by Robin Jarvis
“Happy hunting, my Lord,” he murmured, thinking of what was waiting in those trees.
“Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…” Spencer counted.
Jangler turned and looked over at the cabin next to his own. In the window, a corner of the curtain lifted and he nodded at it.
The wood was filled with the sound of children shrieking and laughing, searching for hiding places, but too excited and nervous to stay concealed. They raced round trees, ducked under low branches and crawled into caves of bracken. When they encountered one another, they screamed and wheeled around, tearing back the way they had come. But gradually the fun turned to fear as the drink took total control and the happy sounds became shrieks of terror and panic.
High overhead the leaves rustled. A darkness moved from tree to tree. The frothing mould of Austerly Fellows kept a hungry watch. It had been patient, but now it was time.
Breathless and anxious, Jody collapsed against an oak and slid to the ground. Somewhere out there she heard Christina calling for her. Jody trembled and hugged herself. Fear hit her in waves, freezing the blood that pumped through her pounding heart. She looked down at the roots spread out below the tree. Were they twisting and writhing in the soil?
“No,” she told herself. “It isn’t real.”
Craning her head back, she stared at the dimming sky through the leaf canopy and beads of icy sweat dotted her forehead. The branches started to move. They rippled like tentacles and she could feel the bark pushing against her back as the oak tree breathed.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she put her head between her knees and covered her ears.
Marcus had pursued Charm deep into the wood.
“This is far enough!” he called, taking hold of her hand and pulling her to a stop. “No one’ll find us here, Beautiful.”
“I don’t wanna get bit,” she answered. “I’m royalty I am. Royalty can’t get bit. In the book a unicorn saves the Jill of Whatsit from the werewolf. I need to find meself a unicorn. Here, uni uni… here, uni uni…”
Marcus pulled her closer. She staggered into him.
“If you’re looking for a horny animal,” he began crassly.
“’Ere!” she sniggered, blinking at him. “Your face. It’s a proper mess, innit? You look like a mashed purple spud!”
“You like playing hard to get, don’t you? I used to enjoy that before DJ, but not now, not when we’ve got so little time. Two days wasted and tomorrow’s the last one.”
“The sun’ll come out, tomorrow!” she sang. “I love that film, I do. An’ I like Legally Blonde! Oh, doubly love that, I do. No one else spotted the dodgy syrup on her near the end after she wins the case. I did. I’m not fick, see.”
“God, you’re so sexy,” Marcus breathed. “You and me deserve each other. Come here!”
He put his arms round her and leaned in for the kiss.
“What you doing?” she screeched, pushing him away. “You got the wrong princess. I’m not kissin’ no frogs!”
She thrust him back so forcefully he lost his balance and went crashing into a patch of nettles.
“Here, uni uni,” she called, tottering off into the distance. “Here, uni uni…”
Back at the camp, Spencer had counted up to eighty.
Alasdair ran into the trees. He could hear a babble of young voices and the noise of many children crashing through the undergrowth some way ahead. He saw nothing.
Lee came jogging up behind. He was out of breath, but with a clearer idea of what to do.
“You go left, I go right,” he directed. “Pull them kids outta there. Drag ’em if you have to. We gotta stop this stupid game.”
Alasdair agreed and plunged into the wood. Lee stared at the gloomy, shadow-wrapped trees and tried not to think of his terror the previous night. The food he had stashed was somewhere over there – the place where he had seen that horror rear up in front of him.
“Lee Jules Sherlon Charles,” he addressed himself sternly. “You better man-up. Get your scared ass in there and do this.”
With a fierce look on his face, he ran in.
Alasdair pressed deeper into the woodland. Cupping his hands round his mouth, he called the names of the boys in his hut, then shouted for Jody, Maggie, Charm and Marcus.
Suddenly a voice cried down to him from above.
“Run!” it warned. “You must hide. A werewolf is coming!”
Alasdair started and took a step back. “Who’s that?” he asked.
A movement high up the nearest tree caught his eye. He glimpsed a cloaked figure clambering among the boughs.
“Come doon from there!” he shouted. “Get doon here – right noo.”
“I’m keeping a lookout!” the young voice answered. “When I see the ferocious beast, I’m going to fight it and save everyone.”
“We’re no playing that game no more. Come doon!”
There was a flurry of leaves and the sound of boots slipping against bark. A boy blur swung into view. Then it dropped down. He landed on one knee, with a fist touching the ground and his head lowered. Alasdair had seen that exact same pose in a dozen superhero movies. He thought it looked stupid and phoney in those, but here it was downright barmy. He wondered if the lad had hurt his knee doing that.
The boy raised his face. It was set and serious. Alasdair recognised him as the one who had tried to break up the fight between Lee and Marcus.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Dinnae go climbing anything. Just go back to where the trees start and wait. I’ll be sending everyone else that way, soon as I find them.”
“I will aid you in your search,” Jim Parker declared, rising and putting his hands on his sides.
“Nay, thanks. I reckon I can manage.”
“Ha!” Jim laughed. “You don’t think I’ll be much use, just a kid – yes?”
“I dinnae want a debate. Can you no just do as I’m askin’?”
Jim folded his arms and came closer.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’m not just any normal person. I’m more than that.”
Alasdair didn’t have time for this crazy, drug-induced nonsense. He shook his head and tried continuing on his way. Jim jumped in front of him.
“It’s true!” he said. “I’ve got a secret. No one must know. I shouldn’t tell anyone, but I think I can trust you.”
“I’m no interested,” the Scot replied crossly. “Just shift yourself out of here and wait.”
Jim grabbed his shoulders. “I’m not like everyone else! I’ve suspected it for a while, but now I know. This weekend it’s going to happen to me. I’m going to change. I feel stronger already. I think it’s started.”
“Oh, hell,” Alasdair uttered, shrugging him off. “No more Jax rubbish.”
“No, not that! The book can’t work on me – I’m special.”
“You an’ me both, laddie.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it either before,” Jim continued. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense. Don’t you see? If that book can have such power then other things must do as well. Other astounding things are possible – they can happen. Look, I’ll show you, but you mustn’t breathe a word!”
Before Alasdair could answer, the boy had pulled his shirt open and bared his chest.
“Oh, God!” Alasdair cried in horror. “Who did that to ye?”
Even in the failing light he could see an ugly pale scar forming a large ‘J’ on Jim’s skin.
“Did your folks do it? Did they? Because the book hadn’t worked on you, they thought burning the mark of a Jack into you would help it along? They branded you! The sadistic lunatics!”
The younger boy laughed.
“They didn’t do it!” he boasted. “I did – with my father’s soldering iron. It did hurt but I had to. It was part of the change, you see. Part of the ordeal you have to go through. And it doesn’t stand for ‘Jack’, it stands for ‘Jim’. That’s my name, Jim Parker. But when I get my pow
ers, I’m going to be known as ‘Jim Credible’.”
“Your powers?”
“Yes. I’m turning into a superhero, like the mutants in the X-Men. It’s going to happen this weekend. I’m absolutely certain. The need is dire, the hour is dark and someone has to step forward. That’s how these things work. It’s so I can protect everyone. I told you last night I would. I’m going to stand against the Ismus and fight for what he’s destroying. A hero for Britain, and everything that makes this country great: King Arthur, Nelson, Henry the Eighth, Francis Drake, Stonehenge, football, chips, Shakespeare, Merlin – Nessie!”
Alasdair recoiled, but was consumed with pity. Whatever Jim had been through in the last five months, it had tipped him over the edge. His way of coping with the insanity of Dancing Jax had been to retreat from reality and go quietly insane himself. It was a wonder more of them hadn’t gone the same way. Maybe they had and he just hadn’t noticed.
“OK,” the Scot said gently. “You come help find the others with me, eh?”
“Remember,” Jim cautioned, fastening up his shirt. “Not a word. I don’t even know what my powers are going to be yet.”
“I promise,” Alasdair said sadly.
Deep in the wood Marcus was blowing on his hands. They were burning and bumpy with stings. He was glad now of his costume’s long sleeves and woollen hose.
“I’m done with her,” he fumed, thinking about Charm. “It’s her loss. I’ve had better.”
He stumbled forward, not caring where he was going. When he finally looked up from his hands, he saw a familiar figure crouched at the base of an oak tree ahead.
“Ooo-arr,” he greeted. “It be Velma from Scooby Doo – though in your case it’s more like Scooby Don’t.”
Jody lifted her face. She was shivering.
“You want my jacket thing?” Marcus offered, removing his jerkin and putting it over her shoulders.
She stared at him, wild-eyed. Her lips moved to speak, but she said nothing.
Marcus glanced around quickly. They were alone. He knelt next to her.
“I know you an’ me got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “How about we start over? Do you er… you know, fancy a quick one? Might as well while we’re here, eh? Silly not to. We won’t get another chance and we’ll be bussed back first thing Monday.”
The girl looked confused. To her, Marcus was a wobbling shape in the midst of a shimmering, undulating world and his voice seemed to be emanating from the tree behind her.
“I won’t tell nobody,” he said coaxingly.
At that moment, Spencer came charging into the wood, yipping and howling like a coyote.
Jody heard that. To her, it was coming from everywhere. The surrounding trees were screaming.
“Make it stop!” she shrieked. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”
Marcus pulled away and swore. “You’re such a buzzkill!” he ranted. “You’re like anti-Viagra! Know what, I was only offering out of charity. I wouldn’t touch you with someone else’s.”
He staggered off.
Still terrified, Jody cradled her head in her heads, sobbing.
Spencer’s howls carried through the twilight.
“I gotta tell Kid Coyote to shut it,” Lee muttered. “He’s making it even worse.”
All he’d seen since entering the wood were the backs of fleeing children and he wasn’t fast enough to catch them.
Entering a glade, he followed one of the many new trails criss-crossing the bracken and stopped abruptly. Two pairs of frightened eyes were peering up from beneath the fern fronds. Rupesh and Tommy were hunched together on the ground, hoping he’d walk by.
“Hey, babes in the wood,” he said. “Get out here.”
“The werewolf!” Tommy whimpered. “He’ll eat us!”
Rupesh began scuttling away.
“Get back here!” Lee ordered. “I’m a good guy. Don’t make me haul you out. It’ll put me in a real bad mood.”
The boys whispered to one another, then crept out shyly.
Another howl went coursing through the trees. The boys shrank back and would have run off if Lee hadn’t snatched hold of them.
“I have really got to have harsh words with that cowboy,” he grumbled.
Maggie was sitting on a fallen tree, mopping her brow with her sleeve.
“That werewolf’ll just have to bite me,” she said breathlessly. “This chassis isn’t built for chasing about.”
Her large frame shook as she laughed at nothing. Then she hitched up the medieval skirts she had twice tripped over and squinted at her grazed shins. The light was failing fast now, but her fuchsia hair almost glowed in the gloom. Looking at her bare legs, she tittered and swished the skirt about, kicking her feet in the air as she hummed the cancan. Then she toppled over and fell back, off the tree trunk.
Marcus found her howling with laughter, legs flailing helplessly above her head.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
Maggie twisted her head about to see who this upside-down person was.
“Hello, gawjus!” she said. “I’m stuck! That’s what’s funny. Everything’s funny – ha ha ha ha! You’re hilarious.”
“Don’t you laugh at me!” he snapped. “I’m sick of being laughed at. Everyone laughs at me here. You’re idiots the lot of you!”
“Oh, poor luv,” she said sympathetically. “I won’t do it again, Brownie’s honour… ooh – now I’m thinking of chocolate brownies – ha ha ha ha!”
“You want a hand getting up?”
“You got a forklift on standby there?” she spluttered.
“Your body is disgusting,” Marcus said. “You know that, don’t you? How does anyone get so immense?”
“Perseverance,” she laughed. “It’s not easy you know. Anyone can be skinny and ponce about in Lycra. Takes serious hard work and dedication to get this big.”
“Why is everything a joke to you? Aren’t you ashamed to be so obese?”
“No, but my far from delightful stepmother is – or was – and that’s what mattered. Anyway I like to think of myself as Rubenesque and voluptuous.”
“Vomitous, more like.”
She raised her hand and twirled it about.
“Give me a pull up then,” she said.
Marcus reached out and clasped her hand in both of his. He pulled and strained, digging his heels in the ground. Maggie lifted momentarily then slumped back again, yanking him down on top of her. She burst out laughing once more.
Her body quaked with mirth and the boy slid off. But he didn’t jump up straight away or make vicious jibes about bouncy castles. He felt her breath rising and falling next to him and could feel her heat through the linen of his shirt. All expression drained from Marcus’s face as he realised he hadn’t been this close to anyone in a long time. The swaggering front he had hidden behind collapsed like a castle of sand beneath a cold, crashing wave and he suddenly felt totally alone. The shock of it forced a painful cry from deep in his chest and tears fell from his eyes.
Maggie’s laughter ceased and she turned to him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “I was only messing. Not making fun of you.”
Marcus rolled over and hid his face.
“I’m so bloody lonely,” he wept desperately. “I’ve got no one, no friends, my family don’t want to know. I’ve got nothing. I can’t stand it.”
“Oh, babes,” she said tenderly. “Come here.”
She pulled him closer, moved the nettled hand from his face and kissed him. Marcus kissed back.
Christina had wandered fearfully through the trees, searching for Jody. Finally she found her, still huddled under the oak, still locked in the May Cup nightmare. The seven-year-old ran over and threw her arms round her.
“It’s OK,” Christina whispered, stroking her hair. “We’ll be OK. Don’t be scared.”
Jody couldn’t hear her.
Spencer was bounding through the undergrowth. He had read countless books on the Old W
est and the knowledge inflamed the effects of the drugs. Now he was convinced he was the coyote from Native American mythology. He was Akba Atatdia, Old Man Coyote, he without family, the First Scolder, the Spying Moon, the trickster god who created the Milky Way.
Spencer truly believed that’s who he was. When he caught any of the others, he wasn’t going to bite them. The boy removed his spectacles. Akba Atatdia was a tremendous show-off – his party trick was to juggle his own eyeballs. That’s what he was going to do.
High above, the real predator had viewed the young people running through the woodland in various states of fear, panic, elation, lust and paranoia. At last the dark cloud of frothing mould made its selection. The foaming black mass flowed through the branches and poured down on to the head of the one it had chosen.
A scream more shrill, more horrific than any so far that night rang out under the trees. In the chaos and confusion, nobody recognised it for what it was. In that moment, one of those young people died and the splinter of Austerly Fellows’ mind seized control of the body.
In his cabin, Jangler was wondering if he should remove his bothersome shoes when a jaunty little tune announced the ringing of his phone.
“Hello?” he said, holding it to his face, bending one waxed end of his moustache as he did so.
“My dear Lockpick,” the voice of the Ismus spoke into his ear. “It is done.”
The old man beamed and tapped his desk with his free hand.
“Splendid, my Lord!” he cried. “I promise I shan’t try to guess which one you’re hiding inside.”
“You’d better go out there and call them in before they damage themselves. They’re bumbling about like the hopeless dullards they are. Put them to bed for the night. They need to be bright-eyed for tomorrow.”
“Of course. So shall I switch off the bridging devices?”
“Whatever for? Don’t get soft on me, Jangler. Let’s not forget what function the dirty aberrants are serving there. The Queen of Hearts’ May Cup is the perfect fuel to inspire their darkest dreams.”