Amongst The Mists

by M. L. Rayner

  Amongst the Mists

  M. L. Rayner

  Amongst the Mists

  ?

  Question Mark Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  First published in 2021 by Question Mark Press

  Copyright © 2021 by M. L. Rayner

  ?

  Question Mark Press

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Amongst The Mists/ M. L. Rayner. – 1st edition

  ISBN: 9798544013679

  Cover Design by: Emmy Ellis @ Studioenp

  Photography by: PhotoCosma

  Promo: Question Mark Press / Elli Toney

  QMP Blog Tours By: Zooloo’s Book Tours

  Amongst the Mists

  Prologue

  T he Brocton Swamp was much more hazardous than young Olivia Bradwell cared to recall. She had trudged through this odorous, algae topped morass many times before. The sensation of mud between her toes somehow provided a strange comfort as she buried her heels into the water’s bed. However, tonight was in no way familiar. Olivia had never ventured through the woodlands this late before, and now she could see the reason why. Above a cluster of branches, twilight paraded the sky and left little light to guide her through the bleakness. She was lost. More lost than she dared to admit. Why hadn't she just followed the stream? That question kept knocking about in her mind. Her heart rate quickened with the realisation of the depth of her trouble.

  “Stupid idiot,” she chastised herself. “Bloody stupid… Idiot.”

  Sitting on the grassy river bank that evening, Olivia drew aimlessly inside her notebook whatever childlike doodles came to mind. The rain had not been particularly bad over the past few weeks, which allowed the rivers and streams of the area to flow peacefully around the protruding rocks. This was her favourite spot in the whole world. No one would bother her here. It was her place, and it comforted the young girl to think it was her place. Hers alone. The rippling stream brushed past her naked feet, flowing around its bends into the woodland nestled at the edge of the green.

  “The voice! The calling voice. That’s what it was!” She spoke to the darkness in disbelief, rubbing her tired eyes in an effort to remain focused. After she lost her bearings, she had completely forgotten about that voice.

  How could I forget? Olivia thought. Her lips were quivering and beginning to turn blue from the rapidly dropping temperature.

  It was the strangest of occurrences. So strange she was doubtful it had even happened. The sun’s splendour shone down on the crisp pages of her book as she stretched out for an assortment of crayons. Sighing heavily, she unconsciously listened to the relaxing sounds of the babbling spring and watched the trees as they gently swayed in the near distance. It was then a distant call broke her concentration. Curiosity forced her to raise her blue eyes away from the half-finished sketch.

  “Lost!”

  Olivia looked around, studying the area where she lay, and tried to determine the origin of the call. Although she listened intently, only the sounds of nature both far and near were evident, and so again she rested and placed her crayon quickly back to paper.

  “Lost! Lost!”

  There it is again, she thought. Olivia jumped to her feet, causing the crayons to fall and scatter.

  “Hellooo?” The girl returned the call as if in song whilst peering along the grassy river bank. “Who’s that then?”

  The sound of flowing water was the only reply, as she began collecting the now dispersed belongings for the journey home.

  “Lost… Lost!”

  Olivia’s head turned to the side, this time catching the smallest of movements from the corner of her eye.

  “Ha!” she yelled playfully, pointing her violet painted finger nail in the direction of the hidden trickster. “I see you, come out. I seen you, I have!”

  Her bare feet dashed along the water’s edge, sending a cooling spray up each leg. A sharp bend in the bank sent Olivia slightly off balance and brought her to an abrupt halt.

  “Oh…” Puzzlement masked the young girl’s face. “Where you gone to now?” she called, standing ankle deep on the shore. What Olivia had seen, or what she believed to have seen, had gone, leaving her with only a brewing annoyance the game was not played fairly. She stood waiting, tapping her foot vigorously and impatiently.

  “Shout then, you… you mong!”

  Olivia waited restlessly before giving up and turning away with a stomp to retrace her steps.

  “Lost…” the mischievous voice called from behind, immediately followed by the sound of splashing across the river's surface.

  She sprinted farther and farther downstream, committed to catching the caller. But with each bend in the river that was reached, the nasal call was heard farther away.

  I’ll catch you… You little runt, she thought with a scowl. Her lungs started to weigh heavily with exhaustion. She stopped, hesitant to go on. Olivia waited, watching as the clear glistening water freely tumbled between her legs and into the dimness of woodland beyond. She held no fear of the forest but knew she should not stay. She had prolonged her time here enough.

  “I’m not playing now,” she yelled. “Gotta go I have.”

  Olivia waited, and surely enough the reply was delayed in return.

  “Lost!” It yelled back through the trees. The vocalisation seemed more distant than before.

  “I said, I ain’t playing. You deaf or something?” Olivia screamed, trying her best to be heard through the seemingly endless trees.

  “Lost…” The caller replied but was perceived with more uncertainty than the last. Olivia tilted her head inquisitively, trying to peer through the thick shrubs.

  “You really lost?” she yelled, now beginning to feel a sense of concern. “Or you just fakin’?”

  Again she was answered, but the sound echoed even deeper from the dense thicket. The girl cautiously moved forward, following the route of the water. It would be dark soon. She was well aware of that. But as the fading voice cried out from the depth of the woods, Olivia’s small body vanished into the endless tunnel of arched trees.

  Amongst the Mists

  Chapter One – July 1986

  A t last! His bag was packed. Bran Lampshire sighed heavily, feebly securing the weathered straps before throwing his rucksack carelessly against the corner wall. Laying spread across the unmade covers, he glared up to the dart holes that penetrated his bedroom wall and Michael Jackson calendar. A dart stood firmly embedded in the current date, accompanied by a crudely drawn circle in red Biro.

  “The twenty first of July 1986,” he groaned. It was an important date for Bran. Possibly the most anticipated day of the year. The summer holidays had officially begun. It was a time to do as little or as much as he wanted. A time where the endless summer days pleasantly all rolled into one. Yet, all of it was gone now. The very idea flushed away with a yank of the chain, sending his desires, his ambitions down the drain.

  Why did I agree to this pointless trip? he thought, gazing back towards his beloved Commodore. His friend had discussed the matter for months, arranging every little detail, assuming Bran would willingly accompany him. Bran hated camping, and the call of the wild was certainly no exception, no matter how well planned.

  It came as no surprise his parents encouraged him to go. And despite his unwillingness to submit, both mother and father insisted the country air
would do him the world of good. He expected the cavalry any minute. The longer he waited, the more he wished the venture had been forgotten.

  The faint sound of boyish singing came floating through the window, dashing his hopes to pieces. The squeal of bicycle brakes came to a gradual stop as Bran waited for the inevitable summons.

  “Branston!” The loud geeky voice invaded from outdoors. It was Marcus White; he would know that nerdy tone anywhere. They had been pals for as long as he could remember, although now he was beginning to wonder why.

  “Branston!” Marcus was obviously irritated as he shouted up towards the crack of the window.

  Bran rolled over to his side, muttering under his breath before yelling back.

  “What!”

  “What? What do you mean, what?” Marcus yelled. “It’s time to go.”

  “Can’t, I’m too sick.” Cough, cough.

  An awkward pause followed.

  “You aren’t sick, there’s nothing wrong with you. Get down here!”

  “You sure it’s wise? Looks like rain is on the way. We’ll all get soaked.”

  Marcus tilted his tattered reflective cap upwards, glancing at the clear blue sky, as blue as he’d ever seen.

  “It isn’t going to rain. There’re no pissin’ clouds in sight. Get up!”

  “It’s gonna rain, Marcus.”

  “No, it isn’t, Bran.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No! It isn’t!”

  This typically went on for some time. It was a trap Marcus regularly fell for and an exercise Bran thoroughly enjoyed. He resisted the urge to snigger, biting at the corner of his pillow before responding.

  “Okay, Okay! Gimme a sec,” he bellowed, the bag already slung over one shoulder as he made his way down the stairs.

  Marcus waited on the grass, his bike abandoned and leaning against the chalk coloured kerb.

  “You know it’s classed as rude to shout?” Bran cockily expressed before pulling his bike down from the garage rack.

  “No,” replied Marcus. “But did you know it’s rude to be a complete dick?”

  Surprised, Bran smirked. Quick wittedness certainly wasn’t a strong point for Marcus, so rather than challenge him further, Bran kindly decided to let him savour the moment.

  “OK… so where we going?” Bran asked, sitting beside his friend.

  “You really haven’t listened to anything, have you?” said Marcus as he pulled strands of brown grass from the dying lawn.

  “Nope. Not really.” Bran replied with even less enthusiasm than before.

  Aggravated, Marcus sighed while dusting the strips of grass from his hands.

  “Look! If you don’t want to come, don’t bother! I ain’t forcing you.”

  Here we go, thought Bran, now sensing what would soon be Marcus’s silent treatment. He took a deep breath and gave his friend a playful nudge of the arm.

  “Don’t be daft. Of course, I’ll come,” said Bran more convincingly. “Look… I promise you, I won’t complain again, alright?”

  Marcus’s deep frown turned upside down. An appealing smile appeared, and he grunted as he returned Bran’s nudge.

  “OK then.”

  “Alright then, pal. So… Tell me. Who else have you invited?”

  “Just the new lad, Jack.”

  “Jack! For fuck sake, Marcus! Why? The guy’s a complete special case.” Bran’s voice heightened, now unknowingly turning the heads of his curious neighbours.

  “No, he isn’t.” Again Marcus nudged. “He’s just... just…”

  “A fricking psychopath in the making?” Bran interrupted.

  “No. Just a little slow is all,” said Marcus discreetly.

  “Slow ain’t the word, Marcus. You said you weren’t going to ask him!”

  “And you said you weren’t going to complain no more.”

  Bran opened his mouth hesitantly, ready to throw the full range of cursing vocabulary he’d memorised just that year. He stopped himself. A list of inappropriate words hung desperately on the edge of his tongue. He gulped, swallowing the childish remarks back down. He knew full well this was an argument he was not about to win.

  “Fine! Let’s go,” he mumbled while they pushed their bikes to the road.

  *

  Jack Speckle. Or Special Jack, which the kids had unkindly named him, sat patiently at his doorstep. He had waited with anticipation throughout the morning, never truly knowing if his invite was anything more than a spiteful prank. His backpack remained tightly grasped in his hands while his nails scraped unpleasantly across the canvas.

  It goes without saying Jack wasn’t the brightest kid at school. He had recently moved to town from the northern countryside, his mother only too hopeful he would gain the extra support needed at school. Jack despised his new school, never really understanding why they had to move in the first place.

  The sound of boyhood banter approached, instantly breaking his daydream trance. His odd coloured eyes, one blue and one green, widened with excitement. His head turned to somehow gain a view of the restricted garden path. The tightened grip slackened. He let out a sigh of disappointment, slouching back to the door’s rotting frame. It wasn’t Marcus. Not yet.

  Amongst the Mists

  Chapter Two

  J ack began to sprint across the uncut lawn, forgetting his rucksack was carelessly placed on the doorstep. A confused gaze washed across his face as he turned to sprint back to his house.

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Bran impatiently shook his head and pointed in the direction of the running fool. “We ain’t even bloody started yet!”

  “Shut up, will you!” demanded Marcus. His tone was full of irritation that Bran was not about to take seriously.

  “It isn’t too late,” Bran whispered. “Let’s go now, quick before he turns back and –”

  But it was too late. Jack had already swung the heavy rucksack over both shoulders, visibly arching his back, and ran back across the well-trodden lawn.

  “Hiya, guys!” Jack yelled happily, showing no self-control in his excited projection. A grin was pinned solidly from ear to ear and his sight fixed on the two friends he had begun to think would never show.

  “Hey, mate!” said Marcus pleasantly before sternly encouraging Bran to interact.

  “Hm? Oh… Hey, Special.” Bran was somewhat occupied with the thought of being, well, anywhere but this precise spot.

  Jack’s smile dropped slightly for the nickname he unwillingly accepted. But now he turned his attention back to Marcus who stood rummaging through his overly large bag. Marcus began to pull the contents quickly from every internal pocket, creating an untidy pile of gear that lay spread across pavement.

  “Where is it?” he muttered to himself. “I’m sure it was here.” His entire head now became engulfed by the bag as the search went deeper.

  “What... What you looking for, Marcus?” Jack softly enquired, taking care not to get in the way.

  “His sense of humour,” Bran butted in while the chance was right.

  A moment later, Marcus pulled out a scrolled parchment. “Ah ha! Here it is!” He waved the object vigorously in the air.

  “Here what is?” questioned Bran, shrugging his shoulders and showing not an ounce of interest.

  “The map... the map for our trip…”

  Bran remained silent, his brow lifted, expecting only to hear something more intriguing in return. Jack remained perfectly silent; hesitant on where to look, his head swiftly turned from left to right.

  With the map still held high, Marcus looked at the unimpressed, blank expressions staring back at him.

  “Ain’t you even excited?”

  “Waving a piece of paper around like you’re carrying the Olympic torch isn’t likely to get our blood pulsing,” answered Bran. “Why don’t you open that damn thing and tell us where the hell we’re headed?”

  A short silence followed before the elevated scroll was brought slowly down to the pavement. The map itself was old
with shades of brown and green stain that covered the inside surface. The corners were weathered from use: its text in places somewhat blurred. And as the entirety was unrolled, a scent of dust and damp briefly captured the youngsters’ sense of smell.

  “That stinks!” Jack said loudly, his hand held firmly to his nose.

  “It’s just old. Where did you find that rubbish?” asked Bran. “It’s got to be ancient!”

  Marcus spread the corners out, weighing them down carefully to stop the map from scrolling back in place.

  “I found it in the old shed out the back behind the book shop. Didn’t seem of any importance. But if it was, I still would have taken it regardless. It’s exactly what we need.”

  He placed his finger on the map, pointing out their hometown of Bonhil Dale. The town’s name had been abbreviated to only its initials. But during a careful study of the faded print, they soon made out the familiar shape of streets they had come to know so fondly. Marcus explained the trip from start to end, not even stopping to take a deep breath.

  It was to be a circular route. The envisioned journey would include wild camping, campfires, and plenty of fishing. The route would see them out of town, and with a steady pace they would reach the boundaries of the Sleathton Estate. The journey would take two, maybe three days tops to reach the reserved land. Bran hadn’t even considered going so great a distance and frankly hadn’t prepared for it.

  “That’s miles away, Marcus!” Bran called out, disrupting the flow of the presentation. “Why in the name of Greek buggery do you want us to trek so far?”

  Marcus paused, his finger still pressed firmly on the print so as not to lose his place.

  “It’ll be an adventure! Sleathton is the last bit of wilderness we got left. Let’s explore it while we can,” he said, a gleam sparkling noticeably in his eyes.

  Bran placed his palms dramatically to his face, attempting to calm his nerves.