The Light Through The Trees - Jane Clark

The Light Through The Trees

I am running across a frozen field. If I can reach the forest, I can hide in the trees. But they are close behind me, their shadows overtaking mine. One shadow blots out the rest and I stop. No point in running now…

Four weeks

I wake up, heart pounding. I do not need to look at the clock, I know what time it is because of the dream. Every month at 12.25 am on the 25th. For 12 years now. So I am putting an end to it. To the dreams and the fear and the regret and the sheer tediousness of surviving every day without Chris.  I am not finding out what happens when I turn to face the shadow.

Since I won’t sleep again tonight (or is it this morning?), I get up, get dressed and check all the preparations. I am methodical, always have been. At work my desk is always ordered, no messy piles or lists of lists. No family photos or distracting ‘anti-stress’ toys. Nothing to suggest anything except my role as a secretary. I don’t do small talk, trips to the wine bar or office socials. People stop asking eventually. They were surprised when I asked for the month before   Christmas as leave.   Normally I cover all the holiday periods. But this year, I have more important things to do. Places to go. Things that need to be done.

Three weeks

It had not struck me as ironic, the time of the train north. 12.25pm. Leaving on time from platform 6. I have treated myself to first class. More space and I do not like random conversations. But I do like the free coffee and the lunch box, cardboard masquerading as a wicker basket. I sometime travel for work, going to help branch offices set up their admin systems efficiently. That’s how I was introduced to first class travel and decent hotels across the country. Ironically it is also how I found the forest of my dreamscapes. I just looked out the window of the train and there it was in the distance. Not a place I had ever seen before, yet the tree line against the sky was so familiar.
The train journey is long. Normally I am busy when I travel, but this time I have time to think and to sleep, catching up on my disturbed night.

I read the card from my boss, wishing me well and hoping ‘the novel’ goes well. I am not imaginative, the only reason I could  have for going away for a month was to ‘finish the novel that is burning my brain to get out’.

Two weeks

The cottage is up a track, not too far from the hotel and the village shop. It is nice and the owner has put up a little Christmas tree. There is a log burner and plenty of logs in a woodshed. I have what I need to be comfortable.  Anne-the- shop  asks me daily if I need anything special ordering for Christmas. I am content with soup and cheese sandwiches.  I buy Kendal mint cake to eat when I am walking.

I have begun to understand the lay of the woods. They are old woods, part of the ancient forests which covered most of Britain a thousand years ago. This remnant is not huge, about 25 acres, but that is a lot of woodland to get through. The OS map is not much help, except for showing where the prehistoric monuments are – barrows, stone circles, and a hill fort. My feet are only the latest in a very long line to tread this country. As the days shorten, I sometimes feel others are around me in the twilight under the trees. But they do not threaten and so I plod on.

One week

I found the long barrow today. It is in the middle of the forest, in a clearing as though the trees keep away from it. I recognise it from the drawings Chris left and suddenly I am cold, scared and tears are pouring down my face.  I am so tired now. I sit on the slope of the barrow and pull myself together. I feel someone watching me, but when I look up, all I see is a pair of antlers moving away through the trees. I did not know there were deer in the woods.

Christmas Eve

I found it. The exact landscape in my dreams. The far side of the village, beyond the church. Only because I went to the Carol service. Just before sunset.  From the west door of the church, there was the field and the tree line. And I saw antlers again silhouetted against the sunset light through the trees.

Christmas Day

I have finished off everything. Letters written and addressed. Debts paid. By noon I am restless and so go for a walk. Despite my intentions, I end up back at the Barrow. I have brought the drawing, it is the same place. What did it mean to Chris? So much I need to say, that was never said. I find myself talking to him, voicing all the pain of twelve years. The argument about the baby. Things I wish I had never said. Things you said I wish I had never heard. The struggle at the top of the stairs. The moment when you teetered on the edge of the stair and I could have caught you…

The moment you caught me and pulled me after you. 12.25am on Christmas Day.

You died. The baby died. I lived.

A tragic accident, everyone said.

Well, I have lived that lie for 12 years.  Not anymore. It was my fault. I killed  you.

It is getting dark under the trees. I hadn't realised I had been sitting so long. I am so cold. And no longer alone. There are people in the woods, moving towards me. I can hear them. I do what I do in my dream. I start running.

I come out of the trees suddenly, onto the field facing the church.  I  run faster over the frozen ground. The frost is so hard that the field is white , as if it had snowed. I will not look back. If I can reach the church, I will be safe. Sanctuary.

The setting sun is shining through the trees behind me. The shadows of the hunt behind me is a black blurry mass, moving faster than me. Their shadows overtaking mine. Dream and reality blur. I stop running. They stop, except for one monstrous shadow which moves on. The shadow of a man, crowned with the horns of a stag. The huge shadow engulfs mine. I do what all hunted animals do at the end. I turn to face The Hunter.

The low winter sunset  has turned the sky and  ground red. ‘I  am sorry’, I say. It was my fault he died. But it was not what I wanted’.

‘Justice feeds the land’. The voice  is deep and seems to come from everywhere. ‘My son is missed’.

I turn away. He will be quick, I think. And the blood will not show on the sunset red ground. I will end up in the Barrow. With Chris. There will be no more dreams.

This story was written as part of the 1225 Story Challenge. Read the other stories HERE.