Alistair studied her face with his pale blue eyes before slowly nodding. ‘That was an old, old village. Existed a long time ago. Swallowed up by the woods now.’
‘Well,’ James said, ‘apparently no one has been able to find any trace of it. So most just think it's an urban legend.’
‘Most are wrong,’ Alistair replied. ‘That village was settled in the sixteen-hundreds, in a clearing in the forest—so the story goes. Lasted for less than fifty years. People who lived there went mad, their minds poisoned by Mother Sibbett and the evil she obeyed. Something dark and ancient lives in those woods and it turned once-good people into something… different. Made them commit acts against God. And their souls are still up there, I think, waiting to carry out the twisted bidding of Sibbett and those evil things she worshipped.’
James downed the rest of his drink. ‘Sorry, Ken,’ he said, ‘but we should be getting this on film. We still have signal here and could upload something online tonight. It’s a perfect hook, in case we don’t have the opportunity to put out anything until the investigation is over. This alone will get people interested. I mean, hell, it’s like the start of a bad horror story. People will love it.’ James turned to Alistair. ‘Can you repeat all that—on camera, if that’s okay?’
Ken was quickly losing patience with being ignored. ’James! For the last time, I said no. I’m not going to cheapen this whole thing and turn it into some fake shit that is only aimed at getting ratings. We will report what we know, factually, and see what we find. We need this to be taken seriously.’
Ken saw James look to Roberta, and then to Tony, for backup. To Ken’s surprise, Tony looked like he was about to say something, but in the end remained quiet.
‘Fine,’ James replied, still sounding petulant.
Ken turned to the old man, who was busy gulping down a hearty mouthful of his drink. ‘I think we already know most of what we need to. My family originated from around here, so my grandparents were aware of the stories and legends. And I do thank you for your help and words of warning, but I’m sure we’ll be fine out there. We know what we are getting ourselves into, and we are prepared.’
The suddenness and forcefulness of Alistair's resulting laugh shocked them all. ‘You ain’t prepared for what’s waiting! You ain't prepared at all! Bunch of blind know-it-alls getting in over their heads. Not gonna end well for you, I can tell ya that for sure.’
‘Either way,’ Ken said, firmly, ‘we thank you for your time. Now please excuse us.’
The old man finished his drink and shook his head. ‘Suit yourselves. I guess I’ll be reading about you in the newspapers after you go missing.’ With that, he got to his feet and slowly shuffled away from their table, passing the barman on his way and heading to a rather narrow door that led to the toilets.
‘Going to drain the vein!’ Alistair shouted over to the barman. ‘Line me up another while I’m gone, will you?’
The barman nodded, but before he did as instructed, made his way over to the group. A short-sleeved white shirt stretched over the man's impressive gut, and buttons that seemed to be losing their fight to fasten it together threatened to ping off in all directions. Both of the man's meaty forearms were covered in tattoos, and he sported a rather wild handlebar moustache. When he reached the table, he began to gather up their empty glasses.
‘Can I get any of you another?’ the barman asked with an accent just as thick as Alistair’s had been. James looked like he was about to answer, but Ken did so for all of them.
‘No, thank you, I think we will be calling it a night. Early start tomorrow.’
‘No problem,’ the barman replied. ‘Couldn’t help but overhear you folks talking to old Alistair. Hope he didn’t frighten you too much.’
‘I can assure you he didn’t,’ Ken told the barman.
‘Good. He likes to spin a yarn, Alistair does. Tells everyone that will listen—and even those that won’t. Not saying that there aren’t some strange goings-on up in the Black Forest, but I’m not inclined to believe it’s as bad as he makes out.’
‘What sort of goings-on?’ Roberta asked.
‘Well, what he said about there being no hikers up here in years? That was a lie. We had a group up here last year, no less. They stayed with us, and after their hike in the woods they all came back just fine. Not as chatty as when they’d left, mind you, but all of them travelled back home safely, and in one piece to boot.’
‘So why would Alistair say all that?’ James asked.
‘He loves an audience and likes to scare people. Just the way he is.’
‘So everything he said was a lie?’ Tony asked.
‘Oh, God no. Most of it was true. Just embellished a little. He’s also right about one thing in particular—the place is unforgiving. The weather can turn nasty up here with no notice. Anyone that’s gone missing or died in the woods was likely stricken by things much more natural than ghosts or demons. It’s a big forest, and there’s no way to contact the outside world. Not much in the way of rescue all the way up here. So, you should be very careful, I’ll say that much.’
With all of the glasses gathered up, he trundled back over to the bar.
‘Okay,’ Ken said. ‘I think we’ve had enough excitement today. So, if no one has any complaints, I say we call it a night and turn in. We have a long day tomorrow and need to get an early start. I’d like to be checked out of here and en route to the Black Forest before nine a.m. That okay with everyone?’ Ken looked at James specifically as he spoke. James glared back, but eventually nodded.
‘Sure.’
Ken looked around to everyone else and received the same compliant nods. ‘Excellent. Then let's go.’
The group stood up as one and made their way to the door that led to the staircase. Their warm rooms and beds awaited, and it would likely be the last comfortable night's sleep they would have for a week, so Ken hoped they all savoured it.
‘Good night,’ the barman called as they passed him. Ken, last in line, gave the man a friendly wave and smile.
He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, and he knew that the likelihood was they would find little-to-nothing in the way of credible evidence, but still, he hoped and prayed that their investigation would turn something up. He’d been doing this a long time and was no closer to proving the existence of life after death.
And he dearly wanted to change that. He needed to.
3
‘Okay,’ Tony said, looking through the camera’s viewfinder. ‘That’s good.’
He stepped around the tripod and joined his three colleagues, standing just in front of the tree line to the Black Forest. As per Ken’s instructions the previous night, the group had risen early—too early for James, it seemed, who was nursing a headache—and devoured a hearty breakfast that consisted of crispy bacon, baked beans, poached eggs, mixed toast, hash browns, and black pudding. The portions were generous, and Ken was the only one who managed to clean his plate. After washing it all down with steaming mugs of hot, rich coffee, the group felt refreshed and ready for the day ahead. The breakfast had even perked up James, to some extent.
From there, they had all bundled into Ken’s Mitsubishi SUV and made the twenty-minute drive out of Amaley to the edges of the Black Forest. The last four miles had been little more than a dirt track. Upon arriving, James had questioned whether Ken was comfortable leaving his car out there in the open for a whole week—on the cusp between forest and fields. Ken had replied in the affirmative, and then guided the vehicle behind a section of high grass and bushes. It wasn’t completely hidden, but it was something.
And now they were about to film the opening sequence to their investigation. Tony had set up a small video camera on a sturdy tripod, framed the shot, and now stood with the rest of them.
Ken then launched into the opening dialogue they had all practiced on the drive over. ‘Greetings from the edges of the Black Forest, all the way up here in Northern Scotland. The team is well rested and ready for
what lies ahead.’
‘That’s right,’ Roberta picked up. ‘We’ve come up here to investigate one of the strangest and scariest pieces of folklore in British history. But, surprisingly, it may not be one you are familiar with.’
‘It isn’t widely known,’ James went on, ‘but these woods have a long record of strange events. And, for those in the know, it is supposedly one of the most haunted spots in the United Kingdom. Stories of ghost sightings, disembodied voices, and supernatural activity abound. But worse, over twenty people have vanished after entering these woods in the last seventy years alone. And those are just the ones we know about.’
Tony stepped in next. ‘And it all starts, supposedly, with the story of a village. Established within these woods in the sixteen-hundreds, the unnamed village is said to have vanished after its inhabitants were driven mad. Rumours of extreme occult activity—ritual sacrifice, deviant sexual acts, and the worshipping of dark deities—spread to the local towns, including the one we stayed in last night, Amaley. The surrounding population turned their back on the small village, cutting it off, and renounced the vile gospel the town tried to spread. After six years with no contact, groups from Amaley and another town entered the Black Forest, hoping to find out what had happened to their neighbours. They split into two groups, and the first searched as much of the woods as possible, even managing to find the remains of the town. But things there were not as they should be. On top of that, the second group vanished, never to be seen again.’
Ken took a deliberate step forward. ‘The history of this forest is a long one, and we will have much more information on our website and in the show notes. But given the extensive reports of activity throughout the years, we are hopeful that our week-long stay in this forest will provide us with the one thing we are searching for: irrefutable proof of the supernatural—to know for certain that there is more to this life than we are currently aware of. Welcome to our investigation.’ Ken then turned to Tony and gave a subtle nod. We’re done.
But Tony knew that Ken wasn’t quite finished, as much as he’d like to have been. Tony gave a faint shake of his head, and Ken rolled his eyes before looking back to the camera. ‘This,’ he said, dramatically, ‘is Paranormal Encounters.’
They all held their pose for a second before James broke ranks with a quick clap. ‘That’s great,’ he said with a big smile. ‘I think it flowed really naturally. And you are getting bloody good at delivering that catchphrase, Ken.’
‘I hate the catchphrase,’ Ken replied.
James shrugged. ‘They help. All the main players in the game have one. At least it’s not as bad as the one The Ghoul Hunters use. The paranormal is our normal. Please. It sounds terrible.’
Ken just shook his head with a scowl, and Tony had to hold back a chuckle. He knew with certainty that, in Ken’s head, they both sounded as bad as each other. And he had a point.
Then again, so did James.
‘Let’s get the camera packed up and start moving,’ Ken said.
They did as instructed, and—once all were ready—stood before the forest again, this time looking into the mass of trees before them. They could hear sounds of wildlife, and the canopy of branches and leaves above blotted out much of the light, lending an ominous feeling to the surrounding area. Tony felt a small shiver creep its way up his spine. He couldn’t decide if it was nerves or excitement, but he was anxious to get going regardless.
‘Are we ready?’ James asked.
‘Yes,’ Ken replied. ‘Let’s go.’
With that, they set off. The Black Forest swallowed them up as they crossed its threshold.
4
The backpack was heavy and uncomfortable on James’ back. It contained the tent that he and Roberta would share, as well as their clothes. Roberta was carrying their food, their sleeping bags, and some of the filming equipment. Though she was carrying about the same amount of weight as James, she didn’t seem to be showing the same signs of fatigue, marching on ahead like a machine. James couldn’t help but watch her arse as it swayed before him, pushed out against the grey cargo trousers she was wearing and almost hypnotic in its movement. That sight alone helped take his mind off his aching back and the soreness of his feet as his new hiking boots nipped at the skin.
Why the hell didn’t I break these in beforehand?
The air around him seemed different than that of his hometown—fresher and sharper. It was probably just in his head, but the smell of the mossy earth, fallen leaves, and pine from the trees made the whole area smell… cleaner… than the urban environment he was used to. It was refreshing, but the air also burned his lungs as they hiked onwards, treading over twigs and fallen branches that snapped underfoot.
James, while tired, had a hugely positive feeling about the upcoming week. This trip would set them apart from the competition—they weren’t simply settling for one night in a haunted location; this was a full week of throwing themselves into their job and recording everything. Even if they picked up very little in terms of actual evidence, he knew with careful editing they could put together something really intriguing that their audience would devour. They just needed to give it some kind of structure and narrative, which would be fuelled by the legend and history attached to the forest itself. That was the key to it all, James knew, and the fact that Ken had stopped him filming the old man from the pub last night still annoyed him.
All they needed was Alistair’s verbal approval on film, and they could have used the footage and the story he told. It was great stuff, more than they could have hoped for: the story of the Black Forest as told by a local, and with an ominous tone as well.
Instead, it was a wasted opportunity. And James had seen a lot of those during his short time at Paranormal Encounters.
If they were to survive—well, not just survive, but thrive—then Ken needed to embrace a few of the more ‘modern’ methods of hooking audiences. And given Ken’s stubbornness, James knew that would be difficult; he would need backup to pressure Ken into seeing things his way. Getting Roberta on board wouldn’t be too difficult, he hoped, but the tricky one would be Tony.
Tony, to James, was a walking stereotype of normality. Average height, in decent shape for a forty-something, black hair still styled in a side part despite it not being the fifties. His face was also unremarkable: not strikingly handsome and certainly not ugly, but decidedly middle-of-the-road. Tony was eminently sensible, reasoned, and level-headed.
But he was also loyal, especially to Ken.
Regardless, as far as James could see it was their esteemed leader who, while knowledgeable in matters of the paranormal, was still the weak link of the group.
James, for example, knew marketing. He knew how to put their brand together and get it out there. Roberta was very technically gifted, and—given her degree in film and media—adept at using filming equipment. It was a new world, and since both James and Roberta were in their early thirties, they were best placed to understand it. Tony, for his part, was quite well versed in the paranormal and other phenomena. Perhaps not as much as Ken, but he certainly seemed to know his onions. He was also the ‘glue’ of the group, or peacemaker, and helped the team function whenever there were disagreements. He could fill in and set his hands to most tasks, performing at least adequately.
James let himself smirk, feeling sorry for Tony’s wife if adequate was the best she could hope for. He couldn’t imagine the poor girl had ever felt any sort of toe-curling passion with Mr. Meh.
But Mr. Meh could be useful, and an asset to the company.
Ken, on the other hand, simply served to hold them all back, director of the company or not. He was always the one averse to trying new things, pushing the envelope, or actually trying to turn this endeavour into a legitimate business. All he cared about was doing things by the book.
But this was ghost-hunting, for Christ’s sake. The book was hardly set in stone.
James was so deep in thought that he didn’t see Roberta stop walkin
g in front of him, causing him to bump into the back of her.
‘Watch where you’re going,’ she scolded.
‘Sorry. Why have we stopped?’
Roberta pointed up ahead. Ken was stationary, as was the rest of their line, looking out amongst the trees beyond to the top of an incline.
‘Yo, Ken!’ James shouted. He never got the chance to add to that, as he was quickly shushed by the older man, who had his head cocked to one side.
Ken was listening.
The rest of the group remained silent. James tried to focus in on whatever it was Ken was hearing, or had heard, but he couldn’t detect a thing—only the natural sounds of the forest wildlife. Chirping, buzzing, and the calls of unknown animals, all in the distance. And all, as far as James was concerned, completely normal.
‘I could have sworn…’ Ken started, but trailed off, again listening intently. Eventually, however, he shook his head with a scowl.
‘What is it?’ Tony asked.
‘I’m almost certain I heard it. Off in the distance.’
‘Heard what?’ It was Roberta’s turn to ask.
Ken looked at each of them, then off again into the trees. ‘A person,’ he said at last. ‘The sound was faint, far away, but I’m sure of what I heard. At least, I think I am. It was a kind of moan. The sound of someone in pain.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t just the wind?’ James asked, though he was aware there was only a gentle breeze blowing around them. It wasn’t enough to make much of a sound, or whistle through the branches.
Ken’s shoulders fell a little. ‘I don’t think so, but who knows.’
James, doubtful Ken had actually heard anything, but thinking quickly anyway, grabbed his small handheld camera. Each of them carried one in case they needed to get something while on the move. James snapped the viewfinder open and walked over to Ken. ‘Okay,’ he said, aiming the camera at the company director, ‘we’re only a few hours into our expedition, and already we have something. Ken Chambers, the founder of Paranormal Encounters, just heard a strange voice off in the distance. Ken, can you tell the viewers exactly what the sound was?’
Forest of the Damned Page 2