Chapter 1- Bird Egg
As dusk fell upon Hagley Wood, four lone boys still trudged through overgrowth, trodden grass and leaves marking their trespassory path, the land belonged to Lord Cobham, of the Hagley Hall estate, a right stuck-up old man, round and red-faced as a mark of his permanent fury. He could cock his gun all he pleased, but it wasn’t likely to frighten them away, the German Luftwaffe’s had taken to raining down their bombs onto Birmingham for the last three years, so a little darkness or threatening groundskeeper was hardly anything to be frightened by, if anything it was a much needed change of scenery.
One Bob Farmer, was leading the trail, he was taller than most his age, and particularly taller than the other three in his posse, with a courage that would fight a bear, that is if you could find one in an English wood. His parents meagre meat ration was exactly that, meagre, and he hoped to supplement it with a poached rabbit or two. He scanned the horizon, looking around the bushes and the branches and over to a which elm, strange in it’s appearance, it looked to cocoon a secret, something it had strangled and locked in, perhaps a birds nest would end his hunt. His group trailed behind somewhere, he often kept his pace a few beats ahead, he could find them later, Fred Payne could keep them occupied, he often did, Fred was almost as tall as Bob, but not nearly as stocky, a scrawny looking boy, but he still knew how to hold his own.
Bob marched his way over to the elm, clambering up it a little, searching for a glimmer of white from a bird egg, looking deep within the hold, it seemed he had hit the jackpot, yes, there it was, an ivory curve burrowed in the elm, the moonlight glimmering off the smooth surface. He shoved his hand into the tree, grabbing out his discovery, the cold surface indicated he might just be right, he tried to yank it from its position, just twisting it within the tangles, then a second pull and lay in his hand not quite what he thought it was, a skull stared back at him through it’s hollowed eye sockets, he smiled towards it, as if it were comical, “what animal?” He thought. Then it hit him, hair still clung to patches, and teeth bearing off crooked and slightly caved out, it was human. Terror struck the humour straight off his face and he plummeted the skull to the ground with a blood-curdling scream that announced his direction to his friends. And with that they stumbled up behind him, “Bob, what is it?” Sounded a recognisable voice, Tom Willets, he was the smallest of the group, but more than made up for it in wits, though despite it all, he still got roped in with the less sensical boys.
“It’s a skull, look at it!” His voice fractured with freneticism, as the boys swaddled up towards the artefact.
“Oh God it is” Robert Hart cried, he was neither the tallest nor the shortest, he always fell right in the middle, just obeying whoever would command him
“Woah, is it human?” Inquired Fred, he could hardly take anything seriously, not even when his friends cowered beside him.
“Of course it’s bloody human, what does it look like?” Bob could hardly believe the calmness of his friend.
“I dunno, there’s a lot of animals around here”
“What kind of animal looks like that?” Bob spat out his words, unable to control his racing mind, a breath and he stabilised himself, lugging himself down from his little hovel on the tree, “we can’t mention this to anyone, promise?” They were trespassing anyways, surely they had no responsibility to the person.
“Promise” Robert nodded rapidly
“Promise” came Fred, a lot more collected than his frightened counterparts, they looked to Tom, who had branched off a step further away from the rest of the group. He looked back at his friends for reassurance, then with a glance at his muddened shoes and a subtle nod, “promise” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure he could.
Chapter 2- Tom Willets
The boys had long dispersed back to their homes, after that they saw, none of them could stand to stay in Hagley Wood any longer, so cowered off back to their homes, of which Tom Willets’ was the furthest away, he walked the cold streets, under cover of darkness, the blackouts had seldom phased him before, not at his big age of 17, but now, oh how he prayed that just one street lamp would so much as flicker. All his friends would be home by now, comfortable and warm, rather than stranded by the biting cold and grey clouds that were edging in front of the moon carrying an evidently heavy downpour, he’d just have to be out of it before they could hammer down. The night’s sky wasn’t the safest place, it hadn’t been in recent years, a whirring descent cued a piercing wail, shouting for all to take shelter, and potential rain was only second most worrying to this. The sky grumbled, hurrying Tom in his step, around the corner, down the path, and in through the gate and door, as he shut out the elements, banishing them from his home, the overwhelming relief flooded over him, as he sank into the rightmost kitchen chair. It wasn’t every day you stumbled along a skull, and human at that, and now, he couldn’t tell anyone, he couldn’t cry out to his mother “please help, we found something scary!” He couldn’t go off crying like a small child, he’d just have to keep it to himself, never let anyone know of the skull, after all, he promised. But you hardly get a skull on its own, every head has a body… but they hadn’t found a body, there was something more out there, something else lurking in the wych elm in Hagley Wood.
Tom crept his way upstairs, treading up the staircase as slowly and as quietly as he could, his mother worked odd hours, so he kept wary just in case she’d be asleep in her room.
“Tom?” a woman’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks, for a logical boy, his mind went straight to “it’s the person in the wych elm” but upon further thought, he realised it was a voice he knew, his mother, she certainly was home, but certainly not asleep, she emerged from her room dressed in her nightgown as if shed been lying sleepless for many hours.
“I’m glad you’re home” she noticed a ghostly look upon her son’s face, all warmth and comfort he’d inherited, certainly not from his father, had disappeared into a spell of fear, “are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine” tom tried to turn himself away from the conversation, avoid his mothers worried gaze and continue to the comfort of his own bed, but she wasn’t convinved, this woman had stayed up all night, awaiting the return of her son, just to make sure he was safe, just to make sure he was well, she knew how dangerous the world could be, especially at this time, she feared her son would bare the realities of war from the home front, but never did occur that even in times of war, other tragedies are still as constant.
“Tom, please just tell me” its an odd thing, you can bear a brave face in times of discourse, but the mere sympathy a mother can offer brings crashing down all the protective walls you built, and for Tom, the walls fell with a tear, smashing on the floor into a million tiny fragments. The shatter struck Tom right in the heart, and he collapsed simultaneously, overwhelmed by the world bearing down it’s ugly gaze, his knees felt weak beneath him and he dropped, burrowing his head in his hands and shrinking into the wooden floorboards that lined the hall, his words subjected to illegible sobs. His mother grabbed at his arm in feeble attempt to soften his fall, though ended up cascading down by his side, wrapping her arms around him and gripping him tight.
“It’s alright, son, take a deep breath and tell me” she placed her hands against his arms stabilising him from self-collapse. His tears parted ways, and his gaze rose to meet that of his mother.
“We found a skull…” his mother looked stunned and doubting for a moment,
“What? Where were you”
“I was out, with Bob, and Fred, and Robert,” he gasped for air in between words, “we went to Hagley wood again,”
“Tom, I’ve warned you about going there, Lord Clapham can be a right sort”
“It’s worse than that, Bob, he was climbing a tree and he found a skull, and it was human” he was clutching at every pause he could, trying his hardest not to delve back into breathless sobs, “he screamed and shouted for us all… he made us promise not to tell anyone”
“Oh, Tom, this is serious, I can hardly keep it a secret”
“No, mother, you must, you cant tell anyone, if nothing else, I’ll get into trouble for trespassing” he sat up adamantly ready to tug at her leg
“surely you see that I must, this isn’t just a matter of trespassing, this is someone’s life”
“Please… I won’t ask you anything more, just do me this one favour” she looked at him hoping he could see her way, but there was no sign of it buried in the fright that haunted his eyes, she pressed her lips together, letting it gestate for a final moment.
“Alright, I promise” she brushed his hair back out of his reddened and swollen face, and sent him off on his way to bed.
As she stood alone in the halls, the weight of his confession bearing down on her chest, the silence shed always felt in their quant town house didn’t feel so silent anymore, every sound seemed louder, the settling of the house, the grumble of the sky, the mutter of voices outside the front window, it all grew louder, but still no louder than the voice in her head, she’d said “I promise”, but she wasn’t sure she could.
And by the next morning, not that she’d slept to it she woke up slightly earlier than she normally would for work, tying up her hair clear out of her face, and apron around her waist, on her way to the factory, she’d stop by the police station, this was more than her devotion to her son, it was her devotion to the life of whoever it was hidden away in the woods, there’d always been rumours of its haunting, rumours and stories of witchcraft, dark magic and devil worship were not unheard of, particularly in Hagley wood, but it was nought but talk, there was probably a more logical reasoning, many people had gone missing during the air raids, they were probably just an unfortunate victim of Germany’s unwillingness for defeat, nothing sinister about that. But it wasn’t for her to conclude, by 8am it was in the hands of the police, and they were already knocking for Tom Willets.
Chapter 3- Fred Payne
Fred’s father was rather renown in the local area, Professor Edward Payne, second only to Professor James Webster, he had been put alongside his superior as medical examiner on the case, but despite Fred’s persistent inquisition, he’d refused to tell him anything, stating it was “a confidential affair” that he couldn’t disclose, not even to his own son.
The secrecy had his father skulking around their house, leaving the room when he walked in and avoiding all conversation with his own son, he’d had similar cases before of analysing dead bodies, and he’d never left his son out before, not completely at least, Fred had always aspired to do as his father did, a medical examiner, how cool would that be, work on murders and understand the human body, but his reluctancy to speak wasn’t great training for the position.
It was late Friday evening, Fred sat upstairs awaiting the creek of the front door then slam that would come a few seconds later, then the perusing of footsteps from the same brown leather boots he wore every day. He listened for the cues, his father settling himself in the front room, and starting his routine natter with his wife, considering he wasn’t supposed to talk about what went on at work, the conversation beginning “how was your day?”
Carrying a response of “don’t get me started”, ended up a debriefing of every detail, and it was now that Fred was keen to hear the details. He stepped down the stairs as quietly as he could, trying desperately not to scare the floorboards too much into revealing his plot. He positioned himself in a crouch against the wall right next to the door, it was slightly ajar, so he’d just have to hope no one would storm out and swing it fully open and right into his face. Pressing his ear against the wall, he slowly distinguished the individual words from his father and mother.
“Found the rest of the body, the boy was right, it certainly was a human skull”
“Goodness, to think that those boys had to stumble over something so horrifying “ his mother. Was always a lot softer spoken than his father, and she didn’t carry the same provincial tone in her speech.
“Avery, love, this country’s in the bounds of war, there is far worse they could’ve stumbled upon, be grateful it was just the skull they found”
“Regardless, I’m sure it’s still quite upsetting to them”
“Should’ve seen the rest of her”
“Her? Is that a fact”
“Yep, woman, probably about 35, 5 foot tall, light brown hair, she’d had at least 1 child in her lifetime. All bones, her hand was found a few steps away, a few odd bones scattered here and there, we’ve demarcated the area and all that, but she couldn’t have been a portly woman, she was stuffed in the middle of a wych elm, the hovel as narrow as 17 inches at some points.”
“She was a mother…” her husband had listed off countless things, yet Avery was still fixated upon her motherhood, a mother herself, she couldn’t bear the thought of a child being left all alone in this world, without a mother to hug them when they’re scared, to wait at night and make sure they’re home safe, to care for, to teach, to lecture… poor child.
“Yeah, not a clue who’s mother though, no one has a clue as to who she is, we’ve racked missing reports and all that, but no avail”
“How did she… you know?”
“You mean pass beyond the jurisdiction of earthly courts?” He said almost mockingly of his wife’s more refined accent, without sense for her sympathy in the case.
“Yes, William” she replied, fed up of his refusal to take things seriously. “How did she pass.
“Well, with no signs of violence or disease and a piece of taffeta shoved in her mouth, its pretty clearly suffocation”
“Gosh, any signs of foul play?”
“Professor Webster said it himself, I cannot imagine someone getting into the tree voluntarily, if she wasn’t shoved in there by someone else I’ll quit tomorrow”
“Any leads?”
“We can’t blooming identify the woman, let alone her murderer, she’s got to have been there for 18 months, it’s a shock someone hadn’t stumbled upon her earlier, but to be fair, she was wedged in there good and proper”
Fred had always taken after his father, his jokey nature and reluctancy to take things seriously, but hearing his mothers feeble inquiry, he realised just how serious it might actually be, and could hardly believe his ostentatious nature when his friends were cowering at the skull, he felt ashamed.
Chapter 4- Bob Farmer
Bob Farmer had always been the brave one, the one who led the group, the one who stood up for Tom no matter what, he was younger than the rest, and much smaller, so he made sure to shield him, now he’d broken the promise. He made them all promise for a reason, because he’d get in the most trouble, everyone knew he was the leader, so of course he’d get all the blame, and that he certainly did. His mother had gone mad, he wasn’t allowed out any longer, he’d man the counter at the butchers in the morning and have to come straight home, he made his own money, so at least that was something his mother couldn’t take away.
It was Tuesday, just gone 12 and he was straight out of the butchers, but dragged his feet along the cobbled path that lead to his house, it wasn’t a long journey, but he made it as long as possible. Halfway along the toad, there was always the same boy, Charlie Bolton, who sold newspapers, the Birmingham Gazette as it happened to be. He used to be in the year below Bob when he was still at school, a bit simple but pleasant enough.
“One paper, please mate” he juggled his coins in his hands, fingering out the correct tuppence piece he needed. The boy said nothing but obliged, they traded hands and he continued on his way.
He walked as he read, a terrible habit that is mother hated, constant warnings of “you’ll bump into something” that he’d outright ignored every time. The front page read “A Call for Dentists” with an article that entailed the police desperately calling out to dentists with any dental records that might match the girl found in Hagley wood, “upper teeth over lapping the lower, and one tooth pulled from the lower” good luck with that, it could describe half the people in Birmingham. His mother was adamant that his journey should go straight from the butchers to home, but he had other plans. Just short of his house, he saw the others already waiting, Tom Willets, Fred Payne and Robert Hart, “The Hagley Boys” as they’d been dubbed by local gossip. He offered a small wave in their direction, Robert of course waved back instantaneously, Fred nodded in his direction, and Tom just looked down at his feet.
“How’ve you been?” Inquired Bob, trying to make casual conversation amongst the group that hadn’t spoken since the incident.
“Alright” replied Fred
“Not too bad” came Robert, but Tom just shrugged, still not saying anything. They just stood in the silence, there were big things to address but none of them wanted to bring it up, until Tom broke the silence.
“I’m sorry, I told my mother in secrecy and she went to the police” Bob sighed, he was annoyed at Tom, but more so, he missed his friend. He nodded with a smile and looked straight at Tom.
“It’s alright, mate” he smiled back at him.
“That’s all well and good, but I think I speak for everyone, when I say, what on Earth do we do?” Natural of Fred to break their nice moment, but after two weeks of nothing better to do, he had a plan, but it wasn’t the most conservative.
“We need to go back to Hagley Wood…” the boys looked at him like he’d gone insane.
“I’m sorry, go back to Hagley Wood?” This was the first time Robert had said something even somewhat contradictory to Bob.
“Yeah, Robert’s right, that’s bloody stupid” Fred laughed as if he were hoping Bob would join him and just say “haha, only joking”, but his face stayed unmoving, he was set on this and the boys realised if they didn’t join him, he’d go on his own.
“I can’t explain it, I just have a feeling that there’s something more there, something the police have missed, and we need to find it” the other three looked amongst themselves, as if unsure whether to run home or ship him off to a mental asylum.
“Don’t you think we owe it? To ourselves, to the girl, to figure out the truth, because the police certainly aren’t doing that, they can’t even identify her. Please, just do me this one thing”
“Bob, I’m not saying we wouldn’t, but its all cornered off, I doubt we could even get in” Fred tried to hide his reluctancy through logical arguments, he often did.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t try” they stood in the silence for a moment, thinking and contemplating. They’d huddled themselves at the end of the road in attempted secrecy, but the oncoming people suggested otherwise.
“I think we should do it” chimed Robert, it was only natural that he’d be first to switch to Bob’s side.
“I agree, even if we just try” Fred joined in agreement, it was just Tom they had to turn to. He nodded, at first subtly, then a little more obviously.
“Ok, I’ll do it… for the Hagley Boys” they chuckled
“For the Hagley Boys” joined Bob
Chapter 5- Robert Hart
The police were failing, that was evident even to Robert Hart, almost famous in the area for being a simple, feckless sheep, he trailed along after Bob and obeyed his every word. Theories were popping up everywhere, about the woman, who she might be and what might’ve happened, from “accidental” to “murdered Dutch spy”, some of them even ended up published, particularly in the Birmingham Gazette, they leeched onto every story and minor development in the case, as did most of Birmingham. So as frightened as Robert was about his planned venture back into Hagley Wood, it was an opportunity to be a hero, solve a case, do the world some justice, it all seemed so fantastical to him, “Robert Hart, local hero after solving the case of the woman who’s body was stuffed into a tree in Birmingham” it’d need a better title.
Robert walked along the street, no reason, just walking and dreaming of success, he had about 10 minutes until blackout, so he’d have to be home before then, for his own sake of course, his parents weren’t too bothered about what time he came back or where he’d been, they’d barely taken any interest in what had happened with the wych elm. He’d wandered onto an odd street, he might’ve been down there once or twice before, but in a big city, every road, every building, every person looked identical. Except for one building, from a distance it didn’t seem very exceptional, but white font spelt something out on the bricked factory wall, curiosity overpowered his logic, as was commonplace, and he ventured closer, trying to read the printed letters, it read “WHO PUT BELLA IN THE WYCH ELM?” There was only one thing it could be talking about, even in his ignorance, he recognised the name of the tree, “WYCH ELM” exactly the one where they’d found the body, but “BELLA”… this vandal had done one thing the police hadn’t, they gave her a name.
His chest grew tighter, his heart heated faster, he was consumed by an immense fear, the pen still looked wet, whoever or whatever had written the taunt, couldn’t be long gone, he might not be gone at all, he had to go, he had to get out of there. Summoning all his courage, a thing so foreign to him, he started to run. He ran and he ran as fast as he could and didn’t stop until he’d nearly broken his front door down in attempt to hide from the outside. The message echoed in his head, who put Bella in the wych elm? Who put Bella in the wych elm? Over and over again with resounding volume. Someone had done this, and as he pressed his hands against his head, trying not to break into uncontrollable sobs, someone was either pressing the investigation, trying to frighten people, or the killer taunting the police, an unfortunate feeling that it might be the latter was undeniable to Robert, he’d just have to try and sleep, night had fallen and the lights were out for the night, the frights of tonight, were for tonight, not tomorrow, he assured himself that he could wake up and everything would be alright, there’d be no graffiti, there’d be no murder, there’d be peace, like a normal city.
Morning came and it was not just for last night, he’d bought a copy of the Birmingham Gazette from the paper boy, who’s name he could never seem to remember, front page held a photograph, a picture of the same graffiti he’d seen the previous night, and two other pictures, of the same graffiti, then same handwriting, but in different places, there was the factory wall he had seen, the side of a monument and the outside wall of a pub, there had been more graffiti, more vandalism, all in the same night, each reading “who put Bella in the wych elm?” Someone knew something about who this “Bella” was, they knew why she was in the wych elm, and how she was in the wych elm, but if anything, how they knew was perhaps scarier. He tried to read the text, and the captions under the photos, all to no avail, the words jumbled into a blur of black ink, marked out on the page, he felt sick, his stomach turned and his head felt light, “Bella. Bella. Bella.” That’s all he could think of, a woman had been found dead in a tree, her body just so happened to be stumbled upon by four teenage boys who were trespassing. She’d been there dead, and deteriorating for 18 months, yet no one had found her, no one had reported her missing, and for weeks afterwards, no one had come forwards with an identity for her, and she was a mother for crying out loud, somewhere, there was a child, without a mother, because someone decided she didn’t deserve to live, and that was barbaric. Now all of a sudden someone is practicing their mocking artistry at the price of a woman who cannot breathe a word in her defence. The world was cruel, and people were crueler, it didn’t take a genius to work that one out, it just took a murder.
Chapter 6- Wyches
It was the day of their venture, early night had set, reddening the sky and the boys were lined up at the fence for Hagley Wood, Tom Willets, Fred Payne, Bob Farmer and Robert Hall were ready to do their own investigating, solve the case the police couldn’t. They marched along the same path from all those weeks ago, the ground was muddier than before, trodden by the boots of medical experts and investigators, perhaps it just made the search for the wych elm easier, but with Bob once again leading, he didn’t need the path indicated, he knew he could never forget that specific trail. None of the boys dared to stay anything, they’d been silent since they stepped foot beyond the fence, silent all except for the snapping of branches and squelching of mud beneath their soon to be ruined shoes. The walk felt much longer than it had the first time, perhaps it was the anticipation of what they’d find, Bob felt uneasy, a feeling he was sure was shared by his counterparts, he’d turn his head every few paces, just to check on them, make sure they were alright, make sure the were still there, Bob didn’t feel alone, and not just in the sense of the three trailing behind him, it was an almost suffocating feeling of being watched, looming danger, than was only a short walk away. For a moment he wanted to turn back, cry to his friends and abandon it completely, but there was something pushing him forwards, something compelling, as if a spindly stick were prodding his spine and pushing him deeper into the wood, after a while, he couldn’t even turn his neck to check on his friends, he couldn’t look or move any direction that wasn’t straight ahead, that wasn’t further into the dense woodland. He’d just have to trust that they’d follow him, like they promised they would, that was mistake number one.
He approached the wych elm, it stood exactly as it had before, not looking at all as if nosy investigators had prodded around in it, and that was another thing, the signs and boundaries apparently put up to corner off the area, they were nowhere to be seen, no remembrances, no holes in the ground form the spokes of fencing, it was as if they’d never been there, as if Bella had not been found yet…
A strange murder bounced off the trees, creating a haunting symphony of what sounded like a faint wail or scream, not from behind him, but from the opposite side of the small clearing in which the wych elm was present. Awoken from his trance by this sudden intrusion, without a second thought he hid himself behind the tree beside him, assuming his friends had also, that was mistake number two.
He never saw them enter, it just seemed that they appeared all of a sudden in front of the wych elm, the cloaked figures, their faces concealed by the darkness. They spoke in a weird sort of tongue that was English, but not quite as he recognised it.
“When durst fair maid come here t’night?” Inquired the first.
“Soon, my sister, soon” came the reply from the second. They stood deathly still in each other’s presence, before simultaneously raising their heads to stare at the moon, protruding fully now, from behind the clouds. As they recoiled their heads immeasurably slowly, they reached wiry indistinguishable human finger to their hoods, taking them down, unveiling their faces, or what remained of them, for the lack of eyes differentiated them from anything he had seen or imagined before, in their place, settled two empty, hollow pits, marking where should be eyes.
“She comes” chimed the second once more, and just as soon as they had appeared, had they disappeared, though not for long. Within a moment the two had been changed for hoards of similarly cloaked and demented figures, lacing the edges of the clearing, forcing Bob behind a tree one further back from the happenings. They muttered amongst themselves, all speaking in the same outdated tongue, it seemed they be a hidden part of England’s past, one disguised and ignored by the obedience of Christendom, now resurfacing for some grand event. Presumably the same figures reappeared in. the middle, their presence instantaneously silencing the voices of the cohorts. “Long ago, the spirit of us before roamed free ‘cross the land, but taken, snatched from thine hold by the self-deemed holy” she smiled and exhaled, as if some sort of contrive laughter “well damned be the holy” at this the crowd roared with cackles and cheers, as if she were speaking the most powerful words they’d hear.
“This night, as joined by so many, brought gift has our sister,” she outstretched her hand towards a member of the crowd, who moved into the centre, though not seeming to walk, just moved, as if some dark magic guided her path. The member had her ungodly fingers twined over the arms of another figure, this one though looked more humanly, too human, she was human.
“Me thinks it duty of us to offer something back to the Earth, perchance…” she waited a moment, the witnesses watching with baited breath, “a sacrifice”. They all erupted into cheer louder than before, as the one who’d brought out the girl, turned her to face the audience. It was now that Bob managed to see her face, she was pale, yet very beautiful, light brown hair cascading over her shoulders, then it struck him… Bella. She looked around frantically and petrified, trying to scream, yet some chains bound her jaw shut, and kept her within the clutches of the figure.
With a flick of her wrist, the figure pulled a handkerchief-sized piece of pink taffeta from thin air, materialising it with ease before Bob’s eyes, this was no magician’s act, that much was certain. The figure smirked and placed the fabric in the woman’s mouth, it seemed to embed itself in the back of her throat.
The silhouettes laughed and jeered, as if it were some sort of sport, watching this woman slowly lose her panicked gaze, her energy, her breath, and with it, her life, until she fell limp into the arms of the one who’d brought her out. Bob felt powerless, there was nought he could say or do, he just watched, he just watched as Bella died. The hoards applauded upon the confirmation of their success , to which that same figure grasped the woman’s jaw, holding it upwards as if displaying their accomplishment to all the others.
The first figure who’d spoken fabricated a knife into her spindly hand, the same way the other had just before her with the taffeta, staring down at it as if the eyes were there, and not some dark pit in its place, she raised the dagger upwards, glinting the blade in the bask of the moonlight, then raising the woman’s hand, she slashed down suddenly, removing it clean from the body in a red spray that dispersed itself over the ground. She raised the severed hand ever so slightly then dropped it into the mud, right before it could hit the ground it disappeared, into a cloud of red smoke that immersed itself in the mud, then by it’s clearing was no longer mud, but a perfectly cut grassland.
“Return!” Shrieked the first figure
“Return!” Shrieked the second
“Return!” shrieked the third. And at that, the wych elm they’d been stood in front of unravelled itself, opening up by some sort of sorcery to which was revealed a small hovel, it was perfectly sized, as if some carpenter had cut out a hiding place specifically for this woman. She lay lifeless as the figure released her from their grip, she didn’t fall, she floated, in place for a moment, then slowly making her way over to the cocoon she began to change her youthful appearance wore away, as if he were watching her life in fast motion, ageing, then rotting, then decaying, until what sunk into the tree was hardly a woman, but a skeleton. The same way it had unraveled itself, the wych elm sensed it’s duty was up and closed itself, caging the skeleton inside.
Bob felt himself lose control of his limps, they went numb, then started to move, gradually, he felt himself unconsciously removing himself from behind the tree, and making his way into the clearing, in front of all the watchful figures, the three in the middle hadn’t paid him any mind yet, but Bob’s mind was convulsing in a pit of desperation and utter fear he had never felt before. The three figures raised their carved heads glaring a now revealed Bob Farmer straight in the eyes, such a thing he thought not possible without eyes, but he had just witnessed many a things he thought not possible. They smirked, then the first figure that had spoken leant in very closely to Bob, breathing an odourless breath into is face, before whispering, “mistake number three”
