Chapter 16

When the scratching stopped, Edmund relaxed. His relief, however, was only momentary. He noticed the landlord and customers, and the building itself, were still very much on edge. There was silence, but it was filled with tense expectation. He gripped the chair, hard enough for his fingers to ache, trying to keep their fear at bay. He failed. This was his fault. He’d brought it upon them. They didn’t seem to be blaming him – it was more like this was a part of life for them. A newcomer drops by. The forest awakens.

Perhaps, they always won. Edmund was unsure. They remained here, though, making the village their home. He was not certain he could do the same.

His chest had settled. He could still sense it, crouching within him, quietly, waiting.

Malcolm moved first, cutting the tension with the straightening of his shoulders and the wiping of a hand across his forehead. He turned to the others.

“Fetch the ash,” he said.

The wiry man nodded without question and hurried to a room behind the bar. Edmund forced himself upright and prised his fingers from the seat.

“What now?”

Wasn’t it done? Gone?

“We strengthen the circle,” the landlord replied. “We make sure it can’t pull you through the walls.”

“That can happen?” Edmund asked, desperately looking at the brickwork for any signs of weakness.

The landlord paused and rubbed his forehead again. He wiped his palm on his jeans and Edmund could see a damp patch. Sweat.

“It’s tried before.”

Before Edmund could respond, the wiry man returned, carrying a small canvas bag. He loosened the string, revealing a fine grey powder. Ash, the remnants of something burned. Dead. Part of Edmund wished he was, too.

“Stand up,” the landlord instructed.

Edmund rose, slowly. His legs felt untrustworthy, as if they no longer belonged to him. He was borrowing them, but had yet to gain full control of the limbs. Something in his chest stirred once, irritated.

Malcolm looked to the other man.

“Circle him, Will.”

The wiry man, Will, crouched and began carefully pouring the ash in a ring around Edmund. The powder fell like grey snow, soft and delicate, ignorant of its symbolism and intended use. Edmund watched it settle, and was transported to a time years before, when a family had enjoyed snowball fights and snowman building in the park.

“What does it do?” he asked, bringing himself back to the present forcibly.

“It keeps anything of the forest from crossing,” Malcolm said. “Keeps anything it’s already touched from moving too freely.”

Edmund tensed.

“Meaning me.”

There was no denial.

As the last of the ring was poured, the lights flickered and a low hum shivered through the pub. Malcolm moved quickly to the windows, checking each shutter. Then the door. Then the fireplace.

He stopped.

The fire was completely out, and now a chill slowly ebbed into the room.

“Damn it,” he whispered.

Edmund felt his insides eagerly respond to the change.

The landlord grabbed a poker and jabbed at the coals. Sparks flared, but only weakly. Half-heartedly, knowing they were pointless.

“It’s draining the heat,” he said. “Looking for a way in.”

Edmund shivered, not just from the emerging cold.

“Why me?”

The landlord didn’t answer immediately. He knelt beside the fire, feeding it kindling whilst prodding it thoughtfully with the poker.

“You’re open to it. Whether you want to be or not. Whether you know you are or not.”

“I didn’t choose this.”

“No one does. But some people… they carry a kind of ache the forest smells like… like steak to a starving man. It draws it in.”

Edmund looked at his hands. They were pale and trembling. His fingernails needed cutting, and the thought reminded him some things remain normal. He worried he might never fully experience normal again.

“I’m not broken. I’m fine.”

Malcolm glanced at him, his eyes softening.

“Never said otherwise. Just said it knows where to look.”

Before Edmund could reply, another sound sucked the atmosphere from the pub. A brushing sound, as if something massive was rubbing against the outside.

“It’s back,” Will whispered, the words like razors across the ears.

The landlord rose to his feet, brandishing the poker.

“Hold steady,” he warned.

The brushing changed, becoming something softer and more sinister. A whisper.

Edmund.

His name, shaped out of the breath of something that couldn’t breathe. He stiffened as his chest responded with a flare of fire. An excited swell, like hands applauding against the inside of his ribs. It was too quick. Too eager. Too contradictory of what he was telling himself he felt.

“No,” he whispered. “Stop.“

The warmth surged again.

The landlord stepped forward, taking hold of Edmund’s arms.

“Look at me.”

He did.

“You need to tell it no. Say it out loud.”

Edmund’s mouth felt dry, and he was sure the words wouldn’t come. He licked his lips.

“I have!”

“No, you’ve said the words, but not like this. Not like you need to.”

“Will it hear me?”

“Oh aye. That’s the point.”

The whispering curled through the pub, as insubstantial as smoke, but equally as foreboding.

Edmund… let me in…

He could feel himself being pulled towards it. He mouthed his response silently, testing his ability to speak it. Then, more emphatically than he expected:

“No!“

A pause, then a low, drawn-out groan.

Malcolm nodded.

“That’s it. No, again.”

Edmund drew a shaking breath.

“No.”

The warmth within him flickered. Dimmed. Outside, something scraped at the walls slowly, as though testing. Malcolm took the bag of ash from the wiry man.

“We can’t keep it back all night. We’re not strong enough with just this.”

Will nodded.

“Time for the ring.”

“Another ring?” Edmund asked, stiffening.

“Not around you,” Malcolm said. “Around the Swann.”

“We’ll have to move quick,” Will said, pulling on his coat. “While it backs off.”

“You’re going outside? Now?” Edmund gaped in disbelief. How could they risk themselves for him? A stranger!

The landlord gave a grim nod.

“Forest can’t take all of us at once. And it can’t cross the ash if we lay it right.”

Something inside Edmund reacted in alarm. Or in warning. He pressed a hand to it.

“It doesn’t want you to.”

“I can imagine. That’s why we’re doing it,” the landlord said. “Stay in the circle. Don’t move, no matter what.”

Before Edmund could protest, Malcolm unbolted the door. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of damp leaves with the underlying stench of decay. The landlord and Will stepped out and the door shut of its own accord. Silence swallowed the pub, whole.

Edmund stood in the ash circle. He felt separated from his body, both a part of the proceedings and a distant observer.

A thump against the door.

Another.

A third.

The whisper slid through the walls again, seeping over to slide into his ears.

Edmund… they’ll leave you… Come out…

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“No.”

The ceiling rippled directly above him, as if it had suddenly become liquid. Something moved overhead in his bedroom. The whisper thickened, taking on substance, filling his head.

You are mine…

“No!” Edmund shouted.

Whatever was inside him recoiled sharply. The thing on the roof stopped moving. The sharp, rapid sound of running footsteps was heard from outside. Two sets. The door rattled.

“Open up!” Malcolm’s voice barked.

Edmund lunged forward, beating the other customers to the door. He had to turn the key, knowing it hadn’t been locked, and yanked the door open. The two men stumbled inside, breathless, faces pale, the canvas bag nearly empty.

“It’s done,” the landlord gasped. “The outer ring is down.”

Will slammed the door shut behind them and bolted it. Malcolm turned to Edmund, his chest heaving.

“That should hold it for the night.”

Edmund sagged with relief, feeling he could cry, until the presence inside him made itself known again. The landlord saw his expression and nodded grimly.

“You’re safe from the outside,” he said quietly. “But what’s in you… that’s another matter.”

“What do I do now?”

Malcolm shrugged, though it was with acceptance, rather than indifference.

“You hold on until morning.”

Edmund stared at the shuttered windows. The trembling walls. The dying fire. His insides curled like a dog settling.

Morning felt impossibly far away.