Coombe's Wood (19 page)

“You’re not still angry, are you?” Feathers asked.

Izzy strode into the living room, where Connor lay nestled in the beanbag reading, deep inside
The Vampire Blood Trilogy
. He looked up long enough to give his mother a nod.

“No, an old man came to see me, said his name was Joe, and that he lives next to the Oppenheimer’s
…
”

“Joe?” Feathers sank into the sofa, staring.

“Yes, told me a different story about the woods. What’s going on here? Will there be another version to the tale, an adaptation I’ll hear in six months time?” Who was she angry at
now
? Joe? Feathers? No. Someone else. She tried to remember that. “What is in the woods?” She gritted her teeth.

“Joe really came to see you?”

“So? What’s your problem?” She paced back and forth.

“Joe doesn’t just visit people
…
”

Izzy stopped, curious. “What do you mean?”

“He’s an elf. He is the leader of the clan
…
like a king. He doesn’t mix with humans.”

Izzy started laughing. “He’s an elf? Are you kidding me?” She went over to Feathers, and leaned over so they were eye-to-eye. “He’s an old man, no pointy ears, not a dwarf, and he wasn’t dressed in leaves and petals.”

“Laugh all you want, but when he comes to visit, it means
…
”

“What, for goodness sake, finish a sentence, will you?”

“It’s very important when he calls on a human.”

Izzy turned, and started pacing again. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s agree, for now, that Joe is an elf. But I still want to know what the creature is. Joe said it’s not a bear. Apparently, it’s named Bodu, and it’s a male. Also, when I went in the woods last night
…
”

“You went in the woods last night?”

“Yes, I thought the whole village knew.”

Feathers shook his head dumbly.

Izzy rolled her eyes, and tapped her fingers against the wall she was leaning up against. “Yes, I was in the woods. I wanted to see what everyone was in such a flap about.”

“What did you see?”

“All I saw was the eyes.”

“The red eyes?” He sat forward.

“Why are you so interested? I’m guessing you’re part of The Village Cover-up.”

Feathers looked away.

“Sorry,”
she said.
“I shouldn’t be so sharp. I’m a little over excited; everything is too high on the strangeness metre. Do you know anything about the creature? The eyes I saw were glowing, like red embers, and huge.” Izzy held her hands up and indicated a large round shape. “They were saucer sized, enormous.” She paced away. “Like, the size of a dinner plate. Do you know what creature Bodu is?”

“No. I was hoping you might have seen more. I’ve spotted the eyes through my binoculars, when the animal patrols the edges of the woods.” Feathers picked at a seam on the sofa. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I should have. Anyway, why are you so desperate to know?”

“I don’t know.” She sat in the basket chair and sent it into a spin. “It seems important. Especially as I keep being warned away.” She spun the chair anti-clockwise. Feathers, Connor and the room flashed by like an
old
movie, frame by frame.

“What did the policeman say?”

She kept spinning, closing her eyes as the spin got too much for her stomach. “They can’t do a thing. Need more proof.” She tilted her head back, it was easier to stare up at the ceiling.

“More rabbits?” Feathers got out of his seat. She saw him in her peripheral vision, watching her spin. She kept her eyes on the ceiling, with its plaster swirls, layers of candle smoke defining the contours.

“No, I suspect they want more.”

“What more?” He took a step closer.

“Like my blood more.”

She stuck a foot out, and stopped the spin so she faced the corner of the room.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
His voice receded as he
flopped back on the sofa. The springs squeaked and protested. “So what are you going to do?”

She rocked back and forth, pushing against the wall.

“Wait for him to show up. Wait for him to do something terrible that will get him arrested.”

She hit the wall with the balls of her feet, hard enough to start turning again. As the room came back into view, she only saw Connor. Still snuggled in the beanbag, book on his lap, his sad eyes meeting hers. She spun another few turns, her eyes firmly closed. She didn’t want to see helplessness or sadness or pity or any of the other emotions.

“Feathers,” she said. “Do you mind if I take some lavender oil or something? Thought I might have a bath, try and relax a little.”

“Sure. Help yourself.” Feathers said. “They’re in the kitchen.”

Izzy got up and found the old, homemade display cabinet that housed his oil supplies. She read the labels along the shelf: orange, geranium, cedarwood, marjoram, rose – she didn’t know which ones were calming. She peered at the labels, searching for the lavender.

On the top row, there was an unnamed bottle, different from the rest. Not modern with a screw on top. This was blue green glass in a rectangular shape, with a tiny cork wedged in the top. On each side were four faces, all like gargoyles. Curious, Izzy reached up and plucked it from the shelf. The cork was completely wedged into the mouth of the bottle. She couldn’t get her fingernails into it, and the pads of her fingers slipped around it, rather than loosening it. She held it out, debating whether to use her teeth.

“No! Don’t!” Feathers yelled, running into the room. He snatched the bottle, but it slipped from his fingers, and he fell to the ground, hands outstretched. The bottle landed on his palm as he slid across the tiles. He stayed where he was for a couple of seconds, breathing hard.

“What the hell, Feathers?” Izzy said, holding out a hand to help him up.

“It’s precious, from my great grandfather.” He closed his fingers around the vial. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I could never replace it.”

He got up off the ground, refusing Izzy’s outstretched hand, and walked off with the bottle.

“I just wanted to smell it,” she called after him. “Goodness, what a panic.”

The bedroom door closed, and Feathers came back in the kitchen.

“Sorry about that.” He tried to smile. “If it broke, or was spilled, I’d never be able to replace it.”

“Great grandfather’s, eh? What’s inside?”

Feathers scratched his beard. “Water
…
from a well he dug with his bare hands.”

“His fingernails must have been a disaster!” Izzy took a bottle off the shelf. “Can I take this one?” She held it out.

Feathers peered over. “Camomile, yes, that’s fine.”

“I’m going back over to mine – you coming, Connor?”

Connor looked at his book, and then at Feathers.

“I’ll stay here, Mum,” he said eventually, his book propped back in front of his face.

Feathers had done a stellar job cleaning around the front door, but that didn’t stop her from stepping over the place where the rabbit had been disembowelled. She didn’t bolt the door, Connor would need to be able to let himself back in. Izzy pushed until the Yale mortise lock clicked. Then she pulled at the door to make sure it was secure, pushing it one last time. Satisfied, she walked through to the living room.

Evening had arrived, and she sat in her rocking chair, staring out into the woods, watching the sunset. Izzy fancied she could see luminous red eyes, as Bodu stalked the perimeter of his prison. The words to the poem, hidden beneath two layers of aqua paint, came back to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought of them. Somehow, seven months had rushed by since she arrived in Cedham, and she’d almost forgotten about the poem and the caveman drawings in Connor’s bedroom. The previous resident of the flat, Donald – he had seen the beast. He must have at least caught sight of the eyes. Now she knew to look for them, she could spot the burning orbs bobbing, as Bodu paced back and forth. Somehow, the beast had driven him insane, reduced him to scribbles on a wall.

“Don’t go in the woods, where eyes hide between and behind the trees. Waiting for me. Following.
” Izzy recited the poem. Was she saying it for the benefit of the beast? He could be there at the edge, listening to the sound of her voice. Like a lover, desiring her. She shivered

But by then the cold evening air had given her goose bumps. She thought about grabbing a blanket and sitting outside a while longer, to see if she could again spy the red glow between the trees.

But a flashing light on her answering machine caught her attention, and she locked the door to the balcony, and went to listen to the message. She expected a request for a pet sitting booking, perhaps even a new client. Since the whole village knew of the rabbit, somebody might have called to offer whatever you offer someone at a time like this.

She pushed the play button, and listened to the metallic voice tell her the time and date of the call. She briefly wondered why these voices were always female. Then her message began.

“Rustle…rustle…
You’re
…rustle…
Dead
…sound of Sitcom audience clapping, laughing and hooting…
Soon
…”

Her blood ran cold. The words were recordings from TV shows – ones she’d watched. Jennifer Aniston from Friends. Dot Cotton from Eastenders. The third, Marge, from the Simpsons.

Her front door banged, Connor clattered his way to the living room.

“Mum?” Connor came in.

She looked up, her teeth chattering and her face washed of colour. “It’s him,” she said. “On the phone. He’s got our number. He’s going to do something terrible, I can sense it. George will never let go, Connor. We’re never going to be left alone.” Izzy burst into tears.

Connor stayed where he was, half into the room, then suddenly, he turned and fled. Seconds later, the front door slammed shut.

Izzy couldn’t blame him. George was her fault. She’d fallen for every line, invited him into their house. Allowed him to take over, bent to his every suggestion. Now he was stalking them.

It was all her fault.

Seconds later, Feathers and Connor were in the room, staring at the machine beneath her outstretched hand like it might explode.

“What did it say?” Feathers pulled her away from the phone. “Connor, go back to my place. Wait for me there.”

Izzy gave a vague nod. With a face full of doubt, Connor left.

Feathers pressed play. His expression darkened as he listened. “Still could be bloody anybody, couldn’t it.”

She nodded. “I have to call the police back.”

She’d thrown the policeman’s card into her backpack. She picked it up and rooted though the pockets.

The front door slammed, and Connor ran back in.

“Feathers, your phone rang, I picked it up. Sorry, it was automatic, my hand was there before I could stop it
…
”

“Connor, calm down, it’s okay. Who was it?”

“Tim Marshall rang, Billy Jenkins didn’t come home tonight. They’re getting a search party together. He said they want to look in the woods.”

“
Now
?”

Feathers looked out the window. Only a deep purple edge to the west proved day was not long gone.

“He said you need to go down to the village hall now. They need everyone they can get.”

Feathers turned to Izzy.

“I want to come with you,” she said.

Before Feathers could reply, she went to Connor, put her hands on his shoulders and said, “Go and stay in Feathers’ flat, lock the door, and don’t let anyone in. Certainly don’t go
confronting trouble
.” They both knew what that meant. “Is that okay, Feathers? Only I don’t want him alone here with my ex messing about.”

“Of course,” Feathers said, frowning.

“Shall we go? Sounds like we should get there as soon as possible.”

“Izzy, I’m not sure it’s the kind of place a woman’s expected to be. Maybe you should stay here
…
”

“Hell, no. This isn’t the middle ages. Did you know that women are allowed to vote? Why the hell shouldn’t I be allowed to go hunting for the boy? Wouldn’t they want as many eyes as possible?”

“I’m not being sexist, just practical. You need to be here. For Connor. And I fully expect you both to doss down in my flat for the night.” He hugged her, too hard. Instead of struggling, Izzy allowed the crushing of his arms around her, his body tight against hers. It made her feel real. She needed that, to be grounded, put back where she could think.

“I’m still coming.”

Feathers handed Izzy a couple of powerful torches, although as they stepped out into the dark, the road peaceful and quiet, she didn’t know why he bothered taking one for himself. Sure-footed and quick, he kept his torch in a pocket, ready for Billy’s search.