Coombe's Wood (13 page)

“So, are you two getting together?”

“Connor!”

“You started it.”

She sighed. He was right. He was old enough to discuss her possible love life with his friends who were old enough to discuss it with their folks. She supposed he deserved to know any news firsthand.

“I enjoy his company. I might give Feathers and me a chance.” There. It was said. But before he could answer with one of his snippy, sarcky comments, she had more to say. “But no telling your friends. I would appreciate being able to
…
experience some kind of a relationship, with Feathers, without the village watching. Please.”

“Sure Mum,” he said, standing up.

Connor was still a little shorter than Izzy, even at fourteen. He had grown fast all summer, stretching out into a version of the boy that was, and it wouldn’t be long before he stood eye to eye with her. He reached over and kissed her on the cheek, an act relegated to bedtimes with minimal fuss for years.

“Home, then.”

Izzy locked up as Connor scampered for the car. She peered through the window to wave a quick goodbye to Bessie. The cat sat down and licked her paw, wiping behind her left ear. Her long tongue flicked out and cleaned her lips and cheeks.

The rain beat down, blowing under the porch. Izzy turned and dashed down the pathway to the car. A slash of lightning lit the sky as Izzy jumped into the Toyota’s front seat. The underside of heavy clouds glowed shades of purple in the blue electrical light.

“One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three
…
”

A rumbling crash rattled the windows of the car; cutting off Izzy’s counting.

“Cool, I love thunder storms.” Connor wiped mist off the inside of the window and pressed his face against the glass.

“Ever tried driving in one?”

She drove, once more in silence, confused by conflicting thoughts. Feathers filled her mind, his kiss, his embrace, the scent of his skin under all those oils. He was waiting for her. She’d be home five minutes faster if she took the shortcut along Coombe Lane. Suddenly Whiskey Dave’s voice spoke in her mind, “
The hauntings, has Feathers told you nothing?
” Then Feathers, “
The ghosts of John Coombe and his victims wander the woods.
”

What rubbish. Ghosts didn’t scare her, even if she believed in them. And the missing people? This was a world where unhappy homes, financial trouble and violent partners existed. Drugs, mental illness, terminal relatives, there must be hundreds of reasons to want to disappear. Children ran away. Hell, adults ran away. She didn’t give a toss about ghosts and vague warnings. She wanted to get home.

Along the main road to Pangbourne, a dip in the tarmac flooded each time it rained. On the outward journey, the water had sloshed along the underside of the car’s chassis. She slowed, when the fork
appeared. The level did look
deeper. She lifted her foot off the accelerator to coast through the water. Coombe Lane was coming up on the left. The water splashed the underside of the car and the engine made a choking sound. She looked at the lane, almost too late to turn. The water might stay
at
the same level, but it might get deeper, stall the car
…
she flicked the indicator and swerved into the lane.

“Mum, we’re not supposed to go down here.”

“Didn’t you see the flood on the road? And that noise in the engine? I certainly don’t want to walk home, not in rain like this, and – “ A flash of lightening and a rumble of thunder interrupted her. “Then there’s the electrical storm. Fancy getting zapped?” She flicked on the high beams, and concentrated on the condition of the road. “Besides, our poor old Toyota has terminal rust. Haven’t you noticed the freckles?”

“What are you gabbing on about, Mum?”

“The paintwork has freckles – from the rust. And underneath one of the wheels, I actually managed to put my finger through.”

“What’s that got to do with Coombe Lane?”

A wheel dipped into a pothole. The car bucked, jolting them about.

“The chassis will get too wet.” She sighed as Connor shrugged. “Increasing the rust
…
”

The lane turned sharply to the left. Izzy curled her fingers around the steering wheel and fought a brief skid.

“I don’t remember the road being
that
flooded
…
”

“The water was beginning to collect into something worrying
…
” she braced as the car crashed across a rut, “
…
so shut up so I can avoid the potholes.”

“But Mum, Feathers said
…
”

“I don’t care what Feathers said,” she replied sharply. “Just be quiet.” She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, one hand firmly on ten o’clock, the other at two.

“But Mum
…
!”

“Shhh, I’m trying to drive.” She didn’t like the urgent tone in his voice. She didn’t think he knew much about the rumours concerning the woods, though maybe Feathers had been filling his head. Either way, he annoyed her.

“Mum! Stop! There’s a tree in the road!”

Izzy saw it. A dark shadow hovered above the road, held in place by a mess of bramble and saplings. She stepped hard on the brakes. The car skittered across the wet tarmac. Skidding left and right, she struggled against a spin. She pumped the brakes, turning into the pull. At last the car came to a halt. A single inch remained before her bumper cost money to repair.

“
Filho da puta
!”

Connor sat silent, still pressed into his seatbelt. She silently thanked the MOT guy who pissed her off last year. He’d insisted the seatbelt be repaired before she got her embossed stamp.

They sat in the car, engine idling quietly, headlights shining on the black log blocking the lane. All the while, raindrops fell like they might never stop.

“What do we do now?” Connor tried to lean further forward, but his seatbelt held him tight. He released the strap and pressed up against the windscreen. “It’s quite big,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, it’ll all be okay. We’ll back up, turn around – brave the
…
flood.” She contemplated both sides and finally noticed exactly how narrow the road had become. The edges of the tarmac had disintegrated. Huge chunks of split tar lay by the roadside, tangled in weeds.

Izzy turned to Connor, with a
piteous
smile. “Why did I insist on driving down here?” The rain beat down, adding to the misery of the decision she needed to make. “We’re going to have to move the tree.”

“What tree?” Connor squinted out the windows at the side and back of the car. He strained to see into the night to where the road widened marginally.

“That tree.”

Connor followed her eyes to the long glistening shadow suspended above the road.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

Connor studied the downed tree.

“Why don’t you reverse?”

“Down the entire lane?” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “We’re at least a mile down from the main road. I’d never be able to reverse all that way. Although,” she muttered, “if push comes to shove, I might have to.” She stared hopelessly into the dark at the shape of the trunk and the curve of the road.

“So we’re moving the tree.”

“In the rain,” she added, peering up at the heavens where black drops mixed with black night. Before hitting the lane, they glinted yellow, as they caught the reflection of the headlights. She turned off the wiper blades, and a sheen of water quickly covered the screen, distorting the view of the woods.

“Let’s do it,” Connor opened the door, and a second later slammed it. He sprinted off, lit by the headlights. With no alternative, she jumped out after him.

The first thing she did was step up to her ankle in a deep muddy puddle. Cold water poured in over the top of her Doc Martin. It seeped along her foot, using the spongy material of her sock to creep along to the tips of her toes. She stood – halfway out of the car, annoyed at the rain, the state of her boot and the tree across the road. Izzy pulled her other foot from the car, and noticed the seat. Raindrops painted a dark blotchy patch on the fabric, the pattern growing as she watched. “God damn!” she yelled, and slammed the door.

“Connor?” She sucked her boot out of the mud and stomped after him. Shivering, her hair plastered to her scalp and streams of rain running down the contours of her face and neck, into her shirt, Izzy touched the downed tree.

Connor climbed over to the other side of the log and sized up the tree. Close up it appeared
quite small, a stringy sapling. But the water reflected and
mixed with the light from
the car, and although
thin, the tree resembled granite. Connor wrapped his arms around the wood and tugged. He braced his back and rose up until he and the trunk were six inches higher.

“How on earth did you do that?”

“I’d bet it’s been dead for ages. It’s all dried out, Mum,” Connor grunted as he struggled to pull one end of the tree out of the brambles.

“Wait a second.”

She pushed with his pull. With a guttural suck, the log came free from the plants. They began to rotate it to the side of the road.

A sound came through the woods. Izzy noticed it immediately, through the heavy thud of the rain on the road, on the plants, on the car. And a feeling filled her, like she’d been waiting for this, expecting something to happen. John Coombe limping through the forest with his merry troop of decaying victims. But she didn’t expect the loud and distinct sounds of something large, something charging at them, to filter through the trees.

“Connor, did you hear that?”

The tree was halfway to the ditch. Struggling to keep their hands on the wet slimy bark, constantly grasping and repositioning their hands, their progress was infuriatingly slow.

“What?” Connor was concentrating on where he placed his feet as he tottered in reverse.

“The woods. Something’s moving in the woods.”

She cocked her head to the side. Connor almost lost his grasp as half of the momentum stopped.

“It’s probably a bear,” he said.

“Don’t be daft, bears don’t live in England.”

Izzy looked around nervously, unable to see an inch into the woods, either side of the road.

“Could have been a wolf.”

“No wolves, either.”

More cracking and popping floated out of the woods.
Something
was coming towards them, fast.

“There are panthers in England. I read about them on the web the other day. Near here, as well.”

They were nearly finished moving the log. A bit more, and they could drop it. Squeeze the car past, didn’t matter about scraped paint. Just get locked in, safe from whatever was breaking branches as
something
moved in their direction.

“Didn’t you hear that?” A distinct crunch sounded, somewhere to the left.

“It’s raining, Mum. Dead wood falls from the trees and crashes to the ground.” He shot her a withering
look.

“When did a thirteen-year-old get smarter than his Mum?” She raised her hand and performed a mock slap. She started to smile, forgot, and twisted her head to listen.

Out in the dark, an enormous tearing crash echoed through Coombe’s Wood. Izzy turned best she could and peered into the dark. They had to get back to the car, lock the doors and get the hell home.

“Come on, Connor. Get a move on!”

“You try walking backwards with a tree in your arms.” He stumbled over a branch. Another crunch came from the woods. Connor stepped quicker.

“Something’s coming, move faster!” She shoved at the tree. “
Ai, meu deus
! Stop! The ditch!” she shouted into the dark behind him.

“Make your bloody mind up.” Connor looked down, ducked effortlessly under the tree, and reappeared at her side.

“Come on, chuck it on the count of three. One
…
two
…
three
…
” They heaved, and the log disappeared into the undergrowth as if it had never existed. Only mossy stains on their hands and clothes remained. A flash of lightning lit their dirty faces, and a belt of thunder followed two seconds later.

“Back to the car, run!” Izzy rushed down the lane. Something
was
out there, hiding between the trees. Two slashes of lightning simultaneously cut the sky above them. Full and guttural, the combined noise reverberated through the woods. The blast hit her, vibrating within her chest. The pressure changed in her head, her eyeballs pushed out for an instant before the ground shook under her feet.

Away to the left,
Something
crashed away through the woods. It shot back into the dark depths of the woods. Light seared the sky, and as thunder shook the air, a terrified cry sounded.

“Come on,” she called, reaching for the door handle.

“What made that noise?” Connor asked.

Another flash lit up Connor, his face pale and his long hair pasted like papier-mâché around his face. In this strange blue-yellow light, his jaw line appeared strong, so male in the fleeting glimpse she caught before the dark pressed in once more. Throaty rumbles vibrated through her body a count of one and half later.