For twenty or so minutes I walked in those woods, eyeing the dense foliage on either side of me for signs of movement. It wasn't paranoia that caused this behavior, but the fear of being alone in the woods that I've had for as long as I can remember.
It was a peaceful enough environment: the setting sun gave a romantic glow to the oak, birch and pine trees that grew on the slopes leading down to the narrow road. The leaves and vines were the shade of emerald green that can only be found in England, and the smell was indescribable. Damp earth, trees, and the flowers that grew every few feet combined into a comforting aroma that helped to quell my fears of being eaten by Bigfoot. But only barely.
The woods had also grown strangely quiet after the first hundred feet or so. This caused me to wonder at the gypsy-costumed lady's directions. Perhaps this wasn't the way to the field? Maybe there was a serial killer in these woods, and she'd served as the bait? Could he be watching me even now, waiting for his chance to leap out at me, slit my throat and drink my life's blood?
Actually, that sort of thinking was kind of sexy. Terrifying, of course, but sexy.
My mind began to fill with the thoughts of my erotic demise, and as usual when I go into "Rebecca Land" as my teachers, trainers, and psychologist called it, I failed to notice my surroundings anymore. Every cell in my brain was straining to envision this unlikely encounter, to place the wild man that would prove my undoing into my mental image of the woods. I tried to think of what his voice would sound like, how tall he would be, what he would say before he grabbed me and -
"Hello, traveler." said a cheerful male voice.
"OH MY FREAKING GOD-DAMNED GOD!" I shrieked.
My arms went up automatically to shield my face, hitting myself with my bow and basket before dropping them, and I leaped back and lost my balance, landing on the ground. This was it, my daydreams - or nightmare, in this case - had finally come true; I'd succeeded in fooling Murphy's Law of opposites which was usually what ruled my life; I was going to die, curled up here on the ground and blind to the world...
"Damn it, Will, what did you do to him? I think you scared him to death!" said a deeper voice, also male.
"All I said was, 'hello', not ' I'm going to kill you.'" said the first one - Will? - sounding remorseful.
"You should be more loud when announcing yourself, then."
Another voice, not English, said, "I think you have sent her into shock; she is shaking like mad."
"She?" said the voice I shall call Will, "how can you be sure?"
"We can recognize our own kind's special scent." I detected slight sarcasm.
Automatically I added, "It's specific to our species," because I'm so clever that I have to show it off.
"I told you," said the one that was most likely a woman.
The thought occurred to me to roll over and stretch out of the fetal position. If I was going to die, I would watch. I followed through on this decision, and I opened my eyes.
Bending over me were three faces - a young man's (too kind looking to be the evil doer), a tan woman with short black hair (I refused to believe one of my own gender would be so vile), and a very large, very scruffy man with a wide, fleshy face and nose and small eyes. That must be him, I decided. All three of them were wearing worn out costumes, probably stolen from the faire.
"If you're going to kill me, please make it quick. Pain makes me sneeze," said I to the scruffy man in the most emotionless voice I could manage. Maybe if he thinks I won't struggle, he'll be lenient.
"We're not going to kill you, lass," said Scruffy The Reluctant Serial Rapist, "just rob you. Though with the state you're in we may let you off."
I blinked at him several times. "Oh, well that's comforting. Rob me of what, exactly?"
"Miss," said the woman, "do you want to sit up? This is an awkward way to stand."
"I think I will, actually," I said, starting to do as she'd suggested. The young man offered a hand which I did not take as I shakily got to my feat. The faces and the trees did a little dance before righting themselves, and I wobbled a bit before my bearings returned. My bow was on the ground next to me; the basket on the other side of the road, its contents (bread, cheese, a mason jar of water) strewn out.
Once I stopped shaking I'd grab my bow and hit Scruffy in the face with it and bolt back the way I'd come.
All three looked at me with concern. "Are you all right? I am sorry if I scared you," said the young man I realized must be Will. The sweet voice matched the kindness in his eyes. He must be bipolar, kind one mintes, murderous the next.
"It's fine, I wasn't scared," I replied, brushing leaves and dirt off my cloak and pants. "That's just how I normally react to meeting new people," I smiled through my hyperventilation.
The three of them exchanged the looks I'd become accustomed to seeing on people's faces, looks that said something to the effect of, "Um, okay, she's weird."
I wasn't even offended. Much.
Dead leaves crackled as someone came running down the hill to the right. More sliding than running, actually. The man almost tumbled into Scruffy when he got to the bottom. He looked younger than his taller, wider counterpart and was much paler. He wore a faded orange beanie and green scarf, and a thinning white shirt.
Apparently Sherwood Forest lets serial killers work in their Robin Hood festivals. Although this one looked rather simple.
After running into Scruffy, Simple turned to me and opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. Shock spread quickly over his face as he continued to stare at me.
My breathing had returned to normal, and I began to slowly back away. I would grab my bow at the last second and sprint the mile or two back to the fairgrounds.
"What?" I asked, placing a puzzled expression on my face.
"You - you're - but you can't be..." stammered Simple, living up to my expectations.
For some reason I stopped to see if he would finnish his sentence. "I'm... what?" I queried. But more crashing and crunching signaled the arrival of yet another serial killer. They must have a clubhouse up there, or something.
"You all could have woken me, you know," came a light, amused voice as its owner gracefully strided down the hill. Male, light brown hair, scraggly beard, smiling, tall and slim, and - oooh la la, halloo Certain Death...
Certain Death turned and met my brown eyes with his bright blue ones, the picture of amusement and kindness. This faltered to shock, however, a second or so after seeing me.
And then pain split my skull in two. It felt as if my brain was trying to expand out of my skull, which was shrinking at the same time. My vision went black and as my hands tried to keep my head from bursting, I sank to my knees.
So this was what that Harry Potter kid felt like.
Damn.