The Haunted Wood

'Hell' caught Brian's eye.

He smiled as he drove his Jaguar into the petrol station. In doing so he
read the newly painted sign again.

'LAST PETROL BEFORE HELL'

The old man who'd painted the sign retreated into the shop taking his
paint tin and brush with him. The man sat behind the counter.
Watching. Waiting.

Brian
filled his tank, and then went to pay.

“Good bit of publicity,” Brian joked. He jerked his head in the direction
of the sign. “Why the Hell bit?” he asked. “Surely...” his
voice trailed off, mock horror showed on his face.

The man, about eighty-five years old, ran a hand under his chin, pulling
at long wispy hairs.

“Couldn't spell Halloween,” the man returned. “Hell will be coming along
soon enough for all of us, and maybe the Haunted Wood too.”

Brian laughed. He didn't quite understand the haunted reference, though he
knew from the costumes he'd seen in shop windows that Halloween was
imminent. In fact it was due to happen that very night of all nights
when his family expected him home for a special dinner party.

“They calls it Haunted Wood because that's what it is. Haunted. Only two
miles away, it's where you're heading, sir. Nobody lives there except
the witch.”

***

Inspector Mike O'Leary of Thames Valley Police thought himself an oddball. He
was Irish, a good detective, loved a drink, swearing too. County Mayo
was in his dim past. Now he watched traffic north of Burford heading
for the area of the Cotswolds known as Haunted Wood. “Find Brian
Goldsmith,” the Chief Constable had ordered. Mike knew at once
strings had been pulled, and that he had to find the businessman who
had all the desired connections. “Mike, his jag broke down in
Haunted Wood. Do what you have to but find Goldsmith and make it
quick.”

***

Brian left the garage and drove. He stopped once to check his map and had
the feeling the trees had moved closer towards him.

He remembered how as he prepared to leave the filling station the old
man had started to talk.

“It is a strange place,” the man said. “The Haunted Wood, I mean.”

Brian examined his change. He picked up a bar of chocolate and paid for it.

“Tell me more.”

The old man averted his eyes.

“People lived there, when it had a different name,”he said. “Before my
time. Then strange things happened and people died. All because of
Black Magic. Now nobody lives there except an old woman called Miss
Weaver. Everybody thinks she is a witch. On Halloween talk says she
makes 'things' happen.' It is all enough to chill your bones.”

Brian grinned.

“Sounds interesting,” Brian replied. “Cheerio.”

Twenty minutes Brian still found himself in the dense wooded area of Haunted
Wood. Ten further minutes passed. His hands felt peculiar. Now the
steering wheel increased in size as his body shrank.

Brian kept driving until it became impossible to control the Jaguar. He
stopped the car in a lay-by and tumbled out. He moved away from the
big car to make a call on his mobile. Every few seconds he cast a
glance behind him, wondering at the crisp sound of breaking twigs.

“Darling, it is near midnight. I've broken down in a place called the 'Haunted
Wood.' I've a stalker trailing me. Don't worry I'm calling the AA.”

Anita, his wife played the message he'd left on the answering machine. Then
again. Again.

“What's happening?” she said aloud.

Her young daughter joined her to listen to the message. The ten-year old
burst into tears. Anita place an arm around her daughter's shoulders
and then hugged her.

“Mum. Dad is in trouble. Call Granddad. He knows the police and what to
do.”

***

Brian's father in law was an ex Chief Constable who would soon set in train
the right people for a rescue. Brian waited by the car as minute by
minute the hairs on his neck tingled. He sniffed the air.

Wood smoke,” he muttered to himself. “Miss Weaver the old man said, so
what do I do?”

A flimsy moon cast it pale light through the trees, showing an outline
of a building. A cottage perhaps. He immediately started moving
toward it.

After walking for a couple of minutes he wondered if he should have stayed
with his car.

He continued to walk. Then he drew nearer to a couple of cottages. Wood
smoke from one of the cottages caught his attention. He passed a
Celtic stone cross planted in the garden. A further few yards on
Brian found himself outside a back door. He tried to knock but the
door swung open on its own. He felt apprehensive as he entered ,
calling out as he advanced.

“Hello.”  Somebody answered his second “Hello.” A woman. Her voice sounded faint,

old even. He called back, then on entering the cottage he found her
sat at the side of a blazing fire.

“Come in, Brian. I've been waiting for you this lovely Halloween night.”

***

Inspector Mike O'Leary arrived at the crime scene. He talked to the officer
who'd found the abandoned Jaguar. It was the car belonging to Brian
Goldsmith.

“I remember in Ireland,” Mike O'Leary mused. A uniformed officer
showed him a receipt for petrol. On a hunch the Inspector turned the
key in the ignition. The engine failed to fire.

“How odd. Tank says empty.”

A break in the rows of trees on the other side of the road drew his
attention. Mike O'Leary crossed over to shine his torch at a patch of
damp earth. Single footprints. Further on he saw the trail of
something following Brian Goldsmith.

The Inspector returned to the abandoned Jaguar. He spoke to the uniformed
officer on duty.

Even as he did so they both heard a chilling sound coming from the
direction taken by Brian Goldsmith.

“A wolf?” suggested the constable.

Mike O'Leary swallowed hard. He said 'Jesus' under his breath.

“No. More like the Banshee. God help us. I need the dogs down here right
away.”

***

Brian remembered the old man at the petrol station had said only one person
lived in the Haunted Wood.

He entered the room. In a chair, her face lit by the light from the
dancing flames, sat an old woman. Her grey hair, her complexion, the
way she sat and her tiny frame indicated she was old. But when he
cast her a side-way glance he saw her eyes twinkled. She watched him.

“Are you?” Brian asked, his voice trailed off as he paused to warm his
hands before the fire. “My car broke down. I was looking for help
when I saw this cottage.”

The old woman smiled.

“I'm Miss Weaver...eighty years old...I still keeps going. Some swear I'm
a witch. Could be. Then I'm the last one left in Haunted Wood.”

Brian Goldsmith listened and then went to the light switch on the roughly
finished wall. He pressed it and yellow light streamed down the badly
plastered walls. In that additional light he saw more details of
objects in the rooms.

Next to the fire Brian saw a coal bucket. In a corner he saw a pile of cut
logs. Further over he made out the dark outline of a second door
leading further into the cottage. And against one of the walls Brian
caught sight of an old sideboard. On top of the sideboard rested a
tray, two glasses and a bottle of whisky.

“Go on pour us a couple of glasses and then bring them over here. And the
bottle,”Miss Weaver called to him. The crackle in her voice made
him wonder if she was indeed a witch.

Brian did as instructed. He handed her a whisky and then found a chair on
the other side of the fire. He stared across at her. Only the ticking
of a grandfather clock broke the silence.

“Best place to be,”Brian said breaking the silence. He slurped the
whisky. “I mean safe indoors on a spooky Halloween night like this.
“Don't you feel scared at all?”

“No.” But Brian detected a sadness in her voice. He drained his glass and

picked up the bottle. It was at that point he noticed her attention
fixed on a greeting card on the old stone mantle-shelf.

“From somebody special?”

Miss Weaver dropped her head . She rubbed both eyes. Then she held out her
glass for a refill.

“Oh yes. My brother,”she admitted sighing. “It happened he died on a
night like this, I mean Halloween night.”

Brian felt a shiver as if something had walked over his grave.

“Sounds spooky. Tell me more.” He paused aware of the warmth of the fire,
and the relaxing effect of the whisky. He got up to add more coal to
the fire and then returned to his chair.

Then Brian heard the wind outside. It blew softly through the trees
passing over the thatched roof of the cottage. Soon it developed into
a violent gust before fading away.

“My, that sounds a stormy night outside,” Brian said.

He
heard a loud thump on the front door the front door. He glanced at
Miss Weaver but her look told him to stay sitting.

“That card was the last thing I had from my brother,” Miss Weaver began.
Clearly she was not bothered by any visitor to the cottage. Maybe it
had happened before.

Brian moved his chair closer to Miss Weaver to catch her every word. “Years
ago he went out to India and joined various organisations,”she
said, evidently proud of her brother. “Well with the recession
there was nothing here for Archie. India was the place for him. He
planned to become rich and then retire to this cottage.”

“What happened?”

“His letters to me indicated he worked undercover to help smash drug rings
and the like. A clever chap, with a degree from Cambridge. He had a
gift for languages and loved helping others worse off than himself.”

Brian paused to cough into his fist.

“I can relate to that,” he commented. Miss Weaver smiled and slurped
her drink.

“Then he wrote he'd found a fakir who sold him a secret that would make his
fortune. Something simple and to do with shape-changing.”

Brian picked up the Bells whisky.

“Oh, yes.”

“One year I had an official letter saying Archie had gone. Disappeared
into thin air in mysterious circumstance while out on a mission.
Perhaps they never knew he dabbled in the occult.

“To cap it all he disappeared on Halloween night. Months later a box
arrived with his personal effects. I was younger then and read
everything he had written, notes, diary but it didn't make sense to
me.”

Brian noticed her eyes shot to the single card on the mantle shelf. He
looked again and saw behind the card a small lantern less than six
inches high. He hadn't noticed it before but knew at once it meant a
great deal to Miss Weaver.

“Archie wrote about the magic lantern in his diary and the strange beacon of
yellow light. His words sounded like a mad man's rambling. But over
the years I can remember there has always been a solemn knocking on
the outside door. Sure I've hobbled outside. Found nobody. Yet my
skin prickled. In the darkness I was being watched. The knocking
continued. It had me petrified every year on Halloween.

Brian reached again for the whisky bottle.

“As the years slipped by the knocking continued, like clockwork. By then
all the villagers had left. I was alone with only a nephew to look
after me, now and again.

“This year you turned up.” Miss Weaver rose to her feet and moved towards
the mantle-piece. Her frail hands reached out to point to the small
lantern.

“Pick it up.” Miss Weaver commanded. “Bring it to me.”

Brian put down his glass. He picked up the lantern.

“I wonder.” Miss Weaver whispered. “I wonder.”

At that point Brian heard a heavy pounding on the front door.

“What to do? Something is trying to get in,” he said to the old woman.

Miss
Weaver smiled.

“Don't worry, we are safe. Keep hold of the magic lantern. Wait. See it in
action, see what it does. Are you game?”

Brian nodded.

“What have you found out. Is it something to do with your brother and shape
changing?”

Miss Weaver laughed.

“Yes” she cried. “Yes indeed. Archie has been in trouble all these past
years. But now can you light the candle in the lamp and go outside.
Leave the lantern on the ground, with the side panel open. When you
open the panel the light will flood out. That is all I ask you to
do.”

Miss Weaver raised her glass for a refill. Her face shone. She was in good
cheer. She showed Brian a notebook.

“Archie left it to me. I've read it and think he is at the brink of Hell.”

“Tell me what he wrote. Tell me,” Brian implored. He was intrigued by her
words. He could barely contain his excitement.

“Sister I didn't believe my luck at first but the lantern hold a power that
can help me change my shape. I paid money for the secret of the
lantern in order to help poor people. Somebody has to light the
lantern, place it on the ground with the side panel open. That's all.
It is easy.”

“What happened after his disappearance in India?” Brian asked.

“Nothing at all. But every Halloween I hear thumping on my back-door. It must
be Archie. In his altered shape. He wants to change again but I'm too
old. I've tried to take the lantern outside but I get so tired. I'm
hoping you will help me.”

The loud thumps on the back door started.

“What do we do?” Brian cried.

“Light the lantern. Go outside and do as I said. Then come back. But make
sure the light does not shine directly on you. It's dangerous.”

Brian nodded. He tossed back the last drop of whisky in his glass.

He lit the candle inside the lantern and then took it to the back door ,
aware all the time Miss Weaver watched with great excitement.

When he arrived at the back door Brian walked into the darkness outside.
The lantern swung a little in his grasp. He drew it steady, placing
it on the ground. Then carefully he slid open the shutter as Miss
Weaver had instructed. A beam of yellow light steamed out.

Brian paused for a second. He strained his eyes. Twenty yards away
something moved in the grass. A twig snapped. The yellow beam of
light from the lantern shone in that direction. A rumble. A roar.
Brian lost his nerve. He turned sharply and ran back inside the
cottage. He slammed the door shut and went back to where Miss Weaver
sat. Then he told her what had happened.

***

“Come on! Aim for that light,” Mike O'Leary shouted.

He ran followed by a dog handler with a German Shepherd. As they drew
closer to the light it disappeared. In the darkness something moved.
The police dog barked and tugged at its lead. Whatever the men had
heard moved through the long grass.

“Follow it!” The inspector shouted. He urged the men on until the chase
took them on to the shores of a lake. O'Leary paused . In that
instant he heard something try to scuttle toward the water.

A torch cut through the darkness to show up a creature with scales and
heading towards the water. The police marksman fired a single shot
but still the creature made it into the waters of the lake.

***

Brian woke up in hospital, his family all around him. He managed a word or
two. Then he slipped into another deep sleep. Ten hours later he
spoke to them; asked questions. Their answers surprised him.

In due course Inspector Mike O'Leary arrived. The detective spoke to
Brian.

“Glad  to see you are feeling a lot better, sir. Now I'd like to get a few
things straight for my report.” The Inspector sat back in his chair
with his notebook open.

“You paid for a full tank of petrol but we found your tank bone-dry,”Mike
O'Leary said. “We also found the cottage where you said you spoke
to a Miss Weaver.”

“Yes, that's right,” Brian agreed.

“But there was no sign of her. We entered the cottage and found the fire
still burning. On the mantle-shelf we saw a single greetings card and
a bottle of whisky and two glasses. Your prints were on one glass.”

“Oh, heck, “ Brian replied. “Sounds as if I made everything up.”

“Not exactly. I'm Irish. We know about strange goings on, like the sound
of the Banshee.”

Brian rubbed his head wondering what had taken place on Halloween night.

“It looks bad, as if I made it up,” Brian said. “But you saw the
light. That means it was no nightmare.”

“Oh, we saw the light all right. Ran towards it but not quick enough. The
light went out but we chased something down to the lake nearby. Our
marksman pinpointed a beast of some sort and shot it.

“I missed all that excitement,”Brian said. “Mind I'd already gone
back inside the cottage.”

“Come morning we found the body of a man floating in the lake. He was dead,
of course, and you can guess the rest. It was a police bullet that
killed him. It means a full inquest. A man died after all. And you've
no idea who it might be.”

Brian shook his head.

“I can't even begin to guess,” he said.

“True.”Mike O'Leary nodded. “After searching through the cottage we've found
the lantern that provided the light.”

The inspector lifted the lantern onto a table.

“What might happen if I lit the candle?” The Inspector struck a match.

Brian saw the candle flicker. Light started pouring out of the lantern from
the side where the Inspector had left it open.

The smoke detectors sounded through the whole hospital.

“FIRE! FIRE! GET OUT!”

Brian shot out of the bed, avoiding the strange stream of yellow light from
the lantern. But it started to follow him.

“Oh, Mother of God!” Mike O'Leary said crossing himself. “Did you see
that? Did you?”

The chase continued and a couple of feet more then the light would catch
Brian. And it did. He felt his body shake, the skin boiling and blood
squirting from his eyes. He sank down on his knees thinking he did
believe in Halloween, especially now.

Brian Goldsmith remembered the Irish Detective Mike O'Leary who was scared
of the Banshee. This was the same Irishman caught by the roving
yellow light and who emptied his soul with one long anguished cry,
even in that same instant as he shape-changed into a green faced
Leprechaun. The little people were famous in Ireland; here in England
it was enough to know the Haunted Wood stayed haunted until some
adventure seeker decided to prove otherwise...for fun.

The end.

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