Picker's Bleed by Mark R Faulkner

Author:Mark R Faulkner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Infested Books
Published: 2021-06-07T21:28:41+00:00

19

They went to Picker’s Bleed the morning after the ceremony. It was clear as day something had gone terribly wrong although, with all their combined knowledge and experience, they couldn’t figure out what and were in search of answers.

Vincent’s lips were curled into a grim half-smile as the Range Rover wound through the woods. Stephen was sat in the back, staring out of the window trying to glimpse the interior of the forest, but they were travelling too quickly and he couldn’t see past the blur of trunks and branches. The effect was somewhat hypnotic when coupled with the drone of the engine and the steady swish and rumble of tires ploughing through the layer of damp leaves surfacing the lane. He could hear Susan breathing beside him, eliciting the occasional quiet sigh. He could feel her leg, warm against his. Danny was sitting in the front passenger seat peering intently out of the front window as Vincent steered them though the forest. Mel was sitting on the other side of Susan, fidgeting with her fingernails.

A twig slapped against the outside of the window, right in front of Stephen’s face, bringing him back to his senses. There was a tangible, yet undefinable change in the atmosphere. What had been anticipation was now pure anxiety. A quick glance around the cabin confirmed the others felt it too. Vincent’s gaze was fixed firmly forwards. Danny was sitting stock still, wringing his hands. Susan was biting her nails. ‘We’re getting close aren’t we?’ asked Mel.

‘Yup,’ replied Vincent without taking his eyes off the road.

‘Nothing’s changed,’ she muttered with an air of crushing disappointment. ‘Fuck.’ She slammed her hand against the inside of the car-door.

No-one responded. Stephen returned his gaze back out of the window. The Range Rover slowed. They were not racing to their destination anymore and the trees didn’t rush past so quickly, although he wished they would. The woods were claustrophobic and menacing, closing in and bearing down on them. The familiar feelings of spiralling despair and nauseating dread had returned and he wondered how close to the cottage they would be able to get before one of them begged to turn around and drive the fuck out of there. The spell was always worse for those with an aptitude for magic.

At some point they had pulled up outside the front gate, but Stephen could not say whether they’d been parked for seconds or for hours, or even when they’d arrived. An excruciating pain shot through his head, ricocheting from temple to temple. In a blur - as if drunk almost to the point of comatose - Stephen watched Vincent wrap his hand around the doorhandle as if to open it. He tried to scream ‘No’, but the warning left his mouth as a short grunt, but at the same time he saw Danny put out a hand to stop him.

They all knew nothing had changed. Whatever they had been trying to achieve, they’d failed.

Vincent floored the accelerator and

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