The Wicked Woods

Chapter Three

I watch my sister drive off into the distance. Our vacuum cleaner no longer works and she's going into the village at the bottom of the hill to see if she can find a new one. I'm glad we're making progress, but I'm not all that keen on staying in the house on my own. I feel like I've shrunk several sizes. I watch until I can no longer see our cheap bright orange Ford Cortina and then turn around, reluctantly walking back inside.

The figure I thought I saw yesterday evening is still playing around in my thoughts. It had to be imagined – right? Who walks through the forest that late? Even I know that's dangerous. So easy to trip and fall or get lost. When I told my sister she just shrugged.

"Northern Scotland. People must be bored. Or maybe you were just imagining things, Lysandra. We're both very tired." She threw a piece of toast at my head. "I imagined I saw a tall man with horns on his head in my room last night. Turns out it was just my coat hanging on the door."

I know it's the logical option, but being here... logic seems a far-off thing, a strange thing, a thing reserved for big bustling cities where the only green space consists of carefully thought-out, human-made parks and the occasional flowerbed full of cigarette butts and condom wrappers. Here, though... I feel like a visitor.

Determined to surprise my sister when she gets back, I set to work in the salon. We can't vacuum the floor yet, but I can dust the shelves. I can clean, I can tidy up, I can throw out what we no longer need. It's dull work. It's a rhythm I desperately need. It will take my mind off things, I'm sure of it.

As soon as I notice I'm getting hungry I take my apple and sandwich outside. Being inside the house does not make me feel better. Every little thing kickstarts a childhood memory I'm not ready for. I almost burst into tears upon seeing a teacup. I wander through the garden looking for a nice place to sit, and preferably not a place where the woods are clearly visible down the hill. I end up walking quite a bit. The garden is huge and ends where our neighbours' garden begins, separated by an overgrown thorny hedge. Only their side is carefully cut into a nice square shape. It's not tall, though. The neighbours must have kept it short – as if they still wanted to be able to spy on our house. The idea makes me feel uneasy. I still haven't seen them.

I find a stone bench that isn't covered in weeds or broken and sit down carefully. When it holds up I relax a bit and try to eat my lunch. I call some friends from back home, desperate to hear their voice, but most of them are busy at work. Still, even a few minutes of normal human contact instantly makes me feel better. I'm in the middle of texting my friend Philip a full update on the house when a noise startles me. I look up and nearly scream.

A woman stands on the other side of the hedge and watches me. Her eyes are the same colour as her hair – disturbingly light grey, bordering on white. The same colour as my hair, in fact, though hers is fuzzier and longer and sloppily wrestled into a braid that reaches her ankles. She squints her eyes as if she's angry and doesn't say a word.

I clear my throat.

She doesn't speak.

"Uh... hello."

She raises one eyebrow and finally opens her mouth, revealing some very stained and yellowed teeth.

"You're Selus and Lyta's daughter, aren't you?"

Hearing my parents' names is enough to almost make me cry once again. I swallow thickly and try to seem normal as I answer.

"One of them, yes."

She nods slowly. "You look like your father."

Her tone suggests it's a bad thing. I shift uncomfortably.