“Stone, are you…bewitched?”
The question rang hollow in his ears. “I don’t believe in this crap,” he thought, “but there sure is something going on here.”
“If you understand me“, he said aloud, “show me what you can do.”
The lights swirled around him in a brilliant tornado, lifting him off the ground and setting its burden in the crook of an ancient and gnarled oak at the circle’s edge. Just below his left hand, stuck deep where the tree had grown around it, was a piece of metal. It was tarnished and black, invisible from anywhere but exactly this spot. Simon grabbed hold of it and pulled but the thing did not move.
“Stone, do you mean for me to get this? Is it valuable or something?”
A galaxy of stars poured over the branch and wrenched apart the imprisoning wood. Now free of its wooden scabbard, Simon could tell this was a long silver knife. It had jewels on the hilt and a dark red crust on the blade.
He took it with a mixture of excitement and fear that he was involved with things he ought not to be.
“This isn’t the knife is it? The one used to make the Witch Drum?” His voice was shaking more with each word. “I don’t want it…I DON’T WANT IT!” he cried.
He let go the knife and jerked back from it as the silver blade fell from his hand. Overbalanced, they two toppled to the ground and landed with a muffled thud on deep piles of leaves. Simon groaned a little and rolled over. Nothing seemed to be broken and for that he was thankful. The branch from which he had slipped was a good 15 feet high.
Rising to his hands and knees, he noticed a small hollow at the base of the old oak. Deep inside was the faintest outline of something square and solid. He reached into the gap, further and further, stretching to his utmost. Then his fingers closed on a cold iron ring. He pulled and tugged mightily until with a slight cracking sound, a chest popped out. It was larger than Momma’s stew pot, dark wood and bound in iron.
There was a hasp and small lock but they were so rusted that the slightest pressure caused them to disintegrate. Simon knelt by the chest and lifted the lid. Inside was the answer to all of the boy’s prayers: gold coins glittered in the suddenly bright sunlight; silver reals and tiny “pieces of eight” filled the bottom of the cask; a small number of exquisitely cut gems flashed and sparkled. On top was the largest sapphire he could imagine, bluer than the sea and glowing as if lit by an inner fire.
Young as he was, Simon knew this would be a small fortune. The gems alone had to be worth thousands, tens of thousands of dollars. His Momma sure could use the money and maybe she would buy him that new video game system.
The longer he gazed at the trove the louder his mind argued with his heart. “Who would leave so much money stuck inside a tree anyway?” he thought. It had to be pirate treasure or, or maybe…maybe it was the lost gold his ancestors had stolen. The box sure looked old enough. And the silver knife was stuck in this tree. “But nobody proved they stole it and if it was theirs then as their kin it should be mine.”
This simple logic settled the matter right there. He pocketed the sapphire, slammed the lid shut, took off his coat and wrapped it around the box. He sure didn’t want anyone else seeing this before he could get it home.
Once on his bike, Simon pedaled for all he was worth. His mind raced faster still, how wonderful this was. How amazing! Momma wouldn’t cry anymore! They could buy a bigger house!
In his euphoria, Simon did not see the tree root sticking up in front of him. A loud sickening screech of metal bending erupted as his front rim folded upon itself and the tire exploded. The thin boy flipped over the handlebars, turned two perfect summersaults and landed roughly in a heap. Someone watching the accident might have thought Simon had a concussion. Perhaps he had gone a little touched in the head, because there he lie, covered in dirt and laughing his fool head off.
“Oh, my head” he moaned and began to suck on a deep cut to the back of his hand. Crashing this bike was only going to make things better, even if he had cracked a rib or two. Deep chuckles continued to burst from his belly despite the pain they caused. He looked over to the side of the road where his ride had landed. There it was, his mother’s old pink Schwinn with the drooping center bar and rubber bulb horn. She loved that bike and though he had been allowed to remove the basket and handlebar tassels, she insisted that the horn stay. He gazed on the twisted pile of scrap metal and couldn’t have been happier. Now he could get a really good mountain bike and she could have this girly piece of…well, she could have her bike repaired.
Granny Trudy was the first one to see him as he limped into the yard late that afternoon. She came out of the house madder than a wet hen and screaming, “Simon Joshua Peters, what have you been doing boy? You weren’t teasing the Baker’s dogs again were ya? Sure looks like they got ahold of you.”
“No Granny. I ain’t been nowhere near the Baker’s place.”
“Then what on God’s good earth happened to you?”
“I wrecked the bike Granny.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yea, I got a few scratches and a cut on my hand but I’m okay.”
“I was askin’ about the bike. I need to go to the church tonight for the quilting bee.”
“Thanks Granny.” He replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“I’m glad you’re fine son but I really do need that bike. Where is it?”
“Up off
Old Mill Road
Old Mill Road
A steely look crossed his Grandmother’s face and Simon knew he was in for it this time.
“You been up to Thrasher Park
Simon was caught between a teen’s natural desire for privacy and the golden surprise he had under his arm. The conflict must have shown on his face as Granny paused for a second and then softened her voice, “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
The joy won out as he fairly exploded, “Granny!!! I found a buried treasure! There’s gold and silver and jewels. Granny there’s an emerald bigger than your fist in here!”
Clumsily, he un-wrapped the chest, set it on a nearby crate and opened the lid. Sunlight reflected in a thousand colors on Gertrude’s face. She swayed a little and Simon thought she might faint.
“Thank the Lord”, she whispered. “Where did you find this?”
A flood of words began to gush forth but just as abruptly stopped. Something was thumping against his leg. His right hand fell deeply into the pocket and closed around a large and slightly bumpy object. He withdrew the thing and found nothing more than his old stone. Yet it was strangely mixed now, halfway between sapphire and rock. Deep in its crystal depths were two letters: N-O.
His mind reeled. The stone didn’t want him to tell how he found the money. What was he going to tell Granny? He cast about for any story no matter how wild it seemed. To buy some time he turned his back on the old lady and started to pace. After mere seconds an explanation began to take shape and slowly he spoke.
“Remember when we used to live at the big house, and you told me never to play near the lake without an adult? Well, one day, just before Daddy died, I was down fishin’ and I saw…something.”
“What did you see?”
Right now though, Simon was thinking about how to avoid having to give the money to anyone else. He couldn’t tell the truth. She wouldn’t believe it and make him give the chest to the cops. If anyone else could claim it then they wouldn’t get to keep all that treasure. But if the ghosts of his kin had hidden it, and if he found it on their land then it would be theirs wouldn’t it?
“I saw two men diggin’ around the roots of an old oak tree near the water. They were dressed kinda funny and wore big wide-brimmed hats with round tops.”
Simon was trying very hard to remember what his ancestors Joseph and Jonathan had looked like. Granny loved to make him sit and go over family picture albums for hours at a time. She would tell him stories about every person they saw. Some were even interesting, but most just bored him to tears.
“One of them was really tall and had a nasty burn around his neck.” Jonathan stood 6’ 2” and was hung for horse thievery, though it was never proven whether he did it. “The other was also tall but had no front teeth and a hole in the side of his head.” Joseph was a couple inches shorter and fought three men trying to prevent the lynching of his brother. They shot him with a musket to the ear.
“So after these guys were done, they just turned and disappeared into the woods. I walked over to the tree and found this hidden down under the roots. I pulled it out, brought it up to the house, and hid it in the attic. That night momma told me that Daddy had died. I forgot all about the chest until this morning. It took me a few hours to dig through the shed but here it is.”
The tale seemed fantastic, even to Simon who had heard and told quite a few whoppers in his time. He just knew Granny wasn’t going to accept it. She cleared her throat, looked around and whispered,
“Simon, I think it was your Great-Granddad and his brother. They knew your daddy was sick and we needed that money. But I don’t think anyone is gonna believe us. So if somebody asks just say that you found it in our shed like you told me. Okay?”
His mouth dropped open. This was the first time that Granny Trudy had accepted one of his fish stories without question. Usually she saw right through it and pressed him for enough details to make it fall apart. This time it seemed to have worked and he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“You know,” she added, “I think I did see that little chest when we were packing up to move out. I never got around to opening it.” Her lofty air made Simon wonder if she was trying harder to convince him or herself. She ran her fingers through the coins, closed her eyes and silently offered thanks for this Godsend.
After the treasure had been sold, the taxman taking his part, they had almost $275,000. This unimaginable wealth quickly disappeared as they paid off the medical bills, their house, set aside enough for Simon’s college education and bought a few nice things; including a top of the line mountain bike. Life was good again.
Simon grew older and his knack for getting into mischief deepened. Never did he forget the promise to not making his Momma cry, but having a little fun wasn’t bad he told himself.
Most of his shenanigans were completely harmless. He called in a false burglary at the high school so that he could put a milk cow inside the jail house while the cops were busy. Then for two weeks he delivered empty milk bottles to the jail each morning. Another time he jacked-up Mr. Perkins’ Mustang convertible just high enough that the tires barely made contact with the road. The 40 year old man with the mid-life crisis jumped in and tried to speed off but only managed to fill the parking lot with burnt rubber smoke.
Simon’s masterpiece though, the one that would have gotten him arrested if there had been a law against it, was inspired. He faked a newspaper report showing that a skin cream made of mashed bananas, honey and oatmeal, worn very thin, would cure wrinkles and cellulite. Practically every woman in town, including Momma and Granny, paraded around with a bright sheen to their faces. Some desperate souls looked like a bowl of porridge had been turned over their heads and drained under their clothes. The women dripped from home to church; squished at their shopping; and oozed profusely on the weekends when it became very popular to get together at the salon and discuss their favorite skin-recipe. His grand joke was only discovered because he took it one step too far.
After two weeks of looking like half melted crayon women, several ladies wanted to see results. They began caking on the miracle mixture so thick that their husbands couldn’t recognize them anymore. He slipped into the paper a follow-up story that if the proportions weren’t quite right, it could cause the skin to turn orange and then laced the locally made honey tubs with food dye. He couldn’t help but laugh at the dozens of oompa-loompas strutting through town trying their hardest to maintain some semblance of dignity.
As the days of his childhood flew by, Simon began to yearn for something that could not be found in Vinton. He was far more intelligent than most anyone in town except that snotty-nosed Virginia Shelton. At 14 she was so prissy and stuck-up that Simon could barely stand to think of her let alone be her friend. Luckily she was headed to Georgetown
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