by Mark Hockley
"Jack!" he shouted out. He couldn't be that far away, Tom was sure. Surely he would be able to hear his call. But Jack didn't answer. Reluctantly, leaving the hedge even further behind, Tom made off along a worn path that led toward some trees.
"I think I'm lost," Jack told the woman
"Oh dear," she sympathised, smiling kindly.
Jack smiled too, a little embarrassed. This lady was certainly very beautiful and dressed as she was, all in radiant white, she seemed almost magical to him. Her clothes were made of what Jack thought to be fine silk and it flowed about her, now and then caught by the subdued breeze.
"I was wondering if you knew the way back to my friend's house?" He pointed vaguely over his shoulder. "It belongs to the McKern’s and I'm staying with them."
The woman continued to smile reassuringly. "I'm not sure that I can help you. There's no house around here that I know of." She paused as if giving the matter some thought. "And where might your friend be?"
"I've lost him," replied Jack, "he could be anywhere."
The woman in white shook her head slowly. "Oh dear," she said once again, frowning, "I'm sure he will turn up."
"Well, thanks anyway, but I think I'd better keep looking for him," Jack resolved and was about to turn and go when the woman leaned in closer to him. Her face so close to his made him feel a little dizzy.
"Remember," she said softly, "the road is long and little boys can fall foul of all manner of things."
Jack looked up at her with wide eyes, struggling to clear his head. He felt ill. What was the lady saying? He tried to think. "What?" he mumbled, not understanding.
Clutching a bunch of flowers in one hand, she held out the other and pointed off into the distance. "That's your path." Her long fingernail seemed to change and grow and the ground began to spin. Jack became faint and feared he was about to blackout. "Be on your way, while you can." Jack heard the woman's voice but he could no longer see her. All he saw was an emerald canopy closing in on every side. Was it sunstroke, Jack
wondered. If only he could just rest for a minute. "Remember me," she breathed and then everything became dark.
Jack lay in a field of daisies with his eyes shut tight. He was wide awake but he knew that he must be dreaming.
THE OLD WAYS
In this land of dreams
where we once played,
promises are seldom kept
but often made,
now we must learn
the ways of old,
when hearts were but meat
to be bought and sold,
the dream is for you
and the dream is for me,
until we free the truth
and find the key .
Poems and stories. They had become a part of Tom's life. But what did they mean?
He had often wondered about them, trying to discover the hidden meanings concealed behind the veil of words, but he was more uncertain now than he had ever been and as he walked slowly through long grass, searching for some sign of Jack, this particular verse echoed in his mind like a distant cry.
He felt a little afraid. Jack had not answered his calls and he had to admit reluctantly that he was now lost himself. What sort of a mess had they got themselves into? He doubted that he could even find the high hedge again, let alone Jack. He had no idea where he was and all around him there was nothing but trees, fields and flowers, no landmarks, no points of reference. At any other time he would have enjoyed the beauty of his surroundings but now, separated from his friend, lost and not knowing which way to go to get home, he almost hated the place.
"Jack!" he cried out in desperation.
"Tom," came a reply from not very far away.
He broke into a run and made toward the voice. Looking out for Jack as he went, hoping to catch a glimpse of him amongst the foliage, Tom came upon a big elm tree that marked the edge of a small wood and saw something that made him come to a dead stop. Hanging from a knurled branch of the old tree was a swing and upon it sat a boy dressed in a neat black suit. He looked to be about four or five and possessed an impish quality that Tom found oddly disquieting.
"Hello Tom," said the boy.
"Eh, hello," returned Tom without really thinking. The little boy smiled, enigmatic but not unfriendly. "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Tom, "how did you know my name?"
The boy pushed his feet against the ground and began to swing to-and-fro. "It's common knowledge," he stated, sounding rather older than his appearance would suggest.
"Who are you?" asked Tom as he appraised the child, confused and just a little annoyed at his off-handed manner.
The youngster regarded the older boy, his head tilted slightly to one side, his striking green eyes unnerving. "Tom, Tom," sang the boy on the swing, "I'm your friend, you can trust me."
"What do you mean, I can trust you, what are you talking about?" Tom was quickly losing patience and had an agitated feeling growing inside him.
"Take it easy, Tom," chimed the boy.
This was the final straw. "Don't you tell me to take it easy," stormed Tom. "I'm lost and I can't find my friend and you're just a little kid anyway!"
The boy stopped swinging. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and Tom, immediately regretting his outburst and realising that anger would get him nowhere, decided he could at least ask the child for directions home. He would then be able to get Uncle Ira to help search for Jack.
"I don't know how you know my name," he began in as calm a voice as he could manage, "but as you do, maybe you know my house too and you can tell me how to get back there?"
The small boy gazed at him with what Tom thought was a rather wistful smile. "You can't go home now, Tom," he said matter-of-factly.
"What do you mean, I can’t go home!?" Tom demanded, moving closer to the boy, facing him angrily, his frustration rising once more despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. "And who are you anyway?"
The boy began to swing again. "Like I said Tom, I’m your friend."
"This is ridiculous!" Tom growled.
"Have you noticed anything odd, Tom, anything strange? Look at the sky, what do you see?"
Almost without thinking Tom peered upward, a blue expanse marked by just a few swirls of wispy cloud meeting his gaze. "I can't see anything," he said, although an unsettling feeling of wrongness nagged at him.
"Look closer, Tom," urged the boy on the swing, "look deep into the firmament."
Tom stared at the skies and something indefinable began to happen to his vision, as if it were widening, magnifying. He could see everything, his eyes crystals of perception.
"There is no sun," he said listlessly, the knowledge of its absence distressing him in a vague, almost impalpable way.
"Affected light," the boy called to him, "and shadows can be cast that are more real than you can know. You've got a lot to learn."
Tom closed his eyes and shook his head. "Something isn't right here," he muttered, attempting to gain control of his senses.
"Nothing ever is in the dream-time of the Beast," the boy said mildly.
Opening his eyes, Tom was relieved to find his vision had returned to normal again. He glared at the child who swung higher and higher. "Will you please stop swinging and give me some straight answers!?" bellowed Tom, ready to snap.
"All right," replied the boy, abruptly becoming still. "What do you want to know?"
"Can you tell me how to get to my house. It belongs to the McKern’s, have you heard of them?"
The boy gave him a sympathetic look. "I've already told you, you can't go home."
"That's it," blazed Tom, grabbing hold of the rope that supported the swing. "I've had enough of your games!" The branch above creaked and groaned with the exertion. "Now what did you mean..." Tom began, but looking down, all he saw was an empty seat. He twisted quickly around, fully expecting to see the little pest retreating into the undergrowth. But all was silent and still, the boy having apparently disappeared quite lite
rally into thin air.
Releasing the rope with a sigh, Tom sat down heavily onto the swing. Things were not happening the way that they should. People couldn't just vanish. It was all completely insane.
"I just wish someone would tell me what's going on," he spoke aloud.
"Tell me what you want to know," said a voice from behind him.
Tom whirled around like a cornered animal. His nerves were afire, his heart beating fast in his chest.
What he saw didn't make him feel any better.
Just a few feet away, quite still and regarding him with an interested air, was a badger.
Tom stared at it with wide eyes, feeling somewhat bemused. He knew that they lived in the countryside, woods and fields their natural habitat, but he had never seen one, not in all his days in his Uncle's garden. He remembered Ira coming across a badger track in the mud once years before, the imprint fascinating to a young boy.
"When you see a badger, Tom," he had said, "it's a sign that a change is coming."
Tom hadn't known what his Uncle had meant by this, but that was not at all unusual, for Ira often said strange and apparently meaningless things. Yet Tom always took notice, even when he was very small.
With this memory still running through his mind, Tom looked into the animal's eyes. It was an exceptionally large badger, judging by the pictures he had seen and by what Ira had told him about the creatures, so large in fact that it made him feel uneasy.
"No need to be afraid," the badger said gently.
Tom blinked his eyes. He thought, or he had dreamed, that the animal had spoken, but of course this could not be.
"Yes, I can talk," voiced the badger, as if reading Tom's mind.
"How...what?" he stammered.
"Calm yourself," the badger said in an attempt to reassure him.
Straightening up, his body suddenly very rigid, Tom was torn between the desire to run and the fascination and awe he felt at actually hearing an animal speak. It was incredible! I'm dreaming this, he told himself firmly, it can't be real.
"I won’t bite," the badger told him with what Tom took to be smile, although it looked rather too much like simply a baring of sharp teeth. "Stop hopping about and let me introduce myself." Tom made no reply, watching very carefully, wary of any sudden movement. "My name is Mo," the creature said amiably.
"How can you talk?" whispered Tom, afraid of his own voice, finding it impossible to believe he was holding this conversation at all.
"It's not so strange in these parts," Mo replied. "You will get used to it in time."
"Tom…my name’s Tom," the boy offered tentatively, not sure of what to say.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Tom," nodded the animal, coming a little closer. Almost involuntarily, Tom began to back away. "You do know the difference between a badger and a wolf, I suppose?" Mo asked.
Tom looked at him oddly. "Wolf?" he repeated.
"Wolf, White Wolf," the badger said quickly. "You do know about it don't you?"
"I'm not sure," answered Tom truthfully. He knew there was something in what the animal was saying but confusion clouded his senses.
"I can see that I’ll need to do some explaining," Mo declared, continuing to advance.
Abruptly, as if struck by a physical blow, Tom remembered Jack. "I've lost my friend," he blurted out.
"I know," the badger said briskly, “but don’t worry yourself, I know where he is. He’s safe enough for now."
His anxiety over Jack's whereabouts made Tom ignore the close proximity of the creature for the moment. "Where is he?" he demanded and actually stepped forward.
"Have patience," Mo told him, "all is well, for the time being at least."
Tom sat down onto the swing and kicked his feet with frustration, his thoughts jumbled, his mind in turmoil.
"Tom," began the badger, "you must learn that all things come to be when they are meant to be."
For just a moment, it was as if Uncle Ira was there, talking to him. All things come to be when they are meant to be. His Uncle had often said those very words to him, when he
had become impatient or disenchanted. It felt like an echo from another time. Tom looked at the badger and sighed. "Tell me," he asked quietly, "why can't I go home?"
Jack was still dreaming.
When had the dream began, when would it end? He could not say.
He was inside a house made of cheese. Yellow walls and ceilings held him captive. And outside, an enormous cat was waiting for him. He wasn't entirely sure, but from the glimpses he had caught of it through the windows, he thought the cat’s fur was snow white.
Every now and then it would call to him. "Jack. Come on out Jack. I'm just a pussy-cat, I won't hurt you. Come and stroke me, Jack," it would purr.
He put his hands over his ears trying to shut out the sound, but somehow the creature’s voice still reached him, penetrating his mind.
"I am dreaming," he told himself. "This is only a dream and I can wake up."
"Jack, why don't you come out? You know it’s for the best. You know that it’s what you really want."
And just for a moment, he believed the entreaty of the white cat. Maybe he should go outside. He was tired of staying inside anyway. He should go out and try to find Tom.
"No!" he screamed, recovering his reason with a jolt, his body trembling.
Now the cat's voice became ugly and mocking. Jack could feel its desire, its need to possess him. "Now listen, boy, you had better come out to me because if you stay inside, Tom will die. Do you hear me? In fact, Tom is dying right now. But maybe you just don’t care. Maybe you want him to fall from the tree. Maybe you might just give him…the tiniest push?"
"Leave me alone!" Jack shrieked at the top of his voice, holding his hands even more tightly over his ears.
"You can't hide forever, Jackie boy," hissed the giant cat. "All things come to be when they are meant to be." The cat laughed, a guttural sound that made Jack feel as though his head was about to burst. "You cannot hide, Jack, you can never escape. I am the law of the land. You will come over to my way of thinking in the end."
"No! No! No!" yelled Jack, almost in tears.
The cat began to pad up and down outside of the building, its paws thudding, the house vibrating violently.
"Do you know, Jack," it said as if conversing with an intimate friend, "I can wait, there really is no rush. In the end you will want to come to me. You might not believe that now, but you will. Just wait and see, in the end you will beg me to take you as my own."
Jack began to scream and then, as if he were being hurled through the air, the scene jerked and altered. After a few moments his mind slowly surfaced and he opened his eyes. The day was bright and the sky was the palest blue. Peering down at him was the face of a big black and white animal.
"I think you have slept long enough," the creature said and though there was a moment when Jack realised that this was quite real and that the badger was speaking to him, he accepted it without question. Somehow he knew that he had now passed beyond the
world of reality and slipped unknowingly into one where the only rules were dictated by the logic of dreams.
"I thought I'd lost you for good," said Tom, relieved to be reunited with his friend.
"I was dreaming," Jack replied uncertainly.
"And what were you dreaming about?" enquired Mo, his nostrils twitching as he stared down at the boy on the ground.
Jack rubbed at his forehead. His temples ached. "That's funny," he mumbled after a slight hesitation, "I know I was dreaming about something, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was."
Mo nodded his large head. "That does not surprise me."
"I don't know about you, Jack," interrupted Tom, "but this whole thing is…well, very weird!" He shook his head in disbelief and then gave a quick glance in the direction of the badger who only regarded the two boys with patient interest.
"It's all like a dream," Jack mused, still feeling ver
y odd, his mind hazy.
"Shall I explain?" the animal queried, looking at each of them in turn.
Tom stared at the badger. "I wish you would," he breathed, still amazed every time the creature opened its mouth and spoke.
"Well," began Mo carefully, "there is much that you should know." He shuffled his feet, as if trying to make himself a little more comfortable. "There are things for you to do here."
"And where is here exactly?" questioned Tom.
"Here is here," said the badger shortly. He stared absently for a moment into the distance, as if pondering on some question. "But it is safe to say that here is not where you have come from. That is somewhere else."
"Well, I'm glad you've made that clear," Jack said wryly, recovering himself at last.
Mo glared at him and bared his teeth a little. "Things are never clear," the animal retorted. "Things are never what they seem to be unless they seem to be what they are not."
Jack raised his eyes skyward. "This really is weird!" he said under his breath.
Mo scratched the earth and sniffed the air. "Shall we move on?" he asked in a casual way.
"On to where?" Tom wanted to know.
"Another place…a safer place."
Tom couldn't see any reason to argue and Jack appeared to be ready to go where he was led. So walking at an easy pace they followed the big black and white animal across a field and through a hedge that bordered a blackened wood, bark crumbling from the dead trees that formed the withered grove.
"This is Bray Wood," announced Mo. "We will be able to talk here." He came to a large tree, its branches brittle and charred. "We can rest here a while."
Tom and Jack agreed, although the lifeless trees did nothing to ease their worry and disquiet. They settled themselves beneath the dark trunk, both boys with a great many questions to ask.
Ira slept, a nightmare raging hard inside his mind.
Tom was adrift upon an indignant sea, perched in the bow of a tiny rowboat, the waves crashing around him like giant serpents eager to lick at his flesh.
The old man stood on a beach and called the boys name. "Tom!"
But he did not hear. The waves buffeted the small craft until it seemed it could stay afloat no longer, the dark waters swelling ominously.
Ira's mind screamed. What can I do? I must do something.
But it was no use. He was helpless.
And then from beneath the tenebrous sea, a thing arose, a thing so monstrous Ira felt compelled to turn away and hide his face. It loomed up above the little boat where Tom cowered like the child he was.
Ira closed his eyes, trying to shut out the horror before him.
"Help me!" cried Tom, but the sea stole away his words. The thing rose up further into the sky, its body so immense that the heavens became black with its mass.
"Please," begged Ira, "let him live."
"And what would you give?" asked a voice in reply.
Ira clenched his hands in despair and a tear ran down his cheek. "What would you ask for?" he whispered, knowing that he had nothing to offer.
The thing chuckled and Ira's heart froze. "Give me your love," it said.
The old man knelt down in the sand and wept. Relentlessly the sea roared and thrashed against the rocks about him and somewhere far away it seemed, he heard Tom's desperate screams.
"There's nothing I can do," he sobbed, his pitiful cry swallowed by the wind.
"You are a fool," rasped the thing writhing above the waves. "And the boy is mine."
Ira awakened, his body covered with sweat, his heart pounding too fast. He lay very still, trying to calm himself, but Tom's plaintive cries rang loud inside his head.
"I will help you," he vowed rising from the bed.
The Wolf bounded through a field of daisies, saliva dripping from its jaws. Its nose wrinkled as it sniffed the air and for a moment the creature paused, perhaps listening. Then it was off again, moving with the breeze, sensing that a change was coming. The Wolf's eyes burned with anticipation as it ran through the flowers, trampling them with deliberate care, but then, in an instant, its form had changed.
And a lamb was running in its place.
THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR
"Do you have the map?" asked the badger, eyeing Tom.
Both boys threw sharp glances at each other.
"How did you know...?" began Tom, but Mo interrupted him.
"How is not important. What is, is that I know. And that’s not all I know."
"Has anyone ever told you that you talk in riddles?" inquired Jack with a humourless chuckle.
"Many times, Jack," responded the animal fixing him with a keen gaze. "Is it all right if I call you Jack?"
The boy nodded a little begrudgingly. “And what should I call you?” he muttered in an incredulous tone.
“Friends call me Mo,” said the badger.
Jack’s expression said that all of this was way beyond his ability to cope and he just nodded, a frown passing like a dark cloud across his face.
"So what’s the map for?" Tom asked eventually, turning to the badger.
“Ah yes, what is the map for?" The animal shifted his bulk on the ground and stretched out a long claw.
"Well?" voiced Jack impatiently. "What is it for!?"
Narrowing his eyes, the badger stared at the boy. "Jack, you have many things to learn and patience should be among the first." He looked at them both for a moment before he continued. "Now," stated Mo in a purposeful tone, "I will begin at the beginning."
"And end at the end," finished Tom.
"There is no end," the badger said quietly, his eyes lowering for a moment, "at least not yet, but our path lies north so that is where we must begin."
"How do you know which way is north?" put in Tom before the creature could continue.
Jack gave a grunt of exasperation. "Don't you know anything? You look at the sun, find out which way its travelling across the sky and then its quite simple to work out where north is!"
"But there is no sun," Tom corrected.
Jack looked rather perplexed at this. "What are you on about, Tom? Of course there's a sun! Where do you think the light is coming from?" He looked closely at the other boy to see if he had been joking.
Tom hesitated, confused himself. "I don't know," he admitted, "but haven't you noticed that there's something funny about the light here." He fumbled for a way to describe what he meant. "It doesn't feel right," was all he could manage.
Jack glanced first at Tom and then at the badger.
The animal seemed to consider the matter before speaking. "These are strange lands. And the White Wolf's purpose is hidden. You shall come to realise that things do not work in quite the same way here as in the world that you know."
"What's all this about a wolf?" Jack asked, trying to sound casual, although there was something in the badger's tone that made him very uneasy.
“The Wolf is the enemy. That much is simple to understand. But your purpose here is far more difficult to comprehend. But I’ll tell you what I can,” began Mo. The boys listened,
a mixture of anticipation and dread vying for supremacy. "There was once a woman, a very beautiful woman according to men’s eyes," Mo recited, "and in her possession she had a box, an arcane device created beyond the realms of mortal kind. Within this box were kept terrible evils and sorrows, remnants of another place, a realm of suffering and terror. But then one night whilst she slept, her husband, fuelled by jealousy and suspicion, opened it, setting loose those terrible things which had been locked inside."
"Pandora's Box," whispered Jack. Tom glanced at his friend with a raised eyebrow. "I think I heard about it at school once but I can't really remember what it was all about." The badger nodded his head grimly. "If you want to find your way home, you must first find the box."
Tom and Jack just looked at each other, not understanding. “What!?” was the best Jack could manage.
“The box is the key. But The Wolf will stop
at nothing to see you fail.”
“What kind of Wolf are we talking about here?” voiced Jack, a slight tremor in his voice.
“No ordinary wolf” murmured Mo. “It goes by many names, but here it is the master of these lands.”
"So what do we want to find the box for? Isn’t it all a bit late now?" asked Tom after a few moments of uneasy silence.
Mo turned toward the boy. “You must find the box because when it was opened in that time long ago, there was one thing that remained, trapped within. It is there still." The badger wrinkled his nose and looked up through the dead branches above them. The sky was clouding over now holding the promise of rain.
"What was left inside?" asked Tom quietly.
The animal met the boy's gaze. "Hope," he said.
Ira stood at the foot of the great oak and looked up.
Somehow he had found his way there. The garden had tried to trick him, sending him the wrong way many times, but his will had been stronger than its wiles. He would reach Tom in time, he was determined of that. He would stand at the boys side in his time of need.
This is not your place, old man, a voice within told him, but Ira would not listen.
Gripping the trunk, he began his ascent, climbing deftly from branch to branch. But there were dark forces at work and from somewhere far away he thought he heard a mournful howl. The howl of a wolf.
"You can't stop me now," he hissed, gritting his teeth. Yet even as he uttered these defiant words, beneath his hands the tree began to change, the bark no longer hard and coarse but running like liquid, sliding through his fingers, inky fluid gushing down around his body. His thoughts whirled. It was as if he were on a roundabout just like the ones he had played on so many times as a boy, his father pushing him faster and faster. Around and around he went, the sky above reeling.
I will not..., he tried to think but his thoughts became hazy and unclear.
The old man fell, hitting the ground with a low thud and somewhere close by the wolf howled again, a wind beginning to gust around the tree. Ira lay unconscious under the shadow of the great oak, his body beset by the raw wind which now roamed the garden, whipping the vegetation into a frenzy of motion.
Inside the house Emily looked out as the darkness drew its black curtain slowly across the skies. The dinner was spoilt and it was past supper time now. Ominously a clock struck eight and with cold fear gnawing inside her, she put on a coat to go outside in search of Ira and the boys.
"It is time that we were moving on again," announced Mo, shaking himself violently.
The two boys had heard a lot of things and had certainly not understood them all, but of one thing Tom was sure, there was no way home unless they did what the badger asked of them. They must find Pandora's box.
But there was something evil that stood in their way. A wolf who is white, a wolf who is sly. Tom recalled the poem his Uncle had told him.
Glancing over at his friend, he saw by the boy’s dazed expression that he was just as bewildered as he felt himself.
"Jack," he said as they began to walk once more, following the badger.
"What can I do for you?" asked the other boy with a small smile, but Tom could see that beneath this attempt to act like his usual good-natured self, his friend was very frightened.
"Don't worry," he told him, "it'll be all right."
Jack nodded. "I hope so."
Through the perished wood they went.
I don't like this place, thought Tom as they passed underneath a tunnel of withered trees, black, skeletal shapes looming on every side. The sky was still cloudy but the light remained. It should have been dark by then, he realised, but the day showed no sign of ending.
"When will the night come?" he asked Mo, who moved comfortably at his side.
The badger gave him a quick glance and then returned his eyes straight ahead. "Night comes when the it suits the Beast and not before."
They walked on without speaking further until Jack, who had suddenly become struck by the devastating fact that he hadn't eaten for what seemed an eternity, spoke up. The rumbling in his stomach added impetus to his words. "I was wondering," he submitted in the badgers direction, "is there any chance of getting some food around here?"
The big animal didn't look at the boy but nodded his head. "I think that could be arranged," he conceded, much to Jack's relief.
"You and your belly," muttered Tom, his own appetite lost due to the heady mixture of excitement and fear which churned within him.
‘When you see a badger, it's a sign that a change is coming’. He wished so much that Ira were here with them now. He would know what to do, he would find the way home. Tom bit his lip as he felt the stirring of useless tears. I won't cry. I'll find the box and get back home again. Wolf or no wolf!
Jack walked by his side and had his own thoughts. And these were peculiar indeed, like old dreams, half remembered. Memories of a woman dressed in white.
As the brittle trees thinned signifying the end of the wood, Tom noticed an odd structure just ahead resembling some kind of signpost. "What's that?" he hailed the badger, pointing.
"Ah, our tool of navigation," answered Mo, "we shall see a great many of these on our journey."
Tom walked up to the tall wooden post and examined the four indicators, each of which
pointed in a different direction. They had been carved into hands, index finger extended
and on each was printed a letter.
"N, S, E and W," read Jack coming up beside his friend.
"I don't get this," Tom mused, seeking out the badger, his face a mask of confusion.
"We must use these guide posts to navigate our path," Mo told them, "in conjunction with the map, of course."
"But why were they made in the first place?" Tom asked, "who put them here?"
"Who can say," answered the badger, not willing to discuss the matter further.
They left Bray Wood and the signpost behind them, at Mo's direction heading north toward what was simply marked on the map as a mound, passing into an open meadow that ran side by side with many others, only separated by small hedges.
As they walked Jack gazed out across the rows of fields which surrounded them. He knew he was looking for something, but he didn’t know what. And yet he sensed it was out there, waiting for him.
He caught sight of a blurry shape moving in the distance and as he squinted, trying to make out what it was, he thought he saw a thing that crept on four legs, white hair covering a muscular frame. He turned to Tom and was about to tell him to look, but it was as if everything had become slowed, the words not forming, his lips numb. Then glancing back, he saw a woman dressed all in white, walking through a meadow. And in that moment, their eyes met and Jack knew that he could not betray her, an unspoken vow passing between them. Slowly the woman raised one hand, her long fingers caressing the air. Without thinking, Jack waved back to her before darting a furtive look at both Tom and the badger, but neither had seemed to notice him do it.
He looked back to where the woman had been walking. But she was gone.
Remember, he heard her say in his mind.
Remember me.
"This place is known as Verlassen," Mo said in answer to Tom's enquiry. They approached an old, weathered building which had quite suddenly loomed up out of the trees, its timbers creaking, a light wind murmuring through the leaves. It seemed completely out of place in these surroundings, the overgrown vegetation concealing the structure within a shroud of green. Opposite stood another of the wooden signposts, also partially obscured by leafy boughs.
Eager for food, Jack strode forward, making for a broad wooden door. Hung above the entrance was a sign portraying a masked figure who held what appeared to be a jagged shaft of crystal in one hand and a long-bladed sickle in the other, creating an image that was mildly unsettling.
"Shall we go in?" Mo said, edging ahead of the boy.
"I hope there's food in here," Tom heard Jack say as he enter
ed the doorway. Feeling more hesitant than his friend, Tom followed inside.
As they entered the building, he immediately noticed the elaborate paintings which adorned every wall. He stared in awe at the fantastic illustrations, many detailing startling landscapes and strange beasts, their workmanship extraordinary in its detail, the depth of colour astonishing. Tom was so engrossed in them that it was a few moments before he realised that the inn was completely deserted.
"They are impressive, are they not?" Mo said, seeing the look on the boy's face.
"Yes," agreed Tom. "I've never seen anything like them. They're amazing!” He wondered if Jack shared his enthusiasm and made to turn toward his friend, but when he tried to avert his eyes from the paintings he found that he could not. He was transfixed, as if hypnotised by the pictures on the walls. The shapes and colours merged and altered and he could not even recall what the paintings had depicted, only aware of the vivid colours, their burning intensity seeming to call to him. Tom tried to close his eyes but that only made his head ache, nausea overtaking him. And then into the paintings he passed, through the boundaries of dimensions, leaving behind the existence he knew to become one with a brilliant light, surreal forms coalescing with him, shackling him.
He gazed down upon a pale world, one which was grey and anaemic and felt revulsion for what he saw there. Two colourless creatures, blobs of undefined flesh inhabited that place and their ghostly, blanched forms disgusted him. His world was one of opulent colour, a sea of bright stars, a rainbow of fire. Tom had lost all sense of the physical, drifting on the currents of his subconscious, all things now tranquil, soothing. He was content to remain there for all eternity. But as he descended deeper into this realm of light and contentment, a hideous crashing assailed him, a relentless thudding that threatened to crush his mind.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Tom reeled with the onslaught upon his senses. Please, he attempted to say but he could not speak, the thunderous noise only increasing in volume, forcing him to recoil from its terrible power.
He lay very still, huddled in a tiny ball like an unborn child. The sound had ceased but his mind was dead. He could feel nothing, perceive nothing. He was nothing.
"Tom!" a voice called softly. "Tom, can you hear me?"
He remained motionless. If he moved, he knew the crashing inside his head would begin again.
"Tom!" came the voice again, a little more urgently than before.
Very slowly, he opened his eyes. A boy's face loomed above him, a familiar face but one that he found difficult to identify.
"Are you all right?" asked the boy standing over him, his expression anxious.
Tom stared back at him but still he couldn’t speak. His mind was paralysed.
"Help him up," came another voice from close by, but Tom couldn’t see who had spoken. Carefully he was hoisted up, the boy supporting his weight until he was able to sit down on a hard chair. He leant back with weary relief.
"Can you talk, Tom?" the boy said gently.
Tom looked into his eyes and very gradually, as if the memories were filtering back from some remote tract, a name stole into his head. "Jack," he uttered, his voice hoarse.
"You'll be all right now," his friend told him kneeling down and over his shoulder a large black and white face appeared, dark eyes intent.
"You were lucky, Tom," the badger declared.
Tom shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "What happened?" he whispered.
"Can't you remember anything?" Jack asked.
Tom shook his head. "I'm not sure. I think it was the paintings. I was inside them!" He waved a hand at the wall, not daring to look again.
"You have nothing to fear from them now," reassured the badger, leaning close. "It is
only the Wolf that we all must fear. It is the enemy."
"So what happened?" questioned Jack, looking intently at the animal, wanting answers.
"It was an assault on Tom’s senses, perhaps no more than a test to see what the opposition are made of. But one thing is certain, the Wolf will come again. You can be sure of that. It will come for us all."
Jack gazed grimly at his friend. “Opposition? Then it knows about us then?” He said this with a visible shudder.
Mo chuckled softly, although the sound was harsh and cold. “It knows. And this is only the beginning.”
"I'm tired," said Tom after a moment of uncomfortable silence, half closing his eyes, his features worn and pale.
"Get some sleep," Mo advised him. "We must travel again soon."
Another dream, thought Tom, shifting uneasily in his half-sleep. Or was it?
In this strange land, nothing was certain. He believed he was beneath a large chestnut tree, its branches a canopy above him. He ate a cheese and tomato sandwich, the taste bland in his mouth. Perhaps it was only a dream after all.
But the sun shone brightly and he could feel it upon his face and Tom looked up into a cloudless sky, taking a deep breath. Nothing like the countryside, better than the built-up cities with their litter and pollution. Beneath the chestnut tree all was as it should be, the land untouched and he felt at peace with himself.
A rustling in a nearby bush caught his attention and abruptly a lamb came rushing through the undergrowth. Tom shot to his feet in surprise and the creature came to a sudden halt a few feet away, staring at him.
"I won't hurt you," Tom offered as gently as he could, but the lamb only started at the sound of his voice and ran off again. It clambered over a small bank and disappeared.
Why are animals so afraid? he found himself wondering.
Just as he was pondering this question there was another disturbance in the undergrowth and Tom thought that maybe the animal had returned. Then, pushing through the thicket of leaves, a girl appeared. She wore a bonnet and a long cape around her shoulders and carried a hooked staff.
Steadying herself, she regarded Tom with an unnerving gaze.
"Hello," he mumbled, a bit embarrassed but not really knowing why.
The girl smiled at him and he found himself thinking how pretty she was. "Hello," she returned.
Now Tom was at a loss for words.
"Have you seen my sheep?" she asked.
"Eh, sheep?" began Tom, struggling to gain his composure. "Oh yes, I did see a lamb, just a minute ago."
The girl smiled again or perhaps, thought Tom oddly, she had never stopped smiling. "Could you tell me which way the little one went?"
Tom looked into her eyes and decided they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. They were like pools of shining light. "I, er," he fumbled, getting a grip on himself. "I think it went that way." He pointed vaguely in the direction of the bank.
The girl took one step toward him and then stopped.
Tom couldn't breath as he stared at her, his throat tightening, his mouth dry. She really was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, he decided.
Putting her hand to her lips, she blew him a kiss. "Thank you, Tom," she said, turning away.
Blushing furiously, Tom called after her. "What's your name?"
She paused and stood with her back to him for a moment, then turning her head ever so slightly, so he could just see the side of her face, she laughed. "Why, little Bo Peep of course!" She ran off over the bank and as she did so, long golden hair spilled from beneath her hood and Tom recalled the strange dream he had experienced the previous evening. Could that have only been last night?
"Wake up, you sleepy head."
Tom was on a train, he and Jack speeding toward his home for the summer holidays. It was going to be the best holiday they had ever had.
"Time to be moving on," said Mo.
Tom opened his eyes sharply, the memories of where he was and all that had happened flooding back so suddenly that he sat up with a start.
"I had a dream," he said, feeling vaguely foolish, the girl’s face still haunting him, her dark eyes holding him captive. Try as he might he could not shake her i
mage from his mind. And the truth was that he wasn’t really sure that he even wanted to.
RETURN FROM THE PAST
Night had still not fallen as the company of three trekked on, walking for what seemed like many miles. They crossed fields and meadows laden with flowers, passing through dense stands of oak and elm, as well as other trees that were unfamiliar to Tom and Jack. The landscape never changed. It was a verdant expanse stretching out before them, apparently endless.
Tom almost missed the darkness, it had been light for so long. Time had become displaced. It made him feel strange inside, as if his body was unsure if it should be asleep or awake. "Why doesn't time work the same here as it does where we come from?" he asked the badger.
Mo chuckled to himself. "Time!" he said with a grunt. "And what is time? Only a man-made thing. It does not exist outside of the minds of Men. There are no rules here."
Although Tom was still shaken by his ordeal at the deserted inn, he was determined to learn as much as he could. "So are you saying time here has no bearing on time in our world?" He had accepted now that they were no longer in the world where he had lived all of his life, the world where his Uncle and Aunt were. He and Jack had somehow become lost in a place where things happened as they might in a dream.
"That I do not know. But things work differently here as you have discovered for yourselves," was the best answer Mo could give.
Tom glanced up at lofty trees as they passed beneath a tunnel of leaves. How did the hedge at the end of his garden connect his world to this one? Or was it the great oak that was the way in? He wasn't sure, but one thing that was certain, they were here and they would have to see it through to the end. Whatever that might be.
At the edge of a small wood, they came upon a hedge beyond which tall reeds grew in abundance. The ground was marshy here and reluctantly the boys followed the badger down an incline, carefully treading the spongy earth. After easing their way through a thick cluster of bulrushes they came onto a dry bank, a lake of sable water before them. Huge lily pads were scattered far across its surface, creating undulating patterns of green.
"Look!" called Jack, pointing, "a frog!"
"It's a toad, to be exact," corrected Mo as the toad jumped powerfully from one plant to the next. Jack shot him a dark look, something in his expression almost malicious, although neither Tom nor the animal noticed it.
The badger led them along beside the edge of the water, Tom and Jack gingerly making their way across the sodden terrain, following the sure-footed animal as best they could. It wasn't long before they noted that the ground was beginning to rise once more and soon Mo was leading them away from the lake and over rolling mounds, the land choked by dense gorse which slowed them down, reducing their speed to little better than a crawl. For some time they went on like this, the boys wasting no more breath on idle chatter, until a steep ridge appeared ahead. But the badger had no intention of finding an alternative route. He continued on, climbing up and over this rise and reaching the windswept summit, they came upon a quite startling spectacle.
Before them stood a stone archway, ancient and in disrepair, debris scattered all around its base. But it was not this alone that caught their eye, for within the archway a great mirror had been placed and their own reflections greeted their approach.
Jack stood before the structure and marvelled. "What is it?" he wondered aloud.
"This place is called Porta Knoll," Mo disclosed, "it is very old."
"But what is it?" the boy repeated.
"Many mysteries have as yet no solution," the badger replied.
Jack looked into the huge mirror and noticed that their images were very slightly distorted, his own face somehow unrecognisable to him.
Tom also had seen a discrepancy in his counterpart and stepped closer, examining his own features. As he drew nearer to the mirror its texture seemed to alter subtly, the surface shimmering and he halted only inches away from it. He reached out to touch the glass but incredibly, as his fingers made contact, they slipped through unchecked into what felt like cool liquid. Fascinated, he twirled his fingers around within the fluid and leaned forward until his nose almost touched the glassy exterior, his arm disappearing into the void beyond.
Abruptly, surprising himself, he plunged his head forward, taking a deep breath just before he did so and with his eyes wide open, he found himself surveying an undersea world of green and blue. Ragged weeds swayed with the current, a coral-reef reaching out beyond the limit of his sight, an intricate network of colour. A shoal of tiny fish passed by a few feet away, seemingly oblivious to his presence and turning slightly to his left he saw two beautiful sea-horses bobbing majestically through the clear water, heading in his direction.
"What are you doing here, Tom?" one hailed him, "don't you know The Deep is a dangerous place?"
Tom felt quite light-headed. "Where…where am I exactly?"
"You should not linger in the playground of the Beast," sang the second sea-horse, before making off into the shadowy regions away to Tom's right. The boy scanned the dark patches of weed that sprang from the ocean bed and many sets of gleaming eyes returned his gaze, their forms large but indistinct, their stillness unsettling. Something else caught his eye there too, a glimmering object that appeared to be gliding toward him. As it drew nearer, Tom recognised it as a sword, its haft encrusted with amber jewels, the point facing him, its progress slow and listless through the water.
"There lies the soul of the warrior," a voice said behind him but Tom did not start at the sound of it or turn to see who had spoken. He merely watched the blade approach, now no more than ten feet distant. Within the reeds, the anonymous creatures were becoming restless.
"Take it," the voice ordered him, a deep and powerful command.
But the sword would not come any closer. He stretched forward, leaning further and further into the underwater realm, but always the weapon remained just out of reach, elusive.
"Take it!"
Tom's muscles ached and yet he responded with one final effort, but even so, his groping fingers could only reach the tip of the honed blade.
"I can't," he cried, realising through his frustration that he had been breathing water for some time now. "I'll cut myself!"
"TAKE IT," insisted the voice, seeming to be nearer now, directly behind him.
Reluctantly, but overwhelmed by a curious compulsion, Tom let his fingers curl around the steel. A warm sensation passed through his hand and along his arm and he watched in numb fascination as the sea-water was clouded by his blood.
"Resurrection," whispered the waters, the shadows around him alive with agitated fish.
"It hurts," he complained pulling the sword slowly toward him.
Tom looked down at his hand, his fingers becoming lifeless, but blood obscured his field of vision, the weapon appearing insubstantial in his grasp.
"Resurrection!" the ocean seemed to cry all about him and Tom saw with wonder that no longer did he grasp the blade. In its place another hand, one much larger than his own, now clutched at his fingers with dreadful strength and still his blood flowed into the sea-green kingdom, a scarlet haze.
Dimly he was aware of a sudden riotous clamour, the shadowed inhabitants of the reeds surrounding him, a thousand sets of teeth about to attack. And all at once, with light blinding him, he re-emerged from the mirror waters, hauling a burly figure through with him, tumbling over onto the hard earth.
As he lay sprawled on the ground, he was amazed to find that he was completely dry, but a moment later all such thoughts were driven from his mind, a sharp twinge in his right side making him sit up, hesitant and bewildered.
My hand! he remembered, examining it, but there was no sign of any injury.
"Here," said a resonant voice which he did not recognise and Tom was hoisted up effortlessly to stand before a tall man dressed in a long grey coat and high boots.
"My name is…Dredger," the figure introduced himself slowly, as if collecting himse
lf.
Tom looked quickly around for his friends and was relieved to see Jack standing mutely to one side, the boy staring at the man with undisguised astonishment.
Padding over to face the newcomer, the badger spoke. "At last."
The tall man nodded and Tom found it hard to take his eyes from the man. He was tall and muscular, a short blade sheathed at his side, his age difficult to judge but his best guess was around forty. He had the look of a soldier, but Tom doubted that he would respond well to discipline. He seemed a man who was his own master.
"This is Tom," Mo indicated. Jack, who had appeared dazed until now, stepped forward to join the group. "And this is his companion and friend, Jack," the animal added.
The man named Dredger eyed both boys, his expression stern. "Friends are few and far between," he said with emphasis.
Tom stared at the warrior, for that undoubtedly he was, wondering just who he could be and how he had come to be there. He was aware that somehow he had brought this stranger out of the mirror’s underwater domain, but what had taken place there to bring about such a thing he could not be entirely sure. Dreams and reality had intermingled and produced a new condition, one where truth was blurred and facts were unreliable.
Dredger addressed Tom, leaning down to look closely at his face. "You do not know me, but our destinies are linked. There is much to be accomplished."
Mo came to Tom's side. "Dredger is an old ally and shall come with us for a way at least. He can help us against the Wolf."
At the mention of that name, their new companion became perturbed and Jack thought he heard him curse under his breath.
"Do you know the White Wolf?" Tom asked boldly.
Dredger glared at him. "The white dog!" he growled, "yes, I know it. I have met the Beast before this day.” He spat the words venomously, his eyes like burning coals and Tom noted uneasily that the man's pupils had seemed to alter colour, and even as he watched they shimmered, changing from yellow to orange to a pale grey. Tom glanced quickly at Jack, both boys in awe of the man.
Mo looked up at the tall figure. "I fear the Wolf has become far stronger since you were last here, my friend."
Dredger seemed unconcerned by this, folding his powerful arms. "But now I am no longer a child. And the shape-changer will know my wrath, for the time has come for all things to be settled. The prophecy will unfold. The boy has come and I am born again." He looked down at Tom and then spoke directly to him. "Once, long ago, I fought the Wolf. But I was defeated." He said this with barely controlled anger. "I was discarded, worthless, into the void. But I did not perish. I have awaited your coming, boy. We are a part of the prophecy and the Wolf knows we are here. This time it will be the Beast who will be cast down!"
The badger who had listened carefully to all of this, looked hard at the man. "All that you say is true, but things change. Nothing is the same now. The old magic slumbers, the White Wolf rules unchallenged and his power has grown more dreadful than can be imagined."
Dredger offered no response but gazed up at the sky. "We must journey to The Circle," he announced abruptly. "There we shall find the true way of things." Quickly he moved toward Tom, an urgent look about him. "Do you have the map?" he asked, impatient for an answer.
"Eh, yes," replied Tom, wondering how the man could have possibly known.
"It will show how to reach The Circle from here," Dredger said, holding out his hand. "Give it to me."
Suddenly Tom became reluctant to give it up. Why should he let this stranger take the map from him? He looked to Jack and then to the badger but neither spoke.
"Come boy," pressed Dredger, "there is much to be done."
Very slowly Tom put his hand inside his shirt and drew out the parchment.
"There!" cried the tall man, snatching the map from him and studying it with unmistakable reverence. "And you say that the old magic is gone." He glared at Mo with contempt.
Watching the man pore over the map, greedily taking in the information recorded there, Tom decided that as soon as he got it back he would make sure that he never parted with it again, whatever the circumstances. He felt strangely possessive about it and anyway, there was something about this man, Dredger, that he didn't like.
After a good deal of studying and thought, Dredger finally handed the parchment back to Tom. "We must travel north-west," he reported with confidence.
"And what exactly is this circle anyway?" spoke up Jack, not liking their new found friend any more than Tom and regaining some of his old spirit.
Dredger gave the boy a menacing glare. "Do not question me, boy," he snarled. "Just do as you are bid."
Tom didn't like any of this. He felt uncomfortable in the big man's company and Jack, now red-faced, was undoubtedly very angry and rightly so.
"I think it’s best if we do as Dredger says," interjected Mo, seeing that there would be trouble if he did not intercede, "there may be valuable information gained by a visit to the ancient stone circle. It has always been a holy place."
"All right," agreed Tom, deciding that he could at least trust the badger.
Jack stared at his friend but didn't say anything and so, with no further debate, they set off away from the mirrored archway. Dredger led the way, taking up the position without being asked and they followed a wooden signpost, conveniently located just over a nearby verge, ready to guide them on their journey.
Somewhere, not so very far away, a woman dressed all in white stood at the centre of a field of red poppies. Looking to the south and then the north she began to walk through the flowers, crushing them beneath her bare feet as she went. Suddenly she began to laugh and the sound was like a wild animal’s cry.
Almost as if a lever had been pulled, the darkness came.
"I thought it would be daylight forever," remarked Tom, although now it had arrived, he didn't actually relish the prospect of the night.
"Whether it is dark or light," stated Dredger coolly, "it makes little difference. Each has its own advantages and disadvantages. Just keep to my path and you will be safe enough."
Tom found these words less than encouraging and he threw a quick glance in the badger's direction looking for a response, but Mo's expression did not alter. The animal seemed oddly resigned. But to what, Tom wasn't sure.
"When can we rest?" Tom asked half-heartedly after a few minutes more, expecting Dredger to mock the suggestion, but to his surprise the man thought the idea a good one.
"Soon," he said with certainty, "we must rest before we reach our goal. We will find a place to make camp."
Shortly afterward they were settled down under the cover of several large beech trees, Dredger having decided that the surrounding foliage would provide adequate cover.
What if the Wolf comes? whispered a voice in Tom's head and then he remembered the beautiful girl who had called herself little Bo Peep. And even though he knew he had only ever seen her in his dreams, something made him sure that she was more than just his imagination. He wished he could see her again. Once more he found himself confused and unsure. Could a dream girl be real? Or was he just completely mad? After all that had happened, that didn’t seem so unlikely.
But as Mo had said, there were no rules here. Anything goes, Tom thought, but the notion disturbed him vaguely. Who can you trust when anything goes?
"Take heed," announced Dredger, ending Tom's reflections, "I will keep watch while you sleep and then Mo will take over whilst I rest."
"When do I take my turn?" enquired Jack, ready to do his bit.
Dredger regarded the boy with distaste. "Do not be a fool, boy. You are not fit to stand guard. The Wolf would eat you and spit out your bones before you could even utter a sound."
Jack glowered at the man and was just about to tell him exactly what he thought of him, when Mo interrupted. "Thank you for volunteering, Jack, but Dredger and I can manage. You need more rest than we do, I think." The badger gave him a reassuring look and Jack decided, a little begrudgingly, to remai
n silent.
Going over to where Tom sat leaning against the trunk of one of the beech trees, Jack gave a moody look in Dredger's direction before whispering to his friend. "I don't like him," he said, nodding sideways at the man who now stood like some pompous stone statue, one hand behind his back, staring out into the night.
"I know," replied Tom.
"It shows then?" joked the other boy.
Tom laughed and put his hand over his mouth to suppress the sound. They both glanced briefly at Dredger but he stood quite still, obviously in his on-guard position.
"What happened back there, you know at the archway?" Jack asked after a moment.
Tom shrugged. "I was going to ask you the same thing."
"I don’t know about you, but I just don’t get any of this," Jack admitted, "one second we were looking at the mirror, the next this Dredger is standing there. Where did he come from?"
"Didn't you see anything?" Tom questioned, more puzzled than before.
"It just seemed to happen all at once," Jack muttered. "And it gave me a splitting headache!"
"Sometimes I think we're both dreaming," Tom said.
"Great minds dream alike!" his friend offered with a grin.
"I really am sleepy," murmured Tom, deciding he would tell Jack his version of events at the archway after they had rested. He was really just too tired to go into it now. They both lay down on the soft earth, their hands behind their heads. Tom wasn't sure how long they had been travelling and with the day and night having no set pattern it was impossible to keep accurate time. It was as Mo said, time was not the same here, this world not subject to Man's laws. Gazing over at the old badger, Tom quite suddenly felt an unexpected sadness befall him. It was strange, how they had come to depend on the animal so quickly. But Tom trusted him and was glad they had at least one friend in this alien world.
Oh Uncle Ira, where are you? Are you in the garden? Are you searching for us?
Tom turned toward his friend, who now lay with his eyes half closed awaiting sleeps arrival, ready to be swept away on the tide of dreams. "How long do you think night lasts here?" Jack asked softly.
Tom let his eyes find the shadowy sky through the branches of the trees above them.
There are no stars. No sun or moon.
"Go to sleep," he said softly and saw that Jack already had. Tom shut his own eyes and allowed his mind to drift wherever it wished. Across dark lands and through pale skies.
He was in an orchard. An apple orchard.
He ran from tree to tree without a care in the world. Apples lay all around him on the ground, red and ripe, ready to be eaten.
Try one, said his mind.
He slowed to a trot and waded through some long grass and then picked up an apple from the foot of one of the trees, taking a big deep bite. The juice ran over his lips and down onto his chin and he felt better than he had in a very long time. The fruit tasted cool and sweet.
Tom glanced upward and searched the boughs of the tree towering above him. Listen, spoke his mind, I know something you don't know.
There's someone in that tree!
Tom looked carefully, scanning the foliage but couldn't see anything. Someone in the tree? He craned his neck, peering through the leaves.
Sure enough, up in the very highest branches there was a slender form, a girl with long golden hair.
"Hello," Tom called up to her.
"Hello," she cried back, waving.
"I'm Tom,"
"My name's Lisa," she said, smiling down at him. "Are you coming up?"
He began to climb, eagerly grasping branches, hauling himself through the leaves.
"The fruit is juicy and ripe up here," Lisa called down, "sweet as sugar and red as blood."
Tom squinted up at her and could see her long hair glistening in the daylight. She was certainly as pretty as they come. He climbed faster.
"Tom, Tom, the piper's son, stole a sheep and away he run," sang the girl above him, swinging her legs.
That's not right, thought Tom as he grabbed hold of a sturdy bough, lifting himself forward.
"Come and get me, Tom," called Lisa with a giggle.
Tom smiled. "I'm coming," he grunted.
At last he reached the very top of the apple tree and sat down on a large forked branch. All about him, ripe apples hung invitingly, ready to be picked.
"Take one, Tom," said Lisa at his side. Tom leant over and took a firm hold on the biggest and reddest apple he could see. As he did so, his arm brushed against the girl's leg and he felt the soft pressure of her thigh beneath her skirt. He looked at her and she
returned his gaze with a small smile that made him feel dizzy. "Take a bite," she said.
Tom took a big mouthful, letting his teeth sink deep into the fruit, juice filling his mouth. For a moment he closed his eyes and wished he could stay there with her forever.
But the apple was sour.
Tom opened his eyes with a start, feeling sick. Putting his hand to his mouth, he spat the apple out, almost gagging and when he looked down at the remains he knew he was going to vomit.
Maggots!
He still held the apple in his other hand and there were more of the things, crawling, squirming out of the rotten fruit. Sickened, he threw it to the ground.
He glanced over at Lisa to see if she was feeling sick too. But the girl only smiled.
"Take a bite," she whispered and winked at him.
Then she was gone.
In the dream that Jack was having, he was not the Jack that Tom knew.
He was in an old house. He knew that it was old because the furniture was antique looking, the entire place decorated with things he had come to associate with the past. And the clothes he wore were old fashioned too, making him feel oddly at home.
Outside there was a deep fog. I have to go out, he thought suddenly and got up out of the armchair where he had been sitting so comfortably. An open fire crackled in the hearth and he pulled the collar of his jacket closer about him, ready to face the evening gloom. Picking up a black bag, he left the house and walked along a driveway before
entering a narrow fog-bound lane. The street lamps hardly cut through its veiled heart and Jack could not see more than a few feet in front of him. Somewhere far off someone laughed, a woman's laugh he thought.
He turned a corner and went quickly along a dim back alley. There were many such back streets in this part of the city. He walked with purpose, his footsteps echoing in the night. He knew what he must do.
A woman dressed all in white awaited him in the shadows of a doorway. Coming close beside her, Jack took her hand, its gentle pressure reassuring. Smiling, she nodded slightly and together they began to walk back the way he had come. They did not speak, they had no need, both understanding what was to take place. Jack sensed that the time was close at hand now.
The woman regarded him with a curious gaze and Jack opened the black bag. I think this is a dream, began a spectral voice within. I think this is all a dream.
Suddenly a woman screamed somewhere close by, but Jack didn't really care. He found himself running frantically along dank alleyways, through swirling fog, breathless but unafraid. Behind him a shrill whistle began to blow. Voices shouted and there was screaming, but it didn't matter.
He stopped running, trying to catch his breath. "You did it," someone said at his shoulder. Jack turned and saw the woman dressed in white.
He looked at her, something he knew must be love aching in his heart. They way he felt went far beyond anything he had ever imagined he could feel.
"This is just the beginning," she told him, smiling again, reminding Jack of his mother when he had been very good.
Voices rang out again, coming closer. Jack listened, but everything was all right now. He had completed his task. He was safe.
"Another murder! The Ripper strikes again!" cried a voice from out of the night, from out of the fog.
"You're a very good boy, Jack," said th
e woman and kissed his cheek.
"I know," Jack whispered, as a tear rolled gently down his face.
