Dark Woods (9 page)

At first Cal thought it was Eden’s breathing he could hear, the sound as faint as waves whispering to the shore. But when he opened his eyes and saw her sleeping silhouette he realised that the sound came from outside the shelter.

It was closer now, the soft, almost imperceptible sound of air flowing into lungs and out again.

‘Eden,’ he whispered. ‘
Eden
. Wake up.’

The sound stopped, to be replaced by a faint scratching, like a small creature searching for seeds amongst the branches.

Cal watched the pine needles tremble and he moved closer, hardly daring to breathe. A tiny grey speck appeared in the side of the shelter, a full stop in a jumble of green. Then the full stop grew, sliding towards him like a tiny mountain, and just as Cal realised that he was staring at the tip of a metal blade it twisted and retracted, leaving a small round hole. And as Cal watched, something moved in the centre of the hole and Cal saw that it was an eye, and it was staring directly into his own.

‘Hello, Cal,’ whispered a voice, thin as wood smoke. ‘Shall we begin?’

Then the blades of the shears plunged through the weave of branches, their sharp edges ripping through Cal’s sleeve and drawing a dark line of blood along his upper arm.

As Cal cried out and clamped his hand over the wound, Eden kicked at the other side of the shelter and pulled him through just as the blades thumped into the earth where he had been lying only seconds before.

Stars glittered overhead. Rolling onto his side, Cal saw the man standing beside the ruined shelter, opening and closing the shears as he stared at Cal through the gloom.

‘Is that him?’ whispered Eden.

‘It’s me he’s come for,’ said Cal as the man took a step towards them. ‘Not you.’

Eden stared at him, not understanding. ‘How do you know?’

Cal thought of the drawings and the nightmares that had haunted him for so long.

‘I just do,’ he said.

He looked at the man then, at the old-fashioned clothes, the top hat and the frock coat. And as the man smiled and took another step towards them, Cal did the bravest thing he had ever done in his life.

‘Go,’ he whispered, pushing Eden with the flat of his hand. ‘
Run.
’

If he was surprised at how fast she moved, how quickly she fled into the woods, then it was only momentary, soon to be replaced by the realisation that nothing now stood between him and the man who had pursued him through his nightmares.

‘Please,’ he said, clasping his hands together as if this might somehow make a difference. ‘What do you want? What are you going to do to me?’

The man put his head on one side, like an adult addressing a small child.

‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Are you afraid?’ He opened the shears and closed them again, once, twice, as if to encourage an answer.

Cal felt the stars whirl above him; imagined he heard the whisper of dead things beneath his feet.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course I’m afraid.’

The man smiled, as if this information pleased him.

‘People who are afraid will often fight to stay alive,’ he said, ‘even if they know there is no chance of survival.’

He took the shears and rested the tips of the blades against his own chin, studying Cal with an amused expression.

‘So tell me. Do you think you will fight?’

Cal shook his head, although not in answer to the question.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said.

‘Oh, but I do,’ said the man. ‘Answer the question.’

‘Please,’ said Cal.

‘Answer the question,’ repeated the man in a sing-song voice. ‘Answer. The. Question.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Cal.

‘Well, then,’ said the man, lowering the shears until they pointed straight at Cal’s head. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

Cal felt his legs weaken and for a moment he was tempted to just give in, to fall to his knees, because the waiting was almost worse than what was coming.

‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked, his voice trembling.

‘You know why,’ said the man. ‘I am doing it because you made me.’

‘I
made
you?’

‘That is correct. We all have a purpose, and yours was to give me life. You dreamed me into existence. Unfortunately for you, my purpose in life is to end yours. Don’t you see, Cal? Such things cannot be resisted. They were written in the stars long before you or I ever came to be.’

‘No,’ said Cal, unable to tear his eyes from the sharp blades as the man moved closer. ‘That isn’t true.’

‘Oh but it is,’ said the man, ‘and you know it is. I’m part of you, Cal. I have been with you all along. I know all about your miserable existence, your feeling that the world never wanted you. And now you can see that it is true, Cal. An inescapable fact. The world wants you gone. And what the world wants, the world gets. You know I’m right, don’t you, Cal? You
know
it.’

Cal remembered days spent watching other children from the corners of playgrounds, sitting in rooms with peeling wallpaper and staring at windows streaked with rain.

‘Yes,’ he said as the tears began to fall. ‘It’s true.’

‘Then give me your hands,’ said the man, nodding as if some kind of agreement had been made. He stepped forward, eyes gleaming, and opened the shears. ‘Give me your hands, Cal. Let us put an end to this misery once and for all.’

Cal’s lip trembled.

‘Will it hurt very much?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said the man. ‘
Very
much. But then it will be an end to the hurting for ever.’

Cal held out his hands and closed his eyes, because he didn’t want to see how things would end.

It was written in the stars.

There was no way out.

But then, as the man took a deep, shuddering breath and the blades slid apart in a rasp of metal, Cal remembered the words Sarah had whispered in the dark of the camper van:

and suddenly he felt that the man was wrong, that there were things written in the stars better than he or the man could ever imagine. And the dark thoughts that whirled through his head were lit like a thundercloud which exploded into his fists and knocked the man sprawling to the floor. Then Cal was on top of him, punching him and crying out with fear and rage until at last he rolled off and the man lay on his back with blood on his lips, staring at the sky.

‘Stay away from me,’ said Cal, leaning against a tree. ‘Just you stay away.’

Rubbing his bruised knuckles, he set off at a run through the trees, limping slightly but less afraid than he had been. He was shocked by his own violence and felt strangely detached from the world.

He wondered if the man was dead.

Were a few punches enough to kill someone?

Or had he struck his head on a rock when he fell?

Cal was still trying to remember if the man had been breathing, if there had been any obvious signs of life, when something hit him so hard in the back of the neck that his knees buckled and the ground hit him in the face like a slamming door.

The pain was excruciating, as if someone had tried to take his head off with an axe. Bright lights flashed behind his eyes and Cal groaned, breathing in the musty scent of damp earth. Then someone grabbed the back of his collar, pulled him to his knees and kicked him hard in the side.

‘So you
do
like to fight,’ said the man as a vicious punch sent Cal crashing into a tree. He tried to curl into a ball but the kicks came hard and fast, thudding into every part of his body. He could hear the man grunting with the effort and then his polished shoes smashed Cal’s hands apart and when Cal opened his eyes the man was standing over him, shears dangling from his hand.

‘This is fun,’ he said. ‘Do you want to play some more?’

Cal ran his tongue over swollen lips and tasted the blood in his mouth. His left eye was already closing and his body ached all over.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to play any more.’

‘Then give me your hands,’ said the man. ‘Give me your hands like I told you in the first place.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ whispered Cal.

The man crouched beside him, made a show of turning his head and cupping his ear.

‘Hmm? What’s that you say?’

Cal coughed, his spit strawberry red.

‘I said, why are you doing this?’

The man tutted and shook his head.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.’

‘Forgotten what?’

‘The nursery rhyme. You know the one.’

And in that moment, it all came back.

He was four years old. He had been awake for hours, crying softly and sucking his thumb because the house mother had read them a story about a boy who was lost and had found his way home again. And for the first time Cal had realised that he was alone in the world, that no one would ever come looking for him and that he would never find his way home again because home did not exist. And while he was snuffling and sucking his thumb, one of the older boys had thrown a shoe at him to shut him up, but this had only made things worse.

‘If we read you a story, Cal, will you go to sleep?’

Cal had looked up to see two of the older boys crouching next to his bed. One of them held a book and the other was shining a torch on it. He turned the torch on Cal and asked, ‘Well? Are you going to answer the question?’

Cal took his thumb out of his mouth, nodded and put it back again. People were being kind to him and it was a new sensation.

‘This is the story about what happens to little boys who suck their thumbs.’

The boys were grinning now, trying not to laugh.

‘Do you want to hear it?’

Cal wasn’t sure that he did, but he nodded because the boys were older and he wanted to please them.

‘The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb,’ read the first boy.
 

‘Are you listening, Cal?’ asked the other boy. ‘Are you listening to this?’

And Cal had nodded, jamming his thumb further into his mouth and curling his index finger around his nose for comfort.
 

The boy stopped and stared at Cal by the light from the torch. ‘This is a true story, Cal. You know that, don’t you?’

Cal nodded again, shrinking further beneath the grey blanket.
 

‘Do you think he’ll die, Cal?’ whispered the boy as he looked up from the book. ‘Do you think he’ll bleed to death?’

But Cal was too frightened to say anything.
 

‘Look, Cal,’ said the other boy, forcing Cal to sit up. ‘Look at the picture.’

He shone his light onto the book and Cal saw the man flying through the doorway dressed in a dark green jacket and shiny black shoes. His reddish-brown hair streamed behind him
and
his top hat tumbled from his head as he snipped at the boy’s outstretched thumbs with a pair of giant shears and the boy’s blood splashed down upon the carpet.

As Cal trembled beneath the sheets he heard the click of the torch being turned off and then the low, threatening whispers.

‘He’s waiting for you, Cal. Did you know that? He’s waiting outside the window, listening to see if anyone is crying. So I should be very quiet from now on, Cal. Be very quiet and take your thumb out of your mouth. Or you know what will happen. You
know
what will happen . . .’

The creak of the shears opening and closing brought Cal back to the present. And as he stared at the man who had stalked him through his nightmares, he was almost glad that the waiting would soon be over. At last he would be able to sleep for ever, sleep without waking and calling for someone who would never come.

‘You see, Cal?’ the man whispered. ‘You’ve always known I would come for you in the end.’

The man rested the tips of the shears on Cal’s head and narrowed his eyes.

‘Now get on your knees.’

Cal knelt on the carpet of pine needles, pressing his hands together like a holy man at prayer.

‘No one ever loved you, Cal. Even your little friend ran off and left you, didn’t she? But not me, Cal. Because you made me, didn’t you? You created me so that I could bring all this sadness to an end. Sharp, quick and easy, that’s how I work. Then no more pain, Cal. Do you understand me? No more pain and no more hurt.’

Cal’s vision was blurred, partly because of the tears and partly because the world was unreal to him now, a trick that had been played upon his senses to make him believe he might one day find a place in it.

‘Thumbs are for nursery rhymes. Give me your hands, Cal. Now that I’m here, we’re going to do things properly.’

As Cal held out his hands the man’s voice became softer, almost paternal.

‘That’s a good boy, Cal.’

The creak of the shears opening.

‘Shhh, don’t cry now.’

The edges of the blades, pressing against his skin.

‘You’re a good boy, Cal. Such a good boy . . .’

A loud crack echoed through the forest and suddenly the pressure on Cal’s wrists disappeared.

Cal opened his eyes to see the man sink to his knees with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. The shears were on the ground in front of him and as he raised a hand to the side of his face there was another loud crack and he fell sideways into a tree.

‘Take
that
, you scary-ass lunatic.’

Stepping out of the shadows, Eden stood behind him with a thick branch held tightly in both fists.

‘Get up, Cal,’ she said. ‘Get up and let’s get the hell out of here.’

Cal stared open-mouthed, first at Eden and then at the man crumpled against the tree like a pile of dirty washing.

‘You came back,’ he said.

‘Well, of course I came back,’ said Eden. ‘Did you really think I’d leave you alone with this nut-job?’

At the sound of Eden’s voice, the man raised his head and took a deep, shuddering breath. He pressed the flats of his hands against his head and gave it a little twist, as if fixing it back in place. Eden raised her stick, gripping it so hard that her knuckles stood out like pebbles beneath the skin.

‘Don’t try anything,’ she said, ‘or I’ll give you another.’

The man stared at her for a few moments and then started to chuckle, quietly at first, then louder and louder as if in response to a joke that only he could hear.

‘You’ll give me another,’ he repeated. ‘Oh, that’s very good, that is. Very good indeed.’

He clasped his knees and began to rock back and forth, shaking his head from side to side. ‘She’ll give me another,’ he chuckled. ‘She’ll give me another.’ He threw back his head and cackled, pausing only to catch his breath before blowing fresh gales of laughter up into the treetops.

‘Come on,’ said Eden, looking at the man in disgust. ‘Let’s go.’

Immediately, the man was on his feet again.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, pressing a finger to his chin. ‘Don’t you get it?’

His smile grew wider as he held out his finger and danced it back and forth in front of his face.

‘Don’t – You – Get – It?’

‘Get what?’ said Eden, curling her lip. ‘There’s nothing to get, y’smiley-faced freak.’

‘Smile and the world smiles with you,’ said the man, stepping closer. ‘Weep and you weep alone. So what’s it to be? Hmm?’

His finger continued to dance between them.

‘Laugh or cry? Live or die?’

Too late, Cal saw his eyes dart towards the shears and Eden must have seen it too because she moved forward and swung her stick at the man’s head.

But this time the man was too quick for her.

With astonishing speed he ducked low to the ground and as the stick swished harmlessly through the air he made a grab for the shears.

Eden was momentarily caught off balance and as she stumbled backwards he wrenched the stick from her grasp and flung it to the ground, striking her hard across the face with the back of his hand.

The force of the blow knocked her backwards and she cried out in pain as her head hit the ground.

‘Oh yes, yes, yes!’ cried the man, twirling the shears triumphantly above his head. ‘Down they tumble, daughters, sons, down they tumble, every one.’ He moved forward until he was standing above Eden, holding the shears by the tips of his fingers and dangling the blades above her face.

‘Awww, she’s not laughing,’ he said in mock concern as Eden stared up at the shears. ‘Perhaps I should explain the joke?’

He glanced at Cal with a look of amusement and then turned his attention back to Eden.

‘You could have lived, you see. All you had to do was run away and save yourself. But oh no. You came back because you believed the old lie. The one that says goodness and love will always triumph in the end.’

The man looked at Cal, and at the trees, and at the blackness of the sky.

‘The bindweed chokes the rose, the flies infect the wound, the lion devours the foal. Look around and you will see that there is no such thing as goodness; there is no such thing as love.’

The man waved the shears in an arc above his head, signifying the world and everything in it.

‘That’s the joke, you see? Strength is all that matters. Strength, and the knowledge that all things must come to an end. As you are about to discover.’

The man drew himself up to his full height, a terrible smile on his face as he lifted the shears ready to plunge them into Eden’s heart. But Cal was filled with rage for all that would be lost and when Eden screamed he threw himself into the flash of shears, and then fear blurred into a confusion of darkness and blood.

Then they were running away through the forest and all they could hear was a screaming in the trees, and neither could be sure if the sound was human or animal, or if there was any difference.