Waywood

by Sarah Goodwin

  “Family?” he asks, “aunts, godparents?”

  I shake my head. “My aunt’s a total cow.”

  He smiles at that, and I find myself smiling back. Cray thinks for a moment, drumming his fingers gently on the back of my hand.

  “How about we get you into a shelter?” he suggests.

  I think about those crazy homeless people you see on the street, covered in dirt and smelling like old hair and BO. I imagine a room full of them, all sleeping on camp beds, waking up and yelling, following you around. Addicts and drunks, and me with my pink holdall. I shiver.

  “Maybe not,” Cray sighs.

  We’ve exhausted all the options, and I’m really scared that he’s going to leave me. Give up on a lost cause and go back to his house. Then I’d be stuck, all alone.

  “Can I come with you?” I ask quickly, trying to trample over my fear.

  He looks at me cautiously. “You don’t have to. . . I’m sure there’s something we haven’t thought of.” Cray sighs, “but then, if we haven’t thought of it, we probably aren’t going to crack it now and you look like you’ve had just about enough.”

  I nod.

  “So. . . do you want to come back to the house with me?” he asks.

  I nod again, not trusting myself to speak.

  “OK.” Cray slides out of the booth, and when I follow him, he takes my hand and opens the door for me.

  Chapter Three

  Together, Cray and I enter the chilly November air. The night is fading into sunrise, turning everything misty and grey. To my surprise he doesn’t lead me up the street and away from the town centre but towards the bus station. My unease escapes my desperate grip. Where the fuck are we going?

  “We have to take the bus to get there,” Cray says, noticing that my hand has slipped from his. “That’s OK, right?”

  “Yeah. . . I have some money,” I tell him, “but. . . ”

  Cray waves off my offer of cash. “Its fine – I’ve got it.”

  “It’s fine, I can. . . ” I begin to say, but I’m interrupted by the arrival of one of the orange bendy buses. Mostly they’re only used by students going to the Bath Spa campus, but Cray starts walking towards it, his buckled boots tapping on the concrete.

  “Come on,” he urges, when I don’t immediately follow, walking to the back of the queue.

  “But. . . ” He’s already out of earshot, and against the advice of the sensible voice in my head, I follow.

  There’s a small group of students waiting, from the look of them they’ve been out partying all night. There’s a girl with only one shoe on, another is tugging down on the hem of her tiny Day-Glo pink dress. As they climb one by one onto the bus and present their passes, Cray slides past and I follow. The driver doesn’t seem to notice. He’s probably as tired as I am.

  Cray settles into a seat towards the back. There are two other seats facing him, and he puts his feet up, one gloved hand searching in his pocket. I sit down next to him.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  Cray looks at me, and he must notice that I’m freaking out, because he reaches over and touches his fingers to mine. They’re warm on my skin, and an answering warmth rises in my chest. I feel safe, like when Mum used to tuck me up in bed after a crying fit.

  “It’s OK, the uni bus is the fastest way home,” he says, producing a packet of Embassy and opening it to reveal a lighter and a few bent cigarettes. He takes one out and lights up.

  “You can’t smoke on here,” I hiss, glancing at the driver.

  Cray exhales with a smile.

  “You’re funny,” he says, “nobody cares.”

  I look around, and sure enough, not one of the early morning passengers seems to give a shit that there’s some guy smoking on the bus. They aren’t even looking at us.

  The bus drags itself away from the station and its whirring grows to a roar as it reaches a straight stretch of road. We pass empty stops in a blur, and the bus works its way out of the city centre, through the sleepy streets of Georgian houses and into the countryside. My stomach starts to twist. I’m getting so far away from home.

  Cray exhales the last of his cigarette, tucks the packet away and taps my arm. The bus shoots along a road bordered on both sides by fields, and, after sliding around a roundabout, it pushes on past the gates of the University and up the driveway.

  On either side of us lie fields of cows, and every few seconds the bus bumps over a cattle grid. This wasn’t what I’d expected of a university, and I realise that even though I’ve lived in Bath all my life, I know next to nothing about this part of it.

  Cray raises one hand to ding the bell.

  The bus rattles to a stop next to a barbed wire fence. Ahead of us, on the road to the university, I can see a small building with a sign on it that says, ‘Security Lodge’. Cray leads me to the rear set of doors and we get out, turning to watch the bus sail onwards into the pre-dawn fog.

  “We’ll have to walk it from here, it’s not far,” he assures me.

  He opens a gate in the fence, steps into a small, patchily gravelled, car park. Ahead I can see only a sign nailed to a tree, warning that a permit is needed to fish in the lake. A narrow dirt track leads into the scrubby woodland beyond. It’s a horror film waiting to happen, why the hell have I volunteered to star in it?

  “Looks menacing, doesn’t it?” Cray says easily, lighting up another cigarette. “It’s worse at night, trust me.”

  Looking up the lonely little path, I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. What the hell am I doing? I’ve followed a stranger that I met at a bus station café out into the woods. No one knows where I am and no one is waiting for me. I glance at Cray, wondering if I can run faster than him, or land a good punch if it comes to it. I find that he’s already looking at me, worried by my sudden stop.

  “Hey, it’s OK,” he promises, “there’s a village through there. . . but if you don’t want to go I can take you to a bus stop. . . ” He comes closer and I start to panic.

  “I can find it,” I say quickly.

  “You really don’t have to be scared of me,” he says.

  “I’d just. . . rather go on my own.”

  As I start walking away Cray follows, catching up and falling in to step at my side. His hand brushes mine. I glance at him, thinking that he isn’t really that scary. The worst that can happen is that his friends say I can’t stay. I’m not drunk, or drugged, and I could run in my flat shoes if I had to. I’m not going to get raped. Not everyone’s a psycho killer, I’d just been spooked by too many Creepypasta stories.

  “I’m just. . . this is a bit freaky,” I tell him.

  He grins. “Keeps the students away.”

  We start up the path, which is uneven and awkward to walk on in my dolly shoes. I can feel every stone and stray nut under my feet, and I stumble more than once. Cray slows down to keep pace with me, taking my hand. The creepy path starts to feel almost intimate, like I’m in a scene from one of those costume films that Chloe loves so much.

  The path turns a corner, and I see that Cray was telling the truth. There are houses at the end of it. We go through another gate, which Cray holds open for me, and pass old fashioned cottages in a lane. It almost feels normal, like I’m not taking the biggest chance of my life on a total stranger; a homeless kid at that. Fear crosses my heart like electricity and I almost decide to turn back. But I’ve come this far, and Cray hadn’t been lying about the village. Maybe I can trust him.

  “I love it like this,” Cray says, as we turn left and up a street that curves between two large houses. “It’s like. . . being in one of those National Trust places after closing.”

  “Kind of Stephen King though. . . ” I look up at the crumbling walls and ancient trees that are spilling their crisp, yellow leaves onto the cobbled street. Fear stirs my guts again, this is getting weirder by the minute.

  “Fairy story,” Cray corrects, “the kind where children lose fingers to goblins and the prin
cess’ eyes get pecked out by crows.” Cray glances up ahead, “we’re almost there now.”

  My heart bumps against my ribs.

  “So. . . how many ‘others’ are there?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “Oh, there’s only seven of us,” Cray says airily, “but. . . I should probably explain that we’re not just living there collectively. . . there’s a system.”

  Oh shit oh shit oh shit. “. . . Oh?”

  He glances at me and smiles slightly. “It’s nothing weird, just. . . we have a hierarchy, leader, lieutenants, grunts. . . helps keep things organised.”

  “You mean. . . like a gang?” This is sounding less and less like something I want a part of. Even I thought all the stuff on the news about gangs and stabbings in London was terrible, and usually I couldn’t give a shit about all those ‘teens gone mental’ stories.

  “If you want to get crass about it,” Cray shrugs.

  “So. . . ” I ask as we pass a church and turn right down a street that cuts behind a large Georgian house. “Which are you? Lieutenant. . . or. . .”

  “I’m a grunt, worst luck,” he sighs, “though the official term is ‘initiate’.”

  “Mysterious.” I feel the urge to run for my life and also roll my eyes; someone had played too many fantasy role-players online. If it was just a house full of geeky outcasts I was probably safe. Even if they did sound completely mental.

  “Mmm, it was Sophia’s idea. She’s kind of our leader.” Cray directs us down a slope in the road, where the tarmac strip disappears into a tunnel of trees. To my surprise we don’t follow the road, but instead go up an earthen ramp, a grassed over farm track that appears to lead to nothing.

  “Right up here,” Cray assures me.

  My brain goes into overdrive as my shoes slip on the dewy grass. This is the creepiest place he’s brought me so far. I could be walking into anything, a houseful of heroin addicts, gang members, or just an empty field where Cray would rape and murder me. I was going to end up on the news, just one of my old school pictures and a story about how stupid I’d been.

  “My hovel,” Cray says, “don’t worry, it’s nicer inside.”

  I snap out of my True Horror thoughts and look up.

  Chapter Four

  On our right, overlooking the wooded slope down to the main road, is the scariest looking house I’ve ever seen, half sunk into a mass of brambles, nettles and elder bushes. Its windows are boarded over, its door locked up tight by a padlocked security screen, and its dry stone front is webbed in ivy. It looks almost like a farm building, with a red tiled roof and stout chimney on top.

  Cray struggles through the plants and raps on the padlocked door.

  I could still run, I know that. I should just run. But I’m here, I’ve come all this way and somehow my legs won’t quite obey my paranoid brain.

  The six boards over one of the windows open inwards, revealing a girl dressed all in black. Cray puts one foot up on the windowsill and climbs through the gap, turning and offering me a hand in climbing up.

  I climb awkwardly into the house, stepping down into a dark room that smells like a peeled potato. There’s carpet on the floor in uneven wodges, almost tripping me up as I shuffle forwards. Cray puts a hand on my arm to steady me.

  “Michaela, this is Nara, she’s a grunt, just like me.”

  The girl smiles at me shyly and I smile back. She’s not scary, just a girl around my age, wearing bright pink lipstick, her face a perfect heart shape against the black of her headscarf. The room beyond her is dark and bare, the walls patchily papered and showing pale green paint underneath.

  “Sophia’s busy,” Nara says to Cray. “You’ll have to wait to tell her you’ve found someone new.”

  “Then Michaela can meet the others,” Cray shrugs. “Who’s in?”

  “Just me, Chronicle and Ilex.”

  I feel like I’ve walked into a fantasy role-playing group. “You all have weird names,” I say.

  They both blink at me.

  Cray shrugs. “We get them when we join.”

  “It’s part of initiation,” Nara adds.

  Just like that, my creep-o-meter goes into overdrive. “What the hell is initiation?”

  “You didn’t tell her?” Nara slaps Cray on the arm.

  Cray backs away. “I didn’t want to sound like a complete freak.”

  As I watch the two of them, feeling the damp air of the room circulate around me, I really wish that I’d stayed put at the café. I am officially, one-hundred-percent freaking out, and I’m starting to think that if I don’t leave right away I might miss my chance to do so. I start to back up towards the window.

  “Michaela,” Cray raises his hands defensively. “Look, I get that this is weird, but. . . benefit of the doubt, OK? I can explain everything.”

  “I’d actually just like to go back to the station. . . thanks all the same. This has been the worst, weirdest night of my life, and I don’t think I can handle any more shit right now.”

  Cray takes a step forwards. “Well, then let me take you back.”

  “I can manage, thanks,” I bite out, reaching behind me and finding the windowsill with my fingers.

  “You’re freaking her out,” Nara says.

  Cray shoots her an irritated look. “I’m not trying to.”

  “Maybe I should get Ilex?”

  “Enough!” I grab the side of the window frame and climb up onto the sill. “I’m out of here. Play D&D on your own time, OK?”

  I jump down into the long, damp grass and struggle back towards the path. What a bunch of crazies, I’d been an idiot to follow Cray out here I knew that now. I should have gone with my instincts, not with the voice of the sad little kid who just wanted someone to be nice to her. I’d just have to take the bus back to town and call home, try to sort this whole thing out.

  I hear Cray climb out of the window behind me.

  “Get lost,” I shoot over my shoulder.

  “Just listen to me for five seconds.”

  “I’ve been listening to your bullshit for over an hour.”

  “One second? Please?”

  I stop and turn around, watching him as he walks towards me looking sheepish. He still doesn’t look dangerous, just annoying and maybe slightly barmy.

  “What I told you was true, we’re all runaways, and we all live here,” he begins, “but there’s more to it than that. . . we can do things. . . sort of like. . . ” he sighs, like he knows he’s being weird. “Magic, OK? We can do magic.”

  I’m starting to wonder if that stupid drugs assembly was right. I’d smoked too much weed or had a bad reaction and now I’d gone mental. One of us had to be.

  “Like. . . witches?” Despite all my fear I feel a stab of anger. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

  “Yeah, crazy as it sounds.” Cray takes a step towards me. “Sophia brought us together, and she has this book, it’s all this stuff she’s put together about Paganism and witchcraft. And it works, I swear. . . how do you think we got on that bus?”

  “Not with magic,” I say.

  “Well, why not?”

  “Because it’s not real.”

  “It’s sort of real,” Cray says. “Not like in films and stuff. . . but we can do things, things that make life a little easier than it would be otherwise.”

  “Great. Good for you. . . I’ll just be going now,” I turn around and start walking away.

  “What if we could help you?” he calls after me. “With your parents? We could help you to get back home.”

  I turn back to him.

  “Which is why you’re all still stuck here?”

  He shrugs. “Most of us ran away from our parents, we don’t want to go home.”

  This is ridiculous. I know that it’s crazy, and yet, looking at Cray, I can see that he believes it. He believes in magic and witches and God knows what else. He’d been so nice to me, and he is kind of cute. . . I can’t believe he’s a killer nut job, no matter how
much I want to. He’s just a homeless kid like me, playing some stupid game. It’s sad, but not homicidally mental.

  There are worse places to get some sleep, the shelter full of addicts and head cases comes to mind again. Other kids stab strangers on the streets, so what if Cray thinks he can turn invisible? He isn’t hurting anyone, and he isn’t expecting me to join in, just to trust him.

  Cray must see me wavering, because he crosses the space between us and offers me his hand.

  “When I saw you in that café, I thought you were just like me, and you are Michaela. I like you,” he looks me in the eye, “I really like you, and if it weren’t for all the shit that happened today, we never would have met. Just. . . come and see Sophia and the others. See what we can do.”

  A part of me really wants to keep going, to walk all the way back to the bus stop and go home, back to reality, shitty as it is. But the rest of me is kind of curious. The only thing I know about magic is that it exists in books and nerdy games, but if Cray believes in it, maybe there’s something there. He’s still looking at me, and I realise that this is the first time a guy has looked at me properly, not at Tasha, not at Chloe, but at me.

  “Show me then,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Show me some magic, and I’ll believe you.”

  Cray glances back at the house and looks awkward. “We’re not supposed to do it in front of anyone who isn’t initiated. I mean, it’s fine if they don’t notice, but...”

  I roll my eyes.

  “OK, OK,” Cray says, “give me a second.”

  I give him a second, and watch as he takes a stone from the ground and curls his fingers around it.

  “This is how we get things that are hard to steal,” he says, “when we have to leave something in their place. Show me something small that you’ve go on you.”

  I fish in my pocket reluctantly and pull out a pound coin. Cray grins.