The sun fell behind white, fluffy clouds bathing them in an orange glow. Slowly streetlights flickered on casting their neon light over a sleepy town. People were arriving home from work and trudging wearily into their neat homes. Getting ready to kiss the wife, make supper or simply curl up with a bottle of alcohol. Depending on what type of day they’d had. Greenleaf was a small town; it could in fact hardly be classed as one. Mostly people went there in order to settle down and to live out the rest of their life in peace. You would be hard pressed to find a nicer place in all of the country. I’d suggest going to visit it, I’d suggest going to see it for yourself and marvel at the lush green fields that surround it, witness the beauty of the old Victorian houses that still stood tall, enjoy the pleasant fresh breeze, but unfortunately after you’ve heard my tale you’ll see visiting it would be near impossible. Well, you could easily go and see it. I think it’s still on most maps. Nowhere near has enough time passed for anyone to realise what happened there. If in fact anyone truly ever will. I’m writing this story to make a document of it. You’ll probably think I’m crazy, or I’m making it up, yet I don’t really care. At least you’ll know, you’ll think it’s fictional but you’ll know. I won’t name my name. I think it’s better if you don’t know me, don’t get attached to me it’ll make reading this all the worse. I will endeavour to keep as emotionless as possible while regurgitating the massacre. Try and visit Greenleaf now. Go on. Find it on a map and drive down route 401, turn left at McDonalds, then drive down the long windy road, follow the sign posts to it and do you know what you’ll find? You’ll see broken haggard buildings, slumping over like tired old men. You’ll see grass turned yellow with fright. You’ll see blood stains covering the roads like cancerous warts. All of that won’t be what horrifies you though; compared to what comes next the delirious grotesqueness of the image will seem like a work of art. It’s the smell that’ll get you, the disgusting scent of rotting corpses, and the sickly sweet aroma of boiled blood. All of what was once a town is now pitifully infected with the rank all consuming reek of death. Once I did visit, I had to and I’ll never forget the stink. Fortunately the image will fade but the smell will haunt me forever. No matter what I do its hideousness will always linger in my nose, corrupting me, eating me. I was at one point an attractive man. Now I look at myself and see someone broken, old before my time. Deep, disgusting wrinkles course around my face, my mouth hangs lopsided. Although I promise the first thing you’ll notice when you look at me is my nose. My pus covered, sickly green nose that hangs limply upon my face. Doctors have told me it’s infected so badly that it doesn’t matter what medication I take eventually it will give up and simply slide off my face and fall to the floor. I can picture it happening, what falls won’t resemble a body part anymore, it’ll just look like a thick slab of meat. I blame the smell. Of course if you went to visit you may not suffer from this same curse. You’ll probably go in and come out without any physical charge, however you’ll be scarred. What you saw will dog you for all eternity and you’ll always be able to hear that penetrating shriek that wails through the town all day every day. Never stopping, never ceasing.
I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the best place, the beginning.
I guess looking back on it, the whole tale started on a day not unlike today. A fresh spring breeze flittered through tall trees. Bright warming rays shot out of the sun which was sitting contentedly high up in the sky. Lush green grass waved back forth happily in the dancing gust. Greenleaf was a happy place to be. I remember this day clearly because it was the first time I’d returned to it in years. I’d gone overseas to study Biology in an American university, once finishing my three year course I moved back to England to stay with my family and work out what I wanted to do with my life. Returning to Greenleaf was a humbling and wonderfully nostalgic experience. Throughout my three years at the university I kept in scarce contact with my parents. Not because I didn’t want to talk to them but simply because I didn’t have time nor money to make across seas calls. They didn’t either. While Greenleaf is a place for many to retire some people, like me, did end up growing up there. During my span in America I always worried that when I inevitably returned home I would find Greenleaf to be an utterly different place. I feared that the proud trees would have been cut down by an army of men and cold monolithic shopping centres would have been erected in their place. I was concerned that that deep green fields that is so atypical to the English country side would have been bulldozed and sifted leaving nothing but grey roads with metallic monsters running over them, sending black clouds of infection in the cheery air. The idea that the quaint little shops may have been overtaken by heartless corporate chains sickened me slightly. During the drive back old memories stirred in me. First when I was driving my little Honda along route 401 memories of my parents taking me away from my town on holiday flooded back. Soon I passed McDonalds that looked exactly the same as before but with a newly polished gleam being emitted from the plastic walls. A short while later I’d entered Greenleaf and was splendidly relieved that nothing had changed. It was almost exactly the same as it was in my childhood. Some of the plants had transformed and a few of the houses had work done on them, but on the whole it was exactly the same as it had been three years ago. Driving along one of the small windy roads I smiled to myself as I saw some of the places me and my friends played in are young and carefree days. Clearly in my mind I could see us running madly to the kindly red mailbox, trying desperately to touch it before we were tagged. Down the road a bit I could see the entrance to the forest that always held so much allure to me as a child. The king like trees rising proudly out the soft muddy ground, casting a cool and imposing shadow over everything were still the same as ever. To my mind not a single one had been chopped down or defiled by vandals. I would have to explore fully after being reunited with my parents. I stopped the Honda a little bit away from my parents’ house and stepped out the car. A gust of light wind swirled around me bringing with it the scent of fresh rose’s just blooming in the lovely spring weather. A joyful smile spread across my face from one ear to the other. I was home and there was nothing I could be happier about. Don’t get me wrong I enjoyed my adventure in America but after three years away from my home I was ready to go back. To relax and enjoy the simple joys that Greenleaf brought. For a good long while I loitered around, taking in the fresh air and all the sights and sounds that I had always associated with growing up. Birds were singing there upbeat songs, squirrels were hip hopping across peoples drive ways, cats were slinking around shiftily eyeing up the birds. Eventually I meandered up to my parents house, a neat little place that I thought would always be seen as safe in my eyes. Small red flowers popped up from the soil that lined the front garden. I could remember my mother berating me when I once accidently fell and crushed about half of them. Everything at that moment seemed utterly perfect, my adventure was over and I was allowed to rest before I undertook a new one.
As soon as mothers’ eyes lay on me she seemed to emit a radiance of warmth and wondrous delight. Tears welled up in her kindly blue eyes and she shrieked excitedly. I remember wet hot tears rolling down my eyes to. It had been so long since I’d last seen her and there was something seemingly magical in are reunion. No words needed to be said she swept me up into one of her tight all encompassing hugs and momentarily I felt just like a child again. Even then after three years of university and studying a topic that emphasises logic over superstition I still believed that nowhere in the world could possibly be safer than being held in my mother’s arms. Her scent was something I always remembered that wonderful elderly smell that always reminds me of old fashioned sweets, the type of ones that were so soft on the outside but almost impossible to swallow. She clasped my hand and led me inside the house. Unremarkably nothing had changed here either. Family portraits still hung along the wall, which were still a pale orange, the living room was still a cosy little hub and my father still sat in his arm chair staring good naturedly at the television. When I entered the room he turned it off and beamed at me its eyes glinting behind his glassed. Soon after he walked over to me, even in his old age he had a body that strongly resembled a tank. He grasped my hand and shook it firmly and gave me one hard pat on the back, I shook unsteadily back and forth. My dad was always and immensely strong individual. Back when I was a child he could effortlessly raise me over his head with one paw like hand. Of course after time I got too big for him to do this, but I maintain the view that it was only my size that made it impossible not in fact my weight. If one thing shocked me about returning home, if one thing had changed it was my parents. I was slightly shocked and concerned about how much they’d seemed to age in three years. Weary wrinkles that were faint yet foreboding when I left for America had now spread themselves all over them like a bacteria defiling once proud individuals. My father no longer stood quite as straight as he once did and something that shocked me most of all was that some of his muscle had turned to fat. Despite all of this they were still undoubtedly my parents. We spent a good long while in the living room talking, I regaled them with every funny little anecdote I could think off, told them all about American culture and my life at university. Only a few scandalous details that no son would tell their parents were omitted from the tales. Hours flew by as we talked and caught up and when the conversation started to lull my mother pottered off to the kitchen and started the meal. She said it was going to be a real feast tonight and my father chortled to himself. I took a seat on the sofa that was next to my father and briefly looked at him. Even after all I’ve been through it amazes me how members of the same family not matter what relationship can always find something to talk about, at first he explained to me the political state of England at the time, then why we needed a change of government and then out lined his new fitness program. Something that at the time I never credited by father with was an abundance of brains, if you wanted a nice man then he would be the man for you, if you wanted a smart man then it was probably a good idea to steer clear. Not because he couldn’t grasp facts nor had a bad memory, but more because he had no idea how to apply knowledge or question what people told him. I guess you could say he was a naive man. Having said this I’d like to point out I don’t think it was a floor more an endearing quality that I exploited many times in my youth. Most men who met him assumed he was a bully and a lout. In fact nothing could be further from the truth, despite his immense physical strength he was one of the gentlest men I ever met. Never in all my years did he land an unaffectionate hand on me. Punishment was never of a painful form with him. I always admired him for his optimism, you’d have been hard pressed to find a time when he didn’t have a big smile on his face. This same rule applies to my mother I can only recall a few moments of my childhood where she wasn’t smiling, however she was certainly a great deal more intelligent than him. At an early age she thrust her love of reading upon me and this is a trait that has stayed with me for the rest of my life. The amount of books that inhabit my parents’ house is staggering, I always enjoyed entering the attic because of all the books that were piled up in there, and they remind me of a miniature city clumsily produced. During my childhood I’d like to pretend I the books were ancient towers with immense power. Many times she would argue and contradict what the schools taught me and complain they were numbing children’s intelligence rather stimulating it. A lesson she taught me again and again was that knowledge was power and I still believe that old axiom today.
Promised a feast I eagerly awaited dinner, I’d been travelling for a great deal of the day and had not realised how utterly famished I was until settling done and relaxing a little. Gradually dinner time rolled around and a feast I had. The sun was still kindly giving out enough warmth that we picked up the food and carried it outside to my parent’s bench and eat in the late evening sun. I don’t think I will ever enjoy a meal that much again in my life. Roast pork, fried bacon, rich fruit, fresh bread, warm soup were all carted out by my mother until I couldn’t eat another bite no matter how much I wanted to. Laughter was certainly infectious that evening. We laughed so much it hurt. My father broke out the good expensive wine to celebrate my return and we drank merrily late into the evening. Like most good things the evening had to end, the sun became overpowered by the moon and slipped out of sight and the dancing wind became something with slightly nastier intentions. Disappointed we went back inside and soon after to bed, gratified to see my bedroom hadn’t changed a bit I fell straight asleep without even a moment’s hesitation.
Rays of white sunlight flooded through my slightly askew bedroom curtains. Warmth caressed my face arousing me from my slumber. I awoke feeling fresh, the sun was shining and I had the whole day ahead of me, no in fact at that moment I thought I had my whole life ahead of me. I resigned to explore the village to try and see what had changed. Maybe I would go and explore the woods if the urge took me. Downstairs my mother had made me a delicious looking breakfast, two strips of bacon and boiled egg. Smidgens of steam rose up into the kitchen lights then faded away. Eagerly I dug into the breakfast as is usually the case parent’s breakfast will always taste better then what you can prepare for yourself. A note was left on the fridge informing me they had gone to the shops for more food. Left alone I vigorously showered scrubbing yesterday’s entire journey off me. Afterwards I felt cleansed and for the first time in a long time I felt English.
Soon after I was standing out in the cool breeze letting it wash over me like warm water. The sun was high up in the sky even in the early morning. All around everything seemed to glimmer with a splendid beauty that only summer can provide. For the longest time I just stood taking in the smell, the wonderful clean smell that is so lost in New York. I explored the roads, walking up and down many streets and admiring the neatly cut lawns and cute little Victorian houses. Then I wondered over into the shopping centre that consisted of about four small shops and a dominating supermarket. I could see my parent’s cueing up in the supermarket but chose against joining them and continued my stroll. I got to the park, a beautiful place with freshly cut grass in the middle but elegant flowers surrounding the end. Benches were footsteps away from the flowers. Old and young couples sat on them either sitting and holding hands, kissing or just enjoying the summertime view. To my great surprise I heard someone call my name. I reeled around in shock and broke out into a huge, toothy grin. Sitting one of the benches to my right I saw two of my old college friends. One of whom was Sam. He was a chubby yet attractive man. His energy and lust for life seemed to make him irresistible to women. Back in college he was my best friend. We were practically inseparable. I often thought of him as a battery that fed life into all that surrounded him. My eyes slid over to the girl next to him who I also knew from college. She’d started dating Sam in the second year and I was thrilled they’d managed to last through out university. They were both smiling the same hearty smile as me. I’d never been that close to Sam’s girlfriend Rose not through any fault of her own simply because she didn’t mix with a lot of my friends despite being with Sam. Even so we got on well and had a fondness of each other. A sliver of envy rumbled in my gut upon inspecting her. She truly was a sight to see. Shoulder length auburn hair that bounced around her head, watery brown eyes flashed with life in the sun light, her thin red lips curved into a sensual smile. Sam while attractive in his own way had always been awed by her beauty and looking at her now I could understand why. Both of them waved me over and with excitement in my gut I walked over. I couldn’t believe they were both here while we’d all tried to keep in contact with each other through out university my being in a different country made it difficult. Eager to catch up with them I sat next to Sam. Any worry of awkwardness had been expelled after the first few minutes of talking. We spoke for most of the morning and a good portion of the afternoon. Sam told me about his university course and how much fun he had while studying English Literature. Rose informed me about the conventions of creative writing and how she had a book published already and another one in the works. Both of them radiated life and warmth a bit like the sun they cast beauty into all that they touched. People like them were the medicine to life’s diseases or at least that’s what I used to think. Hours and hours passed and not once did we grow tired of each other. Quite the contrary the more we talked the more we never wanted it to end. Fully formed laughs jingled in the summer air. After what must’ve been six hours Rose’s phone began to ring and in one smooth motion she’d brought it out of her bag and put it to her lips. I’d noticed while speaking with the two them through the day Rose had a certain way of talking, allure mixed with innocence, sexuality intermeshed with cuteness, mischievousness hidden behind goodness and vice versa. Her movements were all underlined with a sexual subtext. Sam’s also had his own unique way of moving. His hand movements were exaggerated and a smile never left his face. His ears would often wiggle like that of a puppy trying to understand the complexities for the human language. Rose informed us she had to leave. Sadly we got to our feet. She hugged me good bye. As her warm, slim body pressed against mine my heart skipped a beat, she smelt of sweet, spring flowers. Before I could manage to fully lose myself in the hug she broke away smiling at me a tad mockingly. Of course I knew she would never cheat on Sam, for as long as I had known her she had acted in the same old seductive way. She was an attractive girl and knew it. On previous occasions both me and Sam had discussed how she enjoyed flaunting her woeful radiance. I’d forgotten exactly how alluring it could be. Sam also engulfed me in a hug, a tight, strong hug. The kind of one that only best friends could give each other.
When we left each other I walked away with my spirits soaring into the sky at this moment nothing could bring me down or so I thought. I’d entered my parent’s house whistling a jaunty tune. What I saw next will be etched into my memory forever. My mother crouched on the floor her head buried in her hands. She looked a bit like a hedgehog trying to hide itself from the world. Gentle sobs escaped her. Father sat sombrely next to her with one powerful arm wrapped around her hunched back. No hint of a grin crossed his face. He would have reminded me of a wall apart from the single tear rolling down his cheek. His blue eyes moved miserably over to me and he took a while to talk when he did his voice came out in short sharp shots. Mother was inconsolable and when he was informing me on had what happened she sobbed even harder. He explained that their friends who lived near by had been murdered. They were a married couple with two children who’d also been killed. Admittedly pangs of sadness stung me but what horrified me was the way they’d been killed. Apparently they had been skinned and torn so what they resembled didn’t even look human. How anyone could do that to two children so ripe with life was beyond me. I felt as though I’d just been hit in the gut all the pleasure I’d experienced that day was gone and was unlikely to come back. Now I can say for certain it didn’t.
Quickly I feel I should inform you that the next bits of my woeful tale may come off a bit fragmented I’ve tried long and hard to repress them from my mind and bringing them up is painful to say the least. My grotesque nose has slipped another few centimetres down my face its oozing yellow pus which is dripping into my crooked, dry mouth. I’ve just been sick and I’m ready to begin the second part of unhealthy story.
The rest of the evening had been coated in a damp wax smothering all warmth. Minutes turned into hours and my mother could not stop crying while my father had only managed to mutter a few words. I’d never seen them like this even when my mothers father died she was at least consolable. I assumed they must have been close friends. For a long part of the evening I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. No matter what position I twisted myself into I couldn’t seem to get comfy. It felt as though needles were breaking out from the cushion and cutting into me. Dry sobs of my mother circled around the room like some ghostly spectre consuming all happiness in its wake. Admittedly I was relieved when Sam knocked on the house and invited me to the cinema with him and Rose. The palpable despair seemed to be sucking everything good out of me. Hastily I made my excuses and left the house whishing I could have said something helpful. Sadly the night out at the cinema didn’t hold much more of a reprieve from pain then staying at my house would have. Inevitably every conversation sparked up seemed to roll onto the poor, dead boy. A local official had apparently described the body as the vilest thing he’d ever seen. To my great displeasure I couldn’t stop picturing the sad child, and still can’t. His dead eyes staring hopelessly upwards, his mouth opened just a bit; forever trying to breathe another breath. A skinless arm bent back on itself and his once exuberant head lying limply on its side. God! At the time I couldn’t think of anything more appalling, of course now my world is full of horrors some imagined but most viewed. This is the first time I’ve attempted to write down what I saw on paper and I assure you no matter what words I use I won’t be able to describe the mind destroying grotesqueness of what we experienced.
On the way back from the film (a mind numbing romp into horror where a young, naive girl is hounded by a pack of wolves being controlled by a psychotic mad man) we stopped outside the woods. To this day I can’t explain why. Some unknown force bound our legs together making it impossible to move. Of course we didn’t know this at the time. Rose’s eyes darted quickly around and landed on the darkest spot of the woods, a spot where no light ventured. Me and Sam moved are gaze over to the same place. Looking back on the event I would wager that it was the darkness that transfixed our sight. It was darkness unlike anything I’d ever seen. Not a single speck of light pierced it; it was a fortress of night that no artificial beam could ever penetrate. Without warning we heard a crack of twigs far of in the distance yet close enough that the sound echoed in our minds. Slowly we looked at each other all of our eyes wide with illogical terror. I’ve never been able to work out why a snap of branches could startle us so. Maybe because it was odd for someone to be roaming the woods at night, maybe because the conversation that had haunted us through out the day was still fresh in our minds, maybe because we knew in our gut that it was something to be afraid off, maybe some primal instinct was telling us, screaming at us that if we saw what we saw it would hound us until the end of time, that it would infect us and chip away at us until everything we viewed as safe was nothing more than a shell.
Snap
Another bunch of twigs broke and the gut wrenching fright that had began to raise burst out into white hot waves of inane panic. All three of us seemed to be paralysed with fiery fear. With all my strength and determination I tried to shift my legs but I couldn’t. My body had simply ceased to obey my brain. I stood as still a statu.
I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the best place, the beginning.
I guess looking back on it, the whole tale started on a day not unlike today. A fresh spring breeze flittered through tall trees. Bright warming rays shot out of the sun which was sitting contentedly high up in the sky. Lush green grass waved back forth happily in the dancing gust. Greenleaf was a happy place to be. I remember this day clearly because it was the first time I’d returned to it in years. I’d gone overseas to study Biology in an American university, once finishing my three year course I moved back to England to stay with my family and work out what I wanted to do with my life. Returning to Greenleaf was a humbling and wonderfully nostalgic experience. Throughout my three years at the university I kept in scarce contact with my parents. Not because I didn’t want to talk to them but simply because I didn’t have time nor money to make across seas calls. They didn’t either. While Greenleaf is a place for many to retire some people, like me, did end up growing up there. During my span in America I always worried that when I inevitably returned home I would find Greenleaf to be an utterly different place. I feared that the proud trees would have been cut down by an army of men and cold monolithic shopping centres would have been erected in their place. I was concerned that that deep green fields that is so atypical to the English country side would have been bulldozed and sifted leaving nothing but grey roads with metallic monsters running over them, sending black clouds of infection in the cheery air. The idea that the quaint little shops may have been overtaken by heartless corporate chains sickened me slightly. During the drive back old memories stirred in me. First when I was driving my little Honda along route 401 memories of my parents taking me away from my town on holiday flooded back. Soon I passed McDonalds that looked exactly the same as before but with a newly polished gleam being emitted from the plastic walls. A short while later I’d entered Greenleaf and was splendidly relieved that nothing had changed. It was almost exactly the same as it was in my childhood. Some of the plants had transformed and a few of the houses had work done on them, but on the whole it was exactly the same as it had been three years ago. Driving along one of the small windy roads I smiled to myself as I saw some of the places me and my friends played in are young and carefree days. Clearly in my mind I could see us running madly to the kindly red mailbox, trying desperately to touch it before we were tagged. Down the road a bit I could see the entrance to the forest that always held so much allure to me as a child. The king like trees rising proudly out the soft muddy ground, casting a cool and imposing shadow over everything were still the same as ever. To my mind not a single one had been chopped down or defiled by vandals. I would have to explore fully after being reunited with my parents. I stopped the Honda a little bit away from my parents’ house and stepped out the car. A gust of light wind swirled around me bringing with it the scent of fresh rose’s just blooming in the lovely spring weather. A joyful smile spread across my face from one ear to the other. I was home and there was nothing I could be happier about. Don’t get me wrong I enjoyed my adventure in America but after three years away from my home I was ready to go back. To relax and enjoy the simple joys that Greenleaf brought. For a good long while I loitered around, taking in the fresh air and all the sights and sounds that I had always associated with growing up. Birds were singing there upbeat songs, squirrels were hip hopping across peoples drive ways, cats were slinking around shiftily eyeing up the birds. Eventually I meandered up to my parents house, a neat little place that I thought would always be seen as safe in my eyes. Small red flowers popped up from the soil that lined the front garden. I could remember my mother berating me when I once accidently fell and crushed about half of them. Everything at that moment seemed utterly perfect, my adventure was over and I was allowed to rest before I undertook a new one.
As soon as mothers’ eyes lay on me she seemed to emit a radiance of warmth and wondrous delight. Tears welled up in her kindly blue eyes and she shrieked excitedly. I remember wet hot tears rolling down my eyes to. It had been so long since I’d last seen her and there was something seemingly magical in are reunion. No words needed to be said she swept me up into one of her tight all encompassing hugs and momentarily I felt just like a child again. Even then after three years of university and studying a topic that emphasises logic over superstition I still believed that nowhere in the world could possibly be safer than being held in my mother’s arms. Her scent was something I always remembered that wonderful elderly smell that always reminds me of old fashioned sweets, the type of ones that were so soft on the outside but almost impossible to swallow. She clasped my hand and led me inside the house. Unremarkably nothing had changed here either. Family portraits still hung along the wall, which were still a pale orange, the living room was still a cosy little hub and my father still sat in his arm chair staring good naturedly at the television. When I entered the room he turned it off and beamed at me its eyes glinting behind his glassed. Soon after he walked over to me, even in his old age he had a body that strongly resembled a tank. He grasped my hand and shook it firmly and gave me one hard pat on the back, I shook unsteadily back and forth. My dad was always and immensely strong individual. Back when I was a child he could effortlessly raise me over his head with one paw like hand. Of course after time I got too big for him to do this, but I maintain the view that it was only my size that made it impossible not in fact my weight. If one thing shocked me about returning home, if one thing had changed it was my parents. I was slightly shocked and concerned about how much they’d seemed to age in three years. Weary wrinkles that were faint yet foreboding when I left for America had now spread themselves all over them like a bacteria defiling once proud individuals. My father no longer stood quite as straight as he once did and something that shocked me most of all was that some of his muscle had turned to fat. Despite all of this they were still undoubtedly my parents. We spent a good long while in the living room talking, I regaled them with every funny little anecdote I could think off, told them all about American culture and my life at university. Only a few scandalous details that no son would tell their parents were omitted from the tales. Hours flew by as we talked and caught up and when the conversation started to lull my mother pottered off to the kitchen and started the meal. She said it was going to be a real feast tonight and my father chortled to himself. I took a seat on the sofa that was next to my father and briefly looked at him. Even after all I’ve been through it amazes me how members of the same family not matter what relationship can always find something to talk about, at first he explained to me the political state of England at the time, then why we needed a change of government and then out lined his new fitness program. Something that at the time I never credited by father with was an abundance of brains, if you wanted a nice man then he would be the man for you, if you wanted a smart man then it was probably a good idea to steer clear. Not because he couldn’t grasp facts nor had a bad memory, but more because he had no idea how to apply knowledge or question what people told him. I guess you could say he was a naive man. Having said this I’d like to point out I don’t think it was a floor more an endearing quality that I exploited many times in my youth. Most men who met him assumed he was a bully and a lout. In fact nothing could be further from the truth, despite his immense physical strength he was one of the gentlest men I ever met. Never in all my years did he land an unaffectionate hand on me. Punishment was never of a painful form with him. I always admired him for his optimism, you’d have been hard pressed to find a time when he didn’t have a big smile on his face. This same rule applies to my mother I can only recall a few moments of my childhood where she wasn’t smiling, however she was certainly a great deal more intelligent than him. At an early age she thrust her love of reading upon me and this is a trait that has stayed with me for the rest of my life. The amount of books that inhabit my parents’ house is staggering, I always enjoyed entering the attic because of all the books that were piled up in there, and they remind me of a miniature city clumsily produced. During my childhood I’d like to pretend I the books were ancient towers with immense power. Many times she would argue and contradict what the schools taught me and complain they were numbing children’s intelligence rather stimulating it. A lesson she taught me again and again was that knowledge was power and I still believe that old axiom today.
Promised a feast I eagerly awaited dinner, I’d been travelling for a great deal of the day and had not realised how utterly famished I was until settling done and relaxing a little. Gradually dinner time rolled around and a feast I had. The sun was still kindly giving out enough warmth that we picked up the food and carried it outside to my parent’s bench and eat in the late evening sun. I don’t think I will ever enjoy a meal that much again in my life. Roast pork, fried bacon, rich fruit, fresh bread, warm soup were all carted out by my mother until I couldn’t eat another bite no matter how much I wanted to. Laughter was certainly infectious that evening. We laughed so much it hurt. My father broke out the good expensive wine to celebrate my return and we drank merrily late into the evening. Like most good things the evening had to end, the sun became overpowered by the moon and slipped out of sight and the dancing wind became something with slightly nastier intentions. Disappointed we went back inside and soon after to bed, gratified to see my bedroom hadn’t changed a bit I fell straight asleep without even a moment’s hesitation.
Rays of white sunlight flooded through my slightly askew bedroom curtains. Warmth caressed my face arousing me from my slumber. I awoke feeling fresh, the sun was shining and I had the whole day ahead of me, no in fact at that moment I thought I had my whole life ahead of me. I resigned to explore the village to try and see what had changed. Maybe I would go and explore the woods if the urge took me. Downstairs my mother had made me a delicious looking breakfast, two strips of bacon and boiled egg. Smidgens of steam rose up into the kitchen lights then faded away. Eagerly I dug into the breakfast as is usually the case parent’s breakfast will always taste better then what you can prepare for yourself. A note was left on the fridge informing me they had gone to the shops for more food. Left alone I vigorously showered scrubbing yesterday’s entire journey off me. Afterwards I felt cleansed and for the first time in a long time I felt English.
Soon after I was standing out in the cool breeze letting it wash over me like warm water. The sun was high up in the sky even in the early morning. All around everything seemed to glimmer with a splendid beauty that only summer can provide. For the longest time I just stood taking in the smell, the wonderful clean smell that is so lost in New York. I explored the roads, walking up and down many streets and admiring the neatly cut lawns and cute little Victorian houses. Then I wondered over into the shopping centre that consisted of about four small shops and a dominating supermarket. I could see my parent’s cueing up in the supermarket but chose against joining them and continued my stroll. I got to the park, a beautiful place with freshly cut grass in the middle but elegant flowers surrounding the end. Benches were footsteps away from the flowers. Old and young couples sat on them either sitting and holding hands, kissing or just enjoying the summertime view. To my great surprise I heard someone call my name. I reeled around in shock and broke out into a huge, toothy grin. Sitting one of the benches to my right I saw two of my old college friends. One of whom was Sam. He was a chubby yet attractive man. His energy and lust for life seemed to make him irresistible to women. Back in college he was my best friend. We were practically inseparable. I often thought of him as a battery that fed life into all that surrounded him. My eyes slid over to the girl next to him who I also knew from college. She’d started dating Sam in the second year and I was thrilled they’d managed to last through out university. They were both smiling the same hearty smile as me. I’d never been that close to Sam’s girlfriend Rose not through any fault of her own simply because she didn’t mix with a lot of my friends despite being with Sam. Even so we got on well and had a fondness of each other. A sliver of envy rumbled in my gut upon inspecting her. She truly was a sight to see. Shoulder length auburn hair that bounced around her head, watery brown eyes flashed with life in the sun light, her thin red lips curved into a sensual smile. Sam while attractive in his own way had always been awed by her beauty and looking at her now I could understand why. Both of them waved me over and with excitement in my gut I walked over. I couldn’t believe they were both here while we’d all tried to keep in contact with each other through out university my being in a different country made it difficult. Eager to catch up with them I sat next to Sam. Any worry of awkwardness had been expelled after the first few minutes of talking. We spoke for most of the morning and a good portion of the afternoon. Sam told me about his university course and how much fun he had while studying English Literature. Rose informed me about the conventions of creative writing and how she had a book published already and another one in the works. Both of them radiated life and warmth a bit like the sun they cast beauty into all that they touched. People like them were the medicine to life’s diseases or at least that’s what I used to think. Hours and hours passed and not once did we grow tired of each other. Quite the contrary the more we talked the more we never wanted it to end. Fully formed laughs jingled in the summer air. After what must’ve been six hours Rose’s phone began to ring and in one smooth motion she’d brought it out of her bag and put it to her lips. I’d noticed while speaking with the two them through the day Rose had a certain way of talking, allure mixed with innocence, sexuality intermeshed with cuteness, mischievousness hidden behind goodness and vice versa. Her movements were all underlined with a sexual subtext. Sam’s also had his own unique way of moving. His hand movements were exaggerated and a smile never left his face. His ears would often wiggle like that of a puppy trying to understand the complexities for the human language. Rose informed us she had to leave. Sadly we got to our feet. She hugged me good bye. As her warm, slim body pressed against mine my heart skipped a beat, she smelt of sweet, spring flowers. Before I could manage to fully lose myself in the hug she broke away smiling at me a tad mockingly. Of course I knew she would never cheat on Sam, for as long as I had known her she had acted in the same old seductive way. She was an attractive girl and knew it. On previous occasions both me and Sam had discussed how she enjoyed flaunting her woeful radiance. I’d forgotten exactly how alluring it could be. Sam also engulfed me in a hug, a tight, strong hug. The kind of one that only best friends could give each other.
When we left each other I walked away with my spirits soaring into the sky at this moment nothing could bring me down or so I thought. I’d entered my parent’s house whistling a jaunty tune. What I saw next will be etched into my memory forever. My mother crouched on the floor her head buried in her hands. She looked a bit like a hedgehog trying to hide itself from the world. Gentle sobs escaped her. Father sat sombrely next to her with one powerful arm wrapped around her hunched back. No hint of a grin crossed his face. He would have reminded me of a wall apart from the single tear rolling down his cheek. His blue eyes moved miserably over to me and he took a while to talk when he did his voice came out in short sharp shots. Mother was inconsolable and when he was informing me on had what happened she sobbed even harder. He explained that their friends who lived near by had been murdered. They were a married couple with two children who’d also been killed. Admittedly pangs of sadness stung me but what horrified me was the way they’d been killed. Apparently they had been skinned and torn so what they resembled didn’t even look human. How anyone could do that to two children so ripe with life was beyond me. I felt as though I’d just been hit in the gut all the pleasure I’d experienced that day was gone and was unlikely to come back. Now I can say for certain it didn’t.
Quickly I feel I should inform you that the next bits of my woeful tale may come off a bit fragmented I’ve tried long and hard to repress them from my mind and bringing them up is painful to say the least. My grotesque nose has slipped another few centimetres down my face its oozing yellow pus which is dripping into my crooked, dry mouth. I’ve just been sick and I’m ready to begin the second part of unhealthy story.
The rest of the evening had been coated in a damp wax smothering all warmth. Minutes turned into hours and my mother could not stop crying while my father had only managed to mutter a few words. I’d never seen them like this even when my mothers father died she was at least consolable. I assumed they must have been close friends. For a long part of the evening I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. No matter what position I twisted myself into I couldn’t seem to get comfy. It felt as though needles were breaking out from the cushion and cutting into me. Dry sobs of my mother circled around the room like some ghostly spectre consuming all happiness in its wake. Admittedly I was relieved when Sam knocked on the house and invited me to the cinema with him and Rose. The palpable despair seemed to be sucking everything good out of me. Hastily I made my excuses and left the house whishing I could have said something helpful. Sadly the night out at the cinema didn’t hold much more of a reprieve from pain then staying at my house would have. Inevitably every conversation sparked up seemed to roll onto the poor, dead boy. A local official had apparently described the body as the vilest thing he’d ever seen. To my great displeasure I couldn’t stop picturing the sad child, and still can’t. His dead eyes staring hopelessly upwards, his mouth opened just a bit; forever trying to breathe another breath. A skinless arm bent back on itself and his once exuberant head lying limply on its side. God! At the time I couldn’t think of anything more appalling, of course now my world is full of horrors some imagined but most viewed. This is the first time I’ve attempted to write down what I saw on paper and I assure you no matter what words I use I won’t be able to describe the mind destroying grotesqueness of what we experienced.
On the way back from the film (a mind numbing romp into horror where a young, naive girl is hounded by a pack of wolves being controlled by a psychotic mad man) we stopped outside the woods. To this day I can’t explain why. Some unknown force bound our legs together making it impossible to move. Of course we didn’t know this at the time. Rose’s eyes darted quickly around and landed on the darkest spot of the woods, a spot where no light ventured. Me and Sam moved are gaze over to the same place. Looking back on the event I would wager that it was the darkness that transfixed our sight. It was darkness unlike anything I’d ever seen. Not a single speck of light pierced it; it was a fortress of night that no artificial beam could ever penetrate. Without warning we heard a crack of twigs far of in the distance yet close enough that the sound echoed in our minds. Slowly we looked at each other all of our eyes wide with illogical terror. I’ve never been able to work out why a snap of branches could startle us so. Maybe because it was odd for someone to be roaming the woods at night, maybe because the conversation that had haunted us through out the day was still fresh in our minds, maybe because we knew in our gut that it was something to be afraid off, maybe some primal instinct was telling us, screaming at us that if we saw what we saw it would hound us until the end of time, that it would infect us and chip away at us until everything we viewed as safe was nothing more than a shell.
Snap
Another bunch of twigs broke and the gut wrenching fright that had began to raise burst out into white hot waves of inane panic. All three of us seemed to be paralysed with fiery fear. With all my strength and determination I tried to shift my legs but I couldn’t. My body had simply ceased to obey my brain. I stood as still a statu.
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