The Longest Night of Charlie Noon

by Christopher Edge

  As Dizzy’s words sink in, the low murmuring sound seems to shift in my mind. Instead of a babble of voices, I can now make out the burbling sound of water rushing over stone.

  This isn’t Old Crony. There’s no search party coming to find us.

  “Great!” Johnny spits out the word. “So we’re still lost.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Dizzy says, a fresh note of hope in his voice. “There’s a river that runs through the woods. If we’ve found that, then all we need to do is follow it to find our way out.”

  With the torch in his hand, Dizzy beckons for us to follow him. The fuzzy glow from the torch seems much fainter than before as we push on through the trees, its fading light illuminating only a few paces ahead.

  The darkness seems to play tricks as we search for the river. Sometimes the babbling sound seems to be coming from the right, but then as we turn in that direction, the sound shifts as we hear splashing instead from the left. It’s as though we’re lost in a wild labyrinth, stumbling over roots and dead branches as we follow the thread of the sound between the trees.

  Beneath my feet sprays of white flowers and green leaves disguise the muddy ground. A wild garlicky smell fills the darkness, reminding me in a sudden rush of the time that Dad took us to a fancy restaurant in London for a birthday treat. It was called Gennaro’s and we all had to wear our very best clothes. I remember Mum blushing when the waiter gave her a flower at the door, Dad frowning slightly as he bustled us to our seats and then this same garlicky smell wafting through the kitchen doors as the waiters barged them open.

  We were happy then, I think.

  Up ahead the trees are starting to thin, a faint silvery light splashing through their branches as the ground begins to slope.

  “We’ve found it!” Johnny shouts, his voice ringing out in triumph.

  He starts to scramble down the leafy bank with Dizzy close behind. Beyond them, I can see the river, drenched in moonlight as it winds its way through the trees. The sound of soft murmuring voices surrounds us as the rushing water flows.

  Johnny is already striding ahead, heading in the direction of a wooden bridge that spans the river. I don’t know why he’s bothering. It looks so shallow you could walk across it without getting your ankles wet.

  Slithering down the bank, I join Dizzy by the water’s edge. He reaches down to pick up a stone that’s lying on the ground. He holds it in his hand, the moonlight illuminating the strange grooves and veins that mark its surface.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Brain stone,” Dizzy replies. “That’s what some people call it, anyway. You find it here sometimes along the river bank.”

  He places the stone in my hand, the feel of it cold and smooth against my skin. Its marbled surface is marked with dark bands and speckled ridges between lighter bands of white and grey. In the pale light these patterns look like a forest of trees set against a brightening sky, almost as if the woods themselves are etched on to the stone.

  “Hundreds of millions of years ago, all of this was under the sea,” Dizzy says, sweeping the torch across the shallow river until its sickly beam lights up the trees on the opposite side. “These woods would have been the shore of an ancient ocean – mud flats stretching for miles until they reached the sea.”

  Peering down again at the stone, Dizzy points at the speckled bands as I cradle it in my hand.

  “This limestone was made when the tiny worms who lived in these mud flats grew upwards in search of the sun. That’s what these dark bits are made of – worms. The lighter bits of the stone are where mud got trapped in the hollows in between. And over time all these different layers were pushed together until they finally made this limestone.”

  I stare at my friend in astonishment. When Miss James asks us questions in class Dizzy never says a word, but listening to him now it’s like he knows everything.

  Dizzy turns away, his torch beam playing across the stones scattered at the river’s edge.

  “That’s what a lot of these stones are,” he says. “Just fossils of the very first things that ever lived.”

  Fascinated, I turn the stone over in my hands. As I trace its patterns and folds with my fingers, I realise why Dizzy called it “brain stone”. In a science book at school there’s a picture of a human brain. That’s what this stone looks like – a broken chunk of brain.

  I think it’s funny that people all look so different on the outside, but inside our heads our brains all look the same. I can’t help thinking it should be the other way round as it’s the thoughts inside our heads that make us unique.

  I reach up to touch the bandage that’s wrapped around mine, wanting to make sure my own brain hasn’t started leaking out. But it’s bone dry and even my head’s stopped aching now.

  But then I feel a sudden wetness in the hollow of my other hand. Glancing down, my mouth falls open in astonishment as I watch the stone that I’m holding start to melt into mud. I can feel tiny worms squirming between my fingers, this solid rock now turned into a scoop of living mud. My head spins as I take a sharp breath, the warm air tasting like salt on my tongue.

  “Charlie?”

  Dizzy’s voice seems to be coming from such a long way away as the mud slowly drips through my fingers.

  “Charlie!”

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and my head snaps up.

  “Are you OK?” Dizzy asks, slowly pulling his hand away as he peers at me in concern.

  I look down again and see the stone resting in the hollow of my hand. My fingers are dry, no trace of the mud I felt seeping through them only moments ago. The stone looks exactly the same as it did before. The same as it’s looked for millions of years. Solid. Unchanged.

  I shake my head. I think I’m going mad.

  “Are you OK?” Dizzy asks again, a real note of worry in his voice.

  I let the stone fall from my fingers and hear it hit the ground with a clack.

  “I’m fine,” I say, looking up to peer along the river bank. “Let’s go.”

  Dizzy hikes his school bag higher on his shoulder.

  “If we follow the river this way,” he says, “then we should be heading west. Eventually this should bring us out on to Chase Lane and we can follow that back to the village.”

  Up ahead I see Johnny start to cross the wooden bridge that spans the river, his figure silhouetted in the silvery moonlight. As he reaches the centre of the bridge, he turns to glance in our direction.

  “Come on!”

  The sound of his voice cuts through the night. Beneath the bridge I can see the brightness of the moon reflected in the water, so dazzling against the darkness.

  I look up and see the moon is full.

  I blink.

  It wasn’t before.

  Then I hear Johnny shout, the sound quickly followed by a splash.

  I look down to see the bridge has disappeared into mist and catch a glimpse of Johnny’s arm before it vanishes beneath the surface of the water.

  I move without thinking, tearing off my shoes and socks before I launch myself into the river.

  I’m expecting to be able to wade through the water towards the place where I saw Johnny fall, but instead find myself gasping in shock as I plunge in waist-deep. The stones beneath my feet slip away as the riverbed swiftly shelves and I’m forced to kick, my arms stretching out in a breaststroke, just to keep my head above the surface of the water.

  Feeling confused, I glance back over my shoulder to see what’s happening, but find I can’t even see the river bank. Dizzy and even the woods themselves are now lost in a mist that seems to rise from the water. I glance up towards the sky, desperately treading water to keep myself afloat, but even the moon is hidden behind this shroud of mist. All I can see is the swell of the water surrounding me, each white-tipped wave rising higher than the last.

  This doesn’t feel like a river any more. I feel like I’m lost at sea.

  Then out there in the darkness I hear the sound of Johnn
y’s voice.

  “Charlie!”

  I kick out in the direction of the sound. The swell momentarily lifts me as I swim into an oncoming wave, then I feel myself dropped as its spray crashes over my head. The water is so cold, the taste of salt on my lips making no sense at all. With every stroke I take, I feel the waves pushing me back and it’s all I can do to claw my way through the surging foam.

  Panic starts to bubble in my chest, my heart racing as I snatch another breath. I thought I’d be able to drag Johnny out of the river, but as the waves chop into me I don’t even know if I’ll be able to save myself. A creeping sense of dread invades my head and I can’t stop myself from glancing down into the water. Beneath the spray, I can’t see the riverbed, just an inky blackness that seems to stretch fathoms deep beneath my feet. Where am I?

  I grit my teeth to stop them from chattering, the rising fear numbing my senses as I search in vain for a way out. But then, between the waves, I catch a glimpse of Johnny, his head bobbing above the water like a cork.

  I strike out towards him, my arms and legs thrashing through the water until I finally reach his side.

  Johnny’s head is tilted back, his mouth barely above the surface of the water. As his eyes lock on to mine, Johnny’s flailing arms reach towards me and I have to push him away to stop him from dragging me under.

  “Stop panicking,” I say, desperately treading water as the waves swell around us.

  “Can’t swim,” Johnny gasps, his eyes wide with terror. “Legs – stuck.”

  He swallows another gulp of water and I realise that he’s drowning in front of my eyes.

  “Help me.”

  There’s only one thing I can do. Taking a deep breath, I duck my head beneath the foaming surface, peeling back the water with my hands as I angle my body downwards, then kick as I dive down to find out what’s trapping Johnny. The freezing-cold water is churned into confusion and it takes me a second to work out what I’m seeing.

  Legs kick out amid a tangle of netting, these twisting ropes snaring Johnny like a fish. But as I swim down to try to free him, I realise with a sudden lurch of fear that this can’t be Johnny. Bubbles of air escape from my lips as I blink in blank confusion at the thrashing figure. This isn’t a boy, but a man.

  He’s dressed in a browny-green uniform, the brass buttons on the front of his jacket shining amid the water’s murk. I can’t see the man’s face, his head tilted back above the surface of the water, but as I glance down at the netting that’s tangled round his brown leather boots, I know that if I can’t free him, he’ll drown.

  From somewhere above my head, I hear the sounds of muffled groans and howls, followed by a distant boom that thuds through the water. It sounds as if the world is falling apart. But I can’t do anything about that now. My heart hammers in my throat as I try and pull the man’s feet free from the twisted net. I’m running out of air, the roaring noise inside my head getting louder every second.

  My numbed fingers scrabble uselessly against the fraying ropes as they twist and twine, the muffled sound of a tolling bell now ringing through the water. As I hear this, fragments of thoughts swim into my mind. I see myself standing in front of the village church, staring up at the bell tower with a strange sense of dread as the rain soaks me through. Then I’m lining up outside my class as the school bell rings, watching Johnny aim a sly flick at Dizzy’s ear as Miss James walks on by. Then the swell of the crowd sweeps me off my feet, everybody cheering in celebration as Big Ben chimes midnight. Forgotten memories merge into imagined moments, each one jostling for attention as the bell tolls. Light begins to bleed into my brain, the weight of the water slowly disappearing as I start to let go.

  Then another boom stirs the water around me and I feel the netting shift beneath my fingers. With one last desperate tug, I manage to prise it off the man’s boots and watch as his legs float free. Then I kick for the surface with every ounce of strength I have left, breaking through the waves with a breathless gasp.

  I look around, catching sight of Johnny spluttering for breath as he lifts his head clear of the waves. Their white-tipped crests rise and fall around us, revealing nothing more.

  The man is gone.

  “Charlie!”

  From somewhere to my left comes the sound of Dizzy’s voice. Hearing this, I strike out in the direction of the sound, glancing back as I snatch a breath to check that Johnny’s following me. My whole body aches and as the currents drag us forward, I can’t help fearing that every tiring stroke is going to be my last.

  “This way!”

  We swim in the direction of Dizzy’s voice, the mists that cling to the tops of the waves slowly clearing before we catch sight of Dizzy at the water’s edge. And then I feel the stones beneath my feet and stumble forward through the shallows until Dizzy hauls me out on to the river bank.

  Water drips on to my face as Johnny collapses by my side. We lie there for what feels like forever, unable to speak as our breath comes in ragged gasps. When my heart finally slows to what feels like double-speed, I manage to pull myself up into a sitting position and stare out to where the sea must be.

  The river shines silver in the moonlight, the flat stones beneath its surface showing me that it’s shallow enough to walk across. And on the other side of the river bank the pearly darkness of the wood seems to stretch on forever.

  I shiver as I huddle closer to the fire, the warmth thrown by its flames unable to thaw the freezing core that sits at the heart of me.

  Hunched opposite, Johnny stares blankly into the flames, the shadows dancing across his face unable to hide his haunted expression.

  We’ve left the river far behind. It was too dangerous to try and follow its path out of the woods. Not after we’d both nearly drowned in it. I shiver again as I remember staring down into its oil-black depths; the river as deep and wide as an ocean.

  Instead we’ve retreated to the trees, Dizzy heaping handfuls of leaves, twigs and broken branches into a rough pile at the heart of this small clearing. At first I didn’t think he was going to be able to get the fire to light, fruitlessly rubbing two sticks together just like it says you should in Scouting for Boys, but Dizzy couldn’t even get a spark. Then Johnny pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He snapped it open and thrust its flame into the heart of the pile. The fire lit in an instant.

  I don’t know how the lighter was even working after the soaking it got. But then my clothes are already dry, almost as if they were never wet. I run my hand through my hair, the bandage that was wrapped around my head now lost somewhere in the water. Not that it matters – there isn’t a wound to protect any more, not even a scratch on the side of my head.

  Nothing makes any sense.

  Beyond this flickering circle of light, Dizzy is out there, somewhere in the darkness, gathering wood to feed the fire. That’s all we can do now. Keep the darkness at bay and wait for morning to come. But as I stare into the flickering flames, I’m not sure if I’ll ever see the sun rise again.

  “Thank you.”

  Johnny’s words are almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

  “What did you say?” I ask, uncertain that I’ve heard him properly.

  Looking up, Johnny meets my gaze.

  “One second I was standing on the bridge and the next it was gone and I was in the water.”

  He flinches as a branch cracks open in the fire.

  “I was in the water,” he repeats, his voice trembling slightly. “I tried to swim, but my legs wouldn’t work. I could feel something wrapped around them, dragging me down.”

  The cold seeps through my veins as I relive the memory; the tangled nets wrapped around the legs of the drowning man.

  “The waves kept getting higher and higher. It was like the river had carried me out to sea. And I could hear things out there in the darkness…” Johnny’s voice trails away. “Terrible things.”

  My heart thuds in my chest as I remember the sounds that I heard as I fought to free the man.


  “I shouldn’t have been there,” Johnny says, his eyes glassy with fear. “I thought I was going to drown. But you saved me.”

  The fire spits and crackles again, but this time I hear Johnny’s words.

  “Thank you.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just nod my head.

  The fire seems to be dying down. I look around for something to feed the flames, but the ground has already been scoured clear of sticks. I hope Dizzy comes back soon.

  As the flames flicker, the darkness seems to creep closer and I jump as Johnny speaks again.

  “What’s happening, Charlie?”

  I stare at him in surprise. Johnny never calls me Charlie. He usually only calls me names that he knows I hate – just like he does to Dizzy. But there’s something in his voice that tells me that I’m not the only one who’s scared of this dark.

  I think about the things that I’ve seen, trying to make sense of the unfathomable. The scattered sticks, the Morse-code call, the sky strange with stars. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t even know if this night – if this nightmare – will ever end. Maybe we’ll be lost in the woods forever.

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t know.”

  Johnny shudders, almost as if he can hear my private thoughts. Then he starts speaking again, so softly I have to move closer to even catch his words.

  “Did you see the man in the water?”

  I forget to take a breath, remembering what I saw when I dived beneath the surface. The man in uniform. The drowning man. But it was Johnny that I saved from drowning…

  For a second, I can’t speak and Johnny seems to take my silence for disbelief.

  “There was someone there with me,” he continues. “When I was drowning. He spoke to me.”

  I remember the brass buttons on the man’s uniform, shining like tiny suns as he flailed against the dark.

  “What did he say?”

  “I was swallowing water,” Johnny says, his eyes shining brightly as he stares into the flames. “That’s when I saw him. It was like my eyes were seeing double as I slipped under the waves. But as I went under, I could hear his voice inside my head. It sounded like an echo of my own, but telling me things I didn’t want to hear. About all the things I’ve done wrong – all the people I’ve hurt. He told me about the horrors that he’d seen.”