The Tooth Fairy Read online

  ‘Come on,’ Clive said at last. ‘Let’s find these games.’

  The activities were to be commenced in daylight and finished in darkness, they were told. A campfire would be lit. A command point was established, and colours were distributed. They were joined by Scouts in the unusual green shirts of the Coventry Forty-eighth, and all boys present were divided into three groups. Each group was given ‘honours’ in the form of a coloured flag ‘to be placed up a tree’. The object of the game was for each group to acquire, by cunning and stealth, all three flags.

  ‘By cunning and stealth,’ Skip repeated frequently, intoning the words.

  Sam followed his Eagle patrol and three members of the Forty-eighth who had the good fortune to be assigned to it, and together this ‘Blue Team’ went off into the woods. Five minutes into the game, Tooley stopped everyone dead and turned on one of the members of the Forty-eighth. ‘We need a decoy,’ he said.

  The young Scout was bundled to the floor, gagged, his hands tied behind his back and his legs lashed together at the ankles. His two comrades looked ready to object, but sizing up Tooley made them think better of it. The blue flag was stuffed half way into the boy’s breast pocket, a rope was tossed over a tree branch and he was hoisted by his feet to dangle, upside down, eight feet from the ground. Then the rope was lashed to the trunk of a fallen tree. The blue flag hung invitingly from his breast pocket.

  ‘Now we hide,’ said Tooley.

  The group took cover behind toppled, rotting logs and dense bushes. Tooley crouched near Sam. They waited in silence. After a moment, Sam cleared his throat, and Tooley rewarded him with a stinging slap to the ear. Tooley bared his teeth. They waited several minutes. Sam, kneeling, developed cramp in his leg but dared not risk another slap from his Patrol Leader. He crouched in agony.

  Eventually a pigeon broke through the trees, followed by the shrill clucket of a disturbed blackbird. Tooley’s muscles coiled like springs. Two young Scouts appeared, stalking the path. Sam recognized them as Falcons from his own troop. They stopped dead when they saw the gagged Scout hanging upside down from the rope. Both glanced round nervously before approaching further.

  Obviously they had been dispatched to gather information and report back; now they whispered to each other, as if trying to come to a decision. One of them seemed to sense something. The blue flag was obviously theirs for the taking, if they could just reach it. They approached gingerly. One of the boys jumped up for the flag but couldn’t quite make it. It was just inches from his fingers. They looked around again. It was not until one had climbed upon the other’s back and was groping for the flag that Tooley released an unearthly cry and charged from behind the thicket. He felled the two Scouts with a rugby tackle. There was a brief scuffle in the leaves before the two were subdued by the other Scouts hard on Tooley’s heels. The victims were gagged instantly. One of them was stripped naked, lashed by the ankles and hoisted upside down alongside the decoy scout.

  ‘Did you bring the pen?’ shouted Tooley, breathing hard from his exertions.

  ‘Here it is.’ Lance produced a fat blue felt-tip marker. The luckless Scout was hoisted to eye-level, so that Tooley could draw a large T on either buttock. Then he drew a horizontal arrow across each T. Lance smiled thinly at Sam. ‘Tooley’s sign,’ he said by way of helpful explanation.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Tooley commanded.

  They dragged the second Scout to his feet and pushed him down the path. Someone retrieved the blue flag.

  ‘What about our friend?’ protested one of the Forty-eighth.

  Tooley looked up at the decoy scout, still twitching on the end of his rope. ‘Yeh,’ he said generously, ‘let him down.’

  ‘The rules say we should leave the flag in the same tree for the duration of the game.’

  Tooley grabbed the Forty-eighth trooper by the collar. ‘I’m Tooley. I make the fucking rules. Now cut him down and let’s go.’

  Crouched behind a fallen silver birch, the light beginning to dim around him, Sam saw the next two victims approaching. The second abducted Scout had been blindfolded and strung up with the Blue’s colours dangling from his belt. The three Scouts from the Forty-eighth troop had slipped away some minutes before, the decoy Scout strangely silent, still dazed from his ordeal. Sam bit into his own knuckles when he saw the identity of one of the two Scouts drawing near. It was Clive.

  Sam had a moment of crisis. He could alert his friend to the danger, or he could squat in silence and leave him to his fate. He knew that if he betrayed the ambush, he was certain to suffer even worse treatment at the hands of Tooley, Lance and their hobgoblin cohort. Sam had a shrewd idea that if more hostages were not taken soon, he would be the next to be swinging by the rope.

  He stayed silent.

  Two minutes later Clive and his comrade were wrestled to the ground and gagged. Sam hung back, hoping his friend wouldn’t identify him as an assailant. There was an ugly enthusiasm in the way the rest of the Eagles ripped off Clive’s Scouting uniform. While the mêlée was going on, Sam inched back and made his escape, rejoining the path and jogging out of sight.

  Dusk gathered like soot on the branches of the trees. Sam stopped to recapture his breath, leaning against a tree. The woods had taken on a murky gloam, and he had a sick weight in his stomach. The trees around him seemed to be closing in. A hand touched his collar from behind. ‘Going somewhere?’

  ‘Terry! Am I glad to see you! Christ, am I glad to see you!’

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ said Terry. ‘There’s too many weird things happening.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. Listen, they’ve got Clive and they’re stringing him up. I couldn’t help him.’

  ‘How many are there?’

  ‘Too many. If they catch either of us, we’ll get the same treatment.’

  ‘They’re not getting me,’ said Terry defiantly. He held up his fist. It was clenched round a Swiss Army knife, biggest blade exposed.

  Sam could see from Terry’s eyes he was serious. He wondered what Terry’s experience of the Wide Game might have been. ‘We could cut him down after they’ve gone. They leave you dangling bollock-naked with a sign on your arse. But we could get him down if we wait until they’ve gone.’

  So Sam led Terry back to the place where Clive had been abducted. They were terrified should a branch snap under their boots. Terry told Sam something he’d read in the Scouting Handbook about rolling your feet as you walked. They heard Tooley barking orders, followed by Lance’s high-pitched giggle, and were able to observe from behind a sprawling clump of holly.

  Clive was naked, staked out on the ground, nose downward. He was red-faced from the exertion of useless struggle. Tooley’s sign had been scribbled on his bare buttocks. The other Scout was gagged and blindfolded and held in an arm-lock.

  ‘Where’s that fucking four-eyed little squirt?’ Sam heard Tooley shout. ‘Anybody see him go? What’s his name, the four-eyed squirt?’

  Sam had obviously made such an impression on the Eagles that no one could remember his name. Tooley dispatched two Eagles to go in search of Sam, with the instructions to ‘bring him back on a pole’. Sam fumbled with his glasses, taking them off and wiping them on his khaki shirt.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Terry. He was still clenching his Swiss Army knife.

  ‘Go to that clearing by the hollow.’ Tooley told the others. ‘I’ll finish up here and join you in a minute.’

  ‘I’ll wait with you,’ Lance giggled.

  Tooley slapped Lance’s ear, hard. ‘Do as you’re fucking told!’

  ‘Don’t hit me! You never hit me before! Don’t hit me!’

  ‘So do as you’re told!’

  Lance scurried after the others, who’d taken their prisoner with them. This left only Clive, and Tooley, and the blindfolded second decoy Scout who through all this activity had been left to swing from the rope. Tooley watched his patrol mates disappearing through the trees. After he was certain they had gone he took up a posit
ion behind Clive, gazing down at his helpless victim. Tooley jerked off his beret and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His chest rose and fell and he was perspiring heavily. He spat into the dead leaves before placing his beret back on his head. Glancing around him briefly, he lowered his shorts.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Sam whispered as Tooley’s livid, engorged cock sprang free. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’ said Terry. ‘He’s . . . No, he can’t.’ Terry looked at Sam, and Sam nodded. ‘We’ve got to stop him,’ said Terry.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Christ! What’s he doing?’ Tooley was kneeling on the grass behind Clive. ‘Look, you run at him, and while he’s fighting you I’m gonna stab the bastard.’

  ‘You can’t!’

  ‘Just watch me. Come on. Run at him Sam! Run at the fat bastard!’

  ‘He’ll kill me! He’ll flatten me!’

  ‘You’ve got to do it!’

  ‘I’m too scared Terry! I’m too scared!’

  Tooley pressed Clive’s legs apart.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Terry. ‘I’ll rush him. You stab him. It’s one way or the other, Sam. We can’t let Clive down! We can’t! Now what’s it to be? One way or the other.’

  Sam looked at the Swiss Army knife in horror and then at the sight of Tooley’s bobbing, erect penis. He held out a hand and then withdrew it.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Terry. He slapped the handle of the knife into Sam’s hand, scrambled to his feet and launched himself full-pelt at Tooley, screaming as he ran. Alerted, Tooley scrambled up on one knee. Terry tried to grab Tooley by the throat, but he was easily shaken off. The big Scout struggled to his feet and, letting fly with his huge ham of a fist, caught Terry in the mouth, sending the younger boy sprawling unconscious.

  Sam was paralysed. His thigh muscles had turned to slush. Then there was a vacuum as time stood still. There came a roaring in his ears, and the light in the woods flooded red, and he began running towards Tooley, imitating Terry’s ineffective assault.

  But Sam never made it. He was bundled off his feet by a force striking him from behind like a buffeting wind. As he sprawled in the dead leaves he looked up and saw a huge white horse leaping over him. Its rider was the Tooth Fairy, her mouth distorted in a hideous, high-pitched scream. The vicious blades of her filed teeth were bloody in her mouth. She was pointing at Sam and shrieking incomprehensible words. The horse whinnied, rearing up and powering its hooves down upon the head of the astonished Tooley. He was felled instantly. The horse reared again, landing a full clattering weight of metal hooves on Tooley’s chest, and then again and again in frenzied stomping. The Tooth Fairy spat something and kicked at the horse, driving it between the trees, ducking under a branch as the horse galloped them both out of sight.

  There was a moment of blackness. Sam felt a coursing in his veins and the red light returned, and faded again. His vision oozed. Then his head cleared and he saw Tooley sprawled on the ground in a broken and bloody bundle. Clive was screaming through his gag. Terry was back on his feet, shaking his head in an effort to clear his own vision.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Terry. ‘Jesus!’ He snatched the knife from Sam. The blade was blood-soaked. Tooley’s blood on the knife shone darkly in the gloaming of the woods. Terry ran over to Clive and cut the ropes staking him. Clive scrambled to his feet, dragging off his gag. Seeing Tooley sprawled on the leaves, he ran across and kicked the supine Scout in the face. And again. And again. Then some instinct stopped him from inflicting further punishment.

  Terry came over with Clive’s uniform. Clive quickly pulled his clothes on. Bending down, he prodded the older Scout with a stick. Tooley made no movement. Clive rolled him over. His chest was scored with innumerable small gashes, each leaking black blood on to the khaki shirt. Clive leaned over his chest listening for a heartbeat, and then for a sign of breath. Nothing.

  ‘What did you do?’ said Terry in a subdued voice.

  ‘Nothing,’ whispered Sam.

  ‘I’m not blaming you. Clive, Tooley was going to fuck you. He deserved it. Nobody could blame Sam for this.’

  ‘Are you certain he’s—’

  ‘See for yourself,’ said Terry, and Clive took a turn again at listening for a heartbeat, breathing, any life-sign.

  The three boys stood looking at each other, darkness settling on their shoulders like strange cloaks. Then Sam got closer, eyes bulging, trying to inspect the wounds. He traced crescent shapes in the punctures. ‘Hooves. A horse’s hooves did this.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Nobody’s going to believe that,’ said Clive.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Sam. ‘That’s what did it.’

  ‘You’re in a state of shock,’ said Clive. He looked at Terry. ‘He’s in shock.’

  ‘Here’s your glasses,’ said Terry. ‘They fell off.’ The glasses were broken.

  They were dazed, stunned; and now they were in awe of Sam. Clive called them to order. ‘Grab a leg,’ he said at last.

  They dragged Tooley deeper into the undergrowth. Terry found the cracked hollow of an oak stump. Tooley was a dead weight. Sweating, shivering, teeth clenched, the three boys managed to lift Tooley and drop him into the hollow. By now his lips had turned grey. They piled leaves over the body, and dragged branches across the rotten tree stump.

  They had to go back to get the knife. Terry found it, wiped and closed the blade and put it in his pocket. They uprooted the stakes and scattered leaves to disguise any signs of struggle. It was only as they made to leave they heard a muffled cry from above their heads.

  A Scout was still dangling silently over them. He’d been there all the time, blindfolded and gagged. Clive wanted to leave him, but Terry wouldn’t. They gently lowered the Scout and cut the ropes from around his legs without a word. His hands were still tied behind his back, but before leaving him they took his gag away so that he could shout for help.

  Then they left the scene. By now the woods were pitch-dark. They decided to exit the woods by the north side. On their way they had to scatter from the path to avoid an advancing gang of Scouts hurrying along with a lighted candle in a jar. The Scouts all had a piece of string tied round their arms. A new Wide Game had begun.

  They broke out from the woods and sprinted across a ploughed field. Eventually they reached the gymkhana ring. By the time they drew alongside the pond, they were breathless.

  ‘Get rid of the knife,’ said Clive.

  Terry pulled the Swiss Army knife from his pocket. He looked at it sadly.

  ‘Get rid of it,’ Clive said again. Sam hadn’t spoken since the incident.

  Terry flung the knife into the middle of the pond. The black water glooped, sucking the knife into itself. ‘That’s the last time I go to Scouts,’ Terry said.

  ‘No. We have to go next week. As if everything is normal.’ Clive was already thinking everything through.

  Then they went home. Connie and Nev were watching TV when Sam got back. They gave him hell for breaking his glasses.

  16

  Blood Dream

  That night Sam dreamed. She came to him, beautiful and repulsive, her lips stained the colour of a broken damson, her face whited, the black grapes of her nipples and the goblet-breasts visible through her stretched bodice. Her striped leggings were torn at the top of her fleshy thighs to reveal an unguarded zone of white skin and a tight, autumnal thicket of pubic curls streaming an unholy hedgerow scent of earth, fire, nightshade in flower, as she swung a supple leg across him, straddling him, poised, hovering over him, holding off the moment, her vicious and tender gaze pinioning him, moon’s catchlight in her eyes terrorizing him, ah-ah, and he knew it no longer mattered whether she/he/it was dream or substance, since she had now shown herself beyond the limits of his dreamed room, in that gloaming in the woods, in the forest, in the dark, the blade-thing, saving and protecting, borne on a wild-eyed horse, ah-ah, and as the moon spun red outside his window her pale face reflected its red sheen and her coiling, cor
kscrew fingernails of years and years of uncut growth teased his boy’s chest, a blade, a threat, a promise, but he knew she could at any time gently reach a hand inside his flesh and take a part of him, the thing she wanted, didn’t even have to lower herself on to him, she could hover above him, pulling at his innards as he rose up, trying to leap at her open crotch until he felt the vulcan wave break, course, flow, slip, ruby to silver, cadmium to mercury, blood to molten metal, strange whiff of alchemy, the smell of her shivering insubstantial body, drawing him in with her un-fleshy succubus divinity, feeding from him, syphoning, leeching, bleeding him until he knew he would never be free of her, never wanted to be free of her, that he was wedded to the Tooth Fairy, and now she had broken free of the bedroom and found her way into the woods she would keep coming and coming and coming.

  17

  Thunderland

  Sam’s first term at Thomas Aquinas Grammar passed in a perpetual twilight. If Connie and Nev noticed that their son had become withdrawn, they attributed it to the new school. Certainly they didn’t guess that their twelve-year-old was suffering a burden of guilt entirely appropriate for a first-time murderer.

  All three of the boys had, since the incident, kept well away not only from Wistman’s Woods but also from the gymkhana field, the football field and the pond. Sam knew for certain that it was only a matter of time before Tooley’s body would be discovered, and their crime would find them out. Every day he got off the school bus outside his home expecting to see a police car parked on the grass verge and to find those same two book-end detectives drinking tea in the kitchen of his home. Every evening before doing his homework he scoured the pages of the Coventry Evening Telegraph for reports of a decomposing body unearthed in Wistman’s Woods. That weeks and months went by with no such report did nothing to make the burden more bearable; it only made the knock on the door ultimately more inevitable.