As Black As Hell

BROCELIND FOREST, 2001

"MURDER BEGINS WHERE SELF-DEFENSE ENDS"

-GEORG BUCHNER

Jonathan knew it was a bad idea. He should never have followed her.

Brocelind forest was like a nightmare come true at night: dark and terrifying, but it was terrifyingly beautiful, in its own way. The will o' the wisps beckoned to him from the shadowy depths of the trees, but he paid them no attention, his eyes on the small flame-coloured head retreating ahead of him.

As of yet, he still had no idea why she'd come out here. Fairchild Manor wasn't near Brocelind Forest, but Clarissa had simply walked, as though it was no more than a leisurely stroll around the grounds. So far, she'd done nothing other than wander about the forest, drifting around to look at what ever took her fancy. He'd come to the conclusion that she came here for no other reason than her mother has told her not to, because it was dangerous. She had a habit of doing exactly what she'd been told not to do, simply to prove that she could. Jonathan found it all extremely vexing. It was him who faced the consequences. His mother always found a reason to blame him for his sister's misbehaving. She expected him to be able to keep her under control, which he definitely couldn't. He had about as much control over her as a fly did a spider.

A branch snapped up ahead and Jonathan looked up sharply, instantly losing his train of thought. He could no longer see Clarissa's bright head. He cursed, and hurried to catch up, stomping through the trees with enough noise to wake the dead, let alone to alert Clarissa to his presence. But no matter how fast he moved, he still couldn't catch sight of her. He began to panic.

That was when the pixie jumped on him from above.

Jonathan swore, and reached up to rip it from his scalp, where it was clinging on defiantly. It danced out of his reach, giggling madly. He struggled for a few minutes, twisting this way and that, trying to dislodge it. Still, it clung to him.

He saw a dark shape fling itself from the canopy above him and tear the pixie from his head. He could hear the faerie screaming, begging for mercy, but whoever it was had no mercy. He pressed his hands against his ears to block out the shrieks, but he could still hear them, making his ears ring.

The screams stopped abruptly. Jonathan lowered his hands, but didn't turn around. He just sat there, his ears ringing with the horror of what he'd just witnessed. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, brother. It's gone now." It was Clarissa.

He turned, as if in a dream, and there she was, her red hair bouncing slightly on her shoulders as she crouched next to him. As if he hadn't lost her only minutes before. As if he hadn't been following her in the first place. Her black eyes glinted in the darkness.

She removed her hand from his shoulder, watching the beginnings of sunrise in the distance. "We should go, before Mother and Father find out we were here." She stood and turned to walk away. When he didn't rise to follow her, she turned, offering a hand. Dazed, he took it pulling himself up. It was cold and smooth.

As he made to follow her, he turned at the last minute, glancing back into the lightening shadows of the trees. The body of the pixie lay, bent and broken beyond recognition, it's last minutes of terror displayed on its face for all to see.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and turned to walk away.