Coombe's Wood (15 page)

“You think it was kids out there? Want to stay the night in the woods, just to be sure?”

A silly image flashed through her mind: the two of them camping deep in the woods, using flashlights to scan between the trees for a strange and shapeless creature, as it sneaked up behind.

Then Feathers leaned forward and kissed her, hands in her hair, his touch gentle. She melted into his arms, her fingers teasing the bristles of his beard, finding the soft flesh of his ears, diving into his hair and pulling him closer. His hand crept down to her stomach and tried to work its way back up. She pushed him away. Not yet. Feathers’ beard tickled her neck as he caressed her ear with his tongue.

“Feathers,” she said, her voice a murmur as he worked his soft bristles across her skin. He kissed her mouth before pulling away. She yearned for more, but caught her breath and said quickly, “So now – if not kids, what’s in the woods?”

“I’ve told you about the elves.”

“Yes
…
” She sat back fully, and crossed her arms. “But I mean, really.”

“Well, I’ve not actually seen the thing. But I can assure you that – something large and violent does live there.”

“If you’ve not seen a creature, how can you be so sure?”

Feathers remained silent for a few seconds, as if working up an answer. “The elves told me. Even they don’t dare go in those woods. Apparently, people have been dying there long before John Coombe’s time.”

She mulled this over, getting up to fetch her tea.

“So John Coombe was innocent?” She sat back down. “Is that what you’re saying?” She could taste Feathers on her lips and smell the woody oil that he’d rubbed onto her skin with moist kisses.

“Most likely. Unlucky, not guilty.”

“Wrong time, wrong place. Huh.” Whether she believed in elves or not, she decided to play along, for information’s sake. She realised she looked sceptical, but that was okay. “So a bear or something eats people in the woods, and occasionally some poor person gets the blame?”

“I’m not so sure it’s a bear.” He scratched his beard.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. They refuse to tell me.”

“Would they tell me?” She batted her eyelids in what she hoped might be an attractive manner.

“I’m not sure that would work on the elves,” Feathers said, getting up. He took her cup and placed it on the table, then grabbed her hands. He pulled her up so they were eye-to-eye, and looked deep and long, as if to hypnotise her. Eventually, he kissed her. “But seduction works on me.”

He pressed down on her again, his hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, his eyes dreamy and surreal. “Izzy, I have wanted you since the first day I set eyes on you.”

“Shh.” She put her finger to his lips.

“Hey Mum, hey Feathers,” Connor opened the fridge door

Feathers raised a hand, and took a smooth step back to his chair.

“Can I eat something?”

“Um? There’s never food in this place.” She opened a cupboard over the sink. “As soon as I buy any, it vanishes seconds after I close the cabinet doors.”

“Well, it’s not me.” Connor sat down.

“Feathers, maybe your elves have a secret entrance and I’m feeding the clan.” She took a packet of pasta out. “Boil yourself some of this, and I think there’s a tin of your smelly fish in the cabinet. Just stay in here with that fishy stink, okay?”

She sidestepped around Connor, grabbed the wine bottle from the fridge, bottle opener still savaged in the cork. “Get some glasses, Feathers.”

They scrunched back the plastic tarpaulin from the sofa in the living room, and within minutes cuddled together, drinking wine and watching telly.

Connor came through trailing the smell of mackerel, and sat on the floor.

“Well, that’s all gone,” Feathers said, draining his glass. “I’d better go.”

Izzy followed him to the door.

“You sure you need to?”

He pecked her on the lips tenderly, and brushed the side of her face with his fingertips.

“Yeah, I should.” He kissed her again, lingering. “Sleep well.”

She waited until he disappeared into his flat, and then closed and locked her door. Her body felt magnetised, and she leaned against the wood, enjoying the pull towards Feathers.

“I’m going to bed, too.” Connor traipsed out of the living room, hand over his mouth as he suppressed a yawn.

“Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

He rolled his eyes. “Night.”

A pleasant tingling filled her head. She tidied up, thinking about Feathers, the rain, the
Something
in the woods. Why wouldn’t he tell her what was out there, if he knew so bloody much about it?

But more importantly, someone needed to give those bloody kids a piece of their mind, out there camping, kicking up a racket and scaring people for fun.

Maybe the alcohol gave her the idea. All she knew was, before she could think twice, she was clumsily shrugging on her heavy jeans, buttoning up a fleece shirt and sneaking out the front door.

Izzy tiptoed out onto the landing, and pulled the door silently closed. She passed by Feathers’ flat, changed her course, and stopped beside his front door. With her hand poised above the wood, millimetres from a soft knock, she considered involving him in her midnight plan, Then after a second of hesitation, she decided this was something she needed to do alone – he would just talk her out of it. She turned away and descended the stairs.

The communal door clunked shut behind Izzy, a barrier between her and safety. Izzy faced the street, and the wind battered against her, strands of hair whipping painfully into her face. At least the rain had stopped. She dug
into her pocket for a hair band, and tied up a ponytail while s
taring at the dark windows across the way. She sensed the deep breathing behind the glass, wild dreams taking her neighbours away. The snores, the sleep talkers, even the insomniacs lying in their backs in bed, studying the cracks in the ceiling. Izzy shook her head, clearing out the images, and took a step from the shadow of her building. The streetlight blinded her for a moment – a wash of yellow light that shone on the gardens and the nearby houses, colouring everything translucent mustard. The world looked anaemic, bleached of any vibrant colours, a watered down version of life. She imagined pixies and brownies strolling from house to house under the cast of such a light.

She zipped her coat, checked the contents of her pockets, and hurried down the road. Halfway along the path, the glare from the streetlight ended. She didn’t like the look of the dark. She stopped and turned around, still bathed in the amber light. Where was she going, by herself, in the middle of the night? She inched back to the flats. Then an image came, more of a soundbite, really. A popping and tearing as the
Something
tore the woods apart. She needed to see for herself. Prove or disprove. Discover the truth. Her legs moved, this time away from home, propelled her over the tarmac, over the edge of the light, and into shadow.

The road curled around, meeting Coombe Lane at a t-junction. She took a right, passing the rear of the flats. The dark here oppressed, and she struggled to draw breath. Izzy stepped forward, virtually blind. The night sky was overcast, not even the glow of the moon escaped the clouds. Creatures moved about in the hedgerow, the leaves rustled, twigs snapped. Droplets from the evenings rain fell through the foliage. Izzy put a hand to her mouth, and stifled a scream as a bat, she assumed, flew close by. She felt a breeze on her face, in her peripheral vision she caught the tip of a wing as it merged back into the night. Then her foot came down on something hard. It crunched under her sole as her weight shifted forwards. Izzy gasped, jumped back, and shoved her hand in her pocket. She pulled hard, but couldn’t get her torch out. She yanked, the material tore and the torch slipped between her fingers. It fell to the ground with an enormous clatter, reverberating in the silence. Izzy groped around on the tarmac, finding it before panic set in. Please don’t let it be broken,
she thought, and flicked the switch. A pale light shaped in a thick circle, the centre dark, lit her feet. Izzy let out a sigh, and stared up at the building. Surely somebody heard the noise? No one snapped a light on; no one flung a window open to shout, “
Where’re you going?
”

Izzy took a few second to gain control over her breathing, and focused the light on the road. Two steps up, there was a crushed snail. She gave it a look of distaste, and walked off. She had thought about bringing her rechargeable torch, the type that could bounce off low clouds and light the tops of tall trees like they’d been dressed for Christmas. But if something actually did reside in Coombe’s Wood, she didn’t want to announce her presence any more than she needed to.

“What on earth am I doing?” she asked herself. The sound of her voice sounded thunderous. She smiled uneasily as the woods drew closer. “I have to protect Connor,” she answered. Her voice made a mystical ghost or beast less possible. “Find their tents or fort or whatever it is, and sort those bloody kids out once and for all.”

Once she got away from the buildings and firmly onto Coombe Lane, the world turned even darker
…
black. Not the watered-down black from her bedroom, when the light was turned out and grey outlines appeared after a few minutes. She could open her eyes wide then, use her peripheral vision – olive green faded into midnight blues. Not here. Not out in the countryside, with a rain heavy sky pressing down, and the stars and moon hidden away for another night. She touched the dark, manipulated the shadows into magical shapes that became nothing, but caressed her cheek and pinched her skin and made her twirl in fright.

“I’m crazy!” She laughed, her voice sharp and unnatural. But her feet kept moving, shuffling towards Coombe’s Wood, the sallow light of the torch cast ahead. She swung the beam about her, turning circles, until she was dizzy, and satisfied she was alone. She was nearly to the edge of the field, where the woods began.

Izzy imagined Kyle and Ritchie hiding in Coombe’s Wood, watching her slowly come closer. When she found them, she’d drag them home by their scruffs. How dare they scare her?

Her thoughts halted suddenly, the boys forgotten. In the space of one step, the air changed, compressed. It got denser, colder. Ethereal fingers of damp formed a palm, pressed against her chest: a warning to turn back. She couldn’t remember the woods being this foreboding when she drove through in her car. Perhaps the ‘creature’ if one existed, became stronger at night. Or something was trying to stop her. But, still she had to know. Head down, shoulders rounded, Izzy pushed back at the viscous atmosphere.

The air thickened again, into an almost impenetrable wall. Her steps faltered, the damp creeping around her, coating her breath. Izzy panted, breathless, and stopped.

Then something new tore at the inside of her, willing her to go on, break though – get inside the woods. It whispered through the dark,
Come find me
.

Treacle air grabbed hold of her legs, sticking them to the ground, a dream borne into a skewed reality. She gulped, light-headed, and forced her feet into moving again. Baby steps were all she could manage. The force inside tugged. In the shadow of the trees, a creature waited, to be discovered.

She was in the middle of a tug of war.

The air willed Izzy:
Turn around and go home!
Its desperation chilled her.
Go back! Leave!
The words screamed into her mind.

Izzy ignored the warnings. They came too late, and she knew better. She should be sleepwalking, but she was fully awake, no longer scared… exhilarated. Her senses overloaded, she took a powerful stride though the wall of air, and fell out and into the woods.

The dark turned navy blue on the other side of the odd force field, and strangely warm to her skin. Bruised purple trees curled over the road, the weak beam from her torch not even touching hanging tendrils. Her steps faltered. Four paces beyond the barrier, past the air that had wanted to protect her, a thought finally crossed her mind.

Why would an invisible force want to stop me?

She listened into the woods. Leaves crackled, night birds landing above her, maybe. She noticed the lack of larger creatures. An owl swooped overhead, she didn’t hear it, but caught it gliding silently through the air with the light from her torch. But where were the foxes sniffing curiously at her heels? And those little munjac deer that stole into back gardens and munched on fallen apples and pears – more if left alone, where were they? There were no shiny eyes catching the glare from her torch as they chewed idly on tender shoots. Nothing lived here. Nothing but bugs and birds.

A strange thumping whooped up the lane, so deep, her chest compressed with each wave of sound. Four paces behind Izzy, the treacle air called, shouted, begged that she turn back. She ignored the panicked cries, and waited in the dark. Something raced through the night, bounded along the lane. Almost rounding the corner. Nearly there.

Stuck, the torch forgotten by her side, the dim light highlighting a circle of the lane, her eyes grew round. She tried to read the purple shadows across the lane. Would she see the creature coming? She took a step back, the thudding growing closer, just about here now.