“Where the hell do you think you're going, huh? You little shit.” the man spat. I felt too dazed, sore, and confused to answer him back or even look him in the eye for that matter. So, I did what I always do in stressful situations like that: I began to cry.
“You destroyed my tent, you little fucking vandal. Where the hell are your parents, huh? They around here too? They know that you go around causing criminal damage to other people’s bloody properties, huh?” continued the angry man, still snarling and spitting and drooling all over me.
Finally, he climbed back up onto his feet before dragging me up onto mine. I tried to cover my face with my hands as the tears and sobs poured out of me, but he kept pulling and slapping them away.
“Shut the fuck up. You're not hurt, you little brat.”
I kept crying which seemed to make the man even angrier. He put his hands on my shoulders and shook me hard.
“Stop your bloody whining, you little shit. Now where the hell are you staying around here, huh? Who’s responsible for you out here? Take me to them.”
Suddenly the man howled to the high heavens with such agonizing pain that I ceased crying immediately. It was such an unexpected reaction on his part that it left me utterly lost for words. When he yowled out again with even greater agony, I finally opened my eyes just in time to see him collapse onto the forest floor in a crumpled heap.
Standing right beside him was my sister. In her hands was a long, sturdy and powerful log. She'd cracked the thing with all her strength right into the side of the man’s knee cap and while he’d held his leg in excruciating pain, still howling to the unseen moon and heavens, she’d smashed him again. This time hard on his other knee. He'd fallen to the ground like a huge sack of sweet potatoes as his legs folded and buckled with the weight of his upper body on their newly broken lower frame.
The angry, howling man rolled around on the dirt and mud, clutching at both his knees. My sister didn't stop there though. Not by a long shot. She cracked him again and again with another hard-swinging blow, this time against his elbow and then the side of his arm.
The man cried in agony. She swung again, now against his other arm. He tried to raise his hand to protect himself and dull the blow but she smashed him so hard on the outer forearm that the snap echoed throughout the surrounding trees. She'd completely shattered his forearm. Bloodied white bone poked out from within his red flesh.
I was about to yell for her to stop, when she hit him one more time. Right on top of his skull. There was a healthy crack and the man seemed to calm down quite suddenly. His painful cries for help and for my sister to stop, swiftly subsided. He didn't fall unconscious by any means, but more into a groggy, retarded daze.
My sister went to strike him again, clearly enjoying herself, caught up in the exhilarating and maddening violence of the moment.
This time I shouted “Enough!”
She looked at me with a coy expression before smiling warmly and lowering her arms to finally relax.
***
I helped my sister drag the groggy man over towards the nearest tree. She then ordered me back down to his tent and told me to try and find some rope to tie him up with. If I couldn't find any rope then I was to tie all of the man's clothes together and use that for a rope instead.
I found some rope though. Lots of it. Like a climber’s rope, thin but sturdy, in one of his rucksacks. When I made my way back up the hill, I saw my sister strike the man across the face with her log again. I didn't like it, but if I wasn't there to stop her then what the hell could I do? When she saw me coming back up the hill, she threw the log down onto the ground and told me to hurry the hell up.
We tied the full length of rope around both the tree and the groggy man’s body. His face and head were much more bloodied, bruised, and swollen than I remembered but, again, I didn't say anything to my sister about the new wounds.
For our final night of camping out in the forest, we decided to leave our secluded shelter and move into the man's tent down at the bottom of the forest valley. It was a nice-sized tent with a good, cosy sleeping bag that could easily fit both me and my sister inside, no problem. Plus, we could be closer to the man and keep a better eye on him from this new base.
I wasn't sure what we we're gonna do with him, to be honest, when we finally came to leave this place, but my sister seemed to think that it would be a good idea to keep him tied up like that until my father came for us the next day. Perhaps he could somehow iron the misunderstanding out and everything would be right as rain again.
We started a new fire outside the man's tent, then proceeded to eat the majority of his food. He was still very much unconscious up there on the top of the valley. And after a few hours of not hearing him utter a single groan or even shout out for any more help, I began to fear the worst.
I was about to go up and see him, perhaps even throw some water in his face or shake him awake, when just as we were finishing off a second can of rice pudding from his dwindling stash, the man began groaning and moaning out for help just like he’d done a few hours earlier.
My sister instantly grabbed her log. However, I swiftly placed my hand upon hers and motioned for her to leave it be. The sun was still up, perhaps only an hour or so away from setting down for another day, so I didn't need any extra light in order to make my way back up the valley.
I took an opened tin of baked beans along with a spoon. I thought he might be quite hungry and that the food could also act as some kind of a peace offering between us. I cautiously approached the man as my sister kept a muted distance a few yards behind.
He still had both his eyes fully closed yet he was groaning for help, almost delirious but not too loud. The left side of his face, especially his left eye, was swollen to almost three times its normal size.
It looked utterly hideous and ridiculous at the same time, like it somehow wasn’t real and someone had snuck into the woods just before my arrival to cake this gruesome, horror-film, makeup effect upon him. Had my sister really done that to his face? She had well and truly done him over a cracker that’s for sure. God only knew what state his legs were in.
The man must have heard us coming. He ceased his groans and turned his attention towards me immediately. His right eye opened, but his left did not. I was slightly taken aback by how freakishly unhuman he appeared. He seemed more like some Frankenstein monster than any average human being.
“Please… Please untie me, little girl.” The man croaked through his broken mouth and jaw. I didn’t reply. I just gently shook my head as I stood in front of him.
“I need an ambulance. I need to get to a hospital,” he said, struggling to speak and dribbling every time he opened his mouth. I thought his jaw must have been broken. I glanced at my sister who stood half hidden and half revealing herself beside another tree. I focused my attention back to the mumbling man.
“I think… at least one of my knees… or legs… are broken. My arm too. I'm scared that it might get infected if I stay out here like this any longer.”
I watched him carefully and listened to his pleas but I said absolutely nothing.
“Please. Just untie me and help me get out of the forest. I won't get you, or your sister, is it? I won't get either of you into any trouble. Please, just help me… Or at least go and get me some help. Please. I beg you. It hurts so much.”
The only way I could think to respond was to open the can of beans and swirl the spoon around inside the thick, lumpy orange contents a few times. I then scooped out a spoonful of raw, sloppy beans and moved it towards the man's face. I told him to eat, but he just sighed and looked at me like I was some kind of idiot.
“I'm not hungry. I just need some help. A doctor or an ambulance… before it gets too dark… Please.”
I told him there was nothing I could do for him until my father came for us the following day. He'd have to wait until then and see what my father decided was best for everyone. The man didn't seem to like that answer. But instead of gett
ing angry he just closed his eyes, lowered his head, and started to sob again.
“Please...” he begged. “Please. I have a wife… and a little girl. She’s just a bit younger than you. Please. I really want to get back home to see them.”
Ignoring his pleas once more I crouched down to his eye level and moved the spoonful of beans closer to his mouth. An inch or so away from his lips. With a sturdier tone and sounding more like my sister, I told him to eat the beans; this made him finally erupt in a bout of anger. He butted, spat, and hissed the spoonful of beans away, knocking it out of my hands and onto the dark ground below.
“I don't want any food you stupid little bitch. I want a fucking ambulance. Do you hear me? I want some fucking medical attention!” the man roared in frustration.
I stumbled and fell back onto my backside with the fright of his sudden outburst and change in tone, from grovelling and pleading to complete and utter rage. That rage reminded me of my father for a split second, but not the grovelling. That sounded more like me.
Suddenly my sister leapt out from her hiding place behind a nearby tree. Before I could even protest, she had already taken the can of beans from my grasp and poured the contents all over the man's head. She began smothering the beans all over his face, too, with the palm of her hand, rather too violently for my liking.
The man roared in pain as my sister palmed, patted, and slapped the cold beans all over his swollen jaw and face. When she was finally done, she kicked his broken arm hard before laughing at how ridiculous he looked.
Silent and ashamed, I gazed on as the man began sobbing again. My sister cursed more obscenities right into his face before kicking his broken knee. That was the final straw. I couldn’t take the torturing and suffering any longer. I stood up and told my sister to stop it immediately.
I had to put my arm right firmly across her chest just to stop her from stomping all over the man's leg for a second time. My sister glared at me like I'd deeply insulted her intelligence, but after a slight hesitation, she gradually backed away.
I apologized to the man for my sister's behaviour. I tried to explain to him that my sister was just very protective of me and that she didn't like it when people tried to hurt or scare me. Well, everyone except my father that is—which I didn't say out loud, and in her presence, of course.
I told the man that there was nothing more I could do for him that night until my father arrived. I said I would bring him another can of food later on and when I did, he should just be grateful and eat whatever I gave him and not try anything like that again. The man didn’t respond at all to that and just continued staring into the thick darkness of the forest instead.
Chapter 5
I really didn't think that the man would make it through the night, if I were entirely honest. He refused, quietly and submissively to eat or drink anything else that I offered him that night, until eventually, we just decided to leave him in peace until the following day.
Later that night, we sat around our fire, cooked, and ate the rest of his food, and drank a few mouthfuls of the vodka we’d taken from the women’s tent before passing out, snuggled up together inside the man's sleeping bag.
In the morning, we climbed up the hill to see him again. He didn't seem to be moving too much and I really feared the worst. It was hard to say if he was even breathing anymore.
But when my sister kicked his broken arm, he immediately jolted awake. He glanced up at us with a look of downright defeat and despair. I'd never seen such an expression like that from anyone before in my life. He didn't utter a single word either, even when I asked how he was feeling and if he was hungry yet.
He just gently shook his head before turning his swollen eyes away to look anywhere else but in our direction. In a way, I actually felt glad that he didn't want any food because my sister and I had eaten everything of his and we'd have to go hunting again, or swimming into the loch to see if our fish traps were still working and had caught some more fish.
I'd brought a half bottle of water with us though and forced it up against his lips. Thankfully, he drank a few gulps without any protest, which I took as a good sign. I told him that we'd be back soon. That we were only going for a morning swim in the nearby loch and then to the outskirts of the forest to see if our father was waiting for us at the meeting point, he’d told us to be at.
My sister and I were just about to head off through the trees when the man raised his head, alert all of a sudden. His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. I swore too, for one fraction of a second, a smile threatened to broaden across his hideously swollen and bloodied face.
I wasn't sure what the hell was wrong with him at first, but when I heard some branches moving, then the sound of leaves and twigs crunching and cracking behind us, my heart skipped a beat.
We had more company in the woods.
Before either my sister or myself could turn around to see just who the hell might be sneaking up on us, the man was already crying out for their aid and assistance.
“Police. POLICE! Oh, thank Christ, it's the police. Jesus Christ. Help me God. Please, please help me. Dear God, am I so happy to see you Officer! Thank the Lord. Thank the bloody Lord.”
The man gave out a shuddering sigh of relief. My sister was the first of us to turn swiftly around and glance at the uniformed police officer edging slowly towards us. Instantly, she smiled and gave him a warm friendly wave of recognition.
It was our father, of all people, and he was wearing his full police chief uniform, which wasn't like him at all when he was out and about in the wilderness.
I neither smiled nor waved. The tied and wounded man though—wow—he looked absolutely broken and distraught when he realized that we knew the approaching police man. He almost gagged too when he saw my sister waving and smiling at him, showing him so much love. He looked like he was about to have a stroke, just to add to his growing list of grievances.
“No, please... Mr. police man, please… Please, help me,” the man continued half-heartedly. But his hope of a simple and uncomplicated rescue was draining thick and fast from his defeated body language.
Our father emerged from the trees and into the small clearing where my sister and I still stood, rooted to the dirt, and where the tied and beaten man, sat bound against the tree.
“All right ma wee dolls. Still alive ah sees. Very good. No bad for your first time oot in the big bad wilderness all by yourselves, eh?”
Our unusually cheery father then turned his attention towards the tied and beaten man.
“What's all this then?” my father asked like he’d caught us red handed eating cookies right before dinner. I tried to explain what had happened to the best of my ability. Not leaving anything out, except for the drinking of vodka and the burning down of the two seemingly-nice women’s tent over by the loch. Although, it was fair to assume that if he knew all about this scenario, then he also knew about the two women.
My sister remained absolutely silent, like she usually did in these matters. She’d always let me do the talking, even though we were in this situation because of her actions, not mine.
When I'd finally finished filling dad in on everything that had happened, he gently stepped towards me. I tried not to flinch and firmly held my ground. I couldn't actually tell if he was going to strike me across the jaw with the back of his hand like he sometimes did or softly stroke the back of my head, like he sometimes did too. His mood could change that fast.
To my relief he took the latter action. He stroked his hand over the back of my head and through my long, jet-black hair. It was a good feeling. It meant that everything was going to be okay.
“It's all right, ma wee dolls. Ah saw the whole thing yesterday fae behind they trees over there. Ye dinnae have tae explain yourselves tae me, ma wee darlings. Ah saw this paedo fuckwit chasing ye’s. Trying tae grab ye, then pinning ye doon tae dae god knows whit. Assaulting a poor wee, innocent girl oot in the middle of nowhere like some cowardly fuckin’ sex offender.”<
br />
My dad shook his head for effect before spitting at the man.
“No. No,” the man protested, coughing and spluttering out. “That's not what happened here. And if you were really watching, then you'd know the truth. You'd know the truth, officer,” He cried, raising his voice.
My dad suddenly tensed up. He ceased the soothing, stroking motion of my hair.
“Shut it you, ye cunt,” he snarled.
He took his hand away from my hair and stepped slowly—intimidatingly slowly—right up to the man, so that he stood directly over him, his groin almost touching the man's face.
“Are ye calling ma own daughter a fuckin’ liar likes?”
The man almost choked with fear. He shook his head. He tried to clear his throat.
“No. No I'm not saying that at all, sir. I'm not calling anyone a liar here. Not at all, sir.”
“Fuckin’ sir, is it now? Ye fucking shitebag paedo prick, ye.”
“I'm just saying that...” the man mumbled on, clearly in pain the more he worked his jaw. “...that this has all been one, big, huge, misunderstanding. And if you could just kindly take me to a hospital....”
Dad feigned a kick to the man's broken leg. The man yelped and flinched at the fake attack while Dad just smiled sadistically and chuckled.
“...or, or to a police station. Then I'm sure this can all be resolved quickly and promptly. I promise. Then I'll just go my separate way...I won't say a single word, not one bloody word, about anything that’s happened here...”
Dad crouched down in front of the man. He made himself eye level with him and his one good eye. The man began shaking uncontrollably.
“You willnae say anything aboot what happened here?” Dad said with a cold hard chuckle. “What fuckin’ happened here likes? Al tell ye whit fuckin’ happened here, ye paedo fuckin’ ball-jawed bastard. If it wasnae for ma wee, brave, quick-thinking, other daughter, knocking you of your fuckin’ perch, ye silly big fucktard, then both of them would no doubt be lying raped, dead, and buried in the ground right about now, isn’t that the cold hard truth of it pal, aye?”
My Sister And I: A dark, violent, gripping and twisted tale of horrifying terror in the Scottish Highlands. Page 4
