Life at the End of the Road

by Rey S Morfin

  I would have liked to say that I’d just happened across the Myerscough household once again on my return home, but anyone who knew the layout of Redbury would know that there was no “walking past”. The Myerscough residence was located at the very end of Albany Way, which, despite its name, was now a complete dead end. There was no way of progressing further, even on foot. It was the very definition of the end of the road.

  The curtains of the house were now, mostly, closed, with the exception of the upstairs bedroom. It was possible that I’d rattled the owner earlier, causing her to retreat further into her own world. I couldn’t blame her, I’d perhaps (no, I’d definitely) brought back memories that I shouldn’t have.

  As I watched the house, a light rain began to pour. It was that type of weather which was so thin that it barely constituted rain, and was not enough of a pain to budge me from my observation point.

  Finally there was movement in the bedroom, and I focused my eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman whose day I’d ruined (although perhaps, for her, every day was pre-packaged as such). I couldn’t make her out from the side of the road where I was sitting, only seeing a shadow moving across the room, but its owner was out of sight. The shadow continued to move, but I couldn’t work out which light source was casting it.

  At my side, a gentle male voice begin to speak. ‘She used to be a very gregarious woman, do you remember?’

  Looking around, I recognised the owner of the voice as Arthur, the religious man around town, residing in the much-loved (but little-used) church of Redbury.

  He continued, ‘The life of the town. Loved by everyone. Not the most religious person I’d ever met, sure, but she had a kind heart.’

  ‘I don’t remember her, I’ll be honest. I barely remember the fire at all, really.’

  ‘I’d have thought a teenager would have been overcome by morbid curiosity.’

  ‘I had other shit going on back then.’

  ‘I’m sure you did! Oh, boy, her apple pie. Who would’ve known that something as simple as apple pie could have been so delicious. And she was so kind, so kind to me personally. Sure, she wasn’t spiritual, but she still helped me with events at the church, was always trying to force her home-grown produce onto me. No, not “force” - that would imply I didn’t want it, wouldn’t it? I always wanted it, I…’ Art trailed off.

  ‘And now… this.’ I gestured at the house.

  ‘Yes. Quite. A tragic tale. One of the most tragic of this town.’ Art looked down as if saying a silent prayer. ‘Anyway - Anna Tyndall, how have you been?’

  ‘I’m ok.’

  ‘I’m afraid that you’re going to have to give me more of an answer than that. How’s the city treating you?’

  ‘It’s cold and unforgiving, but on the bright side, nobody talks to you,’ I answered.

  ‘Oh,’ Art replied, eyes squinting as he tried to work out whether I truly considered lack of socialisation to be a positive trait of urban life. ‘But, still you meet people, correct?’

  ‘You mean, like, men?’

  ‘Sure! Romantic or not, as long as you have company, that’s what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah, I am. Dating apps go a lot further when you didn’t go to school with everyone your age in your local area.’

  ‘I can only imagine,’ he replied, holding up his hands, ‘It’s not my area of expertise.’

  Conversation died into a strangely-comfortable silence. I’d known Art for many years during my youth, and I felt at ease with him. He had that sort of energy to him (one that gave the impression that he posed no threat, that you could trust him).

  ‘I met Rey earlier,’ Art commented, ‘Interesting man, isn’t he?’

  ‘I’ve said worse things than that, Art, don’t feel you have to hold back.’

  He chuckled. ‘Now, now. He wasn’t that bad, just a lost soul. And I don’t mean that in the spiritual sense.’

  I gave no immediate answer, only raising an eyebrow. I’d maybe been too harsh on Rey over the years. He’d never strictly done anything to hurt me. Taking Laura away from me was only a side effect of his affection for her (an affection that I myself shared). God only knew how he was dealing with this situation.

  Art seemed contented to stand by my side, staring at the Myerscough residence.

  ‘Where is he? Rey?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s in the woods.’

  ‘The woods? Why’s he in there? What’s he up to?’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t his idea. It was mine. It sounded like he needed something to focus on, keep his mind distracted, so I gave him a little task. Do you remember Elizabeth?’

  ‘The witch, yes, go on.’

  ‘Oh I do wish you wouldn’t still call her that.’

  ‘Sorry. Go on.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Elizabeth in a few days. I was starting to wonder if she was still… with us.’

  ‘Well, now I feel bad for calling her the witch.’

  ‘As is God’s will, my child.’ He chuckled. Maybe he could give the God thing a rest at some point.

  ‘Why do you mention the- why do you mention Elizabeth?’

  ‘I sent Rey out to check up on her.’

  ‘And he said yes to that request?’

  Art surveyed me. ‘What’s the cause of this conflict that very clearly exists between the two of you, may I ask?’

  ‘There’s no conflict.’

  ‘Well. If there was any conflict, I’d say to you that maybe it could be played down a little right now. It does seem like he’s having a very difficult time coping. He’s a bit… “all over the shop”, as they say.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. We all are.’

  ‘Yes. Of course,’ he said, compassion in his voice. ‘So why are we here, Anna? Staring at poor Mrs Myerscough’s home?’

  9

  Burn the Witch

  You’re not a child, are you, reader? You’re not someone, like me, might have wandered into their parents room with the purpose of stealing a book - a story - that they would not typically let you consume? Perhaps you scoured the titles, the covers, the blurbs, looking for key words - ‘fear’, ‘despair’, ‘sex’. Anything that suggested even a hint of not being suitable for children. I did this once and learned significantly more about the human anatomy that my brain was willing to handle at that stage in my development - and was also more information than my childhood friends’ parents had wanted me to share with their children.

  If you are young, then I leave this message for you. Continue. Absolutely. Read on. There are ideas in this world that your parents might shield you from, but this doesn’t make them any less real. If you, and you alone, have made the decision to learn about such ideas, then nobody should have the power to stop you. The extent of your learning is defined only by you.

  However, not all ideas you read in stories can happen in your reality. Just as you will never be personally exposed to vampires or werewolves or a tolerant nationalist, you will never be personally exposed to the events that take place in this chapter. Read on, by all means, but sleep soundly at night - it’s important for your development.

  As I walked towards the treeline, I found myself having to fend off doubts. I knew Laura and I had our problems - what relationship doesn’t? - but were they enough that she’d fall into the arms of an ex-boyfriend? Was I reading too much into the testimony given by the vicar? Or was the fact that Laura had spent time with Sam immediately before she disappeared reason enough to feel that their fates may have been intertwined? Of course it was. This wasn’t jealousy, this was pragmatism. I told myself this over and over.

  Jealousy was an emotion reserved for the insecure. I’d always been many things, I still had my foibles, but I was never insecure - was I?

  I approached the treeline, and the shadows covered me. Only up this close could I see exactly how dense the foliage here was. No wonder it was always dark in the woods. I stepped down a few worn steps with wooden boundaries holding the dirt into a vaguely climbable shape. Whilst I managed
it with ease, it was hard to imagine Elizabeth climbing these if she was as old as Art made her out to be.

  Nobody had ever told me I was insecure - but then, I supposed, if you thought someone was insecure you were unlikely to tell them this, for fear of them, of course, taking it badly. Was the fact that I was studying my own level of security a reflection of the fact that I, in reality, wasn’t as secure as I had thought?

  It was hard to stick to the facts when I was questioning my own character. Was I seeing clues or was I just seeing reflections of my own doubts and fears? The meeting with Sam, I was pretty sure, was a clue to Laura whereabouts. It didn’t matter that he was an ex; if she’d walked off with anyone into the woods, that would be a big red flag. I would have to make sure to confront him when I returned to town.

  The fever dream, though, was easier to discount. Short of the universe manifesting clues in my drug-addled mind, I could see no conceivable way that those strange events could in any way reflect reality. At most, they could maybe be manifestations of the doubts of my subconscious, but what would that mean? Do I want to get a cat? Did I just feel a connection with Ruby? What would seeing Laura as some smoke monster mean? That’s she’s disappeared into a cloud of smoke? That would be particularly lazy on the part of my subconscious. And what of Robert Kamryn and Anna? The details of the dream were clouded in my mind.

  I crunched forwards, each step crushing fallen leaves and sticks underfoot. I couldn’t remember if it had rained recently, but the debris was dry as a bone - either from the unseasonably warm weather, or from the cover that the dense leaves provided. Likely a mix of the two.

  Where was Laura? Where had she gone to? How could she do this to me? How could she do this to everyone that cared about her?

  I blinked tears from my eyes.

  Where would she have gone to? Where was she? Where could she be? Would I ever see her again?

  Time was continuing to tick on without Laura, as if the world hadn’t ended - but it most certainly had. Every minute that passed made me more and more fearful that the last time I ever saw Laura would have been that ridiculous little fight we had back home. A sharp pain gripped my chest, and the nausea became suddenly overwhelming, causing me to litter my shop-bought breakfast over the trunk of a nearby tree. I bent over, spitting the last of the vomit from my mouth, wishing I had brought water - or any drink - to cleanse my palette. This pained state in which I found myself could, very well, be the foreseeable future - unless I unravelled the secrets of this town and were to find Laura at the heart of it.

  In the distance, finally, I could see it: a house in the woods. As promised. The Vicar had failed, however, to comment on the size of the property. Even by Redbury’s standards, this building was large, standing tall amongst the trees like a monument to remote civilisation. It must have been an old Georgian manor - or, maybe not a manor, but definitely getting somewhat towards that size. If it had been built down here in the early 19th century, or, at a stretch, the late 18th, had that been enough time for the trees to grow tall around it? I didn’t know - nature wasn’t my area - however I was able to confirm my dating of the property due to the presence of two bricked-up windows.

  From the start of the eighteenth century, there had been a new tax levied on homeowners, in place of income tax, known as the Window Tax. The level of taxation was dependent on - surprise, surprise - the number of windows on your property. The logic had been that the larger the property was, the more windows it would have, and the richer the owner. This lead to a lot of stunning Georgian architecture getting - some would say - ruined by odd-colour patches of brickwork and dark interiors. Possibly a previous owner of this property, back in the day, had hit hard times.

  Vines grew up the walls and over the roof of the two-storied home. A generator hummed dimly - presumably the only source of electricity out here - but what was powering it? I listened closer and could hear a distant sound of water trickling. I must have been near the river at the bottom of the valley, although, looking around, I still couldn’t see it.

  ‘Are you lost?’ a voice called out to me. Camouflaged in drap brown garments on the front porch of the old house was - fittingly - an old woman, waving at me, smile on her face.

  ‘No, I’m not… I’m not lost,’ I replied.

  ‘Then what, may I ask, are you doing down here? I mean that not in a mean-spirited way, it’s simply that I don’t get many visitors.’

  I feared the truth would have seemed patronising - that people were worried about her, so I opted for a white lie.

  ‘I’m just out for a walk. Seeing the… sights.’

  ‘Well you must be absolutely exhausted, how about a cup of tea?’ she asked.

  I was well aware of the British stereotype concerning overconsumption of tea - I was a fan myself - but I’d never seen it taken to such an extreme, almost pious level, as it was in Redbury. This being said, I could still taste the vomit in my mouth from earlier, and this passionate belief in the power of tea could work in my favour. I accepted the offer, and followed the woman as she hobbled into the house.

  ‘I’m Rey, by the way. What are you… what’s your name?’ If there was a non-awkward way to ask this question, I was still to find it.

  The woman turned, smiled, and held out a hand in formal greeting. ‘Nice to meet you, Rey, I’m Elizabeth.’

  I took the hand and shook it gently - fearing that any strong movements might rip it from its feeble socket. Elizabeth continued into the house, passing first through the living room - where she gestured for me to take a seat. She walked off into - presumably - the kitchen, leaving me alone in the room. I sat patiently and waited, eyes perusing the various photographs and paintings that lined the walls.

  One in particular caught my eye. It looked to be a photograph of two men about to head off to war - dressed in full uniform, the Redbury church standing tall in the background. I could see a resemblance between Elizabeth and these men, perhaps they were brothers or cousins. A woman stood next to them, arm around one, grinning proudly at the camera. She had an even more striking resemblance to Elizabeth, and must have been her mother.

  ‘I like the photographs,’ I called out, ‘Are they all family?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Elizabeth called out from the other room, ‘All my close relatives. I like to have them up there, it feels as though they’re watching over me.’

  ‘It’s nice. I don’t have any pictures up at home really. Maybe I should. As I get older I find myself… becoming more sentimental.’

  ‘Yes, it’s funny how that happens. Imagine how sentimental you get to be once you’re my age!’

  The woman hobbled back into the room, tea tray in hands, with two cups of tea and a plate displaying a variety of biscuits. As I reached for one of the cups, Elizabeth scrambled to offer me the other one.

  ‘No sugar, just a dash of milk - just how you like it,’ she announced.

  ‘That’s right… how’d you know?’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘I just know these things, you mustn’t worry about that! What brings you to Redbury, Rey? It doesn’t get a huge number of visitors, I believe.’

  I analysed my host, who sat smiling at me, sipping timidly at her cup of tea with small, wrinkled hands, and I decided that there was no harm in telling her the truth.

  ‘I’m looking for someone. My girlfriend… my fiancée, actually. She’s from here. Laura Kamryn? She came back here a few days ago and I can’t… we can’t find her.’ I felt tears welling up again, and I made a conscious effort to force back the increasing nausea, not wanting to make the same mistake as before - I didn’t think Elizabeth would like me decorating her carpet.

  ‘And you’re looking for her in the Woods? What do you think she’d be doing down here?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Yes… I… I don’t know. I keep seeing things that seem to point in this direction. And someone told me she came out this way.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘I can’t explain,’ I answered, unwi
lling to verbally express the idea of the Shadow in the forest, for fear of sounding… crazy.

  ‘That’s ok, Rey, that’s ok. These stressful situations can make you see things you’re not used to seeing.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. Clearly Art and Elizabeth shared a school of thought. ‘So,’ I continued, changing the subject, ‘How comes you live all the way out here?’

  ‘I’ve always lived out here, it’s a family home. Never lived anywhere else.’

  ‘Seems a long way away from everything, though…’

  ‘Oh, yes, it’s an awful long way. An awful, awful long way, but I’m tied to here, you see? It’s all I’ve known. I know it seems strange to you, an old woman living all the way out here, especially in a house like this. Not the typical sort of woodland dwelling. Did Arthur tell what to look for when he sent you down here? Essentially, it’s an-’

  ‘Hold on, hold on, sorry. How did you know Art sent me down here?’

  A sly smile crossed Elizabeth’s face, and all her mannerisms seemed to change in an instant. No longer slow and feeble, she leapt up from the chair and began pacing the room, gesticulating wildly and youthfully as she continued.

  ‘Aha! You caught me, Rey, you caught me! I think subconsciously I wanted you to. The Outsider! Here at last. Steeping in the power of the Root, no idea what’s ahead of him!’

  She bellowed loudly and the walls seemed to shake. I stood up from my chair, made wildly uncomfortable by the change in situation. My eyes darted towards the door.

  ‘Looking for an escape, are we, Rey?’ Elizabeth gloated. Her skin began to change in hue to a duller, darker shade, and the ends of her hair began to burn away as if formed of a smoldering fire. There had perhaps been, as often there is, an element of truth to the names given to her by the children of Redbury.