Big Arnold

(Flash Folk Horror) The wind raged. The trunks of the forest of trees all around him swayed as the chainsaw came loose in the branch above Ralph’s head.

Photo by Annie Hendrix

Willie went missing in September. Six weeks had passed and none of the loggers had heard anything from him, but still they continued to fell the old growth redwood trees in Fallon Forrest. Willie wasn’t the first to go missing, but he was the first who had left behind a wife and child.

“Agatha,” the foremen comforted the pale, plump woman as she wept, “I’m afraid we must accept he’s run off, like the others.”

“Willie wouldn’t leave us, Ralph” Agatha wiped at her wet cheeks with her stiff cotton blouse. “Someone has taken him, maybe, but more likely he’s dead.”

Ralph looked toward the tree line. Against the hanging sun, the silhouette of Big Arnold loomed. Ralph had almost lost his leg to the old growth Sequoia sempervirens after the blade of his chainsaw kicked back against a hidden branch.

“You aren’t thinking of making another attempt on that tree, are you Ralph?”

“Jason’s doing it now. If he doesn’t do it, someone here will.”

“Why is felling that tree so important to you all?”

“It’s the biggest one here. Maybe the biggest one on earth.”

*

Jason was especially careful when he worked. He always wore his helmet and harness, always looked for hidden things like birds’ nests, beehives, and hidden branches in his chainsaw’s path. He turned his eyes upward toward the canopy. The overlapping branches formed intricate shadowed patterns against the grey sky. The hairy red bark wrapped the trunk like a soft blanket. Jason reached out and touched the fibers, ran his hand around the bark’s warm organic grooves and protrusions.

“Hello Arnold, old friend,” the wind blew gently against his face as he gazed upward.

In order to fell the tree, Jason first needed to top it. He scaled the branches and when he reached his desired altitude looked down at the tree line below. Big Arnold would be missed, but all things must die. No matter how industrious the loggers were, this forest would spring back again. From this height, Jason could see the burn line from last year’s forrest fire. Already manzanita and coyote brush decorated the forest floor. Spring would surely bring lush grasses and wildflowers.

“Arnold, buddy. I’m sorry, but it’s time.”

The wind howled, and the trunk swayed and creaked. Jason unlatched his chainsaw from his belt, tested his tether, and the double checked the attachment of the branch bearing his weight. He raised the blade, teeth glinting in the sun, then lowered the saw.

“I just can’t do it,” he said, turned off his saw, and descended the tree. Before he made the journey back he rested his hand on the trunk and said goodbye.

*

Ralph was furious when Jason told him what happened. “I should dock you a day’s pay!” he said.

“Ralph. Sir, I’m sorry. I just feel that Arnold should be spared.”

“Why do you call him that? Ridiculous. Want something done right, you do it yourself. That’s what they say right?”

Ralph ripped the chainsaw from Jason’s hands and went to confront Big Arnold. He brought no rope to anchor himself. He brought no helmet. He scaled the tree without gloves and wielded the chainsaw untethered in his left hand. At last he reached the top of the old redwood tree. He gazed into the distance over the canopy as the wind battered his bare cheeks. He brought the blade down to meet Big Arnold’s trunk and sunk the spinning toothed metal into the bark. When he reached the cambium, the creaking branch below broke and as Ralph fell he released the chainsaw. It snagged on a branch and continued to run as he fell through and fell hard into a clump of branches ten feet below the dangling chainsaw.

That’s when Ralph saw Willie, leaned against a large interior branch, his own chainsaw bloodied and dangling from his belt, a deep gash in his leg. Ralph looked down below, and there were the bodies of James, Rich, and Ronnie: caught in his rope, limp on a cluster of lower branches, bled out on his own chainsaw, respectively.

“Help!” Ralph yelled.

The wind raged. The trunks of the forest of trees all around him swayed as the chainsaw came loose in the branch above Ralph’s head.

“No,” said Ralph. The chainsaw fell from the branch toward him and he instinctually reached out to catch it with his free hand. The weight of the falling object took him down. As his hand wrapped around the spinning blade he fell through the canopy to the forest floor.

Never again did the people of Fallon lay a hand on Big Arnold. Ralph was the last to meet his bitter end in the branches of the old Sequoia sempervirens.

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