by M. L. Rayner
How could it?
The dilemma had repeated endlessly in her mind for years, but no more so than now. I mean, how could this higher power truly exist? Wasn’t the one true God supposed to look down on her, watch over her, make sure that no harm would ever befall her? She was a child after all, and an innocent one at that. She pondered the idea. Perhaps it was her lack of faith that stood against her. When all the family prayed silently, Olivia’s mind would wander, thinking of anything but what to be thankful for.
Yes, that would probably be it.
But as the cold wind swept over her uncovered feet, and the moonlight was weakened by the clouds, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if it was all too late. Had she had her chance to believe? A chance where she had epically failed? Maybe that’s what led her here. Maybe that’s why the Almighty had forsaken her.
For the first time in a very long time, her hands knitted softly together. She hesitated at first, glaring at the gesture anxiously, not knowing where to begin. Should she speak aloud or in her head? Would the good Lord hear her words, or by now would he look upon her as a fraud, still pretending to pray as she had done many times before. Olivia knew what to say. She had heard her mother repeatedly speak the same, memorised lines since she could remember.
Just get on with it.
Olivia’s knuckle gently touched the skin of her lips. Both her eyes squeezed shut, her position unmoved, as she began to utter the words.
“Lord God, I pray for Your protection as I begin this day. You are my hiding place, and under Your wings I can always find refuge. Protect me from trouble wherever I go, and keep evil far from me. No matter where I am, I will look to You as my Protector, the One who fights for me every day. Your love and faithfulness, along with Your goodness and mercy, surround me daily, so I will not fear whatever might come against me. My trust is in You, God, and I give thanks to You for Your love and protection. Amen.”
She opened an eye. Just one. Nothing had changed.
“What?” she spoke aloud. “Didn’t you hear me?” questioning the sky above as she walked on through the cold. “OK, how’s this?”
Her hands clapped violently together, sending the sound ricocheting back from the trees. She spoke the words in anger, making sure that this time the prayer remained unaltered. If it had worked for her mother all these years, by God it would work for her, too. She repeated the prayer.
Olivia’s words fell flat, the final sentence disappearing into the coldness as she waited on nothing to appear. She kicked the ground angrily, stubbing her toe in the process. She cried aloud with the pain, feeling irritated with herself. I mean, what did she really expect? Belief itself was more than muttering a few magic words. And she knew that. But she was desperate, so desperate she had to at least try. But a trial was all it had been, a simple attempt to regain her faith, if she ever had any to begin with. Looking down at her foot, she saw the blood oozing from the edge of her split toenail while the pulsating pain caused her to grind her teeth. It was utter nonsense, every word of it. And she pledged right then and there she would never pray again.
Footsteps caught her attention; a clear sound of shuffling through fallen leaves came from behind her.
You can tell an awful lot about the way someone walks. The eagerness of these steps was clear. Olivia followed secretly, completely forgetting her injured foot as she weaved through the thicket. The footsteps stomped, and heavy panting fell on her ears.
A person!
She caught a glimpse of motion above the hill’s crest, forcing her to scurry forward using her hands to guide the way. Reaching the top had been far from easy. Although not a steep incline, it felt like the hardest thing she had ever done. Supporting herself, the air alone seemed to sicken her stomach and caused her head to spin. It took her only a moment, but by the time she regained her bearings, the footsteps had already died.
“Hello?” Olivia called softly, half expecting someone was now watching her. No one was. At least, not that she could tell. The night again fell deathly quiet. The same forest floor was listening to her every move as she fought through her fears. It was less frightening on top of the hill. The trees thinned out considerably, welcoming the sky and permitting the moon to shine, should the clouds allow. It offered no more safety. Yet still, she felt all the safer for it. She wandered the higher ground, using the time to let nerves calm.
Maybe there was no one, Olivia thought indecisively. Maybe I’m just chasing demons.
She reluctantly knew all about demons. She had been taught relentlessly since the day she was born; if you didn’t have strength to fight them, you would undoubtedly become one yourself. The full moon crept from behind a sluggish cloud, sending a spectacular glow to illuminate the forest floor in a chalky whiteness. It was quite magnificent: the most magical thing she had seen, as moonlight shimmered softly across her skin. A noise focussed her attention. The sound came from high above her and was followed by an unsettling and lingering creaking. The sound remained as Olivia dashed to find it, the loose earth burying deep between her toes. She looked up; her hair draped wildly over her face. There, in the whitened gleam, a man hovered. His elegant glide swung weightlessly. She crept forward slowly, desperate to see his face. Yet still, she could not. His features were masked by shadows, no matter how close she approached. A grunt burst from the man, followed by a desperate gasp as he kicked the open air. The figure twitched and squirmed. A frayed rope was tucked deep beneath his jaw, its length viciously shuddering towards the sky. She couldn’t watch further and blocked the sight with her arm. The groans began to soften, telling Olivia that death was soon to come. Holding her breath, she listened as life escaped him. The tormented groans decreased into nothing more than gentle whispers.
Snap!
The break was followed by a lifeless thud hitting the ground. Her eyes remained covered, but she could breathe now and listen to the man who now began to weep more and more loudly until the sobbing terminated in a hysterical, maddened wail. She contemplated helping, but only for a moment. As quickly as she had the thought, the cries stilled and a voice spoke out in sadness.
“Grandchild?”
Olivia’s arm dropped immediately, and she saw the knotted rope piled across the fallen leaves.
The man himself was gone.
Amongst the Mists
Chapter Thirty-Three
A heavy downpour fell over the land. The thunderous sound of rain echoed about the room with a tremendous clatter, accompanied by the uneasiness caused by a whistling woodland wind. Drops fell from the collapsing roof splashing like bullets to the boards below.
“So,” Marcus began. “Where’s Jack?”
The bottle fell roughly to the old man’s side with a heavy clunk, the beverage swirling inside.
“You see… right there, son, you asked the wrong question.”
“I did?” replied Marcus.
“Indeed,” said Gregory with a brief yet certain nod. “The question is not where is? But who took?”
“OK… who took him then?”
“A Sprit, son.”
“What the hell is a Sprit?”
“Just what we call them. A form of spirit if you like. Though not at all pleasant. It is a mirrored image of good, forged this way by the doing of mankind.”
“So, why is it called a Sprit?”
“We couldn’t possibly call it a ghoul or a goblin. It wouldn’t have been fair for the children at the time.”
For God’s sake, here we go, thought Bran.
“Spirits, really? That’s all you’ve got?”
“Did I stutter, boy? Hmm?” Gregory gave a harsh drunken glare toward Bran. “Yes, spirits. At least that’s what we’ve been led to believe. Saying that, there is no proof, of course. However, there rarely is with this kind of thing.”
An air of confusion was evident on the boys’ faces as the old man spoke in ghostly riddles. And now only the sound of rain filled the room.
“Tell me, boys. Do you recall the story
I spoke of?” asked Gregory with a belch. The bottle was returned tightly to his lips.
“Of Thyme? Yes, of course,” spoke Marcus. He had remembered it clearly.
Gregory slouched a little farther in his position and gave an honest glance their way.
“There’s much more to it than that. Much more.” He spoke quietly, his humble voice fitting with the bouncing sound of rain.
“The night my granddaughter vanished, I consoled my wife. I held her firmly, rocking her. Oh, how she wept. The pain inside her bursting out in pitiful screams and sobs. I told her… I said I would find our sweet girl. Find her and bring her home. Then, and only then, would we leave Thyme for good. She buried her face deep into my chest, begging me to promise as her exhausted body shook with grief. I left her alone that night. Alone and sick with worry as I pounded on the doors of the town’s folk, begging them as one desperate man to another to search by my side once more.
“Well, some men agreed, others cowered behind their doors. No matter how I pleaded their minds would not be changed, fearing what might happen to their already broken families. It was a reasonable decision by them. I see that now. Still, I cursed them all the same, screaming pitifully as they slammed their doors in my face. Good men held me back, persuading me enough time had already been lost. And they were right. We gathered what was needed with little time to spare. I don’t recall much, wanting only to leave. The weather was harsh, I remember that part well. The day’s gentle snowfall had rapidly brewed, churning into stinging sleet that grazed and cut my flesh. Just five men went with me, all fine men at that. Though we never spoke again after this. Maybe it was for the best.
“We made our way out of the village, watching as men who refused to help stood by, partially concealed behind the protection of their shabby curtains. I looked at them with hate, an emotion I have come to show all too often. But as we continued to walk, those same cowardly faces soon blurred and disappeared into the blizzard, and soon enough so did Thyme. Only the glow of the street lamps blinked dimly from afar, as thick clouds built across the rural landscape. The men called out for my grandchild as we spread out. At times, the men who scouted next to me would vanish, engulfed by the suffocating fog that trapped us in its maze. I painfully screamed out her name. The cold air stabbed my lungs like a dagger to the heart.
“Soon, we sheltered beneath the trees. The men fell down, already exhausted from the incline. I saw defeat in their faces, yet I said nothing as I determinedly pushed them forward. ‘Stop,’ one of the chaps shouted. Which man it was I couldn’t be certain. But in his hand, dangling in the fierce wind, was a narrow blue ribbon. ‘It’s hers,’ I yelled with sorrow. ‘It’s hers. We must move.’ I grabbed the ribbon, wrapping it tightly around my wrist, blessing the cloth with the gentle touch of my lips. Yes, my granddaughter had been here. And with that thought, I pushed on purposefully deeper into the woodland and into the grounds of Sleathton.
“We walked on for miles. So far in fact, that I didn’t know where we were, blinded by my objective and the promise made to my beloved. The snow had ceased, though frost spread fiercely across the mud and trees, giving all nature a glaze of white. It was the early hours of the morning when we thought our luck had changed. Each man had grown tired of his own voice, leaving only the sound of frozen ground as ice crunched beneath our boots. Our breathing was heavy, our minds dazed. And just as our sluggish pace began to halt, we heard a noise from the gloom of trees.”
*
The lantern flickered on the floor boards, its light sending shadows dancing around the room, not at all welcome given the story being told. Bran looked up, watching the curtains as they blew overhead, revealing a glimpse of stars that gleamed past the movement of branches. He moved himself nervously, edging closer to Marcus, and sat at his young friend’s side.
“What was the noise?” asked Marcus.
The old man was about to speak, but then suddenly looked at Bran.
“Something I’m sure young Bran here will be all too familiar with. It was a cry. A plea for help.”
Bran tensed. And although he could not see it, he sensed the colour drain from his face, his memory recalling the haunting resonance of drowning screams.
“Cry for help?” queried Marcus. “Your granddaughter then?”
“No,” replied Gregory abruptly. “Though how I wish it was.” He looked away from the now very pale Bran.
“Our feet stood dead on solid ground, as each man stared at the next. At first, we believed we had imagined it. Ridiculous, I know! The very idea of five men imagining the exact same thing was unbelievable. But then as we began moving again, the voice echoed through the forest once more. ‘I’m here!’
“The men were stunned. Could it be? I thought. My determination was driving me onwards, leaving the rest of the men to follow on. In that very moment, I had found a new reserve of energy. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins, my legs pounded through the undergrowth, moving faster than I ever thought possible. I called her name repeatedly until I was hoarse. I listened closely for her response, for her delicate voice to caress my frost-bitten ears and put my heart at ease. ‘I’m here!’
“The sound was so clear, my head whipped from side to side in order to gauge its direction. Shortly after this, I realised I was alone. I had lost the others in my haste. Stopping, I listened. The panicked yelling of the men came from all directions of this strangely disturbing place.
“I felt like a stag caught in the headlights. As I glimpsed a movement behind a wall of spreading oak trees, I ran forward in anticipation. But there was only a distorted shape shadowed in the gloom. ‘My dear,’ I called sadly. ‘Come… come home my darling, it… it’s me.’ But I was ignored, and the shape was absorbed back into the shadows.
“Again, I ran, my feet slipping beneath me. Reaching the oaks, the forest dipped and thickened. I stumbled and fell, the ground too challenging for me to keep my pace. A coldness bit cruelly at my feet. Before I realised it, my ankles sank down past the surface and into the soggy earth. The ground had become soft and boggy, slowly deepening into an unpleasant swamp. Still the cries went on. The further I went, the deeper the pool became. I’d heard of such a place before. From time to time the local hunting groups spoke of its borders over beers in the bar. It was a dark, troublesome place, they told me. A place to avoid, where strange things had been seen. Though I was never known to be an irrational man, and being typically logical, I shrugged off their stories as nothing more than idiotic folklore. Their humorous tale was fit only to terrify the most gullible children. Yes, I knew where I walked; it was the Brocton Swamp.
“Slowly I waded into the black water until it was at my knees. Shortly after, the curious voice ceased. Scanning the swamp for guidance, I called out to my men. But it was hopeless. There was nothing but silence. Needless to say, I was lost. Not only had I lost my bearings, but I was terrified. Afraid not only for my grandchild, but also for my fearful wife at home. At this particular time, dare I say it, I was considerably afraid for myself. Though I will tell you this. I was never one to be afraid of the dark, but there was something different about this place, something sinister. I could sense it in the air as I began to struggle in my exhaustion. Fatigued, I leant against a dying birch tree. The bark withered instantly at my touch. Giving myself a moment, I devised a plan. Turn back, I thought. Though at this particular time, I was unable to determine which direction would lead me there. The forest ceiling hung low, and the feeling of being trapped caused my heart to flutter as I scrambled through fallen branches. I was disoriented and fell head first into the slimy water. I gasped with shock as the coldness jolted my body. It was as I regained my balance, that an unnatural, albeit rather harmonic, sound rang through the night. I had never heard such a relentless static hum. Its tone rising and falling in frequency, making the water around my knees churn.”
“Then what happened?” Bran interrupted Gregory in mid-thought.
“Well, if you shut the hell up, you’ll find out
,” said the old man impatiently, remembering his place to continue.
“I walked on, of course. I mean, what else could I have done? But regardless of where I turned, no matter where I trod, the forest grew thicker and that dreadful humming closed around me. There were times I felt I was going mad, watching as silhouetted figures stood beside the line of trees, their existence nothing more than imaginary. Things seemed to go from bad to worse. A dense mist rolled across the swamp, concealing the murky water, soon completely engulfing me. I had never known a mist like it, not in my life, as the damp air struck my lungs with a deathly purpose.
“Well, boys, I thought my time was up. My aching bones swayed beneath me. The very idea of finding my way started to become all too doubtful. ‘I’m here...’ the voice called and nothing more.
“I yelled instantly in desperation. But unfortunately, the voice did not reply. A break in the wall of mist showed briefly ahead. And beyond it stood a line of rigid shadows. I discovered soon enough they were nothing but tall standing stones. I staggered forward breathlessly to escape the wretched swamp. At last, my hand held firmly against the surface of cold, mossy stone. A strange impression overtook me as though a hand rested on my own. I slapped it away with a frightened flick as I stomped my feet on firmer ground.
“By now, this infernal humming was resonating in waves around the stones. The touch to each rock vibrated up my arm as I waved my one free hand through the fog. My eyes watered from the sting of coldness, my head dizzy from the unsettling sound. Drowsily, I slumped on a filthy mound, watching as the mist climbed hauntingly above the towering stones. I felt hypnotised for a time, unable to turn my eyes away from the scene before me. Again I questioned my own sanity. My heart palpitated as my body shook with fear. With wide-eyes, I looked on into the unknown. Something stirred there.