by Power, Max
They looked into each other’s eyes, knowing they were nearing the end and the exchange was more meaningful than either one imagined. They had both fought with unyielding abandon and they could not help but admire what they saw in the other, for it was a reflection of their own courage and a brief understanding and respect flickered in that exchange. As Magne watched the creature, he saw a softening of his features. He raised the axe and he hesitated. Charlie just laid there, new thoughts entering his mind. He felt pain like he hadn’t felt before. Charlie felt something else and it was fear. It showed in his eyes and Magne considered holding back for a moment and it was in that moment that he noticed something new in the wood.
He looked up and at first he wasn’t sure but then something moved and he saw it clearly. Charlie followed his gaze and he saw it too. Magne lowered his axe and climbed off from Charlie’s body. He turned, still on his knees to face the new danger in the Wood. Charlie struggled to raise himself and kneeled beside his mighty foe.
They knelt there together, enemies until a moment before, now facing an onslaught together, one like they could have never imagined. They stared oblivion in the face. Charlie looked into familiar eyes. But it wasn’t just one pair of eyes. There were eyes everywhere, all around them, slowly advancing on the two battle-weary warriors. For Charlie it was like a kaleidoscope of mirrored images. For Magne he was facing a hoard of beasts exactly like the one he had just barely overcome. They were everywhere. Darkly Wood was alive with creatures a veritable army of Woody’s.
CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT – TO HELL
Charity thought that she would die. Her pain was indescribable. How a man could inflict such brutality on a girl was hard for her to comprehend but to Charity, Wormhold was not a man. He was a monster. The words she tried to squeeze out were unintelligible.
“Go to Hell.”
She could barely move her broken jaw. Wormhold laughed as he stood over her and Charity watched his dancing eyes sparkle for a moment, but only for a moment. The sparkle faded and he dropped to his knees beside her. She expected he was going to finish her off and she was ready. When he slumped to one side she saw the strange woman that she had mistaken for Miss Claudette, standing there holding the poker. It was dripping with blood.
“Are you OK? Can you stand?”
Charity couldn’t speak but she shook her head. Daisy tried to help her to her feet but she groaned in agony. Wormhold had smashed her legs. Daisy didn’t want to leave the poor girl. She had run Wormhold through with the poker but she had not escaped the house. She grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
“Let me help you. You have to try.”
The door opened behind her and when she turned she was faced with a shocked looking Reginald Carrywell. He looked about the room taking in the scene, finally resting his attention on his badly injured wife.
“Charity!”
His voice was filled with concern and Daisy stood aside, allowing her husband attend to her. She stepped back as he knelt above her and she looked out through the door that Carrywell had just opened. The reception area was bare.
Charity could see Reginald’s face. She knew the man better than anyone. She knew how capable he was of cruelty and in his eyes she saw nothing else. He smiled at her and whispered.
“You foolish girl.”
He stood up and turned to face Daisy.
“You should wait outside; I’ll attend to this and come find you.”
Daisy wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’t trust the man who had earlier blocked her path.
“I’ll wait here thank you.” She was firm in her answer.
“Very well, if that is what you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His words made no sense until he bent down and in a single wild motion Reginald picked up the heavy, bloody poker, raised it high and smashed it down on his wife’s head. Blood sprayed onto his clothes and he swung again…then again and again and again. He was a man possessed and he pummelled her about the head, smashing bone, crushing her kind face until there was nothing recognisable left.
Daisy could do nothing. She turned and ran. She ran to the kitchen, heading back out the way she had come past the subdued staff and she didn’t stop or look back. She was soon descending the stairs that she had climbed earlier and quickly found herself in the underground tunnel again.
She stopped for a moment, not sure which direction they had come from. Right or left? It was right Daisy felt sure and she took off again. Daisy tripped and fell into the moving sludge of the floor and quickly leapt back to her feet, covered in filth. On and on she ran until she came to a fork in the tunnel. She didn’t recall a fork but she acted on instinct and this time chose the one to the left.
Eventually she came to a wider space as the tunnel opened out into an almost circular room. It was still only dimly lit by wall torches, as was the tunnel they came through on their way in to Fairly Hall. What was different was that there were a series of doors, six in total, with three on either side where the tunnel had become wider. She could keep going out through the tunnel as it continued on past the space she was in, or she could go back. They had definitely not come this way before and she considered going back to the fork. She must have taken the wrong option.
A shout came out from behind her. It sounded like Carrywell but she couldn’t be sure as the sound was muffled underground. Going back was no longer a choice. She looked at the doors. No, Daisy feared they would lead her into more danger so she ran past them and on into the tunnel beyond. But she got no more than fifty yards when the tunnel turned out to be a dead end. She had no choice and she returned to the doors. Again she heard a voice shout something that she couldn’t quite make out.
She looked at the doors. Six doors, six choices all of them could lead her to disaster. Once more there was a shout and it was closer. Daisy acted as she always did on instinct, opening the nearest door to her. She was faced with a set of stone stairs and Daisy started up them without any hesitation. The stairwell was dark. At the top she could see daylight so she hurried on, but her feet seemed to stick to the steps. They were covered in a thick, gloopy substance and each step gripped her more. She had to pull her feet from her shoes to free herself and she tried to walk at the side where they were less gloopy. It felt cold and unpleasant on her bare feet but she moved as quickly as she could go and tried not to imagine what that stuff might be.
Below her in the darkness as she neared the light at the top, Daisy heard movement as someone came through the door after her. It spurred her on and she quickly reached the top. The light spilled through the door and Daisy May Coppertop pushed it up and open. It was an old, rotting, wooden trap door of sorts, sitting at a forty five degree angle and it had been held ajar with an even older, rotting piece of driftwood.
The bright sunlight was blinding. Daisy clambered up onto her knees and out into a glorious day and a bewildering environment. She was standing on a sandy beach. Instinct drove her to look back at the door she had just come through. Her fear was that Carrywell would emerge and instinct again tried to drive her, to tell her to run but something very simple stopped her. As she looked back, Daisy May Coppertop caught sight of her shadow on the beach. There was a light breeze blowing from the sea and it blew her dress against her legs. She wasn’t looking at her own shadow. She couldn’t be?
Daisy examined her clothes. It was impossible. She stood there in a light, red summer dress with short sleeves, perfect for a walk on the beach. She touched her hair and it was thick and wavy. Daisy held it between her fingers and pulled the long strands forward to discover she was no longer grey but a brunette. This was like a dream. She felt like Alice in Wonderland and then she spun around to see something else she hadn’t expected.
There sitting upright in the sand with his back to her, was the thick, unmistakable form of Wormhold. His hat and scarf lay on the sand beside him and thin strands of wispy red hair blew across his head. He didn’t move.
Of all the incredible th
ings that Daisy had encountered along her journey through life, this felt the most surreal. The sand was hot beneath her feet and she walked slowly towards the cruel man that she thought she had killed. When she was no more than three feet away, Daisy stopped and she stared at the back of his head. Although the wind blew from his front and the shadows cast behind him, although Daisy had walked as softly and as silently as she could on the sand, he somehow knew she was there.
“Come Daisy May Coppertop, sit with me.”
She watched him for a moment without answering and she felt something familiar begin to take hold. It was impossible to identify but it was there in her mind, a sense of Déja vu. Whatever niggled at her, poked at the shoulder of her mind, she decided to accept his offer and walked around to face the man she had grown to fear. Without saying a word, she sat cross-legged on the sand before him and looked at his face.
He wore his handsome face, a little older than his best perhaps, almost bald but still handsome. There was no sign of the decay and devastation that she had seen before. He nearly seemed normal.
“You never believed in God did you girl?”
“No.” Her answer was short and true.
“Thought not.”
There was a scattering of sea shells on the sand in front of him and Wormhold toyed with them like a small boy.
“It was a mistake bringing you back. I know that now. But…I suppose I would have had to deal with you eventually.”
He was making no sense. Daisy watched him make a small circle with the sea shells.
“You know some people say there has to be a heaven because there surely is a hell. I don’t believe in heaven. There is a hell though. I should know. I live in it every day.” He suddenly spread his arms and invited her to look around the beautiful beach upon which they sat.
“Welcome to Hell Daisy May Coppertop. Welcome to Hell.” He dropped his arms and resumed playing with his shells.
“What do you want Wormhold? Why did you bring me back? Where am I?” There were too many questions.
“You are with me Daisy. Seems I can’t shake you, try as I might. I guess someday you’ll be the death of me…someday.”
He seemed sad, resigned. There was little of the monster there before her.
“You need to tell me. What do you want?”
She narrowed the focus to one question but Wormhold seemed no more likely to reveal anything to her. He spoke in riddles.
“When is a girl not a girl?”
“What?”
“Precisely Daisy May, Precisely.”
She stood up.
“You’re mad.”
“Are you sure my girl? Are you sure it’s me who is mad? He struggled to his feet and stood in front of her.
“You want answers? Then close your eyes.”
Daisy didn’t want to close her eyes but he shouted at her and she wanted answers so desperately that she did as he asked. Wormhold grabbed her shoulders and squeezed tight. It hurt and she opened her eyes to see his face inches from her face.
“Close your damned eyes and keep them closed until I tell you to open them if you ever want to see your family again.”
His voice was harsh, demanding and Daisy May wanted to see her girls again so once more, she closed her eyes and held them shut tight. What happened next was as unexpected as it was unnerving. Wormhold gently pressed his lips to hers for the most fleeting of kisses and then held his mouth just an inch from hers. He whispered to her.
“Now keep them closed, no matter what.”
Then he pressed his lips to her lips once more. His kiss was firm, demanding and surprisingly not unpleasant. She felt herself sink into his kiss. Daisy allowed her lips to part and he pressed more hungrily. His kiss became everything. With her eyes closed all of her senses diminished. She could no longer feel the sunlight on her face or the breeze on her skin. All sound vanished and in her darkness all that mattered now was that kiss. It became her world, magnificent, erotic, sensual, a kiss of delight, promising more, teasing, pleasing, taking her to a place where her desire stirred and her heart began to race. Just as she thought that kiss would lead her to ecstasy, Wormhold pulled his lips back ever so gently and their lips seemed to stick together for a final moment before they softly disengaged. Wormhold released his grip on her arms and stepped back.
“Open your eyes, Daisy May Coppertop. Open your eyes.”
She opened her eyes and it was dark. They were no longer standing on a beach in the sunshine. They were in some great garden beneath the light of the moon and she wore a beautiful dress, very different to her summer dress. Her feet were still bare and she could feel grass beneath her toes.
Daisy looked around and could see a great house not far away. It was brightly lit from inside, with sounds of revelry drifting across the night. She turned around and slapped her hand to her mouth when she saw the body of a man lying at her feet with his head bashed in.
“That one’s your fault.”
She spun around to see a very dashing version of Wormhold standing there with a bloodied silver-topped cane in his hand.
“What?” She was so confused, her head was spinning.
“Him…that fool at your feet. You toyed with him and I killed him.”
“But I never…”
“Oh but you did my girl. You knew what I would do behind your innocent smile. You always know. I killed him for you.”
Daisy tried to understand but it was so confusing. She was used to being in control. Daisy knew that she had to get a grip on reality but Wormhold was it appeared, simply trying to confuse her. She had no idea what was happening or where she was but she had to get to a place in her head that made sense.
“Take me back.”
It was a simple request and although Wormhold knew what she meant, he was enjoying the moment too much.
“You always ask the wrong questions.”
He laughed and then he strode purposefully towards her. She wasn’t expecting it but he lashed out, striking her across the side of the head with his cane. It was a ferocious blow and she hit the ground hard. It rendered her unconscious.
Daisy had no idea how long she was out but as she came around, she could hear whimpering. For a few moments she couldn’t open her eyes. Wormhold was there, she could sense him now. There was a thumping noise in her head, like the one she remembered from earlier in the tunnel. It had been there all along only it had become like background noise. Now it was louder and the noise hurt her head.
Wormhold had told her they were in Hell and she didn’t believe it. When she finally opened her eyes, Hell seemed like the very word to describe what she was seeing. Daisy May Coppertop closed her eyes almost immediately. She didn’t want to see the thing she had seen, but it was unavoidable. She couldn’t unsee it now so she opened her eyes once more to the horror.
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE – DRUZLE LEEK
That some people are unpleasant goes without saying. There are those who when you first encounter them, make you feel uncomfortable. You know instinctively that there is something about this person that you just will not take to. Druzle Leek was such an individual.
He came from somewhere in Eastern Europe that much was surmised by the people of Cranby. They were not shy when it came to looking for gossip or trying to find out one’s personal details, but Druzle Leek simply refused to allow insight into his world. He skilfully avoided telling anyone his business but that skill only made the people of the town distrust him more.
He bought the house which once belonged to Cathecus Flincher and it was always thought to be an unlucky house. In the generations that had passed since the Flinchers had lived there, no one had managed to stick with that place. Owners came and went it seemed and it was one more peculiar thing about Druzle as he seemed to thrive there.
He renamed it Middlehouse. The name was something of an oddity for those that lived in the town, for it was very much at the end of everything, right at the back of the village. When asked why he called the house by
that name he simply replied,
“Because it is the middle.”
His answer made so little sense and was delivered with such belief and authority that no one argued.
“And so tell me… Druzle, that’s a most unusual name, where’s it from?”
This was the sort of question the locals might test the ground with in order to learn more about the strange man who had come to settle in their midst.
“My mother gave it to me” he would answer.
“And was she Russian?
“She was a lady my mother, now please leave me to read my paper.”
He was curt and feared hurting no one’s feelings. Druzle just wasn’t going to share. Everything about him added to his unpleasantness, his, hair, his posture, the way he walked, the clothes he wore and the very sound of his voice irritated people. Of course not liking someone for such superficial reasons was one thing, finding a real reason was entirely another matter.
Druzle attended church every Sunday. People thought he did not have the look of a Christian man, but again this was such a loose, unfounded reason to suspect him of anything. He paid his way, was generous and charitable, never refused a request for assistance and did no one real thing to offend anyone in Cranby. Still…He was a man that people were suspicious of and while he didn’t encourage such suspicion, he certainly didn’t do much to allay their misgivings.
Druzle appeared secretive. He always had money yet he never seemed to work. His posture was one that suggested arrogance and he wore only the best of clothes. He was neither married nor had much to do with women. Druzle was a strange combination of everything that might lead folk in a small village to be suspicious.
Of course while they had no real reason to believe their suspicions were anything other than pure speculation, if they had known the truth about the man, they would have been shocked by just how much they underestimated him. Take the last Sunday that passed for example. After church, Druzle returned home to the former home of Cathecus Flincher, walked the well-worn path from the gate to the door and made his way to the kitchen. He slid the heavy wooden table to one side with ease, pulled back the mat that lay beneath it to reveal a trap door in the floor.