Some story I started and will finish later

Chapter 1
It’s freezing. Not just cold. Freezing. I mean it…it’s shrinkage weather. It’s three hours till race time and I’m freezing my but off because mum got called into work early. Everything’s gray. The sun’s up but only half heartedly. A few seagulls are grooming the off yellow sand for breakfast. At least they get fed. I haven’t eaten anything since tea last night and I’m starving. I contemplate joining the seagulls in their search but as I take a step forward I stop myself and consider my reputation. It’s not much. But I’ll keep it just the same. The beach is stuck in slow motion as I sit and wait. And wait. Then wait some more. Till finally they start to filter in.

It’s nine on the dot and finally there is some life in the event. Other competitors nod as they pass me and I nod back. We all know each other, well most of us, but it doesn’t seem fitting to converse at this stage of the competition. The tower has been erected and they’re testing out the starting guns. Finally it’s time. I drag my sea kayak down to the choppy foreshore then start stretching. The ocean is deafening. I stare at it. It grins. “Bring it on,” it says. And I do.

The bang from the starter’s pistol finds its way through the racquet and hits me with intent. My legs start to move. The cold bites my feet as I half run half skip through the water. The sea reaches up and grabs my knee. I pull myself up and steady the rocking kayak with the oar. The first few strokes are powerful, left the others for dead. Then the waves attack me. I almost flip it twice in the white caps but somehow manage to hold on. Once I clear the rough section, my arms are lead. I have nothing left in me.

I walk in the door at home and sit next to the heater. Mum asks me how it went. I couldn’t lie to her; it would be in the paper tomorrow. Quick, whats a suitable euphemisms for ‘I lost’. Blank.
“I lost”
She looked at me for a while. “Did you do you’re best?”
What a stupid question, of course I did my best, when was the last time I did something in order to humiliate myself deliberately?
“Yes.” I mumbled.
“Well that’s all that matters then.”
No it’s not. Who cares whether or not I tried my best? The only thing any one is ever interested about is the result.

It’s Sunday morning. Mum flipped when she saw my time in the paper. The world’s grey again. The pathetic pool of yellowy brown light barely makes it to my bowl of cereal. Mum’s in a rush again. She said she was gonna take me out to breakfast but she had to cancel cause of work. There’s nothing to do. I know I’ll end up at South point like every other Sunday but the fantasy of doing something different is really quite enticing. I’ll let it stay for the moment. Mum just left.

South point is packed. People stare at the loner as I cross the cool compacted sand. I pretend to ignore. It doesn’t work. The water’s cold but comforting. Four powerful strokes underwater and I’m past the waders. Backstroke now and I’m past the recreational swimmers. Now I stare up at the yellowy sky and sink my head back into the ripples to drown out the noise. It works. It’s the only thing I can rely on. Everything’s perfect. No noise, no people, no races. Nothing. Just me and the water.

Chapter 2
"James...Phone."
My groggy mid monday morning sleep is shattered by mums piercing voice. I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder.
"Hello?"
"Hello James, It's Mrs Marthers from Ballahoo rd. I was just wondering if..."
"You would like me to fix your garden for you today?" I knew where this was heading.
"Yes...but the thing is..."
"You havn't got the cash at the moment?"
"That's right. But don't worry, I'm being paid soon, I can fix you up then."
"No problem Mrs Mathers, I'll be round before lunch."
"Thank you James, I really appreciate it."

I shook my head as I hung up the phone and pulled on my jeans. Mrs Mathers is 90...odd. Mum reakons she's lost the plot. She's not worked a day in her life. Been living off johnny ever since she were born. It wasn't until the fourth request that I realised I was never going to be paid.

The Storyteller

The house resounded with the unremitting hum of the lively party. Only an hour after dark and already the adults, relieved of their children who were playing by themselves in the nursery, were becoming increasingly relaxed by an ample supply of ale. Several considerably inebriated members had already been led away from the party and were now in a drunken slumber on the cellar floor. The host sensed the night was dying as the chatter lost its edge. In a desperate attempt to revive the night, he called on the storyteller.

Any uneducated stranger could point out a storyteller from the rest. They possessed an indescribable yet distinguishing resonance about them. This man was no exception. He stood at the hearth of the dying fire and kicked a piece of smouldering wood into the flames. When the last spark had disappeared up inside the chimney he began with a voice deep and low and serious as though to not unsettle the children noisily having fun in the other room.

“The day had ended slowly, dragging through into the later hours of the night as the McCarthy children entertained their parents. Handstands followed by somersaults interspersed by poorly constructed magic tricks. Finally Cedric spoke up and told his children that it was well past there bed time and they must be off. The children moaned and pleaded with their mother to intervene. “Do as your father says, you will have more fun tomorrow if you sleep now.”

An amused murmur spread through the gathering at the storyteller’s impersonation of Mrs McCarthy’s voice. Once they were silent he continued.

“After a few more bribe attempts, James, the eldest, led the children up those stairs to their room.”

The storyteller paused, noticing the confused look on the peoples faces.

“Oh yes, did I not mention this was their house? I apologise, I should have made that clear at the beginning. Yes, in fact, The McCarthy’s were the first family to live here after it was built in the early 1800’s.”

The storyteller grinned to himself as the people looked around the room awkwardly as if they could see the McCarthy children ascending the old wooden stairs. Precisely the effect he desired.

“The following morning when the nanny went to wake up the children for breakfast she found them all lying dead in their beds. The coroner found no cause of death however a rumour spread through the town that the parents had suffocated them during their sleep. Nothing was confirmed but the couple were forced to live a somewhat reclusive life, exiled by the residents of any town to which the rumour had spread. Several years later Mr and Mrs McCarthy died, whether from a broken heart or just old age no one could say. As you can appreciate, it took a long time to find a new occupant for this house. The kids from the villages believed it was haunted and consequently no families were prepared to move in. That was until an eastern couple and their three young girls moved in. They were not familiar with the history of the house and quite frankly didn’t care. It was such a beautiful house and had ample room for their family. They made themselves at home with haste and sent word to their friends of a party they were to set to celebrate their good fortune. Finally the night of the party arrived and once the children were taken to the nursery with the nanny, the feasting began. The night flowed smoothly with a light hearted sense of joy but when finally the parents went to collect their children the proceedings became austere.”



“In the nursery, a lady was reading them a book. Not just any lady. It was Mrs McCarthy.”

...As the Piper turned from the High Street

To where the Weser rolled its waters

Right in the way of their sons and daughters!...

“A mother called out to her child but she didn’t respond, her head was set facing the lady with the book. More parents came in, naively getting angry at their children’s recalcitrant behaviour. Then without a word, the kids began to disappear. Their bodies vanishing into the air like wisps of sea mist. The room was quickly invaded by panicking parents frantically trying to grasp at the air that was their son or daughter.
The parents looked up at Mrs McCarthy, only she wasn’t there. The book was all that was left, open on the nursery floor.”

There was complete silence now as the storyteller let them take it in. He turned back to the fire and looked into the glowing embers that defiantly stayed hot during his story. A lady let out a cry.

“The kids...I can’t hear the kids”

The people were distracted by this sudden outburst and when they looked back towards the storyteller, he was nowhere to be seen. A dull thud echoed up the hallway from the nursery. Without a word several men were on their feet and marching down the corridor. The nursery was empty. On the floor at the end of the room sat an old children’s book, half open.

Manqué

The light flashed across the field for the third time. She raced through the forest, almost instinctively ducking and weaving through the trees. Her short sharp breaths filled her lungs with a cold pain but still she ran on.
The fear controlled her.
It carried her through the pain.

The forest became a clearing. Men stood. Guarding the hatch. They read her face and leapt into action, leading the women and children into the dugout. She was last. The men scattered.
A silhouette closed the hatch.
Silent tears fell on the dirt as mothers held their children, shaking.
A hand smothers a baby as it begins to cry.
Silence.
Dogs…barking.
Gun shots punctured the frozen air. Shouts became shrieks then died with their owners. A wife cries out as her name echoes through the woods dissipating with her lover.
~
Shards of light fracture the den as morning comes…too soon. Children wince at the intruding rays as they snuggle up to their mothers…safe.
She is the first to rise. Cautiously, the hatch is lifted up, startling the nothingness that plagued the trees. Moans waft up from the pit as the light leaks in, touching the vacant faces.
~
She searched the woods. The men are gone.

Her mind drifts…
…school…friends…family…netball…violin…
…DOGS.
her legs had carried her a couple hundred meters into the forest before she could think. Her face and limbs assaulted by a constant onslaught of twigs and branches. The barks got louder. She could hear voices. No where to hide.
Gun shots. She kept running.
Faster and faster.
Teeth pierced her leg
She fell forward.
Defeated, she lay.
Cheated of the life she could have lived.

Manqué- That might have been but is not, that has missed being

On his fathers knee

Whimsically he played,
On his fathers knee
Blind to the blatant truth,
This world of debris.

Sirens clogged the night air
Shrapnel filled his cot
His mother lay asleep
Or had she been shot?

The only loving man
Left in this damned place
Sat his child on his knee
And kept a plain face.

While deep inside he broke,
Broke beyond repair,
He wouldn’t tell the boy
He just stroked his hair.

The child bounced up and down,
On his fathers knee.
Men advanced through the streets,
Chasing those who flee.

The windows disappeared,
In a sea of glass
Bullets painted the walls,
Spattered them with brass.

The door burst in.

The bouncing stopped.

Emmen woods

The clouds hung pregnant with overdue rain, slightly reddened by the emerging sun. The first few drops signaled the fate of the morning as a downpour blanketed the sloping hills surrounding the house. Grey light leaked through the curtains wearying the kitchen. And …the rain stopped! The clouds were gone and a familiar figure stood on the nearest hill. A section of the window began to fog. A line emerged in the film, carved by an invisible finger and was joined by a second and a third till it formed a word. Then the word disappeared, and as if the breath had been taken back, so did the misty residue. The rain continued. The light dimmed. I smiled. It was done.
***
I held my breath and waited for the steam to condense and drip to the muddy platform. The stench of grease assaulted me as I was compelled to breath. Falling in line behind the others, I clambered up into the grey compartment. The train lurched forward and the concrete platform slid from view traded with the countryside. The pale greens and yellowy English browns picked up speed and melded forming a continually changing collage of foliage. Twenty seven minutes later the train made its final stop at Stadskanaal. From the station I took a cab to the forest. From there I walked.

The Emmen forest towered above me, the dense shrub between the white trunks made it impenetrable by foot. I found the logging track easily enough. When the department sent me, the instructions were relatively vague. Basically it entailed finding out what had happened to the six men. We had no leads. When the first three lumberjacks had gone missing, police had suspected some pissed off greenies were to blame. This idea was quickly dismissed when the next three disappeared. This was because one of them was not a lumberjack but a protesting greenie who had chained himself to a tree. I don’t think they expected me to find anything; they just wanted the public to see they were doing something about it.

Gradually the path widened till it opened into a small clearing. The first thing I realized was that it had not been logged. For some reason the trees and shrubs simply refused to grow here. The second yet almost simultaneous realization was that the canopy was much thicker here letting in only specks of light to dance on the forest floor. But then as I looked closer, I almost imagined I saw the flickering lights hovering inches off the grass. I stepped forward further into the clearing and they disappeared.

The air was beginning to chill so I lit a cigarette and backtracked down the path.
“Mister”
I snapped around, dropping the lighter, and focused into the clearing. A girl stood provocatively with her hair cascading gently over her shoulders. She looked no more than ten years old but her voice was mature and intentionally sultry.
“Hello?”
She didn’t reply; she turned away and disappeared down the path. I followed. Her steps were long, methodical and graceful like a pendulum, unhindered by the winding path. She moved with great speed and I began to fall behind by quite a distance. I lost sight of her and had to run to catch up. The path ended. The girl was gone.

The girl had led me nowhere and now the path refused to take me back. It seemed to have no end. Each new bend looked as unfamiliar as the last. The light was beginning to fade. I knew something was wrong, it had taken half the time following the girl to the dead end then it had coming out. The sky was almost black. Using a torch, I continued.
“Mister”
The light blinked off. I was left in the blackness surrounded by ghostly white tree trunks in a maze possibly with no end.

A speck of white light flew at me; hovered inches above my head then darted away. A second, this time blue light, did the same. Within seconds, I was enveloped by hundreds of tiny multicolored lights. They made no sound of their own but caused the leaves to play loudly on the forest floor. I was stunned. Their erratic movements became more and more synchronized as they spun in an upwards spiral around me. I felt weightless and happy. My feet had left the ground. Now my face was caressed by the cool night air. The moment my feet touched returned to earth, the lights disappeared. But now the moonlight, no longer choked by the canopy, flooded the grassy slope with pallid light.

“Mister”
The voice emerge from behind and inexplicably I couldn’t force myself to face it
“You shouldn’t have come here, now you will end up like them”
“Please…I’ll do anything”
“You have nothing to give me to ensure that you will keep your word. Just like the others.”
My pocket lit up. The torch had come back to life. Producing the pen torch from my jeans I turned illuminating a tree much wider than the ones in the forest. The pool of light traveled up the trunk. From one of the larger branches six pieces of rope hung, lodged in the white bark. Attached to them were the bodies of six men.

As I stood frozen to the spot, I felt a heartbeat, not from a chest but reverberating through the air. It became louder and more distinct till I could feel it moving my insides. Rope burnt my neck then my feet left the ground one last time. I felt my left side brush something cold. Then I felt nothing.
***
Only a few miles from that tree, two days later, in a cottage on the outskirts of town sat a man and his son. They had spent the morning restacking the woodpile and were now relaxing on the patio.

“That’s the seventh person gone missing in those woods. Something weird is going on. What you reckon?”
The boy shrugged his gaunt shoulders and looked contemplatively at the green weatherboards. It wasn’t often that his father asked for his opinion but when he did it was wise to give an answer or at least look like he was thinking about it.
“What ya say we check it out?”
Although this sounded like a question, James knew his father’s mind had already been made up about the matter and it was best that he went along with it.
“Can Pos come?”
“Yeah, but you’re carrying her food. Take enough for three days to be safe.”

James struggled quietly with his pack and followed his father’s long gait through the winding path. Pos followed dutifully behind the boy, occasionally running off to sniff a tree or dig a hole. They had walked for twenty minutes without exchanging a word when James finally suggested a rest.

“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing…just need a drink”
“Make it quick; have to set up camp before dark.”
“Yep”

As James lowered his pack, he noticed something on the ground. He fingered the object then quickly placed it in his pocket. The boy took a swig of water then spat a mouthful on the dry dirt to form a blob of mud.
“Don’t waste it”
He swallowed the rest.
“Ready then?”
The boy nodded. He lifted the pack onto his back and was about to catch up to his father when they heard a voice.
“Mister?”
Pos began to growl.
“Hello?”
The man’s voice broke on the latter part of the word. He motioned for James to stay as he ventured further down the track. James struggled with the buckle on his pack then waited.

The light was quickly fading and still his father had not returned. James lit a small fire. The forest was quiet. Only the flames crackled. Once Pos was fed, James lay down beside the fire and looked up between the thin gap of trees at the sky. It was dark when he slept.

The guttural growl of the Rottweiler brought James from his sleep.
“Dad?”
A log rolled in the fire. Sparks flew high in the darkness. They didn’t die. Instead, they gathered intensity as they rose higher and higher above the fireplace until they reached their apex then plummeted towards the boy. He sheltered his face. The impact never came. The sparks hovered around him, still spiraling clockwise, ruffling his hair. His feet left the ground and he gasped.

As the lights whizzed past his face, James saw that they were not sparks as he had imagined. Each individual light was slightly different in color from the last from pale blues to vibrant gold’s. He knew what they were but could not bring himself to say it. When he landed, the forest came alive and from the shadows emerged small figures. Their eyes were a kaleidoscopic confusion of blues and greens giving them an air of dignity amidst their well soiled bodies. Soon he was surrounded by a dozen of these midget men, lit up by the faeries. Entranced by this new world, he did not resist as these small human like creatures tied him to a tree.

In the distance he heard a voice. “James? Where are you boy? Can you hear me?”
His eyes ignited and he opened his mouth to yell. Nothing came. He tried to scream. Not a sound escaped his quivering lips.

The night resisted but soon gave in to morning. The boy blinked then moved uncomfortably in his dew covered clothes. The rope still bound him to the tree but it had loosened slightly during the night. He kicked something. Pos whined momentarily before resuming her sleep.

“Hello? Dad? Anyone?”
The trees talked amongst themselves. There was no reply.

It was midday before she came for him.
***
I left my son on the track and followed the girl. She led me down a track then disappeared at a dead end. I headed back in the dark with my dolphin torch leading the way. The path went forever. In the breeze I heard her voice again. It was like a whisper yet as audible as a scream. My torch went out and I noticed small lights on the ground. They spun around me, faster and faster till I was weightless inside them.

When my feet returned to the earth, I was not on the path.
“How much do you love your son?”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“I want you to answer my question.”
“Not until you answer mine.”
“You are in no position to negotiate Mr. Stein”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know a lot about you. I know that you would do anything for your son. I know that your son is not where you left him.”
At this, I sat and pleaded. “Don’t hurt him, I’ll do anything.”
The girl stood before me and held out her hand. I grasped it and she lifted me to my feet.
“You are lucky. You have something to offer. I will show you the way out. From the moment you leave these woods, you will have one day to kill him.”
“Who? Kill who?”
“Go home. She will tell you there. And remember, one day or James dies.”
“Don’t hurt my boy…” and as an after thought “…Who is ‘she’?”
There was no reply. The lights came back and took me out onto the path.

I waited for the lights to go, then I raced up the track to where I had left James. A patch of bent grass burned a green brown in the light of the glowing coals. I called out to him. There was no reply. Knowing I didn’t have any time to waste, I made my way home and waited.
***
I waited unaware. Not knowing who ‘she’ was. I stood at the kitchen window and looked out over the sloping hills. The rain stopped. Although it was only a light shower, the sudden absence of the tinkering on the tin roof caught my attention. The glass fogged and a name appeared. I knew exactly who he was. He had been all over the news in the last few months concerning the forest logging. People were outraged that he continued to send lumberjacks into the woods when seven people had disappeared without trace. I found his address and left for Sneek.

Five hours later I arrived. His house was just like all the others on Curaghmore Street. Towering linear giants, glowing white in the darkness. I knocked. Nothing. I waited. I raised my hand to knock again. I heard footsteps. I waited. A man answered the door. He rubbed his eyes then looked me up and down.
“Yes?” He drew out that one word in disdain.
“Um…Is Mr Lingerman here?”
The man continued to inspect me. Sizing me up for something. He then glanced at his watch.
“No, and if he was I don’t suspect he would want to talk to you lot at this hour.”
“I’m not a reporter. If that’s what you think. I’m a…colleague.”
“It’s two in the morning. What business can’t wait till a more agreeable hour?”
“Please, I must talk to him…”
“He’s not here. You might find him down at the Lorenz.”
“Thankyou”
The man grunted then closed the door.

I found him on the pier, alone. He was leaning on the rail under a puddle of yellow light, intrigued by the inky blackness that was the sea. The Café was occupied by a continual flow of customers even at this time of the morning and I knew I would have to wait. Around two in the morning, he left the dock. He walked slowly, stumbling once on the uneven boards. His eyes were merely black marks in a deeply creviced face. I nodded as he walked past then followed at a distance.
I could only think about my son when I pulled the trigger. After the shot, he stood still. At first I thought I had missed, but slowly he lowered himself to the ground till he was crouched in the gutter. Red painted the road in front of him. I ran.

Back in the kitchen I waited.

The clouds were pregnant with overdue rain, they hung thick in the sky, slightly reddened by the rising sun. The first few drops signalled the fate of the morning as a downpour blanketed the sloping hills. Grey light leaked through the curtains making the kitchen depressingly tired. And…the rain stopped! The clouds were gone and now James stood on the nearest hill. As I stood at the kitchen window I noticed a section of the glass fog up in front of me. A line emerged in the opaque film, carved by an invisible finger. This was joined by a second and a third till it formed a word. ‘Thankyou’. Then the word disappeared, and as if the breath had been taken back, so did the misty residue. The rain continued. The light dimmed. I smiled. It was done.