roots a twisting snake-like mass that made entry all the more difficult.
Brightness entered this gloomy gateway to hell from the summer's afternoon beyond, and Steven at last came to the high bank that dropped to the stream. Here he called for his father yet again.
Behind him, Wynne-Jones and Jennifer were crossing the field more slowly. Huxley rose slightly, peered at them, and beyond them at the house…
Wrong! There was something wrong…
"Dear God in Heaven… What has happened?"
"Daddy!"
The boy was in earnest. Huxley looked at him again, out on the open land. All he could see, now, was Steven's silhouette. It disturbed him. Steven was standing on the rise of ground just beyond the brambles, the thorns, and the old gate that had been tied across the channel to stop animals entering this dangerous stretch of wood. The boy's body was bent to one side as he peered into the impenetrable gloom of the forest. Huxley watched him, sensing his concern, and the anguish. Steven's whole posture was that of a sad and earnest young man, desperate to make contact with his father.
Motionless. Peering anxiously into the realm that perhaps he suddenly feared.
"Daddy?"
"Steve. I'm here. Wait there, I'm coming out."
The boy hugged him delightedly. The house in the distance was a dark shape, bare of ivy. The great beech outside the boys' bedroom was as he remembered it. The field, the overgrown field, was four weeks advanced from when he had left it.
Something was wrong.
"How long have I been gone, Steven?"
The boy was only too glad to talk. "Two days. We were worried. Mummy's been crying a lot."
"I'm home now, lad."
"Mummy says it
wasn't
you who shouted at me…"
"No. It wasn't. It was a ghost."
"A ghost!"
(Said with delight.)
"A ghost. But the ghost has gone back to hell, now. And I'm home too."
Jennifer was calling to him. From his crouching position Huxley watched her as she walked quickly toward him, her face pale, but her lips smiling. Edward Wynne-Jones staggered along behind her, a man exhausted by his ordeal, and confused by Huxley's sudden terror as he had reached the edgewoods and refused to emerge into open land.
There was so little time, Huxley thought, and took Steven by the shoulders. The boy gaped at his father, then shut his mouth as he realized that he was about to be addressed in earnest.
"Steven… don't go into the woods. Do you promise me?"
"Why?"
"No questions, lad! Promise me… for God's sake…
promise
me, Steven…
don't
go into Ryhope Wood. Not now, not ever, not even when I'm dead. Do you understand me?"
Of course he understood his father. What he couldn't understand was the why. He gulped and nodded, glancing nervously at the dense wood.
Huxley shook him. "For your own sake, Steve…
I beg you
… don't ever again play in the woods. Never!"
"I promise," the boy said meekly, frightened.
"I don't want to lose you—"
From close by Jennifer called, "George. Are you all right?"
Steven was crying, tears on his cheeks, his face fixed in a brave look, not sobbing or breaking up: just crying.
"I don't want to lose you," Huxley whispered, and gathered the boy to him, holding him so very tightly. Steven's hands remained draped by his sides.
"When did the farmer last mow this meadow?" he asked his son, and he felt Steven's shrug.
"I don't know. About a month ago? We came and gathered hay. Like we always do."
"Yes. Like we always do."
Jennifer ran up to him and quickly hugged him, a full embrace. "George! Thank God you're safe. Come back to the house and get washed and freshened up. I'll make us all some food…"
He stood and let Jennifer take him home.
Edward has read the entire account of the Bone Forest and is much exercised by its detail and implications. He was puzzled by my reference to having "destroyed mythagos in the Wolf Glen," a statement I made when warning the gray-green man away from Jennifer. He seemed bemused when I explained that this had merely been a bluff to win the
Brightness entered this gloomy gateway to hell from the summer's afternoon beyond, and Steven at last came to the high bank that dropped to the stream. Here he called for his father yet again.
Behind him, Wynne-Jones and Jennifer were crossing the field more slowly. Huxley rose slightly, peered at them, and beyond them at the house…
Wrong! There was something wrong…
"Dear God in Heaven… What has happened?"
"Daddy!"
The boy was in earnest. Huxley looked at him again, out on the open land. All he could see, now, was Steven's silhouette. It disturbed him. Steven was standing on the rise of ground just beyond the brambles, the thorns, and the old gate that had been tied across the channel to stop animals entering this dangerous stretch of wood. The boy's body was bent to one side as he peered into the impenetrable gloom of the forest. Huxley watched him, sensing his concern, and the anguish. Steven's whole posture was that of a sad and earnest young man, desperate to make contact with his father.
Motionless. Peering anxiously into the realm that perhaps he suddenly feared.
"Daddy?"
"Steve. I'm here. Wait there, I'm coming out."
The boy hugged him delightedly. The house in the distance was a dark shape, bare of ivy. The great beech outside the boys' bedroom was as he remembered it. The field, the overgrown field, was four weeks advanced from when he had left it.
Something was wrong.
"How long have I been gone, Steven?"
The boy was only too glad to talk. "Two days. We were worried. Mummy's been crying a lot."
"I'm home now, lad."
"Mummy says it
wasn't
you who shouted at me…"
"No. It wasn't. It was a ghost."
"A ghost!"
(Said with delight.)
"A ghost. But the ghost has gone back to hell, now. And I'm home too."
Jennifer was calling to him. From his crouching position Huxley watched her as she walked quickly toward him, her face pale, but her lips smiling. Edward Wynne-Jones staggered along behind her, a man exhausted by his ordeal, and confused by Huxley's sudden terror as he had reached the edgewoods and refused to emerge into open land.
There was so little time, Huxley thought, and took Steven by the shoulders. The boy gaped at his father, then shut his mouth as he realized that he was about to be addressed in earnest.
"Steven… don't go into the woods. Do you promise me?"
"Why?"
"No questions, lad! Promise me… for God's sake…
promise
me, Steven…
don't
go into Ryhope Wood. Not now, not ever, not even when I'm dead. Do you understand me?"
Of course he understood his father. What he couldn't understand was the why. He gulped and nodded, glancing nervously at the dense wood.
Huxley shook him. "For your own sake, Steve…
I beg you
… don't ever again play in the woods. Never!"
"I promise," the boy said meekly, frightened.
"I don't want to lose you—"
From close by Jennifer called, "George. Are you all right?"
Steven was crying, tears on his cheeks, his face fixed in a brave look, not sobbing or breaking up: just crying.
"I don't want to lose you," Huxley whispered, and gathered the boy to him, holding him so very tightly. Steven's hands remained draped by his sides.
"When did the farmer last mow this meadow?" he asked his son, and he felt Steven's shrug.
"I don't know. About a month ago? We came and gathered hay. Like we always do."
"Yes. Like we always do."
Jennifer ran up to him and quickly hugged him, a full embrace. "George! Thank God you're safe. Come back to the house and get washed and freshened up. I'll make us all some food…"
He stood and let Jennifer take him home.
Edward has read the entire account of the Bone Forest and is much exercised by its detail and implications. He was puzzled by my reference to having "destroyed mythagos in the Wolf Glen," a statement I made when warning the gray-green man away from Jennifer. He seemed bemused when I explained that this had merely been a bluff to win the
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