Lost Boys of London [EN]

Chapter 7 - The Hangman's Tree

"I forget them after I kill them."

- Peter Pan, JM Barrie - 

As long as the sun shone, the park was a wonderful place to walk or play with your children. At night, however, Kensington Gardens was dark and eerie. Tall trees lined the avenues, and dense bushes flanked the winding and rambling paths. Ravens cawed in the treetops, and the dark shadows made it almost impossible to see anything. Under cover of night, criminal scum prowled Kensington Gardens, waiting for easy prey.

Captain Hook was known for being fearless, but even he felt the tugging unease as he stepped through the iron gates with his men. No one was foolish enough to enter this park at this time. This sea of grass full of islands of trees was ruled by a crook that everyone called 'the crocodile.'

With bulbous police lanterns, the twenty or so officers ventured into the park. Ghostly shades of mist crept across the grassy plains, and clouds swallowed the moonlight. Hook gritted his teeth, and no more men had been made available to him. The policemen swarmed in different directions,  but the park was massive.

They surrounded the spot Tinkerbell had told them as quickly as possible. It was an English oak with a huge, twisted, hollow trunk surrounded by dense undergrowth. The wide branches cast a sinister shadow on the ground below, despite the darkness of the night.

Hook, in his position as captain, naturally went ahead. It was time to put an end to this 'flying terror.' Restlessness throbbed in his pulse. Tension and adrenaline took turns whenever a noise was heard somewhere. Around him, the bushes rustled as he pushed his way through branches and foliage. The passage was narrow and difficult for him to pass, and he almost feared getting caught in the scrub. But then the thick weave finally opened up and revealed the oak's trunk. The roots bent like a gateway to another world. Hook ducked inside, and the light from his lantern revealed a grotesque image.

Bizarre scribbles and pictures were smeared on the wood in brownish stains. Hook shuddered at the thought that it could be the children's blood. Newspaper cuttings with large headlines about Pan fluttered in an incoming breeze. A fishing net had been hung up like a hammock, with leaves and feathers of some kind providing a nest or sleeping place. An old top hat lay in a corner, and a thimble rested on a small stool.

Above a clay bowl full of collected acorns, Hook spotted a list. "Lost Boys" was written above it, and lines had been drawn below it. The fifth stroke glistened damply in the light of his lantern, so Hook reached out his hand. A drop smudged red and moist onto his fingertips. 

Then something suddenly flashed in the corner of his eye.