I make a sharp right as the path forks and glance around at the clearing I find myself in. The trees which border me are stoic guards. I study the area, squinting against the lack of light. It feels secluded. Hidden away. But still on the main path. My hand slips into my pocket, fingers the piece of paper concealed inside. Am I taking too much of a gamble? What if someone else finds it first?
A breeze strokes through my loose hair and my teeth chatter together, the cold of the evening beginning to gnaw at me. I look to the trees, trace the line of the path.
There. A log. I hurry to it, rest my hand on its back, imagining the tree it had once been. Perhaps birds would perch in its branches, even nest there. Would squirrels twist their way up its trunk in a helter-skelter motion?
But now it’s laid low and perfect for what I need. Taking the paper from my pocket, I admire the way it glows in the moonlight like a star. Carefully, I place it on the ground amidst the carpet of moss and twigs, jutting out just enough to be visible, to catch the eye of a passer-by.
Stepping back, I rub my hands together, stomach churning. What if I’m wrong? What if they’re not the first person to find it? But if I’m right …
A charge of excitement shoots up my spine, causing me to tingle. I wish I could see it, wish I could be there in the dawn light as my little offering is discovered.
A knife twists in my stomach. Staying is impossible, my nerves already starting to devour me. But I’ll be back.
I take one last look at the paper beneath the log. Then I leave. I just need you to find it. To see it. To remember.
Sunlight mottled the ground, filtered through the canopy of green leaves overhead. Blades of grass were still tipped with dew and many flowers had yet to unfurl their petals. It was early. Less than an hour had passed since the dawn chorus concluded their performance.
Beth was running. She slowed as she reached a turn in the path, dirt crunching beneath her neon green Skechers trainers. Back on the straight, she built up speed again, arms powering at her sides. Effortlessly, she leapt over a fallen tree which sprawled across the path, pre-empting the obstacle before it even came into view. She knew this route – this trail that snaked through the woodlands near her little terraced house.
‘It’ll be nice, being so close to the woods,’ Josh had said when they went for their first viewing, a smile spreading across his face. Beth had seen the trees, the shadows beneath their canopy, and shivered in the sunlight.
‘Nice, yeah,’ she’d found the strength to mirror his smile. And now she had bested the woods. Found comfort in their darkness, in the stirring of leaves.
So, each morning, she followed Josh out of bed and as he showered, she pulled on her jogging bottoms and trainers. For an hour, she would run wild and free, like an untamed horse. Round and round she’d go, until her legs ached and her chest burned.
‘You training for a marathon or something?’ Josh had asked on one of the rare occasions he was still home when she burst through the front door, sweating and panting.
‘What? No. I just like to run.’
At fifteen, Beth had discovered the liberating properties of running, of pushing her muscles to their limits. It was intoxicating thinking only about the route, her speed, the distance. Not a morning went by when she wasn’t out in the woods powering around the trail.
Mr Woodson who lived at number thirteen in their little cul-de-sac was out that morning walking his Irish setter, Beau. He paused to raise a hand and offer a smile as Beth thundered past him. Beau’s tail wagged furiously, but the bundle of ruby fur didn’t try to chase after her, not this time.
‘Morning,’ she greeted him breathily as she sped by.
At this time, the woods were relatively quiet and undisturbed. Smoke hung on the air, an echo of teenage revelry around campfires the previous night. Beth passed by a lady with a trio of poodles and then reached the densest part of the woods. Here, the trees had grown thick and fast, causing a dip in the temperature as even the brightest rays of sunlight struggled to penetrate the overgrown mass of leaves above.
Birds were singing, chirping sweetly to one another. Beth felt her thigh muscles constrict and, with an anguished sigh, conceded that she had to slow down. Letting her arms fall lower against her sides, she drank in the crisp morning air, filling her lungs. Dark patches gathered beneath her armpits and down her back.
‘Right … okay.’ Raising her arms, Beth tightened the band holding her hair in a high ponytail and jogged idly through the maze of trees. She’d sprint again once she’d recovered some of her energy. Now that she’d slowed down she could more clearly take in her surroundings. Amidst the base of the trees sprouted little flowers, shyly concealing their purple petals. Spring was about to turn into summer, which meant that the snowdrops Beth so loved to see had long since disappeared for another year. As she pondered this, something white lying on the ground caught her eye. The brightness of it against the hues of browns and greens of the woodland carpet made it stand out starkly.
Beth came to a complete halt and peered down at the sliver of pristine whiteness. It was so utterly out of place and, as she moved closer, Beth realised that was because the object was unnatural. A piece of human debris, usually plucked up and disposed of by the group of volunteers who pruned and preened the woods on a weekly basis. Now crouching, Beth reached forward and grazed the item with the tips of her fingers. A slip of paper. It wasn’t scrunched up, like a piece of discarded rubbish. Slightly bigger than a receipt, tucked just beyond the fringes of the jogging trail and wedged beneath an old upturned log, sticking out just enough to be noticed.
Seemingly begging to be noticed.
Curious, Beth plucked the piece of paper out from beneath the tree trunk. It was crisp in her hands. And surprisingly clean. It couldn’t have been out in the elements for long at all. Straightening and turning back, she glanced at the trail behind her, then strained to look ahead. There was no one else around, no one within sight who could have dropped the slip of paper.
‘Hmm.’ It was folded over. Beth opened it up, expecting a shopping list hastily scrawled upon it or perhaps a discarded note. But, instead, she was looking not at a list of items, but of names.
The penmanship was immaculate. Each entry written in exquisite cursive text. Clearly great care had been taken.
Beth scanned the list. There were five names, each on their own line.
She gasped, as though someone had just sucker-punched her in the gut, doubling forwards. The third name on the list was all too familiar. Because it was her own.
Slowly, carefully, she read back over it, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her.
Joanne Rowles
Trevor Hoskins
Beth Belmont
Harry Jensen
Rebecca Terry
Her own name stared out at her, pretty and challenging in its neat cursive appearance.
‘What the hell?’ Beth anxiously glanced back over both shoulders, along the length of the jogging trail. There were so many trees, so many places for someone to hide. The shadows that gathered amongst the numerous trunks suddenly seemed pregnant with danger.
‘Is anyone there?’ Beth asked of the emptiness. Only the birds chirped back in response. She was alone. ‘What … what is this?’ She swept her gaze over the note one final time before shoving it into the front pocket of her hooded jumper. None of the other four names meant anything to her. Yet there had to be some connection, didn’t there?