Tales of the Mysterious and Macabre

by Simon Parker

  Over the next few months I learned more, both from my own observations and from the tree itself. Each time a new leaf bud formed, it was a growing idea. That idea grew to maturity before my eyes and when it was ready (or I was ready for it) it would crisp up and fall from the branch onto my head, where its wisdom would be imparted. I sat and saw that all the trees in the forest were doing the same. Some were shedding several leaves a night while others only shed a leaf or two a week. Yet who’s head they fell on was beyond my comprehension for I never saw another soul in that forest.

  Night after night I sat watching, waiting for these dark thoughts that swept into me as the dark leaves fell. The sunny field was a distant memory of a childhood, spent like an empty cartridge laying in the shadows of a crime scene. I felt honoured and privileged to be the only witness to this vast forest where the sparks of imagination were being born all around me all the time. I understood now what a Muse was, for my tree was my inspirational mistress, dusky and mysterious. That all these ideas seemed to be dark hadn’t escaped my notice, but then, the forest was dark, the void was darker and I felt at home in the shadows. The fact that the ideas were born from the trees’ darkness felt as natural to me as the fact that I could go to sleep wearing anything or nothing at all, but in the void, I was always wearing black.

  As I grew, so did my patience, as I sat admiring the depth and beauty of the stygian shades that formed in each tiny budding leaf. I’d had no idea black could come in so many colours.

  One night a leaf dropped on my head and the notion exploded in me that these trees were all in competition. I had the bizarre notion that each tree was seeking some form of nourishment to produce its crop of ideas and that my tree was suffering because of the tree next to it poaching its nutrients. I couldn’t permit that, so I immediately set about the interloper whose branches interlocked with mine in the canopy far above.

  Like a jealous lover, I swatted away at the branches that I could reach, ripping off twigs, twisting and splintering the low branches. It was like breaking young limbs, exposing the bone, white waxy wood under the damaged bark. I brought an axe into the world simply by imagining it was already in my hand and I began hacking. Hours later, I stood panting and exhausted, the neighbouring tree a splintered stump. Sap oozed from the corpse like a final spurt of blood from a dying heart. I felt invigorated knowing I had saved my tree.

  Over time I improved my methods. But it was still several years until I had cleared the whole forest. Save for my tree which now stood taller and stronger than ever. I understood that every soul would hunger for ideas, the ideas that would never fall. Gone was the sun and the fields, gone were the swaying grasses and the twittering birds. My tree and I were alone in the abyssal gloom. I thought that we could finally rest in peace. But another leaf soon fell on my head, birthing a new obsession.

  My tree was still vulnerable, I finally understood; it needed me to help it become invincible. Another leaf landed on me, adding new depth to the Cimmerian idea now dancing in my mind. I must water the roots of my tree with… with what? What could be strong enough to bestow ever-lasting life on my soul-mate? The darkest leaf yet fell on me. My tree no longer wanted me to be on the outside protecting it; it needed me and it to become one. To dominate the between worlds with our ideas and only our ideas.

  That night, in the everyday world, I took stock of everything that was my ‘life’. It had been a pretty empty existence; life in a world I felt no control over held little or no appeal. In that world, I was a shabby, forlorn shell of a man with unkempt hair and the body of a fast food addict. I knew no one would miss me, yet I still shed a tear as I lay down straddling two worlds, the one I despised and the one I loved. My mind was in the one world enough to be with my tree, to see and feel its roots, and yet in the other world just enough to do what needed to be done.

  There was no doubt, there was no hesitation. I moved the blade with surgical precision, cutting deep and true to get as much of my life fluid out of my body and onto the roots before my heart ceased pumping. As the life force faded from my mundane body, so it merged with the tree. It supped thirstily from the crimson soaked ground surrounding the roots.

  I could no longer see with my eyes but I could feel with senses far beyond anything I’d expected, I sensed the whole void around me and everything that crept and scurried in the blackness. My roots were like a nervous system reaching beyond the edges of where my awareness faded, sending back messages of things unfelt in the darkness. Things that had no form, no shape, just a sense of pure undiluted anger and despair. A swarming of emotions cut and stung like a shower of glass shards on the soul. The void was truly dark now and the darkness crystalized in my leaves, forever autumn, to drop into the minds of all the poor souls still trapped in that other world.

  Drums of the Demon

  The hollow booming sound travelled only a short distance before being overpowered by the heavy rain. But it was powerful enough to disturb the birds roosting in the relative dryness of a nearby tree, sending them flying into the wet night. A faint wisp of steam rose from the edge of the well as the rain evaporated from the dark stone.

  The bar was all but deserted; there were only six other people in it apart from Matt and what was left of his team. The wind howled through the gaps in the leaded windows of the ancient building. They had come to the small East Anglian village of Fulfolk following up on a report they had had of paranormal activity in the area. It started as a promising lead, but the only thing they had to show for the last six days was poor evidence and worse footage. Their source was a no show, and the local community had been far from forthcoming- to say the least. The whole affair had made them look like a bunch of rank amateurs. Six of the team had quit and gone home. Matt, Adam and Lee had been left alone to come up with a story to impress the company that was funding Matt’s documentary. They all sat staring into their drinks, an atmosphere of despondence and misery descending on proceedings.

  A shutter banged outside, buffeted by the rising wind. The hiss of the rain and the patter from the overwhelmed guttering were the only sounds audible in the bar.

  “So?” Lee finally said, breaking the silence. Matt raised his head as if awaking from a tragic dream, his eyes sunken and dark, full of sadness. He sighed deeply before replying.

  “So what?”

  “So… what the hell are we going to tell the execs at Ignis Entertainment when they want to see our footage?” Lee exclaimed. “No one wants to be interviewed. No one will let us in their properties to film. Your ‘mystery source’ decides to back out when we’re already committed. We’ve got ten minutes’ footage of a couple of creepy lights in the graveyard and a daylight walk around a quaint sunny village talking about what we’ve heard might be here. Apart from that, zip, nada. Need I go on? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ready to jump ship like the other guys, but we’ve got to come up with something or none of us will have jobs to quit from!”

  Matt raised his glass to his lips, knowing that Lee’s comments were exactly what they were all feeling, but he didn’t want to admit it. He needed to come up with something. This was his team, after all, and it was up to him to pull them back together. Adam gave a tight-lipped humourless grin, a gentle nod and swallowed a mouthful of cider. Matt sat forward in his chair, a resigned look fixed to his face.

  “Boys, I think it’s time to bite the bullet,” he whispered, furtively glancing around in case anyone had overheard him. A couple sat at the bar about twenty feet away, lost in their own disasters. A bearded old man nursed his umpteenth pint of the night, while two spotty teenagers propped up the fruit machine near the entrance. Finally, what appeared to be a middle-aged blonde checked her watch yet again. Matt guessed she’d been stood up. He knew just how she felt. Not one of them had so much as glanced in their direction for an hour or so, yet Matt proceeded cautiously with his announcement.

  Both Lee and Adam sat forward with renewed interest as Matt seemed to have a solution, albeit a drastic sounding one. “
We’re going to have to manipulate the evidence a little,” he finally said, immediately holding up his hands. “I know, I know, it’s something I swore we’d never do and the idea is as abhorrent to me as I’m sure it is to you guys, but we’re in a tight corner here, and as Lee so rightly put it, Ignis will drop us like a hot rock if we don’t deliver the goods.

  Lee barely nodded. “That debacle in Alton left a big dent in our credibility. One more like that and we’re toast.”

  Neither Lee nor Adam protested about the idea as much as Matt had imagined they would, maybe their integrity was not quite as firm as he had assumed when he’d formed the team six years ago.

  Adam cocked a questioning eyebrow. Once again, Matt glanced nervously at the other patrons, fearful that if any of his plan got out in any way shape or form, they would be sunk.

  He elaborated, “Any footage that goes into Ignis has to be pristine, checkable and faultless. The slightest hint of a stink of fake on it and they will throw it and us out on the street. We will need to be so incredibly careful and more conscientious and thorough than we have ever imagined possible or our careers will effectively be over.”

  The couple at the bar laughed at each other, not registering that Matt and his team were even in the room. The old man let out a little snore that made him jump and open his eyes for no more than a second. The teen boys were now sharing a pint at the table next to the fruit machine, having obviously lost all their money. The blonde was staring at the window in the booth next to Matt and his crew. It made Matt paranoid enough to wait. He took a sip of cider, then another. The woman’s attention finally reverted to her watch and the mirror behind the bar. Matt continued.

  “I say we go back to the graveyard and expand on the little light show we caught on our first night here.” He said in the lowest voice he could manage.

  Adam sat back, letting a long thoughtful breath escape. “I don’t know, boss. It would certainly get us out of the shit, but it kind of goes against everything we stand for doesn’t it?”

  “It does Adam, it does. I wholeheartedly agree with you,” Matt said. “But this is a desperate situation that could leave us all out of a job and with our careers in tatters. I’m not suggesting we leave our principles behind, just that we…” he groped carefully for his words, “exercise a little creative license for this time only, dramatize what we’ve already seen. Then it’s right back to the moral high ground.”

  At this Lee let out a small snort of amusement. “Moral high ground? That’s overstating it a little, isn’t it? Yes we have principles, we pride ourselves in never faking any of our footage, but moral high ground? Come on Matt, be serious, this is entertainment, not science.”

  Matt raised his index finger and opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated as Lee continued.

  “What we are doing isn’t taken seriously by many more people than the three of us here at this table. Certainly not by the twats at Ignis. As soon as their viewing figures drop, they’ll burn us without a second thought. I’d love to be taken seriously and investigate it scientifically, but the reality is it’s become a game where the real phenomena doesn’t matter. It comes a distant second to how much can be made from it. The fucking merchandise contract we had to sign is prime example of that. I say let’s do it. Fuck Ignis and fuck the moral high ground. Let’s save what’s left of our careers and make us some money.”

  Now it was Matt’s turn to let out a little snort of amusement. “Thank you for that rousing speech, General Lee.” He smiled at his unintentional joke. He felt a little more at ease now he appeared to have the backing of at least one of his team. Matt and Lee both now looked to Adam. He did a comic double take through the bottom of his glass as he realised he was being press ganged. He put down his glass, sighed resignedly and chimed in.

  “As long as it’s just this once…” His pause was so long it was almost painful. “I suppose you can count me in.”

  Matt would have taken offence at this theatrical reluctance, but Adam had always been a bit of a drama queen. They all raised their glasses and clinked above the middle of the table before Matt went to refresh their drinks. He felt relieved they were now all in agreement. He knew he could count on their support and discretion. The blonde smiled at him as Matt walked past her to the bar, he couldn’t help but smile back. She was a lot prettier on closer examination than he had expected. The remainder of the evening was much more jovial and relaxed.

  The following morning Matt and his team left the bed and breakfast early to prepare for their night’s vigil. By tomorrow, with any luck at all, they would have hours of extremely convincing footage from the graveyard. His partners were loading their equipment into Lee’s small white van as Matt went ahead in his Land Rover. He put an ambient CD on to calm his mood. Sounds of thunder always soothed him and any lyrics only disturbed his internal relaxation. The music had barely started when he came to the turning. He pulled down the narrow track leading to the village church and parked by the Lych-gate. The whole road was only just wide enough for the Land Rover to pass, and Matt wondered how funerals were conducted in places like this. The churches in his home town had huge wide gates big enough to drive a hearse through, while this path was barely big enough to walk on.

  His mind began to fill with images of ‘olde worlde’ gatherings and coffins carried by villagers from the home of the deceased, scenes reminiscent of one of his favourite films, the Wicker Man.

  The church was bathed in the bright morning sun, all evidence of last night’s storm dispelled by the spring breeze. Tall grass swayed on the far side of the surprisingly large graveyard. Just beyond, a hand built wall of flint yielded to the forest that formed part of the village border. The ancient trees rustled gently in the wind, holding Matt transfixed for a moment. He huffed a laugh as he remembered a favourite scene from another movie about the trees taking revenge on humanity. It seemed to fit.

  He walked casually around the graves, hoping to be inspired by the inscriptions. As he neared the flint wall marking the extent of the hallowed ground, he felt a chill run through him. He instinctively looked down to make sure it wasn’t his own grave he’d just walked over. Matt laughed at this remnant from childhood behaviour.

  He snapped his head up at a sudden movement in his peripheral vision, staring at the forest beyond the wall. He scanned the deep shadows among the ancient trees, heart beating a little faster, excitement building. Maybe his extra sense was picking something up? But nothing was there. Probably just a bird or something. He sighed and went back to looking at the smooth, worn grave markers, barely legible in these far reaches of the graveyard and obviously much older than the ones near the gate. The date on one was sixteen ninety something… quite amazing really to think that the bones lying beneath it had been a real living person from the village over three hundred years ago.

  As Matt continued walking among the tall grasses admiring the beautiful stone markers, his eyes kept being drawn back to the forest. He again felt that familiar chill, but there was nothing more threatening than the slightly uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. He cocked his head, shifting so the breeze wasn’t roaring into his ear, and concentrated. He heard it then, a dull thudding like… like a petulant child stamping on a wooden floor. The sound became stronger, clearer. Not so much a dull thud, but more like a distant drum from the depths of the forest. He imagined a giant woodpecker banging one of the huge, hollow trees, and a smile gently creased his features.

  “ALRIGHT MATT?”

  He actually jumped at least three inches off the floor with his mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’ “Jesus fucking H hairy-arsed Christ, Lee!” Matt glanced up at the church steeple and mouthed the word sorry, another old habit when he blasphemed. “How many times… don’t creep up on me like that. I nearly shat myself.” Matt leaned on his knees, animatedly catching his breath. Lee was leaning on his own knees, but he was laughing.

  “ I was miles away in thought. Something you mouth breathers probably wouldn’t k
now about!” All three men laughed as Matt strode towards them, pulling jokingly at the seat of his trousers, the welcome banter pushing all thoughts of strange sounds out of Matt’s mind.

  “Sorry boss, couldn’t resist.” Lee unshouldered the heavy bag of equipment as Matt approached him.

  “There’s some awesome stones around here, great for atmosphere. They’re so old,” Matt gushed. It was hard to hide the fact that graveyards were one of Matt’s favourite things. Sometimes that came out a little too clearly in his demeanour when they were in one. He forced himself to calm down before continuing. “If you could stick one of those ‘olde worlde’ filters on during post Adam? You know, the sepia one with the fake celluloid scratches on. That would make it even creepier.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow at Matt in response before letting loose with his signature dramatic sarcasm. “Awesome, super, super, super, I can see it now,” he said, closing his eyes and hamming it up for his audience. “I can edit in some cartoon zombies and, and… ooh ooh, I know, I could dress up like a Victorian milk maid and act all scared and stuff and run away dropping my milk buckets and doing the silent movie scream thing while my ample buxom bosom strains at my top.” He waved his jazz hands around and ran away a few steps as camp as he could manage. Matt couldn’t help but smile. Then he sighed before replying to Adam’s vaudevillian performance.

  “I know, it’s high on the cheese factor and the world and his brother have used it. But we’re going to need all the tricks we can to create some drama.”

  The three men stood staring at each other in silence for a moment before collapsing into fits of giggles.

  “My God, I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Matt said, still chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation. They’d come here with high expectations of some serious paranormal activity, with eye-witness testimony and a seemingly unimpeachable source. All had vanished into the ether and now they were nuts deep in what could only be described as a desperate rescue mission. He shook his head, wanting only to put the whole disaster behind them and get back to some serious research.