by Power, Max
Very gently, Claudette rubbed Millie’s cheek with the outside of her little finger.
“You belong in heaven with the angels’ darling, not in the place where I have to go.”
Another tear welled up, hesitated then rolled away and dropped, falling on the back of her hand.
“When I was a little girl, my daddy let me have the freedom of the kingdom. He was a king you see and I was the princess. It never mattered what I did or said, he loved me like a king should love his little princess and I was always a happy little girl.” She paused and kissed her baby on the forehead. “You should only be happy and never sad. I know my mother and grandmother will take care of you in heaven.”
More tears fell; they flowed as Claudette thought of her mother and grandmother playing with her beautiful baby. In her mind’s eye, Millie was two years old, walking with her hands held high to be picked up, hugged and loved. She knew it was impossible for her.
“I couldn’t love you like that.”
She spoke knowing her baby understood what she meant.
“Your father wouldn’t allow it.” Her face hardened as she thought of the man who had made her pregnant and destroyed her.
“He’s coming to take you away you see…only he can’t take you now, can he?”
Again she rubbed Millie’s cheek.
“That’s why I had to send you to heaven first.”
She saw herself as she spoke, placing her hand over Millie’s mouth and clasping her nose to stop her breathing. Only thirty minutes had passed since she had taken her last breath, but to Claudette, the picture in her head was like someone else’s memory. The pain she had felt during childbirth came back with the memory of what she had done, but it was nothing compared to the pain of taking her own new born baby’s life.
Claudette looked down at her dress. It was white as the snow, stained crimson now by her blood. As she bled freely, her skin paled and she knew there was little time left. Soon she would leave Millie forever. They could not go to the same afterlife such was the horror of her crime. But Claudette knew in her heart that she had saved her baby from the clutches of evil, even if that meant her own damnation. She smiled. The horror of her labour, alone in the snow, washed from her mind as though it had never happened.
She never screamed or called out once. Even when her baby ripped her and the labour pains tried to overwhelm her, Claudette knew she could not let anyone find her baby. Crying out, calling for help would have saved the child, but condemned her to her father at the same time.
There was a sound outside, the familiar crunch of boots on freezing snow. She drew Millie close once more, kissed her and said goodbye.
“I love you my precious little darling.”
Standing there when she looked up, glaring at her from the barn door, was Wormhold. He was studying the scene, trying to make sense of the picture before him. He had followed the trail of blood and while he suspected something terrible, he was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. He took long, slow, steady steps to get closer and stopped when he towered above Claudette.
“You’re early. You promised me Christmas with my baby.” She half coughed a weak laugh as she finished her sentence.
“I promised you nothing.”
Wormhold was angry and still trying to make sense of what he was witnessing.
“And I promised you nothing in return…”
This time Claudette managed a proper laugh, a sense of righteousness taking hold. She knew that while he still hadn’t fully realised it yet, she had taken from Wormhold far more than he had taken from her and it felt good. But he knew that something was wrong.
“Give me my child.”
He stood there, reaching out his hands as though his demand could give her the strength to stand. Claudette was fading and while she knew he would surely take her baby from her, she clutched Millie tight as if to deny him to the end. Seeing her intransigence, he bent on one knee and pulled her arms away, roughly taking the little bundle from her arms. He had no compassion, no gentleness, no love and she knew that she was right to have done what she did.
Wormhold drew back the blanket that had fallen about Millie’s face and looked at the dead baby in his arms. He was filled with anger. Like an animal he sniffed the child. He shook her but it was he knew pointless. Claudette watched horrified as he simply tossed her child aside into the straw like a rag doll. It was an horrific gesture. He stood up and glared down at Claudette.
“You…” He boiled with rage. “…You stupid…” He had no words. Claudette had done something he could not predict and certainly could not control. He wasn’t used to anyone getting the better of him.
“How could you? Why?”
He lashed out a boot, stamping on Claudette’s shoulder in pure vile hatred and rage. She heard her collar bone snap and fell onto her side. He continued to shout at her and as he turned away, burying his face in his hands, Claudette had only one thing in her mind.
Despite her broken collar bone and the awful pain inside as she slowly bled to death, Claudette crawled to her baby, pulled her close and re-wrapped her tiny bundle in her blanket. She had no idea why she had brought the blanket with her when she left the house to give birth in secret. It was the only thing she had brought with her. Such a strange thing to do, but no stranger than her decision to purchase it two weeks earlier as though she was ever going to keep her baby.
Claudette propped herself up against a bale of hay, her baby once more cuddled in her arms. Wormhold turned once again to face her, the full extent of his wrath written all over his face.
“Do you think I won’t kill you for what you have done?”
He stood there uncertain of what to do, clenching and unclenching his fists. This was beyond belief. Claudette coughed again, and a trickle of blood came from here lips. When he stomped on her, Wormhold had done far more damage than just breaking her collar bone.
“You can’t kill me. I’m dead already.”
He made a move forward as though he would surely finish her off but stopped himself.
“Why? Tell me why you did this thing to me?”
Claudette could not imagine a more arrogant question. He saw everything as relating to him.
“I didn’t do anything to you. I did this for my baby.” Again she coughed and this time the splatter of blood was more pronounced.
“I sent her to heaven rather than curse her to hell with you.”
Wormhold stepped forward and stood on her left ankle, crushing it with his weight, wanting her to feel more pain and she screamed for the first time that day. He stepped back.
“You can’t do this to me. You cannot do this TO ME!”
He grabbed his own thin hair and pulled, insane with rage, filled with fury, increasingly frustrated with his powerlessness.
“I can do this and much worse.” Claudette laughed and coughed and laughed again. It was a gurgling, bloody, throaty laugh.
“What do you mean?”
Wormhold was suddenly and for the first time in a very long time, frightened by her words. A woman capable of killing her own child was capable of anything. What else had she done?
“I’ve condemned you. I’ve cursed you and I curse you still with my dying breath.”
“You have no power of a curse.” Wormhold was dismissive and laughed back at her but she summoned up enough strength to talk over him. She half shouted her next words and they were bitter, angry and spat at him.
“I curse you with my last breath and my baby’s last breath. You will never have the child you seek and you will catch your breath to your dying day, as though I took it from you. As you took your child’s breath…my baby’s breath…so I take yours.”
She was talking gibberish and she was wheezing, coughing and spluttering, blood covering the front of her dress and it angered Wormhold so much that he could take no more. He stamped on her head, not once but again and again, over and over in a fit of rage like he had never experienced before.
When
he was finished, Claudette, the little ladybird was dead, a bloody mess still clutching her dead baby in her arms and Wormhold was gasping for air with the exertion. He tried to catch his breath but it was as though he couldn’t breathe. He coughed. It was a horrible, sharp, throaty cough and it took hold. Again and again he coughed and he stumbled outside and fell to his knees in the snow.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX - FOR ITS OWN SAKE
There are stories about Darkly Wood that sometimes shock and sometimes surprise. Most times there is an abiding, lingering thought that people are left with and it is of the intolerable cruelty and apparent random nature of the horrific things that happened there over the centuries.
In many cases, what people were left with was simply mystery when someone went missing in the wood never to be seen again. But on other occasions, there were hints of awfulness, blood trails or worse, mutilated bodies and simply no explanation. For the most part it was rare for a double disappearance in the wood. Usually, it was only one person who strayed there and became lost forever.
The old, old stories were always the best, for they got exaggerated over time to make them more frightening for the listener. It is human nature to exaggerate, but there was one particular story that needed nothing to be added and it was unusual to begin with, because it was the story of two people not one.
“Kiss me my love.” Those were the last words that Hugo Devaney Carruthers ever said to his wife Penelope. Well, that is not strictly true but it is the one piece of the story that somehow got added and over the years, it felt right so it is pretty much how that story ends when told. But of course I should really begin at the beginning.
“You really are the most beautiful and divine girl I have ever seen.” That was Hugo’s opening line when he first met Penelope. He was quite shy and wouldn’t normally dare be so forward, but when she was introduced to him, Hugo was momentarily speechless. Their mutual friend Harry Whipsoil knew they would be perfect for each other and no sooner had he introduced them, than he made an excuse to talk to one of his other guests that evening. Penelope spoke first.
“I think Harry is up to something.” She smiled and Hugo felt the blush in his cheeks which she noticed. “He’s always interfering. I think he believes that no one person can survive alone in this world and it is his duty to make all of his friends become closely acquainted with each other.”
Hugo watched her eyes sparkle as she spoke and his insides danced in confused excitement. He could smell her perfume and it was as though he had never had the ability to sense any scent before in his life. He was intoxicated.
“What do you think?” She brushed the back of his hand ever so gently as she asked the question and then he said it.
“You really are the most beautiful and divine girl I have ever seen.”
It was as charming in the frightened panic of the way he said it, as it was disarming. Neither of them expected Hugo to say it and what mattered most was that in her mind, she was thinking something not too different. Normally Penelope was shy and quiet, but for some strange reason she had blathered on the moment she met Hugo. She thought him handsome and noble and his words stunned her into a momentary silence.
That was in June and by the following spring they were married. No two people had ever been so in love. He watched her every move and learned what pleased her so he might do so. She adored Hugo who was far kinder and more beautiful on the inside, than even his delightfully pleasing exterior.
They held hands whenever possible as though they couldn’t bear to be parted. Each kiss they shared was gentle and sweet, each word loving and true. It seemed that what lay ahead for them was nothing but a life of love and happiness, until they came to stop in the small village of Cranby on their way to visit Penelope’s widowed aunt Gemima who lived in nearby Wickby.
Their carriage journey had been a long one and they chose to take a break to stretch their legs. It was a beautiful summer’s day and they took shelter from its heat in the local inn. It was quiet inside, a pleasantly cool space where the smell of food filled the air and they sat and ordered what was on offer, a bowl of hot meaty broth and it was quite delicious.
As they enjoyed their meal, Hugo and Penelope laughed and as was their want, frequently touched each other’s hand or elbow with an affection that was plain for the world to see. Their happiness didn’t go unnoticed. When the tall, well-appointed gentleman approached them, they had no reason to suspect anything untoward.
“Well good day to you. I hope you don’t mind, but I felt obliged to come over and offer you my sincerest congratulations.”
They looked up at the stranger, smiling with somewhat bemused looks on their faces. He didn’t give them the time to ask the obvious question.
“Forgive me, you must think me rude. I haven’t even introduced myself.”
He reached out a gloved hand which they shook in turn and he formally introduced himself.
“People call me many names, but the simplest is always the best I think. You may call me Wormhold.”
Now this is where the story gets confusing for in its telling and retelling, no one actually ever used the name Wormhold. The strange polite gentleman is called by many names where people chose to add it but the most common name used for some unknown reason is Mr. Fenwick. However Mr. Fenwick for the purpose of our understanding was in fact Wormhold so it is best that we stick to what we know to be true and refer to him as Wormhold.
“I am Hugo Devaney Caruthers and this is my wife Penelope.”
Wormhold smiled a broad smile. He was a handsome man with a mouth full of beautiful teeth.
“May I?”
Wormhold enquired if he might sit with his unfinished question and a wave of his hand.
“But of course please join us by all means.”
Both had such warm open hearts that they saw no potential malice in this stranger. Neither Hugo nor Penelope could envisage malevolence such as they had just unwittingly encountered.
“You offered us your congratulations, sir.” Hugo was curious.
“Please address me as Wormhold. Indeed I did.”
It appeared he might explain but he went off on a slight tangent.
“Is this your first visit to our lovely village? Cranby has little to offer except perhaps its vista.”
He waved his hand in the direction of the sweeping wood above the village, although the wall of the Inn stood between what he was pointing at and their little gathering. Hugo and Penelope had of course noticed Darkly Wood on their way into the village so they understood what he meant. It was impossible to miss and quite striking.
“Indeed, the scenery is quite delightful.” Penelope’s voice was soft and lyrical.
Wormhold caught her eye and held her gaze for a little too long and it made her somewhat uncomfortable. He looked away.
“I suspect you have no time as you are passing through to see the real beauty of our lovely wood.”
“It is true, we are somewhat pressed for time.”
Penelope’s quick interjection surprised her husband as they had plenty of time but he chose not to disagree with her. It was a nervous, cautious reaction to Wormhold’s stare.
“Ah well, perhaps on your next trip you might allow yourself a little extra time to enjoy our surrounds. The wood is a delight of nature for sure.”
Wormhold rose, knowing when to press and when to retire. He realised that he had made Penelope a little uncomfortable and it didn’t suit his cause to make a bad impression. Wormhold was a little annoyed at himself for making such a simple faux pas, but he didn’t show it. Besides, he had sown the seed and distracted them long enough and now the bait was on the hook, all he had to do was reel in his catch. Hugo stood in polite reply and shook his hand. He noticed that the kind stranger’s teeth seemed less white, yellow almost and it was not how he recalled noticing them before. Wormhold moved towards the nearby door, opened it but before exiting, he made a parting remark that deeply shocked them both.
“Farewell, sa
fe journey to you both and once again, congratulations.” He paused for effect. “There is nothing like a child to enliven a new marriage such as yours… and a girl to boot, how splendid.”
He was gone before they could take the remarks in. Hugo looked at Penelope as though she had been keeping a great secret from him but she too looked as shocked as her husband.
By the time they arrived at Penelope’s aunt’s house, they had dissected and turned over every moment of their meeting with the odd but polite stranger. He seemed quite pleasant but Penelope revealed her slight, uncertain discomfort at his gaze and in her recollection she began to see him staring at her stomach. She found herself gently cradling her tummy as she spoke and wondered if there could possibly be truth in what Wormhold had said.
Over the next few days, the idea took hold. It began to obsess them both and while it was still too early to know as she was not yet due her monthly discomfort, it was as though she could already feel the child grow within. Stupid as it seemed, foolish and impossible though the thought was, Wormhold they considered, might have some psychic ability, some sixth sense or gift. In such times there were many to claim such gifts and it was not beyond their capacity to believe such a thing. They wanted to believe it so much that they began to believe without a shred of evidence and it felt right.
But each night when they rolled away to their own private world, the doubts crept in. They were doubts they had in common, but didn’t share and as each morning arrived; they each had a private anxiety that needed to be resolved. By the time they were ready to leave and return home, Hugo suggested that they might once again stop in Cranby to take in the stunning wood that overlooked the village. They could perhaps picnic there to break the journey. Penelope surprised him by agreeing and went about preparing a basket for their stop. Both kept their council but secretly hoped they might once again meet the charming Wormhold, so that he might elaborate on his prediction.
Once again their departure day was fine and when they stopped in Cranby, they briefly visited the Inn for refreshment in the hope they might see Wormhold. They inquired of him with the Innkeeper but he seemed to be unaware of any such local man matching the description. When they explained that they had met him in that very establishment less than a week past, the kindly innkeeper said he remembered the couple for sure, but he had no recollection of the gentleman in question. However he had been busy with stock that day, so perhaps he had missed him.