by M. D. Bowden
We exchanged surplus eggs for milk with Ewan Ford, a friend of dad’s. The only thing we had to buy for this meal was the cooking oil.
As I finish my food I look up to my dad. He hasn’t even sat down, but is leaning back against the counter, tucking in as he stands, watching me with a thoughtful frown.
“What is it?” I ask.
He swallows his food and takes a drink of milk before answering. “Just thinking about your future—what you are going to do after your exams . . .”
My feelings darken. It’s all very well being happy I will no-longer have to go to school, with its practically totalitarian regime of work, silence and punishment, but that doesn’t mean that whatever I do next will be any easier. That I will even find anything to do.
I shrug, assuming he’s not expecting an answer, and glug back the last of my milk.
“What shall we start with this morning?” I ask, deflecting his thoughts.
He looks away, out of the window to the street, and watches as a neighbour empties vegetable cuttings onto a compost heap, to the side of her house.
“Let’s go to the bottom of the garden and practice shooting, then we can do circuits,” he finally responds.
I wonder at his mood, he seems troubled, but maybe he’s still thinking of my future, so I decide not to broach the subject.
I simply say, “OK,” and rise from my stool to show I am ready.
It’s not long until I’m standing next to my father, a shot gun held firmly in my grip as I focus on a target he has set.
He is always challenging me, setting targets that are smaller or further away. He’s even set up a rope, dangling from a high branch off one of our trees, to swing targets off. That is the hardest challenge I face. But today he’s chosen precision as my skill to develop and I am focusing on an old ball that he has balanced on a post.
I am far enough away from it that I have to use every ounce of concentration I possess.
When I am ready, I squeeze the trigger. The force of the bullet leaving the gun makes my arms shake.
I rub my wrist with my free hand and look to the target. It is still there.
I missed.
I return to the present when I recognise I am close to the cave.
I turn from my path and follow a thin stream, stepping in the shallow water as there is no-where else to tread, and ducking so as not to hit my head on the tree branches that obscure the cave from sight when on the main path.
I originally found the cave in winter, when the trees had shed their leaves, removing their protective embrace.
I look up as the barely there stream turns into a trickle, falling over the mouth of the cave.
I sidestep the water and duck into the cool darkness beyond, fumbling at the catch to the metal box. When it is open I retrieve the rabbit from my pack and place it inside, where it will be safe until I come back for it later, when the day has started to lose its heat.
I trace my footsteps back to my seat near the carrot. I sigh, relieved. It looks like it has gone untouched.
The rock I am sat on is under the shelter of a tree, providing some relief from the warmth of the day. I am wearing black trousers, which don’t help keep me cool in the sun, probably a mistake, but I like the protection these ones bring—they are durable and prevent me getting scratched by brambles in the woods, or thistles on the moor. They also have plenty of pockets, useful for storing bits of my survival gear, and fit well with the belt which holds my weapons.
I pull out my history book and force my eyes back to the page once again. I scan the lines, seeing the words, but not absorbing their meaning.
I hear a rustle in the trees and glance back towards its source, but can’t get sight of what caused it. It was probably a deer, or maybe just a large bird. I crane my neck around, trying to verify my suspicions, but am unsuccessful.
I look back at my book but feel a prickle of unease as I do, and glance around again. I shake the feeling away, not wanting to be paranoid, and focus back on my work.
When the light starts to dim under the trees, I know it’s time to stop what I’m doing, and give up hope of catching a second rabbit. I scoop up the left-over carrot as I don’t want to waste it—I can feed some to our pig at home—and take a sip of water from my bottle, before making sure everything I brought is back in my bag and on my back.
I return to the cave and retrieve the rabbit from the metal box, and add that to my possessions in my pack, before starting my trek back towards Okehaven, and my home.
I follow the stream uphill until I’m out of the trees, and prickly gorse borders the path instead. It becomes steep and I take care as I clamber up rocks, until the path becomes level again.
I look out across the valley ahead as the sun starts to set, and the sky is streaked with red. I speed up, eager to reach the main path—the old road—before night sets in.
The old road is still some way ahead.
As I start to descend into the valley I hear a scuffling in the bushes. I can’t help but glance nervously over my shoulder.
Trees cast shadows behind me and, even if there is someone there, it would be easy for them to blend into the landscape, for me not to notice.
I keep going, starting to feel weary, and hungry, and I try to ignore my fears. I am used to walking by myself at night, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me. It’s not hard for some small thing to trigger my imagination to go into overdrive, and then the fear starts to escalate.
I take a deep breath, determined that won’t happen this time.
When I reach the place to cross the stream I eye up the bridge. It almost looks safe, but the wood is crumbling so I decide not to risk it.
Instead I tread carefully through the water, making sure I step in the shallowest places so it doesn’t go over the top of my boots. They are leather, but treated well, so pretty good at repelling water.
I reach the other side and place my hands on my knees as I climb another steep hill. I’m struggling for breath as I reach the top and stop for a break, looking back behind me as the sun finally disappears over the moorland horizon.
Nothing else has given me cause for concern and, despite the approaching darkness; I am feeling a little more confident. As I set foot on the old road I start gently jogging to get home faster.
My dad will be back soon, returning from Exeter by train, and he will be hungry too as today he had to work late.
My thoughts turn to preparing the rabbit and making a stew, and my stomach rumbles with hunger.
As darkness surrounds me I start to ascend the final hill before home. My father and I live right on the edge of town. Where we live it almost feels like a hamlet, or small village, as the houses are widely spread and everyone has large gardens.
Further into the centre of Okehaven the houses are more tightly packed, and people struggle to grow enough food to supplement what they can afford to buy.
The train station is in the centre so I won’t cross paths with my dad until we meet at our cosy house. I can’t wait to get there now, to take off my pack and stretch my shoulders, but I am getting tired so I slow my pace, and once again recover my breath.
As I round the final corner, before I will see my home, something grabs me from behind. I instantly panic. An arm firmly wraps around both of mine, pinning them to my side, at the same time as fingers cover my mouth so I can’t shout out.
I struggle silently, trying to get my arms free, but my breath halts in my chest when I see a shadow cross the dimly lit path about a hundred metres ahead.
I freeze, but although I’ve stopped struggling, I am not let free.
I see another shadow materialise from behind a tree, and yet another come out from behind our neighbour’s house.
I strain my eyes to see clearly, my heart pounding in my chest, not knowing if I’m in danger from the shadows, or from the person restraining me.
At least whoever is holding me doesn’t seem bent on causing pain, so I decide to hope they are try
ing to keep me safe.
Then I spot my father’s head as he rounds the hill, and his body comes into sight as he nears our front path.
I start to struggle again, but am held even tighter.
Dad looks content, unaware of the danger. I want to get to him, to whisk him inside and away from the shadows.
I try to shout through the fingers that are over my mouth, to warn him, but before a sound starts to rise in my throat, a fierce whisper stops me.
“They’re after you, stay quiet.”
No sound leaves my lips, but as the first shadow approaches my father, I can just see his face turn to fear. Some kind of exchange occurs, but I can’t hear what is said.
I see my father step back, but another shadow is behind him.
I resume my struggles, trying to move forward, to help, but another whisper cuts me off.
“They are too dangerous, you can’t do anything to help,” and then a gentler whisper of, “I’m sorry,” as the shadow behind my father steps up to him and draws a blade across his throat.
My eyes widen as blood spills and my father crumples to his knees, then falls flat on his face. I hear a crunch as his glasses break, and shock pervades my system.
I am still, my throat feels cut too, I can’t think, function.
I see the shadows, wraiths, return to the corners and nooks surrounding my house, as whoever is holding me pulls me further away, until I can no longer see my house, can no longer see my fallen father.
End of Sample
Gateway to Faerie is available NOW from good ebook retailers!!
For other books by M.D. BOWDEN keep on turning . . .
Bell Stone (Gateway to Faerie, Book 2)
Dark Wine & Dark Blood (The Two Vampires, Books 1 & 2)
Tempted by Fire (Hunters Among Us, Book 1)
Author Bio
M.D. BOWDEN lives in England with her partner and two young children. She enjoys spending time with her family, in the sea, on the cliffs, and reading as much fantasy as she can get her hands on. She is also author of ‘The Two Vampires’ series, the ‘Hunters Among Us’ series and the ‘Gateway to Faerie’ series. Check out her Amazon Author Page to find all her books.
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