The yew tree was not a random choice of setting. I needed an impromptu hiding place for Tim – a sanctuary which would at the same time act as a catalyst for subsequent events and so turn out not to be a sanctuary at all. The idea of a haunted yew tree came about because of a chance conversation with a colleague I work with on a national nature reserve on Merseyside. We got talking one day about the ancient yew forest site he used to work at before he joined us at our reserve. He told me about an area of the yew forest where there was an atmosphere of ‘wrongness’, which attracted some of the, shall we say, stranger practitioners of the occult. People who visited this particular area felt a sense of unease. That, coupled with the phenomenally long-lived yew’s association with death and the dead, made this tree a great contender for a ‘non-sanctuary’.
The title was perhaps the greatest struggle of all. ‘One Bad Turn’ was the least awful of all the titles I came up with, and if there was one lesson I learned, it was not to dream up story titles whilst under the influence of far too much vodka…
The Bureau of Lost Children
Mark West
“So how do you want to play this?”
Scott looked up at his wife Jess. She was standing behind a chair, reaching over it to sort out her bag which almost filled the small café table they were sitting around. She smiled at him. “You know what Carol’s like, I can’t think of any other way to do it.”
“No, that’s fine,” said Scott. He looked at his son Josh, sitting on the chair next to him, engrossed in his DS. “We’ll be fine, a slow wander around Waterstone’s and HMV and ZAP! Maybe have another drink or something.” He reached over and ran his hand through Josh’s thick blond curls. The boy glanced at him, smiling, then went back to his game.
“We’ll be fine.”
Jess clipped her bag shut, stood straight and blew her fringe away from her eyes. “I’ll get out as quick as I can.”
“Jess, it’s a fitting, with the most demanding bride in the world and as her matron of honour…”
“For the second time…”
Scott smiled. “Yes and for the second time you’ll be expected to stay until the bitter end.”
“I’ll get away as soon as I can.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”
Jess came around the table, leaned down and kissed Scott hard on the lips. She moved behind him, kissed Josh on his curls - he put his game on pause, turned and demanded she give him a proper kiss - and then she was gone, heading towards the west end of the Weston Centre, where the high-end ladies shops were.
“That’s it then,” said Scott. He leaned forward and put the empty cups onto the tray. “Just me and you now.”
“Game off?” asked Josh.
“Game off,” nodded Scott and together they got up and left the café.
***
Scott had never been to the Weston Centre before, a new development dedicated to the worship of materialism on the outskirts of Chaton. He’d driven past it though, on his daily commute, watching the huge steel panels and abundance of parking spaces eat into the greenfield site beside the A14.
It made sense, therefore, that such an obnoxious place would be Carol’s first choice to get her new wedding dress from. An old college friend of Jess’, Scott neither liked nor disliked her, rather tolerating her presence on the odd occasion they met. She was now on husband number three, a man called Cornelius who worked in the city. The only Cornelius Scott knew of was the chimp in Planet of the Apes, so he found conversation difficult as images of a simian Roddy McDowell kept popping into his head. Husband number one was straight out of college and Scott only met him a week before the split. Husband number two had been nice, a mechanic who liked jazz and Wim Wenders’ films, but he was never a long term prospect.
“When does Auntie Carol get married?” asked Josh.
“About a month, mate. Are you looking forward to it?”
Josh shook his head vigorously. “No,” he said firmly. Josh was seven, bright and funny and not at all pleased that he was to be page boy. His outfit had already been chosen and, according to him, the ruff made his head look as if it was on a small plate.
“It’s just for a day mate and Auntie Carol will be pleased.”
“She won’t even notice that I’m there.”
“A wedding doesn’t last forever. The time’ll fly by, you’ll see.”
Josh nodded.
The centre was big, built over two floors. The top floor ran around the building, leaving a central atrium, bridged by a wide walkway that contained small stallholders, selling wallets and pictures and things that you didn’t need. Heavy metal balusters, shielded by thick panes of safety glass, prevented anyone from getting down to the ground floor from level one without using the lifts or escalators. The ceiling was modern, glass and steel and chrome and let in a lot of light.
They stopped in front of map of the centre. “So where first then, Josh?”
Josh bit his left cheek and stared at the map, then began to drum his fingers against his chin, a parody of a lost adult. “Hmmm,” he said, his eyes constantly moving. “Where did you want to go?”
“You choose first, then we’ll go to where I want, then we’ll do your next choice.”
Josh studied the board a little more. “Hmmmm, well the HMV and Waterstones are downstairs, but the ZAP! is on this floor.”
Scott checked the map. ZAP! was behind them, a hundred or so yards beyond the café they’d just left. Without thinking, he held his hand out and Josh took it. Scott smiled - last week he’d been reminded that Josh was now seven and didn’t need his hand holding all the time. Whilst that was probably true, Scott hoped he’d forget about it for a little while longer.
They walked down the wide aisle, looking in the shop windows they passed, smiling at some of the peculiar fashions the hipsters were wearing and then Josh pointed. “There it is.”
The ZAP! store was quite small but made up for its stature by having the gaudiest window display of those around it - primary colours, banners and posters for forthcoming games and a raft of balloons tied to the door handles.
They went in and were instantly assaulted by loud, repetitive music that blasted from speakers.
“So, mate, what did you want to look at?” asked Scott, already knowing the answer.
“The 3DS.”
“You do realise I’m never going to buy you one, don’t you? At least not for as long as your normal DS works.”
Josh stopped and looked up at Scott, his head tilted to one side, his left eyebrow raised. “I know that, Dad, it’ll hurt my eyes, you’ve told me. I just want to have a quick play on it.”
Scott smiled and cupped the back of his son’s head. “That’s fine, can you see it?”
Josh looked around slowly then pointed. “There, it’s by the till.”
“Fine, you go and play and I’ll have a quick look at the games. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
“Yes, Dad,” said Josh, stretching out the words.
“I’ll be further in the shop, don’t go out.”
“I won’t.”
Scott ruffled his son’s hair quickly, then Josh ran towards the till and leaned over the 3DS that was chained to the edge of the counter. Assured that he was absorbed in the game, Scott walked further into the shop, towards the pre-owned section - as much as he and Josh enjoyed playing Mario Kart together, Scott wanted something a bit more realistic. He browsed through the titles - none of which were arranged in any order he could discern - but couldn’t find what he wanted.
He turned towards the shop front and scanned the counter. Two people were waiting to get served, a girl was serving and the 3DS machine was at the end. But there was no Josh.
Scott stepped away from the rack, to give himself a better view. Josh wasn’t near the counter, or the window. Perhaps he’d come further into the shop, to try and find his dad? If that was the case, he might be the other side of the rack, checking out some Pokemon games. Scott, keeping his eyes on th
e front of the shop, walked around the far end of the display. No-one stood on the other side of the rack.
He felt a little stab of tension behind his eyes and a twinge in his chest. There were other places, here in the shop, that he could be. No sense in panicking, only to find him on the other side of the place, sitting on the floor reading the back of a game box or something.
Scott squatted and checked under the racks, then stood up and worked his way along the back of the shop, keeping close to the wall, looking towards the front. Some browsers glanced at him oddly, but nobody said anything. Within moments, Scott had crossed the space with no sign of Josh. He strode towards the counter and had a thorough look around the standee displays, all of them colourful enough to attract the attention of a kid. There were only other browsers, children and adults. Scott felt more tension stabs, along his hairline and at the base of his skull. His heart beat was increasing and he could feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers.
He walked to the counter and stood by the 3DS machine. The game was finished, Josh appeared to have won. The girl behind the counter, noisily stapling sheets of paper, looked at him. Her hair was cut in odd angles and she had piercings in her nose and lips.
“Can I help you?” she said.
Scott took a deep breath. “Have you seen a little boy here, seven years old, he was playing on the DS.”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Think – he would have been here about five minutes ago, less than five minutes ago. Three minutes maybe.”
“I’ve just finished serving somebody who was making a cash-in, I didn’t notice any boys at all.”
“Are you sure?” Scott could feel the tension in his throat, hear it translating through in his tone. He needed to keep calm. “Please, it’s really important.”
The girl looked at him sadly and shook her head. “I’m ever so sorry, I don’t remember seeing anyone.”
“Okay,” said Scott and with a last glance around the shop, he stepped out onto the centre walkway. There were families all around, kids of all shapes and sizes, enough that he wondered how he would spot Josh? Could he remember what his son was wearing - suddenly, he couldn’t picture him in his mind’s eye, couldn’t see him standing in the hallway waiting to go out, talking about Pokemon incessantly as he seemed to do all the time now. Scott couldn’t remember him in the car on the way here, or him sitting on the chair in the café, kicking his legs aimlessly back and forth since he couldn’t touch the ground when he sat.
He rushed across to the railings and stood on the lowest bar. He couldn’t see the other side of the centre clearly, but looking down, he couldn’t see anyone he thought might be his son either.
Was he wearing his hat? What colour jacket did he have on? Was he wearing his Harvard jacket, what badges did he have on it, what colour jeans was he wearing?
Scott growled with frustration. Why couldn’t he fucking remember anything?
Still standing on the rung, Scott turned and gripped the handrail to keep himself up. Craning his neck, he tried hard to see on this side of the centre.
His heart was now thumping in his chest and tension had blanketed his head, poking at his eyes, ringing in his ears, pulling the skin tight. Where was he? What should Scott do now, ring the police, get in touch with the centre security? How long should he look before he rang, how could he bear to stop looking?
Glancing to his left, Scott saw the HMV sign and ran towards the shop, jostling people as he went. He ran in and looked down the first aisle. Josh was nowhere to be seen. Keeping his back to the open doorway, he moved sideways, looking up the aisle. Nothing. He ran to the end of the shop, retraced his movements, still didn’t see him. A member of staff came over.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“No, I’m looking for my son.”
“And was he in here?”
Scott was just about to answer when he saw a child walk by the shop front. He was blond haired, wearing a blue Harvard jacket and blue jeans. A man, with a light grey suit, highly polished black boots and a buzz cut, was walking beside him and talking into a radio unit.
Scott ran down the aisle. A man, wide and lumpy, walked across the gangway. He glanced up, saw Scott and moved first backwards, then forwards, not actually taking a step at all. Scott ploughed into him and they fell down, the man grabbing for him. Scott wriggled out of his grasp and carried on out of the shop, ignoring the outraged cries from behind him.
The man and boy were nowhere to be seen. Since they were moving across the shop front right to left, Scott assumed they were heading towards the entrance to the centre and ran along the walkway, dodging most people, colliding with others, always looking. His heartbeat was faster, his breathing growing more and more ragged, but he couldn’t stop now, he had to keep going.
He was close to the bridge now and checked it and there, he could see them, the suited man hurrying the boy along with a big hand on the child’s back.
Was it Josh? Could it be?
“Josh!” he yelled before he thought about his actions, “Josh, is that you?”
Dozens of shoppers turned to look at him, his raised voice completely out of keeping in the place. The man with the walkie-talkie kept moving, but the kid turned slightly. His eyes were red.
“Daddy!” he yelled.
“Josh! Wait there, Daddy’s coming.”
Scott cut across the aisle, shoving out of the way shoppers who didn’t move in time. He kept watching the man, who was hurrying Josh faster. They crossed the other walkway, some of the people there standing still and watching Scott.
“Hey, leave him alone! Stop that man, he’s taking my son.”
Nobody made a move, to either join the chase or stop the man.
Scott stumbled against somebody and when he looked up, Josh had disappeared. How could that be?
Scott ran across the bridge and crab-walked along the walkway, his back to the banister. It took him a moment or more, his heartbeat getting faster, sweat covering his forehead and scalp, to realise where the man had gone. There was a narrow service corridor between the health food shop and a discount shoe store and Scott ran over to it. Barely wide enough for two people, the walls were stamped steel and at the end was a door. A placard marked ‘Private’ was fixed in the centre at head height. Scott stopped in front of it and leaned forward, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. If the man had brought Josh into here, then he had to be working security for the centre and that meant that everything was alright.
A rustling sound caught his attention and he looked up. A poster had been taped to the walls, brushed by often enough that it was mostly hanging off. Crudely homemade, it had a picture of a smiling ginger haired kid in the centre with “lost child, have you seen Simon Timson…” stencilled on it. Simon looked to be about ten.
Scott turned and tried the door handle. It moved but the door didn’t open.
“Fuck,” he said and stepped back, looking around for some way to communicate with the security people. A bell perhaps, an intercom or a buzzer. There was nothing. He looked up and saw, a foot or so from the ceiling, a small camera pointing at him. He waved at it, mouthed “that’s my son”. The camera didn’t move. Scott stepped back to the door and tried the handle again. It rattled uselessly.
“Let me in,” he yelled, hitting the door with his open palm. In the narrow corridor, the sound echoed. He hoped that meant other people, shoppers, would hear it and draw some attention. “Hey, let me in, that’s my son!”
The click was so quiet he almost missed it.
He pulled the handle down quickly and the door opened slightly. Scott pulled it wide and stepped through, the door closing behind him.
He was standing in a brightly lit corridor, with a shiny tiled floor, plasterboard walls and a suspended ceiling. He waited for a moment or two, expecting someone to come and meet him but nobody did.
“Hello?” he called but only silence answered him. “Hello, I’ve come to get my son.”
He
turned to his left and walked down the corridor. Ahead a hundred feet or so it turned left and when he reached that, he saw another corridor with a glass office set off it. Several people were sitting in it, working at VDUs, tapping keyboards and talking into Bluetooth headsets. Scott started up the corridor but nobody paid any attention to him.
“I’m coming to pick up my son,” he bellowed. Why wasn’t anyone answering him? “I’m coming to get him.”
There were a lot of doors set into the wall across from the glass office. One opened and a slim woman, wearing a skirt suit the same colour as the man with the buzz cut, stepped into the corridor. She looked to be in her early thirties, but her bun hairstyle and lack of make-up made her look older. She clasped a metal clipboard to her chest.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, someone buzzed the door to let me in here.”
The woman shot a quick, annoyed glance toward the glass office but said nothing. “I see.”
“I’ve lost my son, we were in ZAP! and got separated.”
“Yes?”
“I was searching around and then I spotted him, being led here by a man in a grey suit.”
“Did you see him come in here?”
Her question made Scott pause. “Yes,” he said, after a beat, “yes.”
“You actually saw him come through the door?”
“Eh? No, I was too far away, I saw them disappear into the hallway outside.”
“But not come through this door?”
Frowning, Scott shook his head. “Someone wearing a suit the same colour as yours led my son down a narrow hallway and didn’t come back out. I followed and came through the door.”
“Your name?”
“Burton, Scott Burton, my son’s called Josh.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said and held out a stiff hand. Scott shook it. “My name is Healey, I’m in charge of operations here and you’re trespassing, Mr Burton.”
“Trespassing?” A sudden flare of anger in his chest, mixed with a twinge of fear that he hadn’t seen Josh at all. “Sorry, I was buzzed in here because I was following a colleague of yours who was walking with my son.”
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