Tag: dark folklore

v

It was cold in the forest. The rain from the previous day had collected in hidden pockets that revealed themselves to Zachary, and very much to his feet, as he ran. Yet he noticed life all around him, which comforted him somewhat. Something felt different in the forest compared to the other day. Birds fluttered in the canopy above, squirrels darted up the smaller branches carrying their precious cargo for the winter months ahead. A cluster of butterflies danced in looping patterns in a light‑drenched clearing where bushes and flowers burst from the ground. Although the creatures moved out of his way, they seemed to be urging him forward into battle.

Zachary thought about all the animals the monster must have eaten in its lifetime here in the forest. The meat from the offerings could not possibly last it through an entire year. This was not just his fight.

Charging deeper into the trees and the thickening forest, he saw Hep stop up ahead. Zachary rushed forward to see what had caught his friend’s attention. There, on a patch of ground, lay a tiny bell and chain, covered in blood and nestled among soaking leaves. The blood was as dark as the mud coating the damp foliage around it. Such a tiny thing. His mind travelled back to when Rachel had first put the bell on the cat, how irritating the tinkling had been at first with each step of its paw.

Over time, the sound had faded into the background noise of the house, like so many others you eventually block out. Wiping off the blood, he put the tiny bell and chain into his pocket and carried on. Hep sprinted beside him, avoiding potholes and other traps the forest offered to unsuspecting visitors, his dog’s instincts guiding him better than Zachary’s own.

He saw the cave up ahead. It loomed much larger now in light of what had happened. Inside dwelled the creature that had shaken his life out of the mundane yet safe world he had enjoyed only days before. As he approached, he wondered what others would do. What would his friends do about a monster? He was scared. He wanted someone beside him, someone to hold his hand and steady his trembling heart. He had Hep, and he had determination. For now, that had to be enough.

He approached the mouth of the cave, which today looked like a giant serpent stretched across the grey rock, its forked tongue waiting to ensnare him the moment he stepped between its fangs.

As he entered, Zachary caught his arm on one of the jagged rocks that jutted up like teeth from the cave wall. Warm blood flowed in a tepid stream down his arm, soaking beneath his shirt. He stood motionless, letting the blood drip from his fingertips onto the floor. Hep looked at his hand and then at the ground where the droplets vanished into the wet earth like tears from a ghost. Zachary had stood there too long, mesmerised by the trickling blood and the sound of the wind around him.

He felt light‑headed. Subconsciously, he was delaying what he had to do for as long as possible. Snapping back into reality, he stepped away from the edge of his hesitation and allowed the cave to swallow him as he reached into his bag for the knife.

The monster was awake, as he knew it would be. The smell of his blood had reached its nostrils within seconds. Its feverish eyes glowed like the vampires his sister had told him about when he was younger. But those were just stories, tales in books meant to entertain and frighten before being closed and placed on a shelf away from the living. A stake through the heart, that was how to kill vampires. Garlic and crucifixes. Werewolves needed silver bullets. Mythical monsters that could be vanquished with simple objects, easily obtained from his father’s tool shed or the kitchen.

Loss was a monster he had never learned how to defeat. Loneliness was another, one that arched around your heart and suffocated your mind. Death was a creature he did not yet know, and he was not sure he ever wanted to meet it.

Suddenly the creature shifted its weight to one side, revealing the treasure it possessed in the cave. Splinters of light seeped through cracks in the walls from places he could not see. The hazy confines of the cave were dull, but he could make out a body. Rachel seemed asleep, or unconscious. A closer look would have revealed a raised, bloody bump on her head, indicating the latter. With a sigh, the creature heaved its weight back, covering its prize with tangled fur and shabby hair. The trophy had been displayed. Now the players needed to set the rules.

“What is it you want?” Zachary asked, his voice bouncing off the cave walls, diminishing into a dragged‑out echo. All he could hear was the monster’s breathing, the rise and fall of its great weight.

“What is it you want!” he shouted, the words cracking with fury.

The anger shook his bones. He wanted his sister back. He wanted to be anywhere but here. Hep barked from outside, provoked by the shouting. The dog had not followed him inside; something had kept him away. Above Zachary’s head, a red mist was gathering, a miasma oozing out of the pockets of the cave. He felt dizzy again. His arm throbbed. The monster moved toward him. He slashed at it frantically in the thickening air. He struck something, its arm perhaps. His own wound seared with sudden pain as fresh blood flowed from the cut, gushing down his fingertips.

The shape loomed in front of him. He could smell the unwashed, rank odour of decay. Something grabbed his hand, a giant paw with claws. Their arms were held out in front of them, hand to paw, fingers to claw in an open‑palm connection. Then his arm stopped hurting. A smooth, cooling sensation trickled down it, as if someone were pouring cold milk from his fingertips.

He tried to speak, but then there was blackness. His legs gave way beneath him.

Outside, Hep continued to bark.

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iv

In his bed, Zachary was afraid. He was afraid for his family, his dog, and himself. He knew the monster had returned about ten minutes ago; he had heard the rustling in the trees and a soft thud as the creature must have sat down in the same place as before. He pulled the covers further up toward his chin. Rain continued to trickle down the windowpane. He imagined the monster looking up at his room with those tiny eyes, black like the vacant gaps of sky in the dead of night.

Hep was on the other side of his bed, deep in sleep. Zachary was exhausted, his eyes ached, and he had not slept at all. What should he do? He concentrated on his heartbeat, the hollow thuds followed by the delayed pause before the next. The beats pounded in his ears. A brief streak of light flashed across his vision, illuminating the room for an instant, followed by the slow creaking rumble of thunder, as if some giant beast were emerging from a grotesque tomb. What could he do?

Gathering enough energy, he got out of bed and moved toward the window. Rain thumped against the pane and sent a river of water plummeting down the glass. He looked outside and saw the looming shadow of the monster retreating into the woods. It was going away, no doubt to escape the bad weather, perhaps back to the cave. A large dent in the grass and dirt showed where it had sat, the patch drier than the surrounding ground. Dark flecks, like oil spots, littered the area beneath where it had rested. Blood, he thought, concerned. He would tell his parents in the morning. His sister was in danger, Hep was in danger, and he was frightened.

“Morning, dear,” his mum called as he neared the last step on the stairs.

“Morning,” his dad echoed from the kitchen. “How is Hep today, does he need the bandage changed?”

Stepping into the kitchen, Zachary felt a chill rise from the cold slate floor.

“Morning. I think it is a lot better today,” he said, making a mental note that he would actually have to check when he went back upstairs. Grabbing some toast, he pulled a plate toward him and sat at the table. His mum was finishing the remains of a fluffy pastry that crumbled onto the plate beneath her. His dad was washing dishes at the sink.

“You had better wake Rachel up. You two need to leave in about half an hour,” his father said, scrubbing away. Saturday. The village market. It had slipped his mind completely.

“I am pretty much ready to go, so just waiting for you two,” his dad added, placing a bowl next to him for cereal.

“Ok, I will wake her in a bit. Mum, Dad, I need to talk to you about something.” His dad took a seat opposite him while his mother turned her attention fully toward him, the pastry gone.

“What is it about?” his mother asked. Concern sharpened her voice.

“Well, I know what happened to Hep, and it was not anything in the yard he caught himself on.” Zachary replied. For the first time in ages, he noticed how old his father looked. Lines around his eyes framed the conscious stare coming from within, and a tired but friendly smile rested on his face. “He was attacked by a monster I found in the woods the other day. It followed me home and I gave it some food. I think it attacked, and maybe ate, Snowflake, but it hurt Hep for sure.”

He waited for them to laugh, to tell him he was being ridiculous, to scold him for silly stories so early in the day.

Saying the words aloud seemed to cleanse him of the poison the secret had begun to inject into his life. It had not been long since he first saw the creature, only a short time, yet the danger and urgency had escalated so quickly. Now he was fearful for his family’s lives. He needed help, grown‑up help, from that unfailing reservoir of solutions his parents always seemed to possess. He wondered whether, if he had not seen Hep in the state he was in, he would still be cooperating with the creature, giving it food, visiting it in the cave, unaware of its intent, until it attacked him or came after Rachel or his parents.

He knew the monster would have little trouble crashing through the thin walls of their house and seizing the people he loved. But now, by purging himself of the secret, he had passed the responsibility to his parents and their grown‑up way of acting. With the knowledge they now possessed, they had an obligation to take over. He hoped they would. He thought they would. He was not sure if they would believe him straight away, but he was not a boy who lied for the sake of it. As much as they did not understand him, he was not one to invent something like this.

Nevertheless, he found himself back in his room within twenty minutes, supposedly preparing to go into the village as if nothing had happened. Putting on his clothes with his mind reeling, fighting comprehension like someone struggling with an umbrella in the wind, he tried to decide what to do next about the monster that he alone now had to deal with.

“We know about the monster,” his mother had said, sipping her coffee as if she were talking about an annoying neighbour who lived two doors down. His father sighed and looked out of the kitchen window. The frown on his brow altered his aged appearance into that of a man with purpose.

“It is a bit of a long story, but we know all about it.” Her tone never changed. It came too easily, as if she had prepared the answer for years.

“What do you mean? Do you know it is dangerous? Why is it there?” Zachary asked.

“We know it is dangerous, but it never comes into the village. It has been around for a long, long time. Your grandfather once… well, perhaps that is another story for another time.” She drank her coffee. “It lives in the dark side of Reedbuck and stays in the cave for most of the year. Years ago, it used to wander up to the village. At first people were afraid of it, but then intrigued. It seemed quite docile. People would put it up in their barns and sheds, giving it food. It always used to stand and stare, like some entertaining creature in a circus show. Then cattle started to go missing, and then a young girl was…”

She trailed off and looked away above Zachary’s head, as if watching a film projected on the wall behind him.

–

Zachary sat there, absorbing the information. Anger and disillusionment bubbled within him. He felt angry that his parents did not seem to care about him, and how easily those pillars of strength had tumbled. How many times had he been in that forest collecting wood? Why were they not bothered by the fact that the cat was dead and his own dog had been attacked by the beast? Looking at his father, who continued to stare out of the window, he asked, “So why is it allowed to be there, why doesn’t…”

His father cut in. “It is not about why it is allowed to be there; it is why we are allowed to be here, Zach.”

Zachary opened his mouth to speak, but the words slipped away. His father continued.

“You see, this village is not very old. When our families first came here in search of gold years ago, the area was overrun with creatures similar to the one that now resides in the cave. The settlers’ lust for the precious metal forced them to attack the creatures to win the land, but the creatures were vicious and dangerous and retaliated in a tragic fashion. They only seemed to eat the young children of the village. They would attack in the night and carry them off into the woods.

“After a while, and far too much bloodshed, the townsfolk decided to cooperate with them, though it was not easy. They would not give up the land they had taken, but they left a large section for the creatures to keep for themselves, which is now Reedbuck. They gave offerings of meat to the creatures, whose numbers dwindled over the years. The one you stumbled upon seems to be the last that we know of, and the one we still give food to, much the same as they did in the past to keep them at bay.”

He looked down at the floor. His father never once looked at him as he told the tale. Questions burned in Zachary’s skull the more he heard, and the more he thought. Now he knew he was alone in this, with no help from anyone.

Brushing his teeth upstairs in the bathroom, he went over what his dad had said. The monster lived in the woods, and every so often someone from the village would take large amounts of meat to the cave to keep the creature from coming to the village. It seemed they had tried to kill the monster after a girl went missing once, when it had come up to the village. His mother had said the girl’s father shot the creature in the head with a shotgun as it slunk back into the woods. They thought it was dead.

The next day, the monster appeared again, a black mark on its head where it had been shot. It tried to take the girl’s brother in the night.

They managed to entice it away with one of the cows taken from a nearby field. The creature seemed satisfied with this. Over time, the frequency of the meat offerings became a monthly routine, then half‑yearly. The monster remained in the forest. The parents agreed to keep their children away from the foreboding area of the woods.

His parents had failed. Failed to warn him or his sister, failed to protect them from the woods, and failed to tell him the truth before. It was now too late.

He walked across the hall to wake his sister, but there was no reply from her room. He opened the door. She was not there.

Fear coursed through his body.

He called downstairs, “Is Rachel downstairs yet?”

His father called back, “No, but you two had better get a move on, because I am leaving in five minutes with or without you.”

Zachary was happy for him to choose the latter option. He knew what he had to do. He had to get to the cave and find Rachel, praying it was not too late. The blood on the lawn. Pushing that thought deep down into his stomach, he went back into his room to grab what he needed.

Hep jumped up to greet him. Zachary patted the dog and checked his bandage. The blood had stopped now and the wound was on its way to healing. He decided to take him along.

They went to his parents’ room and hopped out of the window that led onto a small roof and down to the ground. Calling for Hep, he sprinted toward the forest. His clothes were clean and dry, his mind was focused, but his heart pumped faster than he had ever known it to, and once again he was afraid.

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iii

It was early, still dark. Zachary wondered if it was his stomach that had woken him; it felt painfully empty. The dinner his mother had given him when he returned home, despite being peppered with irritatingly concerned conversation, had vanished in a flash and now felt like a beautiful distant memory. Lying in his bed, he wondered what else had stirred him. The moon glowed outside his window, shapeless clouds sputtering in and out of its hazy light.

Getting up, Zachary went to his windowsill and looked toward the woods. The foreboding gloom that the forest presented made him forget his rumbling stomach. A disturbance within the trees had sent some birds into flight, rising into the night sky and giving the world the rare sight of birds flying at night. He thought of the monster in the cave, and whether it was caught in sleep’s cotton-like clutches.

Looking down at the lawn, he suddenly saw the creature, sitting and looking up at him from the yard. Staring again. Grabbing a jumper on his way, Zachary travelled the short distance from his room to the back door in what felt like a blink.

Stepping out into the early morning air, he approached the monster cautiously, shivering in the coolness.
“Hello again,” he said as the creature stared back. “Have you been here all night?”
Zachary knew by now this was a one-way conversation, but the sound of his own voice was a welcome splinter in the silence that coiled around him. “That is my room up there. Would you like something to eat?”

For the first time, the monster responded. It bobbed its head in recognition of the question, its eyes widening ever so slightly.

“All right, that is fine. You will have to wait here though; you cannot come into the house.”

The creature remained still as Zachary spun on his heel and disappeared inside. He set about making a sandwich, grabbing things he thought a monster might like. Having no experience feeding monsters, he decided to make a sandwich he would like to eat. His logic was simple. If he liked it, then so would the monster.

Outside, he heard Hep begin to bark, so he quickly grabbed some milk and returned outside, hoping the barking would not wake anyone else.

The monster could not have been outside long, he thought, or Hep would have barked sooner. Unless, of course, he had been busy pursuing Snowflake elsewhere. As much as he loved his dog, he knew Hep was not much of a guard. Neither would he be, he thought, suddenly forgiving his friend.

He placed the plate and milk in front of the creature and waited. The monster exhaled loudly, and a strange odour hit him, something he could not place yet seemed familiar. The creature shifted but did not grab the food. Hep continued barking. Turning to comfort the dog, Zachary sensed movement. When he looked back, the food and milk had disappeared. Faint traces of milk shimmered in the moonlight on the monster’s fur around its mouth.

Smiling, Zachary stepped toward it. In the distance, a light came on in one of the neighbouring houses. Hep’s barking had snowballed through the woods, reverberating down into the village.

“Shhh,” he said to his dog, stroking his head. “You cannot stay here, Mister Monster. Would you like to sleep in the barn? It is warm there, and aside from the field mice, no one will bother you.”

Taking the creature’s silence as confirmation, Zachary made his way toward the barn. Hep followed, no longer barking but clearly unnerved by the strange visitor. He kept close to Zachary, nudging his right leg with his snout and letting out a small whimper.

Sliding open the barn doors, Zachary noticed the monster move for the first time. In the moon’s hazy glow, he could have sworn it floated along the ground. Its podgy little feet barely made any movement, yet the creature continued toward him at a steady pace. It entered the barn, sat down in the hay, and stared back at him.

“I have to go to sleep now, and I cannot stay here with you. I will come and see you in the morning though,” he said, checking the loft space above to make sure nothing else was staying the night. Foxes sometimes nestled in the barn when the colder nights came. “Good night.”

Zachary left the barn and closed the door behind him. He knew no one would be going in there in the morning, so the creature would be safe. He also planned to get up early and bring more food. The tiny sandwich had surely not filled it.

Hep followed him back to the house. After closing the back door, Hep sat facing the yard as if on patrol, ears alert and eyes wide. Zachary climbed the stairs wearily, returned to his room, and fell straight asleep.

Knock, knock, KNOCK.

He heard muffled noises outside his room before he even opened his eyes. He felt the sun on his face, shards of light hazily permeating through the pink skin of his eyelids.

“Zachary, are you up yet?” It was his sister. It must be late, he thought. Rachel was not one for mornings.
“Zach, come on, are you awake yet?”

He hated being called Zach. He hated how people shortened everything, as if the two extra syllables in his name were an inconvenience. He rubbed his eyes. Her voice sounded agitated. His mind flew to the monster, the barn, his sister opening the door, the shock, the scream, the questions.

“Yeah, sure, coming,” he replied quickly. Dressing hurriedly, he sensed she would barge in soon. “So, what is up?” he said, trying to sound calm. He liked his sister and confided most things in her. He wanted to share the monster with her at some point, but he did not want her discovering it by accident.

“Is Hep in there with you?” she asked.

“No, why? He was by the back door when I left him in the night.”

“It is Snowflake. I cannot find him anywhere and wondered where Hep was. Those two are normally within two feet of each other.”

She sounded more concerned than annoyed.

“I can help you look if you like. Has he eaten his food?” Snowflake had taken to mirroring his human owners and scheduling his day around breakfast, lunch and dinner, with little snacks from Rachel in between. There was always a steady flow of food in his bowl.

“Well, the bowl is full, and I have not seen him for a while,” she said through the door. More concern.

“I am sure he will turn up,” he said, lacking conviction but opening the door to her, “when he wants some attention. You will see him strutting around somewhere.” He put his arm around her shoulder and motioned her down the stairs.

“I guess so. Just a little odd though, do you not think?” It was a statement more than a question.

They went downstairs together and had breakfast, which he ate hurriedly.

The barn was empty upon inspection. His mother’s conversation over breakfast indicated she had not discovered a twelve-foot-high creature sleeping in the barn, or anywhere else. No shouts of alarm or pitchforks aloft suggested the monster had not entered the village either. It was a normal, monster-free morning. He must have gone back to the woods, Zachary decided.

Just then Hep appeared beside him.

“Hey Hep, are you all right?” Clearly distressed, the dog looked worse for wear. His fur was scuffed up more than usual, his collar was gone, and he had a gash on the side of his face. Zachary sat down, stroking the dog and calming him outside the barn. He then fetched a bowl of water. Dipping a cloth into it as Hep slobbered around the rim, he wiped away the dried blood and cleaned the wound as best he could.

What should he do? The creature had not attacked him or shown any sign of hostility. But with Snowflake missing and now Hep injured, it all pointed to something far beyond his control.

He did not feel safe going back into the woods today. He would wait and see if the creature showed up again, and if so, he would take it from there.

He set about his tasks for the day, thankfully ones that kept him indoors. Hep never left his side all afternoon, on edge yet calmer than in the morning. His mother went to the store to get a bandage for the dog’s face and returned with a large bone, which occupied Hep for the rest of the day.

Around three in the afternoon, it started to rain again, not as strong as the day before but steady well into the early evening. Rachel could be found at intervals calling for Snowflake, putting down treats, trying to lure him out of hiding places she knew were empty. He sat with her around four o’clock and they ate apples together.

Though she threw the occasional accusatory glance at Hep, she now believed the cat had run away, blaming herself for not giving him enough attention. He tried to take her mind off it, and eventually succeeded by playing a game of cards and letting her win.

Before long, the day began to wind down and night fell. The rain continued to slash at the house. Around eight o’clock he went to bed, but he could not sleep.

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ii

At home they had two animals that pottered around the house. Snowflake was his sister’s cat, a shabby excuse for a feline that strutted around with all the smugness of an animal ten times its size. Its shabby appearance was not through any lack of love that his sister, Rachel, poured onto the tiny beast. Snowflake merely tried his best to get into every area that was out of bounds for cats like him. He also contended with Zachary’s dog, Hep, who rarely let Snowflake become accustomed to his inflated status and never seemed to forgive him for being merely a cat.

The love Zachary had for his dog was not overly shown in the way other boys he knew behaved with their animals. Zachary would sneak Hep extra helpings from his own dinner, walk him in the woods for hours, and give him a bath when he began to smell worse than usual. But he understood that he did not need to be around him all the time for them to share a connection.

He knew, in his own little world, that the constant war with Snowflake was Hep’s purpose, and something he needed to stay outside of. Hep’s fur was short, with a silky sheen that shimmered in the sunlight when it was not covered in mud. The hair on the monster before him was neither short nor shimmering in the pale dimming light of his match. He watched as the gigantic mass rose and fell with each breath. Focused on the creature, Zachary did not notice the match burning low until it singed his fingers. He dropped it to the floor, the noise enough to rouse the monster.

After fumbling in the box for another match and successfully lighting it, Zachary took a step back. The monster had sat up in a rigid position and stared straight toward him. He would be dead by now, he figured, if the creature was the bloodthirsty kind he had read about in fairy tales. But he remained cautious.

“Hello,” he said, proud that his voice did not tremble.

The monster stayed where it was.

“Do you like the dark?” he asked, hoping for any response.

The creature blinked. With the new light, Zachary noticed how close its head was to the ceiling, as if it were hunched. He could see two small eyes, very close together and beady, and a mouth hidden somewhere beneath the arrangement of fur, waiting to leap out in surprise if the creature roared. It looked a little like a bear, with giant claws as sharp as the knives his father kept in the shed at home. Its white fur was tangled and scraggly in places, with darker patches scattered across its body.

He might have mistaken it for a bear in the dark if not for the shape of the creature. Its oval frame had an otherworldly quality, and its head and ears had a strange shape, the ears spiking upward like a cat’s. He stood there, unsure what to do. He began to talk more normally, seeing if he could get any further reaction. All the creature did was blink and continue to stare, its body heaving up and down as it breathed.

Time passed, and Zachary edged closer, deciding against touching it, but with each question he stepped a little nearer. Nothing. No further reaction, until eventually the monster lowered itself again and seemed to return to sleep. Zachary decided to leave. He knew where the creature lived, and for today that was enough.

He said goodbye and made his way back outside along the tunnel. He felt bad that he had nothing to give the monster, but what could he have offered? Food? He had brought nothing for himself, and his stomach gurgled to remind him of that fact. It was still raining when he reached the opening, though less heavily now.

Zachary picked up his bag and stepped out into the fading storm. After a few feet, something made him turn around. At the entrance to the cave stood the monster, watching silently.

“I am sorry I did not bring you anything,” he said. Something wavered into his mind about his mother saying you should always take something to someone’s house if you are a guest. The monster continued to stare. “If I had some food I would give you some, but I do not, I am afraid.”

Still staring.

Shifting his bag on his shoulder, he suddenly remembered. He dropped the bag to the floor and opened it. While out looking for wood, he often came across things that, along with the branches, would be tossed into the bottom of the bag. Sure enough, a handful of nuts he had thrown in some time ago tumbled out. He placed them in a small pile on the ground and stepped away.

He was not afraid of the creature. It had seemed quite docile toward him in the cave. Looking up at the sky, he realised it was not the storm that had stolen the light. It was getting very late indeed, and he needed to get home. He looked over at the monster. Still staring.

“Well, goodbye Mister Monster. Thank you for not eating me,” he called, and started off into the forest, giving the creature a final wave, certain he was on the track that led to his house. Surreptitiously glancing behind, Zachary noticed the monster was beginning to follow him.

Crashing through the woods, Zachary picked up his pace. Intrigued by how far the creature would follow, his own hunger and fear of a reprimand from his father forced his legs to travel at twice their usual speed. The monster still followed. Zachary found his way back to a familiar trail, past places where he had stopped to pick up wood earlier that day. He reached the edge of the forest with his house in the distance and looked behind him. The creature was gone.

He was a little upset, wondering if the monster would be all right. Silly really, he thought. He is much bigger than I am, and probably lived much longer. I am sure he can take care of himself.

He liked the monster. He liked how it could not, or did not, talk, but expressed everything through its eyes. He realised he had never actually seen the creature move at all. It had followed him for a while, but whenever he looked back, it had always been standing still, staring. Well, perhaps I will go and see it tomorrow, he said to himself.

He raced up the path that led to his house, dumping his bag by the back door. Clambering up the stairs, Zachary went to the bathroom and quickly washed his hands and face, then changed into warmer and drier clothes. He went in search of his mother, but more importantly, some food.

If he had looked closer before setting off toward the house, Zachary would have just made out the monster lurking among the denser trees at the edge of the wood. He would have seen it stare back with its small dark eyes. And if he had been closer still, he would have seen, and smelt, the blood the creature was wiping from its mouth, caught in the dark shaggy strands of its fur.

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Afraid
i

Zachary was not frightened of this part of the woods. The trees looked exactly the same as they did on the brighter side of the clump known as Reedbuck Forest. The same flowers grew in the tiny pockets of light that filtered through the dense canopy above, and the same smells rose from the shifting leaves as he trudged slowly around collecting bits of wood. It was the lack of life that unnerved him. On the sunny side of the woods, animals always made their presence known, though they kept out of sight. Birds called to one another, hedgehogs rustled through branches and fallen leaves, and once in a while he would notice the opulent eyes of a fox staring out at him from some hidden place. But here, in this claustrophobic patch of the wood, there seemed to be nothing. Only dense air and the wind pushing its whistling way through the bones of the trees around him.

For these reasons, Zachary rarely came this way. His daily chores, which partly consisted of collecting wood for the fire, often led him into the woods, where he would usually disappear for hours at a time even though the task itself was relatively quick. Today though, deep in his own thoughts, he had wandered to the darker side of the thicket, his feet carrying him with little sense of direction.

He liked being on his own, which was fortunate, as his parents seemed to treat him more like an uninvited guest than a member of the family. Many people, if they heard his description of his parents, would tell him he was imagining it, and some might even call him selfish. It was not that his mother and father did not love him, he knew they did, and he was not mistreated in any physical way. Thankfully so, as there were many children his age in the village who were often the outlet for their parents’ disagreements. Zachary was merely misunderstood and could never communicate well with either of them, though not for lack of trying.

Being twelve years old limited the ways he could express his unhappiness, so for now he decided that distance and isolation were the best remedy. In his own mind his imagination could take flight. His father would look at a tree and see wood for a fire, but Zachary could imagine the trees in different shades of colour that moved and talked as he stepped by, whispering magical verses. Peculiar entanglements of vines and branches could be doorways to amazing worlds, or birds high in the sky that looked tiny from where he stood would be gigantic up close and could swoop down to carry him off on a noble quest. His imagination usually led him to places that were anywhere but where he was.

Today, he had wandered off in one of these daydreams and found himself in the area of the wood that reminded him of the deadness of the cemetery back in the village. The stillness, so loud in his ears, seemed to hold the expectation of a bird’s call or an animal darting out of sight. But there was nothing, only the dampness, the darkness, and him. He noticed a huge pile of logs that were excellent for firewood. He generally picked pieces that would not need chopping, saving himself a task later on.

He moved toward the pile and opened the bag he carried on his shoulders, the one he used to collect the logs. Inside were pieces much larger than the few scattered before him on the ground. An old tree had fallen recently, splintering itself on the crop of rocks at his feet. As he knelt to pick up the wood, he felt a drip on his head, followed quickly by another. He looked up and noticed it was beginning to rain. He actually liked the rain; it had so much more life than the sun, he thought. But within minutes, what had seemed a mild shower had turned into a torrent of water, each drop stinging his head painfully. His ears and nose burned as he looked for shelter.

Zachary moved quickly. He knew he was too far into the centre of the woods to make it home without getting soaked, and he wondered how bad the storm must be for it to be this harsh even through the trees that normally offered protection. He charged on, losing his sense of direction more than once, until he came to an area that looked like a small cave, slightly hidden, with a clearing in front of it. Without thinking twice, Zachary dashed for the cave and soon began brushing the rain from his clothes, which had pooled in the creases of his jacket and bag. The cave felt warm compared to the cold rain raging outside.

He took off his jacket and rested the bag against the rock. He sat on a flat area and watched the rain outside, shifting from vertical to horizontal sheets, a lost victim to the will of the wind. In the distance he heard the slow rumble of thunder, and a few minutes later noticed a bright flash of lightning. Had he missed the first? Like the woods he was stuck in, the storm did not worry Zachary. He enjoyed violent changes in weather. There was a predictability to calm, mild days that irritated him on some level. Realising he might be here for a while, he decided to get more comfortable and look for a cosier part of the cave.

Glancing to the other side, he noticed what appeared to be a tunnel that at first glance was not noticeable. It seemed to blend into the rock, yet when he moved closer, Zachary saw it curled around a corner leading deeper inside. On the floor near the opening were odd bits of straw scattered about, leading off down the tunnel.

Though curious, Zachary turned his attention to his feet and untied his laces, stretching his toes in the loose, damp boots. He tied them again, making sure they were tighter than before and considerably less wet. He ran his fingers along the laces to drain off the excess water. Pushing himself up, he moved to where the straw led and disappeared around the corner.

He was right. The passageway zigzagged left and right, cutting off all light that filtered in from the darkened sky outside. He fumbled in his pocket and found the box of matches he carried in a small tin that contained other treasures such as a silver button from his father’s coat, a smooth rock, a large coin, and some red thread. He struck one match and let the flame quiver in the tunnel, flickering off the stark, unforgiving walls that surrounded him. It spluttered out too quickly.

As he struck the next one, his mind flashed to his house, specifically the drawer where he had taken the matches from. His mother’s face loomed in his imagination, her reaction vivid. Her face merged into the granite and vanished. Looking at the ground, he noticed more straw at his feet, and he also sensed that the air had changed. Zachary had read enough stories where people always did the wrong thing in dangerous situations and never listened to the inner voice that was now urging him to turn back.

The adventurous naivety of youth mixed with the rationality of someone twice his age. He had begun to believe that the voice supposedly looking out for him always shied away from anything that took him out of his comfort zone. Zachary had come to regard this inner voice as his opponent.

He pressed on.

It was a smaller cave. He realised that as soon as the sounds of his feet across the dusty floor echoed off the walls in a suffocating fashion. Gone from the passage, he had entered a small room-like section, no bigger than his own room at home. The cave was not very high, probably twelve feet, and the harsh rocks from the tunnel had a more rounded appearance here, as if someone had scooped out a giant section with a spoon. The air was heavier and warmer too. His little match continued to flicker with the breeze coming from behind him. He could still hear the rain thundering outside. Water dripped somewhere off to his right.

And on the floor, sleeping, there was a monster curled up in a ball.

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HOME – II

It was not until later that he got to investigate the mysterious book. He must have fallen asleep after Grace left. These drugs must be pretty strong, he thought to himself. His mother had obviously come in and moved the book onto his bedside table. A fresh glass of water was evidence of her activity, along with an extra blanket now resting upon him. He heard her downstairs in the kitchen, singing along to the radio. Probably preparing dinner, he thought.

He reached across for the book, trying not to lift his leg off the bed as he turned. His fingers felt their way toward the leather and, though the room was dark, he could have sworn the book moved slightly toward him. A small vibration of life. It was getting dark outside, so lifting the book onto his lap he turned on the lamp beside him.

Dinosaur silhouettes danced across his ceiling, the old lamp from his childhood still determined to follow him into his teenage years. Zachary opened the cover and looked at the first page. A huge square seemed to stretch down into the book, as if pulling him inward. He blinked, trying to adjust his focus. It must be an optical illusion, he thought, and blinked again to disperse the fuzziness. Looking closer, he realised the lines of the shape were actually words that spiralled down into a centre point. They were so tiny they were almost indecipherable; each line stacked upon the next. Most strange.

They seemed to be English mixed with a few unfamiliar characters, but he could not make out what they said because of the handwriting. He turned the page, hoping for a clue. One name stared back at him: Edward T. Reynolds. He turned to the next page with a crinkle of old paper, none the wiser. The smell of aged pages and the damp scent of Grace’s attic reached his nose. Outside his window he heard alley cats fighting. Night had crept in and the evening stars had begun to shine. Zach shivered under his sheets.

To whomever reads this book be warned, there is more entailed than words adorned.
Within these pages lies a truth, one that is found in innocence’s youth.
Monsters, myths and things to frighten, can lead to fear that terrorises and tightens
around you in the dead of night, it seeps inside with death and fright.
So be brave and true upon this quest, a resourceful heart will need no rest.
To see what is there and what resides inside you,
Strength and courage come to but a chosen few.

Zach reread this several times before he understood what it meant. He had never read a book with a warning before. He had seen censored books at his local library, tantalising titles that for some reason had been banned at some point. The notion had always made him laugh. They are just words, he had thought. How can words hurt anyone? Yet the warning seemed to leap off the page at him now. The calligraphy looked as if it moved, the words shifting toward him as if by magic, dancing before his eyes. Intrigued, Zach continued turning the pages.

He flicked again to the back of the book to see the empty ones. The blank pages looked as if they had doubled since before. At the very back, the page before the cover held three letters:

לאר

Zach had seen these types of characters before. He had seen them when his grandma took him to church when he was younger. He knew she had been Jewish, and he figured this was Jewish writing. She had died last year, though no one had really told him what had happened. His mum had simply sat on his bed and told him she had gone, and that she would no longer be around.

He had not asked about death, or heaven, or what happens when someone dies. His mother had taken his silence for sadness, since he and his grandmother had been close. Though comforting, she had not explained anything to him. The truth was, Zach had so many questions, but he did not know where to start.

So, he had kept silent, internalising it all. He had seen the writing in the prayer books around her house and on some of the framed pictures on her walls. Also, in the church they had visited many times. She would have been able to read this, he thought. A cold chill settled on his shoulders as memories of her rose up. He looked toward the window to see if it was open. It was closed.

Zach snuggled further under his sheets, letting the warmth envelop him. He turned back to the beginning of the book, skipping past the strange drawing and the author’s page. There were chapter names, handwritten like the rest of the book. The first one was a single word: Afraid. This book was certainly unusual, he thought, closing it suddenly. He decided he needed to pee. He had been holding it for a while, because the last time he had gone to the bathroom it had taken ages with his cast. The slightest movement in his room seemed to summon his mother up the stairs, and he did not want to bother her again.

He put the book down on the bed and slipped onto the floor. The cast made a thud on the wooden boards, and Zach waited to see if his mother would come up. Nothing. He looked over at the phone on his desk and saw the red light glowing, indicating someone was on the line. She must be calling his dad, he thought. His dad worked strange hours at his office, something to do with international time zones, though Zach did not really know what he did. He only knew he liked it when his dad worked from home, because he would make Zach pancakes for breakfast.

Edging toward the door, Zach stepped out onto the landing, forgoing the crutches, though not without difficulty. He made his way to the bathroom, passing the pictures of his uncle and grandmother that hung at the top of the stairs. He turned on the bathroom light. It flickered and popped with a flash. Damn, he thought. He would have to pee in the dark.

The moon had risen and cast its glow through the window into the bathroom. Zach finished up and returned to his bedroom, much colder for the effort. The book was propped against his pillow, open at the start of the first story. Zach stopped in the doorway, looking around his room. This was getting strange now, he thought. He definitely had not left the book like that.

He moved closer to the bed and stared at it. There was a strange picture at the top of the page, etched in black ink, again with a sense of movement. He picked up the book and got back into bed, lifting his leg with both hands. His elbow twanged with pain, reminding him that it was not just his leg that had been injured in the fall.

Well, it is just a story, he thought, and it will be a while before dinner.

So, he began to read.

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Flight or Fight

The day dragged on, dull and uneventful, the kind of day that seemed to stretch itself thin just to spite him. Science had been a blur of diagrams and droning explanations, algebra was a battlefield of numbers that refused to behave, but it wasn’t only the lessons that made the hours crawl. Grace’s empty seat beside him had left a hollow in the day. He hadn’t realised how much he relied on her running commentary, her whispered jokes, her ability to make even the worst lessons feel survivable. Misery loved company, and without her, he’d had to face the misery alone.

She was supposed to return after her dentist appointment, but she never appeared. He imagined her at home, curled up on the sofa with a blanket and a packet of crisps, watching something ridiculous on TV. Toothache or not, she’d make the most of a day off.

When the final bell rang, Zach felt the relief ripple through the class like a collective exhale. He packed his books slowly, delaying the inevitable moment when he’d have to face the homework his teacher had piled on them. More fractions. More equations. More torture. He slung his bag over his shoulder and joined the stream of students spilling out of the gates, already deciding he’d stop by Grace’s house before heading home. Just to check on her. Just to see her.

He turned the corner, and walked straight into the group he’d gone out of his way to avoid that morning.

“Watch it!” snapped the biggest of them, a round‑shouldered boy whose bulk made him look older than he was. His eyes didn’t quite meet Zach’s; they drifted slightly to the left, as if he couldn’t bear to look directly at the person he was threatening.

For a moment, Zach thought the boy must be talking to someone else. But then two of the cronies rolled their bikes in close, hemming him in with metal frames and muddy tyres. No mistake. He was the target.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Zach said, his voice catching on the words. His mind flicked through escape routes like a deck of cards.

“I’m hard to miss,” the boy spat. “Maybe you wanted to bang into me. Maybe I’m not important enough for an excuse me… huh?” He leaned forward, breath pungent, eyes narrowing. “Maybe you wanted me to have a little chat with you. Teach you some manners.”

“Lots of maybes there,” Zach muttered before he could stop himself. His mouth always betrayed him at the worst possible moments.

The boy straightened, looming. “Maybe I just punch you in the stomach and take your bag, eh, wise‑ass?”

Zach swallowed hard, feeling like a cartoon character about to be flattened.

“What’s going on there, Collins?” a voice called from behind.

Mr. Langley stood at the school gates, hands in pockets, watching them with that calm, steady expression teachers used when they were about to intervene. Geography teacher. One of the few who didn’t make Zach want to claw his ears off.

“Nothing, sir,” one of the lads said quickly, all innocence and wide eyes.

Zach didn’t wait. He shoved past the bikes and bolted down the pavement, heart thudding. He risked a glance back. Collins looked furious, spinning his bike wheel in frustration as Mr. Langley approached. A lecture was coming, and Zach wasn’t sticking around to hear it. He ran until he reached the traffic lights, which took an eternity to change, then disappeared down the street.

He wanted to get home quickly. The sky was already bruising into evening, clouds gathering like a warning. But he couldn’t take his usual route. If the bullies decided to follow, their bikes would catch him in seconds. And he absolutely wasn’t going down Henley Avenue again. Not after what he’d seen there. Not today.

He turned onto Rosebank, a quiet cul‑de‑sac lined with neat bungalows and tidy gardens. Cats lounged on low walls, blinking lazily at him as he passed. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and cut grass. He slipped down the side of a house with a huge caravan under a flapping tarp, found the narrow gap in the fence, and squeezed through into the overgrown alleyway beyond.

Not many people knew about this cut‑through. It was technically someone’s driveway, which made it risky, but it sliced a huge chunk off the walk home. Zach moved quickly, stepping around old carrier bags and the shattered remains of an oven whose metal innards spilled across the mud like a gutted creature. The alley narrowed, funnelling him toward the dead‑end he knew was coming.

The only way out was up.

He looked at the tree rising before him, its branches reaching over the fence like skeletal arms. Wedged into the trunk, as if the tree had grown around it, stood an old black lamppost with an iron frame and a glass lantern. Somehow, despite the usual vandalism in places like this, the glass remained intact. As if people sensed it was needed.

Right on cue, the lamp flickered to life, glowing a warm, fragile orange in the deepening gloom. The branches above curled down like a giant withered hand, as though trying to swallow the lamppost whole.

He began to climb. He’d done it once before with Grace, she’d made it look easy, laughing as she swung herself over the fence. Thinking of her now steadied him, just a little.

Halfway up, he glanced back. He could still see the caravan through the rain, though a huge bush blocked most of the view. He thought he heard something, a rustle, a footstep? The rain thickened, cold and heavy, drumming on the bare branches and soaking his hair, his clothes, his skin.

He looked over the fence. The drop was bigger than he remembered. Much bigger. The alley on the other side opened into a back lane of garages, abandoned cars, and a sagging sofa being slowly eaten by rats. The street beyond led almost directly to Grace’s house.

Then he heard voices.

He pressed himself into the trunk, trying to vanish into the bark. Through the gaps between houses; he saw the gang drifting down the street, shouting, laughing, smashing a bottle against someone’s wall. Their hoodies kept the rain off; they didn’t seem to care about the weather.

A bark split the air behind him.

Zach twisted, heart hammering. Nothing. A dog from one of the houses? No. This bark was deeper, stranger. The Lore house dog. That awful, guttural sound that had haunted him since the morning.

Another bark. Closer.

A shape moved at the far end of the alley.

Too big to be a dog.

Rain blurred everything, turning the world into streaks of grey, but he could make out a figure. Tall. Dark. Shuffling. The sound of the dog now seemed to come from below him, but when he looked down, the ground was empty.

He edged forward. He’d rather face Collins than… whatever this was.

He looked back again and froze.

The figure was clearer now. The same hat. The same coat. The same sunken eyes he’d seen at Lore house. Drifting toward him like a skeleton pulled from the mist, with withered hands hanging from the sleeves.

Zach’s breath caught.

He edged along the branch. He had to get down. Now. The barks stretched unnaturally, as if time itself was being pulled thin. The figure lifted its head.

Zach slipped.

The world flipped. The ground slammed into him with a crack like splintering wood. Air blasted from his lungs. For a heartbeat he lay stunned, suspended in shock, then pain erupted through him, sharp and total. His elbow had taken the brunt; his leg twisted beneath him.

A raw, broken scream tore out of him.

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Lore House

“Remember this please, none of this is real.
It’s only how I feel”

Zach hated to walk this way to school, but this morning the circumstances left him with little choice. The kids who had stolen his lunch money last week had been at the corner of the high street, lurking and threatening people as they went by. They weren’t choosy about who they stole from either, with many of the kids in his class falling victim to their bullying needs. It wasn’t even about the money, or what little they actually got; they did it simply because they could. It would have been fine if Grace was with him, he thought, as she always gave him the feeling of combined strength.

He was sure they wouldn’t take anything if she were here. Their agenda so far seemed to have some moral boundaries, excluding girls from their reign of terror. Together they would have crossed over to the other side and walked to school like they did most mornings, chatting and dreading another dull day at Braxton Hill Comprehensive. But Grace was off to the dentist, something she was extremely excited about, as she’d told him the day before when they walked home together. Grace was his neighbour, living two doors down, and she was his best friend.

They’d been friends for what seemed like forever, though in truth it had only been two years since Zach and his family had moved into the neighbourhood. He was a little shy at meeting new people, which was fine, because Grace was more than happy to come up to you, shake your hand, and invite you over for lunch. She was taller than Zach, though he’d begun to think he’d grown a little more in the past few months. When they walked side by side now, he noticed she no longer seemed to tower over him.

They would walk the same route every morning to school, stopping at the store for Mars bars and KitKats depending on what mood they were in; unless Grace was in one of her “more savoury moods,” in which case they would stock up on crisps and nut bars.

But this morning Grace was dentist‑bound, which left Zach walking to school by himself. Opting to forgo being idiotically brave, he’d chosen to go the long way to avoid the bullies, which he hated to do. Not just because it took him twice as long, but because it took him down Henley Avenue, which presented the notorious Lore House, an old crumbling ruin which every kid in school would tell you was either haunted, or where a murderer lived, or that it used to be an old mental asylum. Depending on who you talked to, and how inclined they were toward the frightful. The Lore property was a grand Victorian house that dominated the south side of Henley Avenue. Even walking on the opposite side of the street was no good, as the house seemed to pull you in with its iron fences that curled at the tips like long, twisted bony fingers reaching out. Zach hated it; he hated the street, the house, and how it made him feel.

He didn’t think he was a nervous person generally, but there was something about the street and that old house that really unnerved him. The dead trees in the yard and the old car rusting away in the driveway did nothing to improve its appearance or his suspicions of what lay within. He wasn’t sure about witches or ghosts, but he knew something unpleasant lived there.

No kids lived on Henley Avenue either, as far as he knew; and the other houses, though less creepy, weren’t the most welcoming he’d ever seen. Zach quickened his pace, hoping his twelve‑year‑old legs would not give up on him. The last time he’d come down this road had been with Grace, on the last day of school before the summer holidays. In their free spirits they had decided to come down the street, altering their usual route home in the excitement of summer freedom.

The street led to a cut‑through to Ash Park, one of the best parks in town, as it normally accommodated an ice‑cream van, and subsequently, children high on sugary creamy wonderment causing riots on sunny days.

He remembered how they had been caught up in talk of plans for the summer. Grace was going to France for the first week and had invited Zach to come with her, her parents eager for her to bring a friend. Zach had never been to France before, and excited though he was, he’d sworn he wouldn’t be eating any frog’s legs. They had stopped suddenly outside the Lore House as Grace complained of something in her shoe.

No one really knew why the house was called the Lore House; it was one of those things passed on in each retelling. The most popular story was that it used to be an old orphanage run by an evil spectre of a man who would lock the children in rooms no bigger than cells, starving and torturing them into soulless zombies. Grace had taken off her left shoe and was tapping it on the pavement to remove any stowaways when they heard an almighty cry.

At first Zach thought it was a cat in distress, as he’d often heard cats in the alley behind his house crying and calling to each other in the night. But Grace stood up in alarm. Suddenly they heard whispers coming from the right side of the house. Another scream pierced their bright sunny afternoon. It was still hard to tell if the noise came from an animal or a person. Then there were shouts, and Grace had gone up to the gates, as if to be closer to the action, or in Zach’s thoughts, danger. He had tried to get her to come away, but she said she’d seen something in one of the windows, a huge shape, she insisted.

He stepped forward to pull her back when suddenly a huge black dog jumped from the bushes and leapt towards the fence, crashing through the stinging nettles and leaves. It barked and snapped, saliva flinging through the bars from its slobbering mouth while they both jumped back in alarm. With that, they had turned and run to the end of the street, not looking back but hearing the dog’s bark follow them all the way, accompanied by hostile screams and shouts from someone, or something.

Now Zach was here on his own, and he horribly remembered that day and missed Grace not being just an arm’s length away. He quickened his pace going past the house, mindful not to look at it at all. The gloomy sky above him was promising rain.

An old Ford Fiesta came trundling up the road, its exhaust giving off a black plume of smoke in its wake. Zach waited for it to pass before he crossed over. He didn’t want to linger down this road longer than he had to, but something made him turn back. He looked up the pavement and there, lying on the floor on the opposite side of the road, were some of his school books. He suddenly took off his backpack, Kermit the Frog grinned up at him, his mouth the zipper, which had come undone and allowed his books to tumble out. No doubt as he’d hurried past the house, he thought.

Annoyed, he quickly crossed back over and went to retrieve his books. While picking them up, he looked up at the old Lore House. Smoke was coming out of the chimney stack perched precariously in the middle of the roof which, to Zach, looked like it would topple over at any moment.

A giant black bird took off from the roof, a huge feather falling to the ground over the fence. Smoke, he thought; that means someone does live there. Packing the books into his bag and securing the zip, he started off again when suddenly a flash of light caught his attention. Looking to the left, he saw the giant wooden door to the house close, the glass window at the top catching the sunlight like a huge eye. Was someone leaving? Despite being afraid, curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. A sudden bang startled him, so loud that a bird in the tree next to him took flight with a disgruntled hoot.

He suddenly heard the sound of faint music, old music, like the type his grandma would listen to whenever he stayed at her house. It was haunting music, warbling over the bushes towards him. Zach stepped back and stole a quick glance around the hedge.

He saw an old figure shuffling down the drive to the side of the house. He couldn’t make out the features very well, though Zach guessed him to be very old, and he was wearing a strangely styled hat. He heard a door open and then the patter of feet. Suddenly the huge black dog came into view. Noticing; if not smelling. Zach, it barked furiously, a strange bark that ripped through him and echoed dimly all around. Without looking back, Zach fled from the house and ran all the way to the end of the street. He barely dodged the number 45 bus, causing the driver to sound his horn. He ran past other kids on their way to school and came to rest outside the school gates, where he stopped to catch his breath. He promised himself he would never go down that road again, with or without Grace.

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