Spectre of springwell fo.., p.10
Spectre of Springwell Forest, page 10
Our daughter turned to us, her eyes filled with a rage that could not possibly have been her own, and with quite extraordinary suddenness, grabbed her fork in her right hand and drove it into her left hand. She did not cry out.
Instead, as I froze in momentary shock, watching blood gush from the wound in her hand, she fixed Tom and I with a cold stare and uttered these chilling words in a strange, deep tone.
“Two were taken. More will follow.”
The second those words had escaped her lips, Olivia seemed to snap out of whatever peculiar state of mind she had been in and began to scream.
Tom lurched forward, pulling the fork from her hand, which in retrospect might not have been the wisest move as it made the blood gush even more. The next few minutes were a traumatic flurry of bandaging and comforting whilst Olivia wept. It took a full half hour to calm her down, after which I insisted on taking her to the minor injuries unit at the hospital in Plymouth to have her properly checked out.
My mind raced with the horror of Olivia’s inexplicable actions, but there was no time to think through what it might mean. At that point, I was focussed on making sure no permanent damage had been inflicted. I could tell Tom was shaken up too, but I doubted he suspected any supernatural force could be responsible for what happened. No doubt other, more rational psychological explanations were inwardly occurring to him.
We made the journey into Plymouth in nervous silence, eventually arriving at the minor injuries unit and having to wait a full hour before anyone could see us. Eventually, a young male doctor examined Olivia’s wounds and confirmed that whilst a tetanus shot would be advisable, there had been no serious damage.
“There might be some scarring,” the doctor said, smiling at Olivia, “but other than that, you are a fortunate little girl.” He turned to us for a moment, his expression serious. “Perhaps we could speak alone for a moment. The nurse can take care of her while we talk.”
I nodded. A nurse standing in the corner of the consulting room strode up to Olivia and offered her hand. “Let’s go and play for a bit. We have some toys I can show you…”
Once they had left the room, the doctor glanced from Tom to me and back, took off his glasses, and sighed deeply before speaking.
“This is not a usual injury. Can you tell me again precisely what happened?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Tom cut across me. “Olivia was just eating a little over-enthusiastically. She slipped and stabbed herself with a fork.”
The doctor fixed Tom with a dubious expression. “Mr. Henderson, forgive me, but the injury sustained by your daughter can only have been caused by driving the fork down with considerable force, and certainly not as the result of an accidental slip. Quite frankly, at this stage, the injury suggests Olivia was deliberately stabbed by someone stronger than she is.”
Tom immediately took offence. “Are you suggesting we are making this up? Are you implying one of us did this?”
“I am saying that, at best, I think you have not told me the full truth.”
“Tom, tell him the truth!” I said, feeling somewhat exasperated.
Tom sighed. “We were eating, and I asked Olivia a question. She didn’t answer, but just kept shovelling her food in. When we kept asking, she… Well…” Tom’s voice trailed off. He looked at a complete loss for words, so I continued.
“Olivia turned to us. She had this really strange, frightening glare in her eyes, and then, out of nowhere, she suddenly drove her fork into her hand. But she didn’t start crying straight away. She said something really strange first.”
“What did she say?”
“‘Two were taken. More will follow.’”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No. Anyway, after she said those words, she seemed to suddenly come to. I have no idea what happened, and quite honestly, I’m really frightened.”
I began to feel very tearful. It was bad enough I had started seeing mysterious figures in paintings no one else could see. But for Olivia to suffer too, for reasons that were possibly related, felt completely overwhelming. Tom put an arm round me and for a moment, no one spoke.
The doctor broke the silence. “Look, I’m not a child psychiatrist, but it sounds like your daughter might have had a strong, overwhelming emotional reaction to some recent trauma and felt a need to draw attention to herself. Has there been any recent difficulty or upheaval in her life?”
“Well, we just moved to Springwell and she’s starting in a new school,” said Tom.
I could tell he felt relieved that something approaching a rational explanation was being offered to him, and he seized it like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. I felt less convinced that moving house and starting a new school was at the root of Olivia’s problems, but didn’t want to get into my own peculiar experiences, so instead spoke of the recent incident with the deer in Springwell Forest.
“On a walk recently, Olivia saw a farmer shoot an injured fawn to put it out of its misery. I think it upset her quite a bit.”
“I see,” said the doctor. He reached into his jacket and handed me a card. “This is the number of a child psychiatrist, Dr. Irene Bay. I’ll make you an appointment for next week. I recommend you take Olivia to see her.”
I took the card and Tom nodded. “Very well, but I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with her. Whatever caused her to do that to herself… well, maybe she was just struggling to adjust to a new home and new school, like you said.”
“The human mind, especially a young developing mind, is a strange and complicated thing,” said the doctor. “I don’t think we’ll ever fully understand it. You will probably find that with a little help, this whole unsettled period may pass.”
But even as the doctor spoke those reassuring words, I feared deep down he was wrong, and we were deluding ourselves. Something had happened to Olivia during our walk in Springwell Forest and it wasn’t what took place when she saw the fawn being shot. It was the place itself and most definitely the tunnel. Something had happened in that place. I had experienced it, but Olivia was the one who had been changed by it. Her odd behaviour at school with Lucy plus this incident with the fork… It all dated back to that walk. I made a mental note not to take Olivia anywhere near Springwell Forest in the future. Call it instinct, but I began to understand those who had reservations about the place.
The following day was Halloween and, despite her injured hand, Olivia insisted she was well enough to attend the school party. We went with Elsie and Howard, who dressed as a Doctor Who monster, whilst Olivia wore her skeleton mask and a black outfit I had made for her. The night was chilly but clear, with stars visible in the sky and that autumnal sense of excitement that surrounded Halloween. Children paraded in the streets in fancy dress, some of them carrying pumpkin lanterns, some of them trick or treating.
At the school, the children played loud party games together in the hall, bobbing for apples and so on, whilst I lurked at the side with Elsie, updating her on recent developments. I explained about the strange figure in the painting emerging from the tunnel, and Olivia’s horrible self-inflicted injury.
“We’re taking her to see a child psychiatrist,” I explained. “Quite honestly, I doubt it will do any good at all. I know something strange happened to Olivia in the forest, and especially in that tunnel.”
I felt like crying as I spoke. Elsie looked sympathetic.
“She’ll be fine,” said Elsie. “If there is a supernatural explanation for all this, we’ll get to the bottom of it, you’ll see.”
“We aren’t exactly professional paranormal investigators.”
“Do you know any we could hire?”
We both laughed, but I didn’t feel any better.
“I can’t help thinking about her words, when she sounded all possessed, I mean,” I said. “‘Two were taken. More will follow.’ What could it mean?”
“Well, if it refers to Austin Pembleton, it could mean someone else went missing besides him, and that others will too.”
“Of course, it could have nothing to do with him at all.”
“Have you asked Olivia what it means?”
“Yes, but she said she doesn’t remember saying it. You don’t think she could actually be possessed, do you?”
“No idea what that even means,” said Elsie. “I mean yes, I’ve seen The Exorcist, but I don’t believe in that stuff. You’d be better off talking to Derek Morrison.”
“If nothing else, getting his opinion on something like this might be a good excuse to dig a little further into that business of him burning the painting,” I said. “Although, I’m now starting to understand why he would do that. Perhaps he had a similar experience.”
“If he did, he doesn’t appear to be under attack by supernatural forces, so maybe all you need to do is burn that picture and you’ll be all right.”
Part of me wanted to go home and burn the painting that very second, just in case that would return things to normal. But another part of me felt a bit ridiculous for entertaining the idea, so I resisted the urge.
“Two were taken, more will follow…” I muttered, almost to myself. “Two were taken… Two…”
The rest of the week and the weekend passed without further incident, although every time I looked at the painting, I could swear the strange silhouette in the tunnel became more defined. It really did seem to be gradually emerging and my dreams were filled with disturbing sensations of being watched from the hallway. I imagined a dark presence entering our house through the picture, and every time I did, I wanted to take down the picture and destroy it. But whenever I went to do it, it also occurred to me the painting might simply reflect what was happening in the real tunnel, and destroying it would be futile. Would it be better to keep the picture on the wall, to warn of the progress of the figure?
I could not help but stare into the tunnel’s seemingly endless depths. Did a connection exist between the painting and the abandoned railway tunnel in the forest? Should I keep the artwork up or take it down? The question was a torment. If the picture was some kind of portal to the real tunnel, I wanted it down, but if it simply showed me the approach of the figure, I wanted it up. I wanted to be forewarned of whatever was coming. I began to wonder if it was me that needed a psychiatrist rather than Olivia, and even though Tom remained dismissive of my notion of a figure in the painting, beneath his mocking exterior I could see flickers of unease.
The following Monday afternoon I took Olivia out of school to see Dr. Irene Bay at her office in Plymouth. She wasn’t keen on the idea at all, but we had promised to take her to the fireworks display on the Plymouth Hoe that evening, since it was the 5th of November. She always loved Guy Fawkes Night.
Dr. Irene Bay turned out to be very warm and kind, and her office was homely and welcoming, with comfortable chairs, and a selection of toys. She was young and seemed to have a special way of immediately connecting with children. She and Olivia talked for a while about her fondness for Lego and marine wildlife, before Dr. Bay very gently brought the subject round to our walk in Springwell Forest, by referencing our daughter’s passion for exploration.
“What did you see when you explored Springwell Forest?”
Olivia beamed. “We saw squirrels and we saw deer… There were lots of mushrooms and fungus… And we found a place with dangly wooden people…”
I hurriedly explained the strange scene we had discovered in the clearing with the witchcraft symbols hanging from trees.
“What else did you see, Olivia? Anything interesting?”
“We found a train tunnel, but it didn’t go very far, and I think people have stopped using it for trains now.”
“Did anything happen in the train tunnel?”
“We didn’t find the treasure. But we did find the monster.”
Dr. Bay raised an eyebrow. “Was there a monster?”
Olivia nodded.
“Tell me about the monster.”
“It’s very cross…” Olivia began to frown. “It’s very cross with Mummy.”
My stomach tightened as my daughter looked up at me. For a moment, her eyes had the same look they had had when she stabbed the fork into her hand. I dreaded what she might say or do next, but Dr. Bay just smiled, keeping her tone calm and friendly.
“Why is the monster very cross with Mummy?”
But Olivia appeared to snap out of her thoughts and abruptly changed the subject. “Did you know we saw a deer get shot? It got tangled up in barbed wire and hurt itself so badly that the farmer had to kill it.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I was a bit sad, but I think the deer was very, very hurt, so it was actually a nice thing to do to send it to heaven.”
Dr. Bay nodded. “I agree.”
The session continued with no further mention of the monster that was supposedly “cross” with me, but those words were still unsettling, and I couldn’t help thinking of the figure in the painting.
After the appointment, Dr. Bay escorted us back to the car, and once I had put Olivia in the back seat and closed the door, she spoke privately with me for a moment before I got into the driver’s seat.
“Mrs. Henderson, obviously this was a preliminary session. I could do with talking to Olivia a bit more, but I will say this much: I don’t think there is permanent damage from seeing the deer getting shot. She is actually processing that incident very well.”
“I’m surprised,” I said. “It shocked me.”
“Children come to terms with witnessing things like that in quite remarkable ways, often much quicker than adults do. Children can be very adaptable, depending on temperament. Olivia is a very intelligent girl. Of course, that also comes with challenges.”
“So, why do you think she stabbed herself?”
“It’s too early to say. However, I don’t think you should worry yourself too much. What she said about a ‘monster that is very cross with Mummy’ is particularly telling. I think a part of her subconscious is struggling with the move and adapting to a new school and these feelings are manifesting in slightly unusual ways. It isn’t uncommon and I expect they will soon calm down.”
“You’re saying Olivia has some kind of repressed anger at me for making her move house and sending her to school?”
“It’s possible.”
“Why is she not angry with her father?”
“Is your husband around at home very much?”
“Well… He’s just started a new job with a big promotion and is keen to make a good impression, so that has meant a few extras hours and late nights, and working on Saturdays, stuff like that…”
“I see. Maybe your husband simply isn’t present at home enough for Olivia to acknowledge his role in moving her here and making her change schools. You, by contrast, are much more present in her life, therefore her subconscious holds you as the more responsible party.”
“You could be right, but none of that explains what Olivia said about two being taken and more following.”
“Possibly something she heard on television or even in school,” said Dr. Bay. “Mrs. Henderson, I understand you are worried, but I do think all of this could easily die down with a bit of time.”
I thanked Dr. Bay and drove back to Springwell. Later that day, Tom returned home from work and after a hurried dinner, we all headed out to see the fireworks, along with Elsie, Howard, and Frank. Tom had not spoken much with Frank before and as I expected, they ended up discussing cars at length. Olivia and Howard loved the fireworks and Elsie seemed very happy too, but despite the fun atmosphere, a nagging unease gnawed away at the back of my mind. Every time I blinked, I glimpsed that figure in the painting getting clearer and clearer. It was also getting closer.
After the fun of bonfire night, the weather remained bitter for the remainder of the week. The skies were clear and bright, but lawns and twigs sparkled with frost. Every morning on our walks to school, Olivia and I wrapped up extra warm. Although Elsie always accompanied me, I noticed Jane, Melissa, and Sue continued to avoid me wherever possible. Our exchanges, such as they were, became curt and abrupt, and I got the distinct sense I was being excluded.
At first, I thought it might be on account of the incident between Olivia and Lucy, which seemed absurdly petty. Yet as the week wore on, I became less convinced of this theory. There was something in the look Sue gave me whenever she scuttled away after Jane; a mixture of pity and revulsion, as though I might be carrying an infectious disease. It didn’t help that Melissa would occasionally try to engage me in slightly more meaningful conversation, only for her to rush off the moment she became visible to Jane. Whatever was going on, I got the distinct impression Jane was the one who had ordered I be ostracised.
I wondered what possible reason she could have. Assuming the incident with Olivia and Lucy was not to blame, I thought it could have something to do with the painting. Given that Elsie could not see the figure in the tunnel either, perhaps by telling Jane, I had indicated to her I was to be shunned. But why could I see this mysterious person when others could not? Was it connected to what happened in the tunnel and the cold hand I had felt? What was Jane hiding?
Determining the time for dancing around the issue was over, I resolved to turn up at Jane’s house and ask some direct questions about the matter. However, that Friday an incident took place that drove the matter from my mind. I had to visit the newsagent and just as Paula Wainwright rang my items up on the till, I heard a loud bang and crash outside the shop, followed by the sound of screeching brakes.
Paula and I exchanged brief glances then rushed outside to investigate the commotion. An attractive woman in her mid-thirties picked herself up from the middle of the road. A Land Rover had stopped just outside the shop and I immediately recognised the driver as Will Freeman. He began to yell at the woman.
“What the bloody hell were you playing at by not looking?”
“I’m sorry,” said the woman, looking flustered, but not seriously hurt.
“Oi!” cried Paula. “Don’t you be so harsh with her, Will Freeman! I know you come hurtling round that bend much faster than you have any right to!”
