by Andy Morris
clearing. The sound was coming from a pile of dirty rags dumped against a tree. But on closer inspection, Jack observed, the rags were actually an old scarecrow someone had abandoned in the woods.
The phone was in the pocket of the scarecrow’s tattered jacket and there was defiantly no one around. Its hessian head was lolling downwards from its wooden pole but something about the straw-stuffed mannequin didn’t feel right. Beneath its floppy farmer’s hat, someone had stitched a bizarre mouth that was twisted into an exaggerated grin. Its eyes were weird as well: The way those black buttons reflected the sunlight almost made them look real. But that was stupid.
Jack decided he’d come back here with Kev and Darren later on and they’d take the scarecrow up to the park and use it to scare the crap out of some kids. Grinning mischievously he went to retrieve the phone. He reached out, just about to take it when the tune abruptly stopped. The woods were plunged into a sudden silence, as if someone had pressed ‘mute’ on the entire forest. The birds had stopped chirping and the leaves were no longer whispering overhead. Jack hesitated, like a rabbit caught in the beam of Bill’s hunting lamp.
A cold tension now flooded the clearing. Nothing moved, including Jack.
What was it doing here anyway? Jack wondered. There were no fields for miles around. The scarecrow seemed to take on a sinister aspect as a cloud crossed over the autumn sun.
He’d never really liked scarecrows. Not since he was younger and watched a horror film about scarecrow’s that came to life and terrorised a family in an abandoned farmhouse…
What was that?
Jack thought he heard a noise behind him. He glanced back as casually as he could but there was nothing there. He must have imagined it. But the abruptness of the sound didn’t feel like it had come from his imagination. It had been too real. He turned back the ragged scarecrow.
Had it moved?
Nah, it was just the shadows of the branches overhead. He should probably just get the phone and go.
What if it does move?
Jack’s mind unwillingly conjured scenes from the horror film and he saw the scarecrow slowly opening its peculiar mouth, revealing rows and rows of needle sharp teeth.
Stop it you woose! He thought, glancing impatiently over at his mountain bike. Turning back at the gangly frame of the scarecrow he half expected it to be moving. A sudden urge to return to his bike filled him with panic. He tried to ignore it but his imagination wouldn’t let him.
There was that sound again! Slow rustling; like someone shuffling through dried leaves – he couldn’t ignore that either.
This is ridiculous, man!
He swung around. A crow suddenly took flight overhead, flapping its wings and cracking the stillness of the glade. Jack’s eyes snapped upwards to watch it fly away. Clouds still shrouded the low hanging sun. He glanced back down, at the creepy-looking scarecrow; still staring back at him.
It’s just a mouldy old scarecrow, you idiot. A pile of old rags. It can’t…
It moved!
Jack froze.
A breeze moaned through the trees, ruffling the brim of the hat. In his mind’s eye Jack saw the scarecrow’s head look up towards him. It shifted its creaking arm to point at him, beckoning him closer. Gooseflesh prickled his arms and his stomach sank. Could he even get to his bike in time?
There was no way he was going any closer to it. Forget the stupid phone! He’d come back later with Kev and Darren and they’d beat the crap out of the scarecrow. That would be fun!
Still he couldn’t shake the images in his head; of the freaky scarecrow coming to life and shambling clumsily towards him. He watched it getting up in sharp jerky movements and advance towards him in time to a cacophony of shrieking violins.
Jack cast his eyes downwards and took a step backwards. He couldn’t look at it anymore.
Stop it, you twat. He told himself. It’s not real!
Something moved behind him.
He spun around to see a second pair of black soulless eyes staring at him from the edge of the clearing. To his right another silent figure emerged from the trees. Then another and another. Suddenly dozens of figures were emerging from woods. They encircled the clearing, watching him through black emotionless eyes. Then at some unspoken command they surged forwards. Jack’s terrified screams echoed through the empty woods as he was torn apart, by the gang of mean angry squirrels.
Back to Table of Contents
Beyond the Elder Tree
It had seemed like a great idea at first: Timmy and one of his fellow scouts doing a wildlife survey on the small Channel Island of Mere. Two nights away camping with no adult supervision - Awesome!
Timmy had read up on the uninhabited island prior to the crossing. Mere was made up of rugged heathland and undisturbed woodland. With over forty native species of trees and shrubs Mere was a private wildlife haven for dozens of species of birds, red squirrels and a host of insects. Timmy loved conservation work and this was going to be a great weekend. That was until Lucas Jones volunteered for the second of the two places.
Lucas was one of those kids that no one really liked, yet he always seemed to be there, imposing himself whichever group he managed to sneak up on. What made things worse was the Lucas was a couple of years older than Timmy - nearly seventeen, and with age came authority.
The older scout had begun delegating jobs as soon as they’d disembarked from the ferry and he was already getting on Timmy’s nerves. Forced to carry the heavy equipment, Timmy trudged up the narrow dusty path that led from the grey shingle beach up through the yellow wind-swept grassland that covered the windy hillside.
They soon reached the trampled field where they intended to set up camp. The track had led them over the peak of the cliff and down through a thicket of trees: Hazel, ash and hawthorn, Timmy identified but Lucas wasn’t interested. He was staring at something on the other side of the patch of open ground. Timmy followed his gaze and he too stopped dead in his tracks. Neither of them said anything for several seconds as they stared in curious fascination at the abnormally twisted rotting tree before them.
Timmy didn’t like it. There was something darkly unnatural, almost morbid about the tree and its threatening stance. He could almost feel numerous unseen eyes glaring out at him from every knot, whorl and hollow from its exposed roots upwards. Its cracked bark and leafless boughs told of its corruption. Timmy was filled with a sudden dread as he became aware of a vengeful presence radiating from the decomposing trunk.
The other trees appeared to be disturbed by it as well. They leaned away from it as if fearful of its malignant touch. To Timmy’s keen eye the almost dead tree wasn’t one of the hazel, hawthorn or ash varieties, which made it seem even more out of place here. Whatever it had been, it had festered too long for Timmy to identify it. As he racked his brain a strange thought clicked in his mind, like a dream memory:
The veil between worlds is thin here. He didn’t know where it had come from and he shivered despite the heat of the day. Timmy suddenly felt very exposed out here. A sense of loneliness and separation from the rest of the world brushed his nerves and the he wondered why they had come to Mere, because something in the way the tree leaned towards them gave Timmy the impression that the island didn’t want any visitors.
“Hurry up you lazy tart”. Lucas pushed past Timmy shattering his thoughts.
Timmy watched as his fellow scout marched over to the tree and proceeded to urinate against it.
“It’s dead, it won’t mind” Lucas called over his shoulder. He didn’t seem bothered by its presence, which meant Timmy had to keep his secret fears to himself, for to do anything else would invite cruel taunts and ridicule from Lucas for the rest of the trip.
The witching hour was fast approaching and Timmy was lying in his sleeping bag just dropping off to sleep when he heard the crunching sound outside the tent. Timmy went rigid. He was wide awake and alert in an instant, heart pounding loudly in his chest. Someone fumbl
ed with the zip to the tent.
Then he let out a heavy sigh and relaxed. Lucas clambered back into inside after relieving himself again.
“Strange how the trees look closer when it’s dark” Lucas whispered loudly as he wrestled his way into his own sleeping bag.
Timmy felt prickles run up his spine. “I know” he murmured quietly. He’d considered the same thing earlier as the evening shadows had been crawling towards them when they built the campfire.
He didn’t like it here Timmy decided. Furthermore, now he was awake again he could see silhouettes of the surrounding trees on the side of the tent. The whole island was bathed in cold silvery moonlight. Normally he’d be glad of a full moon when camping but tonight the moon was far from friendly. Its sinister glow brought the distorted tree to life in Timmy’s mind; conjuring images of its skeletal branches ripping open the canvass to get at the two boys inside.
Throughout the night Timmy endured a restless sleep. His dreams came thick and fast and in every one he was being chased by an unseen spectre that lurked in the woods.
The next morning Timmy woke up first. He shuffled caterpillar-fashion in his sleeping bag and stuck his head outside into the early morning air. The bleary field and treeline was dominated by the disturbing black tree, as if it had been waiting for them to emerge from the tent. Its claw-like branches were pointing towards
