The water in the kettle would be cooling by now, thought Andy. He should finish making his cup and get back to work on his C.V.
On the other hand, if he left now, Linda would only call out some unwanted update about how much the old man’s item was worth. It would happen just as Andy had got himself settled back in front of his computer screen and set his mind back to his task, and the interruption would disrupt his flow of thought. No. It was best if he stayed here until that was out of the way. Then he would be able to concentrate without half-listening for her shout.
Camp Colin reached for the edge of the cloth where it was marginally cleaner, and looked expectantly at the old man. The latter only grinned back vacantly. Taking that as assent, Colin whipped the cloth away with a flourish.
‘What the fuck’s that?’ shouted Linda at the screen. ‘Eurgh, that’s horrible, that is. I don’t like it.’
On this rare occasion, Andy had to agree with her assessment. What had been revealed was some sort of statue. He thought at first that it was carved out of wood but the smoothness of the material suggested something more like plastic or, given that this was supposedly an antique, ivory or bone. Quite what it was supposed to represent was hard to make out.
The camera panned slowly over the object. Colin’s first impression was that it was in the rough shape of a man but the contours of the carving curled and writhed up and down its length, as if whatever it was supposed to be was in the grip of tentacles that emerged from its own body. There did seem to be the suggestion of a face at one end, however; twisted, and possibly disfigured. A single large feature, resembling a stylized, squared-off eye, was visible through the tentacles at the very top. The eye – if that’s what it was – was closed.
On the screen, chatty, ever cheery Kirsty mimed being struck temporarily dumb.
‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ screamed Colin.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like that, that’s for sure.’
The old man seemed to find her reaction funny.
‘You don’t know what it is, do you?’ asked Colin, puffed up with his own cleverness. ‘We-ell, I remember reading about these bone fetishes a few years ago. Someone’s uncle had very sadly passed on – he’d been a collector of antique books and his niece asked me in to look over his library, and, well…. Long story short, in one of the books there was a picture looked just like this.’
‘How thrilling!’
‘Not really,’ muttered Andy.
‘Shh!’ Linda crunched on another Custard Cream.
Colin was rubbing his fat hands together, sweat shining in the lights blazing down onto the presenters.
‘It sticks in my mind because, you see, there was this absolutely delicious story attached to it.’
Kirsty turned to camera and arched an eyebrow. Her look was presumably intended to invite the viewer to listen in on the great secret. Andy thought it looked as if she were gurning.
‘Do tell,’ she urged.
‘We-ell. I don’t recall where they originate from – we can have a bit of a look into that afterwards, and maybe do a follow up on a later show, hmm? – but I definitely remember the story about the eye. The carvings were supposedly made as vessels for spirits or gods or something, that were supposed to be dead, only they weren’t fully dead? More like dreaming, yeah? And – get this – you had to be totally respectful towards them because,’ he paused for dramatic effect – ‘if whatever it was in there managed to catch even the slightest glimpse of you it would make you worship it forever!’
Kirsty overacted feeling uncomfortable as she looked at the statue.
‘I love that!’ squealed Colin. ‘Do you not?’
‘No!’ called Linda.
‘He can’t hear you,’ said Andy.
‘They should be more careful messing around with things like that,’ said Linda, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘What if the spirit trapped inside saw them, eh? That’s dangerous, that is, you’ve gotta show some respect when you’re dealing with paranormal things.’
‘Oh, come on. You can’t believe that nonsense. In any case, that prat probably only made that story up for the sake of the show.’
‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth than you can dream of,’ said Linda seriously, quoting the profound catchphrase of her favourite TV psychic.
Andy couldn’t find the words to respond, so he turned back to the TV to see the old man clap his hands together in glee. A slim strand of saliva drooled unheeded from the side of his wrinkled mouth and glistened in the sunlight.
‘Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to find anyone to interpret,’ Colin was saying, ‘so I don’t know whether our friend here is intending to sell his exquisite piece, but I would love – love! – to see it go up for auction.’
Kirsty was still pretending to look unconvinced. ‘Really? Well, Colin, you obviously rate it – and we all know you’ve got an eye for a Star Piece – so how much do you think it might be worth, then?’
‘Oh, I’d say we’re looking at paying a high price. A very high price indeed.’
His chubby fingers played over the roiling tentacles, practically fondling the length of bone as he turned it over to face the cameras end on, thrusting it forward like an overgrown Harry Potter brandishing his wand. In the background, the old man giggled.
The camera closed in on the tip of the statue. The crew’s bright lights slipped along and around the smooth curves of the carvings, deepening the shadows in between.
The image filled the screen. It loomed. And the square, eye-like feature at the tip opened.
The idol stared into the lens. It stared into Andy, and Andy stared back.
Linda cackled with delight and reached blindly for another biscuit.
The image on the screen swelled until it had filled the non-distance that no longer lay between Andy and the TV. Space had collapsed in on itself and Andy stumbled, his sense of balance unable to cope with the distorted geometry.
He collapsed onto the sofa beside Linda, all thoughts of getting back to the kettle, let alone the computer, forgotten. The eye existed and nothing else, and the essence of everything that had constituted Andy was dissolving into the eye’s unblinking gaze.
He was distantly aware of his concepts of self and purpose boiling coolly and soundlessly off into an empty eternity. He didn’t mind. He could let go, could let it all go, and simply look into… into … he couldn’t remember.
He smiled, and sank into the comfort of oblivion.
Crocodile Green
Everywhere else, the birds sang happily.
‘Reckon there’s a cat in there?’ asked Tomasz.
Sam shrugged, and carried on drawing the old tree. Tomasz looked a few moments longer, then he turned back to his own sketch pad.
The tree remained silent, half hidden among the still bushes.
* * * *
‘They seem to be getting along well.’
Rob looked up, squinting against the bright sky to see who had spoken. It took a few moments for the silhouette to acquire familiar features but when it did he recognized the woman he knew to be Tomasz’s mother. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t come over to introduce herself. Never mind. It wasn’t ideal but it shouldn’t be a problem.
‘I’m Irena.’ She smiled, overdoing the attempted confidence, and bent toned and tanned legs at the knees, waggling a well-manicured hand towards the grass beside him. ‘Tom’s mum, yes? And you are Sam’s father? Is it okay if I...?’
‘Sure. Feel free.’ Rob scooched to his right so that there would be space for them both in the shade.
Above and behind them, unseen birds chirped and warbled away among the elms and oaks, just as their cousins were doing all around Willow House’s communal garden. They sang in the rose-bushes and the hedges and the neatly trimmed beds, and out beyond the garden’s boundary to the Common and the remains of the ancient woodland this suburban estate had been carved from.
Everywhere but in the Copse, of course. No birds ever sang there.
>
‘Rob,’ he added as Irena made herself comfortable beside him. She smoothed down a skirt that was too short, took a theatrical breath, and closed her eyes for a few seconds, savouring the summery scent of flowers.
Rob leaned across to offer his hand. She looked a little self-conscious as she shook it.
‘So, I haven’t seen you around before,’ he lied.
* * * *
Sam added more black to the side of the tree, just where the lowest of the main branches jutted away from the trunk and twisted around on itself. Then he used his finger to smudge the shadow into the paper. When it looked right he etched a more deeply defined line of darkness into the shading to bring out that knobbly grey lump that clung to the trunk like a stone gargoyle. He didn’t need to look up from his drawing to know how this bit looked. His dad had been bringing him here, teaching him what was in the Copse, since before he could remember. He’d studied the tree so often that every ridge and gnarled contour of its arthritic form was as familiar to him as the patterns on his bedroom wallpaper.
Beside him, Tomasz fidgeted. ‘I can’t get the green right.’
‘Hmmm?’
‘For the leaves on that tree. None of my pencils are right for it. Can I look through yours?’
‘Okay.’
Tomasz rummaged through the colouring pencils heaped at the bottom of Sam’s bag. ‘You’ve got so many!’
‘Dad buys them for me. He says I’ve got a talent for drawing.’
‘You’re lucky. My mum says we can’t afford fun things.’
‘Why not ask your dad?’
‘He went away.’
‘Oh.’
‘Can I try these?’ Tomasz had pulled out half a dozen pencils in various shades of green.
‘Sure.’
Sam scribbled white and then a touch of deep yellow into the murky browns and greens he’d already layered onto the mottled section of trunk halfway up. The tree reminded him (as it often had over the past few weeks) of a hunched-up skeleton camouflaging itself with clumps of leaves grasped in bony fingers. Again, he used his finger to smudge the coloured grains of graphite together. It made an uncannily accurate impression of the thick mould that had spread across the bark. He started to scratch in the sharp twigs that poked through the spongy covering.
‘I still can’t get the colour right. These are all too green.’ Tomasz was frowning. ‘I can usually draw trees really well,’ he insisted. ‘But I can’t get these leaves right.’
‘What colour do you need?’
Tomasz stared into the Copse, concentrating hard to distinguish the leaves that belonged to the tree from the bushes’ obscuring foliage. ‘They’re green, but there’s also brown,’ he said eventually. ‘But not like when the leaves fall off. And blue as well. It’s all kind of mixed in together. They don’t look like leaves at all really. More like scales. Like on a crocodile.’
Sam smiled his understanding and offered another pencil from his bag. ‘Here, try this one.’
* * * *
‘A fresh start, then?’
She nodded. ‘It was not good to stay there, you know? So many reminders everywhere. And it will be better for Tomasz too. A new school, new friends. He is still young. He misses his father but he is young enough to start again.’
Rob and Irena looked towards where their respective sons were sitting together some 30 metres away. Beyond them, hazy through the late August sunlight, Rob could see the Copse.
For as long as he could remember he had thought of the dense clump of overgrown vegetation that dominated the centre of the play area as a negative version of an oasis, an outcrop of death in a wilderness of life and laughter. He wondered whether Irena was aware yet of the way the other children gave it a wide berth as they ran and played and screamed through the sunshine. It was if some invisible force pulsed outwards from the shadows there, repelling everyone.
Almost everyone. Sam had refused to sit anywhere else, and Tomasz had only joined him there with considerable reluctance.
Now the two boys were the only living souls within that dead zone. Rob knew they wouldn’t be disturbed there.
‘It was nice of Sam to invite Tomasz to join him,’ Irena said. ‘Hopefully they will end up in the same class together.’
‘You all set for next week, then? Uniform, sports kit, all that stuff?’
‘Yes – but when I was told everything he needed…. My God! So many things! I knew I had to do it well. Be organized, you know? So I made a list and…’
As she wittered on, Rob watched the boys so absorbed in their drawing, marvelling at how profoundly content it was possible for kids to be. Had he ever been that way? He must have been, once, he supposed, but so long ago that any memories of it had long since faded.
He watched Tomasz lean over to Sam and point into the bushes, saying something and giggling. Sam turned to his companion, and Rob clearly saw that his son was smiling. He looked so innocent, even knowing what he knew. Incredible.
He hoped his son would treasure these moments in years to come. After today, he wouldn’t know such innocence again.
‘And what about you – how long have you lived around here?’ Irena’s voice, pitched to crack crystal, fixed him back to the present.
‘Ah, my whole life, actually.’
Her eyebrows lifted. Just a little but enough to show that the idea of willingly living in one place for so long was hard for her to comprehend.
‘It’s true. Actually, my parents used to say we’re descended from the family that originally owned the land here.’ Rob nodded towards the twisted old tree and the unseen distance beyond. ‘The whole area, that is. Not just this bit they turned into the Willow Estate.’
He grinned. ‘Well, times change. But I guess I just never felt the need to move away.’
‘You must be like a royal family in this town, hey?’
‘You might say that.’
They shared a smile, Irena relaxing a little more into his company. Above them, the birds abruptly took flight, tiny wings beating hard against the thick air as they hurried up, off and away.
Rob looked out towards the boys. It was almost time.
* * * *
The leaves rustled in the breezeless heat. Sam put down his pencils and sketch pad.
From behind him came a faint trill of tinny music and he twisted around to look back at his dad. There was a blonde woman next to him, in big sunglasses and a short white dress, looking through her handbag. She extracted her ringing phone and started chatting to someone called Magda. Sam wondered why she had to talk so loud when the phone was right next to her mouth.
His dad rolled his eyes, and Sam almost laughed. Then he remembered what he had to do.
Now? There was no need to shout. A questioning look was all that was needed.
His dad nodded once. Yes. Now.
Sam took a deep breath. He stood up.
‘Come on, Tomasz. I want to show you something.’
‘But I’ve nearly finished. Look.’ Tomasz held up his drawing. It was nothing like the real thing. ‘I still can’t get the colours right though.’
‘That’s what I want to show you. We can go get a proper look at the leaves, and I’ll show you how all those colours mix together. Then you’ll understand how to make it look right.’
Tomasz clambered to his feet. He still didn’t look very certain.
‘I’ll race you,’ Sam said. And he laughed, taking off towards the Copse, aiming for that small gap between the bushes where the black thorns parted and the tree with crocodile-green leaves waited in the cool shadows.
‘Wait for me!’
As Sam plunged into the interior, the cold closed around him and the dry rustling grew louder. He heard Tomasz’s running feet pound heavily against the dry ground, catching up fast.
‘I’m right behind you!’
‘It’s just through here,’ said Sam.
* * * *
Gods, that woman could yap! She’d turned onto her stomach now, f
eet raised and dangling one sandal from a toe as she and Magda laughed over something from their past and planned to meet up for dinner sometime soon, definitely.
Sam was walking back, his pencils and sketchpad collected and safely stored in his bag.
Rob tapped Irena on her bare arm. She was starting to burn, he noticed.
‘I’m off,’ he mouthed.
She nodded, widening her eyes in acknowledgement, not missing a beat of her conversation.
Rob stood, wiped dry grass and dust from his trousers and placed a fond hand on Sam’s shoulder. Together, they walked away and if Irena noticed Rob raise his hand in farewell she didn’t respond.
‘I’m proud of you, Sam.’
Rob swung the heavy metal gate open to let his son out first. As the boy climbed the low concrete steps that led up to the pavement, he paused and looked up.
‘I feel bad.’
‘You shouldn’t. You did well. Really.’
‘I liked him. He was funny.’
‘I know, but it was necessary. You understand that, don’t you? Why we feed it.’
‘Yeah.’
Rob knelt to look Sam full in the face. ‘You proved yourself today, Sam. Never forget that.’
The boy’s troubled face relaxed into a smile.
‘Anyway, it’s done now. It might not need another offering for seven or eight years, perhaps even longer. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
‘How will I know when?’
‘You’ll know. You’ll feel it calling and you’ll just know it’s time. Trust me, you’ll recognize that call when it comes. We’re born with the instinct. It’s why we live here.’
From the play area, they heard Irena’s first calls for her missing child.
Rob leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Sam’s for a moment before rising back to his feet. He gestured to his now beaming son.
‘Lead the way, little man,’ he said.
Around them, birds started to return to the garden and resume their singing.
Everywhere but in the Copse.
Family Secret
It had to be wrong. Will read again the email that had appeared on-screen just as he had walked through the door.
Strangers at the Door: Twelve unsettling tales of horror Page 6
