The Knowledge of the Hidden

Chapter 1

The last of the light is gone from the sky by the time I reach my tree that night. I know that I am going to be cutting it close to try to make it back home before curfew, but for once in my life I find that I couldn't care less. The winter wind is unforgiving, cutting across my cheeks like shards of glass with each step that I take. I pull my jacket tighter around myself, trying in vain to block the worst of it. Of course, Josh's birthday had to fall during a cold front.

The paper brown bag I hold feels heavy, unbearably so, though I know logically it can't weigh more than a few ounces. I shift it nervously between my hands, moving by memory toward the tallest oak tree in the perimeter. It is solid, with thick low hanging branches that allow me to easily pull my way up, shifting the bag to my mouth to make the climb. The paper rubs between my teeth, making me wince as I scale the tree, clambering up branch after branch until I can barely see the ground anymore.

I suppose that maybe I should be afraid. Instead I feel nothing.

Slowly, mechanically, I settle myself into a seated position on the branch, setting the brown paper bag beside me. Even just looking at it makes my stomach lurch, and I am suddenly filled with an urge to grab it and chuck it from my sight. But I can't. I owe this to him.

I reach into the bag and slowly lift out the contents: a thickly frosted carrot cupcake and a single blue candle. Seeing it, I am filled with an insane urge to laugh. Only Josh would have a favorite dessert like carrot cake. It's practically a vegetable.

I roll the candle between my fingers, placing it delicately down into the frosting as if it may suddenly snap in half. It is only then that I realize the flaw in my planning. I forgot to bring anything to light it.

I mentally curse myself, lashing out and knocking the bag from the branch. It blows unsatisfyingly gently to the ground, catching on the breeze to move back and forth like a leaf until it's gone from my sight. I glare at the cupcake, intending to send it the same way, but I can't force my hand to move. Instead a single tear makes its way to my eye and rolls down my cheek. Man, I miss him. A lot.

I just wish he was here. I find myself thinking over and over again, staring at the retched cupcake. I just wish I could see him one more time. I press a hand to my face, as if I can force the pain back down, but it doesn't stop.

Between my tears, a bright red spark catches my eyes.

I freeze, wiping my face to get a better look, but there's nothing to be seen. The area is as dark as before. I begin to wonder if I imagined it, but before I can even finish the thought, it happens again. The candle on the cupcake lights up.

I let out a yell of surprise and shove it away, sending the dessert flying to the ground. It's invisible in seconds, leaving me peering into the never-ending darkness, and questioning whether it had ever been there at all. Surely it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.

I continue to stare at the ground, my stomach tightening in guilt. I've let him down.

I remember the first passing of my mom's birthday after her death. My little brother Luke and I had baked her an entire cake from scratch and covered it with so many candles that the fire alarm was triggered nearly instantly. Water poured down from the sprinkler system, soaking us and dousing the candles, ruining the cake and many of our possessions in the process.

When our dad arrived home that night, he just stared at us. We expected him to yell but instead he disappeared. It was the first of many disappearances that have now become custom in the house. Perhaps I shouldn't plan birthdays anymore. Especially not for people who aren't even there to celebrate.