Dedication
For all my family
for sharing my dream.
First published 2018
Copyright © Paul T. H. Mitchener 2018
The right of Paul T. H. Mitchener to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Published under licence by Brown Dog Books and
The Self-Publishing Partnership, 7 Green Park Station, Bath BA1 1JB
www.selfpublishingpartnership.co.uk
ISBN printed book: 978-1-78545-242-0
ISBN e-book: 978-1-78545-243-7
Cover design by Siobhan Smith
Internal design by Andrew Easton
Printed and bound in the UK
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER ONE
Staring out over the old and ancient woodland and slowly breathing in the damp morning air, Sophia thought back to a time when she, too, could have appreciated the beauty of the countryside. It was a time when she relished its simple beauty, its sights and smells, but that was so very long ago. All she saw now was a world that no longer believed in the magic that helped make all things possible, or in magical creatures like herself, gone now into the world of fantasy and fairy tales and replaced by a world of technology, greed and waste.
Sophia sighed and gently closed the tiny, round window that looked out across a landscape of beautiful old woodlands. She often stood at her window, sometimes for hours, trying to take in its beauty. However, bitterness always managed to creep back into her thoughts. Gracefully, she walked across to the large, hollowed-out yew tree which she had made her home for the past two centuries or more, and stopped in front of a large, old, oak-framed mirror that had become her only source of company for so many years, and took a brief moment to study the familiar sight that reflected back at her.
She was a very beautiful woman, and to all intents and purposes looked to be in her mid-thirties, although this couldn’t be further from the truth, for Sophia was as old and as ancient as the woodland that surrounded her. Her red, waist-length hair flowed down her dark green, full-length, body-hugging silk dress that she loved to wear. She had always loved her hair: it was something that she took great pride in and always enjoyed her time sitting in front of the mirror brushing it, sometimes for hours on end. But her hair wasn’t just beautiful to look at, it was also the source of her immense power. Her hair was like liquid fire that cascaded over her slim shoulders and followed her bodylines to her waist: it was an orangey-red to look at but changed colour as if flickering like a living flame: she was indeed a truly magical creature of beauty. However, what you see is not always what you get: for under all that so perfect form lay hidden angry and bitter sorceress of immense power. However, she hasn’t always been that way or so bitter and angry with the outside world.
Once she had been a guardian of nature, a nursemaid to the land and to the woodlands that surrounded her, but a combination of many years and many decades of loneliness and being witness to the damage man had done to this world had turned her deep within inside herself, turning her mistrust of humans to bitterness and hatred…
However, she was a patient woman and knew that someday her time would come, a time when she could leave this prison she had made for herself and find a way to make those responsible for the state of the world pay for their ignorance and selfishness. In a modern age of machines and technology, humans had come to think that the world was theirs, a world to do with as they please. Well, soon enough they would find out just how wrong they were. Sophia walked back over to the old, round window and opened it once more, hoping to find a small amount of solace by taking in the beauty of the woodlands and breathing in its damp, misty morning air, but as always, she was unsuccessful. The rage was so deep inside her, and unfortunately it always will be: she would never be satisfied until she had the opportunity to teach a lesson to those she held responsible for her misery. Frustrated, she shut the window once more and walked over to the wooden-framed fireplace and sat down on an old, worn, comfortable-looking armchair next to it and stared into its dying embers for a while, noting that the fire was almost out. She reached over to a small pile of logs and without getting out of her chair placed one onto the fire. She sat back and looked around her little, cluttered but cosy living room for a moment, sighed and then laid her head back and closed her eyes.
Some miles away from where Sophia lived, another looked out across the misty, early morning wooded landscape with envious eyes: an evil and far more dangerous creature than Sophia. It, too, had a hatred of humans ever since they began to inherit the earth, but its hatred didn’t stop there. Unlike Sophia, not only did it want to teach the world a lesson… It had a burning desire to hold power over everyone and everything that lived in it and kill those that resisted it right to rule, for killing was something that it enjoyed most, something that came so very easily… and felt pleasure in the fear and pain of others less deserving.
It paused, its red, burning eyes scanning the woodland, sensing every living thing within, then looked over west at the rising sun. Fearing the light, it slowly started to back up out of the growing morning light, back into the darkness where it belonged, scraping its claws on the rock surface as it did so, back into the darkness where it felt most at home, a darkness that one day it would bring to bear, not just on this woodland, but across the whole land.
“Henry… Henry!” his mother called up to him from the foot of the stairs. “Get up, you lazy tyke.” She stood waiting for a second, hoping to hear movement from his room but nothing, so she ran up the stairs and barged open his bedroom door. “Get up!” she shouted as she pushed through the door. “Get up… half the day’s gone.” Henry stirred under his bedcovers and mumbled something indecipherable. His mother stormed across the room, dodging dirty clothes and training shoes littered over the floor. “I said get up!” she shouted whilst pulling the covers off his bed. “M… mum!” Henry cried out, red-faced and embarrassed whilst trying to pull the covers back over himself. “ Mum… Get out!” His mother suddenly noticed the reason for his embarrassment. She turned and headed directly out of room without saying another word and as red-faced as her son.
After taking a few moments to wake himself up, Henry finally sat up, swinging his leg over the edge of his bed. He sat blurry-eyed, still half-asleep and a little embarrassed, mumbling to himself, “Bet she won’t be doing that again anytime soon.” Still trying to wake up, he remained sitting on his bed for some while, yawning and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. Henry was now in his late-teens. Tall and well built for his age, he had bright red, straight hair that was cut unevenly around his shoulders, and a slightly rounded face with large, green eyes and a smile that could light up the darkest of days – although he didn’t feel much like smiling today. When he did eventually get up to make his way across his room, he tripped, stumbling over a discarded trainer, then half fell through his bedroom door out onto the landing. From there he headed straight for the bathroom, slamming the door as he went.
Now washed, dressed and little mo
re awake, Henry made his way down the stairs to the kitchen where he found his mother washing up at the sink. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked sheepishly. “Nothing… unless you wish to do it yourself… Breakfast in this house finishes at noon,” his mother replied without turning to face him, still embarrassed by the morning’s shock. Henry slumped onto one of their old, wooden kitchen chairs, making it creak in protest at his weight. Resting his elbows on the table, he began to wipe the sleep from his eyes again. When he had finished, he looked up at his mother and watched whilst she vigorously scrubbed some poor object in the sink. He had always thought her to be a beautiful woman and for some reason she never seemed to age; beautiful maybe, but she had a tongue that could rip through iron and more than a match for any man he knew. That said, Henry had always admired her endless energy: she never seemed to rest. She was always doing something, housework, gardening, even DIY. But unfortunately for Henry, her endless energy was something he didn’t inherit.
“Still not awake!” Henry’s mother shouted, making poor Henry jump. “For crying out loud, boy… It’s about time you got off your backside and did something more useful in your life… Just because you’re no longer at school it doesn’t give you the right to slob about the place!” she shouted, still not looking around from the sink. “Here we go again,” replied Henry tiredly. “I’ve no idea what I want to do, Mum… you know that… but I do know that I don’t want to work for Unc… that for sure.” Unc was the name he had for his Uncle Henry. His uncle was a very wealthy man who owned and ran a chain of businesses ranging from food stores to metal assembly shops. “And what’s wrong in working for your uncle?” his mother replied. “All he’s ever wanted was the best for you… But all you’ve ever done is push him away… What on earth has got into you these days?”
Henry moaned something under his breath and then said, “I want to see something of the world… You know, enjoy life a bit… Not waste my time in some godforsaken factory.” His mother turned to face him. “Well, staying in bed all day… doing whatever it is you do up there is not living… and it’s certainly isn’t seeing the world!” his mother shouted back, going a little red-faced again when remembering that morning’s events. “Oh, leave it out… I’ve just woken up and not ready for our usual morning shouting match… And as for this morning… it’s not my fault you came barging into my room.” After a brief, awkward pause Henry slammed his hands on the table in anger. “I’m going out… I don’t need this in the mornings,” he said abruptly whilst getting up from the chair. “Where do you think you are going now!?” his mother shouted back. “You’ve no money… and come to think of it, no friends.” Henry stopped at the back door and turned to face her. “How do you know whether I have friends or not… You’ve never shown any interest in anything I do or say!” he shouted, then opened the door, pushed through it and slammed it shut behind him.
In temper, Henry stormed down the garden path, through the open gate, and had just turned to walk down the street when suddenly he realised that he had left the house in such a rush he had forgotten his jacket. The morning was damp and chilly, but he was in no mood for another round with his mother. Besides, his pride wouldn’t let him, so he decided not to go back for it. Instead, he shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets, tucked his neck into his shoulders, and started to walk a little faster in a vain attempt to keep himself warm. He was still angry, not just with his mother but also with himself. His mother was right: he needed to find something to do other than hang around the place, and she was also right when she said that he didn’t have any friends. Maybe a few lads he knew from school, but no real friends to speak of. It didn’t take long before Henry started to feel a little sorry for himself: no friends, no money and no idea what he wanted from his life. He had always been a little awkward around others at school and could never understand why his peers put so much time and energy into trying to fit in with society. They had to have the latest phones and wear the best designer brands. He had often questioned whether all those things made them happy. By what he could see, it didn’t – in fact, quite the opposite, they never seemed satisfied with what they had. He sighed to himself; for him at least, life seemed to be far too complex and complicated.
The day wore on and Henry had been out walking for hours. He was cold and miserable, but it wasn’t just the cold that made him feel the way that he did, it was something else. For some time now he’d had a strange feeling… a sense that something was going to happen to him, and soon. He was certain of it: life had something lined up for him, but knowing that didn’t help him in any way. Something was expected of him, but what? The only thing he did know for sure was that it would change his life forever.
It was late afternoon and Henry was still taking up his day by walking around the town where he lived. His mother was right: he was lazy, but not when it came to walking. He could walk for hours without a need for rest, and depending on the weather, he enjoyed every step he took. Not conscious of how he got there, Henry found that he was no longer in the town, but was now walking along its outskirts towards the woodland and it was now starting to get dark; autumn was coming to a close and the nights were closing in and getting darker earlier by the day.
It had been a long, cold, boring day ambling around the town. He had met up with a few old schoolmates for an hour or so earlier in the afternoon, but other than that he had done little else to speak of, other than walk and think. The town of Whitchurch where he lived was a small but busy little town nestled in the heart of Hampshire, England, a town which he had known all his life. He had been born and raised in the same house that they lived in now. As far as Henry knew, his mother had lived there for all her life, and to his knowledge she was a local girl. Up to now there seemed to be no reason to live anywhere else. However, he was older now and there seemed to be nothing for someone of his age to do. Whitchurch wasn’t a large town and almost impossible to get yourself lost, having only five roads leading in and out, all of which met up at a roundabout in the centre of the town, illuminated by a large, old, ornate street lamp. The town boasted an old town hall dating back to the 1500s, and two old pubs which dated back even further. There were several modern shops uncomfortably situated in medieval buildings, all in all, a quaint country town, but nothing exciting ever happened there, and there was definitely nothing there for a growing lad.
For some strange reason, Henry had found himself thinking a lot about his father and had been doing so for a good part of the day, which in itself was unusual. He had no idea what brought his father to mind, never having known him and knowing practically nothing about him except the little his mother had told him. So why was he thinking of him now? He knew that his father had died before he was born, but his mother had never told him the circumstances around his death, circumstances which neither his mother nor his uncle would talk about, and to be honest, he hadn’t much cared to ask. His mother never seemed to speak much of her past, but now that he was a young man he was becoming more than a little curious about his family background. What did his father do for a living and how did he die? He had every right to know and somehow intended to find out the truth. Still deep in thought, Henry stepped through the old, wooden gate onto the main track that ran through the centre of the woodland, there was a smaller track that forked off to his right which ran between the edge of the town and the woodland itself, pausing a moment to make up his mind which way he should go. Henry’s stomach suddenly rumbled, breaking the silence of the surrounding woodland, reminding him just how hungry he really was, having not eaten all day. But he didn’t feel that he was quite ready to go back and face his mother again, but he was cold, and he was hungry and knew that he would have to bite the bullet go home soon anyway, so reluctantly he turned right and headed for home along the smaller of the two tracks.
Still deep in thought and with his head lowered, Henry made his way almost aimlessly along the track, occasionally pausing to kick at a loose stone or twig. Large trees loomed over him, block
ing out most of the light, their leaves turning orange-brown. Up ahead stood a familiar old warden’s hut, so he knew that he wasn’t far from home; all he had to do now was to cut through one of the housing estates and he’d be home in no time. As Henry passed the hut he stopped suddenly when he noticed a large note posted in the hut’s window. He had been past the old hut many times over the years and twice within the past week or so; and up to now the hut had never shown any sign of life. It always looked as if it was about to collapse in on itself, held together only by tangled brambles and weeds, with half a fallen tree lying across its half-rotten thatched roof. It was a wonder it hadn’t collapsed years ago. So… why on earth was there a new notice posted in the dirty, old window? Henry stood rooted to the spot for a second and then slowly walked up to the window and wiped the dirt from the glass with his sleeve so that he could read the notice clearly. It read:
Wanted: Woodland carer, must be local and willing to work hard, all hours, day and night. Contact Bert.
“Bert…Who the hell is Bert?” Henry burst out, suddenly feeling a little silly for talking to himself. “Me… That’s who… I’m Bert,” a big, booming voice came from behind him, “and there is no need for blimming bad language, boy!” he shouted.
Henry turned quickly but tripped and stumbled back against the hut with a look of horror on his face. The impact of his body against the little old hut made it creak in displeasure. “Get of er!” Bert shouted again. “You is bloody hurting er!” At first, Henry didn’t move. “Get of er, I said… Are you blinking deaf or summink?” the voice echoed again. “Who are you anyway…? And what gives you the right to go around breaking fings that don’t belong to ya?” Henry still couldn’t move and didn’t answer straightaway and was still leaning against the hut staring up at the odd-looking man before him.
Between Darkness and the Light Page 1
