Part One of Eight
13.08.2014
SILENT FOOTFALL Part I
Gina heard the sharp cracking as a twig snapped. Her gut tightened. She glanced at her dog, Chalkie. Unperturbed he continued to sniffed the grass around the edge of the narrow road It couldn’t be much if the dog didn’t hear it, she thought stepping further into the shadowy glade. Overhead, the tall trees met in the middle to form a canopy of green that shivered and sighed in a light June wind.
The sense of foreboding that had been with her all day hung like a dark threatening cloud on her mind. She wondered should she turn back. It had been foolhardy of you to push aside your feeling of danger, she berated herself. You know better than to do that, her inner voice warned. You should always listen to your gut.
She glanced back at the road she’d just walked. It curved and wound like a thin ribbon; pebble grey on the outer sides with a strand of green prickly grass running up its centre. She looked to where she thought she’d heard the sound of something being trampled underfoot. But all she saw were hedgerows dressed in wild purple flowers introspected with flowering yellow gorse.
It’s all in my imagination, she told herself stepped further into the gloomy whispering overhead canopy of trees. But still, I wished I had brought my personal security alarm, she thought. The ones the police were advising women to carry after one woman disappeared and another had been found hacked to death.
She thought now how she had picked the security alarm from the bedside locker and put it down again reluctant to give in to her fears. Instead she had pocketed her phone, slung her camera over her shoulder postman style, snapped on the dog’s leash and stepped determinedly out of her rented holiday chalet.
Her eyes had flickered to the CCTV monitoring the gates of the Woodline Caravan and Camping Park. I wonder whose benefit that’s for, she mused. There never used to be any need for them. Was there a need now, in this area? I’m done with being paranoid, she reassured herself. Isn’t that what this trip is all about? Being alone and being able to cope. If only that was all, she admitted to herself as she turned into the forest trail she had trod with her parents as a child.
Is that what is making me feel so skittish. Returning here to this place today June 21st, the longest day of the year? She pushed the thought aside
Her hand found her camera. She planned to face down her paranoia and photograph the old house. The house of her nightmares that stood sullen and blanked faced in the shadow of the forest. She gulped. It was all right to tell yourself you could confront your past from the safety of a city center apartment a hundred miles away; but quite a different thing to do it closes up.
The feeling of impending danger that had been shadowing her all day crept over her again like a dark cloak weighting her down. Her footsteps faltered. Every bone in her body screamed at her to turn tail and run,, her mind shouted at her, “Run away from this place and never come back.”
She stepped forward doggedly. She had learned early in life to pay close attention to her sense of impending danger. It had saved her sometimes. But she had to do this. She had to if she and Max were to have any life together. She had to confront her past, face it down and get on with life.
Her phone emitted a sound as a new text message came in. The soft whistling sound seemed amplified in the quietness of the forest. She ignored it. It would be from Max. She hadn’t told him where she was going. She had simply got out of bed took a taxi to the station. Bought a ticket for Duncannon and boarded the bus. He wouldn’t understand. He’d want to try and change her mind. She’d sent him a text later when she was safely back in the chalet. He’d understand her abrupt disappearance when she told him the whole story.
She pushed on her hand tightly gripping the camera. One shot. That’s all she needed. She wouldn’t go in the house. She straightened her spine. She’d have the copy blown up to mega size. Nail it to the wall in her place. Confront it. Hold burning cigarettes to its face; watch it burn into little round holes that left marks like scorched burnt flesh. Scream out how it had ruined her life. And then give it to the bonfire collectors and cheer in triumph as it burned to ashes on the eve of the 12th of July. Celebrations of a battle win over enemies. She would have her own private celebration with Max. Celebrating taking back the power the house had over her life since she was a child.
The road was getting narrowing now; hardly a road at all. Barely wider in parts than the driveway of the fancy mansion build in the orchard of the old house and the footprint of the old forest The Celtic Tiger has been fortuitous for the old house owners, she thought bitterly. The evening before red hot rage blinding her to the need to be cautious, she’d walked past the house her heart beating wildly.
She felt bile rise in her throat.” So it’s true what they say, then,” she muttered now, “evil is rewarded by prosperity.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. There was that crunching sound again! This time she knew she wasn’t mistaken. It was the snapping of twigs under…what, the foot of an animal or the boot of a human? She whirled around prepared to face whatever, or whoever it was. The dog had heard it too. His body was taunt and rigid, his ears standing straight up like antennas. He growled low and deep in his throat.
She moved to the middle of the track where the grass hadn’t been worn down by the feet of walkers and where her footfall would be silent. Should she go back or go forward? Her sense of danger was almost palpable now. Should she let the dog of its leash? Chalkie would fight to save her.
But who would save him?
Her phone emitted another soft whistle, fainter this time. She fumbled for it in her pocket amongst the bits of sticky sweetie wrappers, old bus tickets and the doggie treats she carried as a reward for Chalkie when he came back to the call of the whistle. Frantic now, all pretenses of denying her fear wiped out, she dragged the phone from her pocket praying the battery wasn’t dying.
Something in the hedgerow glimmer in the dappled light of a sunbeam as it broke through the overhead branches then was gone. Paralyzed with fear she struggled to free the cord of the dog whistle which had become entangled around her finger. With a soft plop the phone fell from her bloodless fingers into the hedgerow.
Part 2 next week
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