Darkly Wood II

by Power, Max

  “You’ve already explained it to me.” Rose was anxious to get on. She was impatient.

  Daisy May knew the wood and Rose didn’t. She needed her mother so she sighed and capitulated. Daisy instructed by her actions. She simply sat down in the long grass and Rose joined her. The world was shut out in that moment as they faced each other. Above their heads sky, all around them, grass. To anyone looking across the meadow they were invisible.

  “Rose,” she began tentatively, “this place is dangerous.” She ignored the rolled eyes of her daughter who suddenly looked like she did when she was ten. “Archie your grandfather believed me I think, but he never let on. Mum wouldn’t have it and even though they didn’t like each other, he never openly disagreed with her when it came to me.”

  Daisy May loved her dad Archie dearly and his death had broken her somewhat. She felt as though she might never recover and the grief still haunted her.

  “Before he died, literally at the end, he told me he was sorry. I was holding his hand as he smiled at me.” Daisy could feel the tears well up as she recalled that terrible moment. “I should have trusted you. That’s what he said. He closed his eyes, said sorry darling and squeezed my hand. It was the last thing he ever said to me…Darling.”

  Rose was uncomfortable with the word darling, but she liked it nonetheless. It was a word of shared intimacy and Rose had never really understood what it meant to be truly intimate with anyone. Her mother had always been somewhat distant. Intimate connections made her feel uncomfortable.

  “I don’t see what that’s got to do with all of this? We need to get on Mum.” She blushed, the word slipped out against her will. She had called Daisy mum several times purely on instinct but mostly didn’t notice on the previous occasions. When she did it felt like she had forgiven her and Rose tried to cover up. “What has Grandad got to do with this?”

  “When he died, I took to looking at this place again. Not in real life mind, through my books and my research.” She half faded out the last words as a familiar darkness shadowed her daughter’s face. Daisy knew Rose despised her ‘research.’ It had changed her and came between them. But she regathered quickly.

  “He made me think that maybe what I thought had happened might be real. You can’t understand Rose but it is so very clear to me.” She could feel the scepticism in the silence. It was more than that. Rose didn’t truly believe any of it. She didn’t want to hear it again. It was something that only made sense because of her fear when Holly disappeared. Rose certainly didn’t want to admit to herself that what her mother told her could be real. At the same time deep down she felt there had to be something in it, why else had she sought her mother out? The conflict was not for resolving. For Rose vagueness allowed her to carry on. Daisy was trying to make sense of something that Rose didn’t want to hear.

  “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I think I know why what happened, really happened. I wasn’t sure before but now, I think I know…”

  “Jesus!” Rose stood up.

  “Enough. I’m going to look for my daughter. I need your help but with or without you I’m going and I’m going now. No more of your nonsense do you hear me? I won’t have it.”

  Rose was standing over her mother, her hands on her hips, her face red with anger. Daisy May stood up. There was no point. Rose thought that she was crazy like everyone else. There was a moment earlier in the day where Daisy thought that finally someone believed her, but now she felt foolish for reading her own daughter wrong. Rose turned and started to walk towards Darkly Wood and Daisy May called after her.

  “This way.”

  When Rose turned to look back, her mother was heading off at an angle towards the wood. Without replying, she followed a few paces behind. Rose knew there was something in what her mother said. It was the reason she had come looking for her when Holly went missing. Darkly Wood held a dangerous secret and it threatened her daughter. She just thought that her mother’s version was a bit crazy. She did think there was danger beyond those trees in whatever form that took. Rose was too afraid to work it through to a conclusion in her mind.

  Holly was missing and that was all that mattered. Rose knew it was something that Daisy May could help her with and she needed her mother to guide her. Daisy May, walked at a determined pace, all the time up until this moment she had been walking at an angle as if wanting to just skirt the wood, afraid to enter beyond the saplings at the edge of the forest.

  Now, she turned and made straight toward the trees. Constantly, her eyes darted left and right, always expecting to see the little boy that she and Benjamin had seen all those years ago. They both felt the cold as the canopy of leaves above cut off the heat of the sun. It was quite dramatic and Rose didn’t expect such a change. It was a familiar feeling to Daisy May. This was just as she remembered it but that familiarity was far from comforting.

  “Keep close.”

  Daisy May issued an order and Rose obeyed without question. There was something unpleasant about the place and for the first time Rose could really sense it. The ground was rough, uneven and a great hollow opened up before them. Daisy May began descending as Rose followed and when they climbed to the far side, Rose looked back to where they had come from. It looked strangely unfamiliar. Daisy May never even looked back. More than ever she knew that her experiences here were real now. She had a sense of the familiar. She marched on purposefully. Each step seemed right and it felt like something she had not experienced in a long time. Daisy May smiled for the first time in such a long time but Rose following behind didn’t see her mother’s grin.

  The light faded dramatically and Rose looked up. There was barely a sliver of light squeezing through the dense tree tops. She shivered and watched her mother readjust the small satchel on her back without breaking a step. Except for her grey hair she looked like a young woman from behind. Her mother looked full of energy and purpose, moving at pace despite the terrain.

  Deep in the wood, high in the canopy, Woody felt the first serious ‘Thump, thump’ in his head. He could taste a bitter taste in his mouth and he was remembering again. Across the wood, close to its heart, Wormhold stood perfectly still. He was remembering too, but unlike Woody’s sense memory, his memories were more real and vivid. ‘Thump, thump’ the sound went in his head and far across Darkly Wood, Daisy May was also remembering. Yes, this felt familiar. This felt like the thing she had missed all those years living alone. This, Daisy May Coppertop thought, felt like home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO – IGGLE SQUIGGLE

  When tales are told about Darkly Wood, some are tall and some are largely based on reality. The older the tale, the more the story is likely to have been interfered with by the tellers of tales who like to embellish for the sake of entertainment. Many stories border on myth and legend although to the locals, every single one, no matter how far-fetched they have become over the years, originate in fact.

  Other stories are more recent and while each calamity that befalls someone in or around the wood is separated by enough time from the previous one to make a connection tentative, the commonality of the location, endowed Darkly Wood with near legendary status.

  Of course in the summer, people picnic there almost every weekend and children climb the trees without a care in the world. Those people though, are generally outsiders, come to experience the wood for themselves. Most leave disappointed. But better to leave Darkly Wood disappointed than to not leave there at all.

  Darkly Wood seems quite normal. There are no strange goings-on or odd creatures evident. There is no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. One of the problems is that it is not a very welcoming place. Those that try to venture in too deep, are invariably turned back or turned around by its difficult terrain and dense undergrowth, all of which make it feel impenetrable.

  At its edge, Darkly Wood seems no different to any other wood, but delve deeper and it becomes a rocky, uneven place, filled with thickets of rough brush, spikey hawthorn, and dense rhododendron.
Adventurers ultimately find they are forced left or right, but always and ultimately back toward the wood’s edge. That is to say, most adventurers, for Darkly Wood has a way of leading those that do not want to go astray, to get very lost indeed, which leads me to the strange story of Iggle Squiggle.

  Kathy Crinklewood was a would-be reporter, young and curious and desperate to come up with an angle for an interesting story. The war was not long over and there was little real good news about. The elation that came after the war was largely a giant sigh of relief but the lull that followed left a hole that needed to be filled with some news that didn’t revolve around continued rationing and poverty. Worse still Kathy was a rarity, a female reporter in a man’s world. She worked part time and only really filed copy for other ‘real’ journalists and she was always only on the edge of a promise to be allowed to have her own piece. The war had given her a chance as the men were all away, but the war was over now and things had quickly changed.

  Time and time again she tried, but she was always politely but firmly, put in her place. She took to seeking out stories in her spare time, hoping that someday the story of the year would land in her lap and she would have to be noticed. It seemed like a pipe dream. That is until she met Iggle Squiggle.

  Kathy stopped off in Cranby on a beautiful and sunny Sunday morning. She had taken her bicycle on the train to the nearby larger town of Wickby and set off exploring on her bike. She paused in Cranby and leaned her bicycle on the small rail of the footbridge that forded the stream, which ran along the road at the bottom of the meadow leading up to Darkly Wood.

  Kathy had heard of Darkly Wood and was on the sniff of a piece about the place and its reputation. With no idea where to begin she stood looking up at the imposing wood and was startled by a voice that made her jump. Almost pressing against her shoulder when she turned, so close in fact that he stepped back to avoid her knocking into him, was a small, thin man wearing a smart black suit.

  “I’d stay well enough away dear.”

  They were the words that made her jump. He had a most peculiar accent that she couldn’t place and a crooked nose. Kathy stood at least seven or eight inches taller than the odd man.

  “Oh, hello.” Kathy had been startled and that was all she could think to say. The strange man walked past her and into the meadow a good ten feet in front of where she was standing and stopped with his back to her facing Darkly Wood. He cupped his hands behind his back.

  “Not a place for a girl like you…no, no, no.”

  It felt like a challenge. Kathy hated being told what to do. She walked around him and faced the strange man, looking down from an even higher position due to the slope of the hill.

  “Are you a local?” She knew how to handle people, or at least she thought she did and she felt this little man might just have a story or two.

  “Iggle.”

  She had no idea what he said. It made no sense.

  “Iggle Squiggle.”

  Now she thought he was just talking gibberish and he was familiar with the confusion he caused. It was a quite deliberate tactic.

  “That’s my name, or at least that’s what people call me around these parts. My real name is Icarus Squiggle. Mother had a strange liking for mythology. I could never say it as a child and I used to say my name as Iggle. It stuck and it is no worse than Icarus so that’s me. You are…?”

  “Kathy Crinklewood, nice to meet you Mister Squiggle.” She extended her hand which he took and limply shook. He looked past her and pointed with his head toward the wood.

  “That place is not for the likes of you my dear. Best take your bicycle and enjoy the day elsewhere.” He stepped past her and began walking toward the wood without saying goodbye.

  There was a moment where she though the better of it and she glanced at the little foot bridge and her bicycle. Some faded instinct told her not to follow Iggle Squiggle, but she didn’t listen. Kathy started to walk behind him, up the hill toward the wood.

  “Wait, please.” She called after him but the odd, neat little crooked-nosed man carried on, ignoring her as she followed him to Darkly Wood.

  For a small man with skinny legs, he moved at quite a pace. He never looked back or spoke and she had to almost run to keep up. The grass was summer long and it was a fair trek until they reached the tree line where he finally stopped.

  Iggle Squiggle turned and looked at Kathy. She was a plain girl but there was something about her that stirred him. He liked the blush in her cheek and as she looked away into the wood, catching her breath, Iggle Squiggle watched the rise and fall of her bosom and he stirred some more.

  “Why are you here?” He asked the question in a soft voice. It was so soft she barely heard the question.

  “I heard stories of this place and I wanted to see it for myself.” Kathy looked at Iggle who blushed for some reason and then she realised that he had been staring at her breasts. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, though not threatened. He was not the first man to be caught in the act.

  “Are any of them true?” She walked away to diffuse her discomfort, looking into the darkness that seemed to soak the light not far from the wood’s edge.

  “Depends.” He walked after her and past her again, moving beyond the streaks of sunlight that broke the tree line. She followed at a slight distance, unconsciously.

  “On what?” she asked.

  “On which story you want to believe.” It seemed an odd answer and Kathy quizzed him a little further.

  “Do you know of any that are true?”

  They moved deeper past the leading edge of Darkly Wood and Kathy felt the chill of the air once the rays of the sun were blocked. There was a discernible shift in temperature and light and she glanced over her shoulder. It seemed they had gone deeper into the Wood than she had anticipated very quickly. Something moved in the undergrowth to her left and it startled her. Iggle Squiggle kept walking seemingly oblivious to the movement and sound.

  “Oh I do indeed.”

  Again, something moved, but this time it was above her head and as she looked up the sky darkened. Kathy lowered her head and Iggle Squiggle was gone. She spun around but he was nowhere to be seen. Once more there was a rustle in the undergrowth, this time something moved very fast across her path up ahead from left to right. It sent a spike of cold through her and she turned to head back. When she did, the route she had taken into the wood seemed lost in a mad confusion of tree and shrub. There were massive rhododendrons that she somehow had missed directly behind her and she could not remember which way she had come.

  “Hello?” She called out more in fear than hope. It now seemed equally dangerous to run from, or seek out the man she had just met who called himself Iggle Squiggle. A burst of laughter came spilling through the trees and she panicked. Kathy took off, suddenly recognising the depth of her fear. It came on her like a surprise. There was no warning and it overwhelmed her as she ran blindly in the direction she thought was back to the open plain of the meadow, back to Cranby. That terror could sneak up on her in such a fashion, surprised poor Kathy and once it took hold everything else was forgotten. Logic and sense were the first victims.

  The ground became uneven and the rise and fall almost tripped her over many times. With each step, rather than escape its clutches, she ran deeper into Darkly Wood and with each breath her lungs burned, but she ran beyond herself until she finally collapsed onto the floor of the forest.

  For an age, Kathy Crinklewood simply lay there; face down, the only sound was her heavy breath as she panted to recover. Slowly she began to regain her logic. She was stupid. This was a prank, no more than that and she had panicked. Kathy tucked her hands beneath her chin and smiled. What a fool she was. In the moment of her smile, in that softening of her tense shoulders, came the opportunity for something far darker than Iggle Squiggle to take advantage of her predicament and a long fingered hand wrapped itself around her left ankle and pulled.

  Iggle Squiggle became famous for a while. He was the l
ast person to see the young, aspiring lady reporter before she disappeared. He had spoken to her and warned her not to walk alone in the Wood, that’s what he told the police and the many reporters who came to tell of the shocking disappearance of Kathy Crinklewood.

  He was ample in his yarn-spin and told them all how she had complimented him on his suit, admired his accent and laughed at his strange name. She was looking for a story he told them, but he had none to tell so she headed up to Darkly Wood to find one for herself. Little did Kathy Crinklewood know, that she would become the story she so wanted to write. She was never found and soon forgotten, but Iggle Squiggle, was remembered for far longer because of his peculiar nature and his very wonderful name. What was even stranger was that it was not his real name, only one he had borrowed for a while. Iggle Squiggle was less than his true self when in character. His true identity made him more important than anyone else could have possibly imagined.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE – LOOKING FOR CHARLIE

  The night was filled with fear. Holly was alone with Charlie’s lifeless body. She held him, frightened to move in the black storm of the night that promised to pour rain down upon them but never did. The wind rose and fell away constantly and thunder threatened.

  Somehow despite the stress and her deep fear, she had fallen asleep. It seemed impossible but when Holly opened her eyes, she was curled up face down on the forest floor, tucked up in a curled ball among the leaf litter of the forest floor. It only took her a moment to remember what had had happened and she sprung to her feet, her body instantly racing with adrenalin. Waking up to fright is such a terrible thing. Holly looked around and the wood seemed somehow much more normal. It was still a peculiar place with so much dense canopy above that the light was dim and it played tricks on your eyes, but in the morning light it certainly felt less imposing.

  As she remembered where she was, a more chilling realisation overcame Holly. Charlie was gone. It was an even more frightening thought that he had vanished without her waking from her slumber. The feelings his absence created were confusing. For a moment she felt hope. Perhaps he was fine after all despite her belief that Charlie was dead, maybe he had been alive all that time and he was close by.