Killing Woods (12 page)

‘You'll be OK,' he says, more a statement than a question. ‘Just play it like it used to be. Use the Game to forget about things for a while. Relax!'

But I want to remember.

He makes a long quiet howl, moves off slower than the other two, looking around as if he's expecting them to pounce straight up. Then it's me. It's the most risky spot being last – you're more likely to be jumped on and lose your collar immediately – but when I call, I always take it. When Mack calls, he takes it too.

‘Bigger the risk, better the training,' he says.

But the bigger the risk, the more you can't think of nothing else. You can only think of the Game, of not getting caught. But I'd called myself last that night too, so . . .

I stop counting after a while, leave it longer than I'm meant to, listening to how the trees are moving so much from the wind it sounds like traffic. Eventually, I pick a different direction to the way any of the others went, howl once and soft, and melt into the trees like a shadow.

25

Emily

I
dream of Damon.

He's in the woods, waiting for me. The forest is bright with moonlight, and I'm running fast down tiny pathways, following his trail. I stop and listen, but all I can hear are words in my head . . . singsong.

If you go down to the woods today
. . .

It's something I recognise, something from when I was a kid.

. . .
you're sure of a big surprise
. . .

The words get louder as I run deeper into the trees.

If you go down to the woods today you better go in
. . .

I go past all the places I know. Faster.

For every bear that ever there was
. . .

. . .
will gather there
. . .

I get on to a tiny track. There's something else . . . a panting noise. It's as if someone – or something – is running behind me, chasing. And still, the words . . .

Today's the day the teddy bears have
. . .

It's a voice I know. This song is something Dad used to sing when I couldn't sleep. I'm gasping as I turn to face him.

Dad's in army fatigues, and he's walking towards me with arms held out.

‘There's no use running,' Dad is shouting. ‘I'll always find you.'

Beneath the trees where nobody sees they'll hide and seek as long as
. . .

I slam my hands over my ears. But Dad keeps coming. There is a fur hanging over his shoulders – an animal skin – bloody and scraggly. Too big to be a rabbit's pelt.

‘I'm sorry,' he says, smiling a wonky grin. ‘It's only natural, you know, to kill.'

There's blood soaking into the sleeves of his fatigues, dripping over his fingers. It's dark red, almost black, coming from the fur on his shoulders.

I force my legs into a step forward, towards him. I could run to Dad, barrel into his arms and hug him like I used to. I could push him away too, into the dark beyond the trees. My choice.

There's movement behind me, a rustling. There's another person here, waiting and watching. I sense him step out from the trees and fall into line behind me. Damon. He touches the back of my wrist with warm
fingers. He's solid. Ready to back me up if I need.

I take a breath, tilt my face up to look into Dad's eyes. And together, Damon and me, we walk forward to meet my dad.

26

Damon

S
he's running in front, darting out of reach into the trees. I spin round and she's beside me too. I try to touch her but my hand goes right through. She's silver-grey, invisible. She's in my fucking mind! I blink, try to get her out of there. There's this sound of laughter. Hers? Everything around me feels alive and watching, the trees moving and swaying like dancing girls, whispering.

Catch me . . . catch me . . . do it . . .

Useless
.

It's my stupid wanker of a brain doing this, making this up.

I step off the path and rest against an upturned tree, roots pulled out from a storm. I need to get a hold of
myself. I need to remember exactly what I was doing that night and do it again, need to keep calm. But I should get more hidden. I run my hands along the bark of the fallen tree 'til my fingers are dirty with gunk, smear this on my face as camouflage. From somewhere close I hear a shout. Charlie?

I hear Mack's low laugh. ‘Not a chance, mate, not a chance. Can't creep up on me.'

There's the muffled thud of someone getting hit.

If I was playing the Game proper I'd be after them, chasing, jumping them in the dark and trying for their collars same time . . . darting away before they got mine. But that night I hadn't wanted to fight either; I'd wanted to save my collar and myself just for her. I'd led Ed to the edge of Game Play then I'd stayed still in the dark, watching him look for me.

I walk slowly now, sticking close to trunks, searching for Ed's skinny body and hunched-over walk. If I can find him and lose him like I did that night, would I remember chasing Ashlee afterwards? I'm listening for the others too. Now and then it sounds like someone's behind me, tracking me quiet. I climb a tree and wait, but no one comes past. Is this how it always was for Ashlee? Listening extra hard for someone to catch her? She was good at staying hidden, probably even as good as me. So why was she found that night by Shepherd? It doesn't make sense that he stalked her.

I listen for footsteps, cracks from branches, the swish of clothing through bracken. I try to make my brain think.
Another fight breaks out. I crawl away, quiet. I'm looking everywhere, searching for clues, for something that feels right. It's about half way through Game Time, about when I'd usually catch up with her.

I turn right down a track none of us use that often, just because something about it seems familiar. There's this weird pull, something like a sixth sense. That night my mind was still spinning from the fairy dust we'd taken in the car park. Now it feels like I'm spinning again, hovering somewhere between what makes sense and what doesn't, what's real and not. There's a silver shape in front of me, flickering. There's laughter. A feeling. There's something daring me on.

And I remember – I know where I'm going. There's a hollow, a small scoop into the ground just off one of these tracks: it's not far.

She'd called back to me that night. ‘I've got the perfect place!' She'd stopped on the edge of this track and launched herself at me. She'd whispered against my cheek. ‘It's where the fairies fuck!'

Then she'd reached for my collar. When I'd reeled away, she'd punched me to the side of my head.

I'd caught her hands. ‘You're getting better at this. Not such an A student now!'

She'd laughed. ‘Was I ever?' Soon as I'd tried to grab her collar she'd gone, running ahead down the track. ‘Come join the fairies!'

She was high as a freakin' balloon! I'd looked round to see if anyone else had heard, then I'd run fast after her.

I start running down the track again. The faster and further I go, the more it feels right. Her words are coming with me, all the conversations we'd ever had in these woods – it's like I'm remembering parts of them all. I can almost sense her beside me too, whispering them. I remember her telling me how Darkwood was on a fault line, saying it was fairy magic that made the limestone cliffs rise up from nothing. She'd said the fairies came up from gaps in the ground too. She'd tapped her nose like she was letting me in on a secret.

Maybe the fairies really got Ashlee that night. Maybe that's why none of it makes sense. I breathe in hard. I must be flying again to think like this.

The air smells different in this part of the woods, feels heavier. I'm near the river. I move like I'm hypnotised, almost by instinct. Is Ashlee here, somehow, telling me where to go? If I found her, could I touch her?

And there, up ahead, the ground falls away and the trees arch backwards: the hollow. That night she'd run, laughing, down this bank and into it. She'd leant with her back against a tree and looked up at me. She'd wanted me, she'd had those sort of eyes.

I slide down this bank again, the ground tacky and soft with mud. I don't remember that, but maybe the storm started later that night and the ground was still hard when we came down here. Tonight I smell the damp mustiness of the autumn everywhere. That night I'd had sweat on my spine, the first drops of rain had felt like a relief. I remember these trunks that stand like an audience in the dark.

I move forward. Leaves, ankle deep, now cover this ground. It's cold, frost coming. That internet site had been right about retracing my steps – maybe my entire memory from that night will return just from being here. Then I get the stabs again and I don't know why. What am I scared of?

I bend to the bank, run my fingers through leaves and mud, search for Ashlee's collar. I can almost see her in front of me – underneath me – see that challenge in her eyes. When I'd tried to get her collar that night, she'd spun its buckle away. Her fingers had been cold on my neck as she'd almost taken mine.

‘Not yet,' I'd said. ‘That's no fun.'

‘Catch me then.'

She'd kicked out, crawled across the forest floor. I'd been after her, pulling her back by her legs. She'd squealed with laughter and slapped my face but I'd held her firm.

‘There are other ways I can get your collar,' she'd said. ‘You know that.' She'd kissed me, really slowly, like she'd meant it.

That was always her Game Plan: to get me so worked up that she'd take my collar before I'd even realise. Or she'd make a deal: a kiss for a collar, and not always on the lips.

But my Game Plan that night had been to go all the way. I wouldn't let her take my collar so easy.

It hurts to remember this. Hurts more than any punch. But Mack's wrong – this is the sort of pain I need, not the physical kind, all this stuff that's coming at me confused and tangled.

Resting my head against leaves, I even try to smell back the memories. An earthy fug gets into my nose instead. But I do remember her lips, slippery . . . bending my head to hers and touching her tongue. She'd smelt of booze and ciggies. I'd stopped reaching for her collar and started feeling her up instead. We'd been half fighting, half touching, half serious, half not.

I fall into these leaves again, pull them to me in a pile as if they're her, as if I can make her body again from them. My hands had been reaching around the back of her. I'd felt her hard, hot spine, arching. My hands moving down her stomach, into her panties.

‘Do it,' she'd whispered. ‘Dare you.'

Had she meant touch her, or take her collar, or keep pretending to fight?

I'd kept going with what I'd wanted, pressed the tips of my fingers into where she'd been warm. She'd sighed out low into my ear.

Want to go to Fairyland?

Her words, or mine? I can't remember.

I'd felt her breath on my neck. I'd wanted her, all of her – her fit body, her warm breath, the sweat on her spine – all of it. Once I'd taken her collar she'd come for me next. I'd swap my collar for going all the way – just like she'd promised.

I'm remembering it now – what'd happened, the start of it anyway. And I've got this buzzing anxious feeling as the memory gets stronger.

As I'd touched her, I'd started undoing her collar with
my other hand. She hadn't stopped me, not while I'd been touching her same time. I'd pulled it, so slowly, over one buckle hole at a time. She'd stopped struggling and shook against me instead, went wet at my fingers. She'd sighed like something angelic. Like one of the fairies she talked about.

‘Caught,' I'd said.

I'd started to slide her collar out from round her neck, but she'd realised what I was doing and moved beneath me. She'd been quick, reaching into her pocket and pressing more fairy dust to my gums, a whole ton of it. Enough that I'd gagged, reeled away.

She'd whipped on top of me fast. ‘My turn,' she'd said.

She could've done anything to me she'd wanted; I wouldn't have struggled. But she'd known what she'd promised.

‘All the way for your collar?' she'd whispered. ‘But you haven't got mine yet. You still owe me, you know. You still got to do something back.'

She'd pushed me against the leaves, panting. I'd tasted sweat on her neck as I'd kissed it. She'd slapped my face, tried to get rough, turned from angel to devil in a second.

‘You don't have to push me,' I'd said. Though I'd known she was only playing.

But she'd known I could snap too – hadn't she seen it with Mack and me a hundred times? One minute we'd be normal and mates and then – boom! – that flare up with anger, a punch.

She'd moved my hands into fists and pushed them into
her stomach, wrapped her fingers round my neck, played with my collar without taking it off. ‘C'mon! Are you going to fight me properly?'

Fight me
?

Fuck me
?

Which was it?

My head had been whirling, just like it is now.

I could get mad if you like
. Had I said that? Had she?

I'd growled into her shoulder, well fierce. She'd stuck her tongue behind my teeth: put more fairy dust there. And it'd hit me. I'd felt my brain spin, shoot up over us and glow like the moon.

Do you trust me? . . . Trust yourself? . . . Do you?

She'd been pressing me, laughing. I'd howled like an animal. I'd felt her teeth in my skin. And then . . .

Shall I tell you something?

There'd been a pulsing feeling in my veins. She'd laughed and it'd sounded like a stream. I'd seen the forest floor stretch out as carpet, glowing red coals.

It might make you fight me
.

I'd been trying to ask. Trying to blink. Trying to focus.

Her eyes had been reflecting the moon, had turned orange like a creature's. Her sweat had made her face swim, made her slippery and wet and hard to hold on to. Who was she? I'd felt her fingers in my trousers, reaching for me. Her other hand on my collar. I'd needed to claw back my brain so I could do stuff to her.

Are you ready?
. . .
Are you?
. . .

Shall I tell you something?

The forest had been spinning and I couldn't hold on. And there'd been something else. She'd said something else.

My eyes snap open.

I've heard something. Now. A crack of a branch.

Someone's here,
right here
, somewhere in the dark. I squint, see nothing. But I hear soft steps in the leaves. I'm a rabbit in headlights like this, something about to be caught. I get a sudden lurch that it could be the cops, following me and wanting more answers. But it has to be one of the boys. Tracked me here. Who else?

I swallow, and the collar round my neck feels too tight. I hope no one saw me with my head down in the leaves, grasping at them. I stand, face the direction I thought I'd heard the noise. Someone comes at me and pulls me backwards. I shout like a fucking idiot! I don't mean to, but that hand feels like a cop's hand. I whip round to face whoever it is, ducking because I'm expecting a punch. But he just stares at me calmly.

‘Ed?'

It would be, wouldn't it? Perhaps it's only right that he's found me this time. But he's stopped my memory of Ashlee, all these images and thoughts! What if I never get them back? Never put them in order? What if it's all Ed's fault if I never remember any more than this?

‘What are you doing out here?' he says.

I sweep his hand off me. ‘Why'd you come here after me?'

He looks at me puzzled, head on the side. I'm still
trying to think, still trying to claw back those images. What had been real? What had happened?

Ed's dark eyes are on my collar. He's already caught Charlie; both his own and Charlie's thin, black collar are wrapped round his neck. He's winning the Game then. If he takes mine it's an easy victory. Ed's eyes go back to my face, narrowing. Perhaps he's hesitating because it's me: he doesn't know whether he should play the Game proper or not. But this was always my Game and I call the shots. And he's just ruined everything by interrupting.

I step back, make my arms wide to invite him. ‘Go on, then.'

He doesn't hang about. He's at me, one of his bony arms punching into the side of me and the other already grabbing for my collar. He's quick. I throw a punch at his stomach but my brain's not turning off like it used to; I can't go into fight mode. I'm still trying to think about Ashlee.

I get my hand on Ed's collar, feel the buckle and start to undo it; he coughs as I pull it tight. Then he right hooks me to the face and it fucking hurts.

‘We're not meant to hit there!' I shout. ‘Game Rules!'

Not that I ever cared about it when Ashlee did.

I punch him in the guts: punch him for interrupting everything I was trying to remember. Punch him for bringing fairy dust tonight and thinking we'd want to do it again! Punch just because I can. I try for his collar when he's bent over. But whatever I do, I can't make this fight like how it used to be.

What did Ashlee tell me that night?

Then I'm falling and Ed's holding me down. I'm not calling surrender, though. If he wants this collar he'll have to work for it. If this is the last Game I ever play, I can't bow out like that. I sink my teeth into his shoulder, play dirty. I use the moment to flip him over, see the frustration in his eyes that I can still do this so easy, even with two months off.