Old Whisper Wood

Harvey Mudd plonked down inside the toilet cubicle and held his head. He could still hear the taunts. Wiping his smudged glasses, he stared at the floor and waited for his heart rate to slow.
Every day was bad but today had been worse, because Baz had had girls with him. Laughing, pointing and jeering. Harvey had hurried past the line with their “Mud pie” and “Pud Pud” chants ringing in his ears. Glasses steamed, he had tripped and his bag had spewed his packed lunch across the corridor. A Pringle tube had bounced away and his cellophane-wrapped ham sandwiches had slid under one of the girl’s legs. Face on fire, he had scrambled up to deafening laughter, grabbed his rucksack and barged through the nearest door, where he now sat.
Harvey sighed as his stomach rumbled. “At least they didn’t follow me here.” He glanced at his watch. Lessons would start again soon. Better to wait and be late for the next session than face that abuse again. He peered around the toilet walls and spotted his name scribbled on the door. “Harvey mud takes it up the cack Hole.” He shook his head and mumbled, “They can’t even spell cake.” 
Harvey was about to leave when a message caught his eye. The words Old Whisper Wood were emerging from behind the toilet tank. Each letter formed elegant, italic shapes reminding him of Victorian handwriting. He hesitated and squashed his cheek against the wall to see the whole sentence.
Life will begin anew at Old Whisper Wood.
He frowned. And then jumped as the bell rang for the next lesson. That afternoon he didn’t hear the sneers or notice other pupils puff out their cheeks at him. He didn’t even register when a frustrated classmate jabbed his fleshy back with a ruler.
The only thing on his mind was Old Whisper Wood.


Harvey wiped the last dish, placed it on the unsteady pile and hung up the damp tea towel. Still in school uniform, he shuffled over to the fridge door, grabbed the dangling pen, and put a line through the second to last chore on the long list. The last bullet point read, MAKE MAMA MUDD DINNER. Harvey’s mother always wrote the daily chore list in uppercase, and it always concluded with the same job.
Quiz music pounded from the living room where Mama Mudd slumped on the sofa. Harvey glanced at a second whiteboard next to the chore list. This one displayed his name (in capitals), the word COURAGE and a crossed-out score of 6/10. Beside this, Mama Mudd had scrawled an amended 5/10.
The boy lowered his head, opened the fridge door and reached for the mince.


Harvey pushed his bike up the path leading to the trees.
He had lain awake for hours with Old Whisper Wood rattling around his head while Mama Mudd’s snores drummed through the floor. Why was the message there? What did it mean? Who had written it? And why the strange font? And then something else had flashed into his mind - Mama Mudd’s 5/10 score for his courage.
That had been the spark.
In the darkness, Old Whisper Wood loomed much larger than it appeared in the daytime. The whole mass breathed and juddered as it opened its limbs.
Harvey hesitated at the entrance, counted to ten and pulled a torch from his bag. Its weak beam poked at the night. He shivered, hitched up his hood and muttered, “Life will begin anew.” Leaning his bicycle against a tree trunk, he followed the path.
Branches scratched and snagged. Creatures scurried and screamed. Wind gusts whirled and shoved. Sudden snaps and howls pricked Harvey’s nerves as he ventured deeper and deeper. He flinched, ducked and scuttled through the murk. Damp, mulchy air invaded the boy’s nostrils and he imagined dead or dying animals squelching under his shoes. Harvey’s feet were sodden and uncontrollable shivers wracked his body, but he hurried on. Head down. 
A sudden screech blasted the boy’s eardrums and something batted his back. He jumped and the torch flew from his hand.
Harvey Mudd ran.
Blind, he stumbled and clawed his way through thorny branches and drenched leaves. The wood woke up and shrieked like a vampire. Grasping and tugging, he became entangled and screamed as he wriggled free. His heart hammered as tree limbs punched his arms and slashed his sweaty face. 
He lurched forward and then there was nothing beneath his feet. Warm air rushed past his cartwheeling body as he plummeted into darkness. He screamed.
But then time slowed and the updraft became pleasant. Comforting. His cheeks and fingers began to thaw. And his fall decelerated to a gentle descent.
Harvey Mudd landed on his back and stared up from inside the hole.


He lay there for a while.
His heart rate eased and he enjoyed the snug warmth. The floor moulded around him and formed the perfect mattress. He closed his eyes, realised he was no longer scared, and hugged the ground.


Harvey Mudd skipped out of the hole as dawn was breaking. He had no idea how long he had lain there but when the birdsong started, it was time to leave. Now, he paused and looked back down. The pit was about fifteen feet deep and he had cleared the distance from bottom to rim in seconds.
He frowned, shrugged and turned to leave. But his trousers began to slip. “Eh?” He spoke into the dewy trees. Hitching them up with one hand, he started to jog along the path. After a few moments, he stopped again. Harvey Mudd wasn’t out of breath. He felt his pulse. It was steady.
He pulled up his belt and broke into a sprint. Like a faun, with one hand at his waist, he skimmed over logs and dodged branches without any change in pace. When he reached the entrance to Old Whisper Wood, he skidded to a stop and touched his pulse again. It was the same rate. His breathing was even. He didn’t have a stitch. He wasn’t even sweating.
Harvey Mudd’s coat felt baggy on his arms too. He blinked, reached up for his glasses and touched nothing but his eyes. He mumbled, “I must’ve dropped them when I fell.” He shuddered, “Shit, Mama Mudd’s going to kill me.” Then he grabbed his bike and beamed as a new reality hit him. “I don’t need them!”
Harvey Mudd sprang onto his bicycle and pounded down the hill. As the wind rushed past his face, he shouted again, “I don’t NEED them!”
And as the town woke up, the only sound Harvey heard was his own laughter ringing out in the morning air...

***

Mark Humphries teaches ESOL in Leeds, England, where he lives with his wife. His stories have appeared in several online publications including Tales from the Moonlit Path and Aphelion. He is currently editing his first novel. You can follow him on Facebook.