by Graham West
Cody pulled back the curtains to find the window wide open. The air was warm, and the woodland smelled so inviting that he was walking across the grass, towards the cycle shed, without recalling quite how he’d managed to climb out with such ease.
The trees, with their twisted trunks and snaking roots, seemed to come alive, drawing him forward. The branches above swayed rhythmically, acknowledging his presence as he passed beneath. Cody was enveloped by a cool mist that rolled like a wave through the forest. He shivered, stopping suddenly. It had come from nowhere, and although he was still learning about weird weather stuff in school, he knew it wasn’t normal.
Cody thought about turning around and running, but then he couldn’t remember which way to go, and running in the wrong direction in his Star Wars slippers would be pretty dumb. But then he heard voices. Angry voices. Slowly, the mist began to clear, and above him, he saw daylight through the trees. Two men walked through the gloom, banging on the bark with sticks.
“Where are you, Jacob Root?” one of them yelled. “Come out! Wherever you are!”
They seemed to be checking each tree. “He’s here somewhere, Sam,” the large one with the beard said angrily.
Sam nodded. “You can’t hide. We’ll find you!”
Cody gasped as Jacob Root stepped out from the shadows.
“I’m here to find Amelia,” he said sternly. “What business do you have with me?”
The two men stopped in their tracks. “We have orders to find you,” the one called Sam replied. “We cannot have you spreading lies, can we?”
Jacob Root took a step closer. “I won’t be spreading lies. I’ll be telling the good people of this town the truth.”
“And what truth might that be?” The bearded man sneered.
“The truth about Reverend Allington and how he fathered my daughter’s child! Of how he and the doctor contrived to steal that child from her arms.”
“You will not walk out of this wood alive,” Sam rasped. “We’re here to make sure of that. You’re just a common man—a gardener. No one will miss you.”
Jacob Root stood his ground as the two men stepped up, pushing him against the old oak behind him. “You’re going to kill me? Here?”
Neither of the men answered, but Cody saw the flash of a blade, and before Jacob Root had time to move, Sam had whipped it across his throat. Cody could only stare in horror as Jacob slumped to the floor, wide eyed and helpless, blood gushing from his neck while the two men stood over him.
“You should know better than to threaten the doctor,” Sam snapped.
Cody yelped as the man with the beard took the knife from his partner and raised his hand high above his head, plunging it into Jacob’s chest. A hiss of air left Jacob’s body like a punctured tyre.
Sam laughed. “I don’t think he’ll be talking much now.”
Cody stood, rooted to the spot and trembling with the cold. His feet were suddenly too heavy. He was used to seeing spirits—dead people—but nothing like this. He had never wanted his bed as much as he did right in that moment. This place was too creepy and he wanted to go home—to his real home. It wasn’t safe in the wood.
The mist lifted as suddenly as it had appeared. Once again, the air was warm, and Cody could move his feet again. The call of the night owl echoed through the trees as he turned and made his way back to the lodge, climbing through the window to the familiar sound of his father’s snoring.
After that, Cody fell asleep quickly and woke to find the sun streaming in. It was Wednesday. Three more whole days at the park. Maybe he’d just go and have a look at that grave: the place where they’d buried Jacob’s daughter.
***
Fifty pounds got him an hour with Mandy. She’d been with some rich guy all night who’d bought her a necklace as well as paying double the rate.
“You ain’t getting that from me,” Taylor spat, flicking the stub of his cigarette into an empty coffee mug.
Mandy had milky-white skin and small tits. She looked illegal, and the boys had made a pot of cash when some back-street filmmakers had used her in some scenes that ended up online. Taylor thought she must be pretty stupid to get involved in that kind of stuff, but she had a really nice face, natural blonde hair and a sexy accent. Taylor watched her slip out of her jeans, knowing from the Romanians that she’d have been taught to stop at her underwear. The clients usually liked to remove knickers and bras themselves.
Taylor snapped the ring from a can of cider. “Want some?”
Mandy shook her head.
“Why, what’s up? Don’t you like me?”
“I don’t know you,” she replied nervously.
“Are you really eighteen?”
“Nearly nineteen, actually.”
“Holy shit! You look about fifteen, at the most!”
Mandy smiled meekly and kept her hands crossed over her crotch, which was barely covered by a pair of skimpy white briefs.
“Well, I guess that makes me a bit of a pervert, doesn’t it?”
The girl didn’t answer. Taylor took off his shirt and pulled down his jeans, kicking them off his feet. He’d had several girls, but for some reason, he was on edge. There was something about this one, and he couldn’t work out what it was. Maybe he actually cared. She looked so young—too young. He stepped forward and knelt in front of her, slowly pulling down her underwear. His hands trembled. Get a grip! It’s her choice. No one has made her do this.
Her hands rested on his head as he began kissing her thighs, and she moaned like it was a pleasure. She was faking it big time, but she was good, and it was easy to pretend he was with someone who actually wanted him. Someone who really loved him the way no one ever had and probably never would. He was just a loser from the Kirkland Estate, and nothing good ever came out of there.
It was over all too soon, but Mandy wasn’t prepared to give him another half hour. It wasn’t worth getting too heavy with the girl. All she had to do was scream and one of the boys would come running. They didn’t give a shit about her, but she made good money and Taylor had only paid half of the going rate. Mandy took a shower while he slipped on his jeans and went back downstairs to find a tall man in a grey suit sitting at the kitchen table. The three lads sat opposite, looking troubled.
Taylor felt a knot in his stomach. Police! Shit. He walked over to the fridge, trying his best to look as if he wasn’t perturbed by the stranger’s presence.
“So, who’s this, then?” the suit asked.
“He’s staying over,” Stefan grunted.
“And you can vouch for him?”
Stefan nodded as Taylor took a can from the fridge and pulled the ring. Beer exploded upwards, covering his arms and chest. “Shit. Who dropped these fucking cans?”
They all laughed, even the suit, who reached over with an outstretched hand. “I’m Brian Clemments,” he said. “I’m keeping these guys out of jail.”
“You’re not a cop?”
Clemments smiled as the boys giggled like naughty schoolchildren. “I think you can safely say I’m not. Although my knowledge of the law seems to be greater than theirs.”
Taylor looked at Stefan, who nodded towards the door. “Could you give us some space?” he asked coldly. “This is private.”
Taylor left them to it and went to the lounge, where Velma was watching some afternoon soap on the TV. She smiled as he walked in and threw himself on the couch with a half-empty can of beer, and he hadn’t even taken a mouthful yet. “You know the posh bloke?” he asked.
Velma nodded and whispered, “He’s a crook. Owns a huge house in the country—got a swimming pool and everything.”
“He sounds smart.”
“I can’t stand him.”
“Oh yeah? Why, what’s he done? Whipped your fanny or summat?”
Velma glared at him. “I don’t even want to be in the same house as him.” She looked like she was going to explode at any moment.
“Fancy going for a drink?” Taylor asked casually.
Velma sprang to her feet, grabbing a black clutch bag from beside her. “Sure! Anything to get out of here.”
Taylor followed her out. The kitchen door was closed; the room was out of bounds.
“Don’t disturb them,” she hissed. “Let’s go.”
They were halfway along the road before she spoke again.
“Clemments is a lawyer. The police know what Stefan does for a living, but as soon as they start asking questions, Clemments turns up and starts screaming about racism.”
“So why’s he here today? What’s the problem?”
Velma lowered her voice. “That girl you were with.”
“Mandy?”
“Yes.”
“What about her?”
“How old do you think she is?”
“Well, she only looks like a kid to me. About fifteen?”
Velma pointed to a wine bar. “Let’s go in here.”
Taylor followed her through the door. The place was empty, and looking at the prices on the bar, he wasn’t surprised.
“I get my drinks free here.” Velma tapped her nose.
“You’re shagging the manager or something?”
Velma ignored the question and sat at a table by the window, signalling to a tall thin man in a Manchester United top and a Raiders baseball cap.
Taylor sat opposite. “So why did you ask about Mandy? How old is she?”
Velma shook her head slowly. “She only looks fifteen because she is only fifteen.”
“Fuck me. Those guys are in deep shit!” Taylor laughed.
“They’ll get away with it. That’s what Clemments does. He’s a rat. He even has a few kids going on Facebook posting stuff about the police. They have a few scams.” Her voice was getting higher. “Like the other week, two pimps being investigated went up and spat in an officer’s face and kicked off. When the police tried to restrain him, two other members of the gang popped up and started filming, then put it up on Facebook and said the police had attacked them for no reason.” Velma’s eyes burned with rage. “You have stupid people in this country. They believe everything they see—they are all political and correct—and that’s why the cops won’t go near them until they’re one hundred per cent sure they can win the case. They’re scared they’ll lose their jobs. That’s why men like Stefan get away with it and people like Clemments live in big posh houses.”
“He sounds cool,” Taylor said. “I should take his number.”
Velma looked him over in disdain. “I wouldn’t bother. He likes playing the race card.”
Taylor smiled to himself. The people from the Kirkland Estate had been referred to as ‘human scum’ many times, but that guy in the flash suit? What was he? At the bottom of a barrel of beer, you found the dregs. Maybe that’s what the Kirkland folk were—dregs trying to survive and get themselves someplace the only way they knew how. But scum? Nah. You found the scum at the very top of the barrel. Scum like the judges, the politicians and the suits—the kind of people who looked down on him like he was a piece of shit. Taylor knew what he was, and had a criminal record to prove it. But Clemments was a crook too—a bigger crook than Taylor would ever be. A crook who probably spent his life attending posh parties and drinking champagne, talking bullshit in expensive restaurants while Taylor knew he was destined to spend his days supping ale from a can in some dingy bedsit.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jenny skipped breakfast, deciding instead to spend some time by Amelia’s grave. The dream was still fresh in her mind; the fire, the screams, the cries and the whispers rang in her ears as she opened the garden gate and stood for a moment, lost in thought, trying to make sense of the things she’d seen. The white marble gravestone glowed in the morning sunlight, and Jenny expected Amelia to appear at any moment, standing over her remains.
There were questions, so many questions. People had died in a fire, but how long ago? How had the fire started, and who were those people? What were they doing in the wood? She heard a sound behind her and turned.
“Hello.” A small boy had appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “What’s your name?”
Jenny shuddered and, for a second, wondered if he was really there or just—
“My name’s Cody. I’m here with my mum and dad.”
Jenny breathed a sigh of relief. He was real enough. “My name’s Jenny. I came to see the grave. How about you?”
The boy eyed her with an inner wisdom she found unnerving. “She’s not really there, you know,” he said casually. “People don’t die. Not really.”
“You seem very sure about that.” Jenny laughed nervously.
“I am, but they don’t go to heaven like preachers say.”
“Oh, right. So how do you know?”
“I see them, people who’ve died. They hang around, especially if they’re not happy about something.”
“Really?” Jenny wasn’t sure if the kid had been watching too much stuff on Netflix. Parents didn’t always keep a check on things these days. As far as Jake was concerned, Isaac wasn’t going to see a zombie movie till he was old enough to retire.
The kid frowned. “Don’t you believe me?”
Jenny felt a chill. Something told her the boy wasn’t playing around.
“I believe you, but who do you see?”
“I’ve already told you. People who’ve died, of course!”
“Do you see anyone around here?”
The boy smiled, a look of triumph on his face. “Sure. I’ve seen Jacob Root, the gardener.”
Jenny let out a gasp. “Jacob? But…when? How?”
“He has a cottage in the wood. I met him there in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t be silly,” Jenny heard herself saying. “How could a little boy like you go into the wood in the middle of the night?”
“He woke me up and my door was open.”
It was pointless asking how he had found his way. Jenny would never forget the terror of suddenly finding herself in a church fifty miles from her home with no recollection of how she got there. “What did he want?” she asked.
“He didn’t say. My parents were looking for me, and I had to go, but the next night, I saw him standing by the bike shed and he left his pitchfork sticking in the ground, so I think that’s where he’s buried.”
Jenny was starting to wonder if this was another dream. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Cody. Cody Nelson.”
“Okay, it’s really nice to meet you, Cody, but I only came to have a look at the grave. I’ve got to go now.”
“But can’t you stay for a bit? I don’t have anyone to play with.”
“Surely you must have some friends?”
“Nope. I had a girlfriend called Bailey, but I showed her Jacob’s cottage and then she got lost.”
Everything fell into place. This wasn’t just a chance meeting. It was meant to be. “Yes. I know,” Jenny said. “My father and brother went out looking for her. It’s really creepy in there. You shouldn’t have gone.”
Cody’s face dropped. Getting told off by a stranger had taken him aback. “I didn’t make her get lost. She thought her mum was calling her and she just followed her voice.”
“And it wasn’t her mum?”
“Nope. It was dead people.”
Jenny sank down beneath the shade of the willow as the boy smiled and ambled over, dropping to his knees beside her. Jenny breathed in, anticipating the smell of stagnant water, but there was none. “Cody, do you know what happened in that forest?”
He shook his head.
“I had a dream last night. I saw a fire, and I think a lot of people died in it.”
“Wow. That’s so sad.”
“Well, I’m guessing it was a long time ago—before your mum and dad were born. And before their mums and dads were born, too.”
“But I think the people are still angry,” Cody said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when Bailey came out, she wa
s really weird and she spoke to me in this real funny voice. A scary voice. She told me to stay out of the woods.”
Jenny’s pulse quickened. “Have you seen Bailey since?”
“Nope. She’s a bit creepy and makes me feel cold, like dead people do.” The little boy was on the edge of tears. He’d lost a friend and there was nothing he could do to get her back.
Jenny reached over and ruffled his hair. “I see dead people too.”
Cody’s eyes lit up. “You do?” he gasped.
“Yep. I see Amelia. Jacob Root’s little girl.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“How’s it going, son?”
Blakely took the call from his father, relieved to find him in a good mood. Thankfully, the girl had been found and they didn’t have police helicopters hovering overhead.
“It’s going fine, thanks. Everything’s okay.”
“Glad to hear it. I think we might start the village just after Christmas.”
“We have the money?”
“Yeah. Things are going well. There’s no reason we can’t crack on with the next phase.”
Blakely felt the warmth of satisfaction. Mosswood Village would give the park another two hundred lodges, all set on the current farmland. Each family would have their own car-parking space and the narrow roads would all be named after characters from children’s movies. There would be several small play areas with swings and slides, and each of the lodges would have an elevated veranda with infra-red heaters.
“It will go down a treat,” his father continued, “particularly the pub with the shop and the old red telephone kiosk. The grandparents will love that! I’m proud of you, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Blakely tried his best to sound as if he weren’t about to punch the air with his fist. He’d anticipated a two-year delay before they began work on the project, and he couldn’t wait to tell Penny the news.
“There’s just one more thing,” his father added. “We have acres of woodland doing fuck all. If we’re going to have another few hundred guests looking for something to do, we need to get in there as soon as possible.”