Bellkipeg - Part The Sixth

14)

Alex stepped out of the shower with a sense of cold, penetrating dread. He doubted the world he currently found himself in. Everything felt wrong: his dad asking if he wanted coffee, reciting the dialogue as if from a television advert; the antlered toy that had disappeared (if it had been there at all); not to mention the bizarre, frightening vision of the creature.

This was getting crazy, he thought, it was only his mother that was waiting for him. There was no need for him to be so apprehensive. Leaning on the sink he wiped the condensation from the mirror and was shocked by what he saw. Glaring back at him was a haggard face, grimy and marked with vivid scratches and livid contusions. The eyes were bloodshot and sunken; hair unkempt and dirty, his glasses cracked.

Horrified, Alex put his hands to the face in the mirror and the reflection shifted immediately back to his own familiar countenance. Pushing his face against the glass he attempted to catch a glimpse of the previous visage, but only his own stared back.

Downstairs, his mother sat at the dining table with her back to him, staring blankly through the window at the world outside. Powder-puff clouds added character to an otherwise blissful blue sky, whereas inside felt cold and grey….

It didn’t matter where his mother sat, the mood of the room revolved around her. In the right frame of mind the rooms’ ambience was favourable, uplifting almost, but if she was ‘not feeling very well’ then the energy would drain from the atmosphere; the very air becoming heavy and listless.

It was half past ten in the morning, yet his mother was still in her dressing gown which was never a good sign. As he walked closer he could see the reflection in the window betraying his every movement. She was scrutinizing him. After all these years she could find and say the one thing that was guaranteed to hurt him, and after all these years Alex couldn’t understand how or why he still allowed her to do this.

He bent down to kiss her on the cheek and she surprised him by actually reciprocating, even managing a weak smile whilst patting him on the hand like a dutiful son (or faithful dog, he thought).

There was a steaming cup of coffee on the table waiting for him as he sat down, whilst soggy cornflakes drowned in a chipped bowl in front of his mother; but she still stared outside, oblivious to their plight. His father walked over with a bowl, cereal box and a jug of milk before sitting down opposite him.

Alex couldn’t remember the last time he had partaken of breakfast with his parents. Everything felt too surreal and very intense; the silence tangible. His father’s small, deep set, piercing eyes bored into him and Alex knew that a storm was brewing; it was just a matter of time before an argument broke out, he could feel it. The air felt charged with that inevitability.

His father eventually broke the silence to ask Alex how his headache was. The words were carefully modulated, deliberately non-threatening in their delivery. Too deliberate though, thought Alex, like a trap ready to be sprung.

“It’s still there.” Alex replied, warily. “I’m hoping that eating some breakfast will help it. I think the shower eased it a bit.” He added, “but I can’t get rid of the feeling that.. something’s not.. quite right.” Alex regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.

“What do you mean?” The intonations were starting to creep into his father’s voice and each word was another cartridge being loaded into the shotgun.

“I c..can’t explain.” Alex murmured.

“Try.” His father replied. Alex had to be very careful now with what he said next as he was walking on a spring loaded trapdoor, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“..I feel as if I shouldn’t… be here?” His father’s reaction was immediate, his words spite filled.

“Oh, you feel you don’t belong…” He retorted, sarcastically. “Don’t start with that again!”

“Look, that was not what I meant.” Alex gritted his teeth for the onslaught.

“Nobody asked you to come back here, son.” The last word was weighted like concrete. “All you do when you come round here is upset your mother. If you’ve got something more important to do or you’ve got somewhere you’d rather be then bloody well go there.”

“i… I just need to clear my head…” Alex replied, not knowing what else to say. His head pounded again, clouding his ability to think. He had been in this situation many times before but he still didn’t know what to do –whatever he said seemed to make matters worse. His headache felt so bad, like his skull had been replaced with broken glass. He tried to talk through the pain. “I’m… sorry if I guh-gave you the impression that I wanted to be somewhere else. I just need to clear my head –maybe some fresh air or a walk might help me.”

“You can’t go out in this weather, dear.” His mother said, putting a hand on his arm. “You’ll get soaked…” Through a crimson haze of pain Alex rubbed his forehead, his bewilderment complete. The skies had been baby blue and sunshine only seconds ago and now it was a torrential downpour.

His mother, sensing his confusion, squeezed his hand. “Help me into the other room,” She said, “It’s been so long since you’ve visited –I get lonely when your father’s working and you rarely come round now.” The inflection in her voice made the comment barbed and with each carefully chosen word he felt more caught up in her web of guilt and no matter how hard he tried to stop it from hurting he couldn’t.

15)

“Why do you have to provoke your father so much?” His mother asked once they were in the lounge. “Why did you have to tell him that you didn’t want to be here?”

“That’s not what I said!” Alex tried not to raise his voice, but he could feel his contempt rise: he felt helpless and impotent. “And you know it.”

“There’s no need to take that tone of voice with me. I’m not your father…” Her voice was calm, measured –it sounded frail but there was strength beneath that feigned weakness. Looking at his mother now, he was staring into a dark abyss behind those deep brown, calculating eyes. The image she portrayed was of a very ill woman – her long auburn hair hung limply to her shoulders and her skin had a grey, damp and clingy pallor, but Alex knew that she ruled the household and his father colluded with her. “I merely asked you a question.”

Taking a deep breath Alex replied, “What I meant was that I felt that… this… feels wrong. Living here… now… It feels like I shouldn’t be here… I don’t know…I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t need to explain any further, Alex. I quite understand.” Here it comes, Alex thought as he prepared himself for the guilt trip which happened every time. Why hadn’t he learned to keep his mouth shut? “Whatever we’ve tried to do for you in the past, it’s never been enough…” His mother continued. “You’ve never felt that you belonged here, and it makes me wonder whether we ever did right by you.” She paused now, leaning in closer. “I wonder if we were ever good enough.…”

Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing –he never expected that bombshell! His mother continued speaking but Alex was oblivious, still clawing his way through the pain. But her last sentence he heard clearly and it hurt the most. “I often wish I had a son that could love me the way I am rather than hate me because I’m not who he thinks I should be.”

“It’s not like that at all!!” He shouted, the power behind the words shocked Alex. “Stop twisting the bloody words around.” He retorted.

“You’re no son of mine,” She said, impassively smoothing down her dressing gown, “No son of mine would treat their mother with such disdain. If you can’t be civil towards me then maybe you should go.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex replied, deflating rapidly. He couldn’t win –whatever resistance he put up was quashed utterly. “It’s my head… I didn’t m.m.mean to shout at you. I’m so confused at the moment I don’t know what I’m saying… I’m… I’m going up to my room to clear my head.” Alex turned, walked out of the front room and up the stairs. He looked back at his mother. There was a sly, predatory smile creeping across her face. When she looked up at him there was something in her eyes; a cold, reptilian glint that frightened him, making him run up to the sanctuary of his own room as if he was a child again.

16)

Lying on his bed, his head throbbing with such intensity, Alex tried desperately to piece together what was happening but the pain fogged his ability to think; it felt his entire world would split. Nothing made sense; from the time he woke it just seemed to spiral out of control… but even that wasn’t true for there had been a catalyst. It was then that he remembered the antlered toy.

Pushing himself off the bed he now found the toy on the shelf where it hadn’t been before. He picked it up just as his door swung open. His father barged in shouting. Alex remained impassive as his father fired spite filled comments at him, all were scathing confirmation of all the fears that Alex kept inside. “You’ve always been a disappointment to me,” His father hissed, “Both as a son and as a man!” Alex felt his vision narrow to a point, his whole world collapsing through a red haze; the only thing that felt real to him was the antlered toy in his hand.

Tightening his grip on it, Alex felt the antlers dig into his palm, he could no longer hear the words but he could feel his father’s breath on the back of his neck. Everything his father had said about him was true; his father was right, he was always right.

He felt his resolve crumble against the onslaught when he saw something flicker in his peripheral vision in the back garden – something that didn’t belong.Oblivious to his father and the pain in his head, Alex walked over to the window. 

Standing regally in the centre of the garden was a stag; the image resonated with such a force that the headache faded away. As the stag walked closer it shimmered and blurred as if through a heat haze. Alex closed his eyes briefly to bring the stag back into focus.

When he looked again he saw a familiarly built, but scruffily dressed dark skinned man with resplendent antlers growing out of his head –now with a trench-coat flapping in the wind, a flag to the memories that were now stirring again in the recesses of Alex’s mind. There was no doubt now that it was Onyx that stood there, and as they made eye contact he gestured for Alex to follow him. Alex nodded his head slowly and turned to face his father.

Bellkipeg - Part The Fifth

11)

His childhood home stood before him, resolute against the coming darkness; seemingly a place of refuge. Overgrown with ivy and brambles, its bricks were chipped and crumbling and the twisted skeletal window frames acted as empty eyes to a bereft shell.

A huge wizened and gnarled yew tree grew straight through the centre of the house; Gothic and bizarre against the coming dusk. A tap root arced through, what had been, the front bay window, stretching as if it were waking from the deepest sleep; another branch extending serpentine through the side wall. There was no roof; just the convolving trunks of the yew leading to its magnificent canopy, which consumed the rafters like a bizarre, infectious growth.

Despite the disarray, the wrack and ruin of the place, he still recognised his home, and after everything that had happened to him, to be able to identify something, anything, gave him a sense of safety. He had sanctuary now. Somewhere he could wait out the night and the inhospitable darkness. Alex didn’t question what his home was doing there or why it was in such a state of disrepair. All he knew was he wanted to find somewhere to sleep.

As he got closer he realised just how overgrown the house was. Brambles as thick as his thumb tangled round themselves, barbed hooks ready to ensnare any who dared venture near; the tendriled ivy blanketed and climbed where the brambles had not conquered. How had he recognised it?

There was a vague opening through the brambles which, he guessed had been where the front door originally was. Had he been more alert Alex might have wondered why there was an opening there at all...

However, as he was physically exhausted and emotionally drained he thought about nothing more than rest, and crouching he entered. As he did so he felt a mercurial shiver traverse his spine. There was something that felt wrong: was this really his home? That was ridiculous though; this must be his old house. He only had to look around to be certain of that, and as his eyes became adjusted to the gloom he started seeing things as they had been; there was still enough of a structure to piece together where the rooms once were.

Standing in the remains of the hallway he could just make out where the kitchen and dining room were; to his left lay the lounge and in front of him, where the yew tree was now, the stairs. He had no doubt now that this was his old home and pushed all thoughts to the contrary aside.

However, there the resemblance ended. It was just a fractured shell - no carpets, no wallpaper; just the occasional rotted floorboard, showing the yew’s contorted root system underneath. What little was left of the plastered walls were pockmarked and streaked green with algae and moss. The air smelled damp but strangely comforting.

The bulk of the yew tree stood where the staircase was, its branches stretching out into the other rooms upstairs. There was very little left to the internal structure at all, and Alex wondered how the house was still standing. There was virtually nothing of the upper floor -no floorboards, or ceiling and, with no staircase the upstairs was inaccessible, save climbing the tree and that didn’t appeal to him at all, besides it was too dark to climb. With no way for him to get into his old bedroom he had to look for somewhere else to sleep.

Feeling around in the cloying dusk Alex realised that the yew tree was hollow enough to allow him to curl up inside.  He didn’t know where the Deluge was, or even if it was still tracking him down; he didn’t care. He felt protected in this womb; the soft, fibrous heartwood offered him shelter from the elements and it also felt warm against the chill of the night.

As he relaxed he could feel his weighted eyelids slide shut and as the tide of sleep turned and washed over him he briefly wondered where he would wake up next time.

12)

Morning. A warm, comfortable feeling of contentment soothed Alex as he stirred in the first dawnings of wakefulness. Relaxed, he shifted position; he was wrapped snugly in a duvet.. In a bed! Reticent to shatter his hopes of this being real he took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. The sight that welcomed him was beyond relief.

He was in his own bed; in the house he grew up in as a child, it was exactly the same as he remembered it. He automatically reached for his glasses and they were where he expected them to be; on the small dresser by his bed. Calmed by the sense of familiarity he looked around.

The walls were festooned with posters: brightly coloured and action packed. Shelves crammed with books; cd’s and video’s. Lining these shelves were an array of four inch poseable action figures. On the wall opposite him an old word processor stood on the desk gathering dust.

Glancing at the action figures again, one captivated his interest. Unlike the others, it wasn’t particularly heroic or otherworldly. It was of a shabbily dressed man in a long trench coat and dirty jeans, an unkempt beard and antlers growing out of his head. It looked so odd amongst the rest of the figures that Alex couldn’t think why it was there, but he was intrigued enough that he forsook the comforts of his duvet, and got out of bed.

A sharp pain stabbed in his right temple, it was so intense he cried out and clutched at his head with both hands, sitting down quickly before he fell.

At that moment there was a stern knock on the door. Transfixed, he waited, the toy forgotten. The pain made it hard for him to focus on anything. Another knock on the door, more urgent this time and a voice accompanied it: “Alex?” it called, “Are you alright?” It was a voice he recognised.

Relieved, he pushed himself slowly off the bed, making his way carefully to the door. Taking his dressing gown from the back of the chair, he opened the door to see his father facing him. 

13)

For a split second his vision blurred. Where there should have been a landing staircase and far wall, stood a gnarled, misshapen yew tree; snaking branches like sinister outstretched arms. Behind the yew tree was thick forest. Looking up, it wasn’t his father that glared at him now. It was something monstrous, corpulent and leering; a creature from the darkest fairy tales of his youth. Alex reeled in shock, staggered across the room and fell on to his bed.

“Are you alright, Son?” the father-thing asked. Cradling his head in his hands, Alex barely heard him, his head was pounding now, he didn’t want to look up for fear of what he would see. His sanity was already on a knife edge.

 “Alex, what’s wrong?” the voice asked again, more sternly this time.

“Migraine,” He whimpered, the pain making it difficult for him to talk. “It started when I got up.”

“That’s why you cried out then.” Alex nodded pitifully. “Mum heard it. She’s worried about you, son. We both are.” Alex didn’t know whether there was ‘parental concern’ in his father’s voice or disapproval.

“I’m sorry.” He heard himself say, an automatic apology in a voice that he didn’t quite recognise. He looked up again and of the yew tree and the creature there was no sign.

“That’s alright. Mum just wants to know whether you’re coming down to breakfast.” The banality of the conversation was absurd and made it more difficult for Alex to concentrate. Still standing by the door, his father was oblivious to the pain Alex was in, “If so, she’ll get your cereal ready for you and put the kettle on. Do you want coffee?”

Alex wanted to scream at the unreality of it all but with an effort he finally said, “…Coffee will be fine… I’ll be down after my wash.”

“Ok, I’ll let her know. Take it easy son and see you in a bit.” With that his father turned and walked downstairs. When Alex was sure he was gone, he carefully shut the door and within a minute his headache started to abate.

He then remembered why he had originally left the bed: the antlered action-figure. He scoured the shelves, looking at each individual toy in turn and soon realised that the horned man wasn’t there at all.

Bellkipeg - Part The Fourth

8)

“You have been brought here to save this land. And the land, in turn will save you. Remember this: everything is linked, Creator. I am here to guide you, I know much about this land; in many ways we were created at the same time.”

Alex looked up through tear streaked eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about; just shut up. Shut the hell up! I’ve no idea what’s going on or who you are! How can I just forget what’s happened to me and carry on as normal?”

“Now is not the time for mindless indulging. I didn’t say for you to forget what has happened, what I said was to concentrate on where you are NOW.”

“Mindless indulging?! You have no idea.” Still kneeling on the floor, Alex’s head felt as if it was cracking. “I never wanted any of this; all I want to do is wake up!”

“Then wake up, Creator, for all our sakes. Please. We’re all waiting for you to wake up. That is why we’re all still here in this purgatory, waiting for you to take hold of yourself, of your destiny. You are the reason the land around you is in the shape it is.

"You do need to wake up, and that is why you have been brought here. But that is not the same as you wanting to wake up. You want to be like the child lying next to you –you wish to escape and forget about what is happening to you.

“I say this to you now; you are no longer a child, Creator, but you’re not fit enough to know your own mind. You need to stand up and be counted as a MAN. You have not the time to indulge in being a child any longer; this is a dying land and you have been brought here to prevent that.

“The boy that is lying at your side is, indeed, a much younger version of yourself, as you were at 13. He is where the story started. I had hoped that the transition to our land would have left you with better sense of identity; I did not realise you were so far gone in yourself. In many ways you were brought here just in time.”

Alex didn’t understand what he was talking about; he looked at his wrists and rubbed them again, but the comments about being a man, though, struck at the very core of his self, making him realise just how much he had been indulging in his fears; he had felt like giving up.

Onyx was right, there was no time for that anymore; he was the only one that could get himself out of this land, so he had to start growing up. Getting up, Alex brushed himself off and looked Onyx in the eyes.

“Why exactly have I been brought here?”

“You have been brought here to save the land, and thereby perhaps to save yourself. You are the land, you are intrinsically linked and in order to save the land you will have to find out how to save yourself.”

“What do I have to save the land from?”

“The child.” Onyx pointed to the boy, still unconscious at his feet.

“No! There is no way. That child cannot be the problem; surely it’s whatever was in the cave, and whatever was in the egg that is threatening this world.”

“They are one and the same, Creator. One will grow out of the other's ruin. That is something that you need to make sure never happens.”

 “No! I will not do it, Onyx. You want to kill the boy then you will have to do it!”

“No, you misunderstand; this is something that you must do… but we may already be too late.” Onyx looked beyond him, to the edge of the clearing. Alex followed his line of sight and gasped. The darkness that lay between the trees seethed, it had form and was actually rolling towards them.

“I managed to save you once from the Deluge –when it was in its infancy, but I fear that it has become too powerful now. We will have to run before it swallows us.”

9)

Onyx ran without waiting to see if Alex was following him. Alex could only stand and stare at the churning black mass as it flowed mercuriously towards them, swallowing everything in its path. It was immense, the sheer bulk of it defied all attempts to rationalise what it actually was. A groan from the boy made him realise there was more than his life at stake. He had no choice but to rescue him.

Grabbing the half unconscious boy by the arm Alex ran, dragging him as best he could; the boy’s weight impeding his every move. “Don’t look back, don’t look back.” Alex repeated, focusing on every footfall. He knew they would never make it, but just couldn’t give up.

He heard Onyx shout out to him and glanced round just as the Deluge lunged at them. It struck the boys outstretched leg, swallowing it, jolting Alex mid-run. The boy let out an alarmed cry, terror jamming his eyes wide open. Alex tried to pull the boy out of the pitched embrace but couldn’t. He made one final tug but his sweaty hands couldn’t maintain their grip on the boys arm and Alex fell backwards. He could only watch in horror as the Deluge engulfed the boy, his strangled shrieks echoing round the clearing as his outstretched hand was finally enveloped.

Alex cried out, knowing that he would be next.

The Deluge suddenly rolled back, bringing itself to a height like a cobra but stayed there, quivering. Wide eyed, Alex whirled round. Onyx now stood behind him, arms outstretched, fingers wide open - his face serene. There was a pure, brilliant light shining from him. The Deluge could not move forward because of the energy streaming forth. Onyx spoke to him, though his lips never moved. He heard it in his mind, Onyx talking to him. He said just three words. “Run Creator, RUN!”

Alex didn’t need to be told again – he had no idea how long Onyx would be able to hold back the Deluge or whether Onyx himself would be able to get away from it –Alex was more worried about himself so he ran and ran, and never looked back

10)

Alex ran without knowing where he was going. He ran until his legs shook and it felt as if his lungs would burn and turn to cinders. He ran until his breaths were gulps of pain filled air, and only then did he collapse.

He had no idea how long he had run or whether the Deluge was still after him. He had left both Onyx and the boy behind to their fates, and he cried. Whether his tears were of genuine concern or self-pity he didn’t know. He wanted to escape, to run until none of it mattered, but his legs wouldn’t allow it any more.

He couldn’t go back; he didn’t even know where back was. There was so much he didn’t know; he knew his name, but little beyond that. Onyx had called him creator, which was a joke. Alex knew that he couldn’t create his way out of a paper bag, let alone a whole world; which he was also supposed to save, by the way. How can one save a whole world? By saving yourself, so Onyx maintained.

It was getting dark; shadows were lengthening and the wood was beginning to feel different, less welcoming. Alex didn’t relish the thought of spending the night alone in the wood, especially with the Deluge still somewhere behind him. In the dark there would be no way for him to tell where the night ended and the Deluge began and that frightened him, but he needed somewhere safe to sleep. His first thought was to climb a tree, but most were fairly young and insubstantial and didn’t look as if they could hold his substantial weight, besides he wasn’t that much of a tree climber.

The wood was sparse and still allowed the dying light to shimmer through the canopy; he needed to find shelter now before it got too dark for him to see. He stood up, his aching limbs shaking in complaint, and looked behind him; there was still no sign of the Deluge, so he walked unsteadily on, unsure exactly where he was going.

It wasn’t long before the colour had drained out of the wood around him, the sun had taken its leave of the day, and now the evening was drawing in. Alex didn’t have much time before it became tar black and thick of night.

Just in front of him he saw a large mass silhouetted against the dusk and it took a couple of seconds for him to register that it was actually a house, alien against the trees and bushes that surrounded it. More bizarrely, Alex recognised it. It was the house he grew up in!

Bellkipeg - Part The Third

6)

Waking up was becoming a chore for Alex as he opened his eyes to blue skies again. If this was a dream then he wished that someone would let him sleep it off! It was really beginning to infuriate him; feeling this helpless..

He stood up and was surprised that he'd been lying on the edge of a large clearing with the mouth of the cave behind him. The cave was set into the side of a hill before being engulfed by a huge wood; he wondered whether this was the same woodland as before.

It was then that he realised that the boy from the cave was lying next to him, bruised and unkempt, but still very much alive. The question now stood: who had dragged them out of the cave?

“You never cease to amaze me, Creator.” The booming voice made Alex jump. “How you can look around you, take in all your surroundings, and still miss the one person that’s standing right next to you. It beggars belief!” Alex span round to face what was making fun of him.

Towering well over seven feet tall, the man with the tree-trunk physique had ragged brown hair flowing round his wizened, mahogany hued face. His eyebrows met in the middle and led down to a mildly impressive, if slightly irregular nose; as if it had been broken a couple too many times. His face was extremely emotive and was now in the process of braying with laughter at Alex’s open mouthed expression, for the man also had a large pronounced set of antlers growing out of his head, reminding Alex of the stag in the wood. He had never seen anything like it before.

His face also reminded Alex of the tramp in the cave. There was but a passing resemblance yet it felt as if they were somehow connected. Alex wanted to touch the man, if only to prove that he wasn’t dreaming, and reached out.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” The being said, taking a step backwards. “I don’t take too well to being touched whilst on this plane; and if you were wise, you’d learn that fast. You don’t know who I am so you can’t protect yourself against me. I’m not too worried about what you could do to me, you understand. I doubt you could harm me directly in your current state, I’m sorry to say.”

“What….? Just who the hell are you? Was it you that dragged me out of the cave?” 

“Questions, hmm – considering what little time we have, Creator, I think we can dispense with the asinine ones straight away. Or… maybe not, looking at the state you’re in… I’ll let you decide what I am…. As for my name, well, it’s hard to say.” The being paused; rubbed his chin and regarded Alex contemplatively. He was wearing a very long animal skin bodkin, faded brown trousers, and he was barefoot, though his feet were extremely hairy and almost hoofed. “You’ve never been completely comfortable with who or what I am, have you?” He continued. “In the beginning my name was Lycaon; a werewolf king of the lost city of Arcadia…. something like that, if I remember, but that didn’t last long. I was a centaur for a while and you batted around the name of Cheiron. That was quite fun, it was certainly original… I mean, who needs two legs when you have four?” At this he sighed. “But now you’ve settled with Onyx, as it suits your mind-set at this particular time, doesn’t it, Creator? But I’m sure you have no idea who Onyx really was….”

Alex had no idea what this… creature was talking about. How could he have three names? What did Alex’s mind-set have to do with this creature? And why the hell did he keep referring to him as a creator?

“Not a creator, THE creator. Now this is going to be a difficult time for you; you have a lot to take in, young man. In many ways you’ve only just started to wake up.”

The words waking up made Alex remember the boy who was still lying on the ground beside him. “What about him? Who is he and what’s he doing here?”

“Look at him, Creator. Study his features well; does he not remind you of anyone?”

“He looks familiar enough, but I just don’t recognise him. Should I know him?”

“Try not to answer a question with another question. You know who he is. Just relax and it will come to you…. See with your heart, not with your mind.”

Alex was bemused at first by what he had been told to do, but relaxed his thoughts nonetheless. Gradually he let his eyes take in what they saw, not what his mind told him. It took a couple of minutes for the truth to finally sink in and when it did he could hardly believe it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me; that can’t be me.”

7)

“You’re right.” Onyx replied. “That is not you; it’s merely a shade; a reflection of what you were.  Now, this is where your mind will start shutting down because you don’t want to face what’s happening. But don’t. Don’t close your mind to it, Creator. Concentrate; look deep into yourself and you will see the truth. Remember who you were, remember what it is that the child represents.”

But even as Onyx spoke the words “shutting down” Alex felt as if his whole world was narrowing to a point, everything was draining of colour as he tried to work out what was going on. 

“How can I remember who I was… ? I… I Can’t!!” He sputtered in desperation. “I don’t even know who I am now or what I’m doing here, let alone who that is…. I just don’t know!!”  

It was then that he realised that he had no memory of anything prior to the field. Apart from his name, he had no idea who he was. He felt his head go light again, like in the field. The dizzying, numbing sensation that started at the crown of his head sent shock waves down the length of his body. He dropped to his knees, cradling his head in his hands.

“I know it’s difficult, Creator, but try not to be so melodramatic about it...” Onyx’s voice became deep and calming. “For now you have to focus on where you are, what you are doing; here and now. Concentrate on every little detail. Everything that happens here happens for a reason and nothing is what it truly seems.

“You need to know who you are, not what you were; the past will not help you. I’m not sure whether you will be able to understand this yet, but you must for we don’t have much time. I now must tell you why you have been brought here.”

Bellkipeg - Part The Second

4)

...but darkness. Where the hell was he this time? How long had he been unconscious and what happened to the boar?

He listened intently to gauge whether he was safe. After a couple of minutes of hearing only his own breathing and heartbeat he felt content that he was alone. He could now turn his attention to his wounds.Strangely there was no pain from them and the darkness prevented him from seeing anything so he felt around his body instead. After carefully examining himself, and pushing down his sense of panic, he realised that there were no wounds at all and although his clothes seemed tattered  there were no bloodied lacerations or bruises; nothing to account for the horrifying battle. He rubbed his wrists, and somehow this gave him some comfort.

He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. He was alone in the dark without any idea of where he was or how he got there. He knew that he could not succumb to the welling desperation; he had to figure out where he was.

He stood up and banged his head on something cold, damp and incredibly solid. He swore loudly at his stupidity, and heard it echo. He tried standing again, slowly this time, stretching his hands out.  It was rock, biting cold and wet,  which meant that he was must be inside a cave of some kind. He felt around further and realised that there was enough room for him to manoeuvre; he could actually get into a crouching position before hitting his head again.

As he became accustomed to the dark his other senses sharpened. He could smell the acrid dank air and heard echoes of water drip-dropped on to the floor. He crawled slowly along the ground, all the while hoping he was heading to freedom.  He tried not to think about being trapped, suppressed all thoughts about being buried alive to the back of his mind. He shuddered as his clothes clung to him like a second, ill-fitting skin. The further he crawled the lighter it became.

He didn’t notice the breeze at first, it was so faint. Then he felt it on his cheek; a barely perceptible murmur from a long lost lover. He was overjoyed for it meant he was heading in the right direction: A draught meant a way out.

The cool breeze continued to caress his skin as he crawled forward at a faster pace now and there, little more than a glimmer at first, he could see a definite light; a lone star in this the darkest of nights, which grew in intensity the closer he got. The cave widened and soon he could, at last, stand.

As it broadened further he saw that there were large flaming torches lining the walls either side at intervals. There were empty wooden trunks and cases strewn about; some broken and smashed. One particular casket caught his eye and Alex knelt down to open it. Inside were more pages, similar to the ones he found in the wood. Some of the paragraphs had been scribbled out with something resembling a felt tipped pen and were now unreadable, and the few that were left made little sense to him. One in particular resonated though and Alex read it through again:

“I saw a glimpse of the future; a man standing over the pages of a book. The book is bleeding – rivulets of blood flowing between the words and sentences, drowning the story in crimson. The man is weeping and all behind him the fairy-tale landscape is dying, Bellkipeg is dying, fading into a breathless void as he forgets it and closes the book.”

It was then that Alex heard raised voices, coming from further in front of him. He couldn’t hear any specific words at first, but they were male –one young and the other older, more direct.

The cave sloped up to a rocky outcrop, and the voices carried from beyond the rise. Stuffing the pages in his pocket with the others, Alex moved closer very carefully. He didn’t know whether these were robbers who wouldn’t take kindly to him nosing about, or possible friends who could help provide a solution to his predicament. Either way he didn’t want to frighten them off. He reached the top of the outcrop and peered over the edge.

The older man's clothes were streaked and torn. He was tall, standing proud despite his appearance; his hair was as lank and unkempt as his face was dirty and pocked. His skin was a mahogany hue and he wore a scar on his left cheek. But what really struck Alex was the boy.

5)

Physically the boy was a typical teenager. His glasses ill-fitting and wonky, his khaki pullover and faded blue jeans uninspiring and his hair was one style removed from short back and sides. He was as short as he was rotund and it looked as if mother had dressed him before sending him out without a lunch box. But there was something else about him that stunned Alex.

He recognised this boy instinctively; it was like an ache in his gut: he knew him! But the more he tried to pin it down, to logic his way around it; the more elusive the boy’s identity became. Like in the field, every effort he made to remember was met by a wall of frustration and hopelessness. What was going on?

The man was remonstrating and raising his voice to the boy and it looked to Alex as if he had caught the boy trying to steal something from one of the wooden chests. The boy didn’t seem surprised by the man and even snapped back at him. They were still too far away for Alex to really understand what they were saying. The boy was now shouting back, almost panic stricken; the older man more placatory in reaction, but still urgent; his hand outstretched as if pleading, trying to talk the boy down from something -as if he was about to step off the edge of a great chasm. Alex crawled closer until he could finally hear what they were both saying.

“Give the egg to me now, Tom.” The older man pleaded, “You don’t know what energies you’re dealing with!” His voice was stern but filled with concern. The boy wavered, in his hands he clutched a large black egg that pulsated with an unearthly malevolence.

The boy started to hand the egg over to the man, his arm shaking with the effort when all of a sudden his whole demeanour changed. The boys youthful posture and being became twisted and warped.

“FOOL! You still have no conception of what you're dealing with. The boy is mine, old man!” The contempt and sheer hatred that came from the boys’ voice shook Alex to the core. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen but the voice spouted forth such venom and hate. The old man felt it too and stepped back.

“You do not belong here! Be gone from the boy!” The old man shouted.

“You are in no position to demand anything, cretinous deceiver!” The boy was clearly just a puppet, his once innocent face perverted into a rictus of hate. “You had your chance to destroy me years ago and failed: now it is my time!” 

The boy suddenly lifted the egg high over his head. The old man leapt at him, knocking him to the ground. The egg flew out of the boy’s hands and both could only watch as it shattered on the floor. Darkness erupted forth, flooding the chamber as a harrowing laugh echoed, enveloping everything. Alex never felt the wave strike him so nothing marked the boundary to unconsciousness this time.

Bellkipeg - Part The First

1)

Something exploded out of the bushes, knocking him to the ground; something savage, wild. Its tusks tore bloody furrows down his chest and stomach as it lunged for him and he threw his arms up in a futile effort to protect himself. With a triumphant squeal the boar sank its teeth into his wrist. He screamed and lashed out with his other hand but none of his blows made any difference. The boar had tasted blood now and it wanted more. The cloying stench of fecal musk and fear made him gag further.

With one last desperate attempt he stabbed his fingers into its eye. The boar let him go, keening in pain and he managed to throw it off with the last of his strength. He clutched at his bleeding wrist and tried to push himself out of its path. But he was too slow.

He barely managed to get into a crouching position before the boar charged him again. He feebly tried to defend himself but its sheer force threw him to the ground. This time he stared into its bloodshot eyes as it went for his throat. Alex screamed, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

2)

In just one hour his whole life had been turned inside out and it had all started so innocently. He'd opened his eyes to his new life without knowing what it meant; waking up in a field with no memory of falling asleep.

He got up quickly to figure out what was going on and felt the blood rush from his head as pins and needles engulfed him, making his head light. There was a worn and splintered fence post to his left and he held on to it for support. It took a couple of minutes for the dizzy spell to go but this allowed him time to take in his surroundings.

He was on a bridle-path between fields, which led to a dark and foreboding wood. The wood triggered a memory deep inside which he couldn’t place and the more he tried

to remember it, the more elusive it became.

It was eerily quiet; no motor-traffic grumble, no guttural wail of trans-atlantic jumbo’s, barking dogs or screaming kids, and that had unnerved him. He realised that he was completely alone in a strange place and, for all he knew, could be miles from anywhere familiar. The air was the sweet fresh test of morning; a crisp dew soaked the bottom of his jeans.

All seemed calm. But there was something at the periphery of his vision that just lined the field’s edges; the horizon quivered like a heat haze and it took him a couple of seconds to realise that it was a mist drifting in. As the grass continued to eddy and coalesce in the wind, he noticed that the mist was getting closer to him, going against the wind.

The post that he'd been leaning on was part of a rough wooden fence that delineated the boundaries either side of the path. Ahead was the wood and behind him the dense mist was almost surrounding him now; getting thicker by the minute, it looked more like a fog that would soon absorb him completely. He didn't like that at all. There was something about being lost in a fog; it was a sense of being totally enveloped and yet utterly alone. Fog was clammy, had the pallor of death and left you just as cold.

With it closing in on him with every passing second there was only one place Alex could go: the wood. It called to him, dark and foreboding, he knew that it was waiting for him, and with each step closer the fear within him grew. Nevertheless he quickened his pace; up ahead the trees were so close together they swallowed the light and the gnarled branches beckoned him closer still towards the viscous dark. The grass dried and died the closer he got to the wood and he no longer felt the sun's warmth on his skin. The air was dank, damp and smelt of old age and loneliness; lost dreams and night sweats.

He looked back and all he saw was the fog. Thicker now, rolling towards him; undulating, coalescing. Something was moving within it. He turned round to face it,

his curiosity getting the better of him. Surging, seething, reaching out for him like a plaintive lover, turning him to ice as it stretched out to him. He knew that when it touched him he would be lost forever, but he felt drawn to it and actually reached his hand out.

Suddenly a deep throated bark shattered the silence. It was just enough to break the spell and he quickly turned and stepped into the black surrender of the wood.

3)

Whilst in the wood he had felt disorientated, as if he was in a lucid dream, the world around him felt underexposed, unreal. He had found himself inside a tunnel of holly trees and even the woodland floor was slightly concave as if a groove had been cut into the very earth itself. Discarded leaves and branches littered the floor, crackling and crunching under his feet.

Ahead of him the tunnel petered out and widened until the holly became sparser and bracken grew either side to his shoulders. In the near distance oak, beech and birch trees stood tall; the leaves a fresh, beautiful chartreuse, glowing in the lazy light. A sweet breeze rippled through the foliage whispering to him, acting as lyrics to the enchanting birdsong.

Alex had felt spellbound, as if he was walking inside a fairy-tale. The path sloped gently to a stream before undulating back up the other side. To his left the trees were dense and the sun’s rays stippled through them, creating patchworks on the woodland floor. All around the twigs and branches acted as an early warning to the wildlife that scampered, slithered or flew regardless how carefully Alex trod. As he got closer to the stream he could see that the ground was churned in several places.

The stream shimmered as it languorously slithered through the wood without a sound, further heightening the dreamlike atmosphere. Midges clustered, spiralling around the water’s edge.

A couple of meters away he noticed a rabbit hole, unremarkable except for the tufts

of white which stuck out from odd angles. Venturing closer he saw pages from a book that had been haphazardly stuffed down the bolt hole. Scooping them out, he wiped the mud from the pages and started to read.

““Is this real? Any of this?”

“Yes, it’s true. You are in a forest that by rights should not exist, talking to a werewolf; king of a long dead pantheon. But in another reality you are still in your car, a victim of a horrific crash; your body warped and bloodied, sculptured by metal on flesh.”

“And on another level I’m writing all this down – the ideas like fractals in my head.”

“Not you, Creator – merely your shade. You are where you belong. Here. Now.””

The rest of the page had been illegible but what he had read made no sense whatsoever. He tucked the pages into his pocket for safe keeping, being careful not to tear them. A branch cracked behind him; he looked up and held his breath at the sight that met his eyes.

Standing in front of him was the most magnificent Stag he'd ever seen, the king of the forest; so proud, its coat chestnut red and sporting a majestic spread of antlers. Alex was transfixed and felt drawn to him, wanting very much to touch and become one with the stag.

It was then that he heard the heavy rustling in the bushes to his right; that was enough to break the spell between them, and the stag bolted. The rustling became louder, but it seemed too large to be a rabbit or a bird. Alex peered into the undergrowth wondering whether it was a fox.

The boar's attack had been viscous, unrelenting; taking him completely by surprise. The transition to unconsciousness was painful and Alex didn't know whether there would be anything to wake up to….