Hey old man, have you seen any giant spiders? the boy asked. The changing leaves overhead rippled in a cold breeze like a canopy of fire.
He found the old man standing next to a crabapple tree in the middle of an aspen forest up on the side of the mountain. The boy was pretty sure the tree shouldn’t be here, but then, he probably shouldn’t be here either. Not that anyone noticed.
The boy’s father was off fishing, and he had wandered away. He wasn’t even sure where his mother was. His brother was old enough to stay home by himself and normally the boy could stay with him, but recently his father had been wanting “bonding time,” which meant that the boy got dragged along.
Before they left, the boy’s older brother had said that there were strange spiders up on the mountain that lived underground and dragged their prey into holes and dark places, to be drained away from the touch of the sun. The boy was terribly afraid of spiders, but killing one and showing it to his older brother would be a win that was worth the risk. Maybe the old man could do the dirty work for him, or at least knew about where to find one.
Hey. Did you hear me?
The old man was making little clicking noises with his tongue and searching the floor among the fallen leaves and crabapples. He didn’t look up when he finally spoke.
There haven’t been giant spiders in these woods for years, since before your parents were born. Since before I planted a small grove of aspen that has now taken over the mountain. There’s a lesson there, boy. The smallest things will eventually outdistance you, outgrow you, until even if you wanted to do something about it, you can’t. Sometimes things only expand away from you.
The boy didn’t say anything.
The old man, as if speaking to himself, said, I guess I could start a fire. I bet it would come out then.
As if in reaction to the statement, a blood-red rabbit scooted out from under a bush and sat next to the old man’s feet. The old man, with agility that startled the boy, snatched up the rabbit in an instant, and cradled it like a mother might her newborn.
Do you like rabbits?
The boy thought about it. No one had ever asked him directly if he liked rabbits. Most people just assumed. But, as he watched the small furry beast nuzzle into the old man’s arms, he decided that he did like rabbits. Or at least this rabbit.
Why is it red?
Ah, is that what color they are now? I have been breeding them for so long, I haven’t been able to keep track.
You can’t tell? It’s like a really dark red.
No I can’t tell. Don’t you know it’s rude to make fun of someone’s hindrances boy?
The boy startled at the venom in the old man’s voice. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.
The old man’s expression gentled. No. You wouldn’t, would you? Anyway, would you like to pet her?
The boy did want to pet her, and he thought maybe he could snatch her when the old man wasn’t looking. A blood-red rabbit would be better than any spider. He could tell his brother he had caught her eating a deer, all vicious. He had tamed her and if his brother didn’t watch out, he would sic her on him. He could almost imagine his brother’s face—disbelieving at first, quickly morphing into a smug denial of interest, all the while eyeing the strange furry prize.
But, something made him hesitate. The old man certainly wasn’t physically imposing, though he had moved quicker than seemed likely. If anything he looked so decrepit that the boy wanted to help him. If the boy saw him crossing a street unassisted, he would have offered a hand. It wasn’t that. But, still, something lingered in his mind like a warning.
The boy dismissed his reticence as the rabbit leapt from the old man’s arms and rushed out into the woods. The old man swore so obscenely, using language so foul, that the boy laughed out loud. A snapping and whistling rang out from somewhere in the trees, and then quiet.
The old man began to leave. Are you coming or are you just going to stand there?
Aren’t you going to try and catch her?
Oh she’s gone now. Something will have eaten her before the sun sets. Don’t you know there are teeth in these woods? Are you coming?
Coming? Why would I come with you?
To see all the other rabbits. I have hundreds. And if that one was red then the rest must be different colors now. Don’t you want to see a rainbow of rabbits?
The boy looked back. His father would still be fishing for hours. He had been droning on and on about catching and cooking a pikeminnow, which apparently was illegal since they were endangered. Ever since the boy’s mother had left, his father had been on the search for rare fish. But each one he caught never seemed to satisfy him. They’d been all over, going deeper and deeper into the woods.
Ok. As long as we’re back before it gets dark.
Before long, they arrived at an old, two-story house. It was falling apart a bit, but in the kind of way that the boy’s mother would’ve loved. She would have said it contained an “inner grace,” whatever that meant. She was always speaking like that, seeing things where they weren’t, and the boy missed those weird statements. Try as he might, he was pretty sure he could only see the surface of things.
So where are the rabbits?
The old man was already working his slow way up the porch steps. I keep them inside. Don’t want them to escape.
The boy hesitated again. Can’t you just bring one out? I don’t need to see all of them.
The old man nodded and smiled a sad smile. Of course. It may take me a bit to catch one and come back up though, if you don’t mind waiting.
The boy nodded, immediately feeling better, like he’d made a wise choice, and the old man entered the house.
The boy waited outside for a while. He felt odd. He found a good stout stick and drew what he hoped were odd and arcane symbols in the dirt. Something about this house, this part of the woods, made him want to know ancient things, to speak into the darkness.
But it was still sunny out, and the weird feeling passed. He scuffed the marks with the toe of his shoe, and he waited. He called out, but the old man didn’t answer. He waited some more and considered going back. But that would mean returning home empty-handed. He could already hear his brothers’ words and taunting laughter. He decided to wait a bit longer.
When it became clear the old man wasn’t going to return, he walked up onto the porch. What if the old man had fallen? What if he needed help? The boy thought about his family, about how if he had fallen and been injured out here they wouldn’t come looking for him. Or maybe they would, but they were all so distracted by themselves they wouldn’t know where to begin. It made him angry. He wouldn’t be like them. He was able to consider the needs of someone else. And he went into the house.
Out of the middle of the flooring, with a rickety staircase wrapping around behind it, grew what looked to be an exact replica of the crabapple tree where he had originally met the old man.
A crabapple fell with a soft thunk and the boy knew somehow that out among the aspen the same apple had fallen at the same time. He heard a noise upstairs, a soft sound, a sound that could have been a rabbit. He forgot his worry for the old man’s safety. If he hurried, he could just grab one rabbit and be back out the front door before the old man ever knew he had entered the house.
He moved as quickly as he could up the stairs, but had to watch his step as the dilapidated staircase threatened to crumble beneath him. There were two rooms, both with their door closed. The first, the nearest, wouldn’t open. He thought that he probably could have kicked it in, or rammed it open with his shoulder, but he was sure that wherever the old man was in the house he would hear if the boy forced it open. He tried the second door, the far door, and it opened silently.
There were no rabbits. The room had a vaulted ceiling with a skylight window which let in a stream of sunlight and cast the rest of the room into shadow. In the middle, hanging from a delicate hook at the ceiling’s highest point was a sleeveless dress. It was deep red like the rabbit had been, rough as burlap, and reached all the way to the floor. The thought of someone being able to reach and take down the dress, let alone wear it, made the boy want to run. It would be a hideous, impossibly thin thing, taller than the crabapple tree. It would be something that shouldn’t exist.
He left the room in a hurry, but stopped on the upper banister. The old man was at the main door below him, closing them both in.
I owe you an apology, the old man said. A blood red rabbit wiggled its nose and lounged at his feet. I lied to you when I said there were no spiders in the woods. Not exactly a lie, but omission is no excuse. I could have told you what was in the woods. Another blood red rabbit hopped out from the crabapple tree.
The boy’s mind spun. He stared at the rabbits. You lured me here? Then it hit him and it felt as if the blood had been drained from his body. You’re the spider?
The old man actually laughed. Several more rabbits appeared at the base of the crabapple tree. Were they coming from the tree itself?
No, child. I am merely the web.
More and more rabbits, all the deepest red, poured out of the crabapple tree. They milled about, getting more and more agitated, snipping at each other. There was a spray of fur here, a small rabbit screamed there. The floor was soon covered, boiling, with the beasts. You didn’t think they got their color from the leaves did you? the old man asked. He chuckled at his own joke.
The boy yelled something down, something unintelligible and full of rage and fear. And as the noise died out, it did so into silence. The sea of red rabbits seemed to shiver and waver, but now they didn’t make a sound.
So there was no way to mistake it for anything else than what it was, when the first door, the nearest door, opened behind him.
