by Peter Spokes
Personally, I think that pagan group that live on the other side of the forest has something to do with it.
We are all in disbelief by this tragic loss and none more so than poor Aunt Magda who just sits in her bedroom gazing through the window.
A couple of weeks ago, Willow injured herself on a hunt and was laid up in bed for nearly a week. She said that while running through the woods a sharp spur from an unseen branch had caught her across her arm and ribs. She’s been acting strange ever since. She’s certainly more on edge than normal – which is saying something!
Uncle Johnne’s been noticeable by his absence recently – haven’t seen him for a while.
So looking forward to seeing you – something weird is going on here and you always had a way of simplifying things.
Please come as soon as possible. Although the constable thinks we’re all safe, I’m not so sure.
Love, Juniper.
Ash folded the letter and returned it to his jacket pocket.
When he had first read it, he had immediately written a replying letter indicating mock surprise and honest sadness to the news of Uncle Stefan’s death – posting it that evening.
Ash had explained to the college dean about his uncle’s death – given his apologies for an imminent and unexpected sabbatical – and wrapped up his affairs.
In his letter, he had asked Juniper to meet him in Morthaven at Slaughter Crossing, about half a mile from the farm. Ash felt she could be prudent to understand the current dynamics of the farm.
He looked out of the window of the carriage now hurtling past Edinburgh, and thought for the umpteenth time about the other letter in his hand; the consequence of which was his earlier trip north.
He thought that Juniper was the only one with knowledge – or interest – of his whereabouts, but clearly, she must have told Uncle Stefan.
Ash had read and re-read it so many times; it was practically committed to memory.
He unfolded the second letter.
Ash Ficowski, it began. What I am about to reveal to you will certainly come as a great shock and it has been with much thought and deliberation that I finally correspond this knowledge to you.
Twelve years ago, a great wrong was committed. As you are acutely aware, your parents died in the barn fire. It was investigated and concluded as an accident. However, I know this not to be the truth.
They were murdered.
Furthermore, I also know that the intention had been for the destruction of your father’s children too.
I know this because your father confided in me that you were in danger and had asked me to look out for you. I am so very sorry that I failed your father and his children, though I take some small consolation that it was I that pulled the three of you from the burning barn – I still have the bite mark on my left forearm where you ‘resisted’.
For the last decade or so I have kept a lookout on your sisters and, through various acquaintances, yourself in London in case your Uncle Johnne – for it was he that was responsible for your parents’ murder – would try again.
I have strong reason to believe he is going to do just that, and soon.
I have no idea how he feels he may accomplish this. He may feel that with you in London, Willow and Juniper are weaker and so he may try to kill your sisters first and then lure you to the homestead. Even that seems a formidable task but he was able to bring your father down – and Besnik was not someone easily overcome.
I’m aware that you’ve known your Uncle Johnne for many years and a note after so many years – irrespective of its apparent sincerity – may be difficult to believe; but let me say that I grew up with your father and also have known Johnne for more years than I would have liked.
A very important point is this: I know of Besnik’s code that family is sacrosanct and no ill should ever be directed towards a family member, but considering Johnne’s history, he should be slain for the vermin he is. I feel it would be prudent, however, bearing this code in mind, that should retribution be on your mind, that no one should know – including your sisters – but I leave it entirely to your discretion.
I know Johnne to be a very dangerous man. I would strongly recommend you never confront him alone – unless under Isis and even then, you should not underestimate him. Know also that his preferred weapon is a knife and he is particularly adept with its use.
He was seen frequently up until recently but now seems to have vanished. I hope to find him and put an end to this but should I not survive this, you needed the truth – a truth too long waiting retribution.
Yours sincerely, S.
Ash still felt the hackles on his neck rise; not just from the knowledge that his parents were murdered, but the fact that Stefan had sent him a warning message only to be murdered himself. Clearly the confrontation had not gone well.
The mention of the bite Ash had inflicted on his uncle’s arm as he was pulled from the barn was interesting. It was something he had forgotten but the sudden reminder had hit him with such an impact that he felt dizzy.
As strong arms had pulled them from the burning barn, Ash had tried to break free and grasp his mother’s arms that were still reaching forth. He remembered biting into the left forearm of his rescuer in an attempt to get loose. But he was held firm and then her arms were gone.
With the gentle sway of the train, he drifted back to sleep.
Chapter 2: Coming Home
Scene 1: A Journey North
The moon was full as he followed the scent. It was musky and smelt of fear. He didn’t see the trees as they sped past. His eyes were focussed ahead in search of the man crashing through the foliage, all reasoning gone from his mind replaced with madness. It mattered little that Ash couldn’t see him for the man reeked of fear.
Then a moment later, there he was and saliva ran from Ash’s mouth. He could have reached him much earlier but had been enjoying the hunt and anticipation.
The man knew his end was close and so finally stopped, turned around and looked at Ash in despair and horror. Without concern Ash leapt and locked his jaws on to the man’s throat. Warm blood filled his mouth and he gorged on flesh.
There was a scream…
Ash woke again suddenly, more distressed than before. The scream continued, becoming a whistle from the engine as the platform swiftly approached; the gentle swaying of the train, which until now had been unnoticeable, changing to an arrhythmic jolting.
Another bad nightmare or was it a memory? What is a nightmare, anyway? Something bad from an over-active imagination or recognition of something that had actually happened? It was becoming more difficult to differentiate between what had happened and what had not.
Finally, the train slowed and was greeted by more whistles from the stationmaster. Ash looked out of the window but despite the oil lamps along the platform, the combined efforts of smoke and fog created a thick, almost impenetrable miasma.
Ash picked up his cases and for a moment remained motionless. His body ached and he had a splitting headache – a symptom he suffered from time to time when Isis was high.
He waited a minute or two for it to pass. It was always accompanied by a strong sense of anxiety which still took some controlling.
It never got any easier but he was able to control it.
Finally, Ash walked along the platform in search of horses and their carriage; from their smell, he soon found them.
The horses whinnied and shied unhappily.
“I’m sorry, sir…” said a squat man jumping with surprising nimbleness from the first carriage.
“… Looks like they’ve caught the scent of a dog or something. Now, where to, sir?”
“Slaughter Crossing,” Ash answered.
The man was picking up Ash’s cases when he looked up. “That would be Slaughter Crossing at Mortown?” Ash nodded. “You’d best be going t
here in the morning when the sun’s up an’ all.”
“I need to get there tonight. I’ll pay you extra.”
“It’s not the money, sir, it’s just… not a place to go after dark and it’s a long ride, sir – it’s almost three hours.”
“Then let’s get moving before I supplement one of your colleagues’ ale funds with several shillings.” Ash was feeling a little terse due to his headache.
The coachman stared at him. “No, that won’t be necessary, sir…” he said before hoisting Ash’s cases onto the back of the carriage, but the look of fear in his eyes remained.
Scene 2: Slaughter Crossing
The carriage jumped and shook as it rattled down the road and after several minutes of less than pleasurable travel Ash pulled a college book from his jacket pocket and attempted to distract himself from the journey.
Applied mathematics was not everyone’s ‘cup of tea’ but he’d always felt safe and secure in its rational workings. The world of mathematics was a world of rules; there was nothing subjective or impartial in its function. It respected reason; it respected logic, unlike life which had so many shades of meaning and so many answers depending on where you were born or which demographic you belonged to regarding age, religious persuasion or education. No, all the answers in mathematics were derived from a precise and structured process that created a coherent and irrefutable conclusion.
And that gave him comfort.
Ash held on to his subject as tightly as some might a religion – he needed that evidence of rationality in his life.
One of the main reasons for his leaving the homestead at the age of eighteen was because of his family’s stubbornness in changing from their misguided doctrines; subjective beliefs and a way of life they had always tried to impress upon him.
To his mind the family needed to change; move with the times. It was 1905 after all and they should not nurture the old ways.
Ash awoke with a start and moved his head from side to side several times hoping to lose the stiffness in his neck and back, and the ache in his head. The carriage had stopped.
He looked out of the window still rubbing his neck and yawned. The fog was thicker than earlier and meandered around the trunks of the surrounding woodland trees.
He sensed a presence he had not felt in a long time.
Ash smiled.
The door opened and the coachman’s head appeared. “We’re at the crossing, sir…” he said looking around. He paused. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but it’s a mad person who walks along these tracks at night,” he said continuing his sidelong glances as he offloaded the bags. He leaned close to Ash and conspiratorially offered, “I’ve heard of people goin’ missing in these ’ere parts.”
“Thank you for your concern…” Ash answered handing him several extra coins, “… but I used to live around here.”
“Then take care, sir; things may be a little different now,” he whispered and in a moment, was whipping the horses back the way they had come as if the very hounds of hell themselves were on his tail.
Once the sound of the carriage had drifted away Ash looked around through the darkness, the fog and the silence.
After London, he was quite struck by the silence.
There in the gloom he could just make out the Slaughter Crossing sign and so he picked up his cases and headed first towards it and then beyond and along a small track between the trees. He had hoped that Juniper would be waiting for him but no matter – maybe he was mistaken about the presence he had felt earlier.
Ash thought, with some concern, about the coachman’s words as he continued.
It seemed to be getting colder as he made his way along the track. His breath was now clearly visible in the night air but at least the full moon enabled him to see where he was going. He knew his headache would be gone within a couple of days.
After a while he felt he wasn’t alone. He looked around several times but couldn’t penetrate the dark woodland fog around him. Ash again looked ahead and continued his journey.
After a further minute, he heard the crack of a twig or branch to his right and again he stopped to peer into the forest.
The farm was less than half a mile ahead so he ignored the sounds and continued, still feeling a little disappointed that Juniper had not met him – she had always loved the moonlight.
Then he heard another sound, another break of a twig or branch accompanied by what could only be described as a low rumble or growl, this time to his left, and the tread of a large creature.
Ash was not one for irrational fear – or even rational fear when he thought about it.
He stopped and turned around to see the darkness becoming a shadow which then coalesced into something with red fur and moving low and on all fours – it slowly crept out of the fog towards him, its yellow eyes burning and fixed on him.
He dropped his cases, his eyes wide in surprise.
The beast was wolf-like with a maw full of large teeth and long razor-like claws terminated its muscular arms. There was a thick ruff of fiery light-copper fur around its neck which continued along its back.
It stopped some ten feet away and moved back slowly onto its haunches ready to spring. It opened its mouth revealing two-inch-long canines – its sallow eyes flashing in the darkness – and leapt.
Its large claws came down heavily on Ash’s shoulders knocking him off his feet and onto his back.
Ash looked into its gaping jaws…
Chapter 3: Juniper
Scene 1: Juniper
Juniper sat and waited.
She felt sure her brother should have been here by now. He had asked her to meet him and she was more than happy to comply.
For the third time, she looked up the track and beyond the Slaughter Crossing sign before, disappointed, returning again to the trees.
She sat and waited.
It had been seven years since she had seen her brother and was so looking forward to showing him how grown up she now was, and she considered her particular ‘predisposition’ irrelevant.
Poor Ash, she thought. He was a tortured soul. He denied what he was; a being stronger and more sentient than the human he tried to be.
Juniper found it sad for his denial meant he could not experience the overwhelming enjoyment of running under Isis; the senses strong and alive. To run through the forest with strong muscles propelling you through your own primitive perspective free from the shackles of civilisation; to function in accordance with the heart and what you were, instead of the brain and how you were expected to be. The pressure to ‘fit in’ had always been felt strongly by her brother to the detriment of his psyche being aligned and acceptance of what he was.
She felt, however, that she was more sympathetic than her sister, Willow, who felt he had completely lost his way and had no time for his denial.
Though Willow was the older sibling, Ash was the male and so should now be in charge but seemed not to want the mantle.
Since her parents’ death, Juniper had not been happy growing up at the farm and with the absence of her brother, Willow was all she had, and it made her fiercely protective of her sister though Juniper was fourteen years her junior.
Uncle Stefan was dead, and with Ash so many miles away, she only had Aunt Magda and Willow.
Juniper wanted so much to aspire to her sister’s level of confidence and value. But Willow was so domineering and was certainly her father’s daughter. She often thought Willow would have made him a marvellous son.
But Father was dead and so too was Mother. Juniper barely, vaguely, remembered an image of fire and Ash’s frightened face before they were pulled away from the fire.
Their parents were not so lucky.
And now her uncle was dead too. She was just going over his death in her mind when she was suddenly distracted by the smell of heavily sweating horses, and, a momen
t later, the sound of a carriage drawing closer. Juniper stood and peered through the trees and waited. She so loved the moonlight and to bask in Isis’s full magical aura.
She was so looking forward to the look on her brother’s face when he saw her – she was determined to make an entrance.
Scene 2: Attack
Eventually the carriage came into view. She retreated further in the trees – she knew the horses were likely to be spooked if she got too close.
There he was, lifting his cases and starting off towards the signpost. She slowly crept forwards keeping pace but out of eyeshot. After several moments, he stopped and looked around. She knew that he wasn’t blind to her. Their senses had always been mutually attuned.
Juniper crossed the track behind him and continued to follow for several minutes before deciding it was time.
He stopped again and turned around as she appeared from the misty forest and slowly moved towards him.
She took some satisfaction in his surprise. She so wanted him to see she wasn’t the young whelp she used to be. Juniper started at a slow pace towards him with her head low and her upper lip lifted revealing her sharp white teeth.
Then she leapt up at him placing her paws on his shoulders and pushing him to the ground.
She took much satisfaction in Ash’s surprise before he raised his head and smiled, “Hello, Juniper, you’ve grown!” he said.
She then howled over his head in happiness.
She raised her head and howled again before leaping away back into the forest.
Ash slowly got to his feet and slapped the dirt from the back of his coat and trousers wondering if Juniper had left her clothes nearby or at the farm. He looked down at his cases; he had some she could use if necessary.
After several moments, Juniper ran out of the mist and into his arms. This time he was truly shocked; curiously more at her human form than her beast form, for he remembered a gangly seven-year-old with red ringlets. Now she had transformed and matured into something quite beautiful, the ringlets replaced with thick, flowing fiery locks. Despite the cold, she wore a light loose-fitting dress and remained barefoot.