Don’t Go Into the Woods With Bobby

“Don’t go into the woods with Bobby!” My mom reminded me when I left the house for school that day.

Bobby’s parents were poor, fat and stupid, but, to me, he would always be the kid that offered me half of his sandwich on the first day of school after bullies had taken mine. This small kindness brought tears to my eyes. You see, I have to move every couple of years because of my Dad’s job, so I’ve never made real friends. Bobby seemed like someone I could trust.

That night, we decided to sneak out together. I crawled from my window, retrieved my bike from the shed and met Bobby. Our bikes flicked freshly fallen rainwater in an arc off the asphalt.

He explained our mission: to see the Palmetto WerePig. It was a man-boar cryptid that roamed the lowcountry eating bad children.

Armed with our flashlights and raincoats, we ventured into the woods. Aside from the rainwater dripping off the trees and the occasional hooting owl, it was quiet. Soon we approached a moonlit clearing.

“Well?” I said. “Where is it?”

“Oh come on!” he cheered. “Let’s wait around and tell some ghost stories or something!”

So we did. We joked, made hand puppets and howled at the moon. I was cold, uncomfortable and exhilarated. This was the childhood my parents had been keeping from me. I felt like a real kid with a real friend for the first time.

As our night was winding down, I left our little clearing to pee before we made our trek back home. When I returned, Bobby was gone. I called his name, but no one, not even the owls, responded.

I was heartbroken. Bobby had left me cold and alone in the woods. I marched back to where we had stashed our bikes. His was gone.

It wasn’t until days later that Bobby was officially declared missing. I went with the search party every night in hopes of finding my first and only friend. Every day I felt more guilty.

I tried to not think about it when I sat down for Thanksgiving dinner. Mom had prepared her “famous” Thanksgiving ham.

“Mom. Dad,” I said. “I have to tell you something.”

The sound of scraping silverware stopped.

“I was there with Bobby the night he disappeared. I was too scared to tell anyone because we weren’t supposed to be out there in the first place. I’m so sorry.”

They said nothing and returned to voraciously putting forkful after forkful of pork in their mouth.

“Did you hear what I said?” I shouted.

“Yes,” My father said calmly. He looked at my mother.

She said, “We have a surprise for you.”

“Bobby’s here with us right now,” he said.

I looked down at the abnormally thick layer of fat on the meat in front of me.

“We told you not to go into the woods with Bobby.”