Evelyn picked a ‘meadow sweet’ flower that had four beetles playing about it, she giggled happily as two then three dropped harmlessly to the floor. She smiled gladly in the fading half light of a long afternoon spent flower picking for her busy father; through the milky haze she could still see her brother clambering like a drunk sloth in the large pear tree beside the holiday cottage; then she saw her brother rather unceremoniously drop.
She giggled happily as a slight moan of agony could be heard on the scented carefree breeze. She began to maker her way to Tom when she saw her father appear from behind a large bramble bush and open the cottage gate, just then the police car from the local village came around the corner. She recognised the tall Sgt, she was the same police officer who had been directing the traffic from the ferry terminus when they had first arrived. Her father pointed, the police woman pointed, Evelyn could not fail to see they were pointing at her. She placed the meadow sweet in her pocket and ambled guiltily towards the gate. As she skipped closer she could hear them talking.
-I know Mr Eastwood, but that meadow (a slight pause, a sudden intake of breathe) it has forgotten mine shafts and tunnels, this whole area does, best to keep your kids away, especially the young girl!
-But the landlord who rented me this cottage said I had six acres of meadow to study, I study rare species of meadow flower, a botanist without a meadow, is…is…
-A duck without a pond! Interrupted Evelyn happily smiling up at the Sgt. The tall elegant women then spied Evelyn with curious, almost fearful deep furrowed brows.
-How old is Esther? Enquired the officer sternly.
-Evelyn! Interjected Evelyn haughtily.
-Evelyn, how old are you? Asked Mr Eastwood and then began quietly counting back thorugh the years.
-Nearly thirteen why? Enquired the proud young girl, the officer shook her head, as though through wordless eyes alone, she communicated some dreadful misfortune ahead of her.
-What as the age of my daughter got to do with anything, I’m still a miserable duck without so much as a puddle!
-I assure you Mr Eastwood you are not a duck, but that meadow is not safe, I could find you alternative accommodation TONIGHT in another part of the island? We have many meadows, you could have a nice trip in my squad car Esther! The Sgt smiled helpfully. Evelyn growled and walked away, at that moment Tom arrived looking bruised but happy, he was munching on a large green apple.
-What’s dad done now sprite?
-It is Evelyn (she stamped an angry foot on the dry earth) he stole a bloody goose and the police want to burn him alive for it! Evelyn stomped passed her elder brother sticking her tongue out for good measure! Tom frowned as his pugnacious sibling. His father seemed defeated as he rested his arms on the white gate, the pretty police officer seemed to be smiling just for Tom, he dropped the apple and with all the suave sophistication of a sixteen year old boy made his ludicrous way towards the gate.
-Good afternoon me lady, to you sir too (Tom grinned happily) good aft-
-Tom go away immediately! (Interrupted Mr Eastwood, Tom dutifully went away immediately)…my colleague arrives tomorrow, a Miss Hayspring, I will stay here tonight, meet her tomorrow then I suppose we will have to study a different meadow, I really wanted to study THAT meadow ( Mr Eastwood pointed a disconsolate hand at the meadow) but I guess all the meadows on this island are alike!
-Well you’d think so, wouldn’t you? (Said the officer as she eyed the meadow suspiciously however she did not seem at ease) could you not leave tonight!
-No I could not!
-Very well I shall take you myself first thing! With that the pretty Sgt left, Mr Eastwood kicked angrily at a patch of daffodils, their white fluffy parachutes blossomed into the air, like fire flies caught in the lazy mauve of early evening sunlight they scattered in twinkling haziness about the path.
After the supper, Tom finished drying the pots with all the enthusiasm sixteen year old boys did such things. Evelyn put the cups and plates away humming happily to herself. Their father had retired to the study and occasionally his mobile phone could be heard, Tom and Evelyn knew it was Sarah Hayspring.
-Whose this sprite? Tom suddenly frowned and pulled a non too flattering face! Evelyn laughed so suddenly she nearly dropped a plate. The cottage kitchen had a low ceiling and four small windows; one beside the sink two in the pantry and one beside the door. Outside the wind snarled and scratched as if trying to find away in. The lights flickered momentarily and Evelyn let out a small yelp.
-It’s just the wind, sprite grow up! Chastised Tom, Evelyn held his glare momentarily before leaving all the drying to her brother, she stomped out toward her room) what did I say? Complained Tom bitterly. With that Mr Eastwood entered the kitchen.
-Tom your in charge, my cell just turned off, bloody island. I’m going to the village to use the pub’s phone, I wont be thirty minutes so be nice to your sister! That said Mr Eastwood put on his jacket and stomped away unhappily. Tom frowned once more.
-What did I say now, jesus this family is sensitive today!
Evelyn Willow Eastwood was not a tall girl, nor a short girl, she was neither fat nor thin; however her mind was especially sharp and she was constantly being told so. Evelyn sat beside the dull lamp and began to add a few sections to her diary.
-To mother may you read thesse words and be at peace (she began each entry as she always did, she always wrote her diary for her mother, it seemed appropriate and intimate that way) today has been a little trying for Father, namely becau…! Evelyn stopped and peered curiously at the window, something had rushed through the bush, 'A deer' she mused happily, she peered strenuously but the light of the lamp made the window as good as a dark mirror. She immediately flicked off the lamp and peered into the milky chill night. For a brief moment she almost believed she heard something, it sounded like ‘kru kru’! She turned the lamp on and began writing; after a few words she heard an almighty crash from the kitchen. Startled she stood up and gingerly moved toward the kitchen through the cramped damp carpet smelling hall. She shivered suddenly as a swift wind galloped past her.
-Tom! She called out! In her panic a boldness over took her caution and she stormed into the kitchen, there was no Tom to be seen and the kitchen door was left ajar. A plate was shattered on the brown kitchen tiles, her fathers coat was missing also. Just as she was about to put together some logical explanation she saw a figure dash past the kitchen window; once again she heard something muttering, this time it sounded more like ‘Kro kro’. Then the strangled cries of an unmistakable origin, it was Tom. Once more Evelyn dashed fearlessly barefoot across the kitchen and out into the cold windy night; through the orchard went the figure she had seen, something now thrown over its shoulder!
-Hey, Tom come back! She yelled, forcing down her panic, she wanted to believe it was Tom playing a game, however she instinctively knew that was not the case, this not being cinema she had the dreadful reality that he had been kidnapped. Picking up a tennis racket that had been stashed beside some chopped wood, Evelyn chased after her brother; through the wet night grass, beneath the looming moon drenched branches that shivered with silver and warning. Out into the meadow she could now clearly see the figure ambling non too swiftly, she could catch it. Tom’s weight seemed to be slowing the thing down; tennis racket in hand she called out again!
-Hey, come back or I’ll tell my dad! This having no affect she leapt with fury into the long grassy meadow bounding with the fearless speed only the very brave and very fearful can manage! Closing in on the limping figure, Evelyn began to slow, for now she could see it was a person of sorts, but beaten and foul smelling, Tom lolled unconscious over its shoulder, for a brief second it turned to see its pursuer, the yellow of the eyes nearly stopped Evelyn solid. It paused, then stopped completely turning to face Evelyn, it tossed Tom’s body to the earth amongst the clover and the daisies.
-Meadows, shadows flowers to be found; we suck out the sun through the roots in the ground, meadows, hedge rows all around, we sneak in the bleak twilight never a sound! The worricow gnarled happily, whilst a patch of fetid skin drooped un lovingly from his chin.
-I will have my brother back now, if you would be so kind! Barked Evelyn tennis racket menacingly in hand, as a thin tattered cloak of a cloud obscured the moon momentarily.
-Heh are’nt we a little ‘kroyk kroyk’ blackeyed-susan! The worricow growled, making that same revolting guttural gargle she had heard by the window. He skipped excitedly from one hideous foot to the other, always half in the shadow, never fully revealing himself.
-So it was you I heard? Asked Evelyn softly, now taking in his full frame which was by no means substantial. His ecarlate attire had the hint of being once fine and beautiful, yet something sinister lay about it, for it did not fit his person exactly, it was almost feminine like something a young girl would wear to bed. Here and there also did she see signs of force, from the ripped sleeves and the stretched collar; she fancied she could see old blood stains about the midriff. The worricow circled her, sniffing all the while. This inparticular made Evelyn feel self conscious.
-Not yet of age, ‘Kroyk kroyk’ (said the creature sniffing constantly) tasty tasty little buttercup! Then the yellow eyes fastened on Evelyns, she could do nothing to tear hers from its; as if his wordless eyes were imbued with a pyrokinesis, he glared into her young heart and burnt away all that was resisting. Evelyn felt suddenly, inexplicably drowsy. The gruesome wretchock danced with un easy limbs, a moonlit paso-doble macabre his maggot eaten toes sinking into the pug of the earth, his pugioniform fingers gripped her limp wrist tightly
Beside the dark leafed tree, through the tired dying maize crop, clambered the worricow, not a goblin nor dwarf a greater evil resided within, his bent back brown with the caked earth that for an eon had encased him soundly in an un easy sleep; hobbling now here and there, he punched his fist through the wet earth searching for the rout from which all his potions could be mastered. Gabbling gaily to himself under the serene moonlight he sang.
-Two to have, one now, one later, two to have, un greased blood for supper. ‘Kro kroyk’ He stopped singing as a car came rushing through the darkness along the lane toward the cottage, he hurried back to his hovel.
Evelyn awoke with a vicious head ache, her limbs felt weak her bruised wrists were painful. Out of the daze she came with a scream, the creatures face was before her, the propinquity caused her to gag repeatedly, the wretched stench too ill in its depth, too rotten to be endured by the living.
-This ingress has caused me much pain! (He mumbled with his back to Evelyn as he placed a clump of dirty routs onto a table.) much to do now, tasty ta-…! Before he could finish his sentence he felt a terrible ‘thwack’ shook his head and he stumbled into a nearby old oaken beam with a thud.
-I told you to return me my brother! Growled Evelyn groggily the tennis racket in both hands.
-Wild lupine and willow herb (Spat the worricow angrily, fearfully side stepping the young girl as he rubbed his head) your tongue I should snap off! He giggled softly to himself whilst still holding onto his wounded cranium. His eyes cast out long toothed menace his hair like some dowdy paravent clung by unhealthy means to his face.
-Are you the devil? (Groaned Evelyn now taking a seat on a stool, racket still held high, but she felt her strength waning. Then she heard her fathers voice above, calling her name, also there was the familiar voice of the Sgt calling out Tom’s name. Evelyn tried to yell out but she was too weak, she crumpled onto the floor, above her dust and spots of earth fell from the roof, she knew that her father and the Sgt must be just above her, she tried to wail out in terror but only maddening tears filled her eyes!
-No silly, no devil here (He grinned looking up toward the sounds above) I am (he skipped from one foot to the other) I am more of an Hierodule really ‘kro kroyk’, the meadow is a temple to pagan things, ancient things, not little yarrows business! He hissed, it was then Evelyn noticed her brother slumped against a greasy wall, the clouds above must have released the moon, or a torch light had been sprayed across some unseen fissure. For a beam of sickly light illuminated the shredded stomach of poor dead Tom. Then the light passed and dead Tom sank back into the darkness beneath the meadow. Evelyn felt her eyes closing against her will, her heart ached abominably for Tom, dear playful Tom with the pallor of a dead man.
-I am Musk Marrow, Scarlet Jack, any name you wish, bogey man, any name you wish nasty yarrow ‘kro kroyk’ this is my dining table! He grinned as he pulled a large rusty blade from a hidden pocket inside his rags; suddenly a large rumble shook Musk Marrow out of his delicious revelry, a wall had caved in some way along the passage, an intrusive gust of moonlight surged against the inner recesses, Scarlet Jack growled with irritation, Evelyn saw his frightful visage in full, she moaned, wanting to scream for her father, but unable to. Musk Marrow squealed angrily and stamped his foot repeatedly as the sound of Mr Eastwood could be heard crisp and heavy, too powerful for Scarlet Jack; yet his hunger was primordial, savage and voracious, he made to slice open Evelyn’s stomach quickly, quickly remove her innards and possibly stash them in his pouch. He smiled with yellow eyes beaming.
-Too late, dirty yarrow bitch, too late for you kroyk kroyk' He danced with excitment.
Beaten, distraught, wounded Evelyn rolled away in a feeble attempt to buy time, her tired fist releasing the ‘meadow sweet’ flower, Musk Marrow stopped in a sudden bleak squeak of sheer disgust. He eyed the ‘meadow sweet’ fearfully suspiciously as a small black beetle trundled away under cobwebs amongst dead flies.
-Daddy! squeaked Evelyn with all the force she could muster.
-I see you have lore, cunning little filthy yarrow, I know your smell, soon you will ripen, I never forget a smell kroyk kroyk (He tried to kick the flower away, but the fear of touching it made him loose his balance momentarily and all the while the booming voice of Mr Eastwood drew ever closer) listen bitch, what I season I always taste! Spat Musk Marrow before dashing into a hidden recess, his sniggering could be heard vanishing deep into the dark warren.
