by Michael Bray
“Pack everything up. I want this place sealed off. All doors. All windows,” Fisher ordered, still fighting against the image they’d seen. “I want everyone out of here within the hour.”
Hopkins nodded and left the hotel, the relief on his face clear.
Although the screen now displayed static, Fisher could still see well enough in his mind’s eye what existed in the tunnel.
Bones.
The ground was littered with human bones.
CHAPTER 10
Known as the Romanian Bermuda Triangle, Hoia Baciu Forest covered an area of more than two hundred and fifty hectares. Its bizarre history of paranormal activity, UFO sightings and other unexplained phenomena had made the forest one of the most intriguing and feared locations in Europe. Emma Barrett trudged through the woodland, hands thrust in pockets and head down against the steady drizzle which had been falling for three solid days. Her boots were splattered with mud, and her breath fogged in the chilly air. Although it was mid-morning, the day was dull from the heavy gray cloud cover, which, as miserable as it was, still wasn’t enough to deter her from her journey. Behind her, cheeks flushed from the cold, was Alex Brett. Like her, he was a survivor of the Oakwell massacre, and from it a relationship of mutual need had grown. They leaned on each other when times were tough, helping each other find a way to cope with the events of that awful night. Emma couldn’t help but think of those who had survived, and considered, not for the first time, perhaps the dead were the lucky ones. In the aftermath of the massacre, she had become obsessed with paranormal phenomena. Against the advice of her family, she dived into the subject, doing anything she could to distract herself from the event where she’d lost almost all of her friends in a single night. The more people around her told her that it was a one-off incident, and that she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, the more determined she was to prove otherwise. It had become an obsession which led her to Japan and now Romania in the search for other areas sharing similar traits to the clearing in Oakwell. Using the savings that she’d one day hoped to purchase her first home with, she’d spent more money than she knew she should in order to fund her investigations.
Emma lost her footing, slipping in the wet mud, which pulled her thoughts back to the task at hand. The ground angled downhill now, and she knew they were nearing their destination.
“You see the trees here?” Alex said from behind her.
“Yeah, let’s stop and take some photos.”
She took a moment to catch her breath, ignoring the drizzle as it pattered on her raincoat. The trees ahead of them were abnormal, the trunks growing in mysterious S-shapes, twisting back on themselves before continuing their reach for the sun.
“You see how they’re all like this, exactly the same shape and direction?” she said over her shoulder as she snapped photos from various angles.
“Yeah, it’s especially odd because the same species elsewhere in the woods are fine. You see the charring there?”
“Where?” she asked, lowering the camera.
“There, on the lower branches. Just like the locals said it would be.”
“Oh, yeah, I see it now,” Emma said, leaning closer.
“You think someone did this on purpose?”
“I doubt it,” she mumbled, inspecting the damage. “The locals here are scared of this place. In all fairness, I can see why.”
“Tell me about it, it’s creepy here, it’s just like… like the other place.”
Emma glanced at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just… this is all a bit too familiar, you know?”
“I get where you’re coming from. I appreciate you agreeing to come out here with me. Especially so soon after Oakwell.”
“It was good to get away. Although I’d have preferred sunshine and a beach rather than Romanian rain,” Alex replied, almost forcing a smile. “This place has a weird vibe, don’t you think? It’s heavy… oppressive. It’s a lot like the forest back home.”
“It is. Which is why we’re here. Come on, let’s go on. It should be just a little further ahead.”
The pair moved on, past the misshapen trees and deeper into the forest. Alex was right. There was an atmosphere here that she hadn’t felt since her time back in Oakwell forest. There was the same kind of dark oppression, the heaviness, and a feeling of anxiety that came back all too clearly. The only other place she’d visited that gave off such a skin-crawling sensation was Aokigahara forest in Japan. It was better known as the Suicide Forest, a place where, year on year, people would go to end their lives. Such is the density of the vegetation there, sitting as it does at the base of Mount Fuji, that many of the bodies are never found, while others leave behind photographs of family or loved ones, or tents which had been the location of their last night’s sleep before the owners headed into the trees to find a place to take their leave of the world. Unlike Alex, who had been swamped by the events in Oakwell, Emma had tried to use it in a positive way. She was desperate to understand what they had experienced in Oakwell, and perhaps by understanding, learn to live with it. Convincing her parents to let her go on this and the trip to Japan had been easy, although she hadn’t told them the reason for her wanting to come. She simply explained she needed to get away from the town, away from the memories, and they in turn were happy to oblige. Any guilt she felt for deceiving them was pushed aside by the thought of finding out what had happened and why. She had experienced things that couldn’t be explained by any way she knew, and was determined to discover the truth, no matter how far she had to go.
The land ahead leveled out, and traveling became easier. The darkness between the branches grew lighter, and she spied the break in the trees ahead. Her heart, already working hard from traversing the landscape, started to beat a little bit faster.
“This is it,” she said. “We’re here.”
Alex followed her as she walked into the clearing, her stomach tightening at the similarities between it and the one in Oakwell. It was formed into a rough circle, one which, based on the geography of the place, shouldn’t be there. Nothing grew in the middle apart from a thin, sick-looking covering of yellowish grass. The silence was almost total, and both Emma and Alex were grateful for the steady song of the rain.
“Holy shit, it’s got the same feel…” Alex whispered.
Emma nodded. She scanned the clearing, opening up her senses to take in everything. It was remarkable. She lifted her water bottle, her shaking hands having difficulty unscrewing the cap.
“Let’s get started. We have a lot to do,” she said, forcing herself to venture further into the clearing.
“Do you want me to get some soil samples?”
“Yeah, I’ll take some photos and video, then we can do some EVP work.”
“You really believe in that stuff?” Alex asked.
“EVP?”
“Yeah.”
“Actually, I do. I’ve heard quite a lot of convincing recordings.”
“I’m not sure I buy into it all. Recording the voices of the dead… It all sounds a little bit farfetched to me. Besides, it’s easy to mishear things. Background noise or static can sound like voices if you want it to.”
“Still, I’d rather have the recordings than not.”
“Hey, you’re the boss. I’ll set it up,” Alex said, grateful for the distraction. Emma took another moment to look around, then set to work. She had no intention of staying in the clearing any longer than she needed to.
“You know, when you head back there, I won’t be able to come with you. To Oakwell, I mean,” Alex said.
“I know. I understand. You experienced more than most. I’d never ask you to go back.”
“It’s just too much for me. I hoped that working with you might act like a form of therapy and let me find the strength to do it. Truth is, I’m no less scared now than I was then.”
She paused, looking over her shoulder at him. He had never opened up, never spoken to her or a
nyone else about what had happened.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s just… I can still feel it, you know? That thing crawling around in my head. I’d like to think it was all a dream, that maybe I imagined some or all of it. Then I remember how it was, how little control I had. I couldn’t put myself through that again.”
“I know how hard it is for you. I wouldn’t ask you to go back there. Have you ever thought about seeing someone about it? A doctor or something?”
“Come on, you know better than that. What would a doctor say? They’d either tell me there was nothing wrong, or they’d put me in a nuthouse and throw away the key.”
“It’s not healthy to keep things like this to yourself. You need an outlet. Someone to talk to. Therapy maybe?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. That’s the problem.”
“You know you can talk to me if you need to. I understand. Hell, I’m probably one of the few who does.”
“I appreciate that, although I probably won’t take you up on the offer. To tell you the truth, I was worried you might be angry.”
“Angry? Why would I be?”
“I don’t know,” he said, forcing a grin. “I know how much figuring this out means to you. I thought you’d be disappointed.”
“Not at all. I respect your decision. How about we talk about this later and focus on getting these samples, then we can get out of this rain?”
“That’s one thing I can agree with you on. It’s cold here.”
“Tell me about it.”
They went about their tasks, Emma taking photographs, Alex collecting soil samples.
“Hey, Emma?” he said, looking at her from where he crouched.
“Yeah?”
“Why are you so determined to do this? To go back there after everything that happened?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question. I think it’s something I feel obliged to do. I don’t know if it’ll prove to be a good or a bad thing, but I feel like I don’t have a choice. If I don’t at least try, I’ll regret it.”
“Maybe,” he said, staring off into the distance.
“Anyway, let’s get on with this. I don’t want to be here after dark.”
“I don’t know why we’re even here at all if I’m honest. This link you keep talking about with Oakwell. It’s… flimsy.”
“Look, I just find it interesting. This place is said to be the way it is after fifty local peasants were killed in the forest and their enraged spirits trapped there. I think it’s well worth looking into.”
“But for what?” Alex said. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” Emma replied, wishing she had a better answer. “Maybe I can find some common link – something that ties them together.”
“The problem is, we’re not looking for something physical. Shit, Emma, I don’t have to tell you. After all, you were there too. What do you expect to find?”
“Who knows? Either way, it’s getting late. We can talk it over later when we’re back at base camp.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a soft bed,” Alex said with a sigh, casting a frown to the grey, rain-filled skies.
“Quicker we get on, quicker we can get back.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Besides,” Emma said, trying to lighten the mood. “Next time, you can pick where we go.”
Alex didn’t answer, a frown crossing his face, and he wondered if he should tell her that this would be his last trip with her. He decided against it, only because it didn’t seem right. He set about collecting his soil samples as the rain continued to fall.
II
Just a few days after returning home from Romania, Alex Brett waited for his stepmother to pass out. It usually happened a little after ten pm, however tonight, she had won at bingo and had started drinking early. As always, he had stayed in his room, waiting for her to fall silent and stop shouting at whatever she happened to be watching on the television. Just after nine, he went downstairs, moving quietly, heart beating fast.
It was like Groundhog Day, every single day that passed a repeat of the day before. She lay on the sofa, snoring lightly, greasy hair fanned over the pillow, filthy dressing gown pulled up to reveal her ugly, scabby legs. He stared at the television, which was showing a gameshow to the empty room. Quietly, he grabbed the remote and switched it off, bringing silence to the house.
The first moment of doubt entered his mind, and in immediate response, he heard them, those creeping whispering things which had never left his head. He had, of course, tried to deny them, to ignore them in the hope that distance would free him from their grasp. He knew, however, from the things they said and the images they showed him, that not only were they still there, but they were growing stronger. He wasn’t sure if it was him or them that had planted the idea in his head for what he was about to do, and he supposed it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the decision had been taken. He moved past his snoring stepmother, giving her a disgusted sneer as he went into the kitchen, then through the side door leading into the garage. This was his father’s space, and unlike the rest of the house, was clean and pristine. Cold and clinical, even. Spotless concrete floor, a rack of gleaming spanners on one wall, a workbench neatly organized against the other. The car was, of course, gone, and would be until his father finished work at the bar, busting heads at the door if anyone got rowdy. Alex absently wondered if he would still store his pickup truck in the garage afterwards. Quickly following that thought was another which said it didn’t matter.
He crossed the room to the workbench, moving aside the blue plastic drawers separated into compartments that contained all manner of nails and screws. What he wanted was at the back, hidden from sight.
The cigar box looked alien somehow, its yellow illustrations ill-fitting with the clean efficiency of the rest of the garage. Alex knew what it contained was as cold and clinical as the rest of his father’s possessions. He flicked open the lid, revealing the handgun inside. Underneath it were photographs of his mother. He slid the first picture out. The colors were faded, but the image was still clear. It appeared that Alex’s father had taken it. In the photo, his mother sat on a beach, feet buried in the sand, sun hat perched on her head. She was smiling for the camera. Alex was astounded by how happy she looked. He couldn’t remember much about her, apart from the times at the end when his parents were barely on speaking terms. It made him sad, and as if it were waiting for the right moment of weakness, the thing in his head spoke, reminding him that he was doing the right thing. That it would be better all round if he were dead. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he folded the photograph and slipped it into his pocket, then turned his attention to the gun.
It was a .38 that his father had purchased some ten years earlier and had never used. Alex wondered if he even remembered he owned it. He took it out of the box, surprised at the weight in his hand. It felt awkward, uncomfortable even, but incredibly real. The thing in his head guided him through, instructing him on how to load the weapon, how to ensure the safety was off. He followed its lead, doing as he was advised without thinking what the result would be, what it would mean when everything was ready. He disengaged the safety, and stood in the silence, weapon at his side, listening to the house. Apart from the hum of the striplight, there was absolute silence.
Kill the cunt.
It was a command, an instruction delivered to him that left no course for argument or negotiation. On legs that were out of his control, he walked silently back through the kitchen, and stopped at the head of the sofa where the dirty, snoring form of his stepmother slept. With absolute calm, he held out the weapon, touching cool steel to her temple, his finger poised over the trigger. It would be so easy, such a simple thing to do. Certainly, it would be better for his father.
Just pull the trigger. Go out in a blaze of glory.
Alex drew breath and pulled away. It wasn’t his idea at all, but the idea of the thing in
his head; the tumorous mass which had festered and grown there since he’d first been exposed to it at the clearing in Oakwell forest.
Yes.
It was definitely time to do what he had to in order to ensure he remained in control. With an extraordinary effort, he retreated toward the garage, longing for the cool, clean order of it all, desperate to be away from this woman who had been trouble since day one. Back in the sterile space, he closed his eyes and counted back from twenty, each number banishing something from his mind. When he got to one, he felt better, more in control. He opened his eyes, horrified to find that he had wedged the gun into his mouth without realizing he was doing it. It was behind his front teeth, digging into his palate, angled toward his brain. The thing in his head was delighted, filling his mind with visions of brain matter splashing all over the walls, of bone fragments hitting the floor, ruining the pristine garage. He started to think about his father, how he would respond when he saw what awaited him, and immediately decided it didn’t matter. There was no way he was going to change his mind now. It was settled. He wanted to be free from those awful manipulative things in his head. Squeezing his eyes closed, his last thought was of Emma, and how he hoped she would understand what he had done and why. The alien thing tried to speak, but before it could, Alex pulled the trigger, extinguishing his existence before he was forced to hear the vile things it had to say.
