Stoneywish and other chilling stories by Joan Aiken

Author:Joan Aiken
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2020-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Road from Rushout Wood

On a frosty Christmas Eve in the early years of this century, it was the misfortune of Hugh Tregear, a young gentleman making his way across country on a bicycle, to knock his front wheel against a rock that lay in the road with such force as to render the bicycle temporarily unfit for further travel. The rim of the wheel was bent out of shape, and a blacksmith would be required, or at least a handyman with better tools at his disposal than our young traveller had about him.

Hugh, a student at the University of Cambridge, was planning to spend the Christmas holiday with his sister. Recently married to a clergyman, she had taken up residence in a small village lying some fifty miles to the east, in a part of the country unfamiliar to our young friend, who had accordingly plotted out his itinerary on a map. Consulting this in the fading light, he now found that his nearest hope of assistance appeared to lie in the village of Goose Acre, some two miles ahead of him.

Kicking aside the rock that had done the mischief, and muttering a few uncomplimentary comments about the elders of a parish who permitted their byways to remain in such a state of disuse and neglect, Hugh began lugging his bicycle as best he could along the rutted and stony lane. This task was rendered even more difficult because the forewheel refused to turn at all, and so the whole front portion of the bicycle had to be hoisted into the air. Our traveller was further burdened with a pack on his back, which contained Christmas presents as well as his toilet articles and change of clothes, so that his progress along the lane was necessarily very slow.

Many times he stopped and mopped his brow, despite the white frost that furred the leaves and thorns in the hedgerows. Many times he was tempted to leave his machine behind the hedge, in hopes of discovering some accommodating person at the next village who might be prepared to come back for it with a horse and cart. But then he recollected that it was, after all, Christmas Eve, and that most of the villagers would, by now, have left their work for the day. He guessed therefore that they might be reluctant to set out again on such a chill, gloomy, and foggy evening. Indeed, he began to wonder if there would be any chance at all of getting his machine repaired at such an hour, on such a day. The prospect of reaching his sister’s house in time for any Christmas celebrations began to recede farther and farther into the doubtful distance.

Fortunately for Hugh, this part of the country was at least very flat, and he had no troublesome slopes to contend with. In fact, after traversing a mile or so of scrubby woodland (he recalled that, on the map, this coppice had been named Rushout Wood) the lane began to descend very gradually into a gentle dip, while its banks on either hand rose higher.

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