The Last Walk of Henry Chandler

Without a Trace

The evening twilight was the most interesting of light; both beautiful with its menagerie of soft hues that softened by the minute, but at the same time it was a melancholy light; the last gasps of the day. This was Henry Chandler’s favorite light of all, and so always timed his end-of-day walk to coincide with the final breaths of the last afternoon sun, following the colors in a relaxed saunter. When finished, he would arrive home on New Bailey Street to tea and dinner.

Mister Henry as he was known, was so precise that you could set your time by him. The same distance covered at the same time everyday, with the exact same 3 hellos to the people on their porches, and perhaps 3 or 4 more for those who he happened to pass on the path. He knew every tree, and after 30 years of walking even had secretly named most of them. He also knew where the water level of the slow-moving water of the town creek would be based on the season and the day. Mister Henry was even lucky enough to know a rare couple of pairs of birds that had returned to their nest every year since he had started walking.

An Administrator of the University of Science’s Chemistry Division, he was from high birth and had worked diligently to both meet and exceed his perceived expectations of his social position. The work was fast-paced, and often had implications for vast sums of money based on results his labs were seeking. Usually he could be found in an office absolutely stuffed with many books, drawings, work boards and files. His oak desk had barely enough room carved into the binders and boxes littering the surface for a note pad and a hand to write on it. Otherwise he was nearly sprinting between labs, always driving his agenda with an almost unnatural determination.

That is what made the walks so pleasant, and so necessary. When he was home, Mister Henry had his wife Ananastasia to care for, and the 5 children she gave him. Even as he was beginning to sleep he was working as a Husband and Father. The walks were also invigorating; while not old, Henry Chandler was closer to retirement than he was at the beginning of his career, so the fresh air soothed some of his soreness.

Today was nestled right in the middle of autumn; all of Henry’s favorite trees were just beginning to shed all of their leaves in short showers of yellow, auburn and orange. The path was mostly clear, but the wind carried entire mounds of leaves from the tree line right onto the cobblestone. The crunching underneath his shiny leather shoes was pleasant as it was constant, as Mister Henry found himself slowing slightly to savor the sound.

He was rounding a bend where the creek suddenly cut hard away from the trail. He was admiring his shadow, long and imposing, matching his tall and stout frame. Looking larger still with all the larger with his layers of clothing, and his hat made him seem even taller.

Suddenly his shadow vanished against the tree-line as it changed. This particular part of the path ran against a portion of trees that grew very thick together, and stretched almost menacingly into the sky compared to all the others. The leaves here were thicker than anywhere else along the trail, absolutely covering the ground within the trees well above Mister Henry’s ankle.

“Ah yes, Badwood.” He said to himself. This stand of trees always seemed to lack any animals, or signs of life or any kind aside the sound of a quick rush of air between them that could hardly be confused for a breeze. So the stand, came to be known as Badwood for Mister Henry in all his years of walking for the blight it cast on his walk.

He turned for just only a small time to some birds finishing their seed gathering as the light was fading, casting long shadows that leaped from the leaves as they headed home for the night. Their song and grace easily put the Badwood out of Mister Henry’s mind.

He must have enjoyed himself for too long, he thought, as he was looking at the thick wall of trees, curving up some distance before slowly turning the bend. The sun was lower than it should have been, and the wind of the night was coming in. It would be well-dark by the time he got home.

“Well, too much of a good thing can spoil, even an evening walk.” He sighed to himself. He thought for but a moment, and then instantly decided to cut through the thick section of forest to save time. There were technically two sections that cut into by the path twice, before clearing very near the end of his trail to the main road that was only 3 minutes from his house. He had taken the route before when he had previously enjoyed his time for too long, whether that was admiring the rabbits who came out at this time to eat grasses, or bantering with a fellow walker for just a couple too many exchanges.

The first section was thick, though not as much as the second. Mister Henry had taken through the first section easily enough, though he made a great haste as for some reason it was deathly colder than the trail, and also windier.

“My bones would break if the wind between the trees blew into me with its wicked breath any harder.” He groaned to himself as he cleared some leaves from the lower section of his coat, cutting quickly over the trail and into the second section of trees.

The second section was thicker, and the walk far less pleasant. “How is it even possible to grow this close together? Dinner will be cold at this rate.” He said to himself, almost bitterly as the thought of cold gravy covering cold meat tormented his mind. The roots of the trees seemed to rise up from the ground higher here, and the leaves hid a number of low spots and ruts in the ground. The thickness of the trees, many of which still had plenty of covering leaves, made the twilight look very near dusk.

As he struggled along the way, all he could hear was the thunder of his vain struggle through the stand, which seemed to get louder as he hurried. “The roast will be extra worth it tonight, and so too will the whiskey I will pour twice after.” He thought to himself as he was about half-way towards the trail.

“Drat!” He said to himself, almost yelling. It had suddenly occurred to Mister Henry that as his right hand had passed over his coat pocket, that perhaps he had dropped his watch as it had jostled around during his walk into the trees. He knew it was there just before, as he had felt it softly strike against his body as he had stepped over a root and nearly lost his footing but a moment ago.

As Mister Henry slowed to a stop, and began to turn around to feverishly check the ground for any hint or hope of a glint of the fading dark-purple twilight against the gold face of the watch to catch his eye. He noticed too late that the loud sound of leaves crunching did not stop when he did.

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