From the Touch of Her Finger

by James Pyne

“You find them in the weirdest places,” Aida said to me.

She overturned a rock. A black and yellow-spotted salamander scampered beneath a nearby mossy log.

“I haven’t looked for salamanders since elementary school,” I said, getting ready to squat next to her. “I’m game.”

“Nope, wrong.” Aida stepped up on the log and off the other side.

I jumped over it.

We were celebrating our first-year anniversary in the woods in search of something, and I had to guess what. I would have preferred celebrating with a Wendy’s spicy chicken combo, then some Keith’s lager while watching sunset from the tailgate of my truck with my girl in my arms. That was our first date. Figured it would be cool revisiting it. Something simple. She usually dug that. But you do what the woman wants if you know what’s good for you. Don’t always make it easy, make them at least death-glare you and give you the silent treatment for a while so they know you’re a man and not a wuss.

“Did you know people in the middle ages thought salamanders came from fire?” Aida was always naming off odd facts. She stopped and looked up at a birch tree. “Salamanders love snuggling in decomposing logs, and when their homes were thrown into fireplaces, those escaping alive were believed to have been born from flames.”

“You’re just full of happy thoughts, aren’t you?”

We continued through the ferns though she looked up at every tree we passed, specifically birches.

“Chaga,” I shouted, guessing we were here for the black fungus blistering from the tree trunks. In late fall she collected it for tea and other health benefits.

She smirked. “Wrong again. But since we’re here.”

What kind of game was she playing? I turned to retrieve some chaga, realizing I had no way to cut it off. Old school with a rock it is.

“I’m kidding.” She pulled at me. “Let’s go.”

She darted into the tall ferns.

Never chase a woman. Only pansies do that. Unless they steal your bag of Zesty Doritos, then it’s the proper thing to do. I took my time, going just fast enough to keep her in sight. The way her hair bounced and reflected the sun coming through the breaks in the trees gave a sudden nostalgic feeling of my younger years in these woods. She had said this would be her best possible anniversary present, that nothing would ever top it. I was starting to get some ideas of what that might be.

With my thoughts conjuring possibilities, I almost bulled through her.

“Look at it, Mark. It’s so cute.”

Aida held her hand out. The white-tailed fawn seemed to think about sniffing her while at the same time sizing me up. It snorted, then darted off into the underbrush.

“I really want to pet a baby deer someday. But they’re always too scared of me.”

“I scared it off, not you. And you’re not going to fool me this time around. I give up, though. What is it we’re looking for?”

“We,” she said. “I like that. I don’t know if you’re ready”—she turned to me—“but I don’t want to be alone with this anymore. You got to promise you’ll never tell anyone.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Well?”

“All right. I promise.”

“Okay, I believe you. There’s one nearby. It’s one of the safer ones.”

“One of what?”

She beamed. “You’ll see.”

I accepted her hand, and we walked together toward the roaring McGregor’s Falls. I didn’t know if this was her idea of a romantic place for making out, but I made my move to kiss her anyway. She shied away.

“Come on, the setting is perfect,” I said.

“I have a better place for that. Somewhere magical. What if I told you there’s something else in those cascades?”

“Cave behind there?” I motioned with my chin at the cascades.

“Something like that.”

She urged me along. Water misted my face. A bridge of mossy rock stretched over the rapids and along the waterfall. It looked close enough to touch the cascades.

I thought of the movie Sixth Sense. “You see ghosts?”

“No, stupid. Well I have, but not here.”

“What do you mean you have?”

“You’re going to call me crazy.” She paused as if gathering her courage. “I saw them on another planet. I was the only living person, but they looked at me like I was the ghost.”

She was messing with me. No hint of a smirk, though.

“All over the world, there are these.”

She reached toward the cascades. Just before she touched the water, a ripple spread from her finger like a raindrop on a still lake. A bright light expanded into a portal of swirling ruby red. It grew and covered one third of the waterfall, the center of it showing another world where dragons flew through lightning and black sky.

“How is—are they dragons?”

“Harmless.”

“Dragons aren’t harmless.”

“Have you ever met one before?” She dug her fists into her hips, like she was about to nag me.

“No, but come on, they breathe fire. How’s that friendly?”

Her arms relaxed at her sides. “Do you trust me or not?”

They were fire-breathing dragons for God’s sake. But the way she was looking at me… Dejected, like she thought she made a mistake by telling me.

“You have faith in me, don’t you?” I walked toward her. “If you can tell me a secret like this… then my unconditional trust is my anniversary present to you.”

I took her hand in mine, and side-by-side we stepped into a strange world of dragons flying like a murder of crows above a castle set against a rising blood moon.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

James Pyne was born in New Glasgow, Nova Scotia. He has appeared in over eighty anthologies, including The Pulp Book of Phobias. His debut novel, Big Cranky: Fall into Darkness, will be re-released with the second book of the trilogy in the coming months. Feel free to add him on Facebook for updates. It won’t be hard to find his monstrous mug.

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