In the Forest of the Night
A blanket of darkness covered the night sky; the stars were torches flickering down. A sliver of moonlight penetrated the deep canvas above, illuminating the forest floor just ahead. Dark figures grew up around me covered in rough bark and faded leaves. Rotten vegetation plastered the floor and the wind whispered in my ear. I could hear the distant howl of foxes and the call of owls. I took a deep breath, smelling the musty aroma of an old forest, bringing back so many pleasant memories from before it happened. My arm came up brushing gently against a tree feeling the rough bark rub against my coarse hand. I was covered in sweat from running away; my faded red top was stuck against my back.
After work, I had come home hoping for a bit of rest, but that was not going to happen. My dad had been at the bottle again, he'd been at it ever since ma had died, he was hardly off it. Every penny I earn is used to fuel the engine he is, shame it's broken. Only five minutes at home and already he was shouting, ranting at nothing particular but blaming it on me. The bruises still marked my body. My arms were a mixture of dark purples and musty yellow; how I hated him. It was, was just for filing, it consumed me. It filled my legs, arms and fists, gave them strength. Knowing what would happen if I stayed, I quickly backed out of the door and ran to the woods, my safe haven.
Slowly I began to shuffle forward there was a clearing up ahead that I liked to stay in. Eventually, my dragging feet brought me to the edge of the ring of trees. It was once said that there was a great fire in this spot which burnt them all away. I disagree. For this is the heart of the forest. A great oak tree stands proudly in the centre. Its canopy a good way above the others in the area, the trunk so wide three men could stand abreast and a tangle of billions of branches, each pointing to a different star. A deer of moonlight bound across. Two men walked in from my right under the eaves of two birch trees. They each had a rough hem sack in their left hands. One of them wore a loose-fitting tracksuit, threads wormed their way out at the hem; the right knee had a faded green patch sewn on with the top corner peeling back to show the glistening skin beneath. A white t-shirt stuck out like a dog's tongue after a run between his grey hoody. The sleeves were crumpled up at his shoulder, two thin and bony arms produced from the sleeves like twigs on a snowman; long wiry fingers were loosely hanging off them. A black tube scarf was a python coiled around his thin bony neck. The shadows hid most of his face, but his long-curved noes and eyes were visible. Those eyes were windows into his inner thoughts, you could see it all, and nervousness was written all over.
He held a dark gun in his right hand, his fingers flying around the trigger in a circular motion but clinging to it like it was a black hole, drawing him in. He jittered as he walked and when he spoke it was with a stammer…
"Hey, Jack. Did we really just do that?" Jack, Jack was an interesting feller, he looked like a businessman, he had dark black straight trouser. His brown trench coat drooped down to his knees; large pockets bulged with unknown items, his hands just appeared out the sleeves. One just hung loosely by his side, grasping the sack with unmistakable strength. In his right hand, he was twirling a long knife round his fingers, like a bird's mating dance but deadly. Sitting proudly on his head was a tall top hat tilting slightly to the left. The shadows danced across his face, playing mischief to his features but the danger was there. I wouldn't want him to see me but then no one ever sees me.
"Yes," He whispered as if tired of saying it. "Yes, we did."
They had reached the middle of the clearing and with a sudden move, Jack spun around to face him. "It's time," he whispered, "for me to take it all."
"What do you mean?" he exclaimed.
Again, Jack whispered, "It's time." Full of menace but with no hesitation he slides his knife into his gut. His face was paper white as he collapsed to the ground. Time slowed down as he staggered on to his knees. His hands opened uncurled like flower buds. There were two muffled thuds that carried across the clearing as the bag hit the floor; the gun came just after. His mouth opened in a silent cry of surprise His hands groped around the wound but to no avail as dark blood pulsed out. His eyes opened every wider and his mouth became a silent 'O' of surprise. As he knelt their Jack whipped his knife on his sleeve dropped his knife into one of his many pockets. With unmistakable strength reached out and plucked up the bag from the floor. Without even looking back, Jack just walked back the way he came disappearing through the boughs of the trees. An unknown man, in an unknown clearing as the moon, played softly on his face. He walked off, not even looking back. Leaving him to fall to the ground with blood foaming out of his mouth like the sea out of a cave. While off he went under two dark pines, hidden by the boughs until only the faint gurgling sound could be heard but then all was silent. Well almost silent, a great frantic rustling could be heard from the trees as they whispered to each other.
I'd heard of Jack. He was from London and known down there as the 'Top Hat Murderer'. He was wanted for countless charges of armed robbery and aggravated assault. There were crazy stories going around that he ate his victims. What was he doing up here? Surely, he hadn't travelled this far north. I'm hoping he wouldn't see me because I would have no doubt I would end up like him. Dead in a clearing where no one would find me, save the birds. Luckily no one ever sees me.
Just in case he was still in the proximity I slowly shuffled forward to him. The ground was dark and sticky from his blood and his eyes stared up at the starry night sky but didn't see anything. Gentle I reached out and closed these dim lights. With a shudder as my skin touched his cold, clammy eyelids. This was all starting to set in but there was one thing I had to do. Reaching forward I picked up the ominous gun, sticky with blood. Standing up I walked, my steppes long and confident. I guess I should thank Jack for giving me a friend and we were going home.