Wake Wood

by K. A. John

  ‘Have you run out of petrol?’ Louise suggested.

  ‘No. The tank’s almost full.’ He took a torch from the back seat, opened the door to get out. Walking around to the front of the car, he lifted the bonnet and looked down at the engine.

  Louise opened her door, pulled her jacket closer to her shivering body and joined him.

  ‘I can’t see anything wrong.’ Patrick shone the torch downwards. ‘But then, you know me and mechanics. I don’t know what I’m looking at.’

  Louise started nervously and drew closer to him.

  ‘What is it?’ He peered into the darkness that shrouded the road.

  ‘Didn’t you hear it? Listen – it’s there when the wind dies,’ she whispered.

  They both stood stock still. Then he heard it: a weird, unearthly wail. He too shivered. Icicles of fear crawled down his spine.

  She saw him tremble. ‘Patrick …’

  ‘It’s an animal,’ he declared, trying but failing to sound casual.

  ‘That’s like no animal I’ve ever heard.’ She kept her voice low although she had no idea why. As far as she could see into the darkness, they were completely alone.

  ‘Some can make peculiar sounds,’ he declared.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘None I recognise.’ Feeling the need to make a noise in the hope that it would deter the unseen, unknown creature, he slammed the bonnet shut. ‘We’re not too far from Arthur’s place. We’ll walk there and get help. He’ll know where we can get hold of a mechanic.’ He locked the car. She continued to stand frozen beside it as another ghostly, ghastly wail rent the night air.

  Feigning a confidence he was far from feeling, he gripped the torch tightly. It was large, solid and would make a reasonable club in the absence of any other weapon. ‘We’ve no choice but to walk, Louise,’ he said firmly. He shone the beam ahead of them and set off.

  She followed him along the road and up a bank. He shone the torch around in a circle, taking his bearings. ‘There’s a short cut here, across the fields.’ He pulled down a strand of barbed wire and stepped over it. When he was in the field, he continued to hold the wire down with one hand and helped Louise over it.

  Their feet sank into the soft ground. Somewhere up ahead of them they heard the raucous noise of a diesel engine. Patrick stopped and looked around again. The lights of a large machine were moving about in a field at the base of a hill about half a mile away.

  ‘Why would anyone be working at this hour at this time of year?’ Louise questioned. ‘It’s not as though they need to get a harvest in. Not in winter.’

  ‘Beats me.’ Patrick eyed an old drystone wall topped with barbed wire. ‘We can go around that if you like.’

  ‘It’ll take too long.’ Louise wasn’t certain if it was her imagination or not, but the wails seemed to be drawing closer. She stuck her toe in a crack in the stones and levered herself upwards, although it didn’t prove as easy as it looked because the wall crumbled beneath her weight. When Patrick followed her, he sent a shower of earth and rocks tumbling in his wake.

  Desperately trying to ignore the cries, they left the wall behind them and walked close to one another through a patch of woodland. As they drew nearer to the field they saw an enormous yellow JCB working, its lights blazing as it filled in a hole in the ground.

  ‘That pit looks enormous. What on earth are they burying?’ Louise whispered, her voice barely audible above the noise of the engine.

  ‘Could be dead livestock,’ Patrick suggested.

  ‘Diseased, you mean? You haven’t mentioned anything.’

  ‘There’ve been none that I’ve come across.’ Patrick deliberately set a course away from the machine – and the direction the wailing seemed to be coming from. They entered another copse of trees. The centre had been cleared and there was a circle of tall, narrow, pointed standing stones.

  ‘I didn’t know there were any ancient monuments around here.’

  ‘I read something about one in a history of the area,’ he revealed.

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Not much, other than it’s impossible to gauge the age of these rings of standing stones. Someone once told me that the Victorians were fond of erecting them, so it could be a sort of folly.’ Patrick shone the torchlight on them. Offerings of ornaments on leather thongs had been tied to the top of the stone in the centre of the circle.

  ‘They look like grave markers,’ Louise observed.

  Patrick had thought the same thing but he’d kept his opinion to himself. Anxious to leave the spot, he walked on swiftly.

  He scrambled up a steep hillside and tumbled down the other side, falling into a ditch filled with thorn bushes that tore his clothes and hands. He lay, too stunned for a moment to cry out or move.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she called urgently.

  Hurt, terrified, as another wail echoed through the darkness, he fought the urge to scream. He had to keep strong for Louise. ‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered when he sensed her drawing near to the edge of the ditch.

  ‘You need a hand.’

  ‘I need you in one piece, not on top of me. It’s lethal down here.’ He clambered awkwardly from the ditch only for his feet to sink into a quagmire.

  ‘Patrick …’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ he assured her. He only wished he could believe his own words. ‘Take my hand.’ He offered it to Louise, who’d remained perched above the ditch on the hill. ‘And tread carefully, the ground here is treacherous.’

  He shone the torch ahead of her but before she’d walked a step the light dimmed and flickered out.

  ‘Brilliant!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘That’s all we need.’ His voice rose high, bordering on hysteria.

  ‘Give it a moment for our eyes to adjust and we’ll see a little more clearly.’ Louise forced herself to concentrate on the practical.

  He did as she suggested. The moment she joined him on the other side of the ditch he moved on, setting a brisk pace.

  Night had never held any terrors for him before. But the rumble of the JCB working in the distant field, and, above it, the eerie high-pitched wails, had unnerved him as much as they had Louise. The longer they went on, the more ominous they sounded.

  Louise was soon breathless from the effort it took to keep up with Patrick. Her sheepskin coat was sodden with the rain it had absorbed and her boots were even worse, soaking wet and caked with mud that squelched with every step she took. Terrified, shivering, she jumped every time the weird cries pierced the air. There were scurries and scuttles in the undergrowth she imagined to be giant rats – or worse. But apparently oblivious to her fears, Patrick plodded determinedly onwards.

  After what seemed like hours of walking, they saw a faint glow shining through the trees ahead.

  ‘That’s the outside light to Arthur’s house. We’re nearly there.’ Patrick helped her over another barbed-wire fence and they walked up the tarmacked drive. He stood on the doorstep, lifted the metal knocker and brought it down sharply. The sound resounded, echoing and clanging through the house. He waited a minute before knocking again. When there was still no answer, he stepped back and looked around the garden. ‘Arthur has to be here. Look, his car is parked in front of the garage.’ He reached for his mobile phone. ‘I’ll try ringing him.’

  Feeling distinctly uneasy, Louise couldn’t wait to leave. While Patrick dialled, she said, ‘I’ll check around the back.’

  She walked quickly, head down, around the side of Arthur’s old stone house. Just before turning the corner, she heard the sound of people chanting. She ducked low behind a wooden fence.

  An enormous giant wooden tripod had been erected behind the house. It stood tall and proud, higher than the roof. Ropes had been tied to the top and a long coffin-shaped cage dangled down in the centre between the struts. Inside the cage was a cigar-shaped object that reminded Louise of a cocoon. But it was large enough to take a full-grown adult.

  Behind the tripod a bonfire blazed, ill
uminating a gathering of a hundred people or more crowded into the yard. Louise recognised most of them as townsfolk from Wake Wood. There were so many present she doubted that anyone had been excluded – except herself and Patrick.

  As she watched, Arthur picked up bottles of liquid and poured them over the cigar shape inside the cage. He moved back, took an ember from the bonfire and touched the saturated casing.

  Flames flared instantly; rising high, they roared into the air. Buckets were passed down a human chain that ended with Arthur. One by one he emptied them over the cocoon, quenching the flames on the dangling burning artefact.

  Clouds of white steam rose, obscuring the faces of the crowd, but not before Louise spotted Mary Brogan. Although she looked through the throng, she couldn’t see anyone who resembled Mary’s painfully thin niece Deirdre.

  Arthur dropped the last bucket. The cage was lowered and the object inside was lifted out and placed on trestles. Arthur picked up an axe. He swung it two-handed high in the air before bringing it crashing down on the cocoon. Blood spurted out in a fountain, drenching the ground, Arthur and those of the crowd standing closest to him.

  Louise shuddered. She stuck her fist in her mouth to stop herself from screaming. The blood – the violence brought back memories. Images that floated never far from the surface of her mind rose in heart-rending agony. Alice’s face, white in death … her eyes closed … her small, slim throat torn out, the ugly gaping wound below her chin dark with blood clots …

  The crowd chanted in deep, low voices. The music they made pounded with a primitive, sonorous rhythm that entered Louise’s bloodstream, keeping time with her heartbeat.

  An attractive young blonde woman stepped forward. She held out a white towelling bathrobe. The cocoon broke, shattering from the force of an internal pressure.

  A hand emerged, fingers waving. It was red, drenched and dripping with blood. Arthur placed his hands either side of the gap in the object, forcing it wide open. Someone came to help him. A minute later a naked man slid out like a fully grown embryo. There was even an umbilical cord that Arthur sliced through with a flash of steel.

  Like his arm, the man’s entire body was blood-soaked, as though he’d bathed at an abattoir. Working together, Arthur and the blonde woman helped the man to his feet. The woman wrapped the robe around him tenderly, as if dressing a baby. After wiping his face with a cloth, she kissed him.

  The crowd gave a collective sigh before applauding. The man and woman turned and faced the witnesses to the strange ceremony. Arthur stood behind them like a priest – or proud father.

  The man who’d emerged from the cocoon drifted away with the blonde woman. Two men tipped buckets of water on to the bonfire, adding to the steam in the atmosphere. Another brought a shovel and scraped the mess of the shell the man had emerged from into a pile.

  Sensing she was being watched, Louise scanned the crowd. Then she saw Arthur standing slightly to one side of the others, staring right back at her.

  She backed into the shadows. When she couldn’t see Arthur any longer she turned and fled. Head down, she charged around the side of Arthur’s house and ran right into a soft, pliant, warm body.

  Stopped in her tracks, she finally let out the scream that had been building inside her since she’d seen the bloody figure of the man emerge from the shell.

  Patrick grabbed her arm. ‘Louise, it’s me. What’s the matter?’

  ‘We have to get out of here.’ She fought to free herself. As soon as she succeeded she charged past Patrick. He ran after her.

  ‘Louise!’

  She heard him but continued to run.

  ‘Louise!’

  She headed for the road. There she’d feel safer than she had in the fields. Cars used the road! People would pass and see her. Strangers who’d help her if she flagged them down and asked them to assist her.

  Nothing could happen to her on the road – unless the people she stopped had been in Arthur’s yard and seen her watching them.

  She continued to run and didn’t slow down until their cottage came into view.

  Dawn was beginning to break, a pale grey line on the horizon as she headed for the back door.

  ‘Louise, you’re behaving as though you’re demented. Stop and talk to me, will you?’ Patrick gasped breathlessly behind her.

  She shrugged his hand from her arm. ‘I just want to go to bed.’ She opened the back door, entered the kitchen, stripped off her sodden coat, boots and jeans. She left her boots to dry on sheets of newspaper. In sweater and underclothes she stepped into the living room.

  Mesmerised, she stood stock still.

  Sitting watching her from one of the easy chairs at the side of the fireplace, very much at home and as comfortable as if he owned the place, was Arthur.

  Six

  LOUISE SHIVERED FROM more than cold as Arthur continued to appraise her coolly. The expression on his face reminded her of the dispassionate way she’d seen farmers eye livestock in auction pens.

  Terrified, she called out, ‘Patrick.’ She’d intended to shout, but she barely managed a croak.

  It was Arthur who broke the silence. ‘Louise.’ He was as relaxed as if he were acknowledging her arrival at a garden party.

  Louise sensed Patrick moving into the doorway behind her. His presence gave her the impetus she needed to flee. She charged up the stairs. Heart pounding, legs trembling, she sank down on a stair close to the top, out of Arthur’s immediate reach. She crouched over, covering as much of her bare legs as she could with her oversized sweater, all the while fighting the fear that crawled down her spine, icy and paralysing.

  Patrick glared at his senior partner. ‘Arthur, what on earth are you doing here?’ he demanded incredulously.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.’ Arthur spoke quietly, conversationally, as if he were an invited guest. ‘With both of you,’ he added.

  ‘What do you mean? Why shouldn’t everything be all right with us?’ Patrick’s voice rose as his initial surprise was superseded by anger.

  ‘Well, is it all right with you?’ Arthur pressed, looking up to where Louise was ensconced on the stairs in sweater and panties.

  ‘Our car broke down in the middle of nowhere. We walked to your place hoping you’d be able to help us. We couldn’t raise you … But …’ Patrick’s voice rose in indignation when he realised that he was actually offering Arthur an explanation for their behaviour when Arthur was the one who should be making excuses for his unpardonable rudeness in breaking into their cottage. ‘What’s this, Arthur? Why have you just let yourself in to hang out in our house?’

  Arthur smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have. Country habits, I suppose. We’re used to unlocked doors and treating our neighbours’ homes as our own in Wake Wood. I’d forgotten that you haven’t had time to become accustomed to our rustic ways. What did you say happened to your car?’

  ‘I told you, it broke down,’ Patrick reiterated irritably.

  ‘And you came to my house looking for help. Well, that would make sense.’ Arthur glanced up the stairs at Louise, who was watching him intently.

  ‘It makes sense!’ Patrick repeated in bewilderment. ‘Sense! Nothing makes sense! What the hell’s going on here, Arthur?’

  Arthur reached for his cane, levered himself out of the easy chair and rose stiffly to his feet. ‘All right, I can see you’re upset and my presence isn’t helping. I’m going.’ He moved slowly and awkwardly to the door, leaning heavily on his stick. Then he paused. ‘Have I told you what a fine job you’re doing here, running the practice, Patrick? I’m so glad you chose to make your home in Wake Wood. I hope you’ve found solace here. Both of you.’ He glanced up at Louise again.

  ‘We’re fine,’ Patrick asserted, holding the door open to emphasise that he wanted Arthur gone.

  Louise looked down at Arthur. She was still shivering but was incapable of making the effort needed to move.

  ‘You’re highly thought of here, Pat
rick. And Louise’s work in the pharmacy is very much appreciated by everyone in the town. The two of you are making a wonderful contribution to the daily life of Wake Wood. We couldn’t do without you. I couldn’t do without you. I’d hate to see you leave. Anyway …’ Arthur smiled again; a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m just happy that you’re both all right.’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Patrick stated yet again, snapping in a tone that suggested they were anything but.

  Arthur walked past Patrick and looked to Louise. ‘How about you, Louise? Everything all right with you?’

  Louise finally found the strength she needed to rise. She ran on to the landing and fled into the master bedroom without replying. She slammed the door so hard behind her the entire house shook.

  Arthur nodded to Patrick, placed his trilby on his head and left without another word.

  Exhausted by the trek through waterlogged fields and his sleepless night, Patrick watched Arthur close the door. He waited until he heard Arthur’s car drive off before checking and locking all the windows and doors. Only when he was certain that the house was secure did he walk up the stairs and into the bedroom.

  Louise lay, curled into the foetal position under the duvet on their king-size bed. Her eyes were shut but he couldn’t be certain whether she was sleeping or not. He whispered her name.

  ‘Louise?’

  When she didn’t stir, he lowered his voice. ‘Stay with me, please. We’ll leave together.’

  He sank down beside her, lifted his feet up on to the mattress and moved her head on to his shoulder.

  Just to be physically close to her was enough for that moment. He’d lost Alice. He simply couldn’t bear the thought of losing Louise as well.

  When Louise woke, the hands on the clock on the bedside cabinet pointed to ten but the light was pale, greyer, colder and softer than usual. The curtains were open. She looked out through the window and saw snow falling, thick and fast, silvering the leaves and branches of the trees next to the house. She left the bed and walked to the window. The snow was sticking and the lawns around the cottage were already carpeted with white. She listened hard.