Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery)

by Taylor, Helen Scott

  Grandpa's jaw hardened, his face taut and fierce. For a second Todd thought he would defy Professor Cardell. He willed him to. But Grandpa's shoulders slumped and he heaved a resigned breath. "All right."

  Cardell pulled something from inside his robes. The firelight glinted off a blade and every muscle in Todd's body locked tight. Instinctively he jerked at his bindings, but they held firm. "Let me go," he shouted.

  "Shh," Grandpa said. "Just relax. It'll soon be over."

  Relax! Was he out of his mind?

  Grandpa took the hilt of the blade awkwardly as though he'd never held a knife before.

  Professor Cardell disappeared into the shadows, but Todd hardly noticed, his gaze fixed on the lethal weapon in his grandpa's hand. "Don't do it, Grandpa," Todd pleaded.

  "Shh, lad." Grandpa went down on his knees at Todd's feet. Todd tried to follow him with his gaze but the rope around his neck cut into his throat.

  Todd slammed his head back against the rock, welcoming the jolt of pain through his skull. He needed to stay alert, not let the smoke dull his senses. "What are you going to do?" he whispered urgently.

  In answer, Grandpa started to chant, his voice a deep monotone. Todd tensed, wondering which part of his body the knife would bite into.

  After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Grandpa stopped chanting and rose to his feet. Todd's breath whooshed out in relief. "What were you chanting?"

  Grandpa stole a glance over his shoulder, then leaned in and whispered, "I'm calling the Wild Lord to return to us. We haven't seen him since the day William killed the Cochrans."

  "That's the day Dad disappeared," Todd whispered back.

  Tears shone in Grandpa's eyes. "The Wild Lord was angry with us for committing murder in his name. We think he took Richard back as punishment."

  "You can't believe Dad really came from the Wild Lord?"

  Grandpa stared at Todd, his expression deadly serious. "Don't ever doubt it, Todd."

  Before Todd could say more, Grandpa placed the blade flat across his palms, closed his eyes, and started chanting again. Todd bit back a frustrated breath and struggled within his bindings. The blade in Grandpa's hands could cut him free in a few seconds if only the old man would defy Cardell and use it.

  After a few more minutes, Grandpa fell silent, his eyes closed. He tilted his face up to the velvety-black sky and closed his hands around the knife. Dark liquid welled between Grandpa's fingers and dripped to the ground.

  The metallic tang of blood reached Todd's nose. "Stop, Grandpa. Stop." The older man released his grip on the blade, letting it fall at his feet. His palms shone dark and wet. For a few seconds, he just stared at them, then he pressed his hands against Todd's cheeks.

  Paralyzed with shock, Todd froze. Then horror filled him, and he tried to twist his head away, but the rope around his throat held him tight. Grandpa resumed his chanting and the faithful joined in, the chant rising to a crescendo.

  Grandpa removed his hands and silence hummed in Todd's ears. He closed his eyes, swallowing back the sting in his throat from the smell of blood and the sticky wetness on his face.

  When he recovered, he saw his grandpa had stepped back to the others, and the semicircle of faithful had split in the middle, leaving Todd staring into the darkness on the other side of the clearing. The silence deepened. The night seemed to hold its breath. Todd tried to angle his head and lift his shoulder to wipe his cheek on the robes, but he couldn't get anywhere close without cutting off the circulation in his neck.

  Something moved in the murk beneath the trees on the far side of the clearing. At first, he thought he'd imagined it. Then he noticed all the faithful had their heads turned that way.

  A massive red deer stag emerged from the tree cover. It paused after entering the clearing, muscles quivering in readiness to flee. Todd stilled, hardly daring to breathe, as the stag came closer. When the robed worshipers fell to their knees, the stag threw up its head, showing the whites of its eyes. Once the faithful stopped moving, the stag relaxed the tense set of its head and came closer to Todd. Six feet away, it lowered its head, pawed the ground, and bucked the lethal points of its antlers at him.

  Todd had watched stags spar over hinds and territory, seen them arch their muscular necks to charge each other, heard the clash of antlers echo through the forest. His instincts screamed at him to back off, find cover. All he could do was hold still, praying he didn't get a rack of lethal tines stabbed in his chest.

  The faithful watched, their faces rapt in wonder at the sight of the stag. Was this what they were trying to do, attract a red deer stag? Did they think the deer was the Wild Lord?

  The stag took another step towards Todd, then another. He came so close that Todd could smell his hot, grassy breath. The stag stretched out its neck and sniffed the blood on Todd's face. Todd closed his eyes, tried to sink back into the rock. The stag snorted, raised its head, and bellowed the deep, primeval cry of the alpha male proclaiming superiority.

  Eyes tightly shut, Todd turned his head from the blast of air and sound. Half deafened by the noise, his pulse throbbed in his ears. Silence returned. After a breath to give him strength, Todd opened his eyes again.

  His father stood in front of him, looking exactly as he had five years ago before he disappeared. He was even wearing the same brown corduroy trousers and worn jacket with a blue Royal Society for the Protection of Birds pin on his lapel.

  Todd tried to say his father's name, but nothing came out of his mouth except a strangled sob. He had to swallow and try again before he got the words out.

  "Help me, Dad!"

  His father reached out and cupped his hand around Todd's bloody cheek, a sad smile on his face. "I didn't want to leave you, son."

  Todd jerked against the ropes, wanting to touch him. "Untie me, Dad. Cut me free. There's a knife on the ground."

  But his father didn't look down to find the knife or make any move to release Todd. "You don't need my help, son. Everything you need is already inside you." His hand dropped away from Todd's face, and he reached down to pull the stag's-head ring off Todd's finger. He laid it on his palm. The metal band flexed like warm plastic, then stretched, and grew. He pulled the ring open, and fitted it around Todd's neck. The rope cutting into his throat melted away as the warm metal encircled Todd's skin.

  When he'd finished, he stepped back. Panic rose in Todd's chest as he sensed his father withdrawing from him. "Stay, Dad. Don't go." Tears burned his nose, pushed at his eyes.

  His father angled his head slightly as if listening to something far away. Todd remembered how Mum used to get mad whenever Dad did that. "Listen, Todd. Do you hear the Master calling us?" He turned and stared into the darkness beneath the trees. "I must go, son." Without another word, he strode into the darkness. When he disappeared from sight, Todd's head fell forward and tears ran down his cheeks. He'd found his dad, only to lose him again. The deep empty place inside him yawned wider. For five years, he'd hung on to his hope, but now he knew for certain. Dad would never come home.

  He was on his own.

  Chapter Twenty

  A cry of excitement rose from the robed faithful kneeling around Silverwell Ring. They jumped up, talking to each other in urgent whispers. Professor Cardell stepped in front of Todd, a triumphant grin on his face. "I knew you'd attract the Wild Lord back to our forest. He manifests as such a magnificent beast!"

  Grandpa walked towards Todd, his hands wadded with tissues, yet he smiled. "That did the trick. Our stag's back."

  Todd hung his head, sniffing back tears. The words of the faithful penetrated his numb brain. They were only discussing the red deer stag. Had none of them seen Dad? Did that mean his father had been a figment of his imagination? Even as he started to doubt, the metal collar hummed with power against his neck. He remembered the stag's-head ring growing before his eyes. Unbelievable as it seemed, his father had been here. He must have some connection to the stag.

  Did that meant the Wild Lord was rea
l? Pins and needles raced across Todd's skin. On the edge of perception, his name whispered on the wind, rattled with the leaves, groaned through the earth beneath his feet. A primal instinct deep in the core of his being woke and flexed. A compulsion tugged at him to go somewhere, but he didn't know where. One day he would answer that call—just like Dad.

  "What's this?" The professor pushed up Todd's chin to touch the metal collar. "Good gracious, this torque looks like ancient silverwork." At his words, the others fell silent. They stepped closer. "Where did this come from?" Cardell demanded.

  Todd did not intend to tell anyone he'd seen his father. He tightened his lips, tried to lower his chin.

  "This is a valuable artifact, at least a thousand years old, probably nearer two." Professor Cardell pushed his fingers between Todd's skin and the metal, trying to pull it off. A little zing passed through Todd's neck.

  "Ouch." The professor let go with a frown and shook his hand. "I'll examine it later. We need to finish the ritual."

  The faithful had dropped back to form a semicircle again, except for Grandpa who hovered at Todd's side, his face crumpled with worry. "Can't we try explaining to Todd why we want him to stay here?" Grandpa asked Professor Cardell.

  "We're long past that stage, John."

  "The only way you'll keep me here is if you lock me up." Todd fought against his bindings, grunting with effort.

  "I'm not barbaric, Todd," Cardell said with a little shake of his head as if he couldn't believe Todd would think him capable of such a thing. "I intend for you to live a happy life among us. To start with, you'll live with your grandfather. Then in a few years, you'll marry our lovely Marigold and give us another child of the Wild Lord's blood."

  Grandpa put his hand on Todd's shoulder possessively. "Will he remember me?"

  "It'll be easier on the boy if he has no memory of his friends and family." The professor smiled at Grandpa. "You'll have plenty of time to get to know each other again."

  "What are you lunatics planning now?" A new sliver of fear cut through Todd.

  "It's nothing to worry about. I've seen the ceremony we're about to perform used successfully by worshipers of the Wild Lord in Peru." Professor Cardell gave Grandpa a meaningful look, sending him scuttling back to stand with the others.

  What did Cardell plan to do? Get the faithful stomping around with painted faces, waving spears like a tribe of savages? Todd tried to laugh it off, but a chill snaked down his back. Who was he kidding? He'd already seen him banish the Cochrans' ghosts. No one got to be a professor without being clever.

  Steve handed Cardell another sports bottle. Todd groaned. He was fed up with being drugged and this time it sounded as though it was some kind of amnesia potion.

  The faithful started chanting, and Todd clamped his teeth shut. Henry passed over the silver-topped walking stick, and the professor began waving it and muttering guttural foreign words. He tapped the silver handle on Todd's forehead, then over his heart, then on his solar plexus level with his diaphragm.

  Henry and Steve stood, one on each side of Todd, and held his head still. He gritted his teeth harder. No way was Cardell getting a drip down his throat this time. A hand gripped his chin, fingers digging into his jaw. Todd squeezed shut his eyes, fought the pain as they tried to force his mouth open.

  Professor Cardell pushed the bottle spout against Todd's teeth. Sweet liquid trickled over his bottom lip. He tried to tilt his head forward so the stuff dribbled away but hands clamped his head against the megalith.

  The plastic spout banged his gums and the metallic tang of blood mixed with the sickly sweet flavor.

  "Blast," Cardell said.

  The bottle withdrew. Todd sucked in a breath through his nose, not daring to part his teeth.

  "Hold his head tighter. I'm going to try squirting it up his nose."

  Todd struggled, trying to turn his head away from the jet of sticky liquid, but some went up his nose, stinging and burning. He blasted air out his nostrils, but then he had to drag in another breath, sucking the liquid in further.

  "Did it work?" Henry asked.

  Todd tasted sweetness on the back of his tongue, but he didn't know how much had gone down. Professor Cardell peered into his face. At that moment, a dog barked far off in the woods.

  Picasso! He'd know that bark anywhere.

  Hope flared through Todd. Shaun was coming to rescue him. Picasso's woofs became excited yelps and howls as he got closer. The professor grabbed the dagger from the ground and stared into the trees.

  "What're we gonna do?" Henry asked.

  "It must be that damn hippie artist. I thought we'd gotten rid of him." Professor Cardell gripped the bottom of his walking stick, raising the silver handle like a club. He moved towards the tree line.

  This was bad. Really bad. "Shaun, watch out," Todd bellowed.

  "Shut him up," Cardell snapped.

  Steve's fist landed in Todd's belly. Burning pain spread through his gut, robbing him of breath. With a grunt, Todd hunched over as much as he could, tears in his eyes. There was a shout and scuffle in front of him. When the pain faded, he managed to drag in a breath. He raised his head to see what was happening. Grandpa had obviously tackled Steve. They hung on to each other's robes, staggering around like drunkards.

  "Stop fighting." Professor Cardell swiped Steve's back with his stick, making him cry out. The two men broke apart.

  Grandpa stumbled over to Todd and leaned a hand on the standing stone, fighting to catch his breath. "Nobody. Hurts. Him."

  Picasso burst into the clearing. The shrill, excited yips stopped. He drew back his lips, drool hanging from his teeth as he growled deep in his chest. The faithful backed away. The dog followed his nose to Todd and snuffled his legs, whining, tail wagging madly.

  "Good boy, Casso. Good boy. Where's Shaun?"

  The white beam of a powerful flashlight sliced through the gloom beneath the trees. Todd's breath locked in his chest, waiting for Shaun. But it wasn't his friend who stepped out of the darkness.

  "What the hell's going on here?" Kelvin demanded.

  Mrs. Bishop's startled cry pierced through the confusion. "Kelvin, no. Don't interfere."

  Kelvin scanned the clearing, taking in the scene with one sweep of his gaze. Without breaking stride, he raised his long black Maglite to block the downward slash of Professor Cardell's walking stick. He slanted him a disbelieving look. "You have got to be kidding me, old man." He twisted the stick out of the professor's grip and snatched the knife. "I knew you were a nut job, but this is unbelievable." He glanced across the clearing at Mrs. Bishop. "Pat, get the hell out of here. Now."

  She started to argue, but he yelled at her again. She grabbed a flashlight and ran into the woods. A moment later Shaun burst into the clearing, panting. He glanced around, wide-eyed before heading for Todd. "What the..." He twisted his face into an almost comical grimace, then set to work untying Todd with Grandpa's help. "Even the knots are weird," Shaun burst out.

  "Hurry up. Cut the ropes."

  Todd glanced up. Henry had moved around behind Kelvin. Before Todd could shout a warning, Henry smacked Kelvin on the head with a flashlight. The big man's eyes opened wide with surprise, then he crumpled to the ground. Professor Cardell snatched his walking stick out of Kelvin's hand and rounded on Shaun.

  "Back off, you young layabout. You too, John."

  After the furious activity and confusion, a blanket of silence fell over the clearing, broken only by Picasso's anxious whines.

  As Cardell advanced, Shaun swore and backed away from Todd, holding up his hands. Everything was going wrong. With Kelvin down, there was no way Shaun could stand up to everyone. Picasso started barking madly, but Professor Cardell and the other men ignored him.

  The sweetness in Todd's throat now had a bitter edge. His ears hummed. He felt light-headed as though he'd stood up too quickly. He spat, trying to get rid of the taste. He wouldn't let Cardell rob him of his memories of Dad and make him forget Mum and Emma.
He jerked against the ropes, anger writhing like snakes in his gut.

  Henry and Steve charged Shaun. His cry of pain cut through the night as they jerked his arms behind his back.

  "You should have stayed out of this, Mister Donovan," Professor Cardell said.

  Todd had to get free and help Shaun and Kelvin. They were only in trouble because they'd tried to help him. His dad's words came back to him. "You don't need my help, son. Everything you need is already inside you." Todd gritted his teeth and yanked at his bindings. The metal torque Dad had put around his neck started glowing, casting an eerie silver light over the scene. It vibrated against Todd's skin and heat streaked down through his body, making his muscles jump and his skin twitch. The bones in his fingers burned and ached. He flexed them and whimpered in pain, tears in his eyes.

  Wind swirled around the clearing, lifting leaves and twigs in a mini-tornado. Tree branches swung and clashed together. Thunder clapped right above him and a jagged streak of lightning cut across the boiling clouds.

  The silver torque glowed brighter and the handmade ropes tying Todd to the megalith wriggled like snakes. He looked down to see green shoots sprouting from the plaited ivy and willow. New stems covered in glossy leaves burst out and trailed to the ground. The writhing mass of greenery snaked away through the grass. Robed figures screamed and scattered into the trees. Picasso yelped with excitement at the new game, dashing back and forth, barking at the vines.

  Creepers streamed towards Professor Cardell. He tried to run but the vines reared up and twisted around his legs. He collapsed to his knees. The ivy crawled over his body, the stems dividing and spreading, binding him in a living net.

  Henry and Steve let go of Shaun and tried to escape, but the ivy snagged their feet, whipped around their legs, and dragged them down. Shaun froze on the spot, eyes bugging while creepers surged past him.

  When Cardell's two goons were struggling in ivy cocoons like the professor, the rustling mass of greenery fell still. The silvery glow from the torque faded. The storm quieted, and the rattling tree branches settled. Only the muffled grunts and cries of the three bound men broke the silence.