Wychetts and the Dungeon of Dreams

by William Holley

  “We should turn back,” Bill suggested, stopping the car at the junction. “It’s getting late and I need to catch up on my emails. Plus your mother’s cooking us a lovely family dinner.”

  “She’s never cooked anything lovely,” Bryony reminded him.

  “Don’t criticise your mother,” Bill snapped. “She’d do anything for you. You’re the most precious thing in her entire world. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Sure. Sorry.” Another pang of guilt stabbed Bryony’s insides. She didn’t want to antagonise her father, not after a stressful working day. “But it’s not much further,” she told him, struggling to interpret the squiggly lines on the paper. “Turn left here, then another right turn and we’re there.”

  Wherever ‘there’ might turn out to be.

  “OK. Left it is.” Bill pulled out of the junction as directed.

  Bryony leaned forwards, spotting a right hand turn ahead. “There!” She tapped her father’s shoulder and pointed. “There it is, look.”

  “Are you sure? Looks more like a track than a road.”

  “I’m sure,” said Bryony, even though she wasn’t. “Turn right here.”

  Bill steered the car into a narrow, high-banked lane. Long tufts of grass sprouted in the middle of the road, and overgrown ferns swished against the wheels as they passed.

  “Don’t reckon anyone’s been this way for years,” Bill muttered. “Are you sure your friend lives down here?”

  Bryony pretended she hadn’t heard the question. She’d told Dad that she had to return some books she’d borrowed to a friend. She hated lying to Dad, but wouldn’t have have agreed to take her if he thought Mum hadn’t given prior approval. Even then, Bryony had been surprised when he’d said ‘yes’. After all, he’d only just got home from work, and was still getting out of the car when she’d pounced on him.

  But he had obviously come to regret that decision.

  “I’d never have agreed to take you if I’d known it was this far,” he grumbled. “I hope your friend is grateful when she gets her precious books back. How much further?”

  “We must be close now,” said Bryony, although she couldn’t read the map anymore. It had grown suddenly darker, the high banks and hedges blocking the sun’s fading rays. She was about to suggest that Dad should switch on his headlights, when her attention was drawn to a ragged dark shape flitting across the road. It was only a bird, but it looked suspiciously like the bird that had appeared at her bedroom window, the same one from her dreams. The ragged shape melted into shadow before she could get a closer look, but she felt a rising surge of unease.

  “It’s getting colder.” Bill tapped the thermometer on the dashboard. “Down to six degrees. And it’s supposed to be summer.”

  Bryony thought she saw flecks of falling snow outside. Then she caught another flash of white, as a long slender tail disappeared behind a dead tree at the side of the lane. It was a weird looking tree, its gnarled trunk resembling an ugly old man’s face, with hollow eyes that seemed to leer at her as the car went past.

  It was probably just a trick of the light. Shadows, that’s all. Nothing to worry about. But by now Bryony couldn’t stop worrying, because she realised she’d seen that ugly old tree before…

  She fought the urge to ask Dad to take her home. She’d come too far. She was almost there, she could feel it.

  Bill slowed the car to a standstill before hitching the handbrake. “Here we are, then.”

  Bryony frowned at her father’s reflection in the rear view mirror. “Why have you stopped?”

  “Isn’t this the place, Sweetpea?”

  Bryony consulted the map. It was hard to tell in the fading light, but she guessed they must have reached the end of the squiggly route.

  “Yeah. But how did you know?”

  “Suppose I must have brought you here before.”

  Bryony was about to say she had never been here before, but she couldn’t be sure that was true. It looked pitch dark outside the car, no streetlights to banish the gathering gloom, yet she felt a peculiar sense of familiarity with her surroundings.

  A shrill bleep sounded. Bill tapped his Bluetooth headpiece. “Bill Platt. Hello Mr Yakamoto. Yes, it was great to meet you this afternoon. I hope you’ve had time to consider our business offer. Hello? Mr Yakamoto?” Bill jiggled the headpiece, then groaned. “Cut off. Must be dodgy reception out here. You OK if I drive off to find a better signal whilst you pop in to see your friend?”

  Bryony was far from OK with that. She didn’t know what she was heading into, and wanted Dad nearby.

  “Can’t you wait here? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “After coming all this way?” Bill shook his head. “No, you make the trip worthwhile. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  “You’ll get lost,” warned Bryony. “Better if you stayed here.”

  “But I need to speak to the client. We have to get the deal signed and sealed by midnight.”

  “OK.” Bryony opened the car door, grimacing as cold air wafted in from outside. “You’ll definitely be back in half an hour?”

  Bill promised he would. Bryony picked up her satchel and clambered out of the car, and had barely shut the door before Bill pressed his foot on the accelerator pedal. The large silver car sped off down the lane, leaving Bryony all alone.

  Silence fell, and the chill darkness seemed to close around her. She shivered, regretting that she hadn’t worn warmer clothing. Then again, it had been a fine summers’ evening when they’d left home.

  She glimpsed another falling snowflake, and began to wonder if she might end up getting stranded in the middle of some freak arctic storm. Maybe she should have packed a sleeping bag and a flask of hot drink. But her dinky satchel was designed more for style than practical use, and there had only been room for one vital item.

  And that was Mr Cuddles, of course. He went everywhere Bryony went, and she’d felt compelled to bring him with her, just like she’d felt compelled to follow that crudely drawn map.

  But the map offered no further clues to her destination. She peered around her, and spied a gap in the hedge right in front of her. It was then she knew that she’d reached her destination.

  The Old Place. Dusk.

  There was no point hanging around. Bryony looped the satchel strap over her right shoulder, tucked the reassuring bulge of Mr Cuddles under her arm, and then stepped through the gap in the hedge.

  She’d only taken a couple of strides when her right foot struck something. There was a clattering sound, and then a loud crunch as something snapped beneath the weight of her left foot.

  Bryony stopped, crouching to discover shards of shattered wood strewn on the ground. Most probably the remains of an old garden gate. Nothing of interest, she thought, until she noticed markings on some of the wood fragments; it was hard to be sure in the dimming light, but they looked like letters. There was a C, a couple of T’s, a Y and an H. And was that an E? And over there a W?

  She knew the letters formed a word, and that word was probably important. But Bryony wasn’t in the mood for jigsaw puzzles.

  She stood up, deciding to press on. But another couple of steps brought her to a jungle of overgrown weeds. It looked an impenetrable barrier, until she saw a narrow trail had been hacked through the vegetation.

  Someone had been here before her; how recently was tricky to tell, but Bryony’s twitching nostrils detected the scent of wood smoke wafting from nearby.

  Bryony guessed that whoever sent that scrawled invitation was probably here already, waiting for her. She had no idea what they might want, but she sensed they held the answer to the riddle of her dreams.

  The shadows deepened as Bryony stepped gingerly through the hacked down weeds. It seemed the trail was going nowhere, but then she spied a clear patch of dusky sky up ahead. She hurried forwards, exhaling a sigh of relief when she cleared the jungle.

  A sigh that became a gasp when she saw what stood before her.

  It
was a house. Or rather, all that was left of a house. It was more like a skeleton now, a shell of broken beams and sagging rafters that looked like it might collapse any moment. The remains of a brick chimney tottered precariously at the far end, and Bryony saw wisps of pale smoke wafting from the lopsided stack.

  Someone was at home.

  Bryony crept towards the ruined building, trying to locate the front door. Then she realised there was little point, so simply stepped through a gap in the crumbled wall. She noticed the remains of the house were coated in thick black dust, like ash from a fire.

  At that very moment she saw flames flickering amongst the wreckage. Not an uncontrollable inferno, more like a small camp fire.

  The air was growing ever colder, and larger flecks of snow tumbled soundlessly around her. Bryony shuddered, her skin puckering when a falling flake of ice brushed her bare arm.

  Lured by the prospect of warmth, but keeping her wits about her, she cautiously approached the campfire. She passed through what might once have been a doorway, and found herself standing in front of a structure that reminded her of a wide, brick built barbecue.

  She guessed it was the remains of a fireplace. The brickwork was laced with cracks, and it looked like part of the chimney breast had fallen away. Indeed, she wondered how it was still standing.

  The small fire crackled welcomingly in the hearth. Bryony hurried forwards, thrusting her hands towards the warming flames.

  The sense of familiarity returned. She’d been here before, there was no doubt about it. Stood on this very spot, warming herself in just this way. Except something was missing.

  Bryony was trying to work out what that something was, when a hand grabbed her right shoulder…