Don't Go Down To The Woods Tonight...

Hazel walked slowly towards the boundary of the wood. Her wolfhound - Mika - was missing and had been gone all day. As she pulled her woollen wrap tighter round her shoulders her pace was slowing as she neared the trees.

She was wary because of the tales and rumours of wandering vagabonds and soldiers returning from the wars to find little or nothing left of their homesteads and families.
The desperate men were known to turn outlaw and because of the camaraderie they had shared on battlefields on foreign soil, standing side by side, longbows ready to hurl silent death at the enemy, they found it easier to bond with men in similar circumstances than to recreate a family and home life.

It was a harsh life whichever way they chose but to have no one dependent on their endless toil of working the land only to have to give over a large chunk of it as taxes to the landowner or sheriff was sometimes the easier option and some ex-soldiers made their home in the greenwood where they survived by poaching the King’s deer, sleeping rough and sometimes by stealing from an unwary traveller.

Hazel knew that there was a possibility of the outlaws wandering close to this part of the forest but that wasn’t the only rumour that she was worried about. There were worse things in the woods and perhaps they would keep the outlaws and vagabonds at bay – as long as she didn’t encounter either before she found Mika, she would be happy.

She called out for him often "Mika! Mika!" Listening to hear the deep bark from him, she walked on.

She wandered further into the woods. It was getting late and starting to grow dark and she perhaps should have been thinking about getting back home to wait and see if Mika could find his own way home. Before long she was out of the less densely wooded area and into the forest proper.

"MI-KA! MI-KA!" she shouted again.

Hazel’s voice was starting to sound shaky and she was on the verge of tears, but she didn’t stop looking for him.

Dusk was beginning to steal visibility; every shape was melting into shadows and darkness. Trees and bushes were becoming indistinct shadows and she was starting to shiver not so much with cold as with fear.

Startled at the slightest noise, Hazel decided to turn around and go home without Mika.
As she turned, she froze at the sound of a large branch snapping over to her left followed by total silence.

It was the utter deathly silence that came after the snapping sound that set her yet more on edge. The noise was not a natural sound made by a creature going about its usual business of survival. Whatever had snapped the branch was large and either aware of the noise and was now trying to conceal its whereabouts, or had deliberately broken the branch to see her reaction.

Cocking an ear and listening intently, she started moving again, as quietly as possible she picked her way back down the overgrown and - at times - indistinct pathway. Whatever was following her was keeping very quiet, but the silence which enveloped her told her that it had not gone away and the smaller inhabitants of the wood disliked it as much as she did - they were either scattered or sheltered.

The beast was keeping pace with her on a parallel course to her own. She glanced sideways often, hoping to catch sight of it and perhaps wondering if she should want to catch sight of it. Then a grumbling, snuffling noise gave her its location and she was frightened anew. Her fear was working against her and that could only help the hunter.

A faint but deep and sinister snigger made her stop again. It had altered its course and was now on the other side of her.

Suddenly she was running. It was an act of pure instinct - the urge for flight. She gathered her skirts and ran as though her life depended upon it, running as hard and as fast as she could through the brambles that she had skirted around on her way into the wood.

She swayed off balance, arms flailing for a moment as she saw that she had missed the pathway. She almost stopped and turned back but the beast was too close for comfort.

She was again taken aback when she had to jump over a partially rotten log which had not been on her path on her way in; her skirts almost tripped her as they were tangled with her legs. She could hardly see anything in front of her because of the darkness, her panic and the undergrowth. The beast was still with her, its noises of pursuit no longer muted; it had given up on a surprise attack. It was still keeping pace with her, but at a distance. She had stopped looking for it now but there was still no glimpse of it through the trees.

Somewhere on her headlong flight the hunter had moved in behind her, no longer parallel to her, so she knew the chase was on in earnest.

Her initial sprint had weakened her and she no longer had the benefit of the adrenalin that she had before, after the first shock. Her near-exhausted legs were as heavy as lead, pumping her feet over the uneven and slippery ground. The brambles, thorns and branches were catching her face, legs, hands, hair and dress. Her wrap had long since gone. Her lungs protested audibly as the bitterly cold air was pulled into them and then forced out. Blood pounded in her ears.

Her eyes protruded from their sockets, trying to find familiarity in her surroundings, and her mouth gaped with the combination of terror and breathlessness. Chest heaving with the effort of her exertion, her left side painful because of cramp, she thought that she would have to stop soon. How she had not fallen and injured herself was almost miraculous and the fear that she was still being pursued and the anticipation that she would be caught at any moment was unbearable.

She altered course as she splashed through a stream, using a large bush as cover for the change of direction.

Then she suddenly swung herself behind a massive tree trunk, changing her route yet again. The oak was an old one and the monstrous trunk gave only a little safety, but little was better than none in her present panicked state. With her back against the trunk she slowly slid down into a crouch, holding herself, trying to ease the stitch in her side, forcing herself not to burst into tears.

It was impossible to hear anything but the wheezing of her lungs and her heart banging inside her chest, but she strained to listen anyway. It was fully dark now but the moon was starting to show through the bare branches and give a little more light.

Still she could hear nothing - not a sound. There was only absolute silence - no rustle of movement, no murmur of the wood's nocturnal inhabitants. Not even a breath of wind passing through the bare branches. Her heart slowed, her breath came easier but she did not move. The oak offered a small illusion of safety but it was more than she would have if she ventured back into the open. Would she be safer to wait until morning? Would the sunlight banish this monster?

Her courage seemed to return and she pushed herself upright to try for home.

Ever alert now, forever starting as though ready for another flight, she began walking. Slowly she picked her way forward into the undergrowth surrounding the oak. There was a clearing just up ahead, directly in her path, and she altered course to avoid it.

With the clearing on her right, she watched the small space warily as she quietly made her way past. She avoided the easy path in favour of the undergrowth.

As the clearing was left behind her, normality began to return to the wood.

Suddenly, she was so violently startled that her feet left the ground as she leapt sideways away from the triumphant screech of an owl, as his supper was borne away in sharp talons. The small squeak of despair was the signal for all other nocturnal sounds to begin again but Hazel’s senses had been forced to a heightened level when adrenalin re-flooded through her system. The hairs on her bared arms stood up from the skin and her eyes again bulged. After she had regained her breath a little, she continued on her way home, her legs feeble and almost unable to support her.

Now that the moon had risen, everything looked so bright and eerie, sparkles of early frost twinkled on leaves and branches. Since she had started calming down, she began to shiver with cold rather than fear. The stream she had stumbled into had soaked what passed for shoes and mud was splashed up her damp dress. Wiping her nose on her arm, she looked back to the clearing... nothing stirred there.

The woods were becoming less dense and she was now returning to the outskirts of the forest. Every familiar tree, boulder and bush had taken on a different appearance in the moonlight. There was hardly any colour; everything took on an unreal quality.

As she passed a massive rock formation, something large was moving through the undergrowth behind her, mumbling, and she froze as she heard it. She slipped into the shadow of the rocks without a sound. The mumbling stopped and then a figure, a man, passed close by her hiding place. He stopped and turned. Even though she was fully enclosed by black shadow and she was holding her breath, the figure asked "Hazel?"

"Luke?" she gasped with relief at the sight of a neighbour from the hamlet - someone close to her own age.

"I heard you running and as you passed me I waited to see what you were running from. You seemed to be fleeing something because you looked very frightened. Are you alright?" Luke approached Hazel, his voice showed concern.

"Did you see it?" Hazel grabbed Luke’s forearm as he got close enough.

"I did not see anything, but I heard something scuffling and snuffling about in the stream you splashed through. You must have confused it with that and passed by me so closely that it lost your scent." Luke took his cloak and wrapped it around Hazel's shoulders as he saw her shivering.

"I did not see you; I would have stopped if I had." She clutched the cloak around herself, her shuddering was worsening.

"I'm glad you continued, it may have heard us both if you had stopped. It is better that it went away on its own." Luke led her along the path, which was the usual walkway into the woods.

"I was so frightened. I don't know what it was, but it seemed to be playing with me as it was hunting me!" Hazel looked up at Luke’s face.

Luke said nothing, but he tightened his arm around her in a comforting hug. They were soon in sight of the cottages that made up the hamlet and as he saw Hazel to her own cottage, he took his cloak back gently and smiled at her. She pulled the latch up and pushed the door, it caught on the doorstep and wedged just ajar.

"Here, let me..." Luke moved Hazel to one side and gripped the edge of the door, as he pushed, he lifted and the door opened smoothly.

"I am curious, what were you doing so far into the wood in the dark?" Luke asked as Hazel entered the tiny cottage.

"I was looking for Mika, he's not been home all day, and no one's seen him. I thought I saw him on the edge of the forest and followed him. I didn't realise how far I'd gone or how late it had got." Hazel was staring at her feet; her eyes were starting to fill with tears.

"He will come back when he's hungry, Hazel. He probably found a lady friend and went courting."

"I suppose so, but I don't like him not being here with me at night." Hazel looked up as a tear dripped down the side of her nose.

"He is a large dog, Hazel. He can look after himself, you know that." Luke wiped the tear away with the back of his fingers.

"It's not him I'm worried about... It's me. After tonight I am scared that whatever was chasing me will track me here." Hazel wiped at the other eye.

"I can take you to my lodging house if you would prefer company, or even Katherine's house, she would not mind an overnight guest whilst Darius is away." Luke smiled at her.

"I think I shall stay here. Mika may come back during the night. Thank you for your kindness." Hazel stepped forward as though to kiss Luke on his cheek, but instead she blushed and turned and pushed the door shut, making a horrible scraping noise as she forced it closed. She did not see him smiling as he turned to leave.

Hazel's sleep was fretful and disturbed. She woke herself more than once during the night. Before dawn broke she was on the floor by the fireplace, swathed in blankets from the pallet she used as a bed. The fire hadn't had time to burn out when she awoke so she put more logs on, wrapped the blankets around herself and tried to sleep where she lay.

She awoke with a fright to realise Mika was scratching and whining at the door. At first she was horrified at the noise and shrank back from it. As she realised what it was, she scrambled out of her blankets to the door. It was as stiff as it had been the previous evening but she remembered to lift as she pulled, and again, it opened smoothly.

Mika was wet. He trudged into the cottage, trailing a rope from his neck. His tongue lolled to the left side of his mouth and his ears were down. The rope was strangling him. Hazel got a knife from the fireside and with a lot of effort, cut through the rope. The knot was tied so that the more Mika pulled, the tighter the noose became. Lucky for him, the old rope had snapped before he had strangled himself. He was cold and dirty and he stumbled over to the fireplace, trying to lie on Hazel's blankets. She yanked the blankets away before he got his muddy paws all over them and got them as wet as he was.

"You can lie on the rug. I'll get something to dry you with." she said.

Mika seemed to understand what she said to him; he was looking at her as she spoke.

At the back of the room there was a neatly folded pile of threadbare blankets she used for extra warmth in the winter. Fetching one of the thicker ones, she rubbed Mika till he was fluffy, then he lay down in front of the fire, his massive head resting on his feet. As he drifted deeper into slumber, he curled his back towards the fire and started snoring.

Hazel watched him sleep for a little while, smiling at the way his feet twitched.

Then she left him and went outside to the back of the house where the hen-coop and woodpile were. She stepped back in shock at the sight of her tiny back yard.

The fencing that enclosed the hen-run was reduced to little more than matchwood. Not a stick was left standing. There were feathers strewn everywhere, something had rampaged through. The carnage was total and not a single chicken survived. The blood was not yet congealed, it was still dripping from the wreckage of the coop and was sprayed dark and wet along the wall of her cottage, and she saw one headless chicken on her roof.

The blood on the lime-washed wall was smeared as if something had moved along, touching it. The smears were high up and as tall as a man.

Whatever had done this could still be close; she backed off round the corner of the cottage and ran for her nearest neighbour.

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