I got to my feet and clambered up a loose cluster of stones. From here I had a decent vantage point, one that might serve me to find a new den. To the south the ground sloped down, and I could see the ribbon thin strip of road cutting through the grass. The road did not reach up this far, the townsfolk long ago abandoning the idea of repurposing the cottage, but I knew that it led to buildings, people, things I was better off avoiding. To the north, the land flattened and dipped slightly to accommodate Lake Eabha. There was a small island in the centre that did have some shelter but I could not risk the swim, especially not now when the water would be rising and threatening to spill over entirely.
East held only farm land and the occasional burial mound. The forest to the west was my only choice really and I knew that the foliage was certainly thick enough to keep the rain off. Mostly at any rate.
Leaping down from the pile of rocks, sending up a spray as I struck the ground. I crept towards the forest, slowing as I drew nearer before coming to a complete stop at the edge of the trees. The skeletal branches reached out to me, crooked twigs beckoning me in.
There was something strangely foreboding about the snarled wooden limbs, the dark empty void where the light couldn’t penetrate. It seemed to swallow up a person, consuming all sanity. There would be food, animals to hunt and plants, yet after everything that had taken place there I could only imagine the bitterness of its taste. The touch of evil would taint the soil and all that sprouted from it, of that I had no doubt.
I pawed at the dirt and took an uncertain step forward.
It was like being engulfed in water. The ground was patterned with the shifting back and forth of filtered moonlight, tinted green. All sounds of the outside word disappeared, replaced by the gentle whispering of the trees.
In the darkness up ahead, something shifted. A misty shape, like a pillar of smoke rising up from the ground, tendrils reaching out to me. A chill wind whipped passed my head and for a moment I thought I heard someone call my name. The sight of it sent shivers down my spine and I sprinted from the trees, returning back to the remains of my home.
The pull of the cottage was strong, perhaps stronger than my own instincts at this point. It was where I belonged. Glancing up at the unforgiving sky, my resolution grew. I had endured far worse and I was not yet desperate enough to risk whatever phantom haunted the grim depths. The rain would pass, food would come. I had to be patient.
BLAIR
I woke early after a disturbed few hours’ sleep. I was exceptionally restless, pacing the length of the room like a tiger, probably due to residual adrenaline or something pumping through my veins from the day before. The early morning sunlight reflected off of the pool, catching my eye, teasing me with the prospect of fresh air and cool water. I loved to swim, but not in the pool and only ever at night. I’d have to wait until things had dried off a bit though.
Instead I assembled my running gear. The rain had stopped but I could see from the window that the ground was still wet. Puddles were dotted along the main road, shimmering in the early morning light.
I unlocked my door and headed down the stairs, moving with silent purpose. The house was peaceful, all the inhabitants sleeping or involved in some sedentary activity. Elian occasionally got up early but Grayson wouldn’t rise until midday if he had the choice.
I grabbed an apple from the kitchen and let myself out the back door, leaving it unlatched so I could get back in easily. I moved briskly across the dew soaked grass till I got to the rusted gate almost hidden in the bushes beside the cottage. I hadn’t taken the front route to the road, it was too exposed. Only one of the bedrooms overlooked the garden, along with the bathroom, so there’s was less chance of being seen this way. No need to completely abandon caution after all. I didn’t want to invite questions as to why I wasn’t getting ready for school.
Once on the other side of the gate, I leant against it to stretch my muscles, and then set off at a gentle lope down the road. I never listened to music when I ran, not only because I didn’t own any form of transportable music player (not even an old fashioned Walkman), but because I just didn’t particularly enjoy music. That sounds weird, I know. Almost everyone likes music, right? I mean didn’t hate it and I would even listen to it by choice on occasion, but most songs I’d heard were about sex, drugs, love, depression or, in the case of the rap music I’d heard anyway, cars. I enjoyed music without words, just the general sounds of it. But I could get that from the world around me - the birdsong, the rhythmic drumming of my feet on the ground was music to me.
I concentrated on my pace, keeping it steady as I jogged. The roads remained pretty empty around here but at this time they were completely deserted. I pulled to a stop by a brambled hedge which boarded a farm near the base of the hill. The farmer, Mr Murphy, was very friendly and often spoke to me when I passed on my early morning jogs. He wasn’t around today but his old horse was in the field. I clicked my teeth, calling him over to pet him and feed him my apple. I liked horses. They were strong and fast, free to run even when they were captive. I wondered if they ran for the same reasons I did, to escape how they felt and outrun their own thoughts. Seeing the horse every day made me happy. I liked to think he was fond of me too, but who can tell. He probably just liked that I fed him apples.
I would have stayed longer, petting and feeding the horse, but the farmer’s dog, a large mutt called Boss who hated me for no apparent reason (maybe I pulled his tail as a child or something), came out of the house and barked furiously at me, so I set off again. I jogged down the hill, turning off the main road onto a dirt track that cut through fields and a copse of trees to the town. It was a less direct route, not as dense as the main forest but enough to provide a challenge. I needed to make sure I stayed clear of the house long enough for my aunt to go to work. Most days Matthew and I made our own way to the bus which took us to school so she wouldn’t expect to see me that morning.
I paused at the start or the lane, imagining it like the running track I’d used at school. I closed my eyes, picturing a girl beside me to race against, picturing the crowds around the track and the man with the starter gun. I’d been part of the track team at my old boarding school, one of their stars in fact although I didn’t like to boast. I’d thought about trying out at my new school but… it hadn’t worked out. Maybe it was because I was smaller and younger than the rest of the runners but either way I’d not been welcomed.
Now the only time I competed was in my head, running properly only when I was certain of privacy and solitude. I loved to run too much to give it up completely but I no longer had the confidence to show it around others. The privacy helped in one aspect at least. I wanted to outrun my fear, my thoughts. When I ran, it was like I left my body behind and was free to do as I pleased. That was the sensation I lived for and sought after every time I ran.
I took my starting pose, resting on the balls of my feet, fingers splayed against the dirt.
3...2....1... I heard the starting gun in my head and darted off, sprinting down the lane. I kept my pace steady and my breathing even, turning as the lane curved, heading into the trees, drawing level with my fictional competitor. I slowed as we entered the small cluster of trees, to catch my breath. The branches interlocked above my head to form a canopy and cast a green glow over my skin as the sun shone through the leaves. The air was so still. It was calming to me and helped prevent the return of negative feelings, allowing me a rare opportunity to think clearly.
As the path neared the main road again, I returned to my soft jog again. I continued onwards to the outskirts of town. Normally I jogged through and did a complete circuit but today I felt my feet falter and stopped before I got there. Despite wanting to prolong my time outside, I was hesitant. My bruises burned, as if warning me to stay away. It was unlikely I’d see anyone I knew at this time, but I was wary and I wasn’t entirely sure why. If I did see anyone from school, like Connor, they wouldn’t attack me in the middle of the town…
; In the end my stomach made up my mind for me. I was hungry and decided to go to the village bakery to get a pastry for breakfast before I headed back. I jogged down through the narrow winding streets. It was like a ghost town, although a few people were setting up stalls for the market. I loved the market. It had all the normal stuff - fruit, veg, and meats from the local farms - but if you searched for long enough you could normally find something pretty cool. When I was younger, I used to love spending hours just wandering around the stalls.
I got to the bakery, which was one of the few shops already open and the only one busy. I’d worked their briefly on a few occasions when they needed staff and knew it got quite busy, especially during the holidays when the tourists showed up and wanted the novelty of fresh baked bread for breakfast. I opened the door of the shop, stepping inside and got a fleeting impression of peculiar lilac eyes and white blonde hair as I collided with a solid wall of flesh.
“S…sorry!” I said, stumbling backwards. It was a man, well dressed in slightly old fashioned formal wear. He gave me a friendly smile.
“My fault,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Be careful how you go.”
His words and his tone were affable but there was something intense and disconcerting about the way his eyes locked on me. I nodded quickly and hurried inside the shop, feeling the stranger’s gaze burning into my back as I went.
I got my breakfast and returned home without incident. I took the long route, ensuring that by the time I returned to the main road Aunt Helen would have gone to work and Uncle Michael would have headed up to tend to the animals.
As the hill rose I felt my feet slow, reluctant to return. I reached the point where I could see the house and my eyes scanned the windows one by one for signs of life. There were none. Lastly, I settled my gaze onto my window, out of habit more than anything else. I wasn’t expecting to see anything there.
My eyes widened as I caught sight of a figure in the gap of the curtains. I blinked and they were gone. I faltered, slowing to a walk before stopping entirely, trying to work out if it was real or not. I’d locked the door, hadn’t I? How could someone be in there? It had to be a trick of the light. Something conjured up by my fear and paranoia. I didn’t move, keeping watch for a few more minutes before deciding that it was definitely an illusion when there was no further sign of movement. I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it, but it helped to get me moving again.
I let myself back in, moving cautiously through the hallway as I returned to my room. I sat down on my bed and cast my eyes across the room. As I sat there, I had a distinct feeling of... wrongness. A combination of the prickling sensation of being watched and the innate knowledge something had changed. My eyes swept the room, trying to locate the source of the feeling, work out what was making me feel like my space had been invaded.
Had I left my sketchbook in that spot? If it had moved it would only have been by a fraction of an inch, impossible to tell. Maybe it was just my imagination, building on my illusion of the figure in the window. I couldn’t see anything clearly wrong, couldn’t pinpoint the change, so in the end I disregarded it and tried to get on with my day.
I stretched out on my bed staring up at the ceiling. I felt like I needed something to do to occupy my time but I was in one of those peculiar moods where nothing appealed to me in the slightest. I tried reading, but my mind couldn’t focus and I ended up rereading the same line over and over again. I tried to draw but nothing came to me, instead I just tapped the tip of the pencil against the paper until it was flecked with dots of grey. After a while I tossed my sketchbook across the room in frustration, watching it crumple in the corner.
As if acknowledging my frustration, a roll of thunder sounded. I got up off the bed and pulled myself up onto the wooden beam under the skylight. I knelt up, resting my hands against the glass as I looked at the angry sky above my head. I waited for the next flash of lightning, wanting to know how far away the storm was.
Flash.
I started to count, listening intently for the thunder that would couple the lightning. 1… 2… 3… 4… Another thunderclap. It wasn’t far. I made a face to myself and slipped down off the beam, retrieving my blanket from the bed before returning to my perch. I’d always been fascinated by storms. They were just so… raw. I think that was what attracted me to them. Sometimes when there were storms, I would climb up through the skylight onto the roof and sit in the rain, watching the clouds bringing the storm closer. I always got down before they got too close though. But each time I would wait a little bit longer, let it draw a little bit closer.
I curled up on the beam, wrapping the blanket around me. I watched the sky silently, letting the sound of the rain and the rumble of thunder soothe me until I fell asleep.
*****
I woke up a few hours later. I wasn’t sure what had woken me. I sat up, letting the blanket slip off of me. The storm was still going on outside but the thunder had faded to a faint rumble in the distance. I hopped off of the beam and pressed my ear to the carpet, listening for any sound that might have disturbed me. There was nothing.
Frowning, I left the sanctuary of the attic and went to the first floor. Silence. No voices, no TV, no clatter from the kitchen or hum of electronics. I bit my lip and slowly went down the stairs. The stairs finished next to the front door and I peeked out of a window positioned halfway down, which looked out over the gravel drive. The cars were all parked outside but there was no sign of light on the driveway. I circled the lower floor, looking through each of the windows in turn. The cottage was dark.
A look at the clock in the living room confirmed the situation. I’d slept longer than intended, right through dinner it seemed. I considered for a moment before darting back up the stairs to my room. Lying on my stomach, I pulled a backpack out from under the bed along with a set of folded heavy duty clothes, the darkest I owned. A quick search through the bag confirmed that everything I needed was there and after a few minutes I was dressed in several thick layers.
I let myself out of the house, moving swiftly and silently across the drive. As I passed the cottage, the sound of my footsteps alerted one of the dogs who began to bark loudly. I didn’t waste time trying to quieten the animal, instead I just quickened my pace and hurried out of the main gate. Once I was a decent distance from the house, I pulled a torch out of my backpack, focusing the beam on the road ahead. The rain was still falling but sparsely now. There was a bitter wind blowing, stinging my cheeks and tousling my hair. I pulled my jacket tighter around me.
Somewhere in the distance I heard the faint baying of a dog; a single loud bark that reverberated through the valley. I paused, momentarily recalling what my uncle had said about something attacking the animals. A fox didn’t bark though… it was probably just Mr Murphy’s dog, he tended to let it roam his land. A twisted feeling began to form in the pit of my stomach, the first tremors of nerves that I fought hard to quell. I’d done this before and never had any difficulty. Admittedly, I usually did it a little before dawn so I had slightly more light to work with but I was adaptable.
I passed the farm outbuildings, taking care to cover my torch as I did. Uncle Michael sometimes let his farmhands sleep in one of the smaller buildings in return for keeping an eye on things during the night, mainly during the lambing season. While I didn’t know if there was anyone in residence, it would make sense if Uncle Michael feared losing livestock, and I did know that there was a gun kept in that building. It was best to proceed cautiously.
I went to the furthest boundaries of the farmland and hunkered down next to the hedgerow that bordered it. Over the months I’d managed to clip the mess of branches, leaves and brambles back sufficiently to make a suitable hole. I slipped off my backpack, removed a pair of wire cutters from inside and tucked the bag under the bush before wriggling through the hole. It was a tight squeeze but with a little effort I was able to push to the other side.
Uncle Michael usually put his traps in roughly the same locatio
ns and if I didn’t find all of them, I’d be happier knowing I’d managed to limit the damage they could do a little bit. I kept my torch beam low, scanning the ground for the familiar glint of silver wire.
The first one was fairly easy to locate, a small stake protruding from the ground with a loop of barbed wire attached. Rather than cut the wire, I carefully dug up the wooden stake and reburied the trap. If I cut all of them it would be too obvious; I had to make them look like incidental acts if possible. I continued, making a slow rotation around the edge of the farm. I almost missed one trap, the mud coating it thickly and disguising the tell-tale glimmer.
As I pulled the wire upwards to cut it free, the sharp points of the barbs dug into the soft skin of my palm. A soft hiss escaped me, beads of blood bubbling up from the wounds.
A loud pained howl cut through the still night air. I stiffened, shoving my bleeding palm into my pocket and getting to my feet. The wind was blowing harder, the sound swirling around me and vanishing into the darkness. The animal cry was accompanied by a roll of thunder above me.
Of their own accord, my legs started to move. I found myself heading towards the direction of the sound. The rain was picking up and that, along with the thunder and wind, made it difficult to navigate across the uneven ground. The sound seemed to be growing louder but I wasn’t sure if it was real or a trick of the mind.
The ground dipped suddenly and my foot slid, struggling to find purchase. I tumbled to the ground, skidding through the mud and into a dirty puddle. For a moment I lay there, staring up at the starless sky, mildly dazed. Something warm brushed my cheek and a cold nose snuffled at my neck. I twisted, my eyes meeting two large amber ones.
I sat up slowly, blinking in confusion. A large dog was stood beside me, fur slick with mud that coated its entire lower half.
“H…hi,” I said softly. The dog whined and licked my cheek before sitting back on its hind legs. I shone the torch onto the animal, the beam reflecting ever so slightly. I squinted, making out a deep furrow around the dog’s front leg, oozing blood. “Oh okay… don’t worry, I’ll get you out. I promise. Just… stay still.”
The Cuckoo's Eye Page 3
