Short Fiction · It All Came True In The Woods (2/2)

“Oh, you mean about those giants? Why, just what you said.” She looked up at him with a little wonder that he should not be sure.

Then it had been true, among the Trees of Truth. She, too, had seen and known. “Helen, how were they driven away?”

“With the magic pipe. Daddy. You know. I smoked it.”

This as carefully and clearly as though she were the adult speaking to the child. “Why, Helen,” he said, “this isn’t a ma⁠—”

Then he broke off. Better to be careful about talking away any protection. He asked another question. “You weren’t afraid?”

“Not with the magic pipe. You told me they hated it. And everything comes true in these woods⁠—whether it’s about giants or pipes.”

Clay agreed in his heart that it was a thing not to be explained⁠—only to tremble over his whole life long. Helen was more fortunate. Six years old in a world of wonders and importance, to her three hungry giants were no more wondrous or important than many another thing.

“Don’t tell Mummy about this, Helen,” he said. “We’ll have it for our secret.”

She smiled and nodded, pleased by the word “secret.” Clay felt better. That would help matters now. Some time when she was older, and mentioned the business as a childhood memory, he could get her to agree that it was a dream⁠—grotesque, frightening, but only a dream.

“Daddy,” said the little girl, “are there squirrels here, too? Because I think I see one.”