Uprising

May 15

Dear Mr. Claire,

First off, you needn’t apologize for reading the contents of my report, as it was hardly classified information. I am sorry that you had to read the dreadfully boring thing in the first place – it was meant for the Committee of Public Safety here in Corsville, but somehow ended up in your hands. How it crossed your path is certainly a mystery, but I am glad it found its way to you. You see, I am a believer in chance occurrences. There must be a reason that you found my letter and it did not end its journey in a gutter somewhere.

As for the other matter  in your letter, it does sound like there is a greater mystery at hand. You mention a future investigation – may I inquire when? I am happy to indulge your inquiries. I feel like I owe some sort of service after subjecting you to events from my life’s happenings.

As far as my job, which you inquired after, most days there is little to report. Being the sole watchtower operator in the area has some advantages, but most of the time it lends to more loneliness than anything else. There are hardly any fires, and sometimes I feel silly waiting for one. What a different life from yours, the buzz of the city and the crush of people all the time! Would you like to switch jobs for one day? It is quiet up on my hill, and my companions are usually restricted to the flying geese or the occasional fox. Once I was lucky and saw the shadow of a larger animal, possibly a bear, but I think even my distant excitement frightened it, and it disappeared. The evergreen and fir trees are my favorite part. I have a special fondness for them and they enclose my small hill like a protective parent would. Unfortunately, they are so thick and lush that during the winter months I can hardly see the ground! Usually I am not able to observe any human activity, so I wonder if your investigation will reveal any. It is shocking to hear of crimes in Corsville, and I struggle to remember the last time anything was reported to the sheriff. I know this case could be serious, but I must admit I find it rather exciting.

In any event, your letter does come at a strange time in the chronicle of my watchtower observations, because last Monday morning I witnessed something rather strange.

I was sitting in the tower facing east, my favorite direction to take in the morning light and air. The trees were floating slightly in the breeze, and I was feeling the familiar sensation of being on an island far above Earth and our small town. The silhouette of a small bird moved across the sky, and my eye followed it down into the trees directly in front of me, where it abruptly vanished from my sight. I knew the bird well.I had been tracking its progress for several weeks. It is native to this area, and has few predators. I thought nothing of it until later that day when I passed the nest on my way down the hill, where it is usually perched about 20 feet in the air. This time, the bird was not there to greet me cheerily. Its body was mangled and disfigured there, in a way that suggested there was a method to the deed. I hardly recognized it as the creature that sang for me each sunrise. This was not the work of animals, but of something or someone with clear intention. This may be of no relation to your investigation, but since I know you to be experienced in this area of work, I cannot help but disclose any and all information.

When are you coming to Corsville? If you would like to see the site of the event, I am happy to show you. Bring hiking boots.

Kindly,

Amelia Everett Walsh

Watchtower #43, Greater Corsville Area

…

June 1

Dear Ms. Walsh,

There is no need to apologize. I found the report to be interesting and informative. I believe it may provide some background information for the investigation, one that is to begin in a few weeks.

Your position in the fire tower must be important if you are responsible for the greater Corsville area. Might I inquire how you came into this line of work? As for myself, I did not always imagine being surrounded with the honking of cars and the crush of people as you describe it. Looking back, I am a bit baffled as to how I even came to have this job. It certainly leaves no room for relaxation. I have never had the privilege of seeing a bear, or of finding a quiet moment alone with my thoughts. This does not mean that I do not wish for peace of mind –it’s quite the opposite. The other day, I was walking through the subway and saw an ad for a vacation to the Grand Canyon. I stood by it a minute, restraining myself from jumping on a train and leaving for Arizona tomorrow. But things are not that simple. There is always another day, another case and another cycle to complete. The search for the right story forces me to continue, for if I can find just one that is truly satisfying and awards me some recognition, I believe I could get up and walk away from this work. It sounds simple, but you would be surprised at the amount of  “fluff” I must report on. Stories rarely catch my fancy like they used to. Until then, I would be happy to trade work for a day, as long as you promise not to tell my editor Mr. Roth. I believe he may have a fit.

Speaking of Roth, I now have more information to give you regarding the business of the investigation. A few months ago, my office received an anonymous call from a woman in Corsville. She was obviously distressed, and since Mr. Roth is known to have a short temper when it comes to speaking with strangers, I was handed the phone. I quickly jotted down her concerns, which appeared to relate to a petty crime of vandalism at a local high school. I learned the cause for her agitation: just as you had hinted, she was shocked by any crime being committed in such a quiet town, and feared that it was doomed to repeat itself. I tried to calm her, but it was difficult with Roth standing over my shoulders.He tends to bring an air of anxiety with him everywhere.

I had initially believed this to be the end of the matter, but a few days later, we had another call, this time from a local minister. Again, I was the one to speak to him and was told of a slightly more disturbing fact: his wife had discovered her henhouse completely empty, with only the bones of the birds left behind. He told me this was highly unusual because his hens are well protected and even then have little to fear, as the wolves stay in the hills and there are no dogs nearby. This sounds similar to the sight you witnessed. It was after this that Roth requested I come to investigate. Even if I don’t find anything, I will be able to report on a curious and abnormal event in an otherwise ordinary county.

If it is all right I think I would like to come see the site of your bird also. The two incidents have too much in common for me to disregard them.

Please write if you witness any other strange events. I have an intuition that there may be more to come, and even though you say you cannot see everything, your view from the tower sounds like an excellent starting place. I don’t own any hiking boots, so it may take me a few extra days to find some.

Gratefully,

Maxwell Claire

477 Coldwell St., New York

…

June 8

Dear Mr. Claire,

What a compliment! I am not sure anyone has ever commented positively on my reports, especially to call them interesting. They are simply a routine part of the job. I must submit them every few weeks to be reviewed by the city for any notes of possible future fires or unusual activity. Unfortunately, those on that committee are not especially thorough and lack the patience to read my observations. I once heard that Miranda Scott shared with everyone her recipe for pea soup instead.

My job isn’t too demanding, but I take it seriously. I began this work when I was young, during the summer between my second and third years of college. I had a sharp eye and a responsible nature, so the city offered me the job again one summer later. It wasn’t glamorous by any stretch, but I enjoyed the solitude and the unusual responsibility. If there was a fire, Corsville could count on Amelia Walsh to alert them! I planned to leave the job behind after college, but I had no idea what profession would call my name. I didn’t act fast enough, though, for as I prepared to leave Corsville behind for good, the head of Park Services requested I work one final summer, begging me to stay until they could find a replacement. I couldn’t turn him down, although I desperately wanted to. In this context I feel as though I know you already. Feeling stuck can make the most even-tempered of people insane.

It seems you have made progress in the investigation. My thanks for providing updates. I now feel like I have some little role to play. It makes me a little giddy when I sit in my watchtower and think of a newspaper coming here. Finally, there will something to talk about besides Miranda’s soup, which in my opinion tastes exactly like the kind you could buy at the corner store. When you’re here, you can judge it for yourself.

The events you spoke of do seem to be too similar to disregard. The hens from Mrs. Spoke’s yard (the minister’s wife as you’ll recall) were well known in Corsville for providing a steady and robust supply of eggs. I enjoyed them a few times myself, and it troubles me to think of what could have killed them. They were her pride and joy, and I can only imagine how she must be feeling after losing them. Her farm is not far from the bottom of my hill; we could visit it too, if you please.

If you can come before next week, I can show you the site of the bird before the heat reaches its worst levels. For some reason, the trees in my grove have not succumbed to the temperature and are not losing their leaves like they usually do. Fall is approaching, yet they remain green. I wonder if they are in some kind of rebellion this year. Please don’t worry about the boots, you can find some here. I know just the place.

Yours truly,

Amelia Everett Walsh

P.S Please call me Amelia! Ms. Walsh sounds far too official.

…

June 12

Dear Amelia,

It was my pleasure to read your report, truly. When you describe the way in which Miranda Scott reacted to them, it irks me.hey are pieces of evidence now, as important as anything else. Remember that. You should feel as though you have a part to play, because you do. By the time you read this, I will be in Corsville staying at a small hotel near the town hall. If I come across Ms. Scott before I see you, I will glare at her quietly.

Don’t worry about your job. I know that one day soon you will be able to leave it behind. I can only hope to do the same for myself, and eagerly anticipate telling Mr. Roth how I feel about him. I suppose that’s one good thing about being trapped: it gives you the chance to think about what you want most.

Is there any way I could come by before Wednesday? Something is changing in the air, and I can almost feel it. When I came into Corsville this afternoon, I took a short walk around the edge of town close to the forest. I wanted to get acquainted with the area before beginning my research and interviews tomorrow. As I walked up the hill, I could see your tower at the top. It gave me comfort to know that you were up there, watching the trees and birds just as you had described. In fact, it was a bit surreal to see it in person. It really does look like it’s floating on a blanket of trees.

I stopped short of walking all the way up, but as I turned to descend, I could have sworn I felt something move behind me in the shadows. I thought I had imagined  the sudden snap as there had been no breeze and the air was tight and dry with summer. I stood fixed to the spot, unsure if I should turn to the tree and confront whatever had made the noise. When I did, there was nothing but the tall evergreen and an empty clearing. Nevertheless, it made me uneasy and I walked back into town, all the while feeling like there was some unknown thing following me back, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Most likely, it was my nerves playing tricks on me, as I am on a rather ridiculous schedule of work these days, with hardly any rest in between cases. In any case, I did not expect to feel so much on edge. I hope that talking to you will clear my head and help me wrap this case once and for all.

You are right about the trees, they are unusually green for this time of year. Even though the sudden noise deterred me from my walk, I was still grateful to see them. It has been a while since I have seen a forest as vast as yours. If I was not here on business, I should like to spend some time in it, just taking it all in and remembering what it is like to be completely surrounded by trees instead of  grey skyscrapers. I look forward to our meeting, as it seems as though we are right on the edge of discovering the truth behind these strange occurrences.

My best,

Maxwell Claire

P.S. Please call me Max. Maxwell always is too long and drawn out for my taste, and when Mr. Roth says it I only detest it more.

…

July 21

Dear Max,

I know you have just returned to the city, but I need you to get on a train and come right back. I saw something today, Max, that you will scarcely believe, something I can barely wrap my own mind around.

I was leaving my tower at dusk, musing over the investigation and the way it ended. I was still upset because you were unable to uncover anything, and my mind does not cope well with loose ends. It was growing dark, and I was nearing the middle of my route back when I heard a noise pierce the otherwise peaceful silence. I ran toward it.

I reached a clearing, one that sounds similar to the one you walked through on your first night here. Directly in front of me, the arms of my beloved evergreen were wrapped around a man. It was John Wilks, my manager. The tree was holding him and twisting him like it had a mind of his own! I ran up, shouting at him to come down, but he yelled for me to run and I knew I could never reach him. He was suspended at least 20 feet in the air! In front of my eyes, Max, the tree snapped him in half like a twig. was too far for anyone to immediately respond to my scream. I ran desperately to town to get some help, any help at all. I grabbed Mr. Hollier, the sheriff, but it took ages  to explain to him what I saw. By the end of my impassioned rant, I had not convinced him of anything other than the fact that I was a deranged lunatic.

Finally, I persuaded him to follow me into the forest, but when we reached the clearing there was not a trace of what had happened. The tree stood at attention like it should, and there were no remains of Mr. Wilks’ body. No clothes, no blood, nothing to see. Hollier diagnosed me as being tired and dazed from a day of working. He told me to head home get a good night’s sleep. But I know what I saw Max. It was the tree that killed John. I don’t know how, and I don’t know what to believe or how I will be able pass the coming days with this knowledge, but I know that when you were here, you felt something in the air too. It is only a matter of time before others realize John is missing, and I need someone here who understands the happenings as well as I do. For the first time, I am beginning to doubt everything I felt was constant about my job and my life. It is starting to feel less and less like a sanctuary and more like a trap. Something is terribly and irreversibly wrong.

Later….

Max, now I am begging you. I cannot be alone here anymore. After starting the first part of this letter I went out to clear my mind, to try to recover some of my sanity. As I walked down the Main Street, my eyes glued to the pavement, I smashed directly into Mrs. Spokes. I apologized right away, but when I looked up to meet her eyes, they were wet with tears and wild. “He’s gone,” she said, over and over, wringing her hands against her blue apron. Her husband, Max, the minister is missing. He went out to chop wood near their home last night and never returned. Please come soon, as I do not think I can bear the waiting any longer. Everyone needs an explanation, but I cannot give one. I know you cannot explain this any more than I can, but you and I have more information than most. We have to do something before something worse takes place.

I know the train schedule from looking it up in the library. You can take the 7:35 tonight. Do not worry about finding a place to stay; you can stay with me.

Amelia

…

Telegram from Max to Amelia:

I am on my way to the station as you read this. I do not know what to say or think either, but I know for certain that you are not deranged. I think we may have a cause for your bird’s death and the other killings. I can’t help but think about what you said about the trees in rebellion — could you really be on to something?

Now that you mention it, what I felt in the air was not really something coming. It was more like gathering, waiting, hoping for the right opportunity. It gives me chills to remember.

You had better get your hiking boots back out. We are going to the forest first thing tomorrow!

-MAX

Emily Caruso is a sophomore studying Creative Writing. She is absolutely loving the program so far, especially through classes exploring the craft of fiction writing. In her free time, she buys more books than her bookcase could ever hold and drinks countless cups of tea. In her opinion, there is no better way to spend an afternoon.