Stranger in the Woods

Chapter 7

When Ron showed up at my place he had no idea of what I was going to tell him.  To be honest, I didn’t really know either.  For once in my life I didn’t know what angle I should take.  I was stuck.  I had some snags before but the flow always came.  Of course, this situation was pretty unique so I didn’t fault myself too much.  I don’t know why I was so concerned.  Part of me felt like printing the whole story, facts and impressions, and let higher minds than mine sift out the future.  However, something held me fast from putting it all down.

I kept thinking of the horn. That is what got me.  The horn is what my mind kept singling out.  I ran over the events of the morning.  When I picked up the horn.  When it was still dirty and cold.  When I held it in my hands.

The horn was a tangible object that seemed to reach in my soul and awaken something that had been hidden.  My heart was touched by something I sometimes had a hard time feeling; hope.  Deep hope.  I had a deep heart-aching compassion for this creature.  Yet, while I knew nothing about unicorns than the standard fairy tale fodder the horn had become a symbol.  A symbol of hope for something that I never knew existed.  I never thought much beyond what I could see and touch.  But the horn seemed to point to something beyond.   And while the owner of that horn was merely a carcass on Milo’s floor, the thought of another of these creatures alive filled me with hope that was more than vague.  It actually felt tangible.

“So, what is this all about?”  Ron sat on my couch and smiled at me.  I never had anybody from the office over to my house.  His question jolted me back into the present.

I cleared my throat nervously. “Uh, that story that you had me go out on, the horse that was hit by that logging semi.”  I got up and began to slowly pace the floor, but Ron remained calm as usual.  “I found something out that you might not want to print.”

Ron audibly laughed.  Something he usually didn’t do.  He could hold a poker face indefinitely.  

“When have I ever declined to print a worthy story?  And when have you ever turned in one that was not worthy?”  He said.

As he chuckled it firmed my resolve to be direct and serious.  I sat back down and looked directly at him.  I scooted my chair a bit closer to the couch and leaned forward.  Ron instinctively leaned slightly back into his seat and the humor left his face.

“I had Harvey and the boys take the…uh, horse over to Milo’s to look at it."  I paused.  The silence seemed to have a texture to it.  "Ron, it wasn’t a horse.”

Ron’s eyebrows scrunched and his face showed a bemused perplexity.  Always the reporter himself, he was reading his subject; me.  He knew that I was not joshing him, that whatever I was going to tell him was the straight truth.  He paused and then softly said, “Well, what was it Frank?”

“Ron, you are going to find this hard to believe.  It was a unicorn.”  The words seemed as if they had not even come out of my mouth.  It was as if all my journalistic credibility was being wagered in this one moment.  Ron’s face lightened slightly and he exhaled a laugh in one puff of breath.  I smiled nervously.  I could tell that he was not able to adequately process this information.  I couldn’t let the story stall and give Ron time to ask unanswerable questions.  “It was a unicorn.  I found the horn and Milo has checked it all out.  The carcass is still at his place.  Nobody else knows about it, or knows the truth about it but you, me, and Milo.”  When I stopped speaking we both eased back into our seats and let the silence envelope us for a number of minutes.

Finally Ron stood up.  “Let me see it.”  

I got up and we drove over to Milo’s.  We did not speak for the entire drive, which was only about five miles.  However, when we arrived at Milo's and I was about to open the car door Ron turned to me and with dead seriousness said, “You aren’t joking with me, are you Frank?”  I shook my head and we both got out.