Over the Darkened Landscape

The Day Michael

Visited Happy Lake



The house was quiet when Michael got there. Mom was at the hospital for a late shift tonight and wouldn’t be home until midnight, later if she picked up some overtime. And considering the money from Dad was late again this month, overtime was likely.

He ignored the supper she’d left in the fridge, instead nuked a frozen pizza. After he was done with that and a can of Coke he watched some TV, did the little bit of homework he’d brought home, then got himself ready for bed. There was nothing else to do, no friends to see or talk to, and he liked reading in bed the best, anyway.

He’d found some old books at a rummage sale on the way home today, and something had made him buy them. Lucky that Grandma had sent him ten bucks a couple of days ago.

One was a tattered old sci-fi paperback, but the rest were books he remembered from when he was a kid, titles that Mom had likely tossed during one of her cleaning fits: Tales of the Green Green Woods, by Walter T. Haywood, a small hardcover, pretty beat up, and a bunch of other books by Haywood, including Culpepper Frog’s Big Day, James Jackrabbit’s Exciting Race, How Randall Grizzly Came to the Woods, and more. Just holding them had brought back warm memories, and he’d decided right then that he had to have them again.

The novel looked interesting, but Michael decided he would check it out tomorrow. Instead, he started to flip through the Haywood books. There were fourteen in total, in varying conditions, all with illustrations on the cover and inside by someone named F.M. Davies. All of the pictures were of the creatures of the Green Green Woods, just as he remembered them. A distant memory cropped up, Michael sitting on the couch and wiggling because he had to pee so bad, until his mother in disgust had finally taken the book from his hands and sent him to the bathroom. He grinned as he remembered the look on her face.

Doubling up his pillow, Michael read Culpepper Frog’s Big Day in less than a half hour. Yeah, it was a book for little kids, but the message about conservation was actually pretty decent; how Culpepper and the other animals kept Happy Lake from being drained would teach kids a lesson in a way adults couldn’t.

He flipped to the front of the book, looking for information on when it had been published. On the inside of the cover he saw the words “This Book Belongs To,” and a child had scrawled his name on the line below, “Willy Thornton.” Curious, Michael picked up the other books and saw that all had once belonged to young Willy Thornton. One of them also had the date written in pencil under his name, 1938, in a more adult hand.

Tales of the Green Green Woods was next, short stories about all of the animals in the woods, and Michael skipped back and forth, reading some stories now, saving others for later. By the time he got to the end of the last story he was starting to feel pretty fuzzy. He read the last few sentences of one story out loud to try and keep awake, half-mumbling and once had even lost his place, then closed the book and laid it on his table, then shut off the light. All in all he felt pretty satisfied, despite his day at school.

He didn’t feel like he’d been asleep too long when the light came on again. Michael groaned and covered his eyes, then sat up, expecting that his mother was poking her nose in to tell him something of marginal importance. But when he managed to open his eyes to a squint he saw that the door was still closed. But he could hear something rustling around at the edge of his bed.

Before he could react to the noise a large rabbit poked its head up down by his feet, then with a huff it hopped up onto the covers, followed by an over-sized frog. Both were wearing clothes, the rabbit in tie and tails, the frog wearing a yellow waistcoat and a bowler hat. Except for the fact that they were three-dimensional and very real-looking, they were exactly as F.M. Davies had imagined them in his illustrations for the books: James Jackrabbit and Culpepper Frog, in the flesh.

Michael searched for but couldn’t find his voice. Culpepper Frog hopped over and sat on his pillow, then reached up and gently tapped him on the cheek. “You’re awake, kid. This ain’t a dream.” The frog’s voice was low and raspy, with something of a Chicago accent. And it smelled musty, which was a surprise; he would have expected it to have a moist odor, like a pond. Like Happy Lake, however that smelled.

James Jackrabbit hopped over and settled in on Michael’s legs, its weight feeling very real. “What’s your name, son?” asked the rabbit. It also had an accent, from New England, Michael supposed.

“Um, it’s Michael.” He wanted to jump out of bed and run, but with the rabbit sitting on him he was scared to move.

The rabbit smiled at him, an eerie, unsettling sight that looked even more unnatural than the fact that it was wearing tie and tails and was proportionally not at all like a real rabbit. “Nice to meetcha, Mike.” It—he—shuffled up and sat on Michael’s stomach. “I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, but as I remember my manners, I’m James Jackrabbit, and this is my compatriot, Culpepper Frog.”

Culpepper tipped his hat and also smiled. His teeth were flat and white, very much like a human’s.

“I’m . . . pleased to meet both of you,” replied Michael. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but only managed a series of slight gasps, he was shaking so hard.

James Jackrabbit arched an eyebrow and smiled again, this time at Culpepper Frog. “He’s a polite one, ain’t he?”

“That he is,” agreed the frog. “It’s nice to come back to a polite kid, Michael.” He stood on his hind legs and peered into Michael’s face. “But ain’t you a little bit old to be needing us?”

Michael blinked his eyes. “Needing you? What do you mean?”

James Jackrabbit tut-tutted. “Culpepper, he may be a little older than our last friend, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t need help.”

“Help?” Michael was beginning to feel stupid, but before he could ask more, the door swung open and in lumbered a bear on its hind legs with a crow on its shoulder. The bear was a smallish grizzly—although it still had to duck its head and turn sideways to come through the door—and wore checkered knee-length shorts, and while the crow wore no clothes, it chewed on an unlit cigar. Randall Grizzly and Cameron Crow, joining James Jackrabbit and Culpepper Frog in Michael’s bedroom.

“There ain’t nobody else in the house,” said the bear, his deep voice a rumble that penetrated right to Michael’s heart. “Kid’s all alone.”

“Where’s your folks, kid?” asked the crow; he had a New York accent and while he talked held his cigar between two wing feathers that he worked like fingers.

The frog reached over and grabbed a picture of Michael and his mother from his bookshelf and waved it at the others. “There’s no father in this photograph, fellas,” he said.

Michael finally managed to find his voice. “My dad’s gone. We don’t hear from him too much. Mom’s at work tonight, doing overtime.” He looked to James Jackrabbit. “Listen. Can I get up and get myself a drink?”

“Absolutely, kid,” answered the rabbit, hopping down to the floor.

Michael got up and pulled his housecoat over his pyjamas, shuffled out to the kitchen and got a tall glass of water, added a couple of ice cubes that he chipped out of the frost-ridden freezer compartment, then went into the living room and sat down on the couch, letting the kitchen light spill in rather than reach overhead to turn on the lamp. All four animals sat on the floor in a semicircle in front of him. He took a long drink, gasped when he was done, and sat there looking at them, turning the glass in his fingers and rubbing at the condensation forming on the bottom.

“I can see that you’ve decided we’re real,” said James Jackrabbit.

Michael nodded.

“It must be pretty scary having the lot of us just pop up the way we did.”

“I would say . . .” Michael’s mouth was suddenly too parched to talk, so he took another drink. “I would say that it wouldn’t matter just how you popped up. I’d still be freaked out.”

All of them chuckled at this. Then James hopped up onto the couch and sat beside him. “And yet we’re here.” He was smiling.

Michael smiled back, nodded. “Yes. Yes, you are.”

James clapped a paw on his shoulder. “So in that case, let’s settle down and figure out why you called us here.”

Michael took another swallow of water. “But I didn’t call you here. You just showed up.”

“Kid, we’ve been flat and dry for a long time now, and the only way for us to come back out is to be called.”

“But I didn’t call you. I picked up some used copies of the books about you guys and read a couple before I went to sleep, is all. Just wanted to remember what it was like.”

Culpepper hopped up and sat on the other side. “What what was like, kid?”

Michael hung his head, feeling a little embarrassed. “Um . . . being younger, when I didn’t have any worries.”

“Ah.” All of the animals nodded.

“Are you saying you just got these books today?” asked Cameron Crow.

Michael nodded. “At a rummage sale.”

James sat up straighter. “Randall, go get the books from his room.”

The bear ran and fetched the books, dropped them in a stack on the couch beside James. “Which one did you read last?” he asked.

Michael pointed to Tales of the Green Green Woods. James slowly picked up the book, held it up to his face, nose quivering as he closed his eyes. “Oh my,” he finally said, voice soft and sad.

“What?” asked Culpepper. “You know I can’t smell anything. Was he rolling the book in carrots or something?”

James shook his head and held out the book for Randall to smell. From the bear came a growl that made the hairs on Michael’s neck stand on end.

The rabbit then handed the book over to Michael. “We can’t read,” he said. “But we know, nonetheless. Still, I want you to read the name of the owner of this book.”

Michael flipped it open and found the name the young hand had etched. “Willy Thornton.”

Cameron squawked and flapped into the air, one feather coming loose and twirling to the floor. Culpepper’s croak was almost a belch, and his eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.

“The young master must still be alive,” said Randall. “He’s the one who needs us.”

The rabbit nodded. “Michael, do you have a map of your town anywhere in the house?”

“I think so.” Michael jumped up and ran into the kitchen, opened the drawer underneath the microwave and rummaged through the papers. “Here it is,” he said, opening it as he ran back into the living room. He spread it on the floor and the animals gathered around it.

James tapped at the map. “Blue means water, right? And green is for park or forest?”

Michael nodded.

“This ain’t a town, guys,” said Cameron. “It’s a pretty big city.” He sounded worried.

James twitched his ears. “With Michael’s help, we’ll be able to do this, don’t fret.”

“With my help?” Michael sat back on the floor. “Why do you need me?”

“You found the books for a reason, Michael,” said Culpepper. “And you know this city better than any of us.”

He frowned. “What do I have to do?”

James smiled and slapped him on the back. “Atta boy! Here,” he said, leaning back over the map and poking at it with his other paw. “This is the biggest lake that I can find. How far is that to walk?”

Michael counted off the street numbers in his head; the park was clear across town. “An hour, maybe more.” He shrugged. “I’ve only ever ridden the bus or gone in the car with my mom before. Why?”

“Because that’s Happy Lake, that’s why.”

“No it isn’t.” Michael peered at the map. “It’s called Chester Pond.”

James smiled, and all the other animals chuckled. “Tonight,” said the rabbit, “it’s gonna be Happy Lake.” He stood up and folded the map. “Now get yourself dressed and maybe grab a snack to bring along. We get to pay another visit to the Green Green Woods tonight.”

“And bring along the books!” shouted Culpepper. “We’re gonna need them!”





It was close to one in the morning when they finally stepped out into the night air. Just to be sure nobody was watching, Michael shut off the porch light and then had them all go out the back door. He stood there for a moment, surrounded by these impossible animals, and then sighed and pointed. “This way.”

They weren’t even out of the yard when two cars drove by; all the animals froze, low to the ground, and Michael just stood there, shifting the backpack full of books and snacks, hoping they wouldn’t be spotted. They weren’t, but he started to wonder if it would be possible to even make it a block before someone called the police or the zoo or something.

“We have to go over right away,” said James. “Michael, get Tales of the Green Green Woods and read the title and first line from page 37 out loud.”

Michael sat on the grass and pulled the book and his flashlight from the pack, and opened to the first page. “Bonnie Raccoon’s Fishing Trip,” he said. Then, “It was a bright sunny morning when Bonnie Raccoon climbed from her comfy warm home in the side of the old oak tree.”

A ripping sound came from the book, and with a flurry of grays and muted color a small patch of paper jumped from the pages of the book and unfolded itself in the air, stretching and rasping and twisting into a new shape. Bonnie Raccoon. She stood before a gaping Michael, and as she opened her eyes, the house behind her faded to darkness, and the light from the lamp in the street seemed to go out. Instead of his front yard, Michael was now standing on a dirt path in a forest, his surroundings lit by thousands of stars and a half-moon.

“Welcome to the Green Green Woods, Michael,” said James.

“But, where—”

“You read the four of us out when you read our stories,” said James. “Now you’ve done the same with Bonnie, but we’re using her a different way.” He turned to Bonnie. “The young master needs help, and Michael here’s gonna lead us to him. You feeling up to carrying us for awhile?”

She nodded, eyes shining in the moonlight. “Thanks, Michael,” she said, voice soft and high. She turned and hurried up the path, James Jackrabbit hopping beside her. Michael followed, and Randall Grizzly fell into step beside him, running on his hind legs and panting with every step, with Cameron Crow riding on his shoulder, still chewing on the cigar as he bounced along.

As they ran, the trees on either side quickly faded into the blackness, but what he could see in the moonlight showed them to be well-sculpted; just as an artist might envision trees in a forest. There seemed to be little or no undergrowth, and the path had no roots to jump out and trip him up.

After a time of silence, the only sounds of feet on the path and the heavy breathing of Michael and the animals around him, Culpepper asked, “How are you holding out, Bonnie?”

The raccoon, who had started off running on her hind legs, had not long ago dropped to all fours. She stopped to catch her breath, and the rest of them stopped as well. “Awful,” she said, smiling as she bent over, breathing hard. “I haven’t felt like this since Zacharia Coyote almost caught me at the edge of the Merry Brook.”

“You able to go on?”

She straightened up. “Anything for the young master,” and was off and running again.

For the next half-hour they alternated between a slow jog and a fast walk, mostly to allow Michael to keep up. Every once in awhile he had to stop and sit on the path, back against the solid trunk of a tree, while the animals paced or hopped about in worried circles. All the animals except Cameron Crow, that was, who took to perching on Michael’s shoulder at those times, bemoaning the fact that he didn’t have a light for his cigar, and Randall Grizzly, who would take the opportunity to lean against a thick tree and scratch his back as he grunted and made blissful faces.

At the end of their fourth stop Bonnie tried to run, but immediately pulled up short and stood there with a look of distress. James slowly hopped over and put a paw on her shoulder, and the other animals followed suit, briefly touching her before stepping back.

“You did a good job, kid,” said James. “We’re well along, and that’s all thanks to you.”

“Don’t worry,” added Culpepper. “We’ll be seeing you again as soon as this whole thing is squared away. Right guys?”

The other animals nodded and made agreeable sounds. Then Bonnie walked over to where Michael was sitting on the ground. “Could you pull out your copy of Tales of the Green Green Woods, please?”

Michael fished in the backpack, found the book.

“Please turn to the end of my story and read the last line aloud.”

Michael flipped the book to that page. “From that time onward, Bonnie Raccoon was always careful to use her own fishing hole.” After one last look over her shoulder, Bonnie leaned one paw against the book, and then instantly changed from three-dimensional to two, was flattened out and folded over, turned into a page and halved and quartered. Michael turned the open face of the book towards him, and watched as what had once been Bonnie Raccoon assimilated itself into page 49 of Tales of the Green Green Woods, accompanied by the whisper of paper on paper.

He looked up to James and the other animals, was startled to see that they were no longer in the Green Green Woods. Instead, they were resting on grass near the playground of an elementary school. “What’s happening now?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Cameron jumped from his shoulder and floated down to stand on his knee. “We’re back in your world, kid,” said the crow. “Bonnie could only carry us so far, and when she was petered out, she had to go back to where she came from.”

“The book?”

“The book.” All the animals nodded.

“We’re safer in our land than in yours,” said Randall Grizzly. “But to go back there, especially when our final goal is in your land, it’s an exhausting thing. It stretches us thin, and eventually we have to go back and rest with the words and pages, to recover our strength and wait for the next time we’re called.”

James thumped his right foot on the ground, four times fast. “Speaking of all that, we have to go on. Michael, turn to the next story and do your thing.”

“Captain Zacharia Coyote Returns From the War,” read Michael. “Of all his possessions, Captain Zacharia Coyote was most proud of his hat.”

Again, the book seemed to tear and jump, and a piece of paper ripped itself from the pages and flew into the air, unfolding and reconfiguring itself into Zacharia Coyote. For a moment he stood there, eyes closed, dark blue uniform jacket and felt hat with crossed swords emblazoned on the front both looking impeccable. He opened his eyes and again Michael’s world faded away, was replaced by the Green Green Woods. This time he wasn’t quite so disoriented; if he could accept this visitation by a bunch of talking animals from a children’s book, he could certainly accept being taken back to their home.

James looked about to tell Zacharia what they needed of him when there was the distant bark and then howl of a dog, and right then it occurred to Michael that he had not heard any other sounds when he had been traveling through the Green Green Woods before. The other animals all froze, ears cocked, looking anxious, and then the bark came again, sounding marginally closer, and now accompanied by a distant shout.

“It’s Clem,” hissed Culpepper, jumping up and down, eyes looking to pop out of his head.

Randall stood back up and grunted. “I’ll go get rid of him,” he said, and he bared his teeth in a vicious-looking smile.

James shook his head. “Not yet, Randall. You heard Farmer Godfrey, and so did the rest of us. If he’s carrying Old Lightning, then you’re big enough to spot in the dark, and will likely take a tail-full of shot because of it.”

“Then what?” Randall didn’t look too pleased with this, but he also didn’t try to argue his way around it.

“Right now, we run. Zacharia, the young master needs us, and we need to keep ahead of Clem.”

Captain Coyote snapped a salute and off he ran.

As he ran to catch up Michael cast back his memory, trying to remember more of the stories. There had been mention of Farmer Godfrey in the books he had read that night, but he had never actually made an appearance. He could remember scenes of the farmer trying to hunt down animals that had raided his gardens, often with the help of his hound dog—that would be Clem—but never with any success, although sometimes the animal being chased would be exhausted and would claim to have learned a lesson about thievery.

But why was he hunting them at night? The only time the animals had been here, in the Green Green Woods, was when they had been with him. No one had raided any—

There was a loud crashing in the trees to his left, and everyone froze. Tumbling onto the grass came Miranda Whitetail, who wore a handsome diamond-patterned scarf around her neck.

“It was only a few vegetables at the edge of his garden, I promise,” she said, seeing the looks on everyone’s faces.

Randall huffed and James rolled his eyes. “Stay with us,” said James, hopping on ahead. “How many stories did you read?” he asked Michael, looking back over his shoulder.

“I can’t remember,” Michael managed to huff out in between deep gulps of air. “Maybe more than I thought I had.”

They ran again, and this time Michael tried to push himself harder, allowed fewer stops for himself and made sure he ran, or at least walked, a little faster. But even he could tell that the sounds of Clem and Farmer Godfrey were getting closer. The animals looked worried, but no one said anything until Captain Coyote finally dropped down to the ground, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth and a look of defeat in his eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry, all,” he said, taking off his hat and fanning himself as he loudly panted. “I tried to carry us further. Really.”

Michael was already pulling out the book and searching the table of contents for the end of Zacharia’s chapter. He flipped it open and waited.

James saluted the coyote. “You did very well, Captain. Thank you for your service, and we’ll see you when this is done.”

Captain Coyote returned the salute, then walked up to Michael. Before he put his paw on the page, he said, “So much of this rests on your shoulders, son,” he said, still panting. “ Do your duty.”

Michael nodded, then read the last line of the story; “From that day forth, Captain Zacharia Coyote would always think of Anna Fox as his friend.” Captain Coyote flattened and twisted, folded over and over and then melded with the pages of the book.

They were now sitting on the grass at the edge of trees that lined the freeway. All of the animals ducked down low as cars raced past, but no one would be paying attention to dark shapes by bushes that were thirty feet from the edge of the road. Michael held the book in his hands and waited for more instructions.

“We need to look at the map again, Michael,” said James, slowly hopping over. His ears were slung low and every time a car went by his nose twitched.

Michael unfolded the map and peered at it, trying to make things out by the dim streetlights. Finally he poked his finger at the paper. “We’re here,” he said, “and we’re going here.”

James nodded and stood up, turning his body to face the direction they would be headed. “Read us in at the start of the next chapter, then.”

“Wait a sec,” said Michael. “Where did the dog and the farmer come from? And where do they go when we come back to my world?”

James shrugged. “Same place, I imagine.”

“But won’t it be safer in my world? We could lose Clem easily with the roads an’ stuff.”

“We’ll never get there in time in your world, Michael,” said Culpepper. “And there ain’t no way we’d be safer.” He harrumphed. “Now read.”

Michael nodded, cleared his throat. “Anna Fox and the New Sweater,” he started, squinting to read the words under the distant streetlight. “One Friday morning, Anna Fox woke up to frost on the ground and on the yellow leaves of the tree, and felt a chill in her bones that reminded her how threadbare was her old sweater.”

More tearing and jumping and unfolding, and then standing before him was Anna Fox, wearing her raggedy old sweater. She opened her eyes and the city again faded from view to be replaced by the Green Green Woods. Quite a bit closer this time, they heard Clem howl. All the animals turned to look, fear on their faces. Michael saw the fur standing up on the back of Randall’s neck.

They went faster. Michael was really starting to feel it now, and his pack was slapping against the small of his back, digging at it with each step, so that after a short while he was running with a kind of limp, trying to let the pack wear at another spot, but eventually just slipped it off and carried it in his arms.

Clem howled again, the sound so close that Michael ducked his head. Miranda Whitetail stopped and turned, then with a look at James Jackrabbit, plunged into the trees, running toward Clem and Farmer Godfrey. No one said anything, Instead, they just carried on.

Minutes later Clem howled again, a little more distant, and then came the sound of angry thunder, Old Lightning being fired. Randall Grizzly growled and Cameron Crow let go with a small squawk, but they didn’t break their stride.

They ran like that for another five minutes or so before there was a crashing in the trees nearby. Everyone froze, and Randall hauled himself up on his hind legs, shook his head and bared his teeth, then dropped back to all fours and ran towards the approaching sound. There was a streak of gray and brown, and Randall had Clem Coonhound pinned by the neck with his forearm, up against the fat trunk of an old oak tree. The dog whimpered and scratched at the bear’s belly with his hind claws, but soon realized that he wasn’t getting anywhere and just hung there, still but tense. “Is Miranda okay?” asked the bear, his voice a deep and threatening growl.

Clem slowly shook his head. “Farmer Godfrey got her in the backside. Don’t know if she went down or not.”

Randall Grizzly growled again, teeth bared and snout right up to Clem’s eyes. The dog didn’t bat an eye, just said, “Almost went for the scent of blood, I did, but there’s more happenin’ here, ain’t there?”

James hopped over and looked up at the dog. Voice shaking, he asked, “Can you let him down and keep us safe?”

“I can try.” Randall leaned forward, and both Clem and Michael cringed as he opened his jaws wide, but all he did was grab hold of the dog’s neck with his big sharp teeth and then lower Clem softly to the ground, like a mother cat carrying a kitten. Once on the ground, though, he didn’t let go, just kept his mouth in place.

“Onh oovh or I ite oo.”

James cocked an eyebrow. “Did you understand that, Clem? Randall’s talking with his mouth full, which I expect is kind of rude. But I’m pretty sure he was threatening you.”

The dog didn’t answer, just sniffed the air before turning his gaze on Michael. “Who’s the kid? Don’t look like Willy, sure don’t smell like him.” Clem had a southern accent and a deep, rich voice, with a trace of a quiver that was likely from his current predicament.

Culpepper smacked his forehead. “‘Course he’s not Willy, you dumb mutt!”

Clem growled briefly at this, but a slight tightening of Randall’s jaws shut him up.

“Um, my name’s Michael.”

James hopped over and put a paw on Michael’s forearm. “Clem, Michael here has Willy’s old books.”

There was a pause and then Clem’s eyes opened wide. “How did that happen?”

The rabbit leaned forward until he was right in front of the dog’s muzzle, one ear turned towards Clem, the other cocked back in the direction of Farmer Godfrey. “Only one way it could happen, Clem, and you know it. Willy needs us, and the magic that Walter was able to work has given us Michael.” He stood up on his toes, so that he could almost look eye-to-eye with the hound. “So you tell me; what do you think we should do about this situation?”

Clem looked at Michael. “Lemme see the books.”

Michael opened his pack and pulled them out, stepped over and showed them to Clem, who sniffed at them. Then the dog’s eyes went wide, and after a few more seconds of silence he huffed, a sound almost like a sneeze. “Promise nobody else is gonna go raidin’ the garden?”

James Jackrabbit turned in a slow circle, looking each remaining animal in the eye. In response, each one of them nodded their answer. James turned back to Clem. “Well?”

“I’ll do my best,” growled the dog. “Farmer Godfrey’ll be anxious to teach you all a lesson, so I can’t keep leading him astray. But long enough for you to get to Willy, hopefully I can do that.”

“Give us enough room and let us worry about the rest,” answered Cameron Crow.

Close by, they heard Farmer Godfrey holler for Clem. Michael instinctively ducked, but the animals didn’t move a muscle. “Is the big lug gonna let me go?” asked Clem.

James nodded, and Randall Grizzly opened his mouth and stood. “Boy, you taste awful,” said the bear.

“And I’m sure covered in your spit I smell real nice as well,” answered the dog, who gave James a quick glance and then howled in response to his master before plunging back into the dark forest.

James turned his attention to Anna Fox. “You all right to go on?”

She nodded. They ran again, and over the sound of Michael’s effort-laden breathing he could hear that Clem and Farmer Godfrey were getting further away. Did the man wonder about his world, about flipping back and forth between the Green Green Woods and the city that was Michael’s home? He wished he had the time and the energy to ask, but didn’t know if James or any of the other animals would be able to give him a satisfactory answer.

Soon the forest opened up onto a large, moonlit meadow. They crossed through the tall grass and reached the other side, and were greeted by the sight of Miranda Whitetail, lying in the grass, blood caked and glistening on her back. “Hurts,” she said. “But I got away.” She stood up, looked to James and the others, and then turned and looked down, still breathing hard.

Michael followed her gaze, and saw that the edge of the meadow sat at the top of a hill, which led down to a big round lake with several islands in the middle, set in the rough outline of a smiling face. They were at Happy Lake. On the shore to the right he could see a small fire, but they were too far away for him to see if anyone was tending it.

Anna coughed. “I have to stop, James,” she said. Michael dug out the book and found the end of Anna’s story. “Although she enjoyed every summer, Anna always looked forward the most to autumn, when the leaves were golden and the frost first escaped from Grandpa Winter’s lips, and she could pull on her sweater yet again.” Anna jumped through the air and into the book, folding over and over until she had become a part of the pages, and then Michael closed it shut.

They were near what Michael imagined must be Chester Pond. On one side there was a large low building, a few lights shining inside and out, vaguely institutional and threatening. Overhead, street lamps buzzed urgently, and moths and other insects circled them in large, swinging arcs, sometimes coming close enough to slam into one before bouncing off with a frustrated flurry of wings. Nearby, a car alarm sounded, and then Clem’s howling joined the city’s night time chorus.

“Last time to read, Michael,” said James. “We’re almost home.”

“Cassie Beaver Builds a New Home,” read Michael. “Nobody ever expected that a flood at Happy Lake would get the best of Cassie Beaver, but one year it did.”

Again the book jumped in Michael’s hands, and again there came a tearing sound, and Cassie Beaver unfolded before his eyes. “Lead us to Willy, Cassie,” said Culpepper. A second or two later they were back on the hill overlooking the lake, and after one quick glance behind them, James Jackrabbit nodded his head and they were running and hopping down towards the lake and the fire.

Halfway down Clem howled, practically in their ears. All the animals froze, a beat ahead of Michael, and then Old Lightning roared, and Michael heard the shot slice through the air, barely above his head. James turned and looked at the rest, then took Michael’s hand. “Write me a good story some day,” he said, and with a shake of his tail he raced off towards Farmer Godfrey and Clem.

“No!” shouted Culpepper Frog, but Randall Grizzly growled and jumped in his way, kept Culpepper from chasing after James.

Two more shots were fired, and Clem howled again. “The young master comes first,” growled the big bear.

They carried on down the rest of the hill, quiet and somber now, and stopped when Culpepper raised his hand, the fire and the lake on the other side of a small grove of trees. The mammals in the group sniffed at the air, but Randall shook his head. “Nothing but smoke,” he said.

“I’ll go,” said Cameron Crow, and with a flap of his wings he launched himself into the air, circled their group twice before he disappeared over the tree tops.

There was silence for a few seconds, and then came a loud squawk, followed by laughter, and then a child’s voice rose up out of the night. “The rest of you should quit skulking about in the dark and come join me.”

All the animals froze for just a fraction of a second, and then with roars and squeals and cheers they rushed through the trees, catching Michael by surprise. He ran after them, and came out of the woods onto the rocky shore of Happy Lake, a comfortable and welcoming campfire placed carefully in the middle of a circle of several old logs, a young boy sitting on one of the logs, Cameron Crow perched on the boy’s knee and the other animals gathered around the boy, jumping and chattering excitedly.

The boy, no older than eight or nine, looked up at Michael with a smile. “You brought back my friends,” he said. “Thank you.”

Michael sat on a log on the opposite side of the fire. “You’re welcome. You must be Willy.”

The boy smiled and nodded. “I am.” He leaned forward and enfolded Cassie Beaver in a tight hug, buried his face in her fur. “I’m sorry I ever let you guys go.” He looked around at the rest of them. “Where’s everybody else?”

All the faces turned sober. “Most of ’em are back in the book,” said Culpepper Frog. “Except for Clem and Farmer Godfrey, who’re chasin’ after us.”

“Most of them?” Willy stood up and walked over to Miranda Whitetail. “He got you with Old Lightning?”

She nodded, tears in her eyes. “He got James, too,” she said, barely a whisper. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”

Willy closed his eyes, pain written on his face. But when he opened them again, he smiled. “He’ll come back, girl, don’t you worry. He’ll find us or we’ll find him.” He stroked her neck, then looked around at the other animals. “Who brought you all here?”

“I did,” said Cassie Beaver. She stepped forward, and Willy reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

Willy turned to Michael. “Read her back into the book for me, will you?”

Michael pulled out the book and turned to the last page of Cassie’s story. “It was a fine home, as beautiful as any other in the Green Green Woods, and the next time a flood came to Happy Lake, Cassie Beaver’s wonderful construction job held fast.” After one loud slap of her tail, Cassie flipped and folded and disappeared inside the book.

Michael blinked against the sudden harsh brightness. They were in a kind of hospital room, fluorescent light buzzing and flickering overhead. An old man, one tube stuck in his arm and another leading into his nostrils, lay in bed, stroking Cameron Crow with wrinkled, papery fingers. Culpepper Frog sat on the foot of the bed, concern in his eyes, and Randall Grizzly and Miranda Whitetail stood at either side, Randall leaning his front paws on the mattress, which sank down several inches.

After a moment of stunned silence, Michael spoke up. “You’re Willy, too.”

The old man slowly turned his head, broke into a coughing fit before he could answer. “I am.” His voice was a dry whisper, but Michael could hear a long-sought joy embedded deep inside.

“We’re here for you now,” said Culpepper. “We’ve missed you so.” He buried his face in Willy’s shoulder and his body shook as he silently cried.

Willy reached up and stroked the frog’s back. “I’m sorry I abandoned all of you,” he said. “I thought I’d grown up. Never knew how much I’d need you the rest of my life.” He looked again to Michael. “Bring me the book.”

Michael crossed the room and handed the old man the book. He slowly flipped through the pages, often grunting in amusement or with recovered memories. “Mr. Haywood and Mr. Davies were family friends, you know,” he said to Michael. “Mr. Haywood was my godfather, too. When he gave me these books, he told me that they were special, but I was young enough when I first went to the Green Green Woods that I think I took the magic for granted.” He closed his eyes. “And then the war came, and Pop went away and died on some island in the Pacific, and right quick I had to stop being a boy.” He reached out a tentative arm, rubbed Randall’s head. “Time to be with my friends again,” he whispered, and then he turned back to the beginning of the book and read, out loud, slowly and cautiously, “Culpepper Frog’s collection of flies remained the biggest at Happy Lake, and the jar he got to replace the old one was his pride and joy.” Culpepper hopped over to the book and was folded in as he turned a somersault in midair. He read the ends of the stories for Miranda Whitetail and Randall Grizzly next, slowly and carefully, making sure all the words were right.

That left Cameron Crow, Michael, and Willy. “What’s going to happen to Clem and Farmer Godfrey?” asked Michael.

“Water,” whispered Willy. Michael got him a glass and straw, helped hold up his head so he could have a sip. He smiled his thanks. “Better. Clem and Godfrey will go when this is done, since they never had a story in the book to themselves.” He looked back to the bird sitting on his chest. “You ready, old friend? You were always my favorite.”

“Ha!” squawked Cameron, holding his unlit cigar in one wing. “I always thought so.”

“Even though things had pretty much gone Cameron Crow’s way that day, he remained in a very bad mood indeed, and until night fell he sat in the Old Papa Oak and yelled and screeched at everyone who walked by.” Cameron winked at Michael and then flew into the air, folded as his wings flapped, and then Willy shut the book and set it on his chest. He kept his eyes closed for a minute, then looked back at Michael. “Sit with me. Pretend you’re my grandson for a minute. That’ll be the story you can tell the nurse if she comes in.”

Michael pulled a chair across the room and sat beside the bed. He yawned.

“Do you have parents who will be worried about you?”

With a start Michael saw on the clock by the bed that it was already almost five in the morning. Hopefully his mom had just assumed he was asleep in bed and hadn’t come in to kiss him on the forehead or anything. “My mom,” he answered.

Willy broke into another coughing fit. “You’ll see her soon. In the meantime, promise me you’ll take care of these books for the rest of your life. Don’t just put them on a shelf and forget about them, or worse, sell them for a quarter to some kid down the street.” A single tear welled up in one eye, but dried up before it could follow a track down the wrinkles of his face.

Michael fought to hold back his own tears, unsure why he would want to cry right now. “I promise.”

Willy smiled and closed his eyes, and Michael watched as his breathing slowed, then stopped. His mouth was half open, and the only sounds in the room now were the buzzing flickering lights and the steady hiss of an oxygen tank that was no longer needed. Michael searched in his memory for a prayer he could say for Willy, then he stood and pried the book from the old man’s fingers. It felt a little bigger now, and when he flipped it open to the back he saw that there was a new chapter, and the first sentence read; The day that young Willy finally decided to make the Green Green Woods his home was the day that saw the biggest celebration any of the animals could ever remember. Just as important, the second sentence read: And although he had a bit of a limp for all the rest of his days, James Jackrabbit was first to greet Willy that day.

Michael smiled and dug into his pack, pulled out a sharpened pencil, and after flipping to the front of the book, wrote under Willy Thornton’s signature: “And Now to Michael Cashman” followed by the date. He sat back down and had read all of the stories by the time the sun rose, and he looked out over Chester Pond—Happy Lake—and watched a family of ducks as they splashed in the early morning light.