The Vengeance of the Fey - 1. Chapter 1

Mark, Thomas, and I had spent most of the morning in Sherman’s Wood. Why it was called Sherman’s Wood I didn’t know, it just always had. School had been closed since Monday owing to a gas leak in one of the science labs, and our parents didn’t want any of us hanging around at home unsupervised. The last time we were left home alone, Thomas decided to make some chips for a snack, and forgot he’d left the oven on; he had damned near burned the house down before he even remembered that the oven was on.

Mum gave us some money and we were told that we could spend the day outside. I guess since we were fourteen she figured that we could be trusted to be out and about, as long as we stayed well away from kitchen appliances. It was early autumn, but since England was in the middle of a heatwave, we saw no reason to object. The weather forecast was for clear blue skies and temperatures in the mid to high eighties.

We decided to spend the morning in Sherman’s because the woods provided numerous areas of shade from the glaring sun, but there was also an adventure playground area and several smaller play areas. Even though school was cancelled until the gas leak problem was resolved, we figured we’d be pretty much on our own in the forest.

We’d spent most of the summer playing in Sherman’s, and had hardly seen another soul. There were ridiculous stories about the forest being haunted! It was a load of nonsense that was the creation of my grandmother’s generation. There had been a few unexplained disappearances and unsolved murders when she was our age, and in order to keep the kids out of the forest without adult supervision, they obviously concocted this haunted rubbish. However, those stories have survived through the years, and it has meant that Sherman’s is a great place for us to go. We can go anywhere, do practically anything, and nobody would ever find out. Haunted indeed!

We stopped off in our local supermarket and bought enough drinks and snacks to last us through to early afternoon, and we also grabbed a bag of ice. We’d planned to go the cinema later on to see The Monuments Men, so wanted to make sure that we had enough money left over for our tickets, and also for popcorn and drinks.

We entered the forest from Old Ashthorn Road. It was one of the smaller roads that led into the forest, and as it was the one that we always used when nicking off school, it just became habit to use. The road got its name from the myriad of ash, hawthorn, and blackthorn trees that lined it as it approached the forest. Nanna did tell me once, that there used to be a huge oak tree on this site, but it was cut down so that the road could be built; she had photographs from her nanna’s day that showed the oak tree in all its splendour. It did have one major advantage though, in that it brought us right by the old bandstand.

The bandstand had seen far better days. The bright coloured paintwork was now all but gone, and all that was visible was the wooden skeleton. The benches inside were covered in splinters, so nobody dared to sit down anymore unless they were wearing jeans. I forgot over the summer, and sat down on one of the benches, and I ended up with a huge splinter in my left bumcheek. To say it brought a tear to my eye when Mum pulled out that three inch long sliver of wood would be an understatement! It also made me swear in front of her for the first time. Then to cap it all off, I found out that I had to have a tetanus shot!

It was so seldom used, that we knew that we could stash a few things under the structure with little chance of them being found; the kind of things we really didn’t want to get caught with at home. So two summers ago, we loosened a couple of the boards, and that allowed us to gain access to the area underneath. We had originally only secreted a small amount of emergency money there (only about ten quid, just enough that we wouldn’t miss it if it got nicked, but still enough for it to be useful), but now we had a small stack of Playboys, a few beers, and half a pack of cigarettes. Given the summer had been so hot, we’d also left our small picnic cooler, along with a Frisbee, a football, and our old cricket set.

Mark opened the bag of ice and dumped the cubes into the cooler, while I dropped in the cans of coke and a beer each for later. Tommy pulled out the football and we had a kickabout for a while.

I’d never been much for sports, but I did enjoy the informal games with my brothers; I think they always took it easy on me, since I seemed to achieve far more than someone of my limited skill should.

About half an hour into our game, Mark kicked the ball and it sailed straight over my head. It ended up bouncing off a nearby blackthorn, and it landed at the base of the tree. Tommy ran over to get it and he let out a yell. Mark and I went over to find out what had happened. We found him clutching his arm.

“Tommy, what happened?” I asked.

“Dunno, Kyle. I must have caught one of the branches of this damned tree.” He took his hand away and we could all see a bruise about an inch in size on the middle of his upper arm.

“You always were a klutz,” I said.

The three of us giggled, and then Tommy said, “Well, you know what Nanna would have said, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Yeah, she would have blamed it on a Lunatisidhe.”

“A what?” asked Mark.

“It was something from one of her stories,” I said.

“I don’t remember that one.”

“Oh yeah,” said Tommy, “I think you must have been in hospital when she told us that one. That must have been when you were having an MRI after getting hit in the head that time with a hockey stick.”

Mark unconsciously rubbed the spot on the back of his head where he’d been hit. “Well, is someone going to tell me?”

“I will,” I said.

I explained that as I recalled the way Nanna told the story, the Lunatisidhe were the faeries that guarded the blackthorn tree. They were fiercely protective of their habitat, and they hated humans with a passion. Firstly, humans picked the berry of the blackthorn to make things like jams, preserves and the alcoholic drink Sloe gin, and secondly, we cut down the tree to make, amongst other things, the Irish walking sticks called shillelaghs. They have long sharp fingers and, if given the opportunity, they will pinch humans until a bruise appears that resembles the black and blue fruit of their tree.

Tommy laughed. “Yeah, Nanna had some really weird stories to tell, and some even weirder ideas about the world. Just get me some of the ice from the cooler to put on this, it still hurts.”

I grabbed a couple of cubes of ice and also a can of coke each from the cooler. “Nanna’s stories weren’t weird, she just held on to some of the old beliefs. I can still remember her making May Bushes, and how she’d never allow hawthorn flowers in the house. The only thing she did that really spooked me was that whole dinner for the dead thing we got invited to two years ago.”

My brothers nodded in agreement. Mum was upset about Nanna inviting us to it for some reason, but as in all things, Nanna eventually won out. I think it was just the whole ceremonial feel that the dinner had; the candlelight, the silence, the prayers, the chair for the dead, and Nanna serving us. Though for as much as it weirded me out, the solemn feel of the evening had always stayed with me.

Although there was no proper area in Sherman’s to play cricket, there was a floral garden that had a small open area of grass that was just about large enough to have a reasonable knock, as they say in the cricketing world.

Tommy dumped the picnic cooler in such a way that it could serve as the stumps. After only ten minutes or so we were hot and getting sweaty. The only thing I hated about that area was that there was absolutely no shade from the sun. I was taking my turn fielding, when Tommy hit the cricket ball, probably a lot harder than he had intended, and it ended up at the far side of the gardens.

“For Christ’s sake Tommy, we’re playing a friendly game here. You’re not batting against the Aussies at Lords for the Ashes, you know!”

“Sorry Kyle.”

I ran over to where the ball had landed and noticed it had knocked a number of pink bell-shaped flowers from a stem, and they were now scattered about the ground. From Nanna’s nature walks with us, I knew enough to leave them alone; I recognised them as the poisonous Digitalis purpurea, the Foxglove flower.

All of a sudden, I heard a buzzing noise and before I could react, I felt several painful stings. The ball must have riled a couple of bees or wasps or something when it collided with the flowers, and now they had something to target. I quickly grabbed the ball as I felt another sting on the back of my hand and ran back to Tommy and Mark as quickly as I could.

They immediately noticed the red marks. “Are you all right, Kyle?”

“Yeah. I think I got stung by a couple of bees. They must have been in the Foxgloves that got ruined when the ball hit them.” I grabbed a couple of cubes of ice and pressed them on the back of my hand, sighing as the cold ice soothed my raw skin.

“Let me have a look,” said Mark. “We need to get the stings out straight away.” He checked my hand and my lower arm where I’d also been stung. “I don’t see a sting left behind anywhere, so it wasn’t a bee.”

“Well it was a wasp then,” I said.

Tommy shook his head. “These look more like bites or scratches than an insect sting.” Keeping a straight face he said, “It must have been one of the Pillywiggins Troop.”

I laughed. “Come on Tommy, I know I had my little joke earlier about a Lunatisidhe hiding in that blackthorn tree, but this was a wasp.”

“Did you see a wasp?”

I suddenly stopped laughing. The question threw me. There had to have been a wasp. I got stung several times, and since there was no stinger left behind, it had to have been a wasp. “Well, no. I didn’t actually see a wasp.”

Tommy looked even more serious. “You know what Nanna told us about the various Pillywiggins. How one of their favourite flowers was the Foxglove?”

I nodded.

“How she told us that they are fiercely protective of their floral surroundings?”

Again, I nodded.

“How they have insect-like characteristics. Such as wings, antennae, and can swarm and even bite and sting if they are provoked?” I was about to say something when Tommy laughed. “Dude, I’m yanking you. You don’t really believe in that crap? Do you?”

I took a playful swipe at him, and laughed it off. “Come on, let’s go somewhere else. I need to get into the shade.” Yeah, right! I had been attacked by a swarm of pissed off faeries, annoyed because our cricket ball had knocked down a couple of flowers!

We headed towards an area known as Pine Apple Sanctuary, as it was the closest area that provided shade. It was a small copse of pine and apple trees, though quite why it was called ‘Sanctuary’ was anyone’s guess. I guess everything in this forest has a bizarre name attached to it, and nobody knows or can remember why the particular names were chosen.

We could see the Sanctuary about four hundred yards in the distance, when Mark stopped for a second, and got out the beers. I was still rubbing the back of my hand where I’d been bitten or stung or whatever. It was red and swollen, but it didn’t hurt like a wasp sting should; it felt much more like a scratch from an animal.

Mark passed Tommy and me a beer each. I’d never been one for drinking, and I wasn’t particularly fond of the taste of the stuff, but I wasn’t about to turn down a beer in front of my brothers and look like a wuss. Besides, the alcohol might help dull the irritation of those wasp stings; yeah, I still think that they’re wasp stings, in spite of what they looked like.

By the time we reached the shady copse, we had finished our beers and the alcohol seemed to be working; my wasp stings were definitely not hurting as much. Tommy and I threw our empty cans in a nearby bin, but Mark just tossed his into a nearby blackberry thicket and let out a low burp.

“Pick that up and throw it in the bin, Mark!”

Mark glared at Tommy over being chastised, but complied regardless. Like all of us, Mark could be a little thoughtless at times when it came to the environment and sometimes needed a gentle prod to use a bin.

It had been a few hours since breakfast and I for one was getting hungry. We sat in the shade of one of the trees and ate the snacks we’d bought earlier. Mark decided to stay in the shade of the pine tree and lit another cigarette, while Tommy and I found a large area of shade under a cluster of apple trees, and tossed our Frisbee about.

I waved the Frisbee in Mark’s direction and yelled over to him. “Come on Mark; join us in a game of Monkey in the Middle.”

Mark exhaled a cloud of smoke, and put his cigarette out on the tree that he was sitting under. “Nah, I just wanna sit here in the shade and relax for a bit.”

Tommy and I carried on our game, while Mark picked up a pinecone and started throwing it in the air and catching it like a tennis ball. We were absorbed in our game when we heard a sudden yelp.

I saw Mark jump up from where he was sitting and he rubbed the back of his leg. “Some damned thing bit me!”

“That’s what you get for sitting on your bum, you lazy sod,” Tommy yelled over to him.

Mark let out a second yelp. “Hey guys, something is really starting to dig in.”

We both ran over to see what it was, but there was nothing on his leg. All we found was a large purple area.

“The only thing there is an ugly bruise,” Tommy said.

“Melch Dick and Churn Milk Peg are trying to tell you that you need exercise.”

“Come on Kyle, enough of these bloody faery references all ready. I know Nanna believed in all that crap, but I don’t, and I know that you don’t either.”

“Suit yourself, but if you get pinched again for being lazy—”

“Come on Kyle,” Tommy said, cutting me off mid-sentence, “leave him in peace. Let’s get back to our game.”

He ran off and tossed the Frisbee to me. I caught it and ran after him, leaving Mark to nurse his bruised leg. Not five minutes had passed, when Mark swore loudly.

“That’s it! There’s something here that’s biting me, and I’ve had enough! Shade or no damned shade, I’m off.” He ran out of the copse and both of us took after him.

Mark had a short fuse and it never took much to set him off. Once Tommy and I had caught up to him, it took us about half an hour to finally calm him down. Though just like Tommy, he now had a couple of bruises; I just hope Mum didn’t think we had been roughhousing. After the last time when it got out of hand and I needed half a dozen stitches after banging against a wall and splitting my head open, Mum said she’d ground us all for a year if there were any repeats.

We decided to head to Statue Park, which was, unsurprisingly, an area filled with marble statues and busts of famous historical figures. Although we’d seen it countless times over the years, it was one of those things we simply did; it had become a kind of tradition over the years.

Statue Park was probably the least visited area of Sherman’s. There was a rash of child drownings in the small lake at the centre of the park in the late 1980s, and stories have sprung up over the years about the area being haunted by the ghosts of those children. It was complete nonsense of course, but it did mean that the few people who ventured this deep into Sherman’s usually gave Statue Park a wide berth. The only people who ventured this far from the beaten path were nature lovers, or just lovers looking for a little privacy.

The area had a mix of nut trees, shrubs, and the usual trashplants. Apparently, the person who donated the oldest of the statues was some rich guy who insisted on walnut trees, hazelnut trees, and the like being planted. Statue Park was surrounded by a wrought iron fence about six feet high, which was now covered in ivy and other climbing plants. The only one way in, was through one of the arched openings in each corner.

Tommy dropped the picnic cooler as soon as we’d walked through the arch and lit a cigarette. He then offered one to Mark and me. We walked around looking at the statues and we were just passing the bust of Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson when I saw Tommy extinguish his cigarette on a nearby shrub.

“Oi, Tommy! What do you think you are doing?” I asked

“What? I’m putting out my cigarette.”

“On a bush? There are ashtrays all over the place and you put out your bloody cigarette on a rosebush?”

“Oh come on? Who’s gonna know?”

All of a sudden, something flew out of the bush and straight at Tommy. He tried to swat it away and managed to spin around a couple of times and I guess he tripped over his own feet, and went splashing into the small lake.

This was now the fourth incident we’d had, and I couldn’t help but remember back on Nanna’s stories again. It was an impossible explanation, yet I couldn’t stop myself from seeing it. Nanna had told us a story when I was maybe six or seven years old. There was a type of faery called a lesidhe, who was another guardian of the forest.

They were always disguised in foliage, so unless one were to get up close and personal, it would be very difficult to distinguish them from the green plants and trees that they hide amongst. I remembered Nanna saying that they liked to pretend to be hummingbirds in order to confuse people, and that they cause humans to become lost deep in woods and forests. She believed that the reason why they have come to dislike humans so much is over our casual disregard and outright disrespect of the environment. Although their tricks could be nasty, they are thought to have never physically harmed a human.

The reasoning seemed sound, but what rational mind could possibly contemplate that we had incurred the wrath of a bunch of overgrown pixies! Yes, we’d had a few strange incidents since we’d arrived in Sherman’s, but they all had rational explanations.

There was no mystery! There was no magic! I know Nanna would believe without reservation, but this was the twenty-first century!

I was brought out of my daydreaming by Tommy splashing around in the lake and screaming, “She’s got me. She’s got me”.

Mark and I ran over to the lake, and I caught a glimpse of . . . I’m not sure what the hell it was! I thought I saw something amongst the pondweed, but it must have been my imagination sparked by Tommy’s yells. If there were something there, Nanna would probably have called it Groac’h or a Drowning Faery.

The Groac’h were malevolent female spirits that lived in ponds and rivers. They were considered a serious threat to human life, especially to children. I can remember whenever we played here when Nanna was with us, she’d always insist on sitting close by the pond. Nanna told us stories about evil sprites hiding amongst the thick blankets of pondweeds that took great delight in drowning bad little boys and girls.

I thought it was just her way of making sure we — what am I thinking! There’s no deranged murderous sprite hiding in the pond. If there’s no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, and no Tooth Fairy, there is damn well no Groac’h! He’d obviously gotten himself caught up in the weeds and couldn’t get himself free, that’s all.

I shook my train of thought and helped Mark to pull our frightened and soaking wet brother out of the pond.

“Are you all right, Tommy?” Mark asked.

I could tell that he was terrified. His pupils were dilated, and he was backpedalling while still staring at the pond. He coughed harshly a few times, and spat on the ground.

“What the hell is in that pond?”

“Tommy, there’s nothing in there,” I said.

“There was a woman . . . a bloody ugly one at that. She grabbed me . . . I felt her hands around my legs.”

“Tommy, you were caught up in the weeds, that’s all,” said Mark. “You probably imagined something, given the stories Nanna used to tell us.”

“Nanna’s stories—” Tommy coughed again “—that was a Groac’h!”

“Don’t be stupid, Tommy,” I said. “I’ll grant you that we’ve had some unusual things happen today, but I’m not ready to start believing in faeries.”

Mark checked his watch. “It’s nearly noon. We’d better see if we can Tommy dried off and into a change of clothes, then we can head to the cinema.”

I took out my mobile and phoned Mum. “She’s not happy about it, but Mum said that she can be home in twenty minutes to let us in.”

We headed back towards Old Ashthorn Road. We dumped everything off at the bandstand and were just about to leave the forest when I saw a guy walking towards us.

“Are you boys all right?” He seemed concerned for us as he looked at Tommy who, in spite of the summer heat, was still soaking wet and had bits of pondweed hanging onto his clothes.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “My brother had a little accident in Statue Park.”

The guy chortled. “Oh yes, the lake.”

I couldn’t help but like his friendly manner, and for some reason he engendered trust. “We were just on our way home to get him dried and sort out a change of clothes.”

He looked over at Tommy. “I’m sure you’ll be all right, kid. A little water never hurt anyone.”

“Well, thank you for your concern sir, but I’ve already called our mum and she is expecting us.”

The guy dug into the carrier bag he had. He pulled out a cardboard box, and when he opened it, there were about a dozen mini chocolate cakes. “Would you boys care for a one? Help the wet boy there with walk home.”

Now, we’d all be raised right. You don’t talk to strangers, and you sure as shit don’t take sweets from them. We’d already broken the first rule, and those cakes did look tempting. So, rather foolishly, we accepted his offer.

As soon as I had swallowed the first bite, I felt a wave of agony rip through my body. I looked over and saw Tommy and Mark writhing in pain as well. I looked up at the guy and saw he was still chortling.

“That’ll teach you lot to cut down my oak tree.”

Just as I started to fade from the pain, I remembered one last tale Nanna told us. The Infiri Duir, the Oak-Men. They lived in oak trees, and were protective of their environment. If their home tree were cut down then they would seek vengeance, and not just against those who had felled their tree. They were known to offer cakes that were actually poisonous fungi.

My last conscious thought was how cruel is nature’s wrath.