A Watery End

The frozen grass crunched underfoot, breaking the stillness that enveloped the forest clearing. Centuries of memories lay hidden within this Earth, setting the foundations for the giant conifers that climbed far into the twilit sky overhead, as if the trees themselves were fertilised from years of mystique and tragedy.

Mandy pushed a low hanging branch aside and peered across the eerie expanse. She hesitated a touch, knowing the next step would thrust her into a world she had not stepped foot in for many years. Was she ready for what lay there?

This was not her first trip back to the Valley, she had visited her parents many times, but it had taken great courage to walk the lonely forgotten trail back to this spot. The place where it all began, and finished, so suddenly.

*

She had spotted him around the village a few times during the past year, watching safely from a distance. They had locked gazes on occasion, his cold piercing blue stare made her knees tremble, her heart skip one… two… three beats. Mandy had always been shy and could never muster the courage to approach him, so she would make do with far glances and snippets of rumours she heard around town.

He had turned up unannounced the previous winter, and in the small village of Berry Hill that’s enough to start the rumour mill. He was working as a labourer on Mr Ellis’s farm and was seldom seen in the local village aside from the Post Office first thing on a Monday and The Gamekeeper’s Inn on a Friday evening; Mandy of course made herself visible at both these times of the week.

She had heard he was an army dropout from Mrs Banbury who owned the local Post Office. Her Mother speculated he had committed a crime down in London and was now laying low. Stranger still, he was an ex-communicated man of the cloth, some nasty business with a nun in Normandy apparently; speculation that had gained traction within the aged congregation of Christchurch. As the months went by the rumours settled down but the enigma remained. She had heard his name: Maxwell, but that was all.

One Sunday afternoon Mandy had decided to venture deeper into the Forest of Dean than her usual walks carried her. It was a bright, Autumnal afternoon. The trees had started their descent into earthly colours and the wind had an extra bite to it, the promise of colder months ahead. She ambled to a spot she had frequented as a child. Mandy and her sister had explored much of the old forest’s off-the-track trails, discovering a small tree clearing with a deep circular pond in the middle.

It was the site of a dropped German bomb from the second world war (what quite the Germans were doing flying over this area of Gloucestershire remains a mystery), but the impact had produced a perfectly circular hollow, which over time had filled with rain water and algae and was teaming with aquatic life, a reminder of nature’s ability to conquer man’s embellishments.

As she approached stealthily from the North her heart froze and began thumping vociferously in the back of her throat. Sat with his back to her at the side of the pond was Maxwell, his deep hazel locks tied up in an untidy bun. She immediately stopped in her tracks, not knowing whether to move for fear of exposure. Before she could think to double back, a smooth voice broke the forest’s stillness.

“Are you going to stand there all day like a frightened Fallow?”

Mandy willed her legs to move, every neuron in her brain aching with force, but like a dormant volcano she stood rooted to the spot.

“Despite what they might say, I don’t bite,” he quipped. “Suit yourself, but if it’s this here pond you’re after, then you’ll have to share.”

After what felt like an age she regained the control in her legs and walked timidly into the clearing, making sure to circumnavigate the pond from the opposite side to Maxwell. She found a spot against a fallen tree and sat, facing him from a safe distance. He didn’t stir, not once looking up from his seated spot, like a Buddhist monk in deep thought.

This was the closest she had been to him. Taking time to analyse his every feature, she could see deep crevasses across the brow, a small scar that meandered across his left cheek and a dark freckle above his lip, each with a story to tell. A story she wanted to read over and over. There were certainly more handsome guys about town, but he carried an allure that was unmatched in her little life experience.

She eventually broke the natural silence that existed between them: “What’s that?” she spluttered. Eloquent of you Mandy she thought.

One piercing blue eye opened and looked directly at Mandy and then down at the .22 rifle that lay across his lap. “This is Ruby. She accompanies me from time to time.”

She had never seen a gun before, but the idea of it awoke a new and exciting sensation. Who was this mysterious man that roamed the forest, her forest, armed for conflict?

“Can I… Can I hold it?”

His eyes closed again. “Now how do I know you won’t turn this thing on me? You haven’t even introduced yourself,” a smirk reached across his face.

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly. “I have a tendency to speak without thinking. My name is Mandy Shaw. I live over near Five Acres in Berry Hill.”

“I know who you are Miss Shaw,” he quickly replied. Both full blue eyes were wide and undressing her now. Mandy became acutely aware of her vulnerability at this moment and sensing her uncomfortable shift, Maxwell crossed the pond and held out the rifle as a peace offering.

She took hold of the wooden butt and felt the weight in her hands. It was heavier than she had expected. A twinge of power sparked through her heart as she held the gun to her shoulder. She had seen the way snipers did it in war movies her Dad made her watch countless times. She never thought she would one day get to hold one.

“Would you like to shoot it?”

She stared wide-eyed into his face and slowly nodded.

“Hang on 2 seconds.” With that he shot back across the pond and rummaged into his dark green duffel bag, pulling out a small tobacco tin from the depths. He neatly placed it atop a log that ran parallel to the pond and marched back to the spot where Mandy held the gun. Inside she felt like a farmer’s wife, in reality she looked like a clueless young child of the forest.

“Here, hold it to your shoulder like this.” He stepped in close, positioning himself tightly, but respectfully behind Mandy, re-aligning the butt of the gun with her shoulder blade. “You need to make sure this part sits nicely in the hollow between your shoulder and neck bone. Feel that?”

She nodded slowly again, feeling his breath on her neck sent shivers through her body. She wasn’t sure how she would keep a sure hand, but he reached underneath and held her arm straight, their skin touching for the first time. While goose bumps started to appear up her arm, he proceeded to bring the scope in front of her eye.

“Focus all your energy into that one eye now,” speaking softly in her ear, “forget about the gun, forget about me, the forest, the pond. Your arm will move with your eye, so once you’ve locked in on the target squeeze the trigger.” With that their hands brushed as he intimated the point at which to squeeze. Mandy was at climax now, willing him to hold her tight, willing them to pull the trigger at the same time. Without realising, held within this moment of ecstasy, she fired. The bullet rang off and smashed into the log opposite, a few inches from the safe, but emotionally scarred, tin pot. A handful of birds erupted in flight out of the nearest conifer and then the forest was still again, save for the heavy breathing emanating from Mandy’s dry mouth.

“Whoa! Not a bad shot Miss. Shaw!” He was smiling now as he stepped back a few paces to survey the scene. “I was right to be worried about you.”

She found herself beaming back at this strange man that up until five minutes ago was but a mirage. She had felt him. He had held her. He was very real. And what she felt was very exciting.

*

Her mind snapped back to her present surroundings. The cold air crystallising in front of her face. She was panting again, much like that first encounter and could feel his warm breath on her neck, running his rough fingers up her arm. She spun around, half-expecting to be met with those cold blue eyes. Instead, the harsh vacant space remained a reminder of their severed existence.

She pushed through the last of the branches that concealed the clearing like a theatre curtain and stumbled on to the water’s edge. She surveyed as a slow mist crept sinisterly across the frozen surface of the pond. Surprisingly to Mandy it was much as she had remembered. It was as if the space had escaped time’s unwieldy hand and save for the changing of the seasons, it was untouched from that first encounter.

It was, of course, the first of many meetings between the pair here. Mandy spied the spot where he had first taken her, and then the various other times among the flora, encased in their own snow globe. She run her hand across the log where they had spent countless evenings in laughter. She even found the marks of that first bullet shot and let her body succumb to the electric feeling that had first taken hold of her all those years ago. This was their place and it remained, hauntingly so.

As the mist slowly cleared across the pond she found herself staring back at a lady she did not recognise. Where time had escaped her surroundings, she had not been so lucky. Heavy bags appeared under the once innocent hazel eyes and cracks were starting to show around the edges. As she stared deeper into the dark, frosted expanse she wondered if he was still down there. The thought made her chuckle aloud. She could picture those blue eyes staring back at her from the other side of the frosted glass, forever held within the depths of this crypt.

As she held his watery gaze she reached behind and pulled from her backpack the long, weathered handle of a .22 rifle. Confidently she swung the gun up to her shoulder and let it rest there. Scanning the depths below, she brought those eyes into focus and held her breath, letting the energy course through her veins. One shot cracked through the frozen surface and left a smoking trail in its wake. Keeping her eye fixed behind the protection of the scope she followed as a small crack made its way through the ice to the bank of the pond. Satisfied, Mandy launched the rifle into the heart of the pond, turned and crunched her way back into the wilderness.