by G D Sheehen
“You’re going to get these people killed. You should have got away from them.”
Shut up! Why should I listen to you now? Look at the mess you’ve already gotten me into.
A faint flicker ricocheted off the trees and a thumping heartbeat emanated from the earth. Philip thought for a moment he was being led into a human sacrifice. Their payment to the keepers of this land for allowing them to stay. My imagination is going on fucked up auto-drive again. I wish I had my medication. Paul Walsh will be so disappointed with me for relapsing. I can’t believe how guilty I feel for letting him down.
“We’re almost there my good man. And the ceremony is soon to begin,” said Redwood and then quickened his pace, leaving Philip to catch up.
He briefly considered making a run for it but where would he go. He could take the van. But he wouldn’t be able to find it again and besides, he’d never really driven a car before, except for that one time he stole one with Mad Casper to get money for smack. After gaining entry to the BMW they’d both assumed the other could drive. Philip was designated and rammed it straight into the car park wall, then they both did a legger. I might as well keep going. Anyhow, they saved me from Ray. Surely they don’t want to sacrifice me to any deities.
As he got closer, three small fires lured him towards their warmth. Moving shadows danced and beckoned him to the site. A bulging dark shadow to his right startled him until he turned to see, with great astonishment, and old-style wooden bow gypsy waggon, painted green, red and yellow. On further inspection, there were two more present, one with a soft plume of smoke coming from its black chimney.
Sally, having reached the commune and laid down the bags, skipped back to where he was lagging behind and took him by the hand.
“This way Philip. It’s time to feel the night and become the forest,” she said with retrained jubilation, a look of delirium in her eyes.
He agonisingly picked up his pace and soon reached the site around which about twelve people were gathered, some making figurines with sticks, some sitting down beating bongos, while others drank from wooden chalices and yet others danced in that nineteen sixties hippie style that he’d seen on Woodstock videos and the likes. He could already sense the togetherness of the people which eased his tension a little but not enough to fight off the worsening withdrawal cramps in his stomach.
Redwood beelined across the site to him and dragged him to the centre, next to the largest fire and called everyone’s attention.
“My good people, listen up. I’d like to introduce an honorary member to our tribe. A man who’s lived a life of debauchery and indulgence and lived to tell the tale.” He swooped his long neck down to Philip, face to face and said, “Just like yours truly, Maximus Redwood. We share the bond of otherworldly knowledge and we’re here to tell you all that nothing compares to this.” He held the chalice up. “Now let’s drink and become the night.”
A cheer erupted from the onlookers, and before Philip could react he was drinking down a medicinal flavoured syrup with an earthy aftertaste. Another cheer and several others took a drink from their cups and passed them around. Redwood brought him to meet the entire group individually. Most of the people were in their twenties with a few looking to be still in their teens. They all welcomed him eagerly to the fold, their dilated pupils giving away their discordant state at the time.
“Now this young lady is one from your own native land. A Deise girl with a back story that would break a stone heart,” said Redwood introducing Philip to a sheepish looking girl with short black hair, sitting on a log. He leaned over to whisper in Philip’s ear, “Terrible abuse at the hands of her father.”
Redwood took her by the hand and guided her to her feet and twirled her around whilst pulling exaggerated tango moves. The girl broke down laughing and embraced Redwood. She looked at Philip with her space saucer eyes then gave him a long hug.
“I’m so glad you’re here. We need more people who have experienced life,” she said and sauntered off to join the growing dance circle around one of the fires.
“This is it, my friend. This is the life. At one with nature, a mystical therapy session free from the trappings of today's world. Some of these young folk are terribly confused about their roles in the world of instant gratification and immediate and painful regret. Up here we lock out the material world, banish all modern distractions. Look around you, my friend. This is true happiness.”
The pang had subsided by now and Philip was beginning to feel lighter and more energetic than he had in days.
“What was in that drink you gave me?”
“A gateway to a new dimension. The single best cure for addiction known to man. Take your journey with an open heart and you’ll soon forget about the white powder invading your veins and robbing your soul of vitality. Now brother, live with the night and love the trees. They will hold your deepest secrets for longer than we should grace these ancient lands.”
He moved away from Philip and took centre stage near the fire and held his audience rapt whilst reciting poetry about the land and the faerie creatures that rule.
Philip walked around the perimeter of the site to properly take in this wondrous forest sanctuary. For the first time, he noticed many handmade wooden crafts hanging from the trees, casting oblique shadows in all directions. Tents were dotted throughout the forest.
He went to the waggon with the smoke coming out and admired the detailed artwork painted onto the door. Golden patterns painted onto expertly carved faces on the door. Celtic designs in vibrant greens and reds swirled up and down the circular entrance wall. It stood in a golden frame with wooden wheels. How on earth did they even get this waggon in here?
The door swung open and an elderly lady with many layers of colourful clothing regarded Philip with wonder, kindness in her eyes. “I see you’ve come to find answers,” she said in a deep and wise voice. “Go dance with the good faeries of the night, but don’t forget to avoid their devious counterparts. Then, return to me and share your experience.”
She disappeared back into the waggon and Philip felt an uncontrollable tingling sensation rise up through his body. A familiar feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.
He faced back towards the site and observed only flickers of light and shadow wedded in perfect unison, moving in sync to the beating drums. The trees began to ripple and sway. He took a deep breath and tasted the soil and the tree sap all at once.
A tableau of melting forest came to life around him and his breathing joined forces with every living unseen creature crawling through the soft soil. He meandered through the trees, back to the site and was greeted with cartoon faces with indestructible happiness plastered over them.
Redwood circled the grounds at high speed urging all his people into higher states of awareness, to sacrifice the notion of self. He reached Philip and Philip felt bound to his new wilderness family, lost in a moment of resurrection and birth. Sally came and hugged him as did many others, all with their cartoon faces. The Waterford girl took him by the hand, kissed his cheek and told him he was amazing.
He felt like he could run through the forest at high speed, scale trees and look out over the valley, a valley he could only imagine in his youth. A large lad with wild curly hair dressed in a bright coloured poncho handed him a bottle of wine and he took a long swig. It was more of the earthy medicinal mixture and he welcomed it. He had come this far, there was no reason to slow down.
The jubilant sound rising from the commune became a single soothing hum. It took him through time, through the ages of his own life and the ages of others. He revisited a thousand happy memories of his youth; the beach with Rodge, taking care of his little sister since the time she could barely walk, going to the hurling field with his father, proud to see his son on the team making an impact, listening to his mother’s old stories that she knew from memory, stories of faeries, high kings and heroes of the land. He closed his eyes and travelled at will through time and space, every corner of his memor
y laid bare, only the bright sides inviting his company.
He crossed the site and passed through the trees on the other side. His mind focused on his addiction and how it was wired into his thought processes in such a way as to elicit a painful physical response if not fed. The absurdity of such loss of control over one’s own thinking made him laugh out loud. He made an oath to himself never to touch heroin again and to regain control of the mental faculty that wrung his stomach when not obeyed. He would become the one to be obeyed, thus refusing power to the processors of withdrawal pangs and pain. The laugh turned into a howl at the revelation and only the tiniest part of him wondered if it would fade to a mere hallucinogenic thought once the trip wore off. The howl twisted and echoed through the treetops and was answered back with a chorus of similar exaltations.
He strolled deeper into the forest, now attempting to clear his mind of all thoughts and let his senses take full control. The forest obliged in kind and presented him with a visual show to put any special effects movie to shame. Trees grew limbs and constructed doorways for his safe passage. The stars shot rays of light from the sky above, the palms of the pine trees gently waved and fanned his face with warm soothing air. The breeze purposefully found its markers in the forest to create a crescendo of heavenly tones. He could surrender to this feeling right now, never to return to the life he was running from.
The very thought brought the whole world swishing back through his mind in an explosion of stark reality, the reality of the mess he was in, and all of a shot terror took hold of his very existence. The light and sound dispersed. Darkness swallowed the starlight in one violent gulp. The insects clicked and conspired. Their high pitched buzz stabbed at his previous wellbeing. Beastly groans emerged from all sides.
Turning to find the light of the campsite, he only saw endless blackness barred by towering iron trees, imprisoning him in their grip. A stampede of large animals rushed towards him with deafening intensity but still, he saw nothing. He ran. No destination in mind, he banged his shoulders off solid tree trunks. The limbs that had just opened new gateways of perception were now clawing at him, dragging him down.
He broke free and kept going. Regret kicked in. He should have given himself to Ray and gotten it over with. The stampede drew ever closer. The groans reminded him of excruciating nights in the medical ward when someone was going cold turkey or in the throes of a psychotic episode.
He lost his footing and slid down with unstoppable force. Had he reached the valley’s edge and was now about to plunge to his death, to be found by unsuspecting tourists the following day? He came to a thumping halt and lost all sense of himself for a while.
When he came to, he found himself at the bottom of a ravine with sharp jagged rocks of varying height raising up above him. A black stream trickled behind him but he could see no sign of the forest from where he’d come.
“Why did you come here?”
Philip looked around in all directions but saw no one.
“You should have stayed where you were. You can do no good by running.”
Philip turned from the stream and looked towards one of the rocks where he saw a figure that defied explanation. Sprawled across the top of a rock, like a king slouched on his throne, was a black creature, half man half horse. Its body and limbs were shaped like a human yet covered in a fine black fur. In the place of fingers and toes were tentacles that moved and swayed of their own will. But the most frightening aspect of this beast was its horse-shaped head.
Its eyes were large, a fiery yellow and red. The mane stood erect like sharp spears, and its mouth and nose, although horse-shaped had an undeniable human quality.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
“Fair questions, both,” he replied with a regal drawl. “Who I am is of no consequence and potentially harmful for you to know. But why I’m here is another story. I’m here to make sure you survive this detour and get back to your mission. You agreed with the bloodsucker where you’d go and what you’d do when there. But now you busy yourself with foolish people who can only end up as more victims of your curse.”
“You leave them people alone. They didn’t harm anyone.”
“Tis not I who have endangered them, now, is it?” he said and his eye dulled and became human and familiar for a brief moment.
“You must dig up that box, but whatever you do, don’t let it into the hands of that sagging-skinned ancient cretin.”
“What should I do with it?”
“You’ll know when you find it. But beware. The secrets it holds will unlock misfortune and misery you never dreamed possible.”
“I can’t be much worse than what I’ve already been through.”
“Enough,” he shouted with the voices of a hundred furious people. “Self-pity is for the wretched and the weak.”
He jumped down from the rock and came face to face with Philip. His appearance was grotesque but also perfect in an otherworldly way. His tentacles slithered all over Philip’s body, the ends flicking off his head and face.
“This is truly your last chance. Should you fail, you are damned to the dark world to be a carrier of unforgiven souls. And believe me, a prolonged violent death is a gift from the gods compared to such a fate.”
His eye fired up once more and he sprung fifty feet into the air, scaling the high jagged rocks and disappeared in an instant.
Philip fell to his knees and put his head in his hands.
22
One of the last days of summer and Philip searches everywhere for Rodge. He doesn’t find him on the farm nor in any of the usual hangouts around the village. A dread fills him as he heads for the cliff. It’s now a place to be feared and not the place of childhood memories where he and Rodge spent countless afternoons playing and daydreaming.
The sea is rough and fast moving clouds cover the sky above. Walking along the cliff road he can see the waves climb higher against the cliff wall as if trying to escape a horror scene below.
He enters the laneway leading to their cove and walks down to the beach where he and Rodge skim stones. The beach is full of ancient demonic symbols made out of sticks and seaweed, laid out on the sand like offerings to a distant and vengeful god.
Some of the designs resemble animal heads whilst others look like Celtic symbols. Nothing offers a clue as to why they are there.
He walks to the water’s edge and hops back when he sees a red blood-like residue get washed up as the waves break on the sand.
A girl’s scream fills the cove with pain and he looks back to see a girl in a white dress standing on the cliff’s edge ready to jump. He can’t see her face as the rising wind blows her blond hair across it.
He runs back up the beach and makes his way along the inclined path leading up the cliff. A magnetic force pulls him back and he has to use all his might to push on. Hands burst out from the mud walls on either side of him and try to grab him as he moves forward. The ground he stands on becomes quicksand and pulls him under but he struggles on with all his might.
He finally reaches the end of the path and comes into view of the cliff edge. The girl is now accompanied by a boy who pleads with her to step back. Philip shouts out to Rodge but no sound will come from his efforts. He starts running but is soon bowled over by a thick moving cloud that bears the faces of everyone he’s ever known, people from his childhood and people from his days on the streets and in prison.
The Sluagh darts towards Rodge and the girl and consumes them in its thickness. Philip tries to reach them and pull his friend out, but the cloud evaporates into nothingness and the day suddenly becomes calm and quiet.
23
The coldness sent a shock up through Philip’s body as he slowly came around and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Stone walls surrounded him and for a moment he thought he was back in prison. A single shaft of sunlight beamed in the small window and illuminated the ground beneath him. The rest of the room was covered in darkness.
He got to his feet and soon fou
nd a gate leading outside. A padlock from the gate had obviously been broken and laid scratched and bent open on the ground. Some fresh-cuts stung his fingers, he guessed from breaking the lock with a rock. He walked out into the morning sunlight and looked back at the ancient church and the large looming tower behind it. Saint Kevin’s Church. A place of monastic living a thousand years ago where people came to escape the trappings of modern life.
Some tourists in colourful raincoats were dotted along the perimeter of the church grounds, cautious to enter because of the ghostly apparition emerging from the old ruined building. Philip headed in the opposite direction along a puddled path that brought him to a line of pine trees and a small river.
He leaned down and dipped his head in the river sucking in as much water as he could take without drowning. His head pounded and the water offered temporary relief but he pulled his head back out he was reminded of the horror that confronted him the night before.
He trudged up the hill with no clear knowledge of which direction to go. The river grew further away until it finally looked like a thin trickle of a stream, hundreds of feet below. He passed through mossy patches, every shade of green making it seem like he was in a labyrinth of never-ending plants. A forty-minute hike brought him to a section of the forest he recognised as the place near where Redwood parked the van. He tried his best to remember the line they took through the trees to get to the commune. Breathless and tired, fuzzy-headed and starving, he eventually caught sight of the commune. A single twirl of grey smoke rose and seeped into the cold morning air.
