Wake Wood

by K. A. John

  She wound down both the front windows of her car and peered from side to side of the street as she dropped her speed to walking pace, all the while constantly looking for Alice.

  The street lights and then the shop lights began to flicker. Slowly, gradually, they dimmed from bright to pale yellow, then light to dark dismal brown before finally blacking out altogether, plunging the entire town into darkness.

  Shivering, Louise pressed the electric buttons that wound up the windows. She locked the car doors from the inside, turned up the heating and pressed the accelerator, driving out of the town as fast as she could.

  She didn’t know where she was going. She only knew that she needed warmth, people and all of Patrick’s strength and sound common sense. She needed him to offer an explanation for what she had seen.

  She could almost hear him say, ‘Alice disappeared in front of your eyes. Louise? Really, you’re imagining things.’

  And there was Alice. Above all she had to find Alice. And when she did … what then? … The feather walk … the return … the loss of her daughter … for ever.

  Bag in hand, Patrick left the cattle shed. He loved most aspects of his job but he invariably felt despondent whenever he was forced to put an animal down, especially one as young and valuable as the O’Sheas’ bull. And now all the decisions about the bull had been made, he had to face the prospect of Alice’s ‘return’. An event he’d been dreading ever since Arthur had brought her back and given her to him and Louise.

  He was stowing his bag in the back of his estate when Martin passed him in the yard, jumped into his car and drove off at speed.

  He hoped the boy would be all right. The death of Mick O’Shea had hit his son hard. It hadn’t been easy for Martin to accept the loss of his father’s prize bull as well, especially in view of the violence the animal had suffered before its death.

  Life could be so very unfair. When the phrase came into his mind, Patrick didn’t know if he was thinking of Martin O’Shea or himself. He took a moment to look around. The wind was rising, rattling the doors and windows of the barn and stables. The barn door was closed but the top part of one of the stable doors was swinging back and forth on its hinges. He couldn’t be certain but it looked like the stable that had been occupied by the grey pony Alice had ridden the last time they’d visited the O’Shea farm.

  He delved into his pocket and pulled out the bloodstained chain. He stared at it for a moment, then called out, ‘Alice.’

  There was no reply and neither had he been expecting one. He reached into the back of his car for the large torch. He switched it on and walked to the stable, training the beam of light on the darkest corners of the yard as he went. When he reached the stable with the open door he called out, ‘Alice’ again.

  He trained the light on the ground and stepped back in horror. The light picked out a darkly red, glistening slick of blood and gore running out from the stable on to the straw- and mud-strewn yard.

  Patrick pushed the top half of the door that was swinging open and looked down into the stable.

  Sickened by the sight that greeted him, he leaned on the bottom half of the door for support. The hide of the beautiful grey pony had been cut and slashed to bloodied red ribbons. Unlike the bull, he didn’t need to get down beside the animal to see that it had stopped breathing.

  He fingered the chain again, turned and looked around the yard. Leaving the stable, he crossed the farmyard and headed for the farmhouse. A glow emanated from one of the downstairs windows. Recognising it as the kitchen and seeing the curtains slightly open, Patrick approached it and looked inside.

  Inside the room, the Kitchen Maid was swinging gently on its pulleys. Beneath it, half hidden by a bloodstained hanging sheet, was the lifeless body of Peggy O’Shea.

  Mesmerised by the horror of what he was looking at, Patrick stared at the corpse. Surely all of this couldn’t be down to Alice. It couldn’t …

  ‘Patrick? Patrick.’ Louise had to touch his arm to alert him to her presence.

  He turned, stared at her in bewilderment, then as recognition and relief coursed headily through his veins he murmured, ‘Louise, Alice has done some terrible things. I don’t know how I can begin to tell you—’

  ‘Stop!’ She held her finger over his lips.

  ‘No, listen to me. Louise. You have to know—’

  ‘Patrick,’ she broke in quickly. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Patrick stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘We both know that’s simply not possible, Louise.’

  ‘I know it’s not possible,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But it’s true. Alice found out. I mean … she knew. I don’t know how she knew. But she was the one who told me. Then she ran off. She was upset. She insisted we didn’t love her any more. That we didn’t want her. She said something about coming here—’

  ‘She did come here,’ he broke in. He glanced through the kitchen window again, not wanting to look at Peggy, but strangely drawn to the horror of the sight.

  Louise followed his line of vision. Tears coursed down her cheeks when she saw Peggy O’Shea’s corpse lying on the flagstone floor, steeped in her own blood.

  She turned to Patrick. Needing support, she embraced him. ‘What are we going to do? Patrick,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘What are we going to do?’ she repeated in a mantra of despair.

  He only wished that he had an answer to give her. But all he could say was, ‘What the hell have we done, Louise?’

  Arthur, Tommy and Ben were sitting around the table in Arthur’s living room playing poker, but only Arthur was smiling. He laid down his winning hand with a flourish, scooped up all the cash in the pot, pocketed it and glanced at the clock. ‘It’s time to go to the woods, boys.’

  The moment he finished speaking the television went dead.

  ‘Strange,’ Arthur muttered as the lights flickered before dimming to a feeble brown that darkened the room to the point where none of the men could see one another’s faces.

  The doorbell rang, shrilly and persistently.

  ‘All right, all right, I’m coming. Just wait a moment.’ Feeling his way, Arthur left the room, walked into the hall and opened the front door. He stepped out on to his drive and looked around but there was no one that he could see. Although it wasn’t easy to see anything without the glow from the outside lamps. Just as he was about to re-enter his house, a car pulled up. Shading his eyes from the headlights, Arthur waited for it to stop.

  Martin O’Shea parked alongside Arthur and wound down the window.

  ‘Martin, how’s the bull?’ Arthur asked in concern.

  ‘Dead – hacked up,’ Martin snapped sourly. ‘The vet had to finish off what his daughter started.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Arthur demanded.

  ‘You were wrong about those outsiders,’ Martin pronounced vehemently. ‘They’re wrong, Arthur. And their daughter’s wrong!’

  ‘What do you mean, “wrong”?’ Arthur questioned soberly.

  ‘You’re the expert, Arthur – you work it out.’ Martin reversed his car, backed away from the house and headed down the drive.

  Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked up at the night sky before returning to the house and rejoining his company in the living room. The lights were a little stronger but not much. He eyed the two men still sitting at the table.

  ‘There’s a problem,’ he announced.

  ‘Really?’

  The voice came from behind him. It was childish, tinny and electronic. Arthur whirled around. Alice was in the corner of the room, holding his case of antiquated veterinary instruments. Lifting it high, she opened it and tipped its contents out over the coffee table. The metal tools fell on to the table and floor with a loud clatter.

  ‘Now, which one shall we use?’ She picked up a rusty veterinary lance, ran her finger down it and then pocketed it.

  Arthur shouted at her, ‘Get out of this house.’ He turned to the others. ‘Whatever you do, don’t look at her.’

/>   ‘Who’s a bossy boots, then?’ Alice goaded. She circled the sofa.

  Tommy and Ben kept their heads lowered, their gaze firmly fixed on the floor. Alice stopped for a moment and shook in convulsions.

  When she recovered, she walked over to Ben and pulled herself up on to his knee. She started to bounce up and down and sing. ‘Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross … Go on – do it!’ she ordered Ben.

  Ben muttered, ‘Ride a cock horse. Ride a cock horse …’

  Alice bounced hard on his knee. ‘No, that’s not right. Move your knee up and down and sing “to Banbury Cross”.’

  Terrified, Ben repeated, ‘Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross …’

  ‘To see our fine lady …’ Alice’s bouncing became harder, more vicious. It was obvious that she was deliberately trying to hurt Ben.

  ‘Look at me!’ Arthur commanded Ben insistently. ‘Not her. Whatever you do, don’t look at her.’

  Arthur’s directions came too late. Ben was already in thrall to Alice. His gaze was riveted on her, his will subservient to hers.

  As Arthur watched, hoping even at this late stage that Ben would be able to free himself from Alice’s control, blood began to run from Ben’s mouth and ears. Seconds later, Ben started to shake as blood streamed down his cheeks from beneath his eyelids.

  ‘We’ve got to get out …’ Tommy jumped up from his chair, ran to the door and wrestled with the door handle, but it refused to open. He fell to the floor, gasping for air. When he looked back at Ben, his brother was still sitting upright, but he was dead in his chair.

  Alice kicked the dead man’s shins as she climbed off his lap. She looked at Arthur and began to move, slowly, inexorably, towards him. For every step she took towards him he took one back, retreating from her as fast as she advanced.

  ‘You want to send me away,’ Alice reproached.

  Arthur realised he was shaking. He gripped the table and forced himself to remain calm. He began to chant, softly, quietly, melodically, hoping to soothe her anger with the hypnotic power of his voice. ‘Go back to the trees, lie among the roots …’

  Alice started her own chant in competition with Arthur’s. As she spoke, the lights in the room dimmed and pulsated with the changes in the tone of her voice. ‘I won’t lie down, I won’t go to bed. I’ll stay up as long as I like!’

  Arthur’s voice grew stronger, more insistent. ‘Go back to the trees, lie among the roots …’

  ‘I won’t lie down, I won’t go to bed. I’ll stay up as long as I like!’ Alice countered savagely, screaming the words.

  The room began to shake, the vibrations and the duel chanting building to a crescendo that ended by plunging the room into complete darkness … and absolute silence.

  *

  The first sound was a slight rustling from the area where Arthur had been standing. A cigarette lighter was struck.

  Arthur held it high so it illuminated his face as well as the immediate area. He walked around the living room. There was no sign of Alice.

  ‘She’s moved on,’ he whispered to Tommy.

  ‘Too late for Ben.’ Tommy crawled over to his brother’s corpse and caressed his head.

  Patrick drove his estate car slowly along the wooded road that led from the O’Sheas’ farm into the main street of Wake Wood. Louise sat beside him, peering into the countryside.

  ‘Where do you think she’ll go?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘The cottage. Sooner or later she has to go to the cottage. It’s the only place she can go.’ He hesitated before saying, ‘You do know that we have to take her back to the woods as Arthur said?’

  Louise nodded, but Patrick knew she could well fail when the time came to actually hand her daughter back in the ‘return’ ceremony.

  ‘We’ve got to give Alice up. We’ve no choice, Louise,’ he added firmly.

  Louise didn’t answer him. The car headlights dimmed and the engine spluttered.

  ‘Not again.’ Patrick turned the ignition but it refused to fire. He waited a few minutes, then tried turning the key again but the car was completely dead.

  ‘I’ll give it a couple of minutes.’ Patrick and Louise sat in silence while the seconds ticked off on Patrick’s watch. When enough time had passed, he turned the ignition once again. Still dead. He reached into the back seat and picked up his torch.

  ‘Try your phone,’ he suggested to Louise.

  Louise took her mobile from her pocket and switched it on. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s as dead as the car.’

  They left the car and moved around the front of the bonnet into the dim beam from the headlights.

  Louise kicked something. Something soft. She looked down and saw a dead crow at her feet. ‘Lift the light, Patrick.’

  ‘What?’ Patrick turned to her in confusion.

  ‘Lift the light so we can see what’s on the road,’ she urged him.

  He did as she asked. All around them, up and down the road, lay dark mounds of dead birds. Patrick stooped down, picked one up by its claws and examined it. As he did, another bird dropped from the trees above them on to the roof of the car, landing with a bang.

  Louise recoiled. Patrick dropped the bird he was holding and took the one from the car roof.

  He looked at it for a few seconds, and then shouted to Louise, ‘Get back in the car.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Don’t argue – just get back in.’

  Even as he barked the order at Louise, the car began to shake. Both of them froze in terror. Then, as suddenly as it had begun to shake, the car stopped.

  ‘Hey!’

  They both turned at the cry.

  ‘Alice?’ Louise called out tentatively.

  Patrick swept his torch beam around them, picking out a small pink hand waving from behind a tree. He kept the beam trained on the tree, then slowly, inch by inch, Alice slid into view.

  ‘You were going to leave me,’ she accused them angrily.

  ‘Never,’ Louise countered. ‘We love you. We won’t ever leave you, sweetie. But we didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘But I’m right here,’ Alice replied logically.

  ‘I was at O’Shea’s farm tonight,’ Patrick informed her.

  ‘Were you?’ Alice continued to watch her father.

  ‘Do you want to tell us about what you did there?’

  Alice looked at him blankly.

  ‘I know what you did at the farm, Alice. Do you want to tell us why you’re doing these terrible things?’ Patrick demanded heatedly.

  Alice slid back around the tree until she was out of sight. Then she giggled. Her laughter hung, disembodied, eerie and disquieting in the cold night air. ‘If I put enough things in the ground, then maybe – just maybe – I won’t have to go back again.’

  Louise and Patrick glanced uneasily at one another.

  ‘Da-a-ad?’ Alice wheedled.

  ‘Yes, honey,’ Patrick answered, instantly wary.

  ‘What’s in your pocket?’

  Patrick felt in his pocket, pulled out the silver chain and held it up so Alice would see it as soon as she turned around. ‘Is this yours?’ he asked.

  Alice peeked around the tree. ‘I lost it again.’

  Patrick held it out to her. ‘Would you like me to fasten it around your neck right now, honey, so you won’t ever lose it again?’

  Alice hesitated, as if she couldn’t make up her mind to trust him. Then warily, one slow step at a time, she approached Patrick. She stopped in front of him and smiled. He returned her smile and stroked her hair before leaning forward and fastening the chain around her neck.

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ She fingered the chain then hugged him. He hugged her back, but only with one hand. He thrust the other into his pocket and removed the hypodermic he’d filled with fluid in the cattle shed. He flicked the cap from the top of the needle with his thumbnail and it fell noiselessly on top of the birds’ corpses that littered the road.

  ‘I love you, honey,’ he said sincerely.


  ‘I love you too, Dad,’ she replied, ‘… and you, Mum.’ Alice buried her face in Patrick’s shoulder.

  ‘I love you too, sweetie.’ Louise’s voice was heavy, thick with emotion when she saw what Patrick was about to do.

  Patrick pressed the hypodermic needle through the layers of Alice’s clothes, deep into her thigh.

  ‘Ow!’ Alice cried out. ‘What are you doing?’

  Patrick pushed in the plunger. Alice pulled back, away from him. The hypodermic fell to the ground. Alice looked at it and started to sway.

  Louise cried out, ‘Alice.’ She ran to her, grabbing her arms when Alice started to struggle with Patrick.

  ‘I want to stay with you …’ As the drug took effect, Alice’s voice grew fainter. She slumped and Patrick caught her.

  ‘It’s over,’ Patrick told Louise quietly.

  ‘It’s not over …’ Alice’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

  Patrick picked up his daughter and carried her to the car. He laid her on the back seat and checked her vital signs.

  ‘Is she …?’ Louise couldn’t bring herself to say more.

  ‘She’s tranquillised. As I said, we have to take her back, Louise.’

  There was a sudden sound of flapping wings that rapidly intensified to a crescendo. Patrick closed the back door of the estate. The noise of the large black crows flying around them was becoming deafening. Patrick pushed Louise into the car and slammed the door, sealing her safely inside before running round to the driver’s side. Ducking and weaving to avoid the birds, he fell into the seat and closed his door. As soon as he was safe inside he reached for Louise’s hand. He needed reassurance, the knowledge that he wasn’t alone.

  They both stared at the windscreen but all they could see was a mass of flapping, writhing feathers.

  Patrick tried the ignition. It fired, and those of the birds that could still fly whirled away. Crunching over the feathered corpses of the others, Patrick pulled away from the side of the road and headed for the centre of Wake Wood.