Coombe's Wood (18 page)

“Ms Santana?”

“That’s me,” she said. “Would you like to sit?”

He looked around, and sat carefully at the other end of Izzy’s sofa. He took her statement of the events, nodding and scribbling notes.

“Do you still have the bag?”

“
Yes
, it’s here.” Izzy got up and pulled a black bin bag out from behind the door. “So are you going to arrest George?”

“There’s a process, Ms Santana. We can’t just arrest him. To be honest, anyone could have dumped the animal on your mat. Have you
had
any quarrels with a neighbour?”

“No!” Izzy jumped off the sofa. “I’ve just moved here, to escape my violent partner, and I certainly haven’t gone around making enemies. Exactly what kind of person do you think I am?”

“We just need some proof before the investigation can move forwards.”

“What the fuck more do you want? My blood instead of a bloody rabbit?”

The police officer sat bolt upright on the sofa, surrounded by piles of stripped paper, still not cleaned up from the day before. Izzy paced through the wallpaper, whipping the curled remains of gaudy flowered print up in the air.

“Look, I’m sorry Ms Santana. There’s nothing more we can do.”

She kicked at the paper, unintentionally sending some the officer’s way. He, the Bastard, had left a note on her doorstep and they couldn’t do a thing.

“I’ve read in the newspaper, women like me end up dead, murdered in our houses for our children to discover. Or witness. And then you’ll claim to have
done all you could
,
to the camera with the red light above it. Meanwhile, my son will be an orphan. Are you
sure
there’s nothing else you can possibly do?”

“We don’t know where he is
…
”

“What about credit card statements? He must be staying somewhere.” she interrupted the policeman, a six foot six lug in a navy blue uniform. His cap sat at his side, and his radio burbled in the background. He listened more to the staticy conversations than he did to her. He had ‘more important’ issues to attend to, so she held him in the flat longer than she needed to.

“We can’t access his financial history without just cause. It’s illegal to just pry into someone’s
…
”

“And slaughtering a rabbit on a person’s doorstep, writing ‘
You’re dead
’ in the gore, that’s not enough?” she raised her eyebrows.

“No one else saw the writing, so no, that’s not enough.”

“Fine, then.” She stamped off into the hallway and opened the door, slamming it noisily against the living room wall.

The officer appeared behind her, card in hand.

“Here’s all the information you need – my name, the case number
…
”

“Thanks.”

She stood like a sentry, waiting for the officer to leave.

“Ring us if anything else happens
…
”

“I’ll be sure to ask my ex to wait mid slash for me to call you. I might gurgle a bit though, from leaking lungs or something. No worries.”

The policeman left, chattering into his radio. Fuzzy crackles of static floated up the stairs until the door downstairs wheezed to a close. Across the hall, Feathers slowly peeked out.

“I’m angry, Feathers,” she said. “I don’t get like this very often, best to let me cool down.”

Feathers stared at her through a slit in the door, about to say something. He snapped his mouth closed and shut the door. Apparently he didn’t need telling twice. She slammed her own door, shaking the frame, stomped into the living room, and paced back and forth.

Underneath, Mr Brown banged on his ceiling. Izzy growled, stopped herself from jumping up and down, and flopped on the sofa.

From the hallway, a tentative knock sounded.

“Feathers,” she called, “go away.” She rubbed her temples, where thudding pains had kept her company all day. On the second knock, she struggled to her feet. “Feathers,” she said walking down the hall, “please leave me
…
”

She opened the door, on the landing stood a small man, leaning heavily on an ornate cane. He could have been a young 90 or an old 70. At least he still had all his hair. As if aware of her thoughts, he pushed a white curl off his forehead.

“Hello?” she said

“Izzy, nice to finally meet you.” He extended a gnarled and liver spotted hand. “I’m Joe.”

She shook with the old man, surprised at the strength in his ancient digits.

“How do you know who I am?”

“It’s a small village, my dear. Besides, you look after Mr and Mrs Offenheimer’s cats. They live next door.”

“Oh. Have I met you before, Joe? You seem familiar.”

“Perhaps you’ve passed me in the village?” He gave an offhand wave. “May I come in?” She noticed now how reliant he was on the cane, like he could topple at any moment. All she needed to do was sneeze in his direction.

“It’s not really a good time for visitors. Can you come back another time?” She held onto the door, her fingers tapping on the wood.

“I’m afraid I do need to talk to you now.” He leaned forward. “About
something
very important.”

Izzy looked down at the indent in the tiles, where her Welcome mat should be, then directed Joe down the hall.

“I guess you’d better come in.”

They settled in the kitchen. Joe sat in a chair and straightened his spine, pressing it into the wood.

“May I ask why you’ve come to visit?” She decided he was a young 90. His skin had thinned until his veins glowed iridescent blue-green, mapping out his features, framing watery grey eyes. She did recognise him, the shape of his chin – the cut of his cheekbones.

“I’m here about the woods,” he said simply. “May I trouble you for a spot of tea?”

She leaned
back
against the cabinets, her mouth agape.

“Sorry to be forward, should I not have asked?”

Izzy flicked the kettle on before he grabbed his cane.

“No, tea’s fine. It’s just been a horrible weekend – there was a rabbit left on my doorstep yesterday
…
”

“I know, dear, the village sends its condolences for your misfortune.”

“So why are you here?” Her words came out high-pitched, and tears gathered as she clinked mugs and sorted tea bags. She blinked, and found some biscuits in a secret place Connor hadn’t discovered yet. “Custard cream?”

She began to offer the packet, but realized
he would be accustomed to receiving them on a fancy dish, and his tea in a cup and saucer. “I’m sorry,” she said, emptying the packet onto a plate. She put the heaped pile on the table in front of Joe. She didn’t own cups and saucers, so he’d have to accept his tea as served.

She remained at the counter, clinging to the heat of the mug as it burned her skin, enjoying the grounding reality of the pain.

“Izzy,” he said, his speech slow and controlled, as if every word counted, in a way
that had to turn
crowds silent so as not to miss a syllable. “You were in the woods last night.”

“How the bloody hell do you know that?” Her mind flashed to cameras hidden in secluded places, their sole purpose – keeping track of newcomers.

“There are little people in this village
…
”

“Now just hold on,” she said, slamming her mug onto the counter. “Feathers told me about elves, and it’s a load of bullshit. There’s no such thing. They don’t exist.”

Her idyllic village life was falling apart.

George had found her, and the locals were insane. An animal had been slaughtered on her doorstep, and she had seen a monstrous black bear with red eyes that glowed in the dark.

“I’m afraid they are real. They keep the village safe from harm.”

It was no use pretending she hadn’t been out there, that she hadn’t seen the creature with her own eyes. “From the bear in the woods.”

“He’s no bear, my dear. Nothing so
…
tame.”

“I saw it, I saw a bear!” she shouted, flashes of the black creature came bounding towards her.

“What
did
you see?” the old man asked with infinite calm and patience. He sipped delicately from his mug, and took a nibble from a custard cream.

“It was very dark last night, I saw red eyes. It ran at me, attacked me. There was a funny substance in the air, like an invisible wall. It couldn’t get to me after I fell through.” She rubbed her back where bruises pricked her skin.

“And you saw a bear?” he asked, picking up another biscuit.

“I saw a
…
” She thought back, saw plate sized red eyes lighting her clothes with a blood coloured glow. “I saw eyes, a shape, a black shadow. It galloped through the woods at me, down the lane, like it had been expecting me.”

“The force field acts like a web for Bodu. He knows when and where something enters Coombe’s Wood.”

“
Meu deus
,” she whispered. “If it’s not a bear, what is it?”

“I came here to tell you more about the history of Coombe’s Wood. Whiskey Dave did not necessarily tell you everything.”

“So Simple John
was
innocent.” She
whispered
the words.

“No, Simple John was guilty. He also had a talent no one else had. We think it might have been his retardation that helped – he could go into the woods without Bodu knowing. John watched the creature pacing about his prison, maybe went a little crazy seeing such an aberration. Simple John dragged the missing villagers into the woods. Of that, we have no doubt. But he didn’t kill them. He left them in a clearing – near the creature’s lair – to see what would happen. He watched the first, young Eliza, ripped to shreds by Bodu’s powerful claws.”

“Bodu, this thing has a name – you’ve named it?” She gaped at the old man.

He ignored her, and continued, “Then little John was next, he wasn’t more than a babe. He was only eight. Can you imagine that? What his mother must have gone through?”

Izzy shook her head miserably.

“When Violet was taken, as you know, the village exploded. People, normally wayward children, had been disappearing in those woods as long as spoken history remembered. Usually the disappearances were ten, even twenty years apart as children were told horrific bedtime tales to keep them away. To have three children taken so close together was extremely unusual. Simple John was called upon to find Violet, as had every able bodied man. He was discovered at the back of a barn gibbering about what had happened, what he’d done.”

“But, Dave said Simple John walked into the Village Hall, covered in cuts and blood.”

“Oh, yes. That’s the story we tell if we have to. That tale skirts the truth.”

“So how did William die?” She thought back the tale Whiskey Dave had told her. “Why would William wander into the woods knowing the beast
…
Bodu was there?”

“This is the worst part. William had a soft spot for Violet, all the men folk in the village did. But William’s was more than a passing interest.”

“Poor girl
…
” Izzy grimaced.

“He was what you might describe as blind with rage. The fool ran into the woods in the vague hope she might still be alive. He found her body and added his own.”

“So what is the creature?” she asked finally. She sat down across the table from Joe.

“Izzy, we like you here in the village. We don’t want you to come to any harm. By that I mean
…
I don’t want you to go in the woods any more.”

The old man reached across the scarred wood of the table and grasped her hands. His flesh was warm and dry, and covered in a dusting of custard cream crumbs.

“You are fascinated by Bodu. That’s understandable. It’s new and strange, and it’s secret. But Simple John went crazy getting close to the beast. We don’t want that to happen to you, my dear.”

“Why are you so concerned about me?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said patting her hand before rising painfully from his chair. “All humans are important to us.”

Well, that was an o
dd comment.

“But maybe less so
,” he continued, “
for the bad men.”

“Pardon?”

Joe was leaving the kitchen, going to show himself out. He shuffled down the hall as she sat confused, trying to understand what he’d meant. As the front door clicked shut, Izzy jumped up and rushed after him.

“I really want to know what the beast is, if not a bear,” she called out as she opened the door, running out of her flat.

The hall was empty, so she rushed down the stairs.

But the old man was nowhere to be seen.

“Feathers! Feathers, open up!”

Izzy ran back up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, calling his name. She ran to his door and started pounding. Inside the flat, she heard a bump, and the thud of something falling. Then Feathers flung the door open and stood there, rubbing the side of his leg. Izzy pushed past and stepped over a phone book and a pot of spilled pens. Feathers limped after her, picking up the directory as he passed, and placing it back on the hall table.