Darkly Wood II

by Power, Max

  Copyright © 2017 by Max Power

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher and author

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

  Books by Max Power

  Darkly Wood

  Darkly Wood II The woman who never wore shoes

  Larry Flynn

  Bad Blood

  Find them here:amazon.com/author/maxpower

  Darkly Wood II

  The woman who never wore shoes

  By

  Max Power

  Max Power Number 5

  Acknowledgements

  I need to acknowledge the support of my friends and family as always for their patience with me while I wrote this book and in particular my friends in IASD for their encouragement throughout.

  Cover design illustrations and graphics by Ciara Power

  For those who never give up hope…

  CHAPTER ONE – SOMETHING FAMILIAR

  Unencumbered by conscience, fear or the burden of feeling, something moved in that place that sat upon the hill overlooking the village of Cranby. The light near the edge of the wood felt more enticing of late and while he knew he should stay clear of the fringes, the draw sometimes felt almost impossible to resist.

  Some things never change and for this particular creature of the wood, there was no memory of things ever being any different than they were on that particular, fateful day. But things were different and change was coming. If only it was possible for him to remember, then it might have seemed more familiar. He may even have recognised the signs but he didn’t remember. Change like this had come before and the last time it had been devastating.

  Cranby was nestled below the wood, separated by the meadow and the small stream that acted as invisible barriers for him. The reputation of Darkly Wood was as old as the wood itself, but bizarrely that didn’t stop the curious or the ignorant from tripping along its borders. It should have stopped its next visitor but it didn’t. He watched from his place of perfect concealment and he was patient. Time was something that didn’t concern him. Time was irrelevant.

  She sat cross-legged on the grass a slip of a girl, dainty and almost elegant, smoking a cigarette with one hand and holding a book in the other. The girl looked both delicate and strong, a contradiction and a connection to the past.

  “We shouldn’t be up here.”

  The accusing tone was as unattractive as most of his other character traits. Charles Callous Colson bore a mouthful of a name, but everyone simply called him Charlie. He had a whole host of flaws but that was the point as far as Holly was concerned. Her mother hated Charlie so for now, he was perfect.

  “Shut up Charlie you’re such a whinger sometimes.”

  Charlie looked down at the girl he couldn’t help but be drawn to, as she sat there criticising him. Holly sat on the grass and smiled. That smile meant he would forgive her almost anything. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and she could pretty much get away with saying whatever she wanted. Holly flicked her cigarette away and leaned back on her elbows. She looked up at Charlie.

  “Why don’t you go home to your mother Charlie, I’m going on with or without you.”

  She quite suddenly scrambled to her feet and stood facing the befuddled boy.

  “What’s the point of you anyway?” It was an unnecessary unkindness.

  Holly knew that she had overstepped the mark with her comment. To cover her discomfort, she turned and tramped up the soft incline of the meadow toward the edge of Darkly Wood and Charlie watched her go. She was mean, sometimes too mean.

  “Wait, I’m coming with you.”

  Holly ignored his needy plea and kept up her pace, forcing Charlie to run in order to catch up with her. When he did, she didn’t even offer him an acknowledgement that she had noticed. He walked, more followed really about a pace behind. She finally stopped as they reached the first young trees at the edge of the forest and opened her little book. Charlie knew she was looking for something specific in the book and he stood next to her, as if he was reading over her shoulder. In truth, he was looking at the profile of her face. Her hair had loose, mousey curls that no matter how she tried to tie it, always seemed to fall across the side of her face. She twinkled to Charlie.

  “What?” She stared right at him. “Why are you looking at me?”

  “You’re…you…” He wanted to tell her that she was pretty but he was afraid. It didn’t matter because Holly had already turned her attention back to the book.

  “It’s somewhere up this end of the wood.” She pointed to their left. “Well come on if you’re coming.”

  The sun was high in the sky and it was a beautiful July day, but at the edge of the wood the air felt cooler. Something stirred within and while Holly was oblivious, Charlie glanced furtively into the shadows. He didn’t like this place. Like everyone in Cranby, he knew the stories and while they always seemed a little far-fetched, Charlie believed there was something not right about Darkly Wood.

  The thing that stirred, the thing that almost caught his attention, had indeed been drawn towards the edge of the wood. There was someone out there calling to him. It had been a long time since he had felt the warmth of companionship and quite suddenly, there was a very strange sense of déjà vu that led him away from the comfort of his lair.

  He rubbed his head, sniffed the air and there it was, something familiar, something old. A smile crossed his lips. It was a broad happy grin but it was more than that. It was a wicked smile and those who knew the tales of Darkly Wood, those that feared that place for believing them, would never have dared to tempt fate like Holly did on that fateful July morning.

  But Holly was not like the others in Cranby. She was far too new and fresh to the village to have been frightened by its folklore. She was a courageous girl with the soul of an anarchist and the heart of a warrior. The one thing that she lacked, as her mother constantly reminded her, was respect. As she led Charlie up along the edge of Darkly Wood in search of the ruins of Darkly Manor, her lack of respect was about to land Holly Coppertop in a great deal of trouble.

  CHAPTER TWO – CATHECUS FLINCHER

  Cathecus Flincher was a moral man. He liked to go to church and he prayed every morning and every night before he went to bed. There was nothing he hadn’t put to prayer. Cathecus prayed for success in his business and it came. He was a stone mason and a fine one at that.

  When he had fallen for the very beautiful Caroline Corker, Cathecus prayed that she might someday reciprocate his very strong feelings for her. The moral and prayerful Cathecus got his wish and she fell for him above the many more attractive and wittier men in the area. He prayed for sunshine in the rain, enough time to complete his daily tasks and God was good granting it seemed, his every wish and prayer.

  Life was good for the Flinchers and soon after they were wed, the delightful Caroline became pregnant and delivered him a beautiful, healthy son whom they named Finius after his grandfather. One year later they had a second child, this time a daughter as beautiful and as fine as he could have dreamed. They called her Petunia.

  Days became weeks became months and years and his beautiful, happy family brought nothing but joy and pride to the man who it seemed had everything. God was indeed good and Cathecus thanked him daily.

  But one day a stranger came to his yard and ma
de a very peculiar request. He was an odd man, who wore an ill-fitting top had and an oversized topcoat. At all times his face was half hidden by an overlong scarf and he coughed and coughed constantly as he spoke. It was an irritating affectation.

  He introduced himself as Wormhold. Cathecus didn’t know if it was a first or last name but he didn’t think it polite to enquire.

  “Good day sir.”

  It was a polite gentlemanly introduction and as he approached Cathecus who was tending to his small vegetable patch, he coughed and smiled.

  “My name is Wormhold and I wonder if you might be able to help me?”

  Cathecus studied the strange man and watched him raise his closed fist to the scarf he wore where his mouth should be to cover his cough. He stood upright and leaned on his garden fork. He didn’t say anything at first and Wormhold stopped at the little gate that marked the boundary of the vegetable garden.

  “My, you keep a fine garden. Looks like you’re a man with green fingers.”

  Cathecus was very proud of his garden and he puffed out his chest slightly.

  “Thank you. I do my best. It is just something to keep me occupied when I am not working.” He was curious about the stranger.

  His house was probably the least accessible in the village of Cranby. To get to his place, it was necessary to pass by most of the other houses in the small village. Cathecus lived at what the locals called the back of the town. His house was away from the main street which was overlooked by Darkly Wood. One had to walk down Tinklers Lane and the house stood separate at the very end of the lane, with a big yard at the back where he carried out most of his work. It was not work that most folk wanted to look at on a daily basis. No one wanted to be reminded of the fact that someday they would have to visit Cathecus to order a grave stone for a loved one and as such it was the perfect location. The vegetable patch was off to the side where it was sunniest. Cathecus wondered what brought the strange man to seek him out. He assumed it had to do with business.

  “How may I help you?” He dug the fork into the soil and approached Wormhold.

  “You are a stone mason I understand?” Wormhold coughed again and adjusted his scarf so it completely covered his nose and mouth.

  “Indeed I am. What is it you need?”

  “I am looking for some headstones.”

  The stranger who called himself Wormhold dug his gloved hand into his pocket and produced a piece of paper which he began to unfold.

  Cathecus thought he misheard the man. For a moment he thought that the newcomer had said that he wanted headstones. Surely he meant headstone. No one ever ordered multiple headstones, at least not in all the time he had been working at his trade in Cranby.

  “The name is Cathecus Flincher.”

  Cathecus thought he should properly introduce himself if there was business to be transacted. He offered his hand which Wormhold rejected by waving his hand and stepping back a little from the gate. Cathecus stopped a few feet away, surprised by what seemed to be a rude gesture.

  “I know who you are Mr. Flincher and I’m sorry, but I have the most awful cough. Please forgive me for not shaking your hand. I wouldn’t get too close in case you catch it from me. Cathecus was becoming suspicious of the man. He folded his arms somewhat defensively.

  “Where are you from Mr. Wormhold and how did you come across my little business?”

  “Ah.” Wormhold picked up a stone from the ground and placed the paper he held on the gatepost with the stone sitting on top of the flimsy note to stop it from blowing away.

  “Good questions Mr. Flincher.” But he didn’t attempt to answer them. “On this piece of paper are some names. I need four headstones, nothing special a simple traditional oval top with the names listed. One for each name, keep them small.”

  He coughed and this time it was a more prolonged fit. Wormhold took several steps back. Cathecus approached and picked up the paper. He opened it up and looked at the list.

  “What sort of a joke is this? Is there something wrong with you? Get away from here before I come out there and give you beating. Who sent you here?”

  Cathecus felt a rage build. He was not a violent man, but what he read on that slip of paper, made him angrier than he had ever been. Wormhold coughed, took one step back and held out both hands before him. It was a defensive, apologetic gesture.

  “I can see how that might upset you Mr. Flincher. Worry not. What will be, will be? I shall return seven days from now and I expect you will have had time to consider my offer of work. Until then...”

  Wormhold turned his back and walked away. Cathecus looked again at the paper and stared at the names written in a neat hand. When he looked up again, Wormhold was gone. It was as though he had vanished into thin air. His quick departure was a little disconcerting and Cathecus again looked at the names still shocked at what he was reading.

  Cathecus Flincher

  Caroline Flincher

  Finius Flincher

  Petunia Flincher

  CHAPTER THREE – LONELY

  Her room smelled of flowers. They were the one pleasantness she allowed into her daily routine. Every morning, she would walk the half mile to the florists and buy a fresh collection. One would expect her to have developed a close relationship with the florist; after all she was Maisy Bloom’s best customer. But Maisy rarely had much to say to the strange lady who turned up each morning as she opened up to select a new collection of flowers.

  Most people had favourites. In general her customers liked roses or lilies or chrysanthemums, but this lady never settled on any specific flower. At first Maisy tried to engage her in friendly chit-chat but she soon gave up. There was never more than a smile or at best a yes or no answer. But she was never rude and while at first Maisy tried to help her with the selection; it soon became clear that it was best to leave her alone to select the ones she wanted.

  They could perhaps have been friends in another life, but all they had in common in this one was their love of flowers and a name that related to them. Maisy bore the surname Bloom and her best customer bore a name that rhymed with her first one. But Daisy May Coppertop couldn’t be her friend.

  Daisy May glanced at the small mirror in the entrance hall as she placed her fresh flowers on the table just inside the door. She didn’t smile at her reflection. What she saw was an old lady looking back at her and Daisy May often wondered if she had ever been young. There were many ladies of Daisy’s vintage that would call themselves middle aged. Daisy felt as old as time, although time had been good to her. She just couldn’t get used to the notion that there wasn’t a smiling, red haired girl looking back at her when she looked in the mirror.

  Once she had replaced her old flowers with the new, Daisy made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table. Her routine was always the same. She got up at seven each morning, showered, dressed and went to the florists to be there as they opened for the freshest flowers. After that, Daisy returned home, made tea which she would drink at the kitchen table and she would watch the changes in her garden through the patio doors. After her morning tea, Daisy always retired to the front room where it was quiet and more importantly because it was where she did her work.

  But this day was different. It was a day that reminded her of how lonely she really was. After what had happened to Daisy May in Cranby when she was just a girl, she moved in with her father Archie for a short while. She couldn’t bear living in that house. Her mother sold up and they moved back to the city and once the move was complete, Daisy once more returned to live with her mother. The fantasy that her parents might someday reunite never came true.

  As the years passed, what happened up in the wood became dreamlike in her mind. She remembered Benjamin of course, how could she forget her first love, but none of it was real according to the rest of the world. Her first love was a figment of her imagination and everything that she went through in Darkly Wood was conjured up in her unconscious mind while she lay in hospital. That’s what her
mother said anyway. But she could never let it go. They weren’t just dreams the things in her head. Those terrors, the love she was supposed to have only imagined, they were memories she felt sure of that.

  Perhaps that was why she became such a loner. She stayed away from boys for the most part but that didn’t mean that Daisy was disinterested. It was just hard for her to strike up a relationship in the proper sense. She always felt as though there was something more. Daisy could never quite get Benjamin Blood out of her head. Imagined or not, he certainly felt like her first love and who can forget that?

  Boys wanting to be men came and went but for the most part that is all they did. When she finally did meet someone who wanted to marry her, Daisy May Coppertop was more irritated than anything else. I say wanted but it was more that he asked. She was twenty years old and more than a little rebellious. When she fell pregnant with her boyfriend’s child, she told her parents that they planned to marry anyway, so what was the big deal. But she never married.

  Marcus Legend was twenty one. He was handsome, charming and he reminded her a little of Benjamin. She didn’t love him but she did have his baby. Marcus never saw his child. He left her one spring evening saying that he’d see her tomorrow and he never returned. Marcus simply disappeared off the face of the earth. No one knew what happened to him and Daisy brought her daughter Rose up all by herself. Her parents helped in the beginning but they both died before Rose was ten and Daisy struggled to cope with her wild and excitable daughter.

  She grieved for her lost parents and her grief reminded her of another loss, the loss of a love she was told never existed and Daisy May Coppertop retreated deeper into her own head. There was little room for her own grief let alone space for her daughter and Rose felt every lost second of love. Her absence was neither physical nor intended but it was absence nonetheless and it hurt.

  Rose followed in her mother’s footsteps and when she was eighteen years old she proudly announced that she was pregnant. Daisy was stunned. She hadn’t really noticed anything that was going on with her beautiful daughter. The news rocked her and she felt a huge weight of guilt. Unlike her mother, Rose insisted that she had no idea who the father was. She taunted Daisy by saying that it could be any one of a dozen boys. It wasn’t true of course. Rose knew who the father was. She really had only been with one boy, a boy she was madly in love with, a boy who used her and dumped her. But she was an angry young girl and her mother’s obsession with her past took so much of her attention, that Rose was jealous. She was jealous of her mother’s bizarre obsession with the past.