Darkly Wood II

by Power, Max

  Her daughter Rose had left with baby Holly and in her possession was the book that started it all. Tales of Darkly Wood was a book that was no longer in print. She had tried everything to find another copy, but it was impossible. That is how it began.

  Daisy tried her best to recreate the stories that she had remembered, but there were so many. Iggy Pipe, Philagrea Mancuso, little Libby and all the others, each with their own frightening or sad tale, all tied inevitably and forever to that place. When she had written all that she could remember her research began in earnest. At first it was easy enough. There were many stories and versions of stories about Cranby and Darkly Wood which nestled above it on the hill overlooking the little village. Over the years there had been disappearances, mysterious deaths and tragedy, all tied to the seemingly peaceful little place.

  The stories were scattered over time, but each time a new tragic event occurred, the old stories were dragged up and referred to in newspaper articles. It was never serious. No one believed that Darkly Wood was especially cursed. It was just coincidence, but paper never refused ink and so there were always stories to be written about the place.

  Over time Daisy May had collected a vast array of information about Cranby and Darkly Wood. She researched the family from which the wood got its name. The Darkly family, once rich and powerful, had faded away to obscurity and all that remained was their name on that place on the hill. Someday, Daisy would make sense of it all. Someday, she would write a book about it but perhaps the biggest problem that she had was her fear of going back. Daisy May simply couldn’t bring herself to face Darkly Wood again. Returning might reaffirm her belief about what had happened or it might just destroy an illusion. She didn’t know which would be worse.

  Her doubt was ever present but then she had discovered the tale of Cathecus Flincher. Wormhold fascinated her and when she dug deeper, what she uncovered began to make her old memories make sense again. It was a name she had heard before. In her little book Tales of Darkly Wood, there was a story about a boy called Bobby Bunker who had died in police custody. She recalled a Sergeant Wormhold in the tale. From her recollections he was barely mentioned but it was such an unusual name and Daisy wondered if there might be a connection. On the face of things, it seemed not. She started thinking of the stories as memories for the first time in years. Daisy May had spent so much time suppressing them as a child. She hid them away, but once she read about Wormhold and as she began to find more and more references to him, her imagined history became a real one. Maybe she wasn’t crazy. If only she had the courage to go back?

  But she couldn’t bear to go back to the place of her obsession. What if the things she imagined were true? What if the boy she imagined and who had given Daisy her first kiss was real and if he was real, what if he was the monster her dreams told her he was? The conflict was enormous. He could be the wonderful thought that sometimes joined her in her happy dreams, or he might be the monster of her nightmares. She would never be free of the obsession until it was confronted.

  Worse still what if none of it was true? What then? How would that lie with her sanity, with her grief for a lost love that could turn out to be nothing more than a figment of her childish imagination?

  But Daisy May promised herself that she would never go back to that place. It was a vow she had no intention of ever breaking. Nothing she thought could draw her back, despite her overwhelming need to get through and past her torment. But a knock on her door changed all that. It was more than a knock. It was a pounding thump, thump, thump that drew her to the door. It was a sound that would invariably draw Daisy May Coppertop back to Darkly Wood and its secrets, back to her destiny.

  CHAPTER TWELVE – IN THE BLOOD

  Zachary Westhelle Hartfiel didn’t die quickly. His was to be a slow and bizarre end. Boozle would never forget knocking on his door or indeed drawing the curtain to reveal the bloody mess on the bed. The thing that would never leave him however, was what he saw when he looked closely into the bloody cavity that was Zachary’s chest.

  He was certain that he had seen something move and he leaned in to see what it was. But it wasn’t a sudden movement. There was more a sense of movement, an uncertain and corner of the eye type of thing. He hesitated. One doesn’t see a man with his stomach ripped open and not hesitate. Worse still, in such a circumstance to see movement in a place that was once the core of a man, in a place where no thing should move is at the very least disconcerting. Boozle made no bones about it when he later repeated the story to the many who wanted to hear. He was terrified.

  So he paused and while not normally fearful, every hair on his body rose to attention and then his natural bravery and his drive to help poor Zachary, helped Boozle to overcome the fear. He leaned in. At first it looked normal, insofar as he expected to see the inner workings of the poor man who had been clearly ripped open. There was so much blood he could just about make out some organs, none of which he recognised except for one, the heart.

  Zachary’s heart was somehow still beating and beating strong in his chest. It was almost drowning in a pond of his blood, but it was beating. A momentary sense of relief came over Boozle as he realised that the movement was only his heart. His shoulders dropped and he relaxed just a little. When Zachary’s hand snapped across and grabbed his shoulder, Boozle jumped with fright.

  “In the woods…he’s…”

  Zachary repeated the same thing, but there was a gurgling rasp in his voice as his lungs filled with blood.

  “…he’s waiting…”

  Boozle looked at the stranger’s face and his eyes looked wild and fresh. The grip he had on his shoulder was tight, stronger than it should have been for a dying man and Boozle tried to pull away. He couldn’t. Zachary spat blood as he continued.

  “Look closer…”

  Boozle felt the pull as Zachary tried to draw him closer and he realised that he wanted him to look closer at the cavity in his chest. He didn’t want to. He had enough and he was about to try and shrug off the grip, when he saw the movement inside Zachary once again. Only this time he knew it wasn’t his heart beating. There was something else inside his body. Something moved beneath the pooling blood. There was a slow ripple and something dark rose and fell to the surface. Boozle once more felt the grip of fear and weak though he was, Zachary was pulling his face slowly towards the gaping hole.

  It was all that Boozle could see. He was enchanted almost, trapped in a desire to look and at the same time, terrified at the notion of what he might see. But he couldn’t help himself. Zachary’s grip loosened on Boozle’s shoulders, yet he felt held there still, in an imagined grip. Poor Zachary was babbling but his voice was low and unintelligible. His heart was still beating but it was slowing with every beat and Boozle looked from it, to the space where he had seen the thing move. He was afraid to blink.

  Thump, thump. It was the sound in Zachary’s ears, the sound of his fading heart. Boozle could hear it too. Was he imagining the sound? Thump, thump. Thump. Thump. Thump…thump. Slower and slower, the sound faded and then it stopped beating altogether. Before his eyes, Boozle could only see the insides of the stranger who had turned up in a storm the night before, wearing strange clothes and an exotic hat. His whole visual world was the mass of blood, organs and intestines, just inches from his face. It was as if nothing else existed.

  The world went still. There was not a single sound. Boozle couldn’t move. He stared into the bloody mess and he was bathed in a most unpleasant odour. It grew and grew and he winced but didn’t move. The foul stench became overpowering and he tried to pull away, but all he could do was grimace. Then something strange happened. A single bubble rose in the centre of the pool of blood and it startled poor Boozle. Finally as if it was somehow a signal, he was released from his trance and he felt the invisible grip that held him in place relax and he knew he was free to move. But he didn’t. It was to be a terrible mistake for in that momentary lapse, the creature that was all teeth, vileness and hair, sprang from
beneath the bloody mess and latched onto Boozle’s face.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE DARK

  “Jesus!”

  Charlie actually jumped as Holly grabbed his knee. It was dark and she was reading Zachary’s story from her little book by torchlight. She thought it was so funny that she had scared Charlie and she laughed.

  “I only jumped because you grabbed me.” He was defensive.

  “It’s OK to be a wittle bit afwaid.”

  Holly was mocking Charlie using a baby voice and if he could have seen her face, he would have seen her taunting pout as well but the torch only illuminated the little book.

  “Shut up.”

  He was uncomfortable and didn’t want any more scary stories. It was frightening enough to be lying under a make-shift shelter, tucked into the base of a big old tree, in the middle of Darkly Wood, in the dark. Holly slapped him gently with the back of her hand and put the book back in her bag.

  “I can’t keep leaving the torch on.”

  They both knew that was true and while they desperately wanted its comforting light against the fear of the dark all around, Holly was the one to address it. She shone the torch into her backpack and tucked the book away, taking out a packet of peanuts and a half finished bottle of water.

  “Rations?”

  Holly shared out a handful of peanuts, after which they washed the dryness away with a gulp of water and then she tucked everything except the torch back into the bag. She turned off the torch for a couple of seconds and the darkness almost immediately overwhelmed her. She flicked it back on as Charlie voiced their sense of dread.

  “That’s dark. I couldn’t see a thing.”

  “I know Charlie but what happens if we need it in the middle of the night and the batteries are gone. We’re better off preserving some power. Maybe we should try to get some sleep?”

  She shone the torch under her chin so he could see her face and know that she meant business. He thought she was so pretty. Charlie had never felt this way about a girl before. If he could kiss her his life would have reached a peak that he felt he would never transcend. Somehow Charlie’s instinct told him that it was never going to happen. He feared her rejection more than anything in the night outside their shelter, at least in that moment.

  “What?”

  She couldn’t see him so Holly pointed the light at Charlie and he covered his face pretending to be blinded but in truth it was to hide his embarrassment. He was sure she could sense his useless passion.

  “Stop I can’t see.”

  She lowered the beam and dropped the torch on her lap so it illuminated their tiny shelter.

  “You were looking at me?”

  She couldn’t help it. Holly had inherited her grandmother’s nature when it came to speaking her mind, sharing the first thought that came into it.

  “No I wasn’t.”

  Charlie was seriously embarrassed and he changed the subject.

  “That wind is getting worse, listen.”

  He was right of course. A wind whipped along the forest floor, flicking up leaves and woodland debris. Their shelter had been made with haste, reassembling someone else’s handiwork, Daisy May’s handiwork as it turned out. It was little more than a layer of rotting fallen branches covered with a layer of ferns, topped off with the weight of more wood and braced at the bottom by some heavy stones that they had collected. It rattled in the wind. Holly grabbed his arm.

  “Come on Charlie Callous Coulson, snuggle into me. If we get some sleep then the morning will come faster and we won’t need the torch.”

  She adjusted the layer of ferns they had collected as bedding. It was of little use and even if they could get to sleep, it was going to be an uncomfortable night. She lay on her side; knees bent and placed the rucksack under her head.

  “Well come on, I want to turn the light out.”

  With Holly’s encouragement, Charlie tucked himself into her shape on the ground with his back to Holly. She spooned him and wrapped her left, torch-holding arm around his waist. Then she pressed the switch and everything went black.

  Holly lay in the dark pretending to be fearless. She listened to the wind outside. Holly heard forest noises that she had never heard before. Every creak of every bough made her feel more frightened, so she tucked herself in close to Charlie and hoped morning would not be too long coming. The Darkness frightened her. She had never encountered such a total blackout. Everything in this place was new to Holly and while she joked about the stories in her little book, she had a deeper sense that they were more than just stupid stories. Darkly Wood seemed alive.

  Charlie closed his eyes and he heard nothing else but the sound of Holly breathing just behind his ear. He felt nothing except the weight of her arm wrapped around his waist. The only scent he could get was Holly and she filled his head and he wanted to fall into a deep sleep so he could dream of her.

  What Charlie didn’t smell, was the scent of something very old and very dangerous. What he did not see was the thing that crept in the darkness, more beast-like than boy-like just outside their shelter. He didn’t hear the soft rustle in the detritus on the forest floor as the thing that had stalked them and led them to this place, sniffed the air and smelled Charlie from just a few feet away. The gentle snap of twigs, kept Holly awake as she imagined all sorts outside but Charlie was oblivious.

  He was drifting away to a safer place and he didn’t see the eyes that saw him in the dark. As Holly sensed movement close by, she simultaneously sniffed an unfamiliar smell. Her movement went unnoticed to Charlie. She raised her head and contemplated shaking Charlie but she felt stupid. Her instincts told her that something was wrong but she ignored them. Charlie was drifting slowly to sleep and he never saw the hand that reached through the entrance of their shelter. He never felt the gentle touch on his ankle through his boot…until it was too late.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN – THE FAVOUR

  At first Daisy was horrified. There is a moment that one dreams of, a fantasy if you will where you get all that your heart desires and when that moment comes unexpectedly, it is overwhelming. That is how Daisy felt when she opened her front door.

  But in that exact moment, the horror of being confronted with such a delight was almost too much to bear. Her worst fear was tied to her wildest dream as if in acquiring that which she so longed for, she would only court disaster. It was an instinctive feeling but Daisy had learned to trust her instinct. She knew deep down that it had saved her before.

  “Can I come in?”

  Rose didn’t wait for an answer. She literally brushed her mother aside, swept past her in the hallway and headed straight to the kitchen. Still stunned, Daisy followed her daughter and was trying to work out what might have brought her back and indeed what to say as she scurried in her wake.

  “I need your help.”

  It was an unceremonious declaration. There was no please, no courteous small talk, no explanation or apology for her absence from Daisy’s life. These were just some of the imagined things Daisy May ran through her mind, when she considered the possibility that someday she would see her beautiful daughter again. This wasn’t the way she had imagined their reunion. Rose was agitated. She looked like she hadn’t slept and wore no make-up. Her hair didn’t look like it had even been brushed.

  “Sit down.”

  Daisy issued the instruction softly, turned her back on Rose and picked up the kettle. For whatever reason, Rose was there now and Daisy didn’t want to frighten her away. She needed a moment to gather herself, a few minutes to make sense of it and most importantly, she needed not to say the wrong thing. She wasn’t sure if she could say anything that Rose wouldn’t read as wrong. Rose sat down, surprising herself by obeying her mother’s request. She had spent so long fighting her even when they hadn’t seen each other in years, that the simple task of sitting when asked might have seemed a major quandary. But Rose was fragile and she had come with a purpose so she sat without debate. There were b
igger things at stake than her pride. But she couldn’t help herself.

  “Tell me you’re not making tea?”

  Rose stood up as if she was going to go.

  “You don’t have to have one.”

  Daisy May Coppertop loved her daughter and her desire to grab hold of Rose, to hug and kiss her was so great, it was hard to resist. But Daisy was more than a mother. She was still the same girl who had survived Darkly Wood; she was still stubborn and strong. Rose wouldn’t have come to her unless she was desperate or unless it was a matter of importance. She knew her daughter wouldn’t walk out the door. It had to have taken tremendous courage after all those years to turn up unannounced at her mother’s door.

  “Jesus!”

  Rose stood up and walked to the patio door. Without saying anything else she opened the door and strode out into the garden. She was frustrated and angry. Daisy had indeed measured her need just right. No matter what she thought of her mother, Rose needed her now and she had to calm down. The very act of travelling all the way to see her, had wound Rose up into a near frenzy. Her mother was at the centre of everything wrong in Rose’s life or at least that was how she saw it. It was hard to forgive someone you loved and missed but stayed away from through misplaced anger. They shared a great misunderstanding of each other from their own unique and biased perspective. The distance that had grown between them did little to ease that angry tension.

  Daisy made a pot of tea and shot glances at her daughter who was pacing up and down in the garden, brushing her hair from her face constantly and scratching her head. Rose had the most amazing head of red hair. It was all frizzed and loose and she looked wild in the sunshine. Daisy May’s wonderful red hair had long since turned to grey. When the tea was made, Daisy brought two cups complete with saucers, out onto the small table in the garden sun and sat down. She watched Rose and waited.