by K. A. John
Martin and Tommy took advantage of Arthur’s departure to beat, kick and punch Patrick. They forced him back down on to his knees. Thinking of Peggy and the O’Shea livestock, Patrick couldn’t even blame Martin. But he was bemused when he heard Tommy mutter, ‘That’s for Ben.’
Had Alice hurt or killed Tommy’s brother too?
‘Arthur …’ Faint, barely conscious, Patrick shouted a last appeal. But he was too late. Arthur was no longer even in sight.
Louise crouched low in a thicket of close-growing bushes beneath a copse of silver birch trees. Their trunks gleamed tall, straight and fairy-like in the gloom. Alice’s voice, ethereal and ghost-like, reverberated, echoing around her.
‘Mum, where are you? Ready or not, I’m coming …’
Louise looked up to see a black crow hanging in the branches of one of the trees above her. She couldn’t be certain, but it looked like the very same bird that Alice had found so fascinating on her first day in Wake Wood.
‘Mum … you’d better come out now …’
At the sound of Alice’s voice the bird burst into life. Its wings started fluttering as if it were trying to fly, which was impossible given that its legs were still tied firmly together.
Terror-stricken, wanting to get away from the creature whether it was dead or not, Louise sprinted out of the undergrowth and crashed out of the bushes. Alice’s voice wailed around her, eerie and unsettling.
‘Mum … Mum … come out, wherever you are!’
Louise ran blindly, speeding downhill, lurching past trees and bushes. She fell, painfully skinning her hands. She clambered back on to her feet right away and continued hurtling downwards through the woods and away from Alice, charging headlong … until she slammed hard into a wire fence.
Pain ricocheted through her body as the breath was knocked from her lungs. She winced, gasped and doubled over, too shocked and injured to move.
Ahead of her on the other side of the wire fence was pasture. Thick grass stretched to the horizon in the moonlight, totally devoid of trees. Could she climb the fence? Was it strong enough to bear her weight?
She tested the wire mesh with her foot – it sagged but held. Still hurting from the impact of her collision, she clambered awkwardly over it and jumped down the other side into the field.
Looming high above her a short distance ahead were the unmistakeable towers of the wind turbines that had been erected above a railway bridge. Below them she could see the square outline of the sign that marked the town boundary of Wake Wood.
‘Mum … where are you? … Ready or not, I’m coming to find you …’ Alice’s voice drifted on the night wind, faint, distant, muted by the trees and yet clear and audible.
Louise walked on deeper into the field until she’d passed both the wind turbines and the WELCOME sign. Only then did she turn and cup her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound. As loud as she could, she called out, ‘Alice … A-l-ice … where are you? I’m here, waiting for you. Come and find me.’
Above her the blades of the wind turbines whirled, grating and swishing in a rough, unmelodious, mechanical din that polluted the night atmosphere.
Louise walked on for a few more paces, increasing the expanse of clear open field between her and the woods. She stopped again, turned and shouted, ‘Alice! A-l-ice! Where are you? I’m here, waiting for you,’ towards the woods.
The blades of the tallest turbine swept on.
‘Alice … it’s me … Where are you?’
Something small flashed on the edge of the woods. It moved from tree to tree, hiding behind them, before coming to rest on the very edge of the field next to an old oak on the wooded side of the fence.
‘Hi, Mum. I’m here.’ Alice waved to Louise.
Louise waved back. ‘Hello, sweetie.’ She couldn’t conceal the sadness in her voice.
‘Why did you run away from me, Mum?’ Alice whined.
‘Because I was scared,’ Louise answered truthfully.
‘Are you still scared?’
‘No, not really, not any more.’
‘I bet you are,’ Alice goaded.
‘Well, maybe just a little, sweetie,’ Louise admitted.
‘That’s probably why you didn’t answer me when I called you. You did know that I’ve been calling you? And calling you?’
‘Yes, I know. I heard you. You’ve found me out,’ Louise conceded.
‘You could come to me now though, Mum.’ Alice held out her hand in readiness to take hold of Louise’s.
‘I know I could, sweetie, but I’m tired. I’ve been walking a lot. I have no breath left. And I hurt myself running into that fence.’
‘Well.’ Alice stared at Louise, a menacing glint in her eyes. ‘I’ll come to you, then.’
‘That would be nice of you, sweetie. Be careful when you climb over the fence. It’s not that high but it’s not very stable.’
Alice put her foot on the mesh and hauled herself upwards. She climbed steadily, reached the top, hooked her legs over, and then suddenly stopped and looked at Louise. ‘Mum?’
‘What is it, sweetie?’ Louise waited for Alice to reply.
‘Can I have a hug?’ Alice asked plaintively.
‘Of course you can. But not there. Just get down and come to me, sweetie.’ Louise brushed a tear from her eye before opening her arms wide to her daughter. Alice launched herself from the fence, landed and began to approach Louise.
As she watched Alice walk towards her, more tears poured down Louise’s face. She knew what was about to happen, but knowing didn’t make it any easier or prepare her for the full force of the impact when it came. She subdued a tide of panic, crouched and waited.
Slowly, infinitely slowly, as though the world was moving forward like a film in slow motion, a single frame at a time, Alice walked across the field towards Louise.
Behind Alice – slight at first, then, the closer Alice drew to her, appearing thicker – was an unmistakeable slick of blood that trailed from Alice’s finger.
Alice walked past the sign that marked the boundary of Wake Wood, took another step, fell to her knees and screamed … ‘Mum!’
Her cry was agonised, heart-rending.
Louise stood and watched as the hideous dog bites and deep, ragged, gouged teeth marks appeared once again on Alice’s face and neck, tearing open her flesh.
Alice continued to scream … and scream … She rolled over … writhing in distress …
Louise was catapulted back to the old house, reliving every horrific second of the end of her precious daughter’s life.
Her arms fell to her sides and she walked over the grass to where Alice lay, fatally wounded and bleeding. She reached her just as Alice became very still.
‘I’m so sorry, sweetie.’ Louise knelt on the grass, took off her coat, lifted Alice on to it and wrapped it tenderly around her daughter. She picked up Alice, cradled her in her arms, rose to her feet and started to walk back to the trees, struggling with Alice’s weight as she carried her along the fence line, through a gate and up the hill.
Large black birds circled above them, but Louise didn’t deviate from the course she’d set herself. She tried to imagine herself back in the old house. Putting Alice to bed as she’d done so often during the nine years her daughter had been hers to love and care for.
‘Now, sweetie, we’re off to bed,’ she crooned softly. ‘Off to Blanket Street,’ she murmured, cuddling Alice close to her. ‘The sandman is flying through the air, coming towards us with his bag of sweet … sweet dreams.’
She passed Patrick on the ground. Battered, bruised, bleeding from a myriad of small cuts, he looked groggily up at her. But she saw his eyelids flicker. He was alive!
She hugged the knowledge to her and suppressed her instinct to go to him and comfort him. He had to wait his turn. She had a more important task to complete first, for someone who needed her even more than Patrick. Someone who had no one else to turn to … someone who wanted to stay on this earth but couldn’t
…
When Louise reached the clearing at the top of the hill she saw a faint streak of colour on the eastern horizon. Dawn was breaking. She didn’t look at her neighbours massed around the edge of the clearing, all wearing their black feathers, only at Alice.
Arthur was waiting. He guided her, once, twice, three times around the bonfire, before lighting it. Then he led her over to a spot on the eastern edge of the ridge.
He stepped back and Louise knew they’d reached Alice’s final resting place. She knelt at Arthur’s feet and placed Alice gently and carefully on the ground next to her.
‘My angel, we’re almost there. Almost home. I’ll just make up the bed for you, all warm and cosy so you can sleep tight and safe.’ Louise started to dig in the ground with her bare hands.
Patrick stumbled clumsily up the hill towards her. Tommy and Martin went to him and held him back. Louise looked up and saw him. She noticed that his wrists were bound in a clutch just like the one Mary had given them for Alice.
She looked away from Patrick and back at the hole she was digging. Oblivious to the damp earth clinging to her hands, clothes and arms, she continued to scoop out a shallow grave beneath the trees. The earth crumbled easily between her fingers. It wasn’t hard to remove and the whole time she worked she talked to Alice.
‘The bed will be warm … warm and comfortable, sweetie … You’ll sleep like a princess …’ When she considered the hole deep enough to hold Alice, Louise picked up her daughter, still wrapped in the coat, and settled her gently inside before dropping a kiss on to her forehead.
‘Are you comfy, sweetie?’
Alice stirred, curling into a foetal position as if she were lying in her own bed between clean linen sheets. Slowly and gently, Louise began to pile the earth she’d removed from the hole on top of her daughter, settling it and smoothing it over her slim young body as if she were covering Alice with a swansdown-filled duvet.
‘It’s story time, Alice. Once upon a time there was a little girl who went for a long, long walk in the woods. She walked and walked and walked and then discovered that she’d lost her way and couldn’t find …’
Louise concentrated on the story, ignoring the yellow beams of the torches moving towards them in the gloom, but she sensed people drawing closer and closer to her and Alice, and behind them – Patrick.
They halted a few feet away from her as she continued to fill in the grave.
No more than the lightest whisper on the wind at first, a chant grew in volume and intensity, becoming gradually more and more audible as the seconds ticked past and she filled in the grave.
‘Go back to the trees and lie among the roots … Go back to the trees and lie among the roots …’
Arthur looked at Patrick and signalled to Martin and Tommy, who stepped up either side of him and brought him forward. They propelled him next to where Louise was kneeling, still piling earth into the grave. Alice was almost covered with dirt but she was still moving, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took, her outline clearly visible beneath the coating of earth Louise was heaping over her.
Louise was still talking but only to Alice, and Alice alone.
‘… and although the darkness was drawing near, now the little girl knew she didn’t have far to go. The cottage and safety were only a few short steps away, not far … not far for her to walk at all now …’
Louise finished piling up the earth she’d removed. Leaning forward, she patted the mound of loose dirt, flattening it until it was level with the surrounding ground and there was no trace left of Alice and nothing to indicate where she lay.
The clutch binding Patrick’s hands suddenly sprang and dropped off.
Louise took her time over smoothing the surface of her daughter’s grave, making sure it was weed- and stone-free.
‘A few short steps and the little girl would be happy for ever and ever. The door would open and her grandma would take her into her arms and carry her into the warmth of the cottage, and the door would close for ever on the cold and the darkness and the night …’
Louise lay across the simple grave. Cold tears slipped down her cheeks. Around her the woods fell still and silent.
Patrick sensed Martin and Tommy loosening their hold on him. He moved forward. Martin patted his back reassuringly as if he were trying to tell Patrick that he’d been forgiven.
Patrick stooped down beside his wife and whispered, ‘Louise?’
She looked up at him. Her eyes were empty, bereft even of hope.
He held out his hand to her to help her up from the ground. She took it.
But before Louise could rise, the earth erupted beneath her like a volcano. Dirt sprang up and showered, shooting into the air like a fountain, spraying over Louise and Patrick.
A hole opened. Alice’s hand snaked up through it from beneath the ground and grasped Louise’s foot in a vice-like grip.
Louise screamed. Alice’s hold on her ankle tightened, pulling her downwards into the grave.
Louise looked up at her husband and pleaded, ‘Patrick!’
Patrick grabbed hold of both Louise’s arms. He pulled her upwards, closer to him with every ounce of strength he could muster.
Alice proved stronger.
Inch by inch, Louise was slowly dragged down until she was waist deep in the earth.
Tommy and Martin ran forward with Arthur. They grabbed hold of Patrick’s arms and chest, gripping him tight.
‘Help me to get Louise out,’ Patrick begged.
Despite the combined efforts of all four men, Louise was still being pulled, deeper and deeper into the earth. The ground was level with her chest when her hands slid from Patrick’s grasp.
He shrieked, ‘No!’ and tried to grab her by her shoulders but she slipped from his fingers.
She continued to slither downwards. Earth covered her up to her neck … her chin … her lips … her eyes … her hair … and then she disappeared completely as a second shower of earth shot up, erupting from the spot that had swallowed her.
Patrick wrenched himself free from the men who were holding him and flung himself headlong on to the grave.
He cried out, ‘Louise!’ He dug frantically with his bare hands, scrabbling with his fingers in the earth that had already settled. But no matter how deep he probed, he only found yet more earth.
He continued to excavate, emptying the grave Louise had made, piling the earth around him like a dog digging a hole. But he found only earth … and more earth … and more earth.
‘They’re gone, Patrick.’ Arthur laid his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. ‘They’ve both gone. You won’t find them. Not now.’
‘Louise … Alice … I have to …’
It was a long time before Arthur finally managed to stop Patrick from digging.
Twenty-Three
‘SO SORRY FOR your loss’, ‘How are you really?’ and ‘Are you coping?’ were phrases Patrick came to loathe as the hours after Louise’s disappearance evolved into days … weeks … and eventually months.
Awake, he felt as though he were trapped in a nightmare world. Asleep was worse because his dreams were laced with the scenes and knowledge of Louise’s horrific disappearance. Again and again he relived that crucial moment.
The look of sheer terror on her face and in her eyes when she realised she was about to be buried alive.
He needed no reminder of how impotent and helpless he’d felt when he’d failed to save his wife. When all he could do was look on and watch the tragedy unfold before his eyes. That feeling hit him anew every single time he thought of it with all the force of his initial despair, devastation and misery.
Whereas once he’d loved mornings, now he dreaded them even more than evenings. Evenings meant firelight and memories he could lose himself in to the point where they seemed more real than the day he’d just lived through.
Mornings brought the bitter, harsh consciousness of his solitary state. Louise may have no longer been in his bed, his house, his life
, but she was his first thought on waking and his last at night – on the rare occasions when he was fortunate enough to sleep.
Locked into the backwater town of Wake Wood, imprisoned by the promise he’d made Arthur, for the first time since he’d been born he was completely and utterly alone in the world. And he hated it. It was almost as though he’d been dropped into a lonely limbo, where he continued to exist merely as an entity to mark time until the Fates decreed that he could be allowed to join his beloved wife and daughter.
His neighbours were sympathetic but not overly so. He knew there were some people in Wake Wood who would never entirely forgive him for the lie he’d told Arthur about how long Alice had been in her grave. And whenever he thought of Peggy O’Shea, Ben, Mary Brogan – every one of them valued and valuable people the community could ill afford to lose – and the violent and brutal way they’d died, he didn’t grudge the townsfolk their anger.
The days when he had a lot of work and a number of animals to attend to were just about bearable. The worst were the quiet ones when he had nothing to do except potter around the cottage, where everything reminded him of Louise – and to a lesser extent, because she’d only lived within its walls three days, Alice.
Like Louise had been with Alice’s possessions, he couldn’t bring himself to touch, much less throw out, any of Louise’s personal belongings. He left her clothes in her wardrobe and dressing-table drawers, her coats on the rack in the hall, her shoes in the cupboard and her jewellery in the case on her dressing table.
The only thing of Louise’s he moved was her handbag from his car when he found himself clinging to it and crying for the third time in the week after she’d gone.
The freezer was still full of her favourite tuna steaks, the cupboard stocked with her preferred brands of muesli and biscuits. He knew she wouldn’t – couldn’t – return.
But that didn’t stop him from looking to the door every time he heard a noise outside. Or jumping up whenever a car entered his drive. Or racing to the telephone if it rang – and always hoping for the impossible.