by Katie M John
“Erm… I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said, surprised by the sudden question and wondering if this had anything to do with our recent handholding incident. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed a subtle shift in our friendship over the last few weeks, and even more so if I hadn’t liked it.
“I was thinking of going,” he said. “The boys from the football team are quite up for it.”
My heart dropped a little when I realised I had been off beat with the momentary panic-stroke-hope that maybe I was being asked to go with him, like on a date. “Well, that’s a very good reason for me not to go,” I said a little too sharply. “I don’t want to hang out with those baboons.”
“They’re not that bad – not once you get to know them,” he said defensively.
I fixed him with a challenging eye and he laughed. “Yeah, I see your point. Haven’t you got anybody else to go with? It would be nice if you were there.”
I snorted a laugh. I didn’t know why Tom was even bothering to ask. He knew the recent friend position, and I’d come to terms with it easily enough. I’d much rather have been reading or listening to music, or hanging out with Tom – not that we really hung out much together at college. Tom was quite a boy’s boy, and the boys’ friendship group was tight, based on long term friendships and sports teams. In some ways, I envied Tom this type of simple friendship. It all seemed a hell of a lot easier than trying to navigate the Girldom with their inane chat about boys, drink, and makeup. They really were a walking stereotype.
“I guess,” I sighed, knowing I only had myself to blame if I became a total social outcast, “if I asked Isla or Harriet they’d be happy enough for me to tag along,” I offered, thinking it might be preferable to be at a party rather than hanging out at home with dad – and that meant he would also get a pass to go the pub and have some proper adult company. On the other hand, maybe I wasn’t ready to be at an out of control party. There had been a couple of incidences that involved me, a party, and way too much alcohol over the last twelve months. Dad had put it down to my grief and had actually been a lot more sympathetic than he should have been – especially when I had thrown-up all over the new hall carpet. Although, he had cut me deep when he’d played the, ‘Your mother would be so disappointed’ card.
I stopped the awkward conversation to take a photograph of a spider-web laced in frost. It didn’t matter how old I grew, there were some things that still created a complete sense of wonder.
“You know they’re all heading there on a very specific agenda,” I said. “Poor Jack doesn’t stand a chance. They’re going to eat him alive.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Isla is absolutely crazy about him. Word is, she’s going to make a play for him at the party. You should have seen the group chat on my phone the other day.”
Tom bit down on his lip. He did this when he was concentrating. “But isn’t Jack going out with Sadie? I thought they were quite steady. Apparently, they’re sleeping together.”
“Uh huh, so she says, too, but Sadie has been making eyes at Dean. She was all over him in English. Harriet said Dean and Sadie have been seeing each other behind Jack’s back.”
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “And this is the very reason I don’t date – or gossip,” he said.
I ignored his snarky judgement and went straight for below the belt. “Oh, I thought that was because you’re too ugly to get a girlfriend,” I teased.
“Well, us ugly folk have got to stick together,” he responded, shoving my shoulder and causing me to topple over on my heels.
“Hey, you’re so going to pay for that,” I said, struggling back up to my feet.
“You’ve got to catch me first,” he challenged, jogging off into the tree line, weaving in and out of the trees, not making much of a real effort.
I couldn’t help the grin on my lips as I thought about what it might be like to chase after him and accidently collide into his impetuous kiss. I tried to convince myself that the thought had come from nowhere, but it hadn’t, there had been several times over the recent weeks I had caught myself daydreaming about accidently discovering Tom in various stages of undress, although I had dismissed all that as perfectly normal teenage curiosity. After all, he hadn’t been the only one, or the oddest one.
“I’m not chasing you,” I called out. A snowflake settled on my nose and I looked up to see a light flurry of snow falling from the flat sky.
A fir-cone came whizzing by my cheek and landed in the bracken behind me.
“You’re heading the wrong way,” I shouted. “The pond is this way.”
“But The Sisters are this way, and I want to check out the crazy Satanists,” he said, his voice fading quickly as he travelled away from me.
I continued walking down the path, keeping an ear out for his whereabouts, and trying not to look after him. I knew he’d soon get bored and meet me on the path a little further up. Another fir cones skimmed past my elbow. I turned, about to shout some expletive at him, but he had upped his game and was now doing a stupidly good job of hiding.
CHAPTER TWO
SLIP
The snow began to fall more heavily, turning the woods into the inside of a snow-globe. The whole place was magical and I had to resist the urge to throw my arms wide and do a twirl like some girl in a film. I wished Tom was here to take a photo of me, knowing my burgundy velvet jacket and shock of dark auburn hair would make a dream instapic snap. I called out to him, searching the tree-line but there was nothing – not even a branch snap.
“Tom, stop messing about,” I moaned, giving in and leaving the path, my boots scrunching against the frost-stiff blades of grass. “Come on, it’s getting cold. I don’t want to hang about too long.”
When my search proved unfruitful, I turned back in the direction of the path, thinking he would sense I wasn’t playing and reveal himself. Besides, he knew I was heading to the pond and would see me well enough if I headed out on to the jetty with its little pagoda. The snow thickened and began to settle. I shivered, muttering under my breath, “The things I do for art.”
I grabbed my phone from my pocket and went to send him a quick text, but the message failed to send. Cursing, I tried to phone him, but the reception was dead. I pocketed my phone and stood still, trying to get my swelling anger under control. I didn’t want to have a falling out with Tom. Not today. But I hadn’t come to the woods just to piss about. I had a project and the light was fading fast. If I didn’t get my shots within the next hour, it was going to be complete waste of time – and body heat.
I don’t know what happened. I have no explanation for it – not one that is believable anyway, but something slipped. Time stopped its regular beat, and before I knew it, according to my watch, half an hour had passed and the path was nowhere in sight.
“Tom!” I called, noting the lilt of panic in my voice. “Where are you?” I tried to shout out but my voice came out pale and weakened by the cold. My hair hung in ringlets and clung to my cheeks, wet and heavy from the snow. My velvet jacket was sodden and so was my jumper. There was no doubt my watch wasn’t playing tricks. I mentally checked myself out for head injuries, wondering if I had fallen and blacked out – but surely Tom would have done something. He wouldn’t have just left me.
“Tom?” I called again.
My chest tightened and warm tears sprang to the well of my eyes. A terrible feeling of dread and disorientation washed over me. Everything looked just as it did a moment ago and yet, it felt entirely different. Something awful had happened.
The sound of yapping dogs and a horn cut through the quiet winter space and caused my heartbeat to accelerate. Occasionally, the hunt came through these woods but I hadn’t seen the notice they usually hung on the gate. If I had, I would have avoided the place. There was something deeply primordial about the sound of hounds on a hunt. A chaos of too many swirling emotions filled the air. Need, desire, bloodlust, fear.
A few years ago, I
had found myself caught up in the hunt; the dogs snapping at my heels and angry red-coated posh-people shouting at me. I think at first, they thought I was a hunt saboteur, and when they realised I was just one of the stupid peasants too illiterate to read their sign, they weren’t much kinder.
I’d stumbled home and mum had hugged me tight then made me tea whilst ranting on about how they ought to ban hunting all together – how it was a classic example of rich people doing whatever they pleased. How they thought the rules never really applied to them.
I’d had many many dreams after that which turned to nightmares as a pack of barking dogs shadowed my memory.
Panic surged. I needed to get away. Turning on my heels, I ran in the direction that felt like home although suddenly, everything looked unfamiliar. With each footstep, my anger at Tom increased. If he hadn’t of been pissing about…
The snow created weird acoustics causing the woods to fill with the sounds of the hunting dogs and making it impossible to locate the direction they were travelling from. I stopped, trying to get my bearings. Trying to work out whether I was travelling away from them or towards them. It was impossible.
“Come with me,” a voice urged me from behind.
Gasping, I turned to face a little girl dressed in a ruby red cloak with a basket over her arm. The sight of her elicited instant hysterical laughter, which only stopped when I saw the slightly pained expression on her face.
“What is it? Why are you laughing?” she asked, quietly.
“I’m sorry – no reason. You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
Her bottom lip began to quiver and I felt instantly rotten. “Honestly, it’s not you, it’s just…” I shook my head. “How could I explain that I felt I had just fallen down a rabbit hole and ended up in a dream. “… you look like someone I know.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. Are you off to visit your grandma?” I asked, approaching her with a certain amount of wonderment, which was quickly extinguished with the next blast of the huntsman’s horn.
It was getting closer, I was certain of it – in fact, if we didn’t move soon, we would be in its direct path. The little girl cocked her head.
“My grandmother died in the spring.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, unable to offer as much sympathy as this warranted whilst glancing over my shoulder to see if we were about to be mauled to death.
“Don’t be. She was very old, and not very nice.” The girl looked behind me and grabbed my hand. “We need to go. We haven’t much time. He’s coming for us.”
Normally, the very last thing that I would do is follow a complete stranger through the woods, but this was different. With her dark, tidy bob, and her little hands, what threat did she pose? She was a child. A sweet, innocent child, and the look of fear she had cast when she had heard the sound of the horn had been enough to convince me that no matter how irrational it sounded, we needed to run – our lives depended on it.
“What do you mean, ‘He’s coming of us?” I asked.
The horn blasted again, preventing her answer.
Casting another look behind me, I cried, “Faster!” as I finally saw the hounds approaching over the brow of the hill.
The little girl didn’t need telling twice, and she cast her basket to the side, causing a red bloodied mess to spill onto the snow. It was a heart, similar in size to an ox-heart or sheep’s heart – or human heart. I shook the ridiculous idea away.
“That should distract them,” she said, picking up her pace.
It felt as if my feet were barely touching the ground. The air rushed past us and my lungs burned, but some fear-instinct was fuelling my flight. The child turned sharply, dragging me behind her into a small crack in a cliff wall which led to a small cave. I watched on with surprise as she recovered a large branch and blocked off the gap, as if it were all the most perfectly orchestrated thing in the world. My stomach slid. My blood ran cold. The dogs yapped at the entrance. I could barely see her in the gloom of the cave but as she moved, I could swear she began to change shape and size.
Trapped.
“Give her up,” a voice commanded from outside.
Shadows erupted, teeth gnashed, and the creature that had once been a sweet little girl became something monstrous and full with the promise of pain. The world span. I willed myself to wake up. If I didn’t wake, I was going to die. The sound of crashing pulled my attention briefly to the entrance way. The dogs streamed in and then everything went dark.
CHAPTER THREE
LORD RIME
I woke to find myself in a dark space, full of heavy wood, softly lit by firelight. A woman in a heavy linen dress, and white mop cap was hovering by my bedside. I blinked hard, trying to shake away the dream I had woken in.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said, cheerily.
She wasn’t as old as she first looked, but she looked tired and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. Her life looked hard and full of struggle.
“Where am I?” I asked, trying to sit up and giving-up as pain overwhelmed me. “What happened?”
“There was an incident, my lady. You need to rest. Don’t worry yourself, you’re safe now.”
I screwed my eyes shut tight and tried to recall the last thing I could remember. It was all a bit of a blur, just a series of strange, disconnected images that wouldn’t stay long enough for me to make any sense of them.
“What kind of incident?” I asked.
“Ssh, we can talk details later,” she soothed, stroking my hair from my face and tending to a bandage on my arm.
As she unwrapped and treated the vicious red-wound that pulsed with pain, I did a further appraisal of my battered and injured body. My leg was straight and splinted, my wrist burned with pain, my ribs hurt when I breathed, and my ear was hot. It felt like I’d been involved in some kind of traffic incident, but I had been walking in the woods with Tom. That was all.
“Tom?” I asked weakly. “Where’s Tom?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the woman said. “You were alone when he found you.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m Millie. I work here?”
“Here?”
“At Wild Wood Manor.”
She said this as if it should be explanation enough, but it wasn’t. It just spawned another hundred questions. I’d never heard of Wild Wood Manor, and I still couldn’t work out why Milly was wearing such an odd costume? Unless she was part of some historical event.
“Why am I not in a hospital?”
She tied the bandage at my wrist and looked at me with her brows knitted tighter. “Hospital? What’s a hospital?”
My mind refused to acknowledge her question at first. Everybody knew what a freaking hospital was – unless…
Unless I had been kidnapped by one of those weirdos who kidnapped women and held them for years and years in the basement of their homes whilst they lived out their sick fantasy life – that was it! Oh, my God, I’d been kidnapped by some perverted history nut.
I shuffled up on the bed, desperate to get myself mobile, even though that was near impossible with my leg splinted.
“I need to go home. I need to phone my dad.”
Millie’s look of exasperated confusion didn’t fade. “You’re delirious, you’re not making sense. It’s the bang to your head. I warned him you might be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I snapped. “I’m just very confused. Who is him? Who’s in charge here?”
“Why, Lord Rime is master of Wild Wood Manor, my lady.”
“Please stop calling me that,” I snapped. “My name’s,” I hesitated, not wanting to give my real name in case somehow gave the nutter more power. “My name is Isla.”
“Your name is May?”
I fixed her with a hard stare. “How could you possibly know that?”
Millie turned in the direction of my camera bag that sat on the side table. “It has y
our name and address written on the card.”
I sighed. Of course it did. Mum had insisted I put a luggage tag on my camera bag because she knew how forgetful I could be when I got distracted. Not only did it have my name on it but my address and phone number, too. I could have lied and told them I was just borrowing it, but suddenly, it didn’t seem worth the energy. I knew they wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“My leg?” I asked, changing tactic. “What’s wrong with it?”
“We weren’t sure if it was broken or not, and with you being unconscious, it was hard to tell.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure,” Millie replied, immediately starting to unwrap the bandage.
It took a frustratingly long period of time. She had done a good job. Eventually, I was free and the wooden splint fell away. My knee was swollen but to my totally untrained eye, it looked sprained rather than swollen. Tom had had a similar football injury last summer. I swung my leg over the side of the bed and tentatively put my weight on it. Yeah, it hurt like hell, but I was sure it wasn’t broken. If I needed to, although it would hurt, I could run with it.
“I don’t think it’s broken, just sprained. Maybe a walking stick?” I asked, not hopeful a walking stick was something that might be just hanging around. Afterall, it would make for a handy weapon.
“Of course, my lady,” she said, heading towards the door.
Millie was certainly efficient. With her gone, I took the stream of bandage and wrapped it around my knee, binding it tight to help support it. It was only when I clocked sight of my velvet jacket, pretty much shredded to pieces, hanging over the back of the wing-backed chair, that I noticed I wasn’t in my own clothes. I’d been so disorientated and freaked out by the onslaught of weird information, I hadn’t got around to seeing that I was wearing an oversized white frilly shirt, which just skimmed my thighs. I did a quick personal check and was relieved to find I was still wearing my own Wonder Woman boxers and everything seemed to be in order – there at least.
