two weeks," she said.

"But two weeks is my whole vacation!" said Arnold.

Arnold never won arguments with his parents. He begged them time and again to let him stay with his friend Josh, who was spending his vacation watching TV and playing video games and going to the movies with packs of other kids, but Arnold's parents wouldn't let him do that. They agreed that the country air would do Arnold some good, which Arnold thought was ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with city air, and besides, there was nothing for a boy like him to do way out in the stinking country. The family's chocolate lab Champ, who was sitting next to Arnold, leaned over and gave him a comforting slobbery lick on the face.

"Quit it, Champ," Arnold said. Champ gave a plaintive whine and stuck his head back out the window. Arnold hated the country and he hated going on long drives with his parents. He had to sit in the back seat, and sitting in the back seat always made him carsick. Even more terrible, his parents had whipped out a cassette tape of classic sing-along songs, like they did on every trip. They sang through one side of the tape and when they finished, they flipped it over to side B and started all over again. Other drivers peered in and saw his mother and father in the front, loudly singing rounds of "Old King Kohl" and acting out the words of the song with their faces and hands.

"Old King Cole was a merry old soul And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl And he called for his fiddlers three."

Again and again they repeated. Arnold tried to block out the noise by putting his fingers in his ears while also trying to cover his face so that he wouldn't be seen. The house was nestled deep in the country and the ride was about two hours long. All the scenery looked the same, though, so it seemed even longer to Arnold. On their way, they passed cow farms and soy bean fields that stretched out for acres and acres. There was even a Perdue chicken farm that you could smell miles before passing it. The dank smell of chickens wading in their own waste crawled up Arnold's nostrils and stayed there. The reek made him want to vomit every time. Arnold challenged himself to see how long he could hold his breath to keep from inhaling the stench. His parents loved the earthy smell. They wallowed in it. They rolled all the windows down and took deep breaths of the thick odor.

"That's the smell of the country," they said. As they kept driving, the houses and farms got farther and farther apart until eventually they reached a dense wall of trees. Their house sat in a big field at the edge of some woods. Arnold despised the woods. His parents always forced him to go on long walks with them. His father would test his tree identifying skills.

"Pop question!" he'd say. "You can recognize this tree by its peeling bark and strange fruit. It's a."

"No clue," Arnold would say.

"Rrrrrr!" his father would cry, imitating a game show buzzer, "The correct answer is.Sycamore!"

At night the woods made terrible, creepy sounds that kept Arnold awake-loud, keening animal noises that came sweeping out of the black tangle of branches on the night air. They were noises that tortured Arnold's ears, like the restless peeping of frogs and the clicking of insect legs as they scuttled through dead trees. Arnold was a boy with a very big imagination, and in the back of his mind he knew that something gruesome and vile lived in those woods. He could feel it when he was walking there with his parents. He saw it crawling out of the branches to grab him in his sleep. They arrived at the house a little before noon. Arnold's father pulled the van into the loose gravel drive and right up to the front door of the house. In the field by the house there was a pond full of catfish. Champ couldn't wait to take a swim. He had the whole front half of his body out the car window. His tail was wagging rapidly and hitting Arnold in the face. As soon as Arnold's mother opened the door for him, Champ hopped out and took a splash in the murky water. He came out muddy and smelling like pond scum. He went right up to Arnold and shook the grime off all over him.

"Stupid dog!" Arnold shouted.

"Arnold!" said his mother. "Don't yell at Champ that way."

She grabbed Champ's head and rubbed his cold, wet doggie nose with her big, pointy human one. She let him lick her face all over.

"Aren't you a cutey-wooty," she said as she ruffled his floppy ears. Arnold rolled his eyes.

They went inside and unpacked their things. Not fifteen minutes later, Arnold's father came knocking on his bedroom door.

"We're going for a short walk now. Why don't you come with us?"

Arnold knew that his father wasn't really asking a question.

He would be joining his parents no matter what. He scowled and laced up his boots.

Their short walk lasted almost three hours. It was early April, and the wood's young leaves were small and pale. The trees had grown densely, though, and the forest was cool and dim. There were no trails in the woods so they marched singlefile with Arnold's father leading with the compass, followed closely by his mother. Arnold lagged behind. As they rambled over the uneven ground, Arnold's parents tried to talk to him.

They had to raise their voices over the ceaseless din of chattering cicadas.

"Arnold, why don't you ever invite a friend or two to come out here with us?"

"I don't know," he yelled back. But Arnold thought he had a very good reason. If he invited a friend, his parents would make the friend go hiking, and then the friend would know how unbearable they were. Besides, Arnold wasn't sure that his friends would come even if he were to invite them.

Eventually they stopped to eat the sandwiches Arnold's mother had prepared. Arnold took his and wandered off a ways.

"Make sure not to go too far," his parents shouted after him. "You don't have a compass and you could really get lost out here."

Arnold didn't even turn around. He hopped a fallen tree to find where its torn-up roots had left a hole in the earth. The ancient tree must have come down some time ago, for the ditch had since filled in with fallen leaves. The tree's gnarled roots stretched out horizontally over the ditch, scraping the air like witch's fingers. Arnold slid down the embankment and sat on the opposite side of the hole. The cicadas' singing had been loud before, but the ruckus was almost deafening without human voices and the crunching of footfalls to stand out against it. Arnold snacked on the ham and cheese and let the noise ring in his ears. He thought briefly about what it would be like to live in the woods all alone. He envisioned a filthy, bug-infested shack for himself. Thank God he lived far away in the city. But the thought of being alone pleased him. How nice it would be to live parentless: just a child of the woods.

All of a sudden, the cicadas stopped entirely. The stillness found Arnold in mid-chew, and as his jaw went temporarily slack in astonishment, the wad of food dropped from his lips and into his lap. For a moment it seemed the forest had given Arnold its full attention. The knots in the trees became eyes

that winked at Arnold. The solitary silence disturbed him so much that he decided to go back to his parents. He quickly downed the rest of his sandwich and scrambled up the side of the ditch. By the time Arnold got back to where his parents were sitting, the forest had resumed its regular hubbub. It didn't seem that Arnold's parents had noticed the eerie silence that had just passed over the woods.

Arnold felt glad to be back with them, and he inadvertently allowed his face to show it. His apparent enthusiasm delighted them.

"Ready to get a move-on?" his father asked.

"Yeah."

When they finally got back to the house, Arnold's mother started making dinner right away. Tired and sweaty, Arnold stayed in his room and changed out of his dirty clothes. Soon enough the food was ready, and they all sat down to eat. As they were chewing on their roast beef, green beans, and tomatoes, Arnold's father turned to his son.

"Are you ready for a big hike tomorrow?" he said with his mouth full of food. "I thought you might learn how to plot a point on a compass." Arnold didn't say anything.

"I'll pack our lunches," said his mother.

"You better make sure you have all your gear ready. We're setting out bright and early. Do you have all your gear ready?"

"No," said Arnold. He sat and chewed his food and didn't speak. They all sat in silence. Arnold wondered what Josh was doing. He was probably at the movies or being loud at a diner with hordes of friends.

"Let's try to make polite conversation, ok?" said Arnold's mother.

"I know what we can do," said his father. "We can practice identifying trees." Arnold gritted his teeth.

"Can you tell me the difference between the leaves of a walnut tree and a pine nut tree?"

"No," said Arnold, not looking up from his food.

"Now don't be a spoil-sport," said Arnold's father. "Tell me, what's the difference?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. Come on and humor me." The nagging triggered a horrible reaction inside Arnold. He couldn't stand when his father said things like "Humor me," "Humor us for once," or "Be a good sport and humor me." The words filled his stomach with resentment. He put down his fork.

"No, I don't want to," he said.

"Now don't have a temper tantrum," said his mother.

Telling Arnold not to have a temper tantrum was probably the worst thing she could have said. Arnold hated when she said this even more than he hated his father saying "Humor me."

Arnold could feel the anger welling up in the back of his throat. He slammed his fist down next to his plate, causing the silverware to jump up and come down with a harmonic clang.

"No," shouted Arnold. "I hate trees! I hate trees and I hate hiking! I hate the Woods and this house and the country! I hate coming here and I hate spending time with you!"

"Arnold, please, let's just try to have a nice meal," said his mother. "We come here to relax."

"No, this food sucks," said Arnold.

"Arnold, don't be so damn rude," his father said. "Maybe you ought to excuse yourself from the table."

Arnold pushed back in his chair and stood up. He stomped up the stairs, leaving his dinner behind. He went into his room and slammed the door shut. He lay in his bed and waited for his mother or father to come in and tell him that it was all right-that they were sorry and that he didn't have to go hiking if he didn't want to. But when neither of them came, Arnold just felt worse. He brooded in the dark. He could hear the sounds of the woods outside his window. He opened the blinds and looked into the shadows. There were the leaves on the dark trees waving at him. Staring into the face of the woods, Arnold wished something awful would happen to his parents. And when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a world where he was alone and could do whatever he wanted.

*

The next morning, Arnold woke up later than usual. It was already afternoon. His parents had gone, and Champ was nowhere to be found. Arnold thought he was probably out romping in the field somewhere. Champ was a good dog, mostly. He'd always come back around dinner time when he was hungry. Arnold found a note his parents had left by the front door. "Sorry you couldn't join us," it said. "After last night we figured you'd rather sleep in."

"They've got that right," said Arnold.

So Arnold had the house all to himself. If only there was something to do. He went to the kitchen where his mother had left a note on the refrigerator. "Stuff for sandwiches inside," it said. Underneath she had written out a few cautionary messages: "Be careful with the knife! Be sure to use a cutting board! Make sure to put a tray in the toaster oven so that the cheese doesn't drip onto the bottom and create a goopy mess! Use an oven mitt! Don't put metal in the microwave!"

"Great, Arnold thought, she thinks I can't handle this."

There was no TV in the living room-just a fireplace. So Arnold set himself up on the couch with a ham sandwich and stared into the leftover ashes. As he munched away, he tried to think of fun things he could do while his parents were gone.

Arnold was desperate for a way to pass the time. He was still angry at his parents, so he did some things to get back at them. With Phillips-head screwdriver in hand, he took some of the pictures in the living room off the walls and punched holes in the plaster where they had been hanging. Then he put all the pictures back to cover the holes. He took the stove lighter and used it to singe off the leaves from some of his mother's favorite flowers. First they turned white, then black, and then shriveled up into little clumps. He climbed up onto the bathroom sink, went into the medicine cabinet, and got out the Vaseline. He slimed the tub with it and went skating around in his bare feet.

As he was wiping his sticky feet on the bathmat, the doorbell rang. It took him a moment to figure out what the sound was because hardly anyone ever visited his family in the country. Who could be coming by in the middle of the afternoon?

Arnold thought it was probably their neighbor Kathy who lived some miles up the road. He hoped that it was not. Kathy loved to talk way too much. But when Arnold opened the door, he saw that it was not Kathy. Standing on the other side of the screen door was a tall, lean man in a brown jacket and a brown hat with a long pheasant feather in it.

"Hi," said Arnold.

"Hi, Arnold" said the man. "May I come in?"

"Do I know you?" asked Arnold.

"I know you very well. I know your parents, too" he said.

"I'm here to see the house."

"They're out right now," said Arnold. He peered behind the man at the driveway. The man didn't seem to have a car.

"Well could I come inside to see the house anyway?" he asked. Arnold didn't know what to make of the strange man, but he was definitely not boring. Arnold welcomed him inside.

The man took off his hat and hung it on the coat rack behind the door, revealing tufts of greasy, matted hair underneath. Arnold thought the man did seem like someone his parents would like-a real woodsman. He wore big brown hiking boots, and the knees of his jeans were green with grass stains. His brown jacket was caked in dirt. His face was stubbly and rough-looking, but he looked younger than his parents. Hanging from his belt were what looked like lots of small animal parts-little pelts and claws and bones.

"What are those?" asked Arnold.

"Just some stuff I killed," said the man.

"Neat," said Arnold. "I guess you should just make yourself at home."

"Don't mind if I do," said the man with a smile. Arnold noticed how sharp and jagged his teeth were. They were yellow and scuzzy, too. Arnold wondered if he had ever heard of a toothbrush.

The man sat down on the living room couch and put his feet up on the coffee table, knocking over a few of the chess pieces on Arnold's father's chess board. His father often played against himself since neither Arnold nor his mother was any good. The man gazed around him at the old rustic interior.

"Wow," he said. "This is a really nice place you've got here. It's a lot nicer than my place." The man scratched himself. Arnold noticed that he did this a lot. He itched away at his neck as if he had flees.

"Where do you live?" asked Arnold.

"In the woods," said the man. "How much do you think this house is worth?"

"I have no idea," said Arnold. So people really did live in those woods. He thought that maybe the man wanted to buy the house. He imagined how great it would be never to have to go there with his parents again. Arnold decided to treat the man very nicely just in case.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"They call me Dave," said the man. Arnold wondered who "they" might refer to.

"That's a nifty collection you've got there," said Dave, pointing to the shelves on the wall that housed rows and rows of Arnold's parents' records.

"Those are my mom and dad's," said Arnold. "You can look through them if you want." Dave had already started browsing. He pulled out a whole stack and looked them over one by one.

"These are really great," he said. Arnold tried to make conversation.

"What do you do for a living?" Arnold asked.

"I get by," he said.

"Oh," Arnold said, "that's interesting." He tried to think of ways he could be more hospitable.

"Do you want anything to eat?" he asked.

"No," said Dave. "I'm full. I had a big lunch."

"Alright," said Arnold. He wondered how on earth his parents knew a guy like Dave. Maybe they had met him on one of their hikes. Perhaps they were old friends.

Dave was making a huge mess. Records were out of their jackets, scattered across the coffee table and on the floor. He put one on the turntable; it was Cream. Only Dave was playing it backwards, so that all the words came out as pops and whizzes and gobbledygook. Dave was really into the backward music. He bopped his head and swayed along to the rhythm. Arnold tapped his foot lightly. He didn't have the guts to tell Dave that he was playing it wrong.

"I would really like to have this record" he said. "If youdon't give it to me, I'll kill you." Arnold laughed, but he stopped when Dave didn't start laughing along.

"Well, those belong to my parents," said Arnold. "You'll have to wait until they get back to ask them if you can have it."

"Oh, I get it," he said. He put down the records.

"It's okay," Arnold said, looking down at the floor but not at Dave's face.

Dave shambled over to where Arnold was and towered over him.

"I'd like to see the house," he said.

"Um, sure," Arnold said. It was very hard to say no to Dave. So Arnold gave him the grand tour. He took Dave through theliving and dining rooms and onto the back porch, trying to play them up a bit to make the house seem more desirable.

Arnold even invented some fake history for the house, like that it had been built by the same man who designed the Empire State Building. Dave didn't seem interested, though. Arnold took him upstairs and showed him his room and the guest room, which never got used. Then they went into his parents' bedroom. Dave went over to the bed and tested the mattress's firmness by leaning on it. Then he lay down. He rolled around a little to get adjusted.

"This will do," he said to no one in particular.

"Do you want to take a nap?" Arnold asked. "I can make the bed in the other room."

Dave ignored him.

"Do you have a cellar?" he asked.

"Yes," Arnold said.

"I would like to see it, please," he said. So they trudged down to the basement. He paced around for a while, checking out his father's workshop and fiddling with all his power tools.

"Very nice," said Dave. They marched back upstairs.

"I think I'd like to live here," said Dave.

"Awesome," said Arnold. "You can talk to my parents when they get back. How do you know them again?"

"I met them while they were walking in my woods," said Dave. Arnold had been right about that.

It was getting dark and Arnold's parents still hadn't returned. He wasn't surprised; they loved hiking more than anything. More than they loved him, he thought. Champ was usually back inside by now, though, and Arnold was getting worried. He went outside and checked around the perimeter of the house. Arnold yelled Champ's name and whistled for him across the field. No Champ.

When Arnold got back inside, Dave was stacking wood and newspapers in the fireplace.

"Oh, you're making a fire," Arnold said. "That's great."

"Yup."

"Did you see a dog outside earlier?" Arnold asked. "I can't find our dog Champ."

"What kind of dog?"

"He's a brown Labrador."

"Yeah, I've seen him."

"Where?"

"I saw him when I came out of the woods," said Dave. "But that was a while ago."

"I wonder what happened to him," said Arnold. Dave wasn't looking at him. He was concentrating on lighting the fire.

"I ate him," said Dave. Arnold thought he had heard wrong.

"What?"

"I told you that I ate him."

"You're kidding," Arnold chuckled nervously. "You're funny, Dave." Dave stopped working on the fire and stood up.

"No joke," he said. He reached slowly into his pocket. He pulled out something flat and brown. At first Arnold thought that it might have been a leaf, but after staring at it for a minute, Arnold saw what it really was: a dog ear. A soft, wrinkled dog ear that had been cut clean off. There was dried blood All along where it had once been attached to the head. Arnold stood there bewildered. Dave extended his arm, offering it to him.

"Here," he said, "I can't eat this." Arnold took the ear and stumbled onto the couch. He sat with the ear in his hand. It was just like Champ's-the same size and color, but it was stiffer than a dog ear should be.

"Why?" Arnold asked.

"I was hungry," said Dave. "I'm sorry." He paused.

"Actually, I'm not sorry. You know how it is." Arnold did not know.

The fire was glowing now, and Dave was using the poker to get it to burn higher and higher. It was getting very late. Arnold wanted his parents to come home soon so that they could get rid of Dave. But then a terrible thought came to him.

"Dave, where are my parents?" Arnold asked.

"They're out in the woods," said Dave.

"Do you know what they're doing out there?" Arnold asked.

"Probably lying around," he said. Arnold felt suddenly sick, like someone had just dropped a huge rock down his throat and into his stomach.

"Why would they be doing that?"

"Well, I killed them, of course." Arnold didn't say anything and then he started to cry. He managed to burble out words in between heavy sobs.

"Did you eat them, too?" he asked.

"No," said Dave, laughing a bit, "Don't be silly. Of course I left them on the ground where they were." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a brown leather wallet.

"Here," he said, tossing it onto Arnold's lap. Arnold opened it up. It was his father's. In it Arnold saw his father's driver's license and a picture of the family: Arnold's father, his mother, Arnold, and Champ. Arnold wanted to throw up.

"Why?" Arnold asked. He could only manage single words now through the waves of angry and fearful weeping.

"I don't know," said Dave. "It was something to do, I guess."

Arnold imagined his parents hiking deep in the woods, holding hands, and stopping every so often to look at an especially interesting fungus or gaze up into the treetops through binoculars in search of rare birds. Arnold pictured Dave coming along. Of course they stopped to talk to him. They probably asked him where he's from, and of course he said "the woods."

He asked them where they live and they, of course, answered truthfully, telling him all about the house at the edge of the woods where they stay with their dog and their son, who happened to be there all by himself. Of course, after Dave had had enough talking, he killed them and left them on the ground to rot.

Arnold eyed the front door. He had to get out of there.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said, getting up to move.

Swiftly as a cougar, Dave grabbed the fire poker and swung it up at Arnold so that the sharp point was right under his chin.

"No you don't." he said. "I can't have you running off now."

Arnold tripped back to the couch. Dave went back to tending the fire.

"I don't want to die," said Arnold, still shaking.

"Don't be silly," said Dave. "Of course you want to die.

Everybody has to die someday. What would you do with all that time if you never died?" Dave looked at Arnold and saw the terrified expression on his face.

"Oh," he said. "You mean that you don't want me to kill you. Well I have been thinking about it, and now that you've brought it up I probably will for sure." Arnold sat and waited for Dave to wheel around and stab him through the chest with the fire poker. He thought it would be better if Dave did it quickly.

"On second thought," said Dave, "I'm not really in the mood. It will be very messy. And once you're dead you can't move yourself, of course, so I will have to drag you somewhere, probably the basement. But after a while you'll start to smell, and I'll have to move you again." Then Dave spied Arnold's father's chessboard sitting on the coffee table. Dave's eyes suddenly lit up.

"Do you like games?" he asked. He was grinning very widely and Arnold could see his sharp teeth. Arnold didn't know how to answer, so he just nodded his head.

"Fantastic!" said Dave. "I have a wonderful idea: we'll play a game of chess, and if I win, I'll kill you now, and if you win, you can live, for now." Arnold shook his head. He didn't want to compete for his life, especially not in chess.

"I don't know how to play," he lied.

"That's ok," said Dave, "Me neither. Not really. We can just make up the rules we don't know." Arnold shook his head.

Dave sat down in a big chair by the fire and crossed his arms. Arnold could only guess what his sadistic mind was scheming.

A moment later Dave sprang back up. Arnold flinched.

"I know!" he said, "We'll play Hide and Seek! Everyone knows how to play that game. I'll count to sixty while you go hide, and when I find you, I'll kill you!" He looked very pleased to have come up with this idea. Arnold shook his head no.

"Oh, come on," he said. "It's a great idea. Let's play. Okay?

Okay. We're playing. It's official."

"But I don't want to," said Arnold.

"Listen," said Dave. "If we don't play, I'm going to kill you right now." He started counting.

"One, two, three." Arnold just sat there. He couldn't believe this was happening. He considered what he would tell Josh if he ever got back home, if he won at Hide and Seek.

"You better get going," said Dave. "Four, five, six." Arnold shot up.

"You're counting too fast," he said. Dave didn't stop or slow down. He just looked at Arnold, grinning his wide grin. The fire was reflected in both his eyes.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten." Fifty seconds left. Arnold had to move, so he up and flew out the front door. He went all the way around the house once, frantically thinking what to do. Then he stared into the gaping mouth of the woods. Arnold ran.

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