The Tens by Vanessa Jones (tharntype novel english TXT) 📕

is hard to say how to best please her or disappoint her but we try.' Everley nodded along beside Abigail.

Clive overhead and sidled up next to the women and continued Abigail's warning. 'We must never say her name for that will summon her but we must respect and fear her as much as we need to, for she is the keeper of the dark in the woods and has the power to break us or illuminate us, at her desire. If we do not please her in a way of her choosing, she will keenly and unremorsefully lead us into the underworld where she will leave us to die a thousand times and live a thousand times more in a hell that is worse than that of our own creation. If we somehow please her, she will help us transition well to The New Way when Venus connects us. You must never, NEVER, go into the woods alone at daybreak or dusk for that is when she roams and will reflect her enticing light back at you. Without preparation and appeasing, which you clearly have not get done, she will most certainly drop you down to the underworld. And I just don't like your chances, no matter how special you are. Although, truth be told, the Wild Woman is in all of us. Existing in the dark, blackest parts of our mind, waiting to guide us gently back into the day when we have lost our way through the woods of our thoughts. I will tell you though, she is to be feared. Because without warning, she will drag you down by the skin into the layers of hell. Without mercy, too. For she doesn't get attached to your emotions or hear your pleas for help. Her call of judgement is one that is perfunctory and seemingly callous but who are we to judge what she judges? We cannot be both the judged and the judge. We, in our infancy and nobility of mind, in our denseness of energy, of our limited foresight, even those with the gift of prophecy, do not know enough to know the difference between what is right and what is wrong when it comes to deciding the pathway at the crossroads. So…’ he continued passionately, as a few others had tuned in, ‘…if you cross her at the wrong time, when we have not offered enough, she will slice your throat with her thumbnail and you will bleed your unholy and unprepared blood into the soil below you and will be eaten by the wood mice until you are nothing but empty, bleached bones.' Clive was spitting and his veins stood up in his hands, which were shaped like claws as he warned against the supposed Wild Woman.

Sophie laughed at the delusional fairy tale he was telling. She wondered how much more of this nonsense Clive had stored up inside him.

'Silence!' Clive clapped his hands for attention which brought everyone to an abrupt halt. They all rose and stood in a misshapen circle at the edge of the clearing, all facing outwards into the surrounding woods. And like confetti falling, one by one the circle members started repeating the words 'for you, for you' in a melodic and eerie chant. Some held out their wreaths in front of them and some wore wigs fashioned from tree roots, leaves and twigs. Sophie turned to quiz Abigail, but she too had absconded to be part of the circle.

Sophie looked down at her wearied body and pitied herself, her heart and face sinking. Here she was, away from home and alone, in a circle of utter weirdos who were shouting at trees. But her despair wouldn't last for long because the weird legend about the imaginary woman in the woods was the least she had to worry about.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Sophie woke up the next morning but was too exhausted and weak to move, her eyelids too thick to open fully. Weary distress kept threatening to drag her under as she tried to shout for help which came out no louder than a cat's meow.

Through her half-open lids, she spotted two weathered bronzed feet appearing underneath her eyesight, toes dancing on the Persian rug. Each toe bore a faded tattooed number, from 1 to 10. The ink, far from fresh, had turned mossy and softened around the edge of the number. Clive bounced forward at her, his enthusiasm comical. He punctuated each word with a forward jump of his shoulders. 'Just peeking in to check on you, dear. Some of the girls said you had a few funny turns. That's no good, is it?'

'I think I should see someone. Is a doctor coming? The nurse? Is she back?'

Something, maybe irritation, flashed through Clive's wise face. The sinewy webbing between his fingers spoke of manual labour and extending himself in a way that just had to be self-flagellation.

'Yes, on their way, dear. In the meantime, feel free to nap. Perhaps one of the girls can get you something to eat or drink? A nibble, would suit you, yes?'

He poked his head outside. 'Everley, Abigail... could you, someone, grab Sophie some refreshments. Much obliged.'

Turning back to Sophie, he said 'I'll be sure to send the nurse in the second she gets back. Still delayed, I’m afraid.' He looked anything but regretful.

'Look, I think I really should go. I'll try and walk to my car and see my regular doctor.' The last few words came out in a mumble, her lips rolling across each other like slugs.

'You really shouldn't go anywhere.' He laid his hand on her arm which felt menacing but his cheerful smile counterbalanced it. His face held a glowing euphoria that looked a little like makeup. And whether it was her feeble mind acting up again, feeding her with the poison of paranoia, suddenly Sophie felt like she had to flee.

Trying not to let her