Darkly Wood

by Power, Max

  Daisy was on a mission. She was heading somewhere with a purpose. Oddly, despite the fact that Daisy did not know where she was going, or what the purpose was, it didn’t seem to matter. Daisy trundled along at a fair pace. It was as though she knew the way. There was something familiar about the path. Her journey took on a sense of mission. Even Benjamin faded from her thoughts.

  A voice called her name, but although it was a nice voice, a familiar voice, Daisy did not pay it any attention. The voice did not matter. It was unimportant. Daisy moved forward as if in a trance. She trudged on and on, gradually picking up speed as the clear open path meandered left and right. Again she heard someone call her name. This time the voice was louder and sounded much closer, but it was a different voice. Daisy had other things on her mind, so she ignored the voice that called her name so persistently. She was different somehow. She felt different. Unlike any other time since she had entered Darkly Wood, Daisy no longer felt apprehensive or afraid. Daisy really didn’t feel anything.

  The Wood was so calm and quiet apart from the now familiar voices and not a breath of wind moved through the leaves around her. Through the silence, another sound caught Daisy’s attention. There was something in the trees above her. It moved fast and made a lot of noise, seemingly unafraid that she might notice it. The sound disturbed her a little, but strangely it didn’t stop her. Daisy was a different girl now. She had a mission. She was being drawn along the path. It was as though all free will had left her.

  The thing in the trees, moved ahead of her. It was following the same path, just higher up. Daisy knew it was there, but she was unafraid. For some reason she did not care. Daisy travelled with a certain knowledge that now everything would be alright. The feeling numbed her other senses. Daisy just had to follow the path and everything would be ok. That was the one certainty in her mind.

  Something suddenly caught her attention and made her turn her head. It was a new sound. She couldn’t see anything and when Daisy heard the sound again, she looked back a second time. Still, she could see nothing but having only just left her, fear crept back in. This felt different though. The fear she felt now, didn’t have a monster at the end. It was something else and Daisy felt sure this new danger was far worse than anything else she had encountered so far. The feeling was so strong, it shook her out of her trance and she quickened her pace to get away from whatever it was that closed in on her from somewhere close.

  Her pace increased once more as she quickened from a fast walk to a half skip and then into a slight jog. But her faster pace didn’t alleviate the fear. If anything the sound got louder and her fear was exacerbated. So her jog became a run and she constantly whipped her head around to see what it was, that came after her. But she couldn’t see anything.

  The path remained even underfoot, but it twisted and turned left and right, its tortuous bends increasing in severity as her speed increased. Up ahead and overhead, the thing that led her and followed her at the same time, was shifting along at an incredible speed and seemed to be moving further and further away. The comfort that its presence had given her, was failing and Daisy’s heart pumped at a frightening rate, as her run became a sprint. She was weak and tired, but from somewhere, Daisy May Coppertop found reserves of strength that were almost superhuman.

  Again she looked back, almost stumbling as she broke her momentum and for the first time she caught a glimpse, nothing more though, of a movement just beyond the last bend. The thing that chased her was getting closer and again, beyond her own belief, Daisy found yet another gear. She threw her head back, pumped her arms and powered forward, her legs driving her slight frame at an incredible pace.

  She rounded another bend and looked back once more. Her pursuer was somehow still closing in. The light had become so dim now that Daisy couldn’t see very far back, but whoever was chasing her was definitely getting closer and was very fast indeed. She saw its dark frightening shape for a moment, and then lost it as she looked forward again to see where she was going. She looked over her shoulder time and time again and there it was, just a bend away. But then disaster struck.

  Daisy lost her balance in trying to see her chaser and one foot clipped the other. It was the tiniest of things but it was a colossal disaster in that moment, in that place, in those circumstances. The tumble was harsh. Her pace drove her out of control, her body flying forward and Daisy clattered into the dirt of the track hard and fast. She didn’t tumble or roll. Rather, with her hands outstretched, Daisy’s abdomen hit the ground knocking the wind out of her. She slid forward, a good ten feet, before coming to a crunching stop right in the middle of the track. The sliding fall tore her arms and knees to shreds, ripping her jeans and she scraped her face badly.

  Everything stopped. The fall stopped, the slide stopped, the sound of her feet thumping on the dirt stopped. Even the sound of whoever was chasing her and the thing in the trees above had stopped. There were only two things that Daisy could hear. One was the sound of her own heartbeat and the other was the sound of her breath as she panted heaving breaths to recover. She lay face down in the dirt, her lungs aching from the exhaustive run, her skin torn and sore from the fall. When she finally lifted her face from the dirt and pulled her now scraggy hair from her face, she saw two large feet, standing just inches from her face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE – HATTIE

  Hattie Grey was eighty seven years old. She had lived in Cranby pretty much all of her life and was one of the town’s more popular characters. In a time when reaching fifty was considered a mile stone, Hattie was a phenomenon. Hattie lived through the terrible events that saw Terrance Darkly lose his precious Fiancéé, Honey Meade. Indeed Hattie had worked for a number of years at Darkly manor. She was employed as a lady’s maid and unusually for the time, respected and liked universally, not just for her skills or temperament, but as a person.

  Hattie achieved a level of respect across all levels of local society that, for a woman of low rank in those days, was a most unique thing. Not one person had a bad opinion of Hattie and when she spoke, people actually listened. Her company was much sought after, for she was a genuine wit, someone whose company was always a pleasure to enjoy. From an early age, women envied yet confided in her, employers valued her, and men could not keep their eyes off her. Hattie had nothing yet she had it all.

  Everything was unusual about the woman. Firstly, the most obvious thing that comes to mind was her status in society. She didn’t actually belong to what was then called, society. She was low born, the daughter of a farm worker and his wife. Hattie was one of eight children with no real prospects unless she married a shade higher. She never did.

  Hattie could have had almost any man in Cranby and some thought perhaps, even one from beyond of her class. It was true that every man who met her regardless of status cast a pleased eye on Hattie’s rare beauty. She attracted lustful gazes from men and envious ones from girls, but none malicious. Hattie had her choice of suitors but to the amazement of her family and others, she shunned them all.

  Zach Sellers a middling and later in life wealthy merchant from out of Dooley across the valley, showed particular interest in young Hattie. He would have given everything he owned to be with her and frequently told her so. Unfortunately for Zach, Hattie had no intention of tying her horse to his particular wagon. Throughout his life, Zach broached the subject of marriage with Hattie many times. Despite her firm but always polite rejections, it became almost an annual tradition for Zach to propose to the object of his desire. Right to the end he pursued her, although always respectfully and with such charm that Hattie nearly gave in on a couple of occasions. When he finally passed away at the age of fifty two, Hattie grieved for him deeper than any other in the village. Poor Zach had kept himself for the one woman he could never have, right to the end. He died, leaving no familial heir and instead willed his entire estate to Hattie.

  Indeed it was eventually clear to all, save perhaps the lovelorn Zach, that she was intent on a single life muc
h to their bemusement. Marriage was, for most girls of her time, the ultimate goal in their lives. To choose a life of solitude as it appeared to them was little short of insane.

  Not Hattie. In the early days she worked on her family farm, and even as a young girl she worked hard. Eventually she found a position as a scullery maid in Darkly Manor. After a number of years and changes in position, she found herself working as Lady’s maid to Lady Darkly and later, she became head of household in nearby Cooley House, which belonged to the Lloyds, another family of note at the far side of Cranby.

  Ultimately, while all around cavorted and played, stepped out and married, Hattie kept herself to herself, although she was charming, great company and a lot of fun to be with in general. Her socialising was always in groups or on community occasions of which here were many in and around Cranby.

  Eventually when she was in her late thirties and considered to be well and truly left on the shelf, save for the attentions of a certain Mr. Sellers of course, Hattie bought a small house right in the middle of the town. Surprisingly, she bought it outright with her own hard earned, carefully saved cash. All through the years, with nothing to spend her money on, Hattie had squirreled away quite a tidy sum.

  She transformed the lower floor of the house into a small shop, catering for the needs of local women. Hattie sold a variety of fabrics, essential sewing supplies, dresses and other garments, hats and shoes. Her little venture was a great success and drew custom form all the surrounding towns. It was a struggle for a few years as she developed her reputation, but when Zach left her his estate, the financial pressure evaporated. Hattie was set up for life, her pension secure.

  The best thing about Hattie’s little shop was the proprietor herself. It was a hard place to leave. She was such a very funny woman. Everything about her was inappropriate but nonetheless loveable and she flourished in her little empire. No one came to her shop and left empty handed. All those that visited Hattie, left a little better for meeting her.

  The years passed and times and people changed, but Hattie was a constant. Always happy, never a bad word on her lips or a bad thought on her mind, Hattie shone like a beacon of goodness in changing world. The older Hattie got, the wiser and funnier she became.

  “I’m just a mad old witch” she was often heard to declare when people asked her how she managed to keep so sprightly. No one knew her exact age, for she never volunteered that particular piece of information. It wasn’t hard to keep her secret because most of her contemporaries died long before she did.

  In a world where disease killed so many people, diseases that today are so curable, most women didn’t make it to fifty. Childbirth alone had a high mortality risk and as most of the women that Hattie knew married young and became mothers early, she lost more than one friend in this way. So she jokingly declared herself possessed with supernatural powers. Once Marjorie Lakeblood enquired in her shop, in front of a small gathering of customers,

  “How old are you now Hattie?”

  She had asked her question quite out of the blue that day. Silence fell on the shop as the question was asked. It was a question so rude none had dared, though many had desired to put to Hattie.

  “I will be one hundred and seventeen on the third of March next”, she declared without looking up or breaking from wrapping some cloth for Elizabeth Grantham, one of her better customers.

  In response, Marjorie exploded a miniature burst of laughter and tossed her head to the side looking for support from some of the other customers, but Hattie’s daggers look, suggested that she was annoyed by Marjorie’s laughter. Could it be true? No one joined in the laughter and an uncomfortable silence followed.

  “Twenty one darling,” she suddenly offered smiling, much to Marjorie’s relief before adding, “and a bit...The bit’s my own business!” and she chuckled merrily along with everyone else who now felt safe to join Hattie in her little joke.

  They laughed as though they knew she had been joking all along. Her humour mistakenly lulled Marjorie into a false sense of security and she quipped back,

  “No really, what are you now...” and she finished the question with a little chortling laugh of her own.

  Hattie stopped laughing and it immediately had the same effect on the other ladies in the shop. Once more, a silence of embarrassment fell on the room and Marjorie couldn’t believe that she had pushed the question. Hattie put down the parcel that she had been wrapping and walked around the counter to stand before the mortified Marjorie. She took her hand.

  “Look closely into my eyes Marjorie dear.” She sounded motherly.

  Marjorie giggled, a tad uncomfortable but under Hattie’s determined stare, she eventually succumbed and looked into her eyes.

  “If you look closely, you will see a black mark on my right eye. Look closely, do you see it?”

  Marjorie could see it. There was a black, half-moon shaped scar across the green of Hattie’s right eye. She had never noticed it before. It was such a slight thing but it was definitely there. Fascinated, she looked even closer and answered,

  “Yes...Yes I see it!”

  Hattie didn’t blink as Marjorie stared ever more intensely at her eye and the others tried to gather around without being too obvious, curious about this scar.

  “I got that from a real witch!”

  The declaration made Marjorie jump back slightly, especially as Hattie almost hissed the word ‘witch’ at her.

  “I have another on my back, but it’s much larger and another on my thigh.”

  It was such an intimate revelation that Marjorie gasped and covered her mouth.

  “I bought myself some extra time in this world, in a trade for some of my young flesh.”

  Hattie never blinked.

  “It was a simple enough trade. She needed a fleck of eye, a couple of ounces of skin and my small toe.”

  The later of the revelations caused Marjorie to clasp her other free hand over her mouth in horror.

  “In return I was granted good looks and an extra fifty years of life”.

  Hattie let go of Marjorie’s hand. Marjorie nearly fainted and stepped back looking down at Hattie’s feet which barely protruded beneath the hem of her dress as though she might actually see the missing toe through her dainty shoes.

  “Didn’t I ever tell you about my toe?”

  Hattie had allowed her wicked smile to creep back across her face. Everyone but Marjorie had seen it and they started to stifle their laughs. When Marjorie finally realised she was being made fun of, she swiped thin air with her hand.

  “Oh you!” and she tittered loudly with relief and embarrassment.

  The whole shop exploded with laughter and Hattie swung her arms around Marjorie, giving her an enormous and most inappropriate hug which she enjoyed immensely. Normally, this sort of open expression of affection was considered to be quite wrong in most people’s eyes, but Hattie seemed immune from criticism.

  Such was Hattie’s world and towards the end of her life and despite her eighty seven years of solitude, she was never lonely. Hattie had everything she could possibly need. More than any woman of her time, Hattie had managed to escape the boundaries imposed on her by her sex, birth, class and social status. She was freer than any man in Cranby and her life was filled with friends, joy and contentment. Nothing it seemed was beyond Hattie. Well, almost nothing.

  There was one thing. There was one solitary thing that Hattie could not overcome. All through her eighty seven years, Hattie had faced the various prejudices and dangers that life in her time offered and had come out the other side victorious. She was her own woman. Hattie was strong and independent, despite the world. Yet she had a secret. It was a strange and personal secret. It was a secret fear.

  Hattie had been in love once. No one knew of her love, for it was forbidden on so many levels, that there was no way she would ever tell anyone. Even the object of her desire and it was desire, did not know of Hattie’s burning passion. She was young at the time, very young and
had no idea what love was or how it might present itself. When it came, the manner of its arrival and the person that she fell for, were all a complete surprise to Hattie.

  At first, she didn’t know what the terrible feelings of anxiety were. She couldn’t sleep and could think of no other but her new found love. Hattie didn’t recognise the feeling initially. It caused her great stress and it was only when her secret love squeezed her hand affectionately, though quite innocently one day, that she realised love had finally arrived.

  But it was not to be a happy thing. At once, Hattie knew there was no hope for her unrequited Love. The object of her affections was spoken for. The object of her desire was none other than Honey Meade the fiancéé of her then employer’s son. To add misery to her pain, Honey was lost so tragically in Darkly Wood. Hattie had to suffer the loss in silence. Her grief was no less than Terrance’s grief. Perhaps it was even worse because it had to remain her secret. The pain never left her heart and love was never allowed in again. But there was even more to her secret.

  Hattie had never once since that awful day, set foot in or near Darkly Wood. That place held a bad memory and frightened her more than anything else in the world. It was the only thing she was afraid of and a fear that she could not overcome despite years of trying to get her head around it. She tried to convince herself as time passed, that she was being silly and that the fear was irrational. But it would not go away. It bothered her. In her entire life, the only thing to beat her was that fear. Someday, something had to give.

  So one fine spring day, still in her eighty seventh year, Hattie Grey took her fear in hand and headed up to the place of darkness. No one knew why, except for Hattie. Although the notion was always there in the back of her mind, Hattie had never summoned up the courage to go to Darkly Wood. She didn’t quite know what the spark was, that put the notion in her head. Perhaps she felt her time was near and she couldn’t face leaving the world having been defeated by fear. Whatever it was, Hattie took it in her head to go there and closed her shop, to take a stroll up to Darkly Wood.