by R. H. Dixon
Callie nodded; an idea forming. ‘Okay, so that’s what we’ll do. We’ll build a raft together. I’m sure between us we’ll manage to craft something sturdy enough. Something that all four of us can get onto.’
Smiler’s top lip twitched with the bare bones of a smile. A miniscule sliver of hope. ‘You think?’
‘Why the hell not?’ she said, forcing a smile of her own, which was nothing but fake.
Neither Callie nor Smiler was filled with elation at the thought of the task that lay ahead of them, but both were quietly determined as they walked the rest of the way back to the village. They had a plan at least. A solid one. Building a raft was the best option they had. And it was an escape route Smiler hadn’t yet fully explored. For now, they just had to make it back to the cabin. Safely.
17
Pollyanna feigned a bored look of resignation and huffed like she was greatly put out. ‘Alright,’ she said, tapping her fingernails on the arm of her wheelchair and hoping to annoy. ‘I’m Pollyanna Figg. Most people call me Pollyanna, which is fine because I never thought it pretentious. Smiler calls me Poll. Nobody ever calls me Polly. I hate Polly.’ At this she gave Thurston a particularly hard stare. ‘I was born and raised in Easington and still lived there, before I came here. I’ve got one sister. Younger. No living grandparents. I started going to drama school when I was five. When I was eleven I auditioned for a part in the long-running soap opera Northern Way.’ She rolled her eyes at Thurston’s lack of reaction. ‘But you’ve probably never heard of it, you being down south these days. Anyway, I got accepted to play the part of problem-child Ava Tunstall.’ She made quotation marks with her fingers when she said ‘problem-child’ and Thurston raised an ironic eyebrow. She ignored him and went on, ‘They had big stories planned for Ava Tunstall and it was going to be the beginning of my acting career on screen. But the accident happened just two weeks later.’ She looked down at her legs. ‘And I never got to be Ava Tunstall.’
Thurston opened his mouth to say something, but judging by his expression Pollyanna imagined it would be something filled with empty condolences, so she spared them both the embarrassment and went on, ‘My preferred drink is Dr Pepper, though I can barely remember what it tastes like. I don’t drink alcohol.’ She took a draw on her cigarette and smirked with defiance as smoke billowed back out of her. ‘Because I’m too young. I got bullied often at school. I still have my tonsils. And appendix. And adenoids. But my top wisdom teeth give me gyp. My favourite food is anything but tuna. I’m fourteen and have been in love. If I could be an animal, any animal, I’d be a spider because I’d have eight legs and most people would be scared of me. My favourite colour is grey. Any shade. I know the sky is blue because of the way molecules interact with the sun’s light. They disperse the blue light more than the red. I know that we’re in Whispering Woods right now. But I don’t know why. So there you have it, my life in a tiny nutshell.’
Thurston looked marginally amused, and perhaps he would have looked more so if not for the greyish pallor that spoiled anything his face might offer beyond a frown. ‘Well, Pollyanna Figg,’ he said, his eyes managing to maintain a smile. ‘I guess that’s us introduced.’
Pollyanna chewed on the corner of her bottom lip and regarded him in quiet contemplation. After a while she said, ‘You really aren’t Uncle Dean, are you?’
Thurston shook his head. ‘Whether that’s good news or bad news for you, kid, sorry but no I’m not.’
‘But don’t you think it’s odd that you look like him?’
‘Very.’
She looked towards the lake, her expression troubled. Clouds were gathering above it, preparing another storm. She wondered how big it would be and wished Smiler would hurry home.
‘Do you mind if I ask what happened?’ Thurston said. His eyes were on her wheelchair, indicating his curiosity, yet his body language showed a modicum of discomfort, perhaps even shame for having asked.
‘Whether I do or not, you just did.’ Pollyanna continued to stare out of the window, unsure if she would answer the question as he’d expected her to. Unsure if he deserved to learn the more intricate and emotive details of her life. He held his hands up and started to verbalise an apology, but she shook her head in pardon and cut him off, deciding it wouldn’t change anything if he did know. ‘I went over Sarah Jane’s,’ she said, smoothing down the fabric of her dress, beneath which her wasted white legs protruded. ‘She had a trampoline in the front garden that we used to mess about on. When Aunt Roxanne and Uncle Stevie weren’t watching we used to take turns to jump off the garage roof onto it. On that particular morning, I jumped first.’
She closed her eyes as memory served her the details: everything down to the small frivolities that should have meant nothing and would have been lost to surplus detail if it had been an ordinary day, but because of the accident her mind had held onto the way her Aunt Roxanne’s washing had flapped about on the washing line: a white sheet and a white duvet cover with a repetitive pink rosebud pattern. The way the mucky-white of the painted brick garage had dazzled her eyes in the sun. The way the air was thick with the aroma of freshly cut grass, which she’d known would make her sneeze as the day wore on. The way her own and Sarah Jane’s arms and legs were bared to the sun. The way she’d squealed with glee as she left the garage roof. The way her bones had sounded when she hit the floor. The way Sarah Jane had screamed. The way the black of her yo-yoing consciousness had glittered. But most of all, the way the pain had felt. And then the fear.
‘The canvas was split,’ she said, opening her eyes again. ‘I went straight through and hit the concrete patio beneath. Broke my spine in three places. Haven’t been able to walk since.’
Thurston sucked in air through his teeth.
‘But hey, that’s life,’ she said, shrugging her bony shoulders and trying to appear more stoic than was probably convincing. She didn’t want him to know that she’d tried and failed to make peace with the situation at least a million times over. Didn’t want him to know how vulnerable and angry she still felt. ‘Life served me up a great big shit sandwich that day,’ she said. ‘Someone else took the part of Ava Tunstall. That was me finished.’
Thurston mulled over potential responses before finally going with, ‘Weren’t there other roles you could’ve auditioned for instead?’ Then realising he sounded every bit as condescending as he’d hoped not to, he shook his head as much as to say that he didn’t expect an answer.
But Pollyanna didn’t mind. It was a valid question. ‘I lost interest. Didn’t care much about anything anymore. Not for a long while. After I’d spent months adjusting to life in a wheelchair, I did come round to the idea of acting again though. Just before I ended up here as it happens. I’d heard that a new character was to be introduced to Tyne Line. A girl with spinal injuries, much like my own. It felt like it was meant to be. I mean, the very idea that I might get to play a part in such a popular show was really exciting. It gave me a new goal and purpose in life.’ She breathed in wearily and rolled her eyes. ‘But then, as I said, this happened.’
‘Shit, that’s terrible. I mean, such a shame.’ And there was nothing but sincerity that Pollyanna could take from his remark.
‘I’m sure you’ll get there eventually,’ he said. ‘You seem like you’re pretty independent and strong-willed.’
This prompted a laugh from her; a genuine sound that lit up her eyes and turned her into a normal, fun-loving fourteen-year-old for the briefest of moments. ‘What you mean is that you think I’m a pain in the arse.’
‘Well, yes. I do.’ He laughed too. ‘But what I meant is that I’m sure you’ll figure something out.’
‘Hardly.’ She became sullen again. Her shoulders hunched and she picked at the hem of her dress. ‘This place continues to serve me up shit sandwiches. It won’t let me go.’
Thurston looked around the lounge, as if directly acknowledging her supposed captor. Shadows had changed position and it was
impossible to tell if they were slow dancing to the sun’s pace or if they were playing independent mind games. The cabin itself was quiet. Resting, perhaps. Watching, most like.
‘You talk like you think this place is alive or something,’ Thurston said.
‘Maybe it is.’
18
Thurston lay on the couch, slipping in and out of nightmares. Each time he woke his arms and legs thrashed out at some invisible assailant. He felt increasingly feverish to the point where his whole body ached and his shirt was damp with sweat. Sometimes it was easy for him to imagine that he was lying on his own couch, in his own home. But then reality would settle on him like a cold blanket and he’d remember where he was. Sometimes Pollyanna would ask if he was alright, but mostly she sat by the window unspeaking. Waiting for Smiler to return.
The pain in Thurston’s chest was still a constant low throbbing, perhaps even more so now he was aware of the crude black stitches that cinched the wound there. Even in his dreams the stitches plagued him. One time they were glistening black worms that had been woven into his skin. They squirmed and tugged, but when they couldn’t break free tunnelled down through his flesh and muscle with bitey chomping teeth till their bodies got fat and they reached his heart: a juicy red apple with slick pulmonary arteries. Another time the stitches were leeches, binding the jagged edges of the wound like gleaming, pulsating laces. They drained him of his soul as well as his blood and left his body nothing more than a desiccated flap of leather. Most frightening was when the stitches were lengths of hair as thick as nylon, stripped from the mane of the last in a line of four giant obsidian horses. Black figures with blank faces looked down from the first three mounts, but Death sneered at Thurston from atop the fourth with glowing red eyes. Even when Thurston snapped out of the nightmare he could still see the eyes wherever he looked; scorched onto the ceiling, burnt onto the sky, charred onto the wood panelled walls that encapsulated him.
When the atmosphere’s molecules were scattering more red light than blue to make a pink sunset sky, Pollyanna baked potatoes. Neither she nor Thurston ate much. By the time the sky was black they couldn’t see anything outside, only the reflection of the lounge and duplicates of themselves.
‘Do you think they’ll be okay?’ Thurston said.
Pollyanna was hunched close to the window. His question made her spine straighten. ‘I dunno.’
Thurston shuffled about to find a more comfortable position, but couldn’t. ‘How well do you know Smiler?’
‘As well as I’ve known anyone, I suppose.’
‘Is he a decent bloke?’
Pollyanna nodded without needing to ponder the question. She tapped the end of a cigarette with her bony finger. Ash broke away and fell to the floor.
‘And he knows the area well?’ Thurston persisted.
‘He should do, he’s been here a while.’ She took a draw. Tobacco and paper crackled to ash.
‘How long’s a while?’
‘How big’s Titan in square yards?’
‘What’s Titan?’
‘Saturn’s largest moon.’
Thurston’s eyes narrowed. ‘How should I know?’
‘Exactly.’ Pollyanna flashed him a grin, which he couldn’t help but reciprocate. The kid had character.
They listened to the wind pick up speed. It blasted the cabin with handfuls of leaves and other debris. Callie and Smiler’s absence had grown into something impossibly large in the empty spaces of the cabin. A momentous feeling of uselessness shared between Thurston and Pollyanna made the air thick with dread.
‘How well do you know Callie Crossley?’ Pollyanna said.
Thurston rolled onto his side. He kept his head on the cushion and looked at her. ‘Not massively. She’s a friend, but not a particularly close one.’
‘But you like her?’
‘Yeah.’ He smiled then. ‘But not in the way you’re probably thinking.’
Pollyanna mirrored his smile, only hers was sly. ‘Whatever.’
‘Yeah. Whatever.’ Gripping the end of the chair arm, Thurston began to pull himself up. ‘Anyway, I’m thinking I should go out and look for them.’
‘You can’t!’ She jerked forward in her seat at the suggestion.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s dark.’
‘I’d noticed.’
‘You can’t go wandering around Whispering Woods in the dark.’
‘I’m touched.’ Thurston lightly touched his chest and winked. ‘I thought you of all people would be pleased if I got lost.’ He was working for a smile, but instead got a scowl.
‘It’s not a case of getting lost,’ she said. ‘There are things out there.’
‘What things?’
‘Bad things.’
‘Sounds scary.’
‘They are.’
He was standing now, waiting for his body to adjust to the strain of having done so; his hands poised and ready to grab the couch if he came over wobbly. ‘Are they bad things from the stories that Uncle Dean filled your head with?’
‘No.’ Her mouth tightened at the apparent insult of being considered childish. ‘I’ve seen them myself. They come out of the woods at night.’
‘What are they?’
‘Sort of like wolves, only not. They’re pretty big and not normal. There are two of them.’
‘Some local probably has a couple of malamutes that roam free.’
‘They’re definitely not dogs.’ This time she looked at him like he was silly.
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because malamutes don’t walk on their hind legs any more than normal wolves do.’
19
Bare branches were black crackles against a deep violet sky. An eerie calm to the incoming night amplified Callie’s and Smiler’s careful footfalls on dead leaves and loose dirt, revealing their whereabouts despite their best efforts to sneak. It was as though the woods had captured them in a bubble of weather-resistant stillness and was revelling in their fear and exposing them to whatever might be searching. Callie still wasn’t sure. The as yet unidentified antagonists that Smiler had merely warned her about had grown and gained shape in her mind till she had by now half-convinced herself that there was a bunch of demented ex-residents of the village who had taken to the woods decades ago after being infected by contaminated drinking water, and who now looked like the monstrous set from The Hills Have Eyes. She imagined she and Smiler might be bludgeoned over the head at any moment and dragged off to a den somewhere, where they’d be tortured in horrific ways. Of course, that was ridiculous. Logic told her so. Still, the idea of being back at the cabin was idyllic right now.
They stuck to the middle of the dirt road, maintaining a hasty pace. Whispering Woods bore down on them on both sides and the deserted village was by now a difficult sprint behind them. Callie thought she and Smiler might as well be the last two people on Earth, because even though she knew Thurston and Pollyanna were just a few miles down the road, covering those few miles safely while walking a perilous stretch of land amongst unseen danger seemed an impossible goal. They were a whole universe away, which meant that her little pocket of existence as a human being, right now, was shared only with Miles Golden. The ex-teen-star. The acquitted felon. Which might be laughable, she thought, if not so hideously terrifying.
Callie wished the wind would pick up, to mask their progress from whatever it was that Smiler said sought them. But the wind owed them no allegiance, it simply held its breath and waited; the silence unnatural. Disconcerting. When she could bear the suspense no longer, she said, ‘Tell me what’s in the woods, Smiler.’
She felt him bristle against her arm. When she looked at him, his face was cast in shadow. He held a forefinger to his lips and shushed her.
She wasn’t deterred. She needed to know. ‘What’s in the woods, Golden?’ This time her tone had a hardened edge and everything including the moon stopped to listen.
‘Forget about it,’ Smiler said, in a hissed whisper.
Callie stopped walking and put her fists on her hips, a flash of anger taking the edge off the palpable feeling of dread she’d allowed to build. ‘Just tell me!’
Spinning round, Smiler grabbed her by the arm, his fingers too harsh, his grip too tight, and urged her onwards. ‘Okay, okay, I will. But keep walking,’ he said. ‘And be quiet!’
Too late. Somewhere off to their left a branch snapped. It sounded like dry bone splintering underfoot and it echoed through the black woods like an explosion. Smiler’s hand tightened even more on Callie’s arm, but she didn’t notice. She grasped for his free arm with both of her hands and held on, her heart a deafening pulse in her head. ‘What was that?’
‘Shhh.’ Smiler tugged, urging her on. She didn’t resist and soon they were walking faster than before in an awkward huddle of entangled arms and clutching hands. Neither of them could hear much above their own panicked breathing, but when there was another crunch of breaking wood, closer than before, Callie’s throat tightened and she made a startled squeaking noise. Both of them stopped to listen.
Quietness ensued.
There are other things out there.
Their fingers squeezed hard enough to leave bruises on each other’s skin and Callie wondered if she’d ever be able to move her legs again. Fear had rooted her feet firmly to the ground.
There are other things out there.
Clouds had moved overhead without them having noticed, draping the moon like thick gauzy voile. They stood staring into the moving stillness of Whispering Woods. Everything at ground level was depicted in murky shades of grey and black, so it was impossible to make out what was tree and what was shadow.
There are other things out there.
Callie’s chest hurt. She worried her heart might do something dysfunctional and debilitating. She willed it to keep working. No way could Smiler carry her back to the cabin if she flaked out.
