The Soulburn Talisman, Chapter One: The Mountain
Brooke Woods was lost in the fog...
Previously:
Chapter One: The Mountain
Brooke Woods was lost in the fog.
Really, properly lost.
She wrung her hands anxiously, turning on the spot. Where am I? she thought, not for the first time that day.
She couldn’t have chosen a worse place to get lost, either (if there ever was a good place to get lost). She was fairly sure she was on the side of a mountain, and the fog - thick, white, can’t-see-your-own-hand-in-front-of-your-face type stuff that’d dropped around her like a ghostly curtain - obscured her view in every direction.
But that wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing was, she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. Not at all.
She knew her name was Brooke Woods - that much was easy - and she knew she was thirteen years old, but that was about it. Everything else was going from her head, or had already gone.
‘I’m… I’m Brooke Woods,’ she told herself for the tenth time since remembering. ‘I’m… thirteen… and a bit. And I’m from… uh… I’m from…’
Her boot snagged on a rock and she staggered, just about staying on her feet. If she’d been walking downhill rather than up, she would have tumbled head over heels for sure.
That was too close, she thought. Where am I?
‘My name’s Brooke Woods,’ she said again, once she’d caught her breath. ‘I’m thirteen years old and… and I’m on a class trip.’
Yes, of course! That’s why she was on the mountain, stumbling around in the fog. That’s why she was dressed in these clothes and had a rucksack on her back. That explained the heavy boots, and the waterproof trousers, and the waterproof coat.
She was on a class trip, and she’d gotten lost in the fog.
But it didn’t explain why she couldn’t remember much else. It didn’t explain why she’d forgotten her own name, did it?
Did I hit my head or something? she thought, touching her scalp gingerly.
No, there were no bumps or cuts. She hadn’t fallen.
And suddenly, as she clumped her way over rocky, uneven ground, other stuff started coming back - memories, vague at first, dripped into her mind one tiny drop at a time.
‘The bus,’ she said.
She remembered being on the bus - the Farmont High School bus - and Mr Green gripping the steering wheel hard with sweaty hands, apprehensively repeating, ‘It’s starting to ease off, you know,’ as April rain hammered against the windscreen.
Tonya Miller, who’d been sitting next to her, had muttered, ‘This is going to suck. It’s tipping down, and we’re going camping. This is going to suck.’
Brooke hadn’t heard her at first - she was reading a book at the time and, as always, everything beyond the words on the page became white noise. Tonya elbowed her and she looked up with a start, as though she’d woken from a deep sleep.
‘Look out there, Brookles,’ said Tonya. ‘What do you see?’
Brooke brushed a dangle of blonde hair from her face and squinted through the window. Her eyes, bright and blue, reflected in the rain-soaked glass.
‘Umm… fields? And cows.’
‘Really wet cows. Because it’s still raining, Brookles.’
She hated “Brookles” and Tonya knew it.
‘It doesn’t look so bad now.’ Brooke kept her thumb lodged firmly between the pages of her book. ‘And at least we’re not on the motorway anymore. Are those mountains in the distance?’
‘Yes. Big ugly mountains.’
‘Then we’re nearly there, right?’
‘Yes, we’re nearly at the campsite. In the rain.’
Tonya scowled and went back to her phone, but Brooke kept her eyes on the green English countryside blurring by outside. The mountains loomed in the distance, irregular dark shapes in a grey haze, growing larger by the minute.
We’re nearly there.
She was looking forward to the weekend ahead almost as much as Tonya wasn’t. She loved the outdoors, and when Mr Green announced the class trip a few weeks back, her hand was the first up. The idea of spending a couple of days hiking in the mountains, of getting a break from home life for even a short while, felt like a dream come true.
Freedom, she thought, breathing in the word.
Of course, that had been then.
Now, here she was, lost and alone on the mountain they’d come to climb. All the fun stuff that came before - collapsing tents, smores by the campfire, Molly Sharp screaming about badgers in the dark - all that seemed like a lifetime ago. More memories came to her with each passing step, but none of them made her feel any better.
She pushed a matted tangle of hair out of her eyes and sniffed. It was cold and damp inside the fog.
‘I’m Brooke Woods…’
She was scared now, wasn’t she? Properly lost, and properly scared.
What if they never find me? she thought, and as the questions came her heart rate began to quicken: What if they’ve all gone back and haven’t realised I’m not with them? Would Tonya tell Mr Green, or Miss Harington? Would she even notice I’m not there?
A new sensation started at the back of her throat and she swallowed it down before it reached her eyes. No, she wouldn’t let herself cry. Crying was for little kids and wouldn’t solve anything. Not right now.
She needed to be smart. She needed to get out of the fog.
‘Why am I still climbing?’ she said aloud, and stopped. The white nothingness swirled around her, threatening to numb her brain, to make her forget again.
She gritted her teeth. ‘I’m Brooke Woods. I’m thirteen. I go to Farmont High. I’m here on a class trip. I’m… I’m…’
I’m lost!
‘Hello?’ she called abruptly, panic rising inside her. Then, louder: ‘HELLO?’
I need to find the others…
She was just about to shout a third time when, out of nowhere, a figure began to materialise in the fog up ahead. She couldn’t quite see who it was, but right then, she honestly didn’t care very much. Relief flooded through her and she started forward again, trying to make out who it was.
The person was tall, too tall to be a student. Was it a teacher?
‘Hello?’ Brooke called again, drawing closer. ‘Mr Green? Miss Harington?’
She saw the figure move, turning in her direction. Whoever it was, they were very tall.
And they were wide. Too wide.
‘Who’s there?’ she said, uncertain now. ‘Who are you?’
The figure began to darken, becoming more distinct. Then Brooke saw two small circles of scarlet, glowing in the gloom like rear lights on a car.
Red eyes, staring back at her. Unblinking.
A low growl rumbled through the fog, permeating the air with a horrible stench.
The stench of death.
Brooke’s heart leapt inside her. She was about to scream when a cold hand closed around her wrist and yanked her sideways.
Next:
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I ran away from boarding school when I was thirteen. This absolutely took me right back there. Scary!
Opening with as mystery – made me curious. Well done and good luck!