by Lucy Wild
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TRAPPED
ONE - ISOBEL
TWO - ASH
THREE - ISOBEL
FOUR - ASH
FIVE - ISOBEL
SIX - ASH
SEVEN - ISOBEL
EIGHT - ASH
NINE - ISOBEL
TEN - ASH
ELEVEN - ISOBEL
EPILOGUE- ASH
BONUS STORY MY MOUNTAIN MAN AND ME
ONE - JOY
TWO - RICH
THREE - JOY
FOUR - RICH
FIVE - JOY
SIX - RICH
SEVEN - JOY
EIGHT - RICH
NINE - JOY
TEN - RICH
ELEVEN - JOY
EPILOGUE - RICH
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
More by Lucy Wild
TRAPPED
LUCY WILD
© Copyright 2017 Lucy Wild
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ONE - ISOBEL
THE ONLY SOUND IS THAT of my footsteps. Around me the snow is softly falling, an unexpected joy on top of the stunning beauty of the woods. The gap between the trees is wide enough for the white flakes to flutter down between the outstretched boughs to settle on the bed of pine needles at my feet. I stand still for a moment, watching as the forest floor gradually begins to turn white. At first it’s only tiny specks among the rest muted browns and greens of late autumn. Then more and more. As the snow falls heavier, the colours change, almost too bright for my eyes, my whole world turning white.
It’s unusual for it to snow at this time of year but I’m glad of the spectacle. I couldn’t wish for a more perfect view than that of the woodland turning into Narnia. It shows just how little I know that I saw only beauty, not the danger that was fast approaching me, racing towards me without making a sound. I had no idea just how much trouble I was about to walk into.
I hadn’t planned a walk in the forest, especially not today. I’m in the middle of moving from Durham to York, a half day drive. The removal truck set off first thing and I had followed until we got separated on the motorway. They had the keys ready to unload at the other end so I wasn’t worried, deciding to take the coast road and then travel across the moor top, take a look at the scenery, distract myself from the stress of thinking of how much unpacking I was going to have to do when I got to my new house.
I reached Cropton forest a little after twelve, deciding to take a break amongst the trees, have a stroll and clear my head. I walk for a couple of miles along a track that winds slowly uphill before descending again and as it does so, I realise that for the first time in as long as I can remember, there is no sound at all. The woodland around me dulls the wind, I am at peace. It is wonderful. Then the snow starts to fall.
At home, it’s not like that, I think. Then I correct myself. That’s not home anymore. That’s the house where my parents live. My home is going to be a houseshare with four people. How much room will there be for my things? I have no idea, I haven’t even seen the place, I’ve just emailed back and forth with the man who owns it. I tell myself to relax, the woods are not the place for worrying.
I am glad of the quiet, of the break from the constant noise of arguing, the TV on full volume, the radio in my baby sister’s room blasting out, competing with her ever running hair dryer. This is so much better. No noise at all. Total silence.
I hear a twig snap to my left and I glance that way. Amongst the trees, a man is walking. He looks the rugged outdoors type, presumably on some thirty mile route march with a bit of tree climbing thrown in for fun. I call out a greeting and he glances at me. He looks fucking hot when I see his face properly. I wave but he just looks away before vanishing. “Friendly,” I say to myself as I decide I don’t want to walk the same direction as someone rude enough to not say hello back. That’s my first mistake. My second is not turning back as the snow begins to fall heavier still, soaking through my jacket. “Watertight, my ass,” I say out loud as I feel the dampness against my arms. The jacket is supposed to be impervious to weather. It’s not.
I stand still after walking another half mile or so. I expected the edge of the wood to be visible by now. I’m sure I’m curving round back towards my car, parked at the roadside and waiting for me. The first thing I plan on doing is putting the heating on full, I’m starting to get cold, my toes numbing as water from melting snow seeps in drop by drop.
I’m in trainers because this is an impromptu walk. It’s turning into an impromptu slog. I try not to think about my parents, knowing exactly what they’d say if they knew where I was.
“You think you’re grown up but you’re not, Isobel.” Dad looking down his glasses at me, Mum beside him, looking down her nose like I was far beneath her. “You’re still just a child.”
“Mum agreeing. “You can’t even go for a walk in the woods without getting lost, how are you going to survive in a new house without our help?”
What did they know? I was twenty years old, I wasn’t a child anymore. I had lived with them long enough. It was time to spread my wings, or as I put it to them, “How am I going to learn how to be an adult if I stay here my entire life?”
Were they right? I was getting cold and wet and becoming increasingly nervous as the tracks around me didn’t seem to be heading anywhere but deeper into the forest. As I walked, what paths I could see vanished under the white, leaving me more lost than ever. I turned around, thinking that perhaps I could follow my footprints back the way I came. It worked at first but the snow had fallen heavily since I began and after a few hundred metres, they were gone. All I could see was a blanket of white surrounded by trees that no longer seemed beautiful, now they seemed to be mocking me.
I stood still, closing my eyes and trying to think. It had to be that way. I was sure of it. I walked left from where I was, slipping as I trip over a hidden tree root. I regain my balance and walk on, breathing a sigh of relief as I spot a set of footprints weaving their way through the trail. They don’t belong to my feet, they belong to someone wearing heavy boots. But they have to go somewhere and if I’m quick, perhaps I can catch up with the person who made those tracks, see if they have a map, or a phone. I left mine in the car, not wanting to deal with the ongoing pleading messages from my parents to change my mind, to come back, put their minds at rest.
I would make it on my own. I just had to find my way out of the forest first. I step into each footprint as I walk off the trail and into the gloom, the trees growing denser, the branches brushing past me, dropping more snow onto my arms as I try to walk faster, wanting only to be safe and warm, not knowing the danger I’m walking towards, waiting for me a few feet around the corner.
TWO - ASH
I TURN TO LOOK AT her, hollering like that and ruining the peace of the wood. The first thing I think is that I could silence her pretty effectively by slamming something of mine into her mouth.
She looks fucking incredible, even with that hood up. She looks as pure as the snow surrounding her and that thought is enough to turn me away. I can’t look at her any longer. If I do, she won’t stay pure any longer. She’ll be corrupted by me. All I’ll do is damage her. It’s for her own good that I walk on, not that she knows it. I glance around when she thinks I’ve gone, watching her pout in my direction before turning and heading away. From where I am, I could reach her in seconds. She could have those trousers of hers yanked down and I could be in her an instant later. The thought makes me rock hard.
Does she know the risk she’s taking, walking into the woods where the big bad wolf lives? Obviously not or she wouldn’t be drawing attention to herself so much, crashing through the
undergrowth so loudly, I could hear her half a mile away.
I want to teach her a lesson. I want to teach her that stupid little girls who go where they shouldn’t get into trouble. But I don’t. I know the trouble it will cause. It will force me back into a world I willingly left behind when I moved here. I didn’t come here looking for a woman, I came here to be alone, to try and overcome my past. It worked. Until she appeared.
I see her again a few minutes later. I don’t want to but she almost crosses straight in front of me without even realising it.
I stand perfectly still, hidden in the gloom, silent as the trees around me. At my feet a rabbit stops, sniffing my boot before bounding off. I hardly notice. I can’t stop staring at her.
She has stopped under an oak, pulling down her hood and running her fingers through her hair. She looks like a wood nymph, a fairy coming out to taunt me, to remind me how good it can be with a woman. I shake my head slowly, wanting to look away, to run from her. She’s in so much trouble if I can’t get these urges under control.
She looks upset, her eyes glistening as she takes a deep breath. She glances left and right then begins undoing the zip at the top of her trousers. She slides them down and I can see her pretty pink frilly panties, my cock stiffening as I think of what’s just behind them. She continues sliding her trousers down her legs and I realise why a second later.
I get a glance of her thighs before I turn away, not wanting to intrude on her privacy any longer, already feeling like a peeping Tom. I march away from her, muttering to myself that this is some kind of test. It has to be. I vow to live alone, swear that I don’t need anyone in my life, that I’m happiest alone. Then what happens? The cutest, sexiest woman I’ve ever seen walks right past me in the middle of the forest and then starts lowering her trousers right in front of me. It has to be a test.
Somehow I pass, marching away, vowing to get back to what I was supposed to be doing. Once I’ve found the deer, I’ll go home and stay there for the rest of the day. Better to play it safe than to risk seeing her again because if I do see her again, those clothes are getting torn off her, I won’t be able to resist a third time.
I stop when I notice signs of trouble ahead of me. I follow the tracks that lay thickly and sigh as I come across the scene I hate to find.
A deer lay dead in the middle of a clearing, a ragged wound in its neck. There’s been a group of hunters in the woods for about a year. They don’t kill for food, nor do they care about any of the rules or laws about hunting. They left the deer to die, the blood sticky on its neck. It had been dead no more than a day.
I hear a noise and look past the deer. A fawn stands trembling, mewing softly for its mother. It looks at me and twitches its nose, as if deciding whether to run.
I hum quietly, moving as slow as I dare, edging towards it. “Hush,” I say, beckoning as it takes a step towards me. It’s limping, back left leg dragging behind. I can tell at once what happened here.
It ran with its mother, panicking as the whooping scum followed them both, firing off shots without a care in the world. My fists clench as I think of it and I force them to relax. The fawn stumbled, the mother injured beside it. I had no doubt if it wasn’t for the snow, I’d find spots of blood leading back to where it was shot.
I stand perfectly still, letting the fawn approach slowly. It takes minutes but eventually it reaches me. I lean down and scoop it up. I heard the shots two nights ago and had been out looking ever since. Last time, I’d had to put one poor creature out of its misery, left with a broken neck but still alive. That was bad enough. Now I was taking in another injured creature.
I was in my work clothes, dipped in all the filth of the forest to hide my scent, allowing me to move without scaring away the wild animals that lived in the same woodland as me.
With the tiny fawn inside my jacket, I made my way back to the cabin. If I could get some milk into the shivering little thing, it might stand a chance. I had to try.
I had been walking for no more than a couple of minutes when a piercing scream reached me from over to the right. I listened hard as it abruptly stopped, cut off so suddenly, my ears continued to ring. Whoever it was that made that sound was in trouble. The fact they had fallen silent so abruptly suggested the trouble had just become worse. I start to run.
THREE - ISOBEL
I HAD TO STOP TO pee in the snow, a sign I’d been walking for too long. I should have caught up with the owner of the bootprints by now but they had faded away as mine had done, vanishing into the snow and leaving me more lost than ever.
When I start moving again, I’m more miserable than before. My jacket is now soaked through with the snow, as are my gloves and my shoes. My toes are numb and my fingers are burning with the cold, it won’t be long before they’re too frozen for me to feel anything at all.
The snow isn’t my friend anymore. The heavier it falls, the more lost I become. I reach a hill and start to ascend it, hoping I’ll be able to reach some kind of peak. I try to climb a tree near the top, wanting to see if I’ll be able to make out any landmarks in the distance. I fall back to the snow when the branch I’m standing on snaps underneath me. I land with a soft thud and lay on my back, winded and unable to move for a spell, the snow falling directly onto my face, stinging my eyes.
Why did I stop? Why didn’t I keep driving? Mum is next to me, frowning. “You should have stayed at home like we said. You know you can’t make it on your own.”
Dad is next to her. “This is what happens when you try to cope in the big wide world. You fail.”
I force myself to my feet, silencing them by shaking my head vigorously from side to side. “I can do this,” I say, trudging on, my feet plunging into the thick snow. I have to fight to lift my leg with each step, tiring further and doing my best not to cry.
Then I can see the top of the hill. I want to run but I can’t. The trees are thinner up there, it must be the edge of the forest. Was I parked at the top of a hill? I can’t even remember, I can’t remember a time when my teeth weren’t chattering and my ears not burning.
I reach the top and want to scream, it just slopes down again into thicker woodland. I take a single step onto the slope and then I’m sliding.
There’s a layer of mud or something under the snow and it gives me no grip at all. I land on my ass and keep sliding down as the slope gets steeper. I reach out to grab a tree but only get a cut hand for my trouble as the branch whips past me. I see an edge in front of me and try to stop myself but I reach it in under a second and then I’m falling through the air. I scream as I fall and I think I’m about to die but then I land in a thick mound of snow. My scream dies as the air is shoved out of my lungs. I lie there, exhausted, in pain, unable to believe what’s happening.
I only wanted a walk in the woods. Now I’m at the bottom of a cliff, looking up at the sky through the trees, unable to breathe, thinking my parents were right. I can’t cope on my own. I start to cry.
I’m still lying there, trying ineffectually to get up when I hear a noise to my left. I crane my neck and look that way. At first there’s nothing and then in the blink of an eye, he’s there.
I recognise him at once. It’s the man I waved to. I sniff away my tears, trying once again to stand. I don’t want him to see me like this, pathetic, crying, useless. I want him to see an independent woman, capable of looking after herself.
“Get up,” he says and his voice sounds like gravel, like he’s furious at even having to speak.
“I can’t,” I reply. “It’s my leg.”
He scowls, comes over and grabs my hand, pulling me effortlessly to my feet. I begin to fall at once and have to lean on his shoulder to stay upright. He doesn’t move a muscle. “Walk,” he says.
I take a tentative step forwards but immediately my leg gives way and I fall back into the snowdrift, sending plumes of flakes into the air around me like icing sugar. I let out a shriek as I feel his hand on the waistband of my trousers. His thick fingers are ins
ide, brushing my panties as he yanks me to my feet again like I’m a piece of wood, landing me upright and glaring at me.
“I can’t,” I say, anticipating his command to tell me to walk again. “I think I’ve broken my ankle.”
He squats and I wonder what’s making his coat bulge outwards like that. He yanks my trouser leg up, his fingers pressing into my ankle. I let out a cry of pain but it reduces to a dull ache as he lets go. “Not broken,” he says as he stands once again. For a moment we look at each other and something passes between us. I don’t know what it is but my tummy suddenly feels queasy, my heart beating harder, my throat dry. I can’t help but think about his fingers brushing down my panties when he grabbed me. Why am I thinking about that?
He doesn’t say anything. He sidesteps me, grabs me around the waist and, as if I weigh nothing at all, he swings me into the air, draping me over his shoulder like I’m a log he’s just cut down. I dangle there, his hand on my ass, gripping tightly, keeping me in place. Then he starts to walk. “Where are you taking me?” I ask but he doesn’t answer. He just walks in silence, cutting through the snow as if it isn’t even there, striding ever deeper into the forest and away from the cliff edge that was almost my doom.
I should be terrified. Part of me is. But a much bigger part of me is concentrating on the fact that this mountain of a man has his hand right across my ass. If he were to move his finger just an inch lower, he’d feel the one part of me that was still warm, the one part that was getting hotter by the second.
FOUR - ASH
“Where are you taking me?” she asks.
I don’t answer. I’ve already said more words in one day than I’ve said for weeks. I’ll talk when I need to but I don’t need to while I’ve got her over my shoulder and the fawn shifting about in my jacket.
“Do you have a phone I could use? I think I might need an ambulance?”
I grunt, then shift her in place.
