The next morning was bright and clear, and Tom woke early, jolting out of an unsatisfactory night’s sleep. He’d had another dream about the woman with long, white hair. She whispered his name to him. “Tom, it is time.” But she never said anything else, and when he tried to answer, she’d faded away, and the dream evaporated.
Time for what? She was always so vague. That was the nature of dreams, though. Weird, half-finished things that meant nothing and went nowhere. He was frustrated with himself for even thinking they meant something.
He’d dreamt about water, too, and the glint of something shining deep down beneath the shifting waves where he couldn’t see it clearly. Sometimes he saw a bright blaze of firelight, and heard a low, murmured chanting that became louder and louder until it roared in his ears before receding like a tide. And sometimes when he woke up, it felt like someone had punched him on the birthmark at the top of his arm.
Shrugging it off, he lay in bed, looking forward to the day that stretched before him. He had no idea what he might find, or even what to look for, but it would be good to have company. He’d already packed his backpack with spare socks, a jumper, and bottles of water, and the sandwiches he’d made the night before were in the fridge.
He jumped out of bed and went to look at an old map on the bedroom wall. It showed the surrounding land as it had been over a hundred years ago. The cottages along the stream, including Granddad’s, were marked, but the fields and farmland behind them were now covered in houses. The extensive woods across the narrow stream remained unchanged and were still surrounded by fields. Just visible at the top edge of the map was the small village of Downtree, also virtually unchanged since the map had been made.
Marked on the map, in the centre of the wood, was the strange, tumbledown stone tower that he and Beansprout would walk to today. Mishap Folly had been built more than a hundred years ago by the owner of the manor house. It was so-called because of the series of disasters that had overtaken the owner: the manor had been damaged by fire, crops had failed, and the owner’s son had died after been thrown from a horse. Then the owner himself had disappeared and was never seen again. The tower had stood empty over the years, beginning to crumble as the woods encroached on all sides.
Tom estimated it would take a couple of hours to walk there. It was unlikely that Granddad had passed that way, but it had always annoyed Tom that so far, no one had checked it out. The police had been so dismissive at the time, and it annoyed him now just to think about it.
He pulled on his jeans, T-shirt, and jumper, and ran down the stairs. After putting some bread in the toaster, he opened the back door and took a deep breath as the cold, crisp air came flooding in. As he stepped outside he noticed an odd-shaped package on the doorstep. How had that got there? The postman never came to the back door.
He grabbed the parcel as if it might suddenly disappear, and looked towards the wood, immediately thinking of the figures he had seen the day before. He had seen someone! He scanned the trees again, and then turned back into the kitchen to examine the package, shutting the door behind him.
The outer wrapping was a lightweight piece of bark, and as he lifted the edges, a gauzy material shimmered beneath it. He unfolded it to find his grandfather’s watch and a note. Tom gasped, his head whirling with surprise. Behind him the toaster popped loudly, and in shock he dropped everything onto the table. Cross at himself for being so jumpy, he frowned at the toaster as he pulled the note from under the watch. It was Granddad’s writing.
Sorry for the delay, but I’ve been very busy!
I’ve sent you my watch, as it doesn’t really work here, but I wanted you to know that I’m all right.
I probably won’t be coming home, so I hope someone is looking after the house and garden.
I miss you all, but I know you’ll be fine.
Don’t try to find me!
Love, Granddad xxx
The letter was written on thick parchment-like paper, and he wondered if there was some sort of secret message in it, but after reading the note several times, was sure there wasn’t. Tom felt hugely relieved to know Granddad was fine. And then he felt really annoyed. What did he mean, ‘Don’t try to find me?’ How ridiculous. Where on Earth was he? He kicked the table in frustration and buttered his now cold toast, itching to leave as soon as possible.
When Beansprout arrived, she was as mystified as Tom. She propped her own bulging backpack against the table and examined the package while Tom rinsed his plate.
“This is bark, Tom! Who wraps a watch in this? It’s just odd. Perhaps he’s run out of money and is living off the land, like Robinson Crusoe?”
“And his Man Friday has brought us a present? I doubt it. Besides, he said he doesn’t need his watch where he is, so he must be somewhere else! Just like I suggested yesterday. If he was here, close by, he’d see us.”
“So who brought this?”
“The people I saw yesterday. I knew I was being watched!”
She stared at him warily. “This is uncanny. It’s giving me goose bumps.”
“And I had another dream.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Why bad? It’s clear he’s okay. That’s his writing!”
“What if someone made him write it?”
Tom shook his head. “Okay. This is getting us nowhere. Someone left that here last night, and they might still be here, so grab your bag. Let’s go.”
Beansprout glared at him, but changed the subject. “Are you going to leave your dad a message?”
“What did you tell your mum?”
“Just that we’re going out for the day, and I’d see her this evening.”
“Cool, I’ll do the same.”
He scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table, then put the contents of the package in his backpack, just in case.
The wood was a tangled mass of bare tree limbs, and the ground was carpeted in dead leaves. Satisfied that no one was in close proximity to the cottage, they walked on into the heart of the wood, and an ever-increasing thicket of branches. For a while they didn’t speak, spooked by the stillness around them, and both wary in case they were being watched. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the occasional crack of a twig breaking.
It wasn’t until Tom spotted the roof of the folly through the trees that he broke the silence. “I can see it, we’re nearly there!”
They quickened their pace, finally emerging into a clearing. The round tower loomed above them, its stone walls cracked and crumbling, its roof jagged. The ground was littered with broken stones. Moss had spread like patchwork, and ivy snaked up the walls until there was barely an inch of grey stone to see.
“Wow!” said Beansprout. “I didn’t know it was so big!”
Tom nodded. “It’s bigger than I remember, actually. And it’s more ruined, too. What was I thinking? As if anyone would want to stay here! Especially Granddad. I’m an idiot. I actually thought he might be in there, smoking his pipe next to a fire.”
Beansprout laughed. “That’s desperation for you. Don’t worry, Tom. I think we’ve all imagined all kinds of unlikely things.”
“You check the inside, and I’ll look round the back,” Tom said. “Be careful!” he added as he tripped over a snaking branch of ivy.
“Yeah, yeah,” he heard her mutter as she made her way to the entrance. “I’m not a child!”
When Tom reached the far side of the structure, he peered around him at the trees, the tower, and the debris on the ground, and all at once felt stupid. It was ridiculous to even think he could find Granddad, or the person who had brought the package. Annoyed with himself, he huffed, and thumped back against the wall before sliding to the forest floor, his backpack squashed behind him.
Without a whisper of noise, a tall figure emerged from the wood and walked towards him, stopping a few feet away. It was a young man, just a few years older than Tom, with long, dark hair and pale skin. There was something different about him that Tom couldn’t quite put his finger on. He wore a loose, pale-grey shirt and black cotton trousers tucked into leather boots. A long, thick grey cloak hung from his shoulders, almost reaching the ground. But what was unnerving was the sword tucked into a scabbard at his side, and the longbow and arrows visible over his shoulder.
He stared at Tom, and then sat cross-legged on the ground.
“Greetings. My name is Woodsmoke.” His voice was soft and low, with a strange accent.
Surprised, Tom said, “Er, Hi.”
“And you are?”
After debating whether telling this stranger anything was a good idea, he said, “Tom.”
Woodsmoke nodded, as if that was the answer he’d been expecting. “I know your grandfather.”
Tom’s head shot forward, his mouth open wide. “How? Have you seen him recently? Is he all right?”
Woodsmoke laughed, so gently it sounded like rain on a roof. “So many questions, Tom. You remind me of him. He’s fine. He doesn’t want you to worry about him. That’s why I brought his watch for you.”
“It was you? And you were in the wood yesterday! But where is he? I want to see him. So much has happened since he left, he could help—I know he could.”
“He’s too far away to help. As he said in his letter, he won’t be coming back. Whatever it is, you’ll have to manage on your own. You aren’t alone, are you?” Woodsmoke looked concerned, as if he’d misunderstood.
“No, I live with my dad. But…” He shrugged.
Woodsmoke sighed with relief. “That’s good, then.”
“I want to see him anyway!”
“I’m sorry, that is not possible. I shouldn’t be speaking to you…I should have just gone.” Woodsmoke looked cross with himself. “I must go, I have a long way to travel, and you must go home, too. Stop worrying, your grandfather is fine, that’s all you need to know.” He rose swiftly to his feet, but as he turned to leave, a woman came running around the side of the tower.
“Woodsmoke, quickly—the girl has gone into the tunnel.”
“You said you’d sealed it!”
By now Tom was on his feet and looking at both of them. “What girl? Do you mean Beansprout?” But Woodsmoke and the woman were already running back around the tower.