by Andy Morris
liked to point out areas of deformed bark that looked like human faces. He explained these were Black Anne’s victims; trapped inside the tree forever.
I knew Harry never liked this topic so I always fulfilled my duty as loving big brother and changed the subject to Formula One cars. Harry and I could talk about this for hours. Up until that terrible day we’d wanted to become Formula One drivers. We loved fast things: Cars, bikes, running.
We’d been running that evening in the woods. Only we’d been running for the wrong reasons.
It had been a really hot day. We’d been splashing around in Gran’s paddling pool and jumping through the garden sprinkler all afternoon. As evening approached, carrying with it the mouth-watering aroma of barbequed sausages and burgers, we decided to go into the woods for a game of hide-and-seek with Fynn and some of his friends. Harry was counting so the rest of us had sprinted off through the trees to hide.
That was the last time I ever saw Harry.
I went deep into the wood and found myself at that odd tree. I crouched down beneath its misshapen branches and waited; listening to the sounds of the others shouting and laughing.
They’ll never find me here; I’d smiled to myself proudly. I didn’t notice at first but their voices were getting fainter, like they were moving farther away. As I strained to listen to them I became aware of a rustling behind the tree. I remember the prickling sensation on the back of my neck as the realisation dawned on me that it wasn’t any of the other kids. Fynn’s ghost stories filled my head like a flock of crows and I suddenly felt very alone in the gathering dusk.
I couldn’t hear the other kids anymore but I knew someone was nearby. The air around me had become charged as if a thunderstorm was imminent. The tension built and my heart hammered. The pressure was almost unbearable and I nearly bolted there and then. But at that moment, a girl’s voice called down to me from inside the treehouse. She had a rope ladder and was inviting me up to join her. Guessing she was one of Fynn’s mates I climbed the wobbly ladder all the way up to the creaking treetop hideaway, high in the uppermost branches.
Once inside, the first thing I noticed was the pungent smell of old wood and cobwebs. Flickering candlelight danced across the walls cloaking my companion in shadows. She was crouched in a corner giggling to herself behind her hands in typical schoolgirl fashion. But, as my eyes adjusted to the gloom I realised she wasn’t a girl at all.
She looked like an old lady: Her scraggly grey hair, matted with twigs and leaves hung like a thin curtain, partially hiding her single yellow eye. Her haggard features were extenuated further by the gaping black hollow where her left eye should have been. She abruptly stopped laughing and fixed me with a penetrating stare. I froze; unable to look away or cry out, not even as she leapt upon me. It happened so fast I hardly saw her move at all.
The other kids and their parents spent the rest of that night searching for me. When they did find my body it was hanging from the tree with the rope ladder tightly wrapped around my neck.
An empty sadness descended on the woods after that. Gran and Fynn’s family all moved away and no one came here for a long time.
Eventually though, someone moved into Grans old cottage and village life slowly returned to normal. People started coming back to the woods and children began playing here again.
I listen to their carefree laughter and I try to warn them to stay away. They can’t hear me though, for I have no voice. My mouth is now just a crack in the deformed tree trunk. I can only watch through eyes that are no more than whorls of knotted bark. I pray the children don’t linger here too long: For Black Anne is still up there in the treehouse; silently watching them as well.
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The Magic in the Stones
Usually the bright glow from the petrol station illuminated the lonely country lane that snaked its way through the Mendip Hills to the little village of Mid Haven. Aside from the village, the petrol station and the ancient stone circle up on the hillside; there was nothing else for miles around amongst the patchwork of farmers’ fields, untamed woodland and expansive moorland. After dark, the lights from the forecourt stood out like a beacon in the untouched wilderness; a bright shining star in the blackness of the rural landscape.
Tonight however, the welcoming light was dimmed; smothered by a thick fog that had rolled down from the hills. It had descended so quickly and felt so dense that Amber marvelled that it was almost supernatural in nature. It was an ancient fog, both cold and haunting. It radiated an eerie silence that penetrated the village petrol station and its lone employee. To Amber, the fog was a manifestation of the Goddess; one side of the Wiccan dual deity and in the stillness outside she was able to commune directly to the Earth Mother. The outside world outside had vanished and she welcomed this new magical realm.
Awed by the phenomenon Amber had crept outside earlier to immerse herself in the fogbank, rejoicing in the stillness of the night. It had been midnight and she wanted to be outside to celebrate the summer solstice – the longest day. It had been so quiet that she could almost hear voices in the mists but her intuition told her that the voices were just her imagination. Back then there hadn’t been anyone else about but there was someone out there now: A phantom figure was approaching the shop through the surreal haze.
Amber watched from behind the counter with an odd sense of unease as the ghostly shadow stalked closer. Tall and willowy, the straw-like spectre flowed across the forecourt shrouded by the breath of the night. Amber’s intuition warned her that something wasn’t right. At first it was just a feeling on the edge of her consciousness but she couldn’t ignore it. She slowly closed the book she was reading and got to her feet. The orange glow of a cigarette swayed in the air and flared as the visitor took another drag. He shouldn’t be smoking that out there near the pumps! Then he flicked the smouldering cigarette away into the corner of the forecourt and continued towards the door. That was when Amber realised she hadn’t locked it after she’d gone out earlier. A shard of panic sliced through her but it was too late. Her muscles tensed, ready to run to the door but there was no point now.
Damn! She cursed to herself as the visitor pushed opened the door and crept inside. He sneaked past the magazines, throwing furtive glances all around. His shoulders, Amber observed, were like a coat hanger where his old leather jacket hung off them. Underneath the jacket he wore a dirty grey shirt that was unbuttoned half way down his emaciated chest revealing a torso that was well defined, more by lack of muscle than by sculptured exercise. His lank blonde hair hung down below his shoulders, framing his thin pale weathered face. In the light he reminded Amber of that pop star her parents used to like – Iggy Pop - if Iggy Pop survived solely on a diet of Red Bull. The way he peered around the store gave Amber the impression he was confused or possibly disorientated. His face was creased in concentration as if he grappled with some mathematical problem in his head. He stood perfectly still, not moving for over a minute and Amber began to feel more than a little troubled by his presence.
She mentally recited a blessing chant she’d learned from her mother to help dispel negativity: Peace and love surround me and nothing but love will emerge from within me.
She concentrated on her environment to her relax. Behind her, the digital clock flicked its red neon numbers to show it was now five AM – two hours left before she finished her shift. In the background the monotonous tone of the freezers hummed quietly. Their sound lending to the sterile ambiance that always gathered in the store during the early hours.
At last the Iggy Pop look-a-like started browsing around the shop, apparently satisfied with whatever had been troubling him earlier.
Amber rubbed her eyes and tried to look busy. She considered going back to the book she had been reading; ‘Physiotherapy for Cardiac and Respiratory Conditions’. Her assignment wasn’t due for another week, which was good because as she turned the pages, the words quickly blurred into one. Once she passed her course she’d
be a fully qualified physiotherapist and she could finally move out of Mid Haven and into the big wide world. She sighed and looked outside at the foggy night.
It had taken on a tangible, almost solid appearance, with the main road totally hidden now. The lights on the fog-shrouded forecourt just reflected back the hazy grey soup so that all she could see were the two nearest pumps and blotches of dirty yellow light hanging in the air. Even if a passing car did need some petrol she suspected they would probably miss the garage all together. She wished a car would pull in though and then at least she wouldn’t be alone with this customer anymore. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
“I didn’t know…” Amber heard the other say quietly as if talking to some unseen companion. Then he peered over at her with an expression of mild surprise as if he’d only just noticed there was someone else was in the store with him. A vacant smile brightened his gloomy features and he tentatively wished her a good morning. His husky tone slurred the words as if he’d either had a stroke or he was very drunk. Amber suspected the latter, eyeing the almost empty bottle of Jim Beam clutched in his hand. He slowly turned towards her
