4Mum Warned Me About Talking To Strangers
Birds were singing at the top of their tiny little lungs when I startled awake with a snort. Pale, golden sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy overhead, painting a mottled pattern over the black leather draped over my chest.
Great. It hadn’t been a horrible, weird nightmare after all.
Exhaustion lay heavy on me. I’d clearly managed to doze, somehow, but it hadn’t been a restful sleep. If anything, I felt worse than I had yesterday. Despite the jacket, I was cold, stiff and aching. My ruined fingertips pulsed.
Groaning, I pushed away from the trunk, my back clicking and popping, and peered at the ground. It was a long way down but gone were the shadows of the previous evening. Everything glowed, gilded by the dawn light. A red squirrel scampered across the lush grass below, disappearing into a clump of bluebells. I could deal with squirrels.
Wincing at the sting of my fingers, I unhooked my backpack and eased my stiff arms into the jacket. It was warm now, after a night wrapped around my body. I didn’t let myself think too long about Jacques and his complete lack of body heat.
Another rifle through my backpack confirmed that nothing of value had mysteriously appeared overnight. My phone was, unsurprisingly, still dead. Dismally, I slipped it into the pocket of the jacket, took a long swig of water from my bottle, and zipped away my useless belongings. I let my backpack fall, landing on the grass below with a wet splat. Nothing with fangs and claws appeared to shred it to pieces. A reassuring start.
My stomach growled, and I needed the toilet desperately.
Sighing and wincing, I twisted, swinging my leg over the branch, and began my awkward descent. Lowering myself from the bottommost branch proved to be my most challenging task so far. It wasn’t that I was scared of heights, but breaking an ankle was pretty low on my to do list. I eyed the drop, empty belly flipping, and, with one leg hooked over the branch, eased myself down, my throbbing hands protesting at the bite of the bark. Letting my leg slide free, I swung, my body colliding with the trunk. The air huffed from my lungs and my fingers slipped. I couldn’t help my cry as I thudded to the floor in an ungainly heap.
For a moment, I could do nothing but stare up at the leaves, taking stock of my body. It still hurt everywhere, but nothing seemed to be broken, at least. At this point, I’d take any good news I could find. I staggered to my feet, scooping up my backpack, and looked around.
There was the river, gleaming in the early morning light, and beyond it, mountains. Behind me, the woods spanned as far as the eye could see. Birds continued to trill, unconcerned by my fall. Leaves whispered on a faint breeze. There was no other sound. It was too quiet, without the distant rumble of traffic, the familiar hum of city life. There was nothing to hint at my location, no clue to guide me towards home.
My stomach growled again.
There was nothing else for it. With mounting despair at how far I’d sunk, I dug the soggy wrap out of my backpack. The wrapper was still intact, at least. I sighed. Never had I imagined becoming the type of person forced to eat food barely fit for human consumption, but with my rescuers taking their sweet time, I had few options available. And worse, I had a horrible feeling that I wouldn’t find even a public toilet nestled amongst the trees.
Grimacing at the indignity of it all, I was left with no option but to peel off my still damp underwear, and squat behind a tree like a dog while keeping a wary eye out for Jacques, or any other approaching weirdos. It would be just my luck to be found in such an unfortunate situation.
Nobody came.
The woods stayed as still and quiet as ever, and by the time I’d managed to shimmy back into my still-damp shorts, I knew I couldn’t stay put. It was pretty clear that nobody was coming for me. If there was a search at all, it was happening far away from… wherever this was, and it was a miracle I’d survived one night. Another might finish me off.
Reluctant as I was to follow the advice of a creepy, cold man, I had nothing else to go off. I squinted up at the sky. The sun rose in the east. Or was it west? Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I knew the answer, but my brain refused to work. Maybe it was the blow to the head, or panic, or hypothermia. Whatever it was, I apparently had candy floss for brains. East. It was definitely east.
To Hell with it.
I set off along the riverbank. I’d been carried downstream, which meant I’d find my way back if I went upstream. With any luck, the caves were just around the bend. For God's sake, I was going to kill Isobel when I got home.
As the hours dragged past, as I walked on weak, weary legs, the sun rose higher, and the temperature rose with it.
Before long I was forced to tie the jacket around my waist, and drink half of my water, but sweat still coated my brow. I lathered on some sunscreen, thankful that Abby had insisted we pack it. I had enough to contend with without sunburn as well. At least my clothes and backpack were drying quickly in the heat. Small victories…
I clung to the shade of the trees, keeping the river in my sights, and a watchful eye on the sun, now blazing overhead. It must have been hours since I’d left my tree, and still there was no hint of civilisation. No sound. Only the rustling of what I desperately hoped were more squirrels in the shade of the wood, and the song of the birds. It would have been nice, had I not been nursing a growing sense of panic.
In the city it was rare to hear anything over the traffic, except maybe the cooing of pigeons. Only in my parents lovingly tended garden could I listen to the trill of songbirds, and even then, it was usually drowned by the thumping, irritating music blasting from the neighbour’s garden. A bit of sunshine, and the middle aged, balding man next door was out, proudly subjecting the street to his questionable music tastes. Dad would have loved it here. He had a bird spotting book, and he always kept his feeder well stocked. Maybe, once I’d been found and figured out where on earth I’d been, I would bring him here for the day. Despite everything, I could appreciate how pretty it was. Jacques had said it was safe by day, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t lie to me, would he?
I laughed aloud at my delusional hope, but stifled the sound. What if he had lied? What if shadow men and nameless howling creatures prowled nearby, unperturbed by the sunshine? Would my laugh attract them? My steps faltered as I peered into the trees, the heat fading from my skin.
Sun beamed through the branches in glowing, golden columns, illuminating the undergrowth. Nothing monstrous appeared to me. Neither did any fairies. Maybe Jacques had told the truth, or maybe I was getting better, and my hallucinations were fading? The leather jacket tied around my waist told me otherwise.
Shivering, I abandoned the shade of the trees and clung to the riverbank. I’d take sunburn over becoming something’s dinner any day.
The dense grass soothed my bare, blistered feet, and once or twice, I spotted enormous fish basking in the shallows of the river. Yeah, Dad would like it here. I couldn’t bring myself to feel the same way.
The hours dragged by, and my hopelessness increased with every painful step. There was no end to it, to the green landscape, or the river, which had gradually picked up speed until it became a violent, churning torrent. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I doubted very much I’d ever been this far upstream during my unconscious river cruise. I would definitely have drowned. Despair stung my eyes, and hunger made my head swim. Before long, I’d be forced to forage. Dad had always warned me about the old apple tree in the garden back home; eating the fruit before it was ready could give me the sort of tummy upset that would make my ordeal even worse than it already was, but that was the extent of my survival knowledge. Where would I begin? Certainly not with the mushrooms that were as likely to poison me as sustain me.
When my wobbly legs could carry me no further, I dropped down onto the grassy bank, and let my tears fall at last. Sobs wracked my body.
Was I going to die out here, lost and alone? Would I ever see my parents again? If only I could speak to them or send them a message. Anything. I’d tell them I was alive, that I loved them. They would know how to fix this.
I was well and truly alone.
Rubbing my eyes on the back of my arm, I hugged my legs. My shins and elbows had bloomed with purple bruises and my shredded hands made my empty stomach churn. Every time I looked at them, their throbbing increased in intensity. If they did get infected, if I wasn’t found… Sniffing, I averted my eyes. I refused to die of broken fingernails.
Blackberries!
Fat, juicy blackberries, hung from a nearby bramble. My stomach roared its desperate encouragement. Unable to bring myself to stand again so soon, I shuffled closer, plucked a few berries and stuffed them greedily into my mouth.
The tart juices flooded my tongue, and, seized by a ravenous frenzy, I continued to strip the bramble. When I’d been a little girl, Nana had grown a blackberry bush at the end of her garden. Whenever I’d visited in the summer, we would spend a happy hour harvesting the ripe fruit, and an afternoon baking crumbles or pies. What wouldn’t I do for Nana’s crumble drowned in custard right now? I couldn’t think of a single thing.
When I’d eaten so many berries that my limbs began to feel a little steadier, when my fingers and no doubt my lips were stained purple, I struggled to my aching feet. It was then I noticed the little trail leading from the bush and weaving away through the trees. It wasn’t a proper path, just sparse, flattened grass, as though someone regularly walked this way. Hope flared in my chest.
Heedless of the blisters, courtesy of my stupid boots, I hurried along the path, peering through the trees for signs of life. When I rounded a corner and glimpsed a gorgeous little cottage nestled in a clearing, I almost sobbed with relief. I was saved. I would be home in time for dinner.
Grinning broadly, I hurried to the white picket fence, almost hidden beneath a cloud of blue hydrangeas. A small but well-kept garden lay beyond, beds in full bloom, fat bumblebees and enormous butterflies tumbling over flowers of all shapes and colours. The cottage itself was of rough-hewn grey stone, with a low wooden door, painted pink, nestled in the thick walls. A bed of herbs grew below the window, all labelled with painted stones. The roof was neatly thatched, like something from a postcard.
Smiling, I pushed open the gate. Its hinges creaked. An old lady lived here, I decided. Someone like Nana, short and plump with a homemade cardigan and a halo of white hair. I just knew I was about to be plied with more cookies than I could eat. I hurried up the uneven path and knocked on the door, practically bouncing up and down in anticipation.
