by Tony Walker
He nodded. As he went to launch his boat, I said, ‘So, is it tonight she’s going to introduce you to her father?’
Without looking back he said, ‘Maybe. I don’t care. I only want her.’
Then a thought struck me. ‘Where do they live even?’
He gestured as he sat and prepared to row. ‘Up in the woods.’
‘Claife Woods?’
He nodded, taking up his oars.
‘There're no houses in Claife Woods.’
‘Yes, up there.’
And then a strange presentiment came upon me. I don’t believe in ghosts or anything supernatural. But Claife Woods are said to be haunted. Maybe she was a ghost?
I waited a long while, and when Alf didn’t return, I walked home alone in the dark.
Alf Mumberson didn’t turn up at work the next morning. Some of our regular passengers asked where he was and I said I didn’t know. ‘He may be ill,’ they said.
‘He may be,’ I answered.
When Alf finally arrived it was afternoon. I saw him shuffling along the road from the village. He looked drained, and I began to think perhaps he was sick. As he came along the road to the ferry point, I called out, ‘Alf, where’ve you been? Are you all right?’
He nodded and was about to speak when a fit of coughing overtook him. When he got up to me, I saw how pale and wan he looked. He had huge dark circles under his eyes.
‘Good God, man, what the hell has happened to you?’ I said.
‘Nothing.’
‘You look dreadful. Are you ill?’
‘No.’
I shook my head. ‘You look terrible.’ And then I noticed dried blood on his collar. ‘What’s that? Did you cut yourself shaving?’
He tried to look and put his fingers to the stain. ‘I must have. I don’t remember doing it.’
Then I saw his stubble and realised he hadn’t cut himself shaving at all. I narrowed my eyes. ‘How was Sabine?’ I asked. ‘Did you meet her father?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. She says soon. She says soon she’ll take me to the house in the woods.’
I was growing more and more suspicious. ‘So what did you do all that time I was waiting?’
He muttered. ‘Just what men and women do.’
‘In the cold? Outdoors?’
‘You wouldn’t know, Davey. If you’re in love with someone, you can’t be put off by cold.’
‘So she takes you to the woods? That doesn’t sound like a respectable girl.’
He was defensive. ‘She’s very respectable. Very refined.’
‘Enough that she couples with you in the woods?’
‘Don’t be coarse, Davey. You don’t know.’
I grew more suspicious. ‘Has she asked you for money?’
He laughed scornfully. ‘I have no money. She loves me. It’s not about money.’
‘Aye, maybe.’ I said pensively, ‘But it’s about something.’
We lapsed into a brooding silence. A passenger came, a man and his wife heading to Hawkshead. They were local farmers, and I knew them well. When I rowed back to Bowness, Alf was sitting on a rock, staring over the water towards Claife. He looked worse than ever and the dark brown of the dried blood stood out against the grey-white of his collar. I knew he was waiting for dark and Sabine’s call.
Without thinking, I said, ‘I’m coming over with you tonight.’
‘What? No, you aren’t.’
I put up my hand. ‘I’m worried about you, and if this Sabine’s as refined as you say she is; there’s nothing to bother about.’
His lip twisted. ‘You’re not coming to meet Sabine.’
I adopted a gentler tone. ‘Alfie, look at the state of you. I don’t know what she’s doing, but it looks like she’s sucking the life from you. I just want to make sure she isn’t deceiving you.’
‘She’s not deceiving me.’
‘Then, I’ll come.’
‘No, you won’t.’
I cleared my throat, standing on the shingle shore of the lake. ‘Do your mother and father know about her?’
He shook his head.
I continued. ‘Why haven’t you told them?’
He grunted. ‘I’ll tell them in my own time.’
I tilted my head. I asked, ‘Has she told you not to tell them?’
He remained silent, and I knew it was so: Sabine had asked him not to mention her to his parents. ‘What about me? Does she know I know about her?’
‘Of course, not Davey. Why would I mention you?’
‘So as far as she’s concerned, nobody knows that you go to meet her.’
A pause, then he said, ‘I suppose. What of it?’
‘Hmm.’ I studied him as he sat on the rock staring over the lake. ‘I’m coming,’ I said. ‘If there’s nothing to worry about, then there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘No, you’re not.’
I said firmly, ‘If I don’t come, then I’ll speak to your parents about her.’
He turned round in a cold fury. ‘How dare you, Davey Strong? What are you to me or I to you that you should make such an imposition?’
‘What am I to you, Alfie? Well, I should think I am your friend, and have been since we were boys.’
That put him back, and so, with bad grace, he agreed that I would come over the lake with him to meet his mysterious Sabine.
The light was fading as she called. He stood up instantly. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, ‘On my way. I’ll be there soon.’
He stepped towards his boat.
I said, ‘We’ll both go in your boat.’
He said quietly, ‘I’d rather you didn’t come.’
‘And, I’d rather I did.’
I got in the boat after him, sitting on the thwart that served as a seat for passengers. He didn’t speak as he dipped his oars in the water. I trailed my fingers to test its temperature and felt the ice-cold of the first melted snow-water from the fells above the lake. He took slow regular strokes, not speaking, his back to the far shore where Sabine waited.
The light was gone, the sun now sunk behind the Heights of Claife. Only a faint grey glimmer in the sky to the south reminded me it had been day at all. Alf was a stooped silhouette, rowing regularly and faster than normal as if giving his last energy to this mission to see his love.
I couldn’t see her standing there on the Claife shore as the bow of the boat scraped the stones. Alf jumped out, his boots and trousers underwater as he took the painter and pulled the boat up. He didn’t speak to me, as if he’d forgotten I was there, but I got out after him, splashing through water until I felt rocks underfoot and dry shillies.
Alf had hardly bothered to pull the boat safely out of the water, so I did so, taking the rough rope from where he’d dropped it in the wet and dragging the hull with a scrape over the shillies. When I was certain the boat was high enough up so it wouldn’t drift away, I turned to look for Alf. At first I couldn’t see him, and I certainly didn’t see Sabine. But I heard him talking, in tones suggesting an overflowing of love for his hidden interlocutor. I stepped towards them but, on a sudden whim, hung back. I was strangely nervous.
It was not pitch black. I saw a shape I took to be Alf, but could see no one with him. I could hear his voice clearly now—‘Oh, my darling, Sabine, how I’ve missed you…’
And then, I thought I heard a low muttering. From his responses, there seemed nothing strange about the voice and I wondered whether it sounded like the crystal voice of his darling love, but to me it was the voice of no woman; it was low and guttural as the voice an animal would have if it could speak words. I could make out none of the words, but Alf obviously could because he was replying, ‘Yes, yes, my darling, of course.’
They moved.
I wondered what she was leading him into so I shouted into the shadows where he stood. I felt again this strange reluctance to go closer to where this Sabine was standing.
It seemed he turned to me and he said loudly, ‘Davey go ba
ck. Go home. I’ll be all right.’
‘How can I? We came in one boat. If I go then how will you get home?’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll be with Sabine.’
A breeze from the lake rustled the piles of autumn leaves that lay in the dark at the bottom of the wood. I could just make out the line of tree trunks that lay behind Alf and his Sabine. I thought I saw her take his hand and lead him towards the forest, but I could be mistaken; it was so dark.
They walked rapidly towards the trees.
‘Alfie, where are you going? Come back!’ I yelled.
But he ignored me. There were definitely two shadows there now, and I could hear his voice and her low muttering as they walked into the wood.
With mounting panic, I began to wonder what kind of creature Sabine was. From this voice and the weird darkness that hung around her, she was no ordinary woman. But he was going with her.
‘Alfie!’ I yelled, fear filling my veins and lungs. ‘Don’t go!’
He called back in a voice that sounded almost happy, ‘It’s all right, Davey, Sabine’s taking me to see her father.’
They disappeared, but for myself, I could not move to enter the Claife Woods. A strange terror of the thing called Sabine gripped me. I stood and watched Alfie go, and cursed my cowardice, but I could take no step towards him.
I stood there for minutes, maybe longer. If Sabine was this, what then was her father? Shaking, I walked back towards where I’d beached Alfie’s boat. It was fine for me to leave. I was imagining everything. He didn’t want me to follow him, and how could I in the darkness? I tried to convince myself that was the reason I didn’t go into the woods. I stood by the boat, my hands on the rough wood of the bow, ready to push off, then jump in before rowing back to Bowness. I could come early tomorrow morning and wait here for him on this shore with his boat. He never left Sabine before morning, anyway. And yes, tonight he would meet her father.
I heard the wind in the trees. I felt it on my cheeks, cold now. I heard the lap of the little waves around the boat. Somewhere in the dark geese honked as they flew by unseen.
But of course I couldn’t go. I couldn’t leave him. No matter how frightened I was by the woods of Claife and what they held, I couldn’t leave him to her and her terrible father.
I swallowed hard. And then the clouds cleared, and the moon shone full. The pale silver light revealed the black of the trees of Claife and I stared up at the dark hill. That was where Alfie was. I knew with awful certainty that Sabine these nights had been preparing Alf to meet her father, and that it was a meeting he would never return from.
There had always been stories about the woods of Claife—of people going missing, people wandering through the woods and never returning. Of course that might be true, but I’d put that down to natural accidents in the tangled woodland over tumbled crags. Others said it was the Crier of Claife, the thing that lived in the woods. I’d paid no heed to it. I’d laughed at their superstitious nonsense — until now. Now I knew, with the ancient knowledge all humans have, that something supernatural walked here now.
But the moonlight gave me courage — fleeting and intermittent as it was while the moon danced behind clouds, now hiding in darkness, now revealing the landscape in white.
I could see the trees. I could see the hill. Alfie was in danger. I had to catch up with him and persuade him to come back from there, even if I had to pull him out of Sabine’s arms. And I had to do it before they met her father.
I sighed heavily and tried to slow my hammering heart and then I turned and by the light of the pale moon; I walked slowly towards the edge of the trees. I hesitated long there, my courage slipping through my fingers like cold water, but I tried telling myself that Alfie would get further and further ahead of me. It worked. I forced myself to enter the forest.
I felt the trees enfold me. Their spiky branches and wiry arms all around, above and to all sides, and below my feet sinking in mulch and mud. I took a breath, there was a path of sorts that ascended zig-zag through trees and over rocks. Sometimes the way underfoot was carpeted by soft leaves, and other times, I stepped up over slick boulders, breathing heavily, hoping I would not slip as I climbed the hill. This was the way he must have come; there was no other path.
But I could see no sign of him, or his Sabine. So, I struggled on, out of breath, up the steep slope, pushing away branches that would tear at my eyes when I could see them and suffering their scratches when I could not. My breath was ragged as I climbed as fast as I could and faster than was comfortable. When the moon hid, it was dark, and I missed my step on mossy stones, slipping, and once falling on my hands that were cut by sharp rocks.
But in my panic to save him, I was climbing faster than they were. I heard a voice, undoubtedly Alf’s voice, still murmuring sweet nothings to his beloved’s dread ear. I stopped, suddenly silent, but they kept on walking so I hurried on. I was making a noise as I pushed my way along the narrow forest path. At least I could see my feet in the moonlight, but that meant they could see me. If they cared.
I saw Alf’s silhouette on the path ahead. The path here was less steep as if it were levelling out. He was there and beside him a dark shape. It was unnaturally tall and thin. It could be a woman, I supposed, but a woman dressed all in black and over six feet tall. The shape moved strangely too, as if it were drifting. It seemed to suffer none of the trouble crossing this broken ground, but moved with an eerie grace. If grace is an appropriate word to describe such a creature.
And my heart beat faster again, not just from the exertion but from the weirdness of what I was seeing—Alfie was apparently enthralled by something he thought was a woman, but clearly was not. I waited until they turned out of sight, wondering what on earth I was going to do to tear him away from her. Perhaps both of us together could fight it off?
On impulse, I grabbed a stick that lay to the side of the path. It was wet and rough; it was far from perfect but would perhaps do as a makeshift weapon.
My delay in getting the stick, allowed them to turn the corner ahead and as they were now out of sight, I hurried forward to catch up, but round the corner of that forest trail, I saw no one. For once, it went straight ahead, but there was no sign of Alf or his companion.
I exhaled heavily in frustration, but also in relief. I admit that the thought that I had done all I could to save Alf crossed my mind—done all I could but to no avail. No one could blame me or call me a coward. It was a way out.
But Alf was gone. I stood, bemused, confused as to what I should do, and I reasoned with myself, that the only course of action now was to return to the lake and from there, row back to Bowness and home. Perhaps I could get help from there. I would tell a story of how Alf had followed this mysterious woman into the trees, and then when he returned, I would relate how I had followed him but failed to find him in the end in the thickness of the wood.
I looked around. I counted. I thought a reasonable time had gone by and I could leave, but then I saw a way to the left. The left-hand path lay just ahead. I had missed it earlier. That was the only way they could have gone and disappeared from sight so quickly round the corner in front of me.
I held my stick fast and my throat tightened. I felt my hands trembling and my knees shaking, but now I had no excuse. That was the way he had gone, and my conscience would force me to follow.
With a heavy breath, but gathering courage, I pushed my way through a thin screen of branches that lay just inside the path and followed the track between the trees, climbing slightly, my feet slipping in the leaf mould. I had my stick.
And then I heard a voice. It wasn’t Alfie’s voice; it was the low guttural voice of the thing that had brought him here. The sound of it, stopped me. I stood still in my tracks, listening. The thing spoke in a cadence of intricate sounds, as if reciting poetry or some strange ritual. The volume went up and down, rhythmically. Sometimes she whined, sometimes she yelled as if calling something.
I inched forwar
d and saw a building, or rather the ruins of a building ahead beneath the trees. It looked like it had been a house once, but was no longer. Shattered walls were open to the sky through scraps of a long-broken roof. It was round, as if it had been a folly made to look like an ancient Roman temple. Or perhaps it was indeed an ancient temple, long lost in these thick woods.
The chanting came from inside the walls. I could see the six-foot monster as it sang ancient eldritch words. I understood nothing, but the sound of them brought memories of something old and wicked. Something that lurked here waiting to be summoned.
With every fibre of my flesh wanting to pull back, instead I pushed myself forward. Stick in hand, gripped tightly and ready to bring it down on the thing. What was this thing—this Sabine doing?
As I heard her pitter-patter; her words of blasphemous prefiguration, I knew she was calling something; something that came from a cold world, way outside our ordinary creation.
It must only be that Alfie was to be her sacrifice: some supplication to the monster she summoned.
With a roar, I ran at her, sprinting within the ruins of the tainted temple, my stick brandished in my hand. I acted bolder than I felt, because inside me my guts ran like water.
There, on a broken altar, Alfie lay, staring at the sky. His shirt was torn, his bare chest exposed to the moon. And she saw me, this Sabine. In her hand she held a dagger of silver, bone-handled with a blood-red ruby at the hilt. She wore a long cloak made of smoke: black smoke that writhed and wrapped around her tall thin form. The cloak fell open at the front and revealed her to be naked; her thin white breasts drooped like the sucked out dugs of an old crone; the hair between her legs was grey and her skin was white, run through with blue veins like fleshy marble. Her face was that of a corpse, long-dead: cadaverous and drawn close.
