The Visitor

Henrik looked down at the dirt between his wriggling toes. The forest floor was cold and hard, and the breeze was much colder, but this wasn’t a problem for him. How long had he been here now? He looked up at the stars and wondered if he could pinpoint his location that way.

Keeping his eyes still, he tilted his head to allow the stars to align into a familiar constellation. He saw comforting images, glimmering in the darkness, and finally the view he desired glowed at him like a lighthouse in the far mist over a treacherous seascape. Transfixed, he took a deep breath and gathered his energy from within. From the hairs on his head to the nails on his toes, he concentrated, and stretched the heat from every part of his stolen body until the warmth radiated in the centre of his chest. The intensity was almost too much for a conscious being. He took another breath and -

A flying creature waved in front of his face! Henrik curved his back away from it and quickly revisited the cold, hard ground.

He sneezed.

A moment of dizziness clouded his vision and his body returned to its natural state. Henrik surveyed the creatures as they weaved between each other above him; the night was so clear, that he could see their opaque, jagged wings. Were they a species of bird? After a while studying their dance, he decided they were of no threat. He got to his feet and scanned the space in front of him. What other creatures were in this forest?

He could see small midges dithering in the dark, and a squawking could be heard in the distance. Other than that, all was quiet.

Henrik was certain he did not want to stay here.

But which way to go? North? South?

North. He would walk North.

And so, he walked. Slow and with purpose, but also with caution, as he was not certain of what lay beyond. His bare feet prickled on the broken twigs below and the crack of each break echoed between the trees ahead. This slowed him down - he did not want to draw attention to himself at this stage. He just wanted a safe return home.

He reached a star-shaped clearing where there were five paths to take. Each one looked exactly alike, and Henrik could feel the anxiety bubbling up into his throat - if he took the wrong path, would he be stuck in this labyrinth for days? Instinct made him turn and take the left most path; something just told him that this was the right way to go.

It wouldn’t be long until he learned that his instinct was wrong.

The journey was short and uncomfortable. His poor feet were now inflamed and wet; it must have rained over this part of the forest. As he walked, he thought of home. The musky smell, the bright lights. The taste of fresh water. It had felt like days since his last glass. His mother, sitting, talking to him, and the sweet smell of her clothes as she cuddled him before he left on his journey.

Henrik stopped and sighed. Oh, how he missed her.

For the first time since he had left home, he felt vulnerable. He looked up at the tall trees (how could they all look so identical?) that caged him like a prisoner. He had been ensnared by the unforgiving trap of adventure, and now he stood with nothing with which to defend himself, and no means of escape. What would he even do if someone tried to hurt him?

No, he thought. No. No one will hurt me. I am just trying to get home.

He took a quick, sharp breath, and pressed on. To his surprise, he kept calm, and he told himself that all was well. And for a moment, he felt very well indeed.

Only for a moment, though.

The night was too young for such optimism.

An orange light shone in the distance.

Could it be?

Henrik picked up the pace. Anticipation fuelled him. He cared not about the prickling pain in his damp feet, nor the lack of hydration. Help was coming.

His eyes widened as he approached the light – they must have glistened in the moonlight as joyful tears brimmed over his eyelashes. He would be okay.

But as he reached the clearing, his excitement faded in an instant. He waved his hand over the top of the flickering - OUCH – very hot light. What was this doing here?

He looked around: cans on the floor, a blue box by the tree with several bags stood against it, and a rather large red sheet which was propped up by some sticks. Henrik blinked. Where was he?

A high-pitched noise screeched to his right. He turned to face it but jumped back a step, to ensure a good distance.

A small ginger head poked out from the middle of the big red sheet and a pair of blue narrow eyes looked down at the ground, then flickered up to Henrik’s feet, legs, torso (they widened at the torso) and finally to his face.

Henrik put his hands up in the air to show that he was of no threat.

The face then went a rather horrid shade of grey.

For a few seconds, both creatures stared at each other, and Henrik stood frozen, unsure as to whether he should speak. He was so still he wondered whether he could actually be seen at all! But, after those slow few seconds had passed, an almighty scream erupted in the space between them. Henrik was running back towards the star-shaped clearing before you could say Supernova.

He scrambled and stumbled across the rough forest floor, kicking up dirt and leaves behind him as he made a desperate attempt to get away from the danger. In his wake, becoming more distant as he ran, were the squeals of what he could only assume were two or three adolescents, probably too young to even be there, and just as scared now as they had ever been in their short lives. Henrik knew they ought not to fear him, though. He was no threat.

His small, ferocious heart pumped hard under his thin skin.

After what felt like the run of his life, he skidded to a stop in the middle of the clearing. To his right is where he had been last, so he had three options in front of him. The screams grew louder behind him – are they chasing me?! - and he knew he had to act quickly. His head darted between the paths – they all looked the same! - the screams were drawing nearer – if they fear me why are they chasing me? - and he decided the middle path was most sensible. If there were to be any trouble, he could just run either right or left and then he would be out of it. Yes, he thought. A sensible idea.

Henrik knew not to dawdle. He made haste on the path straight ahead with as much silence as his round, bumbling body could muster. He heard a stomping in the background – The adolescents! - He saw a bush to his left and jumped straight in, covering every visible inch of his skin with leaves but ensuring to turn to face the clearing to keep an eye on them. His one right eye could just about see the left half of the clearing, and from the furthermost point of the star, three small humans emerged. One of them, the ginger-haired one that had seen him, was coughing and spluttering after the effort of the run. To his left was a slightly taller boy with black hair. He was wearing big oval glasses and holding a rather large stick which he waved in the air with menace. And, to his left, a third boy. He was the shortest of the three and was holding something small and square in front of his face. All three of the boys were in oversized t-shirts and shorts.

Henrik held his breath for several minutes while they poked around the clearing, arguing over which way to go.

“He was massive, he was odd, he looked like -”

“I say we go this way!” the black-haired one interrupted the ginger-haired one, pushing his stick to his right, the path on which Henrik had started.

“Hang on, let me just film down each path!” the short one giggled with excitement.

The ginger-haired boy grabbed at his sleeves. “I just want to go home,” he wailed. The short one lowered the small square thing from his face and looked directly towards the bushes. Henrik kept his eye frozen.

“Shut up!” the tall boy shouted. He threw his stick down on the floor with aggression. “WE ARE GOING TO GET THIS WITCH!” he screamed in the face of the crying boy, “SHE IS MINE!”

“B-b-but-but it-it w-w-w" the ginger-haired one stuttered. The short one whipped round and fumbled with the small square thing.

“WHAT?” the tall boy spat, leaning in close to his face.

“It wasn’t...it wasn’t...” the ginger-haired one continued. He was twisting the middle of his shirt into spirals with his plump fingers.

“SPIT IT OUT GEORGE!” the tall one shrieked. So, the ginger-haired one is named George, Henrik thought, a peculiar name.

George stamped his feet and pushed his crumpled shirt down hard with anger. “IT WAS NOT A WITCH! IT WAS SOMETHING ELSE! BUT NOT A WITCH. SO STOP SHOUTING AT ME KEVIN!” he bellowed at the tall one. So, the tall one is called Kevin. Again, never heard of a Kevin.

There was a gasp from the short one and Kevin dropped his stick. He balled both fists and took a step towards George, who took a step back straight away.

“You’ll regret that, you little dweeb,” Kevin hissed, closing in on George who had now stepped back against a tree.

Henrik did not like this. They were too loud, and this Kevin was too aggressive. There was no need to be threatening.

Enough was enough.

Not one of them heard or noticed as Henrik crawled out from the bush and crept towards the clearing; George was looking at Kevin’s fist, Kevin was looking at George’s twisted face, and the short one was hidden behind the small square thing. Small, emotional and oblivious, Henrik thought.

He reached the clearing and stepped past the short one, who dropped the small square thing onto the ground. George looked up, his bright blue eyes widening again just as before. Henrik stood in front of him and looked down at Kevin, who’s fists opened and dropped limp to his sides. His red face drained to a pale shade of grey. He stepped back once, then again. Small, shaky steps. There was a moment of silence between them all as Henrik stared straight into Kevin’s small brown eyes.

He would soon be staring straight at the trees, as all three boys squealed in unison and left the clearing at lightning speed, running back down the path from whence they came. That will teach Kevin.

Henrik stood and waited until the screams had disappeared. He looked down at the small square thing on the floor, picked it up and examined it. A small red light blinked at him and there were several buttons. He recognised it but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. It had a big strap on it, so Henrik looped it around his neck, but then decided against it. He placed it back on the ground. He would not take what was not his.

He took a deep breath and started walking back towards the bush in which he had been hiding. He frowned at the damage – it was surrounded in leaves and sticks. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt anything. He scooped up the debris and dropped it all on top of the bush. Then, he started on his way back down the third path, this time with a calm focus. I will find my way out of here.

He wandered slow and alone in the twilight. The air was cool. The mist had started to lift now, and he could see small warm clouds of moisture as he exhaled. He pondered how long he had been here. He had only been in a forest once before and it was very small, it had been a light, wet day, and he remembered finding a neighbouring field within the hour, which was where he was picked up. He had always been told by his mother that if ever he found himself alone, to get out into the open as soon as possible “after all, it is harder for you to be seen within the trees,” she had said.

Henrik plodded on and came to a stop when his tired, scratched feet found a softer ground. He came to a kneel and flattened his wide palm onto it – it felt like a cool, spongy blanket. He ran his long fingers over it, curious, fascinated, and in a moment amazed, when a cloud drifted in the sky, allowing the pale moonlight to illuminate his path. In fact, he was no longer on a path, but at the edge of a huge field adorned in blue and purple flowers that were dancing in the breeze.

Henrik had never seen anything like it. So many flowers, untouched by the harshness of the forest, and protected by a ring of tall trees. He stayed kneeling, memorising the glorious meadow before him, for he was sure that in his short life he would never again see such an exquisite sight.

An hour could have passed as he stared at the hundreds of petals that moved with such elegance. He avoided touching too many of them, for fear of crushing their delicate faces.

His gaze was broken when a shadow emerged at the opposite end of the field.

Henrik stood on the spot, poised, and held his breath again, desperate to avoid detection at any cost.

He heard a grumbling sound, followed by something that sounded more like a sneeze. The shadow grew larger - and Henrik realised – it must be coming towards me!

It moved too quickly for him to react, crossing the length of the meadow in seconds, before arriving at his feet and pushing him onto his back (unfortunately onto the hard floor behind him as opposed to the soft blanket ahead of him). Henrik held up his hands to protect himself, but it was a feeble attempt - the big furry creature had scrambled on to his belly and seemed very happy about it! It wriggled, wagging a very long tail and panting a hot, strong odour onto his face. Henrik laid still, waiting for an attack which did not come, but only what seemed to be the meeting of two very curious creatures, one with a short pale nose and the other with a wet black snout. The creature licked at Henrik’s face and neck furiously, and he remembered thinking that he must taste either very good or very different.

After an extreme amount of sniffing and an inordinate amount of tail-wagging, the fluffy creature crawled from Henrik’s belly and sat to his right, with its back straight and two big ears pointed towards the stars. Those ears twitched every now and then, as if they were miniature radars picking up signals in the distance.

Henrik smiled at the creature, which in turn cocked its head to the left. It had two big round brown eyes that glistened in the moonlight. It looked so happy and healthy.

A bone-shaped metal thing dangled from its neck - some sort of identity tag? - and Henrik reached his hand out to touch it, when the creature whipped its head around to the other side of the meadow. The tail stiffened and both ears stood still as two shadows appeared at the Eastern edge of the blanket of flowers. Henrik could tell from the shape of the shadows: a man and a woman.

“Jasper!” a deep voice shouted.

“Come here, boy!” a softer voice called.

The creature turned to Henrik and looked at him once more, leaned down to lick his hand gently, and darted off in the direction of the voices. Henrik saw them celebrating when he reached the shadows – one of them ruffled the creature’s ears and the other rubbed its belly before tapping his lower back. “Where have you been boy?” the softer voice asked, “Come on, off we go”. The happy furry animal jumped up and ran into the darkness.

Henrik saw the couple embrace, and he felt a tightening in his chest. It had been too long since he had held another. He watched them until they had long disappeared, and he was left alone, staring into the space in which they and their love had existed. He swallowed hard and turned to walk back towards the star-shaped clearing; there was nothing for him on this path.

The journey was quiet, and Henrik was left disconsolate as a returning feeling of loss enveloped him. It had been several years, but the pain still prickled his entire body with every second he was reminded of Anika.

He shook the needles from his skin and stepped for the last time into the star.

He had taken three paths and was left with two remaining options – one to his left, and one to his right. His hands shook as he considered them both, for these were his absolute last options, and if one of them failed, he would have to simply run like the wind down the other, hoping for an ounce of good fortune on a last chance. Henrik did not like last chances.

He swivelled on his heel to face the path on the left. He took two steps and stopped for a moment to think; he had come into the clearing from the neighbouring path to this one, and that had led only from the darkness of a wooded labyrinth. If he kept on this path, would he not only descend deeper into the maze?

Although, a strange feeling urged him to take this path. His lower back fought to move forward. And was that – what was that sound he could hear? Was that, singing?

A chorus of intertwining melodies chimed in the distance. His pupils enlarged and his feet shuffled forward without inclination. His mind flooded with a serene calmness and his limbs relaxed momentarily, allowing his feet to move forward to meet the musical chanting ahead.

And just as he was about to become ensnared, a colony of familiar winged creatures dived upon him, one directly into his face, breaking his concentration once more. For this act Henrik would be extremely grateful, as the realisation of the dangers of this forest (he had been warned), dawned on him.

He sneezed, turned and stumbled back into the clearing to face the final path. He tuned out the sounds behind him and looked up into the sky. Please. Please be here.

And so, he scampered down this final path, through the pain and desperation to escape the noise of that lethal choir. The soles of his feet were sticky now (perhaps with his own blood?) but he pressed on, determined to get away, to get to safety. Determined to get home.

And just as Henrik thought he might never get out of this forest, he did.

He just ran straight through the brush and into an open field.

A wave of relief hit him square in his chest and he fell to the ground. His vision was blurred with tears, and his mind with elation. He had done it. He had escaped from that wretched, scary place.

And now, he was kneeling on the cool grass, out in the open space. He knew he was vulnerable, but he remembered what his mother had said. He was also in the safest place, and he knew that he had to stay there for as long as possible.

After a few delicious moments of relief, Henrik surveyed the situation. He needed to find that perfect spot. He came to stand with caution – any fast movements could draw attention from the wrong places.

To the West, there were dark fields, and a lot of moving lights in the distance, mostly travelling away from his position. He could see what appeared to be a large expanse of water in one of the fields, and a small tower. To the East were fields that were scattered only with taller, lighter plants, their blades swaying in the wind. That would provide some protection, he thought.

To get there however, he would have to walk on the path directly in front of him, onto what seemed to be a much wider, more dangerous road.

Henrik started on the smaller path, walked up to and clambered over a wooden gate, and continued with care until he met the road’s edge.

The air felt fresh now on his skin. He stopped and closed his eyes. Sticking his tongue from between his lips, he tested the air. A storm approaches. A smile emerged at that beautiful thought.

He looked to his left and right for signs of danger. On both sides, all was silent.

He walked to the centre of the road and turned towards the lighter fields. In about five minutes, he would be where he needed to be. A short, sharp walk. And then, all he had to do was wait.

His short journey, however, would be far from uneventful.

Speckles of rain began to drop from above, and Henrik delighted in their refreshing kisses. He was not hot, but it was nice to be out of that crowded wood.

After a couple of minutes on the road, a pair of bright round eyes appeared in the distance, and moved forward, headed for his position.

Henrik froze.

He must not be seen.

A panicked look to his left prompted an idea. He scuttled across towards a big grey box to the side of the road (was it for power?) and crouched behind it - unfortunately on a large sticky patch of something – and waited.

He shuffled his weight on his bare feet. Whatever he was sitting on, it was warm and wet, and did not smell particularly nice. A decision was made not to think about it or to investigate, but after the lights passed, he would continue his walk, and then he would go home.

Henrik hid behind the box for what felt like several minutes. He could hear the vehicle approaching but it sounded like it was speeding up and then slowing down. He peered over the edge of the top of the box and flinched as he saw the vehicle screech and skid across the road. His eyes widened as he witnessed something he was not likely to ever forget.

The vehicle veered to the left on its final charge and screams could be heard as it clipped a large pole at such force that it flipped and rolled into the field in which Henrik was hoping he could take refuge. On its final, slowest turn, Henrik heard it creak as it landed, the right way up it seemed.

The screams fell silent. He had always been told when you see something like that it will happen in slow motion. That certainly did not happen on this occasion; that vehicle rolled right up that field as soon as it clipped that post!

His fingertips trembled as he pressed them on top of the box, raising his head further with caution to not reveal himself but also with an incredible thirst to see what was going to happen next.

It was then that he realised.

He was there. He was going to happen!

He had to go over there and see if he could help. What if that had been one of his brothers or sisters?

The old Henrik would call for help and wait. The old Henrik would fear of being seen or heard. But Henrik had survived so much on this night. He had escaped the flying things, the young (and quite boisterous) boys, he had encountered a friendly animal and had surely eluded some evil choir. He could do this now. And so, he stood tall, patted his hands against his thighs (to knock some sense into them, the shaky things), and stepped aside from the box.

He hurried across the road – all was quiet, and not a sound could be heard other than his scuttling feet – and stopped at the edge of the field. He brushed his fingertips across the plants, they felt rough to touch but he could easily get through them and hide comfortably when needed. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the vehicle – smoke was emitting from it now – and started to run. He meandered through the golden blades; their colour was more visible to him now in the beams of light shining from the vehicle. Some of the plants scratched at his forearms and knees, and bits of what felt like grass flew up in his face as he parted their pointy heads. His feet, still sore from the forest floor, relaxed into this much flatter, colder ground. He knew he had to get to those people fast.

Henrik came to a halt a few metres from the vehicle, directly in the path of a beam of light, the other just to his right. He looked down at his legs and felt a pang of despair in his chest, his skin was covered in mud and specks of his own blood. I must clean those cuts at the first opportunity.

He made a smart decision to step away from the light. Yes, he was a new, bold Henrik. But new bold Henrik still did not wish to be seen.

Small particles of dust, debris and other matter danced in the light, and Henrik could now hear a chorus of small high-pitched croaking about him – possibly some species of large insect?

He shook his head to rid his mind of any external thoughts. His inquisitive nature did not always land him in the most comfortable of positions, but at times it had done him good, and he was positive it still would do him good. Just not right now. Not on this night.

He stepped sideways to the left of the vehicle, taking care to be slow, so as not to surprise anyone within it. Unseen glass sliced at his toes (his poor, broken toes), but he could take that pain. He had to. His hands felt around the side of the vehicle until he reached a big hole where the window should be.

It was then that he saw her.

A woman was sitting upright in the seat, her head hanging in front of her so that her chin almost touched her chest. The light was adequate for Henrik to see her injuries with some clarity; a large cut on her forehead from which blood was dripping down her cheek and onto her lap, a broken nose, and several other cuts and what looked like burns around her neck and chest. Her body was slumped in front of her, and Henrik could see rather a lot of blood on the dashboard.

Across from her was a man, who appeared to be slightly older than her at a first glance. Henrik could not see his injuries as well from his position, but in contrast to the female, his head was cradled in a large white cushion, which seemed to also be soaked in blood.

Smoke was now leaking from the vehicle and started to sting his eyes. This was a concern. Something was clearly rumbling in the engine compartment and Henrik did not want himself or either of these poor people near it should it erupt in flames. He had to pull both of them away from this danger.

He started with the woman, not only as she was closest, but as he felt he would need to take extra care removing her from her seat, due to the extent of her injuries.

Henrik looked up at the stars once more.

He opened the side door, leaned in and removed her belt, flopped each of her arms over his shoulders and started to pull her out of her seat. It was tricky, but he did manage to drag her several metres from the vehicle - which on a quick glance back was now enveloped in a thin veil of smoke - and lay her within the plants (some of which he had to flatten, much to his disdain). He then rushed back to the driver’s side. As the injuries of the man were much less apparent, Henrik removed him with more speed (although he was much, much heavier), dragged him towards the woman, and flopped him hard onto the ground next to her. He stood over them and marvelled at their clothing. And the jewels! The woman was wearing a long necklace, with several silver jewels that glistened as the light from the vehicle pierced through the swaying plants around her. Her dark curls were matted and stuck to the cuts on her forehead, but Henrik could see matching jewels shining from each ear.

Looking over the man, Henrik’s eyes watered over a magnificent chain hanging from his shoulders. Small golden plates all linked by what appeared to be a larger, rounder plate at the bottom. How utterly spectacular!

An alarm sounded in the distance.

Henrik looked up and could see flashing blue lights.

He must disappear.

He turned with immediacy and darted into the plants, crouching low as he ran so as not to be seen. He scrambled and scurried, as fast and as far as he could, to get away from any pair of eyes.

He must not be seen.

Fear washed over his head, his face, his body. He could feel needles stabbing in his hands and feet again as he panicked – they will look - they will know someone pulled them from the vehicle - and they will look - and they will find me - and I will never get home – and it felt as though his chest was about to explode.

And then he stopped.

A familiar light was shining down on the spot in front of him, and he looked up with tears in his eyes. The beam moved towards him, and he smiled as all fear, anxiety and pain disappeared. The light always took that away.

He looked up once more at the stars and knew that he had made it.

He was home.

*****

Holston Gazette

24.07.1989

LOCALS BAFFLED AFTER MAYOR RESCUED BY ‘ALIEN’

Mayor Gallowsell and his wife Marie Gallowsell were rescued after a motor vehicle accident on the outskirts of Bluebell Woods on Saturday night by what baffled locals are describing as either an “alien” or an “angel”.

The Mayor and his wife were found in the wheat field owned by Petersbright Farm by police after a car crash had been reported by landowner Oliver Rye. It has been reported that both lives were saved after they were seemingly pulled from their vehicle by an unknown individual. A representative for the Mayor has reported that both Mayor Gallowsell and Marie Gallowsell are in a stable condition at Ryevale Hospital. Police are examining the evidence around the crash site in an attempt to identify the rescuer.

Moments before the crash, sightings were reported within the woods by a group of three children who were on a “hunt” for the famous Bluebell Witch, and a young couple who were walking their dog, through the meadows on the Eastern side.

Earlier in the evening, other locals had reported seeing a “strange, naked individual” roaming the streets on the far southern side of the Woods.

A member of the party of children, known locally as ‘Georgie’, described a feeling of terror as he discovered an individual standing outside of his tent. The party chased what they described as an “alien” to the clearing not far from the entrance to the Wood, where they said that it hid

within the bushes, before revealing itself to threaten them with violence. The children proceeded to run back to their tent. They did not see the individual again. One of the children’s parents called the police the following day after discovering a “blurred image” of a “grey, disproportioned individual” in footage captured on their son’s Sony Camcorder, which was rolling as the events took place. All three of the children were unharmed and returned home safely.

Another sighting was reported to police by a young couple, who did not wish to be named, as they walked their dog through the meadows. The couple stated that after their Labrador had diverted from the path, they witnessed him stood in the meadow in front of a “ghostly figure”, before returning to them unharmed.

Residents who reached the scene of the accident that evening also described a small round flattened circle in Mr. Rye’s wheat field. By Sunday morning, the field had been completely cleared and therefore no images could be taken of the sighting. A resident, who wished to remain unnamed, reported that they discovered a yellow ribbon near the alleged “round circle” which was taken from them at the seen by the police. The authorities have also seized all other remaining evidence for analysis. A police representative could not be reached for comment. A local resident summarised the series of strange events as “out of this world. Who was it? Some are saying it was an alien, some an angel...Who knows?”

If you have any information relating to these mysterious events, please contact the Gazette.

Arthur. B Sallow

Holston Gazette Correspondent