Once Returned

by Darcy Coates

  Mum opened the door, and I felt like a weight had melted off my shoulders. I leaned forward and hugged her. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” She returned my hug. “Are the police coming?”

  I let go of her and took a deep breath. I hadn’t realised how tight my chest had become. “Not at the moment. I’ll explain later. Where’s Ryan?”

  “Upstairs, asleep.”

  I gave her arm a squeeze and ran past her, up the stairs to the spare room where Ryan slept when I visited mum.

  The first clue that something was wrong was the open window. The drawn curtains billowed in the wind, allowing glimpses of the tree outside.

  Mum would have locked all of the windows, just like the doors - and I knew her too well to think she’d forget something as critical as the windows in Ryan’s room.

  The second clue was the locket dangling from the mobile above the crib. Jon’s locket. The locket I’d found in Harob Forest. It was draped down to be just within reach of grasping child hands and rotated slowly, reflecting the soft light coming from the window.

  I stepped forward and looked over the edge of the crib. Ryan was gone.

  My legs gave out and I dropped to my knees, knuckles turning white as I gripped the side of the bed. The locket continued to twirl in front of me, at perfect eye-height. It was half-open, and the picture of Jon and me laughing on our wedding day mocked me.

  Part Six: Seeking

  “Go to the police,” I said. “Tell them to look for me in Harob forest.”

  Mum was frightened. She ran after me as I jogged to my car and tried to grab me, to stop me, but I pulled out of her grip and ducked into the driver’s seat.

  I couldn’t afford to lose time answering questions at the police station. They’d want to know why I was convinced Ryan was in Harob Forest, and I wouldn’t be able to give them an answer. I just knew, in the same way I knew I had to get to him before it was too late.

  I put my car into gear as mum pleaded with me through the window. She was frantic, and I would have given nearly anything to comfort her, but I couldn’t spare even a second. Ryan was too important. I swerved past her and knocked the letter box over; it clattered as it was spat out behind my car, and I rubbed at the hot tears that were spilling down my cheeks.

  I drove fast, weaving around slower cars and earning my share of honks and shouted curses. It got better once I was out of the suburbs and into the more rural roads; with fewer cars about, it was easier to get around the ones that blocked my path, even if it meant going onto the shoulder of the road.

  Harob forest was nearly an hour away, and the sun was already setting.

  The teams searching for the missing people would be called off soon: it was both inefficient and dangerous to stumble through a forest after dark. Flashlights could only illuminate so much of your surroundings, and there were a shocking number of stories of rescue searchers themselves being lost in the depths of a rural wood.

  It was shortly before five when I arrived at the outskirts of Harob forest. At the entrance to the wood’s parking lot I passed two cars leaving. They must have been the last of the search team.

  I parked near the entrance to the woods. I glanced to my right and saw three more cars hidden in the shadows. They were parked neatly in a row, butted right up against the trees, and leaves were beginning to collect on their roofs. Bright yellow police tape surrounded them.

  It was only then I realised I hadn’t brought any bushwalking gear. Cursing my stupidity, I searched the glovebox: there was a pocket flashlight - weak but better than nothing - and a small knife. I tucked the blade into the back pocket of my jeans and stepped out of the car.

  The forest had once spread over the entire state, growing from the seashore and across the hills until the icy altitudes of the mountains had halted its progression. Most of the woods had been cleared, though, leaving only pockets of forest left - like Harob Forest.

  The clearing caused the trees to end in a very defined line. Patches of scrappy brush spilled out between looming trunks that lined up like soldiers. The light was fading as the sun dipped below a hill behind me, and shapes blended together in the twilight.

  Somewhere in the fifteen square miles of forest was the creature that had replaced my husband - and, I hoped, my son was still with him.

  I stepped across the invisible line that divided the normal world from the nightmare scape of the woods.

  * * *

  Without a clock I couldn’t tell how long I’d been walking. Maybe two hours, possibly three.

  A very small amount of light filtered through the trees above me. I was grateful for it; my pocket flashlight’s batteries were dying, and its light was faint enough to be nearly useless.

  I had to move slowly. I was barely creeping, really; one foot moved out to test for fallen branches, and then checked the ground to ensure it wasn’t too slippery. My shins were bruised from attempts to move faster, and I’d already earned myself a grazed shoulder from a fall.

  My right hand held the faltering light while my left waved in front of my face, trying to catch any branches before they caught me. It was gruellingly slow.

  Every few minutes I bellowed Ryan’s name, hoping he would hear me and start crying. Jon would hear, too, but I didn’t care. I was desperate.

  My torch finally went out. I shook it and hit the base, but it didn’t respond, so I dropped it to the ground and continued on in darkness.

  I was beginning to realise how thoroughly unprepared I was. In my frenzy of action I hadn’t brought a single useful item. No light, no water, no way to contact the outside world. I was wearing a light shirt and jeans; they wouldn’t keep me warm for long as the air chilled at night.

  This was how my husband had ended up in the morgue.

  “Ryan!” I screamed. My throat was raw. My foot hit something solid, and I stopped to feel it.

  It was just a tree - a big one, immediately in front of me - but the texture was different. I pressed my fingers against the bark and felt it crumble.

  I’d come into the section of the wood that had been burnt.

  Even though I couldn’t see them, the knowledge that I was surrounded by black monoliths made me shake.

  I should have stayed with Mum. I should have gone to the police, sat through their interviews, and begged them to help me look for my child. Instead, I was going to freeze to death, surrounded by the scorched giants.

  Tears started to run down my face, and I rubbed at them with my dirty sleeve - then froze. I’d heard a noise that filled me with a furious, desperate hope.

  Ryan’s cries.

  I held my breath, listening, and heard it again.

  Adrenaline exploded through my body and I rushed towards the noise. I grappled my way around the brush, stumbling, ignoring the scrapes, nearly falling a dozen times, using my hands to find any purchase I could to drag myself forward.

  And then the claustrophobic vegetation relented, and I found myself in a clearing. It couldn’t have been more than twenty feet wide. The ground was a mess of leaves and weeds, and to one side were… dirt piles? Three of them, rectangular, not too high but clearly fresh. And one hole, also rectangular, a little over a foot deep, probably seven feet long. Even as my brain tried to make sense of it, my eyes flitted onto the goal of my search. At the other side of the glade stood Ryan; face splotchy and eyes puffy from crying, but otherwise intact.

  “Ryan,” I whispered, and started to run to him.

  The shovel hit the back of my head hard enough to make my ears ring.

  I fell to the ground in an explosion of pain. My vision went white, then cleared. A hand grasped my ankle and suddenly I was moving, being pulled along the ground. Ryan’s wails intensified, and they felt like razor blades slicing through my pounding head.

  I tried to grab at the ground, to stop the motion, but my weakened fingers couldn’t grip properly. I looked to the side, trying to blink my eyes into focus, and saw I was passing the dirt piles. Something pale poke
d out of one of them. I blinked again and fear overwhelmed me as I realised it was a man’s hand, the fingers caked in blood, motionlessly grasping at air. I tried to struggle, to kick my way out of his grip, but he didn’t let go until we were next to the hole.

  A wave of coldness tingled along my spine as I recognised its purpose. I tried to get to my knees, but he placed his boot against my side.

  He kicked, and I fell into my grave.

  I hit the dirt and whimpered, pain shooting behind my eyes. I rolled onto my back; his foot came down on my chest, hard, pinning me there.

  “Goodbye, Carol.”

  He was laughing, that awful smile splitting his face, his eyes rabid with delight.

  A shovel of dirt hit my face.

  I jerked, trying to clear my nose and mouth, and more dirt was dumped onto me. I couldn’t get up while he was pinning me. I scratched at his leg, digging my nails in, trying to get him to move, but he didn’t seem to notice. More dirt. I kept clawing at him, felt hot blood run down my fingers from where my nails had pierced his skin, but he didn’t flinch.

  I felt so tired. So weak. I no longer had the strength to push through the dirt covering my face for a breath of air.

  I couldn’t hear much anymore; just the metallic clink of the shovel picking up piles of dirt, and Ryan’s crying. The sound was so faint, like it was coming down a long tunnel.

  If Ryan hadn’t been there, I would have been okay with letting my eyes close. I wasn’t afraid of death.

  But I was afraid of losing my baby to the monster who wore my husband’s face. Ryan was so young. He didn’t deserve to lose his life because of his mother’s weakness.

  A desperate idea flitted into my oxygen-deprived mind, and I latched onto it.

  I placed one hand on the inside of Jon’s ankle. It was slick with hot blood. I reached my other hand out, and swung it as hard as I could at the outside of his knee, simultaneously pushing with my right hand. It had its desired effect; I heard cracking as Jon’s leg bent in a way it was never intended to, and he toppled over with a grunt.

  I dragged myself out of the hole. It took so much effort - much, much more than it should have. I sucked in a deep breath of air as Jon pulled himself to his feet and grinned at me.

  “Don’t fight it, Carol,” he sang in a cracked and broken voice. “It’s time for you to join my friends. Sleep next to them for a few days until your flesh is soft and ripe. It’s all okay, darling Carol, you’ll enjoy it once it’s over.”

  I spat dirt out of my mouth and and felt in my back pocket for the knife I’d brought. Ryan was still by the treeline, mucus dribbling from his nose and mixing with his tears as he wailed. I began to move to the side, putting myself between Jon and my child.

  Jon’s face darkened, the smile disappearing into something much more malicious. I pulled the knife free just as he picked up the shovel, and I launched myself at him with every ounce of strength I had left.

  Jon’s weapon could only be wielded at a distance. He would have to step backwards to use it, and so I moved in close to him - as close as I could - and wrapped one arm around the back of his neck.

  I slashed at anything I could reach. His face, his neck, his ears. He began screaming and I felt hot liquid spray across my head and chest. I squinted my eyes closed but didn’t relent, stabbing wildly, frantically, while he dropped his shovel and began fighting back.

  His nails were shorter than mine; they could only score my skin. I registered the slices of pain but continued pressing my body flush against his, my left arm around his neck in a grip that I refused to relax. He shrieked, a high, horrible noise that no human should be able to make. I kept cutting.

  He struggled, thrashed, screamed - and finally dropped to the ground.

  I released my grip and staggered back, wiping blood out of my eyes and trying to force air into my lungs. My hands shook too badly to hold the knife, so I dropped it.

  Jon lay on the ground, completely still, eyes staring out of his blood-soaked face, teeth exposed in a feral snarl. I felt like I was going to throw up. I hadn’t wanted to kill him. Just… stop him.

  Black smoke began to ooze out of his cuts. I stumbled back to get out of its way as it dribbled onto the forest floor and began spreading around his body. I’d never seen anything like it; it looked heavy and inky black - and somehow alive.

  Jon spasmed and his eyes rolled around in his head to fix on me. I couldn’t watch any longer. I ran for Ryan, scooped the boy up, and dashed into the woods.

  I ran, and ran, and ran - tripping and stumbling over fallen trees until my legs burnt from the raw pain. I pushed through to energy reserves I didn’t know I had. Ryan continued to wail as I cradled him over my shoulder and I inhaled in sharp, painful gasps, tears running down my face, mixing with the blood and sweat and dirt.

  I didn’t stop running until I saw the flashlights.

  Part Seven: Gone

  Three weeks later

  I watched Ryan as he slept, his chest rising and falling gently. Fresh air blew through the open window, holding the promise of spring.

  The scars were healing. Not just the physical ones, but also the mental ones. I would never be able to forget the night in the woods, but time was doing its part to wash the worst of the horror away.

  The police had followed the trail I’d left and found the grove with the graves. The three bodies were retrieved and given respectful funerals. The fake Jon was never found.

  The town stayed on high alert and posted wanted fliers featuring the face of the mysterious serial killer, based on a description I’d given them. I don’t know if anyone at the station realised it matched, nearly word for word, the description I’d given of my husband when he went missing.

  At first I’d been frightened the fake Jon might return a second time, but the more I thought on it the more I felt convinced that I would never see him again. I’d won, and he had accepted his defeat. That chapter was finished.

  I was selling our home. Mum had asked me to stay with her for a few months, and I was glad to accept. I could take some time to grieve for Jon, and when we were ready, we could begin a new life. A clean slate.

  I kissed Ryan’s pink forehead.

  Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this short story, you may also like:

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  Visit my website for new release announcements and more free short stories: www.candlebreak.com

  Or follow me on social media:

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  Thanks for reading!

  -Darcy

 

 

 
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