Brian
Rosenberger

Arlene
Ang

Stephen
Collicoat

Christopher
Brown

Tim
Johnson

Ben
Farmer

As the sun receded and as daylight evaporated, a bitter-cold wind whipped by. New England winters are typically cold, but that evening it was much colder than usual. Six o'clock approached, and the boys were heading home.

There were five of them to begin with, Danny, Cliff, Jon, Will, and Brett. After an exhausting afternoon of snowball fights and sledding down Ryefield Hill on old cardboard, the five friends trudged tiredly through the blistering cold towards their homes. Most of the boys lived near Clayton Street, which was about two and a half miles from Ryefield hill, where they had been playing.

"I wish I wore boots," Jon said, looking at his frozen sneakers, walking along the icy sidewalk. "My feet are numb."

"Mine, too," Cliff said. He took of his hat and scratched at his ruffled, red hair. His chubby cheeks were a bright, rosy red from the cold, but his freckles stood out boldly. "But the rest of my body is too bad."

"That's cuz you got an extra layer," Danny said, jokingly patting Cliff's round stomach. Danny was very thin, and rather tall for his age. At twelve-the oldest of the bunch-he stood at five feet and four inches-also the tallest.

"Oh, shut your face," Cliff said, swatting Danny's hand away.

Brett looked down at his two feet as they continued to move, probably more on their own than with his help. His frozen toes didn't need his brain to tell them to hurry up and get home where it was nice and warm. Apparently, his stomach agreed, growling lightly. A hot meal sounded very appealing. He couldn't complain too much, though. The Junior High had canceled school because of the snow, and it was nice to have a day off.

"Should we take the shortcut?" Will asked as the group neared the woods.

"I don't know," Brett replied. "It's getting dark. We might not be able to see."

"What's there to see?" Danny asked. "You just follow the path."

"Actually, I am cold," Cliff said, not providing much help.

"I say we take the shortcut," Danny remarked, already decided. "If we stay on the road we'll have to walk all the way to Chestnut Street, then go down Highland. The woods cut right through. Besides, we walk that way all the time."

"Yeah, but not at dark," Brett said.

"Afraid?" Will asked.

"No," Brett replied, feeling his teeth begin to chatter. He wasn't afraid, just concerned. He only wanted to get home as soon as possible.

"Okay, then," Danny said, now leading the way.

The group crossed the road, hurrying as headlights approached. They trudged up the snow bank made by a plow and began walking down another icy sidewalk. A gust of stabbing wind whistled by, burning their chilled faces.

Cliff moaned, his teeth began to chatter.

The five boys came to a guardrail at the top of a hill. Danny climbed over the rail first, followed by the others, and carefully made his way down the snowy decline.

"Crap," Cliff said, slipping a little. "My shoe's falling off." He struggled awkwardly to fix it.

Brett stopped and helped Cliff keep his balance while he pushed the frozen sneaker back on.

"Thanks," Cliff said.

Brett nodded and rejoined the group, already at the bottom of the hill, standing by the train tracks.

They walked along the tracks, towards the spot where the woods opened up and the path began. About halfway there, as the boys crossed under a bridge, they saw a figure leaning against the graffiti-covered, cement wall.

Brett was the first to see, he felt a lump rise tightly in his throat.

"Hey, fellas," the voice of the figure in the darkness called.

Cliff nearly shrieked. The other boys slowly turned their heads.

"Cold night, huh?" the scratchy voice remarked. The man behind the voice stood up and walked towards the group. When his face came into visibility, the boys could see that it was the infamous Wandering George.

Their footsteps became even more hurried as the one-armed, homeless man approached. George was dressed in the same ratty clothes that he wore year-round, and there was an awful stench rising from him.

"Any of you boys have any money?" George asked, continuing to walk closer to the group. "Anything?"

Nobody spoke, the boys simply continued to walk.

"Anything at all? A few cents, maybe?" George asked sternly.

"No we don't," Danny said, speaking boldly for the entire group. "We don't have any money, and we don't have anything for you."

Danny sure does have balls, Brett thought, watching George out of the corner of his eye. He could see that the homeless man had stopped and was standing still.

"Well, thanks anyway!" George shouted angrily.

Cliff began to whimper.

All the boys turned their heads briefly to see George raise his right arm and the little nub that remained on his left side, high in the air. There was something about that nub that was unusually creepy. "You boys go on home to your warm houses and eat warm food and sleep in your warm beds! But remember this! George is sleeping in the cold again!" There was a maniacal stare in the dirty, homeless man's eyes. "You remember that when you're nice and warm tonight! George is cold!"

Quickly the boys broke into a run. They hurried along the tracks and reached the path that led into the woods.

Brett stopped and turned around to see George, now only a blur in the darkness, limping back to his nook under the sewer-like bridge. "Watch out in them woods you little rodents!" George hollered, disgruntled. "It's gettin' dark!" Brett wasn't positive, but he thought that he could hear George laughing, rather smugly.

The five friends walked for a few minutes without speaking. There was only a sliver of the moon filling the sky that evening, and the woods were nearly black. Enough light reached through the snow-covered trees to meagerly illuminate the path, and that was about it.

"Did you guys hear something," Cliff asked. It was clear that he was crying, just a little.

"No," Will replied. "You're just scared."

"Wandering George is nuts," Jon said.

"Yeah," Danny agreed. "He's always got that look in his eye like he's gonna kill someone."

"I heard he did kill someone," Jon said nervously.

"Well, he was in a war, right?" Will asked.

"Yeah, Vietnam," Brett said. "My Uncle Bill used to know him."

"That's where he lost his arm, right?" Jon asked.

"I heard that he got so hungry one time that he cut off his own arm at ate it," Will stated, almost jokingly, but with a serious undertone.

Danny scoffed. "No. But, I've heard a bunch of stories about Wandering George. Like that time when he got caught tryin' to break into Crawson Elementary School, and he was shouting that a monster was after him. He must have been real drunk."

"Yeah, I heard that," Jon said, pulling his hat further down over his ears. "I heard that he eats kids too. When he gets hungry enough."

"I don't know about that one," Danny said. "But, did you hear about the time when Wandering George tried to-"

"Wait a minute," Brett said, looking around nervously. He counted one, two, three, and himself. Four. "Where's Cliff?" he asked.

"He's right-" Danny began, but broke off, realizing that Cliff was no longer with them. "Where the hell did he go?"

"Cliff?" Brett called loudly into the surrounding darkness. "Cliff?"

The boys waited and listened. But there was no response.

So the four boys began to edge their way back in the opposite direction, looking for their friend who had become separated from the group. Danny and Will looked to the left side of the woods, Brett and Jon looked to the right.

As Brett's eyes searched the darkness surrounding the path, he saw something. It was a dark patch in the snow. At first he thought that it was simply a fallen piece of bark, but when he leaned in to examine it closer, he realized that it wasn't. It was a stain.

"What're you looking at?" Jon asked, walking towards Brett.

"I don't know," Brett replied, squinting as he leaned forward, closer to the dark spot.

Danny and Will joined the other two, staring at the stain.

"What's this?" Brett asked, reaching out and picking up something that had been resting beside the dark spot. He wondered how he hadn't noticed it at first. It was hard like wood-frozen-but it didn't feel quite like a branch, there was an odd, fleshy texture to it.

"Shit!" Jon exclaimed, stumbling backwards. He had been the first to realize what the object actually was.

"What?" Brett asked dumbly, still holding the thing in his gloved hand.

"Oh, my God!" Will exclaimed. "It's an arm!"

And with that, Brett dropped it quickly and stepped back. A bout of chills gripped his cold body.

The boys stared in horror at a frozen, mangled arm. It began just below where the elbow would be, looking as if it had been hacked off, the way a tree is chopped down arduously with a hatchet. The fingers where twisted and frozen in place. The arm was small-a child's arm.

Brett wiped his hand on his snow-pants, realizing that the dark patch in the snow was a bloodstain. He felt vomit rise in his throat, but the cold air helped to force it back down.

Jon began to whimper. "Is it Cliff's?" he asked.

Danny and Will gasped.

"No," Brett said, surprised at the calmness in his voice. "It's frozen solid. Like it'd been here for a while."

Will's head looked around rapidly in all directions. "Where's Cliff?"

"Do you guys remember hearing about, Travis Gibbons?" Danny asked, his voice faltering slightly.

The other three frightened boys stopped breathing for a moment; they all knew exactly what Danny was talking about. Travis Gibbons was a little boy who had been reported missing the past week.

Brett shivered, partly from the blistering cold, partly from the possibility that he had been holding the cut-off arm of Travis Gibbons. Fear flooded his body as he wondered were his friend Cliff might have gone. His mind told him to run, but his body would not obey.

Fearful paralyzed, the boys couldn't move. They stood still, briefly looking at the arm, then at each other, but mostly at their surroundings.

"Holy shit," Danny said. "Wandering George."

"What?" Will asked in a shaky voice.

"Wandering George," Danny stated again. "I bet he did this. You know how the headless horseman went around cutting off heads? Well maybe that crazy-ass George goes around cutting off arms."

"Trying to find the right one?" Will asked satirically, mocking the thought.

"No." Danny said, his voice faltering. "Maybe just because he's pissed off. You guys saw the way he looked at us. Wandering George is crazy."

Brett felt his heart beating in his chest with a great thumping sensation.

"HELP!" Will yelled desperately into the darkness.

"Shut up," Danny said, eerily quiet. "He could be somewhere in the dark, watching us."

Cliff's dead, Brett thought horribly.

"This trail goes on for a long way," Danny said. "Maybe even a mile. And I think we're near the center of it. We need to get out of here quick. Then, we can get help."

The boys began walking hurriedly, all three of them. Brett, Danny, Will, and-

"Where's Jon?" Will asked, near crying.

Danny's head darted around in all directions. Jon was nowhere in sight. "How?" Danny asked incredulously. "He was just here a second ago."

Wandering George was in the army, Brett thought. They teach you how to sneak up on people.

"Come on guys, let's go," Will said. He was clearly crying now.

"Jon?" Brett called quietly, no longer worried about his frozen toes, or his chattering teeth, or his numb lips.

But Danny and Will were already running, and Brett didn't want to be left alone in the darkness. He began to run, and quickly caught up with the other two.

Walking, it usually took about fifteen minutes to cross the woods. But now, there was about a foot of snow, and running wasn't easy. If they were about halfway, and if they ran the rest of the way-even though the snow was deep-then they should be out in no more than five minutes. Shortly, they'd be safe and sound, and-

Danny tripped over a fallen branch and fell to the ground. "Ahh!" he cried, frustrated. "Damn!"

Brett stopped running and turned to help his fallen friend. It was hard to get back up when the snow was so deep.

Will, who had been behind Danny, stopped as well.

"Are you alright?" Brett asked, trying to pull Danny to his feet.

"Yeah," Danny shrugged. "But my boot came off."

Brett picked up Danny's boot and handed it to him. He peered cautiously into the darkness, while Danny struggled to push his boot back on.

"Okay," Danny said, finally fitting the boot tightly on his foot. "Let's get out of here."

And then it happened, yet again. Brett looked around and found only himself and Danny. Where the hell did Will go?

"Will's not here," Brett said to Danny quietly, terrified.

"What," Danny asked, shocked but not entirely surprised. He looked around wildly. "Will!" he called, abandoning his idea of remaining quiet. "Will!" But there was no response. And by now, neither of the two remaining boys expected one. "Fuck you Wandering George!" Danny called, nearly hysterical, into the ominous darkness.

"Danny," Brett pleaded, "we have to get out of here."

So the two boys started walking with much effort through the knee-deep snow-it was far too difficult to run.

"Do you think we might be freaking out a little?" Brett asked, trying to keep his cool. "I mean, maybe the others just got lost. Or maybe they're already home by now and we'll see them in school tomorrow?"

"I don't think so," Danny replied poignantly. "Why wouldn't they answer back? And besides, I don't see any footprints ahead of us."

He's right, Brett thought coldly. I wonder if I'll be next.

Brett allowed his mind to fill with thoughts as they trudged weakly onward. He thought of how nice it would be to get home and eat a hot dinner and watch TV. He thought of getting a phone call from Cliff's mother, asking if he knew where Cliff was. He thought of talking to a policeman about seeing a bloody, frozen arm in the woods. He thought of Wandering George with his nub of an arm, shouting at them as they walked into the dangerous darkness.

He began to remember another time when he had seen wandering George. It was a year ago, and he had been riding in the car with his mother. They had pulled into the video store to rent a movie. George was talking to a police officer. There were two police cars parked in front of the package store across the street. George began shouting at the policeman and then spit in his face. Another cop grabbed George from behind, but they couldn't handcuff him, because he only had one arm.

"Hey, Danny," Bret asked, breaking from his thoughts, "do you think that-"

Where the hell is Danny?

Brett looked around feverishly. Danny was nowhere to be found.

How? Brett wondered desperately. He had been right beside me just a second ago. Now he's gone. We're dropping, one by one. Maybe tomorrow they'll find a whole pile of cut-off arms. But how could it all happen so fast? One by one. I'm the only one left. I guess I must be next.

He began to cry, he couldn't move. Paralyzed, he felt his heartbeat increase rapidly. It was beating so loudly that he almost didn't hear the stealthy rustle in the bushes behind him. A tingling sensation shot through his arm.

He had expected to find the crazy face of Wandering George lunging furiously forward with a bloodied knife, ready to be used for the fifth time. But when he stared into the uncanny eyes of the grotesque and famished attacker, before he was taken, he had a pretty good idea how Wandering George had lost his arm. And he also knew why this had never happened during the hours of daytime.

© 2003 Tim Johnson