The Monarch of the Forest Read online

The Monarch of the Forest

  A Short Story by Jonathan Brett

  Copyright 2011 Jonathan Brett

  * * *

  The yellow bulldozer passed dangerously close to the fence along the back of Grandpa Oscar's yard. Jason watched the machine pass down a dusty access road into a wooded area that would soon be the biggest development in the history of the small Western Pennsylvania township.

  Jason jammed his hands into his pockets and slowly stepped up the uneven stairs to his grandfather's front porch. He opened the door, feeling the familiar stick, and braced himself for what was about to happen.

  Grandpa was a big man who had lived eighty-five years. He sat in a battered old recliner, hands shaking as he opened a plastic can of peanuts. Jason's uncle, two aunts, and his father sat around the room. One of the aunts said “Uh-oh” as soon as Jason stepped through the door.

  “How are my gold-digging, heartless relatives doing today?” Jason asked despite his father's warning look.

  Jason's uncle, who was almost as big as Grandpa, jumped to his feet and swore.

  “Didja hear, Jay?” Grandpa asked. “They want to put me into a nursing home!”

  “It's for your own good, Dad,” one of Jason's aunts said. He thought of her as Toil and the other as Trouble. “You're eighty. You need ’round the clock care.”

  “No, he doesn't, and you know it,” Dad said.

  Jason leaned against the wall. “How much did the developer offer this time?”

  Aunt Toil glowered at Jason while Aunt Trouble smiled. Jason hated her smile. It meant that she was up to something. Ever since Grandma died, the aunts have been running the show, and they knew a goldmine when they saw it. Grandpa's house sat on prime development land.

  “Jay and I take care of his pills and check in on him every day. You three don't even do anything,” Dad said.

  “I resent that,” Uncle Baldy said.

  “You resemble it, you mean,” Jason said.

  “This is getting nowhere,” Aunt Toil said. “We'll be back, Dad. Think it over.”

  “Or she'll put the head of your prized horse in your bed,” Jason said.

  After some stiff good-byes, Jason was left alone with his father and grandfather.

  “You shouldn't egg them on like that,” Dad said.

  “They're sub-human,” Jason said. “I don't know how the three of us could be related to them. I swear there was something screwy with the gene pool there.”

  Grandpa ignored the troubles, which was typical of him. He smiled and said, “It's the first day of deer season tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Jason said. He collapsed on the couch beside his father. “Work’s been crazy. I barely managed to get a day off. I don't know, Grandpa, it's not as much fun as it used to be. Too many posted signs, bad hunters, new regulations...”

  “Just one more time,” Grandpa said. He put the can of peanuts down on the table beside him. “Get the key to the gun cabinet.”

  Jason walked over to the fireproof safe in the corner. To protect Grandpa from the other children, only Jason and his father knew the combination – faking documents wouldn’t be a problem for the Big Three. Inside were important documents, Grandpa's will, and the key to the gun cabinet.

  Grandpa shakily unlocked the cabinet and opened it.

  “Before your uncle gets it, I'm giving this to you,” Grandpa said. “I've already talked it over with your father.”

  Jason took Grandpa’s favorite rifle. Named Foe Hammer by all who used it, this gun had nearly-magical properties in family legend. It had been in Grandpa’s possession for sixty-some years, but never showed a single sign of aging.

  “I can’t take this,” Jason said.

  “Don’t refuse an old man’s gift,” Grandpa said. “I’ve been proud of you. You’re just like me and your old man. I can’t think of anyone else I want holding Foe Hammer. I just have one thing to ask you.”

  “Okay,” Jason said. “Anything.”

  “I want to see the Monarch of the Forest on the front porch of my house,” Grandpa said.

  Jason sat down and stared at the beautiful weapon in his hands. One element of family legend led to another.

  “He doesn’t exist, Dad,” Jason’s father said as he paced around the living room. Jason looked at the carpet beneath his father’s feet, worn and faded. The wall was cracked beneath the picture of Grandma. The old bookshelf looked like it was about to fall apart.

  Grandpa got a light in his gray eyes. He sat on the edge of his chair, holding out his hands in the way he used to when he told Jason stories. The hands shook now. The man telling the story looked as old as the woods that were being destroyed in the name of progress.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Dad said. “I don’t think I can listen to that old story again.”

  Jason waved as his father left, but Grandpa continued. “I first saw him in these very woods behind the house. I must have been your age at the time…”

  “You were sixteen,” Jason corrected. “I’m twenty-six.”

  Grandpa blinked. “Really? You grew up so quick. Okay, I was ten years younger than you are now. I think he was as old as the forest he lived in. He stood above me on a hill, sun shining on his gray fur. His antlers looked like trees sprouting from his noble head. I mistook him for an elk at first, but then I saw he was actually a deer! I knew my old gun wasn’t worthy of him, so I searched for a noble weapon. That’s when I found Foe Hammer, there. Forged specially for me by a man who died the day after he made it…”