Darkly Wood

by Power, Max

  Before he hit the ground, Daisy May was off and running. She had decided to head for the nearest exit that had opened up and ran as fast as her legs would carry her, jumping and scrambling over all the obstacles that the upturned grave yard presented with consummate ease. Stunned, Wood lay flat on his back, but he didn’t have to think hard to figure out what Daisy May was up to. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched as she ran towards the nearest gap in the trees. He sat up, smiled and waved his right arm in her direction. Daisy May was almost at the opening, when the door closed firmly shut. The undergrowth came to life and something snared her ankle. She fell forward at pace, hitting the ground hard. She looked back at her ankle, ignoring the pain from her fall and could see it was entangled in some ivy. Quickly, Daisy May tore at the vine and pulled free only to see the opening close before her very eyes. Branches creaked and twisted arched and moaned and then, it was as though there had never been a way through.

  But she knew there was another just yards away to her left. Daisy spun on her heels, but no sooner had she moved in its direction than it too closed off. She threw a glance back at Woody who was now back to his feet and half sitting, half leaning once more on the headstone. He was laughing and holding his right hand out in front of him. She looked at the next nearest gap, a good twenty yards away to her right and then she looked at Woody. He could see her intention and pointed his long bony fingers in the direction she was looking. He held his arm out straight. His hand flexed back at the wrist as though he was about to begin conducting an orchestra.

  Daisy made a half move, feigning a run in that direction and immediately Woody snapped his wrist forward and just like the first one, the gap began to close. She wasn’t looking though. Having figured out what Woody was doing, Daisy was already running in the other direction to her left, trying to get to the next possible escape route before he could close that one off. But Woody was much too fast for her. From his vantage point in the middle of the clearing, he could conduct the entire forest and with the flick of his wrist, again her path was blocked.

  Daisy stopped running and panted for breath, bending down and hands on her knees. She looked around. There were still a good seven or more possible ways out, but Daisy knew it was pointless. She was so angry and from deep inside what started as a low threatening howl, grew into a shouting scream as she once more broke into a run, this time straight for Woody. Daisy May was going down fighting.

  There was nothing going to stop her now and she cleared the first ten yards in a flash, hurdling one grave stone and then another. Woody was taken aback by her action but straightened himself and braced for impact. On she came, not slowing even a little. Woody thought she was going to hit him full force in the chest and braced himself for the impact, but at the last moment Daisy May did something quite unexpected.

  She dived to the ground and seemed to roll in front of him rather dramatically completely throwing him off guard. Coming out of the roll, Daisy May emerged on her feet again about three feet in front of Woody swinging a branch that she had scooped from the forest floor when she had rolled.

  It cracked him straight across the head and he fell over backwards, tumbling over the grave stone. It was a ferocious blow that broke the stick in two but Daisy May wasn’t finished. She jumped over the stone and landed directly on top of Woody, both knees digging into his chest, her full weight and impetus knocking the wind out of the creature.

  Daisy May closed her fist, swung back her right arm and brought it down as hard as she could on the side of Woody’s head. He was completely stunned. Daisy May slid her knees to either side of Woody’s torso and reigned down blow after blow to his head and face. She was desperate to survive and knew she had to make the most of her advantage while she had it.

  But Woody was a wild creature. He was a survivor, a beast of instinct. He quickly recovered from the initial shock and at first swung his arms across his head, protecting his face. Daisy May flayed away to no avail. In an instant, Woody switched from victim to assailant. He flicked his hips skywards, unbalancing Daisy May so she had to stop punching him just to keep her balance. Then he reached up and grabbed her by the waist. Woody was strong and he swung her to the side so she lay face down in the dirt and then he rolled his own body over, clambering astride her back. He grabbed her left arm and twisted it behind her back then grabbed her by the hair with his free hand. He pushed her face, right cheek down into the dirt and jammed her arm high up her back. She was helpless and couldn’t move.

  For a few moments she lay there with Woody straddling her back, both panting heavily from the effort. It was the only sound in the Wood for a while. Both felt stunned, particularly Woody. He never expected her to be that strong, not just physically but mentally. The creature had underestimated her. That wouldn’t happen again. It took a few moments for him to regain his composure. Eventually Woody broke the silence with a whispered hiss of a voice, punctuated by his heavy breathing.

  “You never let me finish.” He told her. “I told you that it’s not up to me.”

  Daisy was trapped and in pain, but she heard him clearly. It sounded like an odd thing for him to say. In truth, she hadn’t expected him to talk at all. After what she had done, Daisy was expecting the full force of his rage. It was a relief when it didn’t happen, so she responded to his words, spitting out a mouthful of dirt first.

  “Then how come you’re the one stopping me?” Daisy May challenged him.

  “I’m just an instrument.” was his cryptic answer.

  “What?” she asked confused.

  “You can’t leave this place Daisyee Mayee” he told her, “you can never leave this place now, no matter what.”

  “What are you talking about?” she insisted and in response, Woody dislodged himself from her back, still holding her by the arm and hair and pulled her around.

  “You belong to Darkly Wood now.”

  Then all was made clear as he pulled her to her knees and forced her to look at the head stone that he had used as a perch. Three words freshly etched there explained everything. They read,

  ‘DAISY MAY COPPERTOP.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE – GHOSTS DON’T BLEED

  Once he could see that Daisy had registered the fact of her death, Woody let her go. She barely moved. Daisy allowed her sore arm slide to her side and she read her name again. ‘DAISY MAY COPPERTOP’ were the words on the headstone.

  Woody stood up. For a moment he looked at her lying there and didn’t say a word. Then he smiled the barest of smiles and walked in a slow circle around her. She was his now, almost. Daisy struggled to her knees and he studied her form. She knelt before her own grave and he circled her like a vulture. Woody sniffed the air. Not just yet he thought. One more bit of pleasure to be squeezed out before the end.

  “Shall I tell you a ssstory?” he hissed gently, stopping and kneeling beside the headstone so that she could see him at her level. She seemed oblivious to his actions.

  “How can this be?” Daisy wondered aloud and shook her head

  “It’s a good one alright.” Woody suggested. “Story I mean. You like stories, don’t you?”

  “I’m not dead!”

  She eventually declared touching her body and looking at Woody.

  “I’m not dead!” she insisted.

  Suddenly, the creature seemed less fierce. He barely mattered and she spoke to him without a hint of fear.

  “Oh but you are my dear,” Woody offered in response, “very much so.” He resisted the urge to chuckle, though he ached to do so.

  Daisy stood up defiantly. She stared at Woody than showed him the backs of her hands. They were bleeding from where she had pummeled him.

  “Ghosts don’t bleed!” was her response, but she was still unsure and Woody had an answer ready for her.

  “Oh! So you think you’re a ghost now?”

  This time he couldn’t hold back a slight giggle at the end of the question.

  She shook her head, not knowing what she was
.

  “Who ever said anything about ghosts?” Woody laughed. “Ghosts aren’t real. There are no such things as ghosts. Didn’t your parents teach you anything little girl?”

  His laughter came freely now. He could not conceal it and anyway, he didn’t want to conceal his pleasure. Daisy May was completely bewildered. All of this, everything that had happened from the moment she had entered the Wood was completely crazy. It was like some bad dream. As was her habit, Daisy May let free the thought as it arrived in her head.

  “I’m dreaming then. That’s it!”

  She was trying to convince herself and the thought brought a tone of relief to her voice.

  “This is all just a nightmare!”

  “Oh it’sss a nightmare alright,” Woody had found the ability to joke.

  He was in his element and he laughed at her stupid, desperate attempts to salvage some hope from the situation, “but you’re not asleep Daisyee Mayee. You’re dead!”

  He laughed again, but just a little. Daisy May had no response. She pinched herself as though it might have an effect to awaken her from her slumber, but nothing happened.

  “Shall I tell you a story now?”

  Woody offered once again and he sat crossed legged beside Daisy’s grave. He patted the ground beside him, as an invite for her to sit beside him. She looked around and saw nothing but despair. Woody seemed different somehow now. He still looked like a wild creature of the woods, but he had softened somewhat. The forest around them brightened with his mood. Woody was happy and Daisy May could feel it. She sat, but not beside him. Daisy sat opposite Woody, a good six feet of ground between them. Woody smiled.

  “It’s a good story. You will like it.”

  He was looking more and more like the boy she had first seen, by the minute

  “Really?”

  Daisy May asked sarcastically, but it was hard for her to draw even that from her crushed heart. So much had happened. Woody didn’t care. He was just having fun.

  “Indeed,” he answered, “You will like it. It’s a tale from Darkly Wood.”

  Woody popped his shoulders back and pulled his head up. He raised a finger in the air as though a thought had just struck him.

  “Just like your precious book.”

  He was speaking clearer by the minute, slowly losing his little affectations. But it wasn’t the way he spoke that struck her. Daisy wondered how he knew about her book. She gave nothing away. Instead she asked the boy creature a question, hoping he hadn’t noticed her raised eyebrow. He hadn’t. Woody was far too interested in what he had to say now. But Daisy was shaken out of her stupor a little. She pretended not to notice that he knew of things that he shouldn’t know.

  “What’s this story of yours called?” she asked, trying her best to sound rather disinterested.

  “Daisy May Coppertop.” He answered, and her interest was suddenly sparked for real.

  “Shall I begin?”

  CHAPTER FORTY – DAISY’S STORY

  “Daisy May Coppertop came to Cranby with her mother Isabel not long after her parents were divorced. They moved into the old Blood residence in the centre of town.”

  Woody began his story with this introduction and it seemed strange to Daisy, listening to the creature talk about her and her family. It made her feel uncomfortable.

  “On her first day in their new house, Daisy May did discover a book called ‘Tales of darkly Wood’ by J.S. Toner.” It sounded so formal and forced the way he told it and Daisy instantly became annoyed.

  “What is this?” Daisy May interrupted him. “I know all of this! Surely you are not going to tell me what I have been doing for the last few days are you?”

  She slapped her hands on her crossed legs as if to emphasise her annoyance.

  “That is precisely what I am going to do.”

  Woody told her, pleased with his language skills for recalling and using the word ‘precisely’ in the right context. It was all coming back. Telling the story would help even more, he thought.

  Daisy made a move to get back to her feet, but Woody reached out as if touching the empty space between them to stop her.

  “Wait!” he pleaded. “There is more.” Then enticingly, “Please, listen to my story. Perhaps then you will understand.”

  He knew just what to say and that fact, coupled with how the words he needed just came to him with such little effort, really pleased Woody.

  “Understand what?” Daisy May really wanted to know.

  “Everything.” he answered plainly.

  Daisy had made a half move to get up and was still poised to do so, but she resisted the urge. It was too tempting not to listen. She re-settled herself on the ground and opened her hands, urging him to get on with it by waving them towards her body as if to say, ‘come on tell me!’

  “Ok, Ok…Go on… But get to the point.” She was growing impatient.

  “Fair enough.” Woody responded, but before he could continue Daisy had another question that caught him completely off guard.

  “Before you do, I want to ask you something.”

  Daisy asked it as it struck her as usual. Woody gave her a puzzled look.

  “Ok” he replied and she asked,

  “What’s your name?”

  It was a surprising question, a good question. But it was a perplexing one nonetheless and Woody rubbed his chin and thought for a few moments.

  “Do you know?” He proffered after a little consideration, “I don’t really remember! I cannot remember the last time someone actually used my name.”

  The question seemed to have completely taken Woody by surprise, so much so that it temporarily distracted him from his story. He sat there thinking. What was his name? It was not what Daisy had intended. All she wanted to know was what he was really called. She didn’t in truth care all that much.

  “Never mind, it doesn’t matter, tell your story,” She urged him.

  “What name do you think I might have?”

  Now his question surprised her. He hadn’t let go of the query.

  “How would I know and why would I care!” was her disdainful answer. But then, thinking it might be an idea to keep him friendly and to move him along a little bit, she offered him a crumb.

  “We called you Woody”. She told him plainly.

  “We?” he asked.

  “Me and Benjamin.” She answered and she looked across to where he lay on the forest floor.

  “Ah!” was Woody’s response. Then, “Don’t like that name.”

  Daisy cocked her head and looked a little more closely at Woody. She thought it was a strange thing for him to say. He actually looked upset that he couldn’t remember his name and even more bothered by the name they had chosen for him.

  “What would you like to be called?” She asked him hoping to smooth talk him, perhaps just enough for him to let his guard down.

  “I don’t know.” Was all he said in answer and he sounded rather disappointed that he didn’t have a name.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Woody told her, seeming to simply shrug off the name thing as if it was never asked.

  “Anyway, let me tell you the story, where was I?” and like that he was back to the story. In a way Daisy was glad.

  “I had found the book.” Daisy May helped him recall, although she couldn’t hide the irritation in her voice.

  “Oh yes, the book” Woody brightened up as he recalled and he continued.

  “You found the book and then you saw me up on the meadow.”

  It wasn’t a question and he was not expecting a response, but Daisy interrupted anyway.

  “I saw you on the meadow and then I found the book.”

  She corrected him on the sequence of events but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, ignoring her interjection and continuing,

  “Then of course you met Benjamin. That was not in the plan.” The idea that there was some plan caught her attention.

  “The plan?” she asked but once again he ignored her inte
rruption.

  “Do you remember the day you first followed me into Darkly Wood?” He asked her.

  “Yes of course,” she replied, still wondering what he meant about ’the plan,’ “I met Benjamin down by the bridge and we decided to walk up to the forest.”

  “That’s what you remember is it?” Woody asked scratching his head bemused with a suggestion in his voice that something altogether different might have occurred.

  “Of course!” she stated boldly, “That’s what I remember, that’s what happened.” She didn’t like where this was going.

  “Ah indeed.” Woody declared, sounding superior. “I’m always curious how it is for everyone. It seems to be different for each one.” He looked skyward for just a moment as if trying to remember the others.

  “What do you mean?” Daisy asked him, not understanding what Woody was getting at, so he explained.

  “You have asthma Daisyee Mayee?” he asked still unable to alter his now comfortable pronunciation of her name, despite his growing confidence with his use of the English language.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” She wanted to know.

  “Think back to the bridge.” Woody suggested. “Take a minute!” he added and raised a finger to silence her before she blundered in with another question. “Think carefully.”

  Daisy May tried to remember but it was suddenly quite difficult. She remembered looking into the stream and she remembered something else but it was all a bit of a blur.

  “Think girl think, don’t you remember now?” He sounded like a scolding teacher.

  Daisy May looked skyward trying to access her memory and then in a flash she started to see. She was on the bridge. The images clicked into her head like photographs. First there was one then another and then more and more. They came quickly to her, one after the other, a blurring montage spinning through her mind. She was remembering. Daisy had been looking into the water and a wasp had buzzed her. She hated wasps and swatted wildly at it in panic. But the wasp kept buzzing her and she ran off the bridge flaying wildly until it left her alone.