Soon a poster of Darren appeared amongst those of Tiddles and Rex, but Stuart never felt guilt over the event. After all, Darren’s death was an accident. All he did was recycle the body. The woods were finally satiated, and were quiet for the rest of the summer. Though, as winter set in, the hunger pangs returned with a vengeance.
* * *
Now in his twentieth year, Stuart had the blood of many on his hands. Every time it was the same. He would vow that this one was the last, that the woods would have to find another feeder. He would try to resist the call of the woods, but somehow it would get its way. The first few, all local people, were dispatched during blackouts or attacks of somnambulism. It was the only way to relieve the crippling pain from his abdomen.
The local victims, along with all the vanishing pets, soon raised panic to a fever pitch. Some amongst the village talked of the Beast of Bodmin, while others talked about cults and rituals. A few even blamed the rabbit warren of tin mines that riddled the area, and this theory quickly gained traction when hikers and farm livestock began vanishing. It was as though the ground had just opened up and swallowed them.
In a way, it had.
As time progressed and Stuart got a car, he took his hunt for suitable nourishment for the forest to nearby Betyls Cove. The docks were awash with junkies and prostitutes, both of which were easy to lure back to his home and dispatch. His gran had long since passed, leaving him with the house by the woods.
Unbeknownst to Stuart, a task force had been set up in Betyls Cove CID to deal with the plague of disappearances. Top-brass was convinced they had a serial killer on their hands, and the wheels of fate were quickly turning against Stuart.
While he was at work one fateful day, DI Baker led an operation to search the woods near High Bend. There had been many such searches, but the small, muddy pond had never been dredged thoroughly. Baker had narrowed the start of the horrors to the vanishing of young Darren, and decided to start at the beginning. They uncovered a veritable treasure trove of evidence. They soon found keys, wallets, mobile phones and handbags that were all linked to the missing people. The items were taken to the station and examined.
Stuart’s undoing was a red plastic handbag. A woman, matching the description of a missing prostitute, was caught on a CCTV carrying said handbag as she got into his car. This, and his proximity to the pond and woods, made him a person of utmost interest.
Stuart returned home to a surprise. There was a body in his bath. He had no recollection of how it got there, but this had recently become the norm. The woods had stopped cajoling him to kill, and had just started taking control whenever it was hungry. The village was swarming with police, and he knew that at some point they would ask to take a look inside his house.
The only chance he had was to get rid of the evidence. The weather was fierce, and night had dropped like a hammer. He dressed in dark clothes and hoisted the emaciated body of the poor, unfortunate person over his shoulder. He ran full-pelt through the trees, quickly dropping the body in the clearing. Once the insects had done their grisly work he gathered up anything that the bugs didn’t want and headed to the pond.
DI Baker hammered on Stuart’s door to no reply. He had gotten a swift warrant for Stuart’s arrest, and had instructed the police with him to smash the door in. Stepping inside, Baker was taken aback by the interior. All the furniture and fittings had been crafted from fallen branches and chunks of lumber. The carpentry showed no finesse, and it had just been cobbled together with a few wonky nails. Stuart had gone as far as gluing sticks and leaves to the walls and ceiling, effectively bringing the woods home with him.
* * *
The two young officers guarding the pond stared in disbelief as the sodden, bloody, muddy form of Stuart Fowler, who had emerged through the trees carrying a pair of knee-high boots and a length of hair-extensions.
“Stop right there!” One of them bellowed as the other shone his flashlight into Stuart’s bewildered eyes. With inhuman force he launched the boots at the officer holding the light. They hit him square in the chest, and knocked him off balance. As he toppled backward into the pond his colleague gave chase.
Stuart knew these woods better than he knew his own hands. They were part of him. His home. His friend and parental substitute. They were all he needed, his whole world. He sprinted through the undergrowth, weaving between branches and hopping over roots. The rain continued to pelt down, and thunder rattled his teeth. Lightning flashed and the branches whipped wildly.
He raced onwards towards the clearing, but the policeman kept pace. Despite Stuart’s knowledge his pursuer was in much more athletic condition. As the constable neared his quarry Stuart slipped on some mud, falling forwards just as he reached the clearing.
Stuart screamed as the insects burst through his clothing and into his flesh. The policeman skidded to a stop, his hand over his mouth in horror. Blood burst from Stuart’s mouth as the parasites consumed his innards. The policeman scrambled back towards the village in a haze of panic and horror, screaming himself hoarse. He collapsed outside the church, banging on the stout, oak doors as
