Darkly Wood II

by Power, Max

  “Look…I’m not here to make up.”

  She stood over her mother for a moment and when she looked at her it was impossible not to soften. She had spent so long being annoyed at her but in the moment Rose couldn’t seem to quite remember why. She sat down opposite her mother.

  “I need your help.”

  “I’ve missed you Rose.”

  Daisy couldn’t hold back the words. They were bursting out from her heart and while Rose was on a mission of her own, Daisy had to let her know how she felt. It has been so long and her heart had been broken. This might be a fleeting chance. Rose refused to be drawn into sentimentality.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I need your help. I’m not here to forgive you or make up for some missing years if that’s what you imagine. I need you and if I didn’t I wouldn’t be here OK?”

  It was clear, direct and very hurtful and Daisy reacted.

  “Forgive me? Forgive me?”

  She repeated the question with increasing sarcasm and annoyance.

  “I did nothing Rose. You left me remember? You took Holly and walked out. You left me in the dark Rose. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed out on seeing my only granddaughter grow up. Forgive me? How dare you!”

  “I knew this was a waste of time. You still think none of this is your fault? Why do you think I left? I saw the books on the table in the kitchen. Where are the rest of them mother? I know that’s just the tip of your obsessional iceberg. You probably have a room dedicated to that place.”

  She saw Daisy drop her eyes and Rose knew she was right. Her mother hadn’t changed. She was still obsessed. Rose stood up and rushed through the kitchen into the front room with Daisy on her heels.

  “Wait…”

  Daisy tried to call her back but she was confronted by her daughter’s anger when they reached their destination. Rose picked up a note pad and read the name at the top.

  “Binky Branagan!”

  She threw it aside and stared at the maps and photos on the walls of the room.

  “Look at this place! It’s like a bloody shrine. Binky Branagan? Who’s that, another victim of the Wood? Jesus Christ you are still obsessed. You wonder why I left? You cared more about the stories than you did about me…or Holly for that matter.”

  The very mention of her daughter’s name seemed to deflate Rose for a second. She brushed past her mother again and walked to the kitchen. Daisy paused for a moment and looked at the room. Rose was right of course but she couldn’t help it. When she reached the kitchen, Rose was standing there with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Daisy wanted to go to her and comfort her, but she knew that Rose wouldn’t want her to do that, so she simply asked her what was wrong and she felt desperately inadequate.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Rose looked at her mother. She had grown so much older. The grey in her hair strangely suited Daisy but there was a sadness about her. It was the same sadness that had always been there only now as Rose studied her face, she saw a darker shadow about her mother. She knew that she was the cause of the deepening sorrow, but she still blamed her mother for so much and couldn’t forgive her. Like Daisy she had an urge to be hugged but Rose resisted.

  “I need your help. It’s Holly, she’s missing.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “When…how?”

  Daisy was instantly filled with so many questions. Rose swallowed a lump that had gathered in her throat. She felt the heat rise to her face. In that moment she was a little girl and she was about to tell her mother that she had done something foolish, something worse than foolish. Rose knew what her mother would think and most likely say, but she had no choice now. She had to find Holly.

  “I moved back to the old house.” She let the words hang there for Daisy to absorb. “I bought it actually, it came up for auction and I couldn’t resist. We moved in two weeks ago.”

  Daisy placed her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t speak, she daren’t. It couldn’t be true. How could Rose have been so stupid? Daisy didn’t want to attack or reprimand her daughter’s stupidity in that moment, for she knew as they stood there, that her granddaughter wasn’t just missing. Daisy May Coppertop felt a chill and heard her own name whisper on the breeze that floated through the open door as she realised that Holly was in that place. Rose had no need to explain. It was clear and it was terrifying. Holly Coppertop was missing in Darkly Wood. Perhaps it was just the memory, or maybe she imagined it for Rose didn’t seem to hear the voice that whispered to her. Whatever the truth or reality, for Daisy the sound was as clear as it had been all those years ago when she was a young girl in Cranby. The voice that whispered on the wind, terrified her. She heard it again and this time it was clear. She felt the coolness of the air on her skin and the brush of the voice as it passed her ear. It was happening again.

  “Daiseeey Mayheeee…”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - ISADORA QUEEP

  Of all the tales that are told about Darkly Wood, the tale of Isadora Queep is surely one of the strangest. It was lost to time until, Daisy May discovered it in an old village newspaper written by some long gone, obscure local historian in the 1950’s. Where he got it was anybody’s guess for he made no reference to the source. The story couldn’t be verified of course but then again this was the same for most tales of Darkly Wood. That was the point. It was why people who told them used to categorise the stories as just that, stories nothing more.

  Nothing happened on a regular basis in Darkly Wood. Each tale of a gruesome end or a missing person was separated by years, decades or even generations. The older ones generally fell into the category of oral history and the tellers were prone to exaggeration. By the time any of them made their way to paper, it was hard to decipher how much of the tale was real or made up.

  That wonderful folkloric quality, made it easy for people to choose to believe that they were nothing more than that. So while Darkly Wood had a reputation for bad things happening to good people, for the most part it was seen almost as entertainment.

  Goldilocks, Little red riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel were all tales set out to teach a lesson, to offer some guidance and provide self-regulation to children so that their fear would keep them away from people and places that they shouldn’t trust. Sometimes there were darker, hidden meanings but in days that we refer to as long ago, stories had a purpose. They taught us something. But olden times become modern times and children as well as parents replaced superstition and belief in good and evil, for faith in science and technology.

  One could believe for example that the stories are no more than just that. They are just stories. But such a dismissal is a weakness when the bad things of this world find their way in and exploit the lack of fear. Sometimes fearful people forget that fear has a purpose. Isadora Queep made such a misguided judgement, long before people had lost their instinct to be fearful and careful. Isadora Queep chose to be brave. Isadora Queep chose to break the mould and she should have known better. But Isadora Queep wasn’t just brave for sometimes being brave can save you. Isadora Queep was foolish.

  It was, so they say, long ago in a time of plenty around Cranby, when Isadora Queep first drew attention to herself. Her father was Jacob Queep, a hardworking man who answered to the then lord of the manor, Theobald Darkly. Theobald was a kind man, much like his ancestors and those to follow in his footsteps, and he rewarded those that deserved rewarding.

  Jacob was his gamekeeper and when it came to stock and hunting, there was none that knew his craft like Jacob. Importantly Jacob had a respect for all living things and for the land. He knew how important it was not to overstock or indeed over hunt or fish. Fishing was his particular passion and there was always food a plenty in the Queep household. It was one of the perks of his job. Jacob never stole from the land of his master, but Lord Darkly allowed him to take a small amount of fish and game for his family. Jacob never took advantage and only took what he needed.

  His wife was Jane Queep formally Jane Billi
ngbottom. It was an extraordinary name for a very plain girl, but Jane was a very special woman. She had the qualities that mattered most in a wife as far as Jacob was concerned. She was loving and attentive, hardworking and loyal, and she bore Jacob three children. Sadly her first who she named Isabelle, survived only long enough to be granted her name after birth. One year later almost to the day, Eliza Queep was born, but she too was lost all too soon to a cough that would not fade. When Isadora was born, Jane and Jacob counted each day she survived as a blessing and spoiled her beyond what would have been considered normal.

  In a time when children were seen and not heard and set to work with household and other chores as a minimum expectation, Isadora was granted the freedom to explore the world without need to make any contribution of her own. Of course Isadora didn’t see things that way. She had a gift that she shared with the world every day. At least that is how Isadora understood things. She had the gift of beauty and she happily allowed others to admire her gift and pass remarks on it with an expectation that as she grew older, became a less attractive trait.

  By the time Isadora was sixteen, she had become quite literally unbearable. No one liked her but she didn’t seem to care. Jacob couldn’t see it of course and he continued to spoil and more frequently stand up for and defend his only child. He couldn’t understand why everyone else saw her differently.

  Isadora never listened and rarely obeyed any direction she was given. Throughout her formative years, she had heard to her father repeat the tales of Darkly Wood. Everyone loved telling those stupid stories, but her father it appeared was an expert. He had to be, he used to say. Because when you worked in and around that place of foreboding every day of your life, it was important to know where to step and how to carry yourself when you went about your business.

  “Knowing when not to step and follow a sound is as important as knowing when to hold your breath.” He said that all the time and it meant nothing to Isadora. “There is a time to stand still and a time, when you are in the cross hairs of a bow, that there is nothing left to do but run…then you run.”

  He always said that sort of thing, but he still traipsed through Darkly Wood as did many other people from Cranby, despite its reputation and nothing ever happened to anyone.

  One day Isadora decided to take Binky Branagan to the wood for a bit of sport. Binky was a cute little thing, the same age as Isadora but she was prettier and very petite, something that made Isadora jealous. Unlike other girls in Cranby, Binky still talked to Isadora and that was only down to her kind heart.

  To break the boredom of a fine sunny day in July, Isadora sought out Binky and persuaded her to go for a walk with her, up across the great meadow and into Darkly Wood. Binky was suspicious of the unusual friendliness, but Isadora had planned for that.

  “I have something that I simply must get off my chest. It’s a secret and I have no one else to turn to. Please, come with me, I need to get out of the village and talk to someone before I go mad. I know I can trust you. You’re so nice.”

  Unfortunately Binky was just that. She was nice and her soft heart allowed her to be led by the treacherous Isadora into Darkly Wood. What Binky didn’t know was that Isadora had already been to the Wood alone in advance of their trip. She had found an old partly broken hide that her father used for hunting pheasant. It was no more than a filthy old blanket with netting and leaves attached and it made up the top part of the long discarded hide. The cover was perfect for what she had in mind in her plan, to scare the wits out of the sweet Binky. There was no real reason to do such a thing, no reason at all really other than jealousy.

  They walked across the little bridge fording stream, which ran alongside the road and then they walked up the gentle slope of the meadow towards the wood. Binky had no fear of that place either, for after all the stories she had heard were only stories. On the way, Isadora shared anecdotes and tips about how Binky could curl her hair better or make her complexion more appealing and how she could dress differently to make herself pretty like she was. Binky thought she had perhaps misjudged Isadora as she seemed so very nice. It felt as though they might actually become friends.

  As they skirted the edge of the wood, Isadora drew her in along a narrow path and the air became cooler as the shade of the trees blocked the sunlight. Step by step it grew darker and cooler until eventually, Binky began to rub her arms against the chill, despite the heat of the summer’s day just beyond the treeline.

  “It’s cold in here; let’s head back to the sunshine.”

  She smiled at Isadora and for a second Isadora looked at her blankly. It was a little uncomfortable until suddenly a broad grin broke across her face and she replied,

  “Oh yes, but first I want to show you something my father found. Wait here.”

  Isadora was gone before Binky knew it. She disappeared into the dense undergrowth without any warning and Binky instantly felt uncomfortable. The seconds turned into minutes and Binky began to call out.

  “Isadora?”

  But of course there was no answer. Isadora was already beneath her camouflage and creeping closer to Binky with her plan to terrify the life out of the poor girl. She crept closer and closer and Binky heard a rustling in the wood. But it wasn’t Isadora. There was a movement and then a sound that tickled her spine and made her freeze.

  Isadora Queep was gone all day. Eventually her mother sent for Jacob. She was worried about her daughter and when word got around Cranby that she was missing, Melody Cotton the seamstress mentioned that she had seen her cross the bridge with Binky heading for Darkly Wood. A small search party set out with Jacob way out front. He knew that place better than anyone and he could follow a track with such skill that others were amazed. It didn’t take him long to find Isadora. She came walking out of the wood holding something in her hand. Jacob ran to her, so happy that it had all been a false alarm but he stopped short when he saw her face.

  Isadora was pale, much paler than anyone Jacob had ever seen. It wasn’t her pallor however that made Jacob stop. It was the blood. There was a spattering of blood across her cheek and forehead and when he stopped he could see that there was blood on her dress.

  “Isadora?”

  He wanted to grab her, to pull her close and hug her with the relief of discovering her safe, only she wasn’t safe. Isadora would never be safe again and as the searchers caught up with Jacob, they too stopped. Some turned away and some clapped their hands to their mouths when they saw what it was that Isadora held in her own pale little hand, the thing that dangled by her side.

  She never spoke from that day on, not as much as one single word. Isadora Queep neither laughed nor cried. She never furrowed her brow nor smiled ever again. All emotion was lost. She had emptied her cache of feelings in the coolness of the shade of Darkly Wood as she watched Binky Branagan meet her end. Even as she stood there, her father and mother horrified by what they saw, Isadora could not quite remember what had happened. She stared blankly at the small gathering of gasping onlookers, who in turn stared at her little hand and she looked down.

  She was holding Binky’s pale little hand with its delicate blue ring that Binky’s mother had given her for her fifteenth birthday. But that was all that she was holding, her hand. The hand and forearm of Binky Branagan, still dripping with blood all red and fresh, dangled in Isadora’s grip. She looked back at the gathering that still remained unmoving and tried to remember. There was nothing. Well, almost nothing. The only thing that Isadora Queep could remember was the man with the hat. She couldn’t see his face for the scarf but she remembered his hat.

  The rest of Binky Branagan was never found. Even Jacob’s skill as a tracker didn’t help. No one knew, but most speculated and Isadora was locked away from her family never to speak again. Darkly Wood had it seemed, taken another innocent soul and in a way taken one other victim who was not without sin. It watched from high on its perch above the little village and waited as always, that’s what people thought but none said. For a
while, children were warned to stay away as had always happened through the centuries whenever a tragedy struck, but very quickly things change and people forget. Soon enough people returned. It couldn’t be the Wood of course. The logical thing was that Binky had been killed by Isadora. But did that really make sense? It was easier to believe that, than to believe some alternative no one dared contemplate.

  For Jacob’s part his heart was broken. He was never the same and day after day he searched the wood, hoping to find poor Binky or at least her body. He prayed he might find evidence of some terrible tragedy or remains to at least suggest some beast has killed Binky. He so desperately wanted to redeem his girl, to take away the rumours about his daughter who people never quite took to anyway. Jacob wanted to exonerate her and he searched until the day he died, never able to salvage his daughter nor ease his burden of shame.

  While Jacob searched, there were smiles in Darkly Wood. Behind the treeline, just out of sight, high in the canopy or standing almost close enough to touch, but standing so still they went unnoticed, the eyes behind the smiles watched. They watched as they always did and they did what they did best. They waited.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – REMEMBERING

  Woody was the most peculiar creature. He knew nothing of his past and never thought much into the future. Everything felt immediate and as soon as a task was complete it was no longer considered. He had no real identity or name but he had been referred to many times by many names over the years. His most recent name meant nothing to him. He couldn’t recall that Daisy May Coppertop and Benjamin Blood had given him the name Woody and he wasn’t to know that she still referred to him by that name. He had forgotten all about Daisy May, well almost.

  Forgetting is not the best way to describe his memory. She just wasn’t present so he didn’t recall her. Woody knew her alright and when he smelled Holly’s scent in the forest, when he sensed her and the thin hairs stood up on the back of his neck, he knew there was something familiar coming. That’s how it was for him. He was a creature of a very particular place with very particular and peculiar needs.