Early Birds
Beth couldn’t help but feel proud of herself for the commitment she’d shown over the past six months. She was as surprised as anyone when she signed up to run a marathon. But she surprised herself even more by not only committing to the training but enjoying it too. It wasn’t as if she’d ever been one of these fitness fanatics, the ones who made fitness part of their personality, always talking about their diet and their loading programme, comparing local gyms and the various pros and cons just as she compared pubs and clubs. But look at her now, tying on her trainers at 6 am to get a few more miles under her belt before work.
It was possibly a lot to do with reaching the age of fifty and realising that after spending the past few years working full time and raising her children, it was time to do something purely for herself. If her friends were correct, then she should make the most of this time. Apparently, your halcyon days are when your own children have flown the nest but are yet to present you with any grandchildren. Beth laughed along, but in truth, she couldn’t wait to become a Granny. She’d loved the years she’d spent with three young children at home, as tiring and as crazy as they were. She couldn’t wait for small bundles of joy to become part of her life again.
Slamming the door behind her, Beth pressed start on her running app. She loved these early morning runs. Hardly another soul around except the dedicated dog walkers she would wave out to and gasp “Good Morning” to in her cheeriest voice. Of course, the voice was just an attempt to convince them that she wasn’t on the verge of collapsing, although that was often exactly how she felt. That feeling was presenting itself less often, especially over the past few weeks when she had hit a great rhythm and the runs were becoming less and less like torture. She varied her runs so little her husband joked that he could see a groove where she’d run the same route. Beth liked not having to think about where she was going; she could almost run the route with her eyes shut. Breathe in…breathe out…breathe in…breathe out. Slow and steady was her mantra; she was definitely more tortoise than hare, and we all know who won that race.
The sun was just beginning to appear above the horizon, a fireball of orange and red that never failed to take Beth’s breath away, however many times she saw it. When Beth first started running, she often felt the fireball was a representation of her lungs, burning hot and red, but now the running was easier; it felt more like a physical representation of new beginnings, the start of a new day. Beth carefully timed her run so that the sun appeared over the fields in the distance as she left the main road towards the woods, flooding them with the warm wash of sunrise. This morning felt like any other; the air was fresh and invigorating, and she was hit with the usual smell of woodland, slightly damp and earthy but not unpleasant. Straight up ahead was a large oak tree covered in carvings, mainly declarations of love. Do youngsters even do that anymore? Beth wondered. Carve their initials inside a heart as if making their mark will somehow keep their love alive forever? There was a carving made by her on the tree somewhere. Beth for Rob FOREVER!!!! Beth smiled to herself. Of course, before Rob it was Shane, and before Shane it was Lee. The old tree stood testament to how rarely writing your initials beside the word forever actually worked.
Beth ran on. After the carvings came the fairy woods, little doors peeping out from the base of oak trees, delighting generation after generation of local children who came to see where the fairies lived and perhaps even spot one for themselves. Although it was still fairly gloomy in this part of the woods where the trees were taller and wider, Beth could still make out the small doors. No fairies to be seen today. Beth ran through as she’d done a thousand times before, looking left and right, not really thinking about much at all, just putting one foot in front of the other, the sound of her feet striking the compacted mud, solid and familiar. But then, quite suddenly, Beth felt an almost irresistible urge to look behind her, to check she was still alone. You know that feeling when your brain alerts you to something before your consciousness even acknowledges it? That feeling that’s pure instinct, an unease in your stomach or your bones. That was what Beth was feeling right now. Looking around, she fumbled her phone out of her pocket and pressed pause on her running app. Getting spooked out in the woods wasn’t enough for her to risk messing up her run timings. And anyway, whatever the feeling was, she certainly wasn’t too worried. She knew these woods like the back of her hand, and the most threatening thing in it was the tree roots that sometimes tripped her up. It wasn’t as if she lived in the wilds of America where a bear could suddenly appear or in a city where murder and rape were all too common. No, this was a quiet little country village where a complaint about potholes was the most exciting thing you could expect to see mentioned in the local newsletter. So, although she felt something was a little off, she wasn’t frightened. Beth listened carefully. Had she heard something? The woods were generally pretty quiet, the occasional dog bark and the birds singing…of course…the birds! That was what was off! Beth couldn’t hear a single bird singing. At this time in the morning, just after sunrise, they should be in full-throated song. It wasn’t called the dawn chorus for nothing. Beth peered into the woods from the path, through the trees and bushes. They were as she expected, brown and greens all muddled together, the odd puddle showing up slightly darker and wetter than the rest. Nothing moved, but nothing made a sound either. How strange. Beth, always the logical one, began mentally running through explanations. Birds didn’t oversleep, did they? And if so, then surely they can’t have all slept in on the same morning? No, that was silly. And they can’t have all emigrated at once? Beth was no expert, but she was pretty sure that British birds such as tits, robins and blackbirds didn’t leave the country at all, let alone the whole lot of them on the same day. That didn’t make sense either. Shaking her head, Beth was just about to restart her tracker when she heard something. It came from quite far away, but it was clear as a bell. A baby screaming with fear or pain. She’d never heard anything sound quite as desperate. The heartfelt screeching made the hairs on her arms stand up and adrenaline course through her veins. She felt pumped, ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice. Without realising it, she pulled her hands into fists and her hamstrings tightened in anticipation of being called into action. The cry echoed again, and Beth had never felt more tightly wound. Looking down at her tightly clenched fists, the veins standing out along her forearms, Beth let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and began to laugh. She knew what that sound was; it wasn’t the first time she’d heard it. It was a peacock. A silly, stupid peacock. That was all. It had probably stunned the rest of the birds into silence with its horrible, screechy call that sounded uncannily like a scream. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if it had freaked out the dog walkers that she usually met here, although she realised with surprise that she hadn’t actually seen any of them so far this morning. Because that was quite odd too, wasn’t it? “Get a grip, Beth”, she told herself sternly. Just because a peacock has freaked you out doesn’t mean that your imagination can now run wild thinking all the local dog walkers have been murdered. The cry came again. Wow, it really did sound like a scream. It had to be a peacock, though; that made far more sense than a baby out here in the woods at this time in the morning. Still feeling slightly uneasy, Beth flicked her running app back on and set off again, listening for the scream of the bird she could almost picture standing on the path up ahead. Were peacocks dangerous? Beth wondered. They were fairly big birds, and she didn’t relish the thought of having to squeeze past one on this narrow path. That was definitely where it sounded as if it was coming from. But then she remembered that just up ahead was the children’s play area. It would be lighter up there, the trees less tightly packed together, and it made sense that was where the peacock had landed. Beth sped up slightly. Now she had the thought that the bird was on a roomier stretch of path, she wanted to catch it there before it could move. Breathing more heavily than she’d done for a long time, Beth pushed herself forwards, faster and faster. Up ahead was the tumbled-down stone wall that marked where the play area began. She brushed through the gap and almost fell over a bundle of something right in the middle of the path. A last-minute swerve and jump took her over the top of the bundle, and she landed awkwardly on the other side. Clutching her ankle, Beth swore loudly, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh God, oh God. Lying just a few inches to her left, roughly wrapped in a bright blue towel, was a baby. Panting loudly, Beth swore again. Who the hell would abandon a baby in the woods? As these thoughts ran through her mind, the baby opened its small, blood-red mouth and let loose the desperate scream that Beth had heard before. Beth couldn’t stand to hear it again. She leaned over the baby, making soothing shushing noises that she hoped would stop it crying. “Hey hey”, she crooned. “It’s ok, I’m here now; I’ll help you find your Mummy or Daddy”. The baby closed its mouth and looked at her with eyes that unsettled Beth. Still shushing, Beth leaned closer. The baby continued to look at her without blinking. Its eyes were dark, very dark, and she could see herself reflected in them. It was almost like staring into a mirror. Beth stared intently at herself. Then, suddenly, she jerked away. She could have sworn that just for a second, her reflection, her own self, was screaming, mouth open wide, teeth bared in terror. She blinked, and her rightful reflection returned.
As she stared at the baby, she heard another sound behind her. Footsteps on the path. “Ah, thank goodness”, she thought. Maybe it was one of the dog walkers? They could soothe the baby while she called the police. She edged away from the bundle in front of her, feeling reluctant to touch it. Looking up, she was relieved to see Joe, the retired postmaster who walked his spaniel here every morning. As he leaned over her, she began to speak. “Hi Joe, am I glad to see you. It looks as though a baby has been left here and I don’t…”
Beth’s voice died away as she saw Joe’s usual kindly blue eyes had been replaced by the same eyes she’d just seen in the baby. Glinting dark, so dark that her reflection was clear despite the small distance that separated them. Joe smiled, then grabbed her roughly by the hair. Beth, more in shock that kind old Joe would grab her like that than actual pain, screamed, “Joe, what are you doing?” She put her hands down on the ground, either side of the bundle, trying to prevent squashing the baby below her, who began screaming again too. As Beth tried to hold herself up, she looked at the baby, its face all screwed up and red. Its eyes were firmly fixed on hers. She could see herself reflected again, but this time the image of her screaming was a true reflection. Its scream began to turn into a laugh. A laugh that became deeper and deeper. Behind her, Joe began laughing too. The baby’s lips began to stretch and pull, getting bigger and fuller. Beth’s scream changed; the surprised note it began with was replaced with pure and simple terror. The monstrous lips reached out towards her, wet and red, greedily searching. Beth couldn’t take the weight of Joe on her back anymore, still holding her down firmly with his hands in her hair. She fell forward and the baby’s lips connected immediately to her own, sucking hard, so hard that Beth’s last thought was that her mouth would be ripped off. But mercifully for Beth, her brains were sucked out through her lips before she could feel them rip.
Joe let go of Beth’s hair. She fell to one side. He stood up, brushing his knees and straightening his cap. The baby looked up at him, lips back to normal, only slightly stained with blood. “Good job, old man”, the baby said in a voice that it had taken from Joe himself. Joe wasn’t bothered by that. He’d lost his brains to it only ten minutes before Beth did. “Now, let’s get ready for the next early bird.”
Joe bent down and grabbed Beth’s ankles. Dragging her along the path towards the play area, her empty, brainless head bounced over each bump carelessly until he pulled her swiftly under the slide, piling her body against the others already there.
The baby began to cry again.
Written by Michelle Blackwell
Recipes
