The Holly Man

The Encounter

The four-year-old skipped along the tarmac, her blue leather school shoes gently splashing through the water which gave the single-track road it's local name of The Wet Lane. She watched her breath gently unfurling like smoke against the ink blue sky of the late afternoon. Her mother had stopped on the deserted lane and was examining the walls of rich green rising up on each side. "Come over here. These look good." Running back the small girl was glad of the bulky duffel coat and thick wool tights that stopped the damp December chill biting at her legs. She sent up a silent wish for the frost and snow to come in time for Christmas.

"Mum, can we have hot chocolate when we get home?"

"Yes," the woman said whilst frowning at the dark, glossy leaves. "Look, there's some berries on this one. I'll cut it; you pick up and make a bundle so we can tie it with the string."

As she got to work freeing the branches, the waiting child wiggled her fingers inside the knitted mittens waiting to pick up the fallen sprigs. She imagined how they would look, laid along the hearth over the fire, just like a Christmas card. She knew Mum was sad because Daddy's thin, ravaged body had given up and died in the wasteland of February, but she was sure the pine smell from the tree, the sleighbell music in every shop and the magic of this holly garland would make her smile again.

After the metallic snip rang out over the empty road the little girl bent to pick up the first branch, carefully avoiding the sharp prickles on the glossy leaves, holding it by the brown twig. Her mother reached up on the balls of her feet, "Damn and blast," she grunted, "I can't quite reach the bit with the berries." Spinning around on one foot, the child looked through the misty air to the opposite side to see if she could spot some more accessible scarlet spheres. She turned back and he was there; a tall, broad man wrapped in a heavy coat. Tilting his head he gave the child a small smile before clearing his throat, "Allow me to help" he said moving towards the woman who fell back onto her heels and wrinkled her brow at the figure who'd appeared soundlessly.

"Er oh thank you. I can't quite reach. I was after that branch with all the berries on. It's for a Christmas garland." The man didn't answer but easily grabbed the holly, reaching out to take the garden shears. The child watched him and considered how she hadn't seen the man coming or heard his brown shoes on the wet lane. She took in his dark hair, longer than his brown shirt collar, and his tall, powerful body that made her Mum look like a second child.

The branches swished to the ground, and the man bent to pick them up before the four-year-old could scamper forward to reach them. She crouched next to him, and he smiled, making eye contact. "Let me tie these up with the string for you," he said, "we don't want you to prick your little fingers." She nodded and decided he was kind. She was surprised and not at all displeased when he laid the shears down and picked her up with one arm, taking the string around the holly in his other. Putting her small arm around his neck, she snuggled into him and marvelled at the warm smell. It was cinnamon, it was pine, and it was Christmas, but at the same time it was none of those things. The man sighed against her baby soft cheek and carried her over to where her mother was gathering a few sprigs that had drifted, gently setting her on her feet.

The small girl desperately wanted to stay warm in the protection of his arms, but before she could sidle back to his side he lurched at her mother. Rooted to the ground her mouth formed an o. Her eyes grew wide as the Holly Man lifted his head and she saw two curved, sharp teeth protruding from his mouth, like thinner versions of the ones on the sabre-toothed tiger in her dinosaur book, stained holly berry red. Her throat wouldn't work to form a scream as she noticed his eyes had turned into black orbs. He was suddenly crouching beside her without seeming to have moved at all. "Don't be frightened little flower," he said, "your mother is unharmed." She looked around him in panic to see her mum staggering slightly along the holly. The man had moved like lightening again, steadying the woman before holding her head to stare into her face intently. Her eyes turned as vacant as the day after Daddy's funeral when she'd drank a whole bottle of wine, and he talked in a calm tone. "You came here to pick holly with your little one and saw no-one."

He paused, examining the woman's eyes for a few seconds before moving back to the child. She had started shaking with a combination of shock, fear and standing still in the bitter cold of the late December afternoon. Crouching, allowing one knee to drop to the wet ground, he took one of her small mittens in his own hand and locked eyes with her. "Don't be afraid, all is well. You came her with your mother to pick holly and got some beautiful branches. You did not meet anyone along this road, and now you will go home." His smile dropped as he saw her wrinkle her small nose.

"W-w-what d-d-did you do to my mum?" And then he was gone.

Her breath came in small gasps as her chest tightened, and she ran towards her mother.

"Don't forget the holly," the woman said looking back.

"Mum, he hurt you!" The woman stopped and turned.

"Who did?"

"The Holly Man. Look!" she pointed, "He hurt your neck, there's red marks." The woman touched her neck, feeling a couple of small bumps. It's probably midgy bites. There's no man. Don't be silly."

"He was just here," the child insisted, "he helped us get the holly." Her mother pressed her lips together and quickened her steps,

"You and your overactive imagination. There's no-one here, and if you want hot chocolate, you'll stop making up silly stories. Come on."

***

The Holly man watched the woman and her child from behind a clump of trees. As they retraced their steps back down the lane, he frowned, watching the small girl crane her neck around to look for him. He tried to calm his rapid breathing by reasoning she was little more than a baby, and no-one would pay any mind even if she could articulate what she'd seen. His stomach lurched as he faced the fact that there was no doubt, she was a jägerin. He had no way of knowing if she'd sensed what he was from her natural born instincts, but the influence clearly had no effect on her. Leaning back against a tree with his eyes closed he knew he should have ended her there and then, but however monstrous he was, he couldn't have gone through with it. His chest hurt with a mixture of fear of the transgression he'd just committed and sorrow at the memory of the small arm wrapped around his neck. He imagined she was just the sort of little girl he and Florence could have had if consumption hadn't stalked them and led to everything he was now. The only way to repair the situation would be to confess to what he had failed to do and allow the Herskers to find her to deal with it, but there was no guarantee they would absolve him. He closed his eyes and reasoned that no-one would ever know he'd stumbled across her, and in any case the mother was not a jägerin, so maybe she would live a blameless life unaware of her heritage. He sighed heavily, and seeing they had cleared the lane, he moved like the wind in the opposite direction.