Something I wrote a little while ago, it was gathering dust on an obscure website, so I thought I'd give it a chance on here. For youngsters who are stout of heart, for grown-ups who are drawn to the dismal. Maybe someone will find some macabre enjoyment below...
- The Old Century in Birstwickle
A time would come when books and the means to print them, would be devised. This was not yet that time though, so stories were kept in people's memories and passed on from person to person. Mothers told their children stories. Children told each other stories, to amuse, or to scare. Some of the stories were true, some of them of course were make believe, and there were some that people were not quite sure about.
Birstwickle was a village like many others, it had its shepherds, its cobbler, the butcher, the school teacher, all the usual ingredients of village life. The village sat down in the valley, a pretty place with the stream worming its way through the centre, under the two bridges at the top and bottom ends of the village. The valley sloped upward at both sides of the village and was rich with trees, thick woodland to the South, West and East, the land sloped downward and took the stream with it to the North. Village life went by the way life usually does, mostly happy, occasional dramas, arguments and horrors, then a return to happy normality, because that was all there was, that was village life and it was good, season after season year after year. Children grew and eventually had children of their own, passing on the knowledge and skills of village life, and passing on the stories that entertained children and adults alike for all of time.
Many stories were told, some by Mothers and Fathers, some by others. Tales of Giants, Fairies, Ghosts and Princesses of fun, adventure, suspense and fear. There was the fable of the Ghost of the Northern Glen which would leave a traveller alone, help him on his way even, but only if he dropped a silver coin upon entering the glen, if he failed to, then anything might happen. The legend of the Fairy and Giant Feud was long and violent, the two tribes of people, little and large, battling through ages of war, but it was a story, so it was told. There were the Goblin stories, as many of them as there were saplings in the Western Wood. Some of the Goblin tales were gentle and innocent little fantisies, and some dreadful and fearful. Too fearful for parents to tell. Most of the children in Birstwickle had heard the story of the Goblin-Swap in the South Wood, despite their parents' silence. There were many legends about the South Wood, the dense and damp forest that covered the side of the valley south of the village hiding heaven knows what dark magic and dismal deeds, but the tale of the Goblin-Swap was one of the best known, perhaps because of its ability to prevent children falling asleep, or to cause them to wake in the night, needing calming words or cuddles from Mummy or Daddy.
The question often was asked, "Have you ever seen a Goblin?" A reasonable question, considering how many goblin stories existed. It was asked of children, of parents, teachers, brothers, sisters, friends. The grown-ups would always reply that they had never seen a Goblin and that they did not believe in them. Some children accepted this (neither had they), some felt that the grown-ups would say that, they always would try to put the children at ease. Some of the children claimed to have seen them, claimed that they did terrible things, was it true, or were they just trying to scare?
Parents always said that the tale of the Goblin-Swap was pure fantasy, but it somehow was such a believable story, it seemed so possible somehow... Children often concluded that maybe there was some truth in it and the adults just did not want them to worry. Adults did not tell the story, too scary they said. This left it for the more mischievous or even downright cruel children to try to scare others with it. Consequently, everybody knew the tale of the Goblin-Swap.
- The Story of the Goblin-Swap
The story took various forms, but all went along similar lines, it was first told to Henry by a friend's older sister, Jane. Jane was the mischievous type, she had had an argument with her Father, so was sat on the wall of the Top Bridge, throwing pebbles, when Henry trudged past. Jane was feeling a little wicked, so began a conversation with Henry, a conversation which led quickly to the question, "Do you know the story? The story? I'll tell you it if I want!" Henry could not resist, he knew it was a scary story, but it couldn't be that bad could it? And to think, HE would know the story, the story that even his older brother didn't know, the story that none of his little gang of friends knew. How could he resist? How could he refuse? Jane was a mischief alright, she enjoyed watching Henry become absorbed into the story, watching his eyes widen and his brow furrow with nervousness as the conclusion neared and he sensed what might happen...
It went like this;
A long time ago in the village, a Father returned home from his work in the forest just as dusk was falling. The man had been searching for Gildstone Gems in the bed of a stream, gems of the richest forest green, that twinkled with shimmering golden flecks when held up to the sunlight. Gems that could be traded with neighbouring villages and that provided the man's family with everything they had. As he did every day, the man had hung his pocket-watch up on a tree branch before starting work, and as the evening rooks began their end-of-day chorus, he had begun his walk home. As he straightened up from his toil in the stream, and stretched his bent back, one rook flew down close to his feet, where his bag lay open containing the day's selection of Gildstones, not a shimmer, now that the light was low. The man thought the rook was going to snap up one of his Gildstones, so he shooed it away and rolled up the leather bag, tucking it under his arm and striding off home and forgetting his watch.
It was not until he had finished his dinner at home that his wife remarked he was not wearing the timepiece. The man was horrified that he had left his watch behind, a present from his wife when they had first been married. He jumped up, determined to collect the valuable item before an early morning woodsman or poacher spotted it and took it. The daughter of the house jeered that the man ought to watch out for evil goblins, but the man dismissed the comment, telling her not to scare her brother. Young William announced that he was not scared of nonexistent silly goblins and that he was going to go with Father to find the watch.
Off they went into the dark, nobody suspecting that young William would never be seen again. William was full of fun and jokes as they went, but as time moved on and the wood grew darker, he became tired, bedtime was approaching. The watch was found there, just as expected, dangling from the branch. As the man took the watch, he had a feeling, the watch didn't seem quite as cold as it should have, almost as though it had been recently handled. He put the thought out of his mind, telling himself not to imagine things. The Father snapped it onto his wrist and William sighed a big tired sigh of relief and gripped his Father's hand tightly for the walk home. William then fell silent, but his Father kept up the conversation, wanting to keep William happy and awake as they went, he did not want to carry a sleeping boy over the uneven and slippery ground.
A little later they arrived back home, the Father swung open the front door with a big grin and the announcement, "I have it!". But the wife looked back with a silent horror on her face that the man had never seen the like of, and never would again, it seemed that her eyes might burst from her head. The daughter was frozen and whiter than a ghost. He looked down at his son in the candle light that was all the house had, first he saw that the little hand he was holding was green. Then he saw that his Son's face was green, his nose was long and warty, and teeth poked from his mouth at shocking angles. This was not his son! The green face turned and grinned up a vile grin at the Father, then laughed a hideous screech of a laugh that turned the parents and the little girl's blood into icy water in their veins. A brutal rage filled the man, he would have snapped the goblin's spine over his knee there and then, but his daughter was watching, so he threw the goblin savagely out of the still open front door and it fell flat on the garden path. The man ran into the woods screaming with shock and grief at the loss of his son. The Mother held on to the girl and wailed in torment at the loss of the boy and the departure again of her husband. The goblin trotted to the edge of the wood and turned and laughed its awful shriek once more at the cottage door, before it disappeared into the trees. The boy was never seen again. Neither was the Father.
Jane grinned in a satisfied, slightly evil way when Henry heard the awful ending of the story. His mouth dropped open in a quiet horrified gasp and he looked at her in shock, he found nothing to say, just a wail of awfulness as he jumped down from the wall and charged home.
A chilling tale indeed, not one to tell to small children at bedtime. The story, as we have said, took many different forms, some said that this was because it had happened more than once, in different times and in different ways. Perhaps ALL the stories were true; this frightened the children who had been unlucky enough to have heard the story, all the more.
And another thing about the Goblin-Swap story; something that the mischievous children did not mention, perhaps some of them had thought it though, or perhaps it had not crossed their minds. It was something that was only ever mentioned by the naughtiest of children, who really wanted to terrify. This thing was; What if what happened was not a swap? What if the child was not lost in the woods, hopefully to be found again one day? What if the child was gone forever because there was no swap at all? The child had been transformed into a goblin, changed forever, inside and out into a rotten and foul Goblin, forever. A horrible thought.
- The New Century in Birstwickle
But, times changed and stories that once had terrified became very familiar and almost fun, a new century had come and with the new times, people's thoughts were different. Even though the Goblin-Swap story had a terrible ending, people had become so acquainted with the story that it scared no one. Now books had been invented and printing machines that made books clicked and rattled as they made hundreds of them.
Everybody had many books. Goblin stories by the dozen were lines up on children's bedroom shelves. Along with tales of Ghosts, Pixies and Dragons. Parents merrily read the Goblin books to their little ones, yes, even the Goblin-Swap one, what was the harm in that after all? People had been telling another story about a vile troll under a bridge threatening to eat everyone that passed, for generations, and what harm had that done? None, Mummies and Daddies thought, they were only stories after all.
Along with the story of the Goblin-Swap becoming less fearsome, somehow the darkness of the Southern Wood at night time also seemed to have become a little less dark and a little less dangerous. Children these days might dare each other to venture into the woods a little at dusk before they were called in for dinner, to see who might dare to venture furthest or longest. Tales of goblins lost their chill and nobody even considered that in the past anybody might have actually seen a goblin, maybe thought they had, maybe a silly person might have just daydreamed that they had...
Although times were different, the village still sparkled with life and the woods around the village still dazzled with green from the deepest to the brightest. Nobody's Father now spent the days bent over in a stream hunting for Gildstones, they had all been found and traded away. The woodland had provided timbers for some new houses, as the village had grown a little and the woods moved back a little. More people now worked in the fields, rather than finding and picking what grew naturally in the surrounding forests, so the trees had had to move back a little more to make space for more land to be cultivated. But at the same time, things were not so different, the children attended the same village school, singing the same songs, Mothers looked after the children and grew vegetables in the gardens, Fathers worked the land, or made furniture, or repaired roofs, or travelled to distant towns and villages trading shoes or rugs or ornaments that the creative people of Birstwickle had made.
The travelling Fathers did so nowadays using newly invented motor-cycles that had small carriages strapped on one side, in which to carry their wares. Harry's Father was one such travelling Father, who would trip off at least once a week, sometimes being gone for one or two nights before returning. He would sell belts and gloves that he and Mother and his workmates had made. Then he would return with materials to make more gloves or belts. He would bring treats of interesting foods or toys for the children, and always some money which he would place at the back of a drawer carefully for use later.
As well as tales of Goblins that amused and brought squeals of mock-terror from the children before bedtime, as well as the Wizards and Phantoms and Knights, Elves were a favourite. Stories of the exploits of the good elves in their forest hideaways also entranced the boys and girls before they finally closed their eyes at bedtime. Elves were good and Goblins were bad, these were the simple and never-changing truths about the magic creatures of the woodland. Elves were as good as Goblins were bad. Sometimes elves battled Goblins, the sides of good and evil always plain to see. Sometimes the Elves had adventures of their own, usually finding good deeds to do. There was a tale in particular that excited most children and Harry was no exception. It was the story of the Elves' Lightning Gift, and it was a story that Harry's Dad, David, intended to make real for his boy.
David had had the idea of bringing the Lightning Gift story to life some time ago. The problem was that a thunderstorm was needed and it had to happen close to Harry's birthday, because that was when the Elves would give their gift, when a thunderstorm came on a child's birthday. Thunderstorms were uncommon, almost as uncommon as a Gildstone being plucked from the stream. They seemed to be especially uncommon when Harry's birthday was approaching, a frustrating fact for David. David had been ready for two years now and no storm had come at the right time, he hoped and hoped that this might be the year, otherwise Harry might be too old by the time of his next birthday, too old to enjoy little children's Elf stories, and then the plan would come to nothing.
The story of the Elves' Lightning Gift went that if a thunderstorm came when it was one of the local children's birthdays, and a bolt of lightning was to strike earth in the woods, then the kind elves would lay a silver flask at the very point of the lightning strike for the child to discover. Like the tales of Goblin nastiness, nobody believed in the Elves, or their silver birthday gifts, but stories like this were known to all and the books were well loved.
David had discussed his plan of secretly laying a flask in the woods with his wife, Judith. She had ummed and ahhed a little. Slipping, tripping, getting muddy and scratched in the woods at night when Harry could be having a cosy bath? But she had eventually agreed that it would be a once-in-a-lifetime sprinkle of magic for him. It was agreed that if the thunderstorm came when Harry's birthday was close, then Judith would make a big show of it and point out where the jagged electric forks came down. David, whether away on his motor cycle, or at work in the workshop would stride out into the woods taking the silver flask he had prepared, rattling with silver pennies and lovingly whittled little wooden toys. He would sit the Gift down in a spot that it looked like lightning might strike and that an Elf might choose. Then he'd return with Harry to discover the flask and learn that the legend was indeed true! Then home, probably still with time for a quick warm bath.
But David had been thwarted for two years; the storms were barely there and certainly not coming any time close to Harry's birthday. Although Harry would always most carefully read his book of the Elves' Lightning Gift as his birthday came close, gazing long and dreamily at the spellbinding illustrations, and although David checked and dusted the flask, it was not to be.
Harry's birthday approached again and David prepared again. Harry got out his book again, maybe this would be the year...
- Another Journey Into The Woods and Out Again.
Then, at last it happened, while David was away on his motor cycle, two days before Harry's birthday. David had, a short time ago, left the nearby town of Witherdown, when the wind blew up strongly, then rain came, heavier than it had rained all year. The rain soon slowed and just as David considered leaving the shelter of the large Ash he was sheltering under, the clouds crashed together and broke apart and the enormous and dazzling power of a thunderstorm broke free. The storm was perfectly placed, so that David under his tree could watch it rage down on the Southern Wood. And Harry with his Mother, shortly after they had walked home from school, could stand in their open front doorway, just sheltered by the little pointed roof and watch the magnificent knives of electric silver, slice down into the heart of that same wood.
"Do you think the Elves might make a Gift for me?" Harry asked his Mother in wonder. She was able to answer with genuine words, "I really think that they might do that for you Harry, this could be your year!" She picked him up and hugged him as the rain fell again mightily as it always does after thunder has shattered the clouds. David remained under the Ash tree and smiled to himself, satisfied at last. Soon, as the rain lessened, he would leave. He knew what he would do.
"It should take no more than about an hour", David assured his wife, as he and Harry slid on their waterproof trousers and boots. It was not an especially cold night, but they put on warm coats just in case and David took a torch from the top shelf in the pantry, "It's not dark yet, but it's always darker in the woods and it will be night before we arrive back home. Are you ready?"
Harry nodded with a grin, his hood was up and the cost was zipped tightly up to his chin. "Bye Mum, we won't be long".
"OK, hurry back, don't twist any ankles", Judith looked a little unsure about the escapade as they turned away, but she managed a cheery smile. And they left the cottage. Judith held her baby Daughter in her arms and waved them off. She would never see her Son again.
Harry was full of energy and excitement as they slammed the front door, he was raring to go and his Father had to stride smartly to keep up. It was a rare treat for Harry to have time alone with his Father, especially on such an expedition, an adventure almost. They had only to walk to the end of their street, chimneys spilling wood smoke all around them, turn left and travel the length of South Lane, and then they were at a small gap in the fence where the woods began. The path into the Southern Wood was well trodden from many a daytime walker taking the direct route to the nearby village of Copperpot, just over the Stallon Moor. The ground was wet after rain in recent days and today's great downpour, but the path was well compressed by a great many feet, so the going was comfortable for now.
Soon, it became a true woodland walk, they had left the Copperpot path, heading on smaller trails toward the middle of the wood, up the gentle slope of the valley. Any sign of light from the village was long gone, as was the smell of people's cottage fires burning. The trees became bigger and mingled together their branches more and more as they walked on, making tunnels for them as they moved further into their world. David had resisted using the torch until it became really difficult to see, but now it was. Back in the village there would still have been enough light to perhaps read a book, but here, under a sky of leaves and towering trunks, it was almost dark, a lot darker than David had expected if he had told the truth. He did not tell the truth though, he though it better to let Harry think that his Dad understood everything and was scared of nothing. David flicked on the torch and it made their path instantly clear, and all else just as perfectly black as their path was visible. Still there was a path though, Harry remarked, a sure sign that this was still partly the world of people, even though overhead, the world was certainly a world of giant plants and the silent, sometimes calling creatures that lived up there, silent but always watching. Watching and wondering what on Earth two people were doing venturing into a world they did not fully understand, outside the day, outside the human time. The night time was the time for the forest things, a time when the humans belonged in their cottages warmed by fires and think blankets and mugs of tea. The life of the woodland looked down and wondered at the tall striding man and the skipping, chattering boy and wished them well, it mostly wished them well.
Harry was making a game of leaping over tree roots, whooping at giggling as his Father each time claimed that this one leap was the one that Harry would not manage, the next root was too far away. Harry delighted in proving his Father wrong, until the torch swung the wrong way and the dwindling evening light failed to help, causing Harry to misjudge his jump and prove his Father right as a hooked root jutted up, tripping Harry and landing him on his chin on the dirt path. Harry was not hurt, he hopped up again and rubbed his chin as clean as he could in the dark. David decided was not surprised at what had happened, and relieved that Harry was alright and had finished with that particular game. David held the torch steadily now, and the tunnel of woody walls and leafy ceiling became more a tunnel than ever, and on they went into it. Harry asked to hold the torch and it was no longer held steadily, he swung it around wildly, spotting more than one owl, perching and observing or mid-swoop between branches.
Presently, Harry became tired of swingling the torch around, he was simply growing sleepy. More tired than usual for this time of the evening, perhaps because of the freshness of the air and its rich forest scents. Perhaps it was the exercise at this late hour, anyway, he was too tired to consider why, he just was feeling very tired. He held his Father's hand and the torch drooped down to only illuminate their feet, plodding onward. Suddenly a shrill call of a night-bird, which sounded as though it was almost sitting on David's left shoulder, broke the calm and Harry jerked the torch upward. The light flew out of Harry's hand and spun away from them into a patch of thick bracken leaves, there was a clunk and the light was gone.
David tried hard not to be angry, Harry was worn out, plain and simple, David should have seen this and taken the torch. He groped around the area where the last flash and the clunk had come from, hoping really hard to find it. He was still trying hard not to get angry, now at the situation rather than Harry, as his arms and trousers became wetter and dirtier. He resolved eventually to give up and with a sigh said, "On we go now without our own light, just the sky and that thin little moon." He hoped their eyes would adjust to make the best of things, but he knew they would be almost blind. Before straightening up, he swung his arm one more time and the end of his forefinger knocked something, "That's it! It's here!", he lunged again where his finger had touched the torch and closed his hand on the dark cylinder, in a second, he had shifted his grip and learned that the fall had not simply hit the power switch and turned off the device. The switch was still on, the torch was broken. David had thought for a while now that the trip might have been a bad idea, now he was convinced, he just wanted to get his Son safely home.
"I think we might be stuck with the darkness, it's dead" David was downhearted and Harry felt that and was the same, the news only seemed to lower his spirits and make him more tired. Harry's Father fiddled with the torch, "Maybe..." he said slowly as he unscrewed the end and tried to manipulate the parts, a battery fell on the floor and David had to grovel again to find it. He felt the part back into its position and screwed the torch back together again. He slid the switch, holding his breath as he did, and, the torch lit! "Ha! Light again!"
David could see Harry's face in the light that reflected back from the surroundings and it was a sleepy face that he saw, but the new light had woken it up just a little and a smile of anticipation now curled the corners of Harry's mouth, "Yeah! We'll find it won't we Dad?". Harry was just a little revived, for now at least, and a little less sleepy. David told himself that they could not give up. "We'll find it!", David reassured although he secretly thought that the torchlight did not seem as bright as it had before the accident and he guess that that the batteries were growing tired, rather like his boy.
They strode on again, David amazed himself by somehow still knowing approximately where they were, despite it all seeming so different with only the artificial torchlight to help them. He knew that they were close now, after all, he'd visited this area not long ago, he invented something to keep Harry positive, "Well, I've been trying to keep a count of my paces as we've walked and from the position that I saw the lightning strike, I'm sure we can only be moments away. People say the Elves' Flasks are polished and gleaming, so the torchlight will hopefully show it up if it's anywhere around here". Harry seemed to coo with anticipation, he didn't know what to say, it was a happy dream come true, he felt he was in a dream and that the dream, the dream of the Elves' Lightning Gift might be coming true!
And then - David's timing had been perfect, only slightly hidden behind the drooping bough of a conifer, on top of a rock, there was a gleam of silver. Harry was, for the moment, as awake as he had been all day, he squeezed his Father's hand in delight and with a thrill, "We've got it, I've got it, the Elves' Gift, for me, all for me, this is the best moment of my life!"
"We've got it. You've got it Harry, it's your gift!" David reached through the tree's damp needles, realising that the flask was lying down now, not stood up, as he had placed it. It could easily have toppled over, he thought, that could easily have happened considering the thick moss on that rock. But as he grasped the flask, it was as though a shower of chill raindrops had fallen down the back of his shirt, impossible considering the coat he was wearing, but that was the feeling he had, a chill, a frightening shiver as he realised that the flask was dirty, different... Something had happened, somebody had touched the flask, done something to it, a feeling of huge and heavy dread filled David's mind and body. He knew he must sound positive though for Harry's sake, at least until they were out of the woods and back to the safety and familiarity of the village.
"Let's head home now, you need to open it and see what's inside before you sleep. And I think you'll be ready to sleep when we get back home", David was speaking as cheerily as he could. They turned to go back in the direction of the village, but only moments had they been moving when the torch dimmed to almost a nothing, then it was a nothing. "Now it's all darkness and the little sliver of a moon for us, just hold on to me and we'll find our way alright". Harry, quiet once more, he had felt his eyelids droop just as the torchlight gave out, needed no telling, he hung onto his Dad's hand and walked along beside, his skipping behind him now and his legs feeling heavy like the fallen and sodden tree trunks they passed, he was feeling cold too now, cold seemed to be seeping into him from the soles of his feet upward, from the tip of his nose inward, from his finger ends gradually working in and in toward his heart. David noticed that his Son's hand felt chilly now and he gripped it tighter, pulling him on, wishing he could break into a run and drag him along behind, but it was dark and one of them would trip and get hurt. On they went, the cold hand of a boy in David's one hand, a thing in his other hand that he wanted throw, or drop, to just not have a thing that was wrong, but that he could just not leave, not now, Harry could not know his thoughts.
David looked up seeing no sign of the narrow crescent he had spoken of, it had squinted down at them while they had still been in the village and flickered more and more then flickered away as they delved into the Southern Wood, "Our eyes will get used to it, on we go!", he was trying hard, trying so hard to keep himself from worrying and to not worry Harry.
They were still far into the woods and they felt far from home, somehow further than they had been all along, despite now going in the right direction. The woodland now felt like a different world, and it was, David's spirits had deserted him and taken from him any command he had over this strange forest world.
What a different place it was now David's courage was gone, so very different from home and the village, no cosy fires, no snug rugs or safe and warm beds, no orderly and tidy streets and lanes. Everything here was obeying different laws, things were curved, wet, jagged, not built for human comfort, not of the right height for humans to walk under or squeeze between, the ground tried to hold on to human shoes and not let go, thorns and weeds with little hooks on their stems attached themselves to human clothes as though to say, "if you won't leave us alone, then we will not leave you alone" It felt like another world because it was exactly that.
And Harry's hand felt cold, he trailed behind and his feet dragged, he was almost sleepwalking.
The dark was strong and a great power here, greater by far than the power of human eyes, it seemed to have sucked that sliver of a moon out of existance. The eyes of a human were lost here, it was all but impossible to tell the real from the imagined. The darkness was as heavy as a hundred blankets pushing down onto a human's face, and as black.
Smells here were all of their own, not village smells, scents of more plants than a year had days, some sprouting and making their scents, some dead and decaying, making different scents in that way, fungus was taking in rotting plant life and throwing its own spores and smells out into the air to puzzle the human nose. Animals were all around, so close often that they could be touched, not that a human would even know this, creatures of the air, the land, the ground, the water and all of these things mixed, creatures known and not known, sometimes seen, most commonly not seen, so close they could reach out and pluck a human hair, or scratch a cheek, knowing the blind human would blame a briar or a rose stem.
The night had not seemed cold as they had set out, but a coolness had grown and become a harsh chill, with twisting, sudden harsh winds, unsuited to the shelter of a forest. The cold was robbing David's body of its heat, despite his coat and waterproof trousers, he knew Harry could only feel the same, surely worse, but Harry was too close to a state of sleep to bother or speak about it, so his Father supposed.
The music of the woodland was not the music of human scales, not music to human ears at all, strange and chilling, more chilling as the human strayed further from his place of belonging, deeper into the wood and to its musical core. Birds of the night, tree boughs groaning, the tiniest shrew, tapping beetle legs on bark, a thousand sounds, more than human ears could begin to understand and name, the music of the forest, long and cold and so far from the simple and plain song that a human voice might manage, so rich and full and yet so quiet and gentle that a human's hearing could not begin to understand it. The human mind only took from it feelings, or a mixture of feelings, all the good and bad and in between that a human could ever know, all of that could be there, it was the choice of the forest what the human felt. For the one human adult in the wood tonight there was one feeling and that feeling was a mixture of chill, dread and homesickness, the man's companion was feeling little now. The music of the forest could turn the heart of the stoutest human little by little into a frail and feeble autumn leaf. If the forest and the creatures of the forest chose, if this was what they wanted, they could persuade the boldest human to wither and flee. Or the forest, and the creatures of the forest could watch, amused as a human tried to go on, or tried to move away with dignity, without panic, when always the forest and its creatures could sense the panic of the human and giggle their music as the weak human fought to keep that panic down in their stomach and away from their heart. The music of the forest could turn the sternest man to panic, or it could soothe a child to sleep, almost to sleep on his feet, it could do both of these things at the same time.
The flask felt different, inside as well as out, the contents were...different, the movement within, was not the same, the sound of the contents was just somehow a bit...different, this thought mingled with David's unease, his not-quite-panic, his urgency to be out of the woodland, there was a sick feeling in his gut, a dread that felt like a terrible disease was pulling his insides out from within him. But it would end, it was not a long walk, despite having to choose his direction by little more than instinct, having to feel almost every step with his feet searching out the paths through the vegetation, it would end.
So it did end, David sensed wood smoke, then glimpses of cottage lights showed for instants before leaves covered them again, but not for long, here was the village, home, comfort. They had safely made it, somehow David had feared they would not, now he felt foolish, they were safely back in the village and there had never been anything to fear, his boy was safe, though exhausted. The flask, it had been meddled with, probably children playing, Harry would sleep and David would undo whatever mischief they had made with the contents and all would be well tomorrow.
The moon was gone, eaten up while they had been in the woods, cloud had blown up and made the sky a blue darker than any ink had ever been. But David could have walked the few short streets to his house confidently wearing a blindfold. Harry, poor Harry, he thought, a sleeping boy walking, his walk was strange and jerky now, David thought the poor boy was probably dreaming and he trudged on. So, David found the front door key, it had been safely buttoned in the inside pocket of his jacket all along. The lock turned with a clunk and the door swung. In no time Judith's voice was heard, warm and welcoming, just a bit anxious though, "You were longer than I expected" she was drying a dining plate with a towel as she appeared from the kitchen, the light from that room now playing over the two figures in the doorway.
The dining plate was one of a set of six, with a woodland scene of foxcubs painted on it. The plate struck the tiled floor and was at once a thousand pieces, it gave off a great crash of a sound that woke the baby in an instant, but neither of the parents heard the sound.
Judith's face had changed from wearing a welcoming smile to an expression of the worst shock and disgust imaginable, her mouth was half open, locked in an agonising silent scream. "Are you..." David began to ask and stopped as soon as he had begun, in utter confusion, of course she was not OK. He was struck dumb and stared at Judith's frozen face for a second, then followed the direction of her eyes down to Harry's face.
Simultaneously he realised just how cold that little hand that he held had become. The face that he saw was not Harry's and David's mind instantly wrapped into a knot of agony and confusion and the worst pain he had ever known.
The face of the ugliest goblin looked up at him with a half-smile of evil satisfaction.
Judith had dropped to her knees, sobbing huge long breathless sobs, her face had aged to double her years, she knew now that the old Goblin-Swap story was true. And she knew what was going to happen.
David's mind almost split his skull with rage and fear, he knew that the old Goblin story was the truth and he almost died there and then on his own doorstep. But his body remained alive, though his brain was torn almost to shreads, he screamed a sound that reached every ear in the village, a cry so horrible that nobody would have dared come to help, he crushed that Goblin's cold, bloodless hand in his and swung the silver flask with all the strength he had ever possessed. The flask struck the Goblin's face with sickening power and that creature of endless spite and venom screamed like an injured crow, but also seemed to laugh a hideous, dry and loathsome laugh. The flask must surely have broken the despicable creature's skull, so brutal was David's force. It send the Goblin spinning down the cottage steps to a further awful blow of the head on the flagstones below. The flask landed beside the creature.
The Goblin was not killed though, it rolled again and that vile green face now showed, torn, with green fluid dripping from its wounds and wearing the most sickening smile that a human had ever seen. David seemed look straight through what he saw; his brain could not comprehend it. Judith watched, but with all the grief and disgust of the world. The baby screamed from her room, she was spared the terror of the scene, but she had somehow sensed the awfulness of it. The Goblin sat up, almost as though unharmed and picked up the flask, it spun off the lid with familiar ease and poured out a handful of black steaming lumps. They were Hellberries, a thing known to all from the old Goblin stories, a snack only a thing as low as a Goblin could enjoy. They gave off a stench that burned the eyes and turned out the stomach of any human close by. It threw the berries into its mouth, Harry's gifts were gone and always had been, it crunched those repulsive berries and dark brown juice trickled from the corners of its mouth as it laughed as only a creature with no heart and no warmth in its blood could.
Judith, on her knees could only watch in paralysed silence as David did what she knew he would, his scream that seemed to have been sounding now for all of time, grew louder and then choked off as he took in breath and ran, mad like a tortured dog toward the woods.
The Goblin stood and turned too, it almost skipped as it moved away, tipping berries from the flask directly into its mouth, it left only the terrible smelling berries and drops of its thick green Goblin blood littering the path.
But before it left, the Goblin turned again and laughed once more, a laugh that took half the life out of Judith and silenced the baby.
The story of the Goblin-Swap had become real again for Birstwickle.