The wind shook the trees with a violence that dropped anything dead. Shane listened as the pieces of jagged wood jostled their way down, carrying a shuffling that seemed to pierce the loud howling of the wind itself.

He had stormed out of his house, looking to get away from his parents who knew nothing; nothing of the dynamic nature of the wind, nothing of the plight of a thirteen year old, and certainly nothing about their son. He had wanted to go to his friend’s house on this gusty Friday night. Sure, he got it; all the movies, tv shows, general society, and perhaps even his parents own childhoods, had them believing that “Friday night at Matthew’s” was teenage code for “I’m going out drinking and doing drugs with my friends and this is my obvious alibi”. But then again, the fact that they truly might think this only reaffirmed his feeling of isolation. Friday night at Matthew’s would happily have been friend night with Matthew and other friends, if either of them in fact had “other friends” to hang out with.

Of course, in this instance, “Friday Night at Matthews” was teenage code for “losers” in a way. Shane didn’t like this term, but as a member of one of only two tables in the Rockwood Middle School to seat a lonely two students, he couldn’t think of a better descriptor. He certainly wasn’t a loser, or so he believed. His friend Matthew on the other hand, with his pony-tail, a love of anime, and a greater love of 90’s female pop artists like Michelle Branch and Christina Aguilera, slid easily into that group.

Shane meant this in the nicest way possible. He envied Matthew in a way actually. The kid that he had grown up exploring these same back woods behind his house with had allowed nerdiness to become a symbol of honor. A symbol he wore proudly, no matter how often it got him called homo or snickered at. Even the cruelty of his Bowser shell backpack being thrown in the toilet on three separate occasions would not convince him that a black LL Bean might be more suitable for middle school.

“You can’t keep a Koopa down,” he had said to Shane, his bag suctioned against his back, leaving a trail of water droplets on the school tiles with each step.

It had frustrated Shane in the past, spending the majority of fourth grade trying to “change” his best friend; show him the way that he could enjoy playing World of WarCraft at home but choose not to mention it in school.

“You know what man, maybe I’m just not cool enough,” he had said, his hands balled into fists like he always did when he was fighting back emotion, “I mean, I would get it if you decided to start hanging out with Zack and the rest of the Gryffindor’s.”

Shane could still remember Matthews glistening eyes. They were self-proclaimed Ravenclaw’s together (the fact that Shane had been sorted into Gryffindor once did nothing to change his devotion to the house) and it would have killed Matthew to have lost his friend. Shane had given up that day on his attempt at fixing Matthew, and as of this seventh grade year, he had given up altogether.

He was trying to be better about accepting his social status that came with aligning himself with Matthew for so long. Matthew constantly reminded him that being a “closet-nerd” would get him nowhere in life but unhappy. Shane trusted his friend’s assessment. For a kid with no social sense, he often shared enlightening commentary. Shane would often laugh off his comments but he would find himself thinking of them later with his mind no longer preoccupied by videogames and movies.

There was only one thing that stood in his way of full acceptance into nerdom. One hurdle that didn’t just continue to trip him up, but held him down and beat him repeatedly. This hurdle stalked him in the halls, pleading with him to show a sense of normalcy.

This hurdle was a girl.

This girl was Eliza.

A crackle from above pummeled into his wandering thoughts. He looked up just in time to see a large branch plummeting towards him from the tree above. A quick sidestep accompanied by a yelp was enough to save him from the impending danger, and the branch flopped upon the road, bouncing three times, splintering until it no longer remained a threat. With the third wriggle it finally fell to a rest. Shane remained still for a moment, watching the branch as a cat might a wounded sparrow it has found in the garden. A level of cautious vigilance in his gaze, as if the wind might turn the small shards of wood into adders at any moment.

After several seconds passed, Shane finally allowed himself a breath. The wind that now was ripping at his thin jacket less frequently had left the branch motionless. Taking in its size without the altering effects of fear revealed it would not have killed him, though certainly could have done some harm.

Shane couldn’t imagine the irreparable damage he would have done to his parents psyche had he been killed after storming off into the stormy night. He was thankful for the near miss that left him heaving deeply and slightly elated.

And then he saw it.

It was inconsequential even as it drew his attention slightly, letting his eyes linger. Had he not been in such a heightened state, he probably would have missed it completely, his mind dismissing it as unnecessary for focus amidst the bellowing wind and flashing sky.

The bobbing light trounced around in the woods, distant enough that if you blinked you might have thought you’d imagined it. Shane watched it long enough to notice that it would disappear for long moments at a time, so long so that he was always about to move his attention to something else when it would reappear, livelier than before.

He wasn’t sure what it was, this gypsy of an ember gallivanting around the woods behind his house, but he knew he wanted to see it. Without realizing, he broke into a sprint, down the road which eventually morphed into a dirt road rather abruptly. It was moving across his line of sight, not away or towards, but straight across. Well, not straight at all. It was incredibly winding and unpredictable, but at the same time it drifted from left to right with a purpose. The dichotomy made no sense and all sense to Shane, whose quest to meet up with this blip kept him from analyzing further.

Finally he reached the bridge, the light growing bigger with each step. It was no longer a blip in the night but was now a flame of sorts, only this flame was bounding about in the forest, trees masking it intermittently before it would spring up again.

He shot across the bridge, his steps heavy upon its elderly structure. It had been there for centuries he was sure (history had never been his strong suit). The flame was so close now, and Shane had calculated that it would be making it to the road on the other side of the bridge any minute now. It disappeared on his left for several moments before breaking out of a bush further up than he had calculated, scuttling across the road and into a thicket.

He hadn’t seen anything distinguishing aside from the light, and he picked up his pace, stitch in his side be damned, trying to make it to the thicket.

A minute later he was there, too late. He knew it. His sweaty palms fell on his knees in abject acceptance. He had failed, the flame was gone and he couldn’t be sure what he had seen. Shane had always been one to trust himself more than anyone around him. It was a bit prideful, and perhaps his most unrecognized flaw, but he was far more skeptical of things he couldn’t prove himself. It didn’t matter what level of trust he had for someone, his own mother could tell him she had seen a stray dog and his immediate response would be to find it himself.

He couldn’t imagine explaining this most recent aberration to his parents, or even Matthew. Could he even be sure of himself for that matter? Maybe he had been hit in the head by that branch and he was just in shock? The whole world seemed out of sorts.

A shuffle of branches startled Shane, and he whipped to the right, staring into the woods. Immediately he saw the glimmer on the hill to his right.

It was the light.

And the light was attached to a body. The body of a man was Shane’s first thought, but within seconds of analyzing he knew this to be untrue.

The light was a flame (He had been right about this part at least).

The flame was incased in an ancient lantern. Shane would have guessed that it was fueled by gas in any other circumstance but the unusualness of the rest of the scene had him unsure. It swayed in a way counter to anything he had ever seen, swirling as if touched by the wind but simultaneously as if it were a part of the wind. It was playing as one, not in danger of being extinguished by the wind’s brutality. It was a lantern of exquisite design; something Shane knew rather than saw due to the lighting.

It wasn’t the lantern that held Shane’s gaze though, but rather what held it. A short, stocky man held the lantern in his long, stick fingers. His torso was so small compared to the size of his arms and legs that it was a wonder he had a body for them to connect to. His legs were bent like frogs, the knobby knees pointed away from his body, and he seemed prepped to spring at any moment.

The face is the only thing that kept Shane from running, screaming in the other direction. And not for the reason that he wasn’t scared, in fact, quite the contrary. It was about as human looking as the rest of its body, with a pointed nose, wrinkled skin, and a disapproving scowl. Two rounded teeth protruded from his lower jaw, and out of his mouth like slugs looking to escape his mouth. These two small tusks (that was probably the best word for them) didn’t seem large enough to do damage but Shane certainly did not intend to find out if this were true or not.

The last distinguishing attribute of this bizarre man-creature was his mane. His face was surrounded by long, matted hair. Twigs and sap clung to the whiskery exterior, hinting at a long life-time in the woods. This gave his face the appearance of a cat, and the hair rippled in the wind as he continued to survey the boy from above.

“Hello?” yelled Shane before he could stop himself. He coveted a reaction from the strange creature that stood still as a gargoyle before him.

“The light protects the forest, but the night keeps it alive”

The creature’s voice was a grumble, and it seemed to vibrate from somewhere deep within. Shane shuddered at the strange words.

And with these words the creature seemed to jolt back to life. Springing from its still position, it launched into the forest with unrecognizable speed and deftness. The lantern trailed behind it, held tightly in its abnormally long arms. In seconds there was nothing to be seen but the bouncing light, and a second more, and this too had vanished. Shane took a few steps as if to pursue it but it was clear almost immediately that the task would be futile.

Shane began to walk home, lost in his thoughts. The worries of the fight with his parents seemed so far away, a distant wound long since healed into a scar. His mind grappled with what he had seen and how he would approach discussing such a thing with anyone.

It wasn’t the existence of the creature that had him worked up. It was strange, and startlingly unpleasant, but it hadn’t seemed dangerous. No, it was the unexplained that had left such a chilling aftermath within him. It didn’t jive with anything that had happened in his life. It had left him with no meaning. He was left to fit this squiggly memory into the rest of his life memories that remained wholly square and circular.

“SHANE!!” he heard his mother calling in the distance.

He wouldn’t tell her he decided in that moment. He wouldn’t tell anyone. Maybe it didn’t need to be explained. Perhaps it didn’t, but he also knew that nightly walks in the forest was now a part of his routine, in hopes that a lantern might cross his path once again.