Featured Story 

The black car was a blot against the green. Like an oil spill, it oozed down the winding paths that curled through the lush hills. 

           

 

My plans for the day forgotten, I hurried home. At best, I had an hour before the car reached me. I retrieved the pouch from its place in the kitchen and slipped out the back door. The afternoon was sweet and wild, tangled between the soft spring and broiling summer, even the wind was restless. I heard it murmur through the trees; leaves whispered hushed conversations above my head. These trees were awkward, tall and gangly compared to the giants who took root in the sprawling forest on the other side of the river.

 

My grip tightened on the pouch as at last I reached the water. I inhaled slowly as I placed one foot onto the stone bridge, then another. Only when I reached the centre, did the air rush from my lungs. My fingers dug into the coarse fabric of the bag, and after a moment of fumbling, I found it. Despite the honeyed light, it still looked ugly. A bundle of twigs and bones, the edges were maroon, as if they’d been dipped in merlot. In the centre, an orange gemstone. The colour of wildfire. This was not the flame from the hearth, this was destruction contained. 

 

I whispered, and I could hear the overlapping voices of my mother, my grandmother, echoes of long-dead generations lapping over my own words. Almost of their own accord, my fingers were filled with a numbing static, they turned limp and the bundle fell into the river. Beneath the silver-blue water, a single orange eye gazed up at me. I straightened and brushed off my clothes, then tried to coax warmth and life back into my stiff hands.

           

I returned home, still flexing my fingers as I closed the backdoor behind me. A moment later, a jaunty knock came from the front door. With my chin lifted, I closed the distance until I stood on the other side of the time-worn wood, and after another moment, opened it wide. A young man stood there. His ill-fitting black suit jarring against the sky, but his smile seemed open.

 

“Miss Blackthorn?” He asked,

I nodded.

 

“Hello, it's lovely to meet you! I am so glad I found the right place. My name is Marcus David, and I am a representative for Hudson & Sons. Did you get a letter from us?”

Yes. I’d crumpled it into a tiny ball with a plea my silence would keep them away.

 

“It’s hard to say,” I replied, “Difficult to keep track of the post out here.”

His smile remained undimmed,

 

“Yes, I can imagine! My supervisor told me it was rural, but somehow, I didn’t really understand that until I got here. I’m terrified for the state of my tires!” He grinned ruefully, glancing back at his dirt-splattered car.

At his boyish laugh, my own years seemed to crash against me, a physical weight hanging from my skin.

 

“Look, Marcus, was it?” I asked, continuing after his nod, “I understand you’ve come a long way, but I’m afraid it was for nothing. My answer will not change, I am not selling the farm.”

 

Please. Please, just leave.

 

His face fell, but only for a moment, before the blazing grin returned.

 

“I understand why you’re reluctant, Miss Blackthorn, but I am here to convince you. I’ve seen the records, and this land has so much potential. And the benefits for you, even to list a few -”

 

“No.”

​

He blinked, and I couldn’t quite suppress a flicker of guilt at the flash of innocent hurt in his eyes.

 

“I told your bosses and several other firms that I am not interested. Wonderland is not for sale. Not to you, not for anything.”

He straightened up at the mention of rival firms,

 

“That’s why I’m here. We are offering you the most generous deal, far more than any other company. Wonderland isn’t an operative farm, and from the records, it hasn’t been for a long time. It’s a house which, I hope you don’t take offence, needs some repairs and a few acres of land. Honestly, Miss Blackthorn you need to consider what we are offering, you truly won’t find a better deal.”

I waited, arms crossed for him to finish.

 

“I’m sure I won’t, but I will not be accepting your offer or anyone else’s for that matter. If I were you, I would get back into your car and go home. There is nothing for you here.” 

 

I wondered if the pleading tone in my voice was loud enough for him to hear.

To my dismay, he simply grinned again.

​

“Well, it’s my job to convince you! I’ll be staying at the,” he paused and glanced at his phone, “The Fallen Leaf Inn, so hopefully I can learn why you’re so against the deal and prove to you there is no better firm than Hudson & Sons.”

I blinked at the exuberant speech.

 

“Stay wherever you like,” I replied, “but my answer isn’t going to change, no matter how many pretty speeches you’ve got prepared. Wonderland Farm will never be sold.” 

 

I closed the door, just as his mouth opened to reply. 

 

Motionless, I waited until I heard him sigh, and the louder roar of his car faded as he drove away. When it was quiet, I walked slowly back into the living room and sank into my armchair. I was sure I could feel disapproval in the air at the lack of hospitality, I should have invited him inside. Poured a glass of lemonade and offered a biscuit from the tin. But I just couldn’t do it, not again. It was unusual that he chose to remain in the village, but he would be wrong if he expected any warmth.

 

The people here had suffered enough. Houses bought for second homes for the bored upper class, they sat empty and neglected while local families were forced from their homes, generations buckling and breaking as rent increased like a rising tide. Every time you looked, greedy hands raked through the village, leaving behind destruction they named progress. Hiding behind pretty buzzwords and hollow promises.

 

Wonderland Farm had remained untouched, but the firms circled like vultures above a carcass. A few acres of land and a time-worn house seemed inconsequential, but they saw opportunity. Plans of hotels, giftshops, a tourist attraction so tantalisingly close to the famed ‘haunted wood.’ Folklore ran like honey over the cobbles, thick and cloying, the perfect allure for greedy flies.

 

The stories were always half finished, voices trailing off like smoke thinning in the air, but they carried beyond the village. Outsiders, tourists hungry for novelty would appear in the summer. Into the woods they would walk, holding expensive cameras as the trees swallowed them whole. Some would return, their cynicism intact and unbroken.

 

Those were the types who would never mention the nightmares that filled their nights with the scent of churned earth. Others would never be seen. Rescue parties would half-heartedly wander through the trees, but their well-trained dogs turned rabid. Writhing and foaming at the mouth at the edge, refusing to enter with their confused masters.

 

Wonderland Farm sat placidly on the boundary, the no-man’s land between the village and the wild. Protected by a lazy river which encircled the glowering trees who were unable to drag their roots over the stone bridge. The farmhouse remained a grim survivor of too many storms and too little care. But the barn had withered into a skeleton, the ragged fence stood in leaning posts which swayed and swooned in the wind. 

 

Clouds gathered in the sky, huddled to gossip about the new visitor, smothering the sunset but for a few hopeful rays of light which peered from their dark edges. Night settled into place, a starless dark silence which rested heavily against the walls of my home. Still, the fireplace burned merrily, it’s crackling song my oldest comfort. I closed my eyes and leaned back, wishing I could let the flames lull me to sleep. But I kept seeing that boy’s face, his smile.

 

Perhaps it was an act, it would be easier if he were simply a wolf masquerading as a lamb. Yet I doubted it. In my mind’s eye, I saw him in the sparsely decorated room of the Inn, perhaps hurt by the cool manner of the villagers. I saw him planning on how to convince me, saw his eager smile as he schemed. 

 

I willed him to leave. I imagined my voice at his ear, a persistent tug to pack up his things, get into his car and drive away. 

 

Opening my eyes, I stared into the fire until the living room faded into light. I hoped the next day would bring peace. As always, I could feel the forest. Like a stubborn guest who refused to be deterred, their presence disturbed the very air. I could hear the trees, and it seemed they too were in a scheming mood. The fire burned, and only when my eyes stung from the light, did I look away.

 

The next morning found me sleep-deprived but hopeful. I walked the long path that unravelled like a pale ribbon into the village’s heart, praying the boy had left. My heart quickened as my scanning eyes found no sign of his sleek car, nothing seemed amiss. The market hummed with life, the shouts and laughter of the villagers seemed defiant against the empty spaces where other stalls used to stand. Despite the cloud-choked sky, the air was warm and the few fleeting glimpses of sunlight had coaxed people out into the day. For the first time in weeks, the village seemed alive again. I relaxed slightly, nodding my head in polite greeting as I passed a few familiar faces. 

 

“Miss Blackthorn!”

​

I didn’t slow my pace. Perhaps I could outwalk what I hoped was just my imagination.

 

“Miss Blackthorn?”

 

Marcus appeared by my side, and in my peripheral, I saw several of the market sellers pointedly look away. Villagers subtly turned their backs, and directed their conversations away from the boy in the too-dark suit. He didn’t seem to notice, his smile just as wide as it had been yesterday.

 

“I’m sorry if I made you jump. I did call but I don’t think you heard me.” He said cheerfully, “How’re you?” I sighed, “Busy.” I replied shortly, stepping around him. Like an eager dog, he simply fell into step beside me, his arms swinging at his side.

​

“With the market? It’s beautiful.” He said, and I heard nothing but sincerity in his tone,

​

“I can’t remember the last time I actually bought food from a stall. It’s so much nicer than the supermarket. It reminds me so much of home.”

 

“Home?” I enquired, before silently cursing myself for replying.

 

Marcus nodded, “I grew up in a little village, market day was always my favourite. Being here, it reminds me how much I loved it. There’s just more community here than in the city.” He looked at me, “Have you always lived here?”

 

I shrugged, “More or less.”

 

“Nothing beats it.” He sighed, lifting his head to bask in the single ray of sun which weakly pushed through the clouds, only to succumb to the grey moments later.

 

“If you love it so much, why are you so intent on changing it?” I asked, and his eyes widened, “Change it? Miss Blackthorn, the last thing I want to do is ruin this place. I know you’re weary about selling your land, but it could do so much good. Not just for you, but for the village.” He said, a gleam of excitement sparking in his eyes.

 

I ignored him this time, but he remained undeterred.

​

“The village is struggling, you know that. I read about it before I came- the empty houses, the shops closing down. It’s awful. But I really do want to preserve the beauty of this place. I don’t want to ruin your home, I want to help save it.” He finished breathlessly. 

​

I paused, before inclining my head for him to follow. We wove between the stalls, and I walked into one of the winding alleyways which spread like veins through the buildings. Now we were alone and out of sight, I turned to face him.

 

“You haven’t worked at the firm long, have you?” I asked.

​

For the first time since meeting him, he glanced away. I saw this throat shift as he swallowed.

​

“No. No, not really. If I’m being completely open,” he paused and took another breath, “This is actually the first time I’ve approached a client. Was it that obvious?”

​

His cheeks were flushed, somehow he looked even younger. My sharp retort wilted.

​

“You’re just… You’re not like the others.” I forced the words out, before lifting my chin,

​

“So you’re new and they sent you here? Does your supervisor hate you?”

​

Marcus’ grin returned full-force, “I asked to come! You came up in a meeting, and after reading so much about the village and how the people here are suffering… I wanted to come. Try and help.”

​

I closed my eyes for a moment. He asked. He asked to be here.

​

“I promise, we don’t want to build a mall. Or evict anyone else from their homes. There is so much potential here, and hardly anyone knows it exists. Imagine if we could help people find this place, share the amazing history of the village. Visitors would come from all over the country! It would help every business, from the shops to the Inn. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

 

“Not really.” I replied.

 

“This place could flourish! Look, I’m not really meant to tell you about the plans but… we’re thinking about a monument to the village. Nothing fancy! Like a museum, or a gallery to showcase local art. Tourists love that kind of thing. And think of the jobs it would open up, from curators to a small café. It could help so many families.”

 

I raised a hand and he fell silent, “Look, I understand you are passionate. I genuinely think you have good intentions and want to help.” I paused, “But my answer is not going to change. I will not sell Wonderland Farm. I don’t care if your firm is looking to build a museum or an orphanage, I will not change my answer. Please, go home. Find another village to save.”

 

His face fell, and only then did I realise he truly believed he would change my mind.

Marcus looked away again, his hand lifting to run through his hair.

​

“Miss Blackthorn, I can’t do that.” He said, his words, for the first time, faltered. 

 

I stayed quiet, trying to ignore the dull thud of my heart.

 

“You see… I really did want to change your mind. But Hudson & Sons are planning to move ahead with the plan regardless.”

 

“They can’t do that.” He grimaced, “Technically, you only own three acres of the land. The rest is available for purchase. According to our records, no one has ever owned that land.”

​

Despite the warm morning, I felt cold. Cold and tired. It wasn’t uncommon in rural areas for boundaries to be defined by honour and word.  A tree, a shrub, a fence post - they were markers enough to separate land owned by generations. Few cared enough about the legality, the laws written by those who would never understand.

​

“No one wants a legal battle,” Marcus continued, “So if you sold, it would make the process so much easier on everyone. You’d have more than enough to buy a home, and you could have a fresh start without ever having to leave your village.” He said, his tone bordered on desperation. His face was flushed, palms open beseechingly as he looked at me with wide eyes.

​

In my mind’s eye, I saw the burning gemstone as it fell into the river.

 

I exhaled, before forcing my mouth into a smile, “Well then, it looks like there’s nothing else to be done. At least let me show you the land, that way you’ll be able to write a full report for when you get back to the office.”

​

Marcus smiled a little, but his eyes were still worried. “I really am sorry. If there is anything I can do-”

 

“Don’t worry about it” I cut him off, “It’s not your fault. Are you free to meet in about an hour?”

 

He nodded, “There’s a little stone bridge over the river, can’t miss it. I’ll see you there.”

I turned and walked away, letting the market swallow me into its bustling movements. Somehow I could still feel his eyes on my back. I didn’t turn around.

           

 

An hour later, the sun remained smothered by the clouds. An eerie white circle was all that could be seen from the star. I leaned against the cool stone as the river murmured beneath, old words from stories long forgotten. It always seemed just out of reach, as if you could just get closer you would be able to understand. I wondered how many had drowned for their answer.

 

“Miss Blackthorn!” 

 

I turned to see Marcus walking over the bridge. His jacket had gone, and his white shirt now looked wrinkled, sleeves pushed high over his elbows. The humidity was unrelenting, despite the pale light.

 

“Are you ready?” I asked, half turning to face the trees.

He hesitated, “Is it safe? I was never the best at map reading.” He joked half-heartedly.

 

I smiled, “It’s a good thing we don’t have a map then, isn’t it? And don’t worry. I might not own these woods, but I do know them.”

His face flushed at the slight barb in my voice, and without another word, walked into the trees. 

 

I watched his face change from apprehension to admiration as he gazed around the wild. Here, surrounded by trees, civilisation felt like a world away. High above, the branches swayed, limbs entangled until they formed an impenetrable canopy. Shadows mixed with the grey-light of the dull afternoon, until everything was edged with an odd purple hue. The longer we walked, the nosier the forest became. The river we’d left behind remained impossibly audible through the trees, the water-song carried in the air. Around us came the scuffling of animals and I wondered if he could feel the weight of their eyes. Marcus flinched at the sudden sound of frenetic hoofbeats and didn’t look convinced when I simply explained it as a deer. The ground seemed to shift and move beneath our feet as the forest breathed. My shirt stuck to my skin, and I could feel hair plastered to my face with sweat as the heat only grew with every step. 

 

Marcus stopped and peered over his shoulder, “Did you hear that?”

I didn’t reply. At the base of a looming oak tree, I watched as the soil churned and roiled like ocean waves. After a few moments, a large bone was pushed to the surface. White and gleaming, edged with the imprint of sharp teeth. 

 

“Hear what?” I replied, glancing over to see Marcus was looking away from the tree.

 

“I don’t know, maybe it was another deer.” He said, his eyes met mine and I saw a confused fear there. He was scared, but he didn’t know why.

 

“Are you alright?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek.

 

“Yeah, I think so. But maybe we could go back soon? I really don’t like the idea of being here when it gets dark.” He said with a weak laugh. Marcus turned, and I saw him frown. There was no sign of which way to go. 

He looked so young.

 

“Marcus… do you have any family?” the question escaped me before I could stop it. He looked at me,

 

“My dad, and my sisters. Why?”

 

“Just wondering.” I replied quietly.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but gasped. His eyes fixed on something behind me.

I turned and saw a hare step out of the darkness collecting at the base of the trees. It was big, with none of the domesticated friendliness of a rabbit. Black fur and two long ears which twitched and turned at things beyond my paltry senses. Two orange eyes met mine.

 

I inclined my head slightly, unable to pull my gaze from the flames in its intelligent gaze.

 

“I’ve never seen a wild rabbit before…” Marcus whispered; his eyes wide with wonder. 

           

I stepped back, just as another creature emerged free from the dark. A stag, with the same black fur as the hare, crowned with obsidian antlers. Marcus made a small, choked sound, jerking away from the stag, only for a crow to flutter down onto a branch. Feathers of pitch, with the same burning eyes. Marcus shuddered, his gaze fixed on the crow. I knew what he was seeing… the unnatural stillness of the bird, the sharp intelligence in its orange, unblinking stare. A black fox crept forward, unnoticed by the man, and met my gaze. Its tail languidly swayed, and its eyes never left mine.

 

“Miss Blackthorn?” Marcus said, his voice catching on my name. I looked and saw his eyes were glassy with tears. His lip trembled. 

 

Blood filled my mouth as I bit through the wet flesh of my tongue.

I stepped back, trying to pull my eyes away from his, trying to hold it together. He tried to follow, but the fox crept forward, standing between him and I. It looked at me, ears flattened against its skull. The hare thumped one large foot, making both Marcus and I flinch. Their message was clear: it was time for me to go.

 

At last, I looked away from the man, the boy, and started walking. I ignored him when he called my name. When he screamed it. I walked over the black soil, the trees swaying and shifting to clear my path. I clenched my fists when his screams finally collapsed into cries, then gasping wheezes. By the time I reached the river, and let my hand rest on the old stone bridge, the silence was deafening.

 

I let myself into my home and collapsed onto the sofa. My eyes burned with tears I wouldn’t let fall. This day would end, and tomorrow I would begin the process of buying this land to abide by whatever human law is necessary. Anything for it to be left alone. The forest would remain, and Wonderland would stand firm- preventing it from spilling out into the village. 

 

My ancestors had been the last thing to emerge from the forest, and I would ensure nothing else would follow.