by K. A. John
Twenty-One
LOUISE PERSUADED PATRICK that there was one person they could go to for help. She directed him to Mary Brogan’s house. He parked the car outside.
Louise held the back door of the estate open while Patrick lifted Alice’s limp body from the back seat and carried her to Mary’s front door. A light burned in the hallway and Louise realised electricity had been restored to the town. She pressed the doorbell.
Mary opened the door almost immediately. She looked from Louise to Patrick and finally to Alice, comatose in Patrick’s arms.
‘What’s happened?’ One look at Patrick and Louise’s stricken faces had been enough for her to know that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
‘I lied to Arthur, Mary,’ Patrick confessed, deciding the only course left to him and Louise was to tell the truth. ‘Alice had been dead for over a year before Arthur brought her back.’
Horrified, Mary’s eyes rounded. ‘Oh, Patrick, what have you done?’
Pale, trembling, Louise placed her hand on Alice’s chest. Panic-stricken, she screamed, ‘Patrick, she’s not breathing.’
‘She won’t stay that way,’ Mary warned. ‘You have the clutch I gave you?’
‘Not with us, not here,’ Patrick replied.
Mary looked skywards. ‘May we all survive,’ she prayed feelingly.
It was pitch black, impossible to see outside the circles of light beaming from the torches Patrick and Mary held. But the deeper Mary, Louise and Patrick went into the woods, the more they sensed life moving all around them. The sound of footfalls and the crackle of twigs breaking underfoot assailed them from all sides as their neighbours also headed to the spot Arthur had designated for the beginning of the short feather walk.
Louise and Patrick felt as though every inhabitant of Wake Wood was on the move, preparing to witness the ceremony of ‘the return’, as Mary Brogan had put it, to ensure that they really did place Alice back into the earth where she could do no more damage to Wake Wood or its people.
By tacit agreement, as the one most conversant with what was about to happen, Mary led the way. The path was uneven and she picked out her route carefully, stopping and shining her torch around the area every minute or so to check her bearings before moving on. Louise followed close on Mary’s heels and Patrick, carrying Alice’s dead weight on his shoulder, brought up the rear.
All three had to duck frequently when large black birds swooped dangerously low and close to their heads, their wings whirring, menacing in the darkness. There was scurrying all around them as small mammals, disturbed by their presence, fled through the undergrowth.
Louise dreaded arriving at the designated place, but at the same time she was irritated because she felt they were making slow progress.
After half an hour of steady walking, Mary turned right and began to climb the side of a steep ravine. Louise grabbed the trunk of a birch for support and followed her, taking care to avoid the showers of small stones Mary was dislodging on her ascent. Patrick stood back for a moment, shifted Alice from his right to his left shoulder and took a deep breath before following them.
‘I like Mary Brogan, Dad. She’s nice, isn’t she?’
Alice’s whisper in Patrick’s ear caught him off guard. He stumbled clumsily. Losing his footing, he fell into a bush, only just managing to keep a grip on Alice. If that had been the edge of the ravine …
The same thought had obviously occurred to Alice. She whispered, ‘Careful, Dad. I know I have to go back but I’d like to say goodbye properly to you and Mum before I leave.’
Patrick fought a rising tide of sour bile and nausea that rose from the pit of his stomach. He was angry, yet he felt he had no right to be. Arthur had warned him from the outset that the rules of Wake Wood must be obeyed. He’d known all along what had to be done. Now the time had arrived, he had no choice. But neither had he known just how wretched he’d feel when the moment came.
He tried to concentrate his energies on the task in hand and follow Mary without thinking further than the next step he was about to take. Head down, lips compressed, he started the climb. Already Mary and Louise were distant shadowy figures and he had to move quickly just to keep them in sight.
Alice moved her arms around his neck. He froze, expecting them to tighten. She hugged him, then released him. He weakened in relief.
‘Please put me down, Dad. Then I’ll go. I’ll disappear into the woods. You won’t ever see me again. I promise.’
It wasn’t easy but Patrick managed to ignore her plea. He kept climbing in the direction Mary and Louise had taken, determined to stay strong for the sake of Louise … and – the thought warmed him – their coming baby.
Mary and Louise reached the top of the hill and entered a clearing that seemed to be full of people, although it was so dark, Louise found it impossible to estimate the numbers lurking silently in the shadows beneath the trees. An enormous bonfire had been built from dead wood, and it dominated the centre of the space, waiting to be torched.
‘This is it. We’re here, Louise. I told you that the feather walk would be short because of Alice’s age. It will be three times around the bonfire and thirty paces to the east.’ Mary patted her arm. ‘Do you want to find somewhere that you can sit and rest until it’s time?’
‘I’ll rest after Patrick gets here.’ Louise walked to the edge of the ravine and looked down, hoping to see her husband in the darkness.
‘He was just behind us,’ Mary murmured. ‘He’ll be here any minute.’
‘I know,’ Louise answered automatically, but already she could feel a tight knot of apprehension forming in her stomach.
Patrick negotiated the steep path up the hill with difficulty. It wasn’t easy to juggle Alice and the torch he was carrying but somehow he managed it. His daughter had never weighed so heavy, but he tried to quicken his pace in an effort to lessen the distance between him and Louise. It had been a good few minutes since he’d last seen her and Mary. He was barely aware of tightening his arms around Alice as he walked, until he felt her fighting back, punching and kicking his arms and body, resisting the pressure he was putting on her. Already he was loath to let her go.
‘Dad, you’re hurting me,’ Alice protested.
Patrick kept on walking, taking longer and longer strides in his haste to reach the top of the hill.
Angry, Alice shouted. ‘Dad, put me down!’
Patrick kept moving, all the while trying not to think of what he and Louise were about to do. For the moment Alice was still in his arms. Whatever she’d done, she was his honey … his little girl …
‘All right then, Dad. Remember, you made me do this.’ Alice’s voice sharpened in exasperation.
She didn’t move an inch but Patrick gagged as if he were choking on something caught in his throat. Spots wavered before his eyes. He felt faint and tripped but he struggled on … had to keep moving … to keep moving … to put one foot in front of the other …
‘Don’t make me do this, Dad,’ Alice warned.
Unable to breathe, Patrick coughed. Blood trickled, warm, salt and stinging, down his cheeks from beneath his eyelids.
Alice slid from his shoulder the moment his arms fell slack to his sides. She stood back, facing him, watching as his entire body went into a paroxysm. He fought to draw air into his lungs, tried to call out to Louise and Mary for help, but all he managed was a weak groan.
And all the while he struggled to remain upright Alice stood in front of him, a few feet away, just watching – and waiting for him to collapse to the ground.
Louise paced impatiently at the top of the hill but she was careful not to move far from Mary. She studied every figure that appeared on the summit to join the knot of people assembling in the clearing, but none proved to be Patrick.
Concerned, unable to wait a moment longer, she went to the edge of the ravine, looked down, scanned the path and shouted, ‘Patrick? Where are you? I can’t see you.’ When there was no reply other than the steady tread
of people making their way up to the top, she turned to Mary.
‘I’m going back down. Patrick could have fallen … He could have … Anything could have happened.’ Louise tried not to think of Howie and Peggy or what Alice was capable of.
Knowing it was useless to try and talk Louise out of looking for her husband, Mary said, ‘I’ll come with you.’
The two women started their descent along the path they’d just taken.
Mary shone her torch either side of the route, checking every shadow. Soon she became as worried as Louise. She tightened her hands into fists and muttered a silent prayer. But when she saw Alice standing ahead of them, blocking their path, she abandoned her prayer and murmured, ‘Alice … Please … no …’
‘Hello.’ Alice stared coldly at Louise and Mary, her eyes unnaturally bright, luminous icy pinpricks in the darkness.
Mary wanted to move but she couldn’t. It was as though she’d been transformed into a firmly rooted plant. She was totally incapable of leaving the spot she stood on.
Alice crept towards Mary, taking her time, relishing the hold she exercised over her.
Patrick was lying on his side a few feet away from Louise and Mary. He’d heard Mary’s voice but he couldn’t see either her or Louise. It was too dark, although he sensed Mary and his wife were close by. He fixed his gaze on Alice. If he reached out to her, could he stop her?
He tried to move one of his arms but it lay limp, paralysed, useless. All he could do was remain on the ground, cursing his own impotence.
‘Thank you for being nice to my parents, Mary.’ Alice drew closer and closer to Mary, wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged her tight. ‘You’ve been very kind to them.’
Alice began to convulse and, almost immediately, so did Mary. The torch Mary was holding fell to the ground and she cried out as her shaking became more and more violent.
‘I’m not going back, Mary.’ Alice unbuttoned Mary’s coat and slipped her hand inside. Mary sank down on to her knees.
Louise shouted her daughter’s name to no avail. All she and Patrick could do was listen in horror as the ominous squelch of soft tissue being invaded filled the air. Mary didn’t utter a sound but Louise watched Mary’s eyes darken and glaze in agony in the pool of upturned light from the torch. Within seconds, rivulets of bright crimson blood began to stream down Mary’s face from her eyelids, ears and mouth.
Louise thought that Alice would never end her lethal embrace but eventually she did step away from Mary, exposing a ghastly open wound in Mary’s stomach. Triumphant, Alice smiled, turned to Louise and held up her hand. It was covered in blood and gore to the elbow.
Mary stared at Alice, swayed on her knees and finally fell, slumping sideways on to the leaf-covered dirt path.
Louise crawled to Mary and crouched beside her. She didn’t need to feel for Mary’s pulse. No one could survive the injury Alice had inflicted on her. Louise looked up at her daughter in horror and screamed, ‘Alice!’
Alice stepped aside and for the first time Louise noticed Patrick’s prostrate figure illuminated at the edge of the beam from Mary’s discarded torch. His eyes were closed. Louise looked for signs of breathing but saw none obvious. Patrick was unable to help her because he was unconscious … or …
Louise closed her mind, unwilling to think of the alternative. Patrick couldn’t be dead … not Patrick. Alice couldn’t – wouldn’t – kill her own father … But then this thing … this monster that looked, spoke and appeared to be Alice couldn’t possibly be the daughter they had brought up and loved. The child they’d nurtured such hopes and dreams for.
Alice turned to Louise and said, ‘Mum?’ in a normal, conversational tone.
Terrified, Louise shrank back as Alice advanced on her. She felt herself beginning to tremble. The same violent convulsions that had held Mary and Alice in thrall were now beginning to take an insidious hold on her.
Alice lowered her head and hunched over. When she next raised her face, the expression in her eyes was cold, pure evil. ‘Mum … why don’t you answer me when I talk to you?’
Louise staggered back, away from Alice. Leaving the path, she turned and retreated, fleeing into the woods.
‘Mum …’
Louise ignored Alice’s cry and ran … and ran … and ran … She didn’t know where she was running to. She only knew she had to get away from Alice and put as much distance as possible between her and the thing that was occupying her daughter’s body, before she ended up dead and mutilated, like Mary.
Because she wanted to live. For the sake of the child she was carrying – she wanted to live.
*
Louise didn’t stop until she was incapable of taking another step. She collapsed, weak and breathless, praying that she’d put enough ground between herself and Alice for her daughter not to find her. She crawled under a thicket of bushes and lay low, wishing she could momentarily disappear by dissolving into the earth.
Far below her on the fringes of the woods she could see car headlights travelling along the country road that wound past Wake Wood. Evidence that a world existed beyond the town; a normal world where people lived boring conventional lives; one where children went to school, adults worked in offices and stores, and in between they shopped, went to cinemas and visited friends and relatives – a world she was no longer a part of.
All around at a distance, faint beams of torchlight danced between the trees, twigs snapped and boots hit the ground as the stragglers among her neighbours made their way between the shadowy rows of tree trunks and headed for the gathering at the lip of the ravine.
‘Mum …’ Alice’s voice carried sweet and low, heartbreakingly familiar as it echoed through the woods. ‘Mum … where are you?’
Louise didn’t move. She lay as flat to the earth as she could and waited for the black spots to stop wavering in front of her eyes while she struggled to catch her breath.
She froze when she saw Alice drift slowly past her hiding place. Her daughter was so close, if she’d reached out she could have touched her foot. Louise closed her eyes, too frightened to breathe any longer lest she alert Alice to her presence.
Alice called out, ‘Mum? Ready or not, I’m coming … Where are you, Mum?’ as though they were playing a game of hide-and-seek.
Louise continued to lie still. The earth was cold, damp. It smelled of winter’s rotting leaves; death and decay assailed her nostrils. Yet Alice had to return there.
She recalled Arthur’s words that night at the cottage when he’d told her and Patrick that he could bring Alice back to them.
Alice’s heart will beat, her lungs will breathe. She’ll remember you and the life she had with you. Some of it … but she’ll also be deceased – although that’s something she won’t be aware of. You’ll need to bear that in mind the entire time you’re with her.
Even after everything that had happened – all that Alice had done – when the time came, would she be able to return her daughter’s body back to the earth with its foul stench of putrefaction and the grave?
Louise finally breathed out when everything around her had fallen quiet. She counted to one hundred in her head, then rose cautiously. Alice had gone. The woods around her were still, unnaturally so, after the earlier movement and sounds. She looked around indecisively, uncertain which direction to take.
‘Where are you, Mum?’
Alice’s voice, light, disembodied by the night, floated towards her, eerie and threatening.
Louise took off again at speed. She wasn’t even sure which direction she was heading. She only knew that she had to put as much ground as she could between her and Alice.
‘I’m going to find you,’ Alice shouted after her. ‘Ready or not … I’m coming, Mum …’
Louise didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate for a moment. Head down, she continued to charge ahead into the pitch darkness beneath the trees.
Twenty-Two
PATRICK OPENED HIS eyes. He was surrounded by deep black shadows
that shut out all shades of light. He could hear crashes, bangs, dead wood snapping and the low murmur of distant conversation. Sticks and stones dug uncomfortably into his flesh. He breathed in deeply and then remembered. He was in the woods. They’d been walking to the place where Arthur would hold the ceremony of the return. Him, Louise, Mary and Alice …
He raised his head and cried out, ‘Louise …’ then he saw Mary outlined in the faint glow of a torch. Her body was bloodied, wounded, broken just like Howie, the bull … the pony … and Peggy O’Shea.
He closed his eyes, unable to bear the pain of what his daughter had done.
‘Patrick?’
He opened his eyes again and looked up. Arthur was standing over him, stony-faced.
‘Arthur …’
‘Help him to his feet,’ Arthur ordered someone behind him.
Tommy and Martin came into view and hauled Patrick upright. They forced his wrists into a clutch that proved as effective as handcuffs. Patrick struggled, but once Martin twirled the sticks until the ropes cut deeply into the flesh, his arms were bound as securely as if he’d been manacled with chains.
Arthur drew close to Patrick and whispered low in his ear, ‘Eleven months, two weeks and two days. You can’t lie about these things and get away with it, Patrick. But I admit you had me fooled.’
‘We wanted to see Alice again,’ Patrick cried out, desperate to explain to Arthur why he’d lied. ‘And you wanted to keep us here,’ he reminded him.
‘How long had Alice really been dead?’ Arthur demanded.
‘A year, a month and a few days. Let me go, Arthur,’ Patrick pleaded with his partner. ‘I can help you …’
Arthur shook his head. ‘The clutch will release you, Patrick, but only when Alice is back in the ground. Not one minute before.’
‘Release him?’ Tommy queried in disgust.
‘Only when Alice is back in the ground,’ Arthur reiterated calmly.
Patrick lashed out with his bound hands, struggling to free himself. ‘Arthur,’ he shouted. ‘She’ll kill my wife.’
‘I hope not,’ Arthur said quietly. He walked away.