Greybark and Other Twisted Tales

Contents

Please note: This book contains some 29 short stories. We are linking to only a few.

Copyright Page

Dedication

Greybark

Scylla

The Gateway

Stage Fright

The Wish Box

The Fridge That Loved Meat

About the Author

Greybark and other Twisted Tales

by

Steven James Foreman

All rights reserved

Copyright © March 1, 2018, Steven James Foreman

Cover Art Copyright © 2018, Charlotte Holley

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 978-1-61950-330-4

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: May 8, 2018

Dedication

For all my children

May your tales never be so twisted

ERATO

Home, Atieno; she calls you ever home

Yet me, I remain here; once more I am alone

But distance ne’er delete you, nor expanse erase

Your name, as a banner, floating through a haze

Your presence, as a scent carried on a breeze

Streaming, ghost-like, through the riparian trees

Haunting the spaces your feet have ever stepped

Clinging to the air and in the cottage where you slept

Your face, as a hologram, behind my eyes hidden

Appearing at odd moments, e’en when unbidden

Whate’er you may think, whate’er you dare say

The memory of you, Atieno, will ne’er fade away

Yours is a friendship fine, that I do not wish to lose

You are an inspiration to me, you are my poetic Muse!

Greybark

First published in Aphelion Magazine (2014)

Sara straightened up from loading the dishwasher, tucked a strand of loose blonde hair back into her headscarf and looked out the kitchen window of their new house. At the bottom of the long back garden, just inside the fence, stood a huge old oak tree, and standing next to it Sara could see her five-year-old daughter, Penny, dressed like a tomboy in denim jeans and wearing Bubblegum trainers. The girl’s lips were moving, and she appeared to be talking to someone, but, as Sara would have expected, there was no one else around. The few neighbours who had so far moved into the other new houses nearby had no children of Penny’s age, and at present, Penny was an only child.

Sara wondered if Penny had suddenly got an imaginary friend. She had heard that such playmates were often conjured up by children—especially those who had no siblings.

She said nothing to Penny when the girl came in a short while later, but made a mental note to keep an eye on this development.

A few days later, when Sara went out into the afternoon sun to hang clothes on the washing line, she actually heard Penny speaking. The words were faint and lisping—not quite a whisper, but slightly secretive. Sara feigned fussing with the laundry basket and clothes pegs as she kept an eye on her daughter. The girl appeared to be having a one-sided conversation. Sara dropped her husband’s shirt back into the basket and strolled over to her daughter. As she approached, Penny glanced around and fell silent.

Hi, baby, said Sara in a light-hearted tone. I thought I heard you speaking. Who were you talking to?

No one, Mummy, the girl replied. Just playing with my dolls, that’s all.

Oh, okay, darling, come on, come and wash your hands. There are some milk and cookies on the kitchen table.

Sara mentioned this development to David, her husband, when he came home from the city that evening.

I am sure it’s nothing, David responded, as he sat down in an armchair and shook open a copy of The Financial Times. I have heard about imaginary friends before. It’s just a phase that will pass, I am certain.

Over the next few weeks, however, Sara became increasingly concerned about the amount of time Penny spent at the bottom of the garden in the afternoons after she came home from kindergarten, talking to her imaginary friend.

***

The fence at the bottom of Sara and David’s garden separated their 50-metre manicured lawn from a huge area of deep deciduous woodland that stretched away left and right for several miles. Named Hartdown Woods, not long before scores of trees along the fringes of the woods had been cut back to make way for the twenty new detached houses now lined up along Hartdown Drive. David, a fairly wealthy property developer, had not only built the houses, he had set one aside for himself; his family was the first to move into Hartdown Drive. Even now, several of the other houses were still vacant and up for sale.

The only exception to the woodland clearance along the rear boundaries of the twenty houses was the huge oak tree. The tree was spared because of its great size and age, and because it straddled the plot survey line. David had decided rather than cut it down or reduce the size of the plot—thereby altering the value of the land—his building contractors would dog-leg the chain-link fence behind it, and therefore the tree stood within their back garden.

***

I am really getting worried about this, Sara confided to her husband one evening. I mean, it is not just that she has an imaginary friend; as you said, a lot of kids have those, but Penny seems to be becoming secretive, and when I ask her about her friend, she becomes silent and sullen. Sara frowned. And I have only ever seen or heard her talking at the bottom of the garden… never in the house or in her bedroom.

Well, David responded. Let’s have a word with her kindergarten teacher at school; see if she has noticed anything.

The next day, instead of Sara just dropping Penny off at the school gates, David took the morning off work and accompanied her, and he and Sara went into the school offices where they asked to speak with Penny’s teacher, Miss Spencer.

No, I have never seen Penny having any one-sided conversations, the teacher replied to Sara’s question. She is just a normal, happy little girl, with plenty of playmates in class. But if you are really worried, we have a school counsellor you could speak to. She is a qualified psychologist.

David and Sara glanced at each other. I don’t know, David said. A psychiatrist? It seems a bit extreme.

Miss Spencer gave a reassuring laugh. "Doctor Jane Archer is not a psychiatrist!" she shook her head gently. She is a student counsellor with a degree in psychology. So do not be alarmed. She will be able to explain better about an imaginary friend and the effect it has on a child.

So David and Sara agreed, and Miss Spencer led them down the corridor to Doctor Archer’s office.

Imaginary companions are an integral part of many children’s’ lives, Jane Archer explained, once David and Sara were seated and had outlined their concerns to her. They provide comfort in times of stress, companionship, someone to boss around when they feel powerless, but often they can be a role-model or an idol. Most important, an imaginary companion is a tool young children use to help them make sense of the adult world. So, your child’s best friend may look just like her, eat the same foods, and share the same interests. Jane paused for a moment. While some child development professionals still believe that the presence of imaginary friends past early childhood signals a serious psychiatric disorder, Jane explained and smiled reassuringly, I firmly believe that is not the case with Penny.

You mean some kids who have imaginary friends can become psychopaths? Sara asked, sitting forward with a worried frown upon her face.

No, I didn’t say that, Sara, Jane replied.

I think I understand, David interjected, but from what my wife has seen, this imaginary friend only seems to surface in our back garden. Even her teacher, Miss Spencer, says that she has never seen Penny interact in class with anything or anyone invisible.

Well, maybe she only needs the friend when she is lonely… or should I say, alone, Jane glanced at Sara, who was about to protest at the word lonely. In other words, she gets enough companionship at kindergarten and from her parents in the home, but just needs a playmate when she is alone in the back garden.

I guess that could be it, David muttered, leaning forward and staring at his feet.

Look, Jane continued, brightly, if you are still uncomfortable about Penny having an invisible friend, you should take comfort in knowing that research has consistently shown that kids actually know these friends are not real and that they will outgrow their need for such companionship with time. You can determine whether you want to go along with Penny’s imaginary friend or not, just by letting the friendship continue on its own course, to the point where Penny may even discuss the friendship with you, what they played or said to each other, as she would if it were a real friend from kindergarten; she may even tell you the friend’s name or something about him or her… but you should not be insistent about Penny not pretending to have such a friend, or you could create stress and turmoil for her.

With all this information at hand, David and Sara decided to follow Jane Archer’s advice, and let things run their course.

Only a few days later, one afternoon when Sara was in the garden clipping some flowers for the dining table vase, she heard Penny raising her voice. She spun around in time to see Penny stamping her foot petulantly and wagging her finger.

No, it is not fair, it is not their fault! Penny shouted and burst into tears.

Sara dropped her pruning clippers and ran down the lawn to where Penny stood sobbing. She swept the child into her arms, soothing and comforting as only a loving mother could. There, there, baby. Whatever is the matter? She smoothed the child’s hair. What is wrong, Penny?

Penny’s sobbing subsided under the warm embrace of her mother. Still choking back tears, the girl replied. He said he wanted to hurt you and daddy, ’cos you took his friends away from him!

Sara carried her daughter back to the house and sat down next to her on the sofa in the living room.

"Who said he wanted to hurt us, baby? Who were you talking to?"

Greybark. His name is Greybark.

Penny, darling, is Greybark your imaginary friend? The one I have heard you speaking to, is that who you mean?

No Mummy, Greybark is the big tree. He talks to me. The girl’s chest heaved twice; the air catching in the back of her throat, as the final sobs faded.

Sara clamped a hand to her mouth to hold back a cry. She breathed in and out heavily for a few moments before regaining her composure.

Sara fetched a glass of water from the kitchen, passed it to her daughter and then picked up the phone nearby.

David? Are you able to leave work early and come home? I am worried about Penny.

What’s wrong, is she sick? David’s voice was concerned.

No… well, not really. It’s this imaginary friend of hers. There has been—a development. I cannot explain on the phone, but you need to be here to hear this.

***

The tree? David frowned. The tree is her so-called imaginary friend?

"Yes, the tree!" Sara replied curtly with a hint of impatience in her voice. It’s not an imaginary friend at all. It is visible and real!

Well, hang on a minute, Sara. Her behaviour sounds the same as if Penny had an imaginary friend, he replied. I mean, the conversation is still imaginary, after all.

I don’t know, Sara protested. Penny was really upset at what this Greybark supposedly said to her. Could she really have conjured up a conversation herself that was upsetting her enough to make her lose her temper and cry? All this talk about the tree wanting to hurt us? She paced around the room in frustration. "And not only that, where would she have come up with the name Greybark? That’s the talking tree from the movie Death in the Forests of Doom."

David shook his head. "I’m not sure, but you remember what Jane Archer said, that having an invisible friend is a normal part of a child’s development and can signify a very active imagination."

Well, that may be so, Sara responded. But she also said that some child development professionals still believe that the presence of imaginary friends past early childhood signals a serious psychiatric disorder.

"Look honey, I don’t believe it has got to that stage any more than Doctor Archer did. Penny has not yet passed early childhood. He squeezed Sara’s hand. Let’s just see how this develops. We will keep a firm eye on Penny. Stop her from playing in the back garden for a few days, see if this just goes away."

Okay, Sara agreed. I will try that.

***

For a couple of days, Sara found things for her daughter to occupy herself inside the house or to play with her toys in the small front garden, ensuring she did not go anywhere near the big tree at the foot of the back lawn. There was no evidence of Penny talking to herself or any invisible companion, and yet this worried Sara and added more weight to what Penny had told her about it being the tree that Penny had conversations with, and not some invisible friend that accompanied her wherever she went.

Two days later, when Sara went to wake her daughter in time for kindergarten, Penny told her she was not feeling well and had a headache. Sara checked Penny’s temperature. It was normal, but she decided to keep Penny away from kindergarten that morning anyway.

Mummy, I had a funny dream last night, and it woke me up. Penny looked up at her mother from her bed.

Oh, really, baby? Sara laid the thermometer on the bedside table and began fussing with the pillow and bedcovers. What was the dream about?

It was about Greybark.

Sara caught her breath and turned away so Penny would not see the quick shadow of pain colouring her face. When she regained her composure, Sara turned back to face her daughter.

What about Greybark? Sara asked, feigning nonchalance.

He told me he is angry with me, because I haven’t been to talk to him for a few days, the girl replied quietly.

It was just a dream, baby, as you said. He was not really talking to you, darling. Sara leaned forward stroked Penny’s hair.

But I really heard him, Mummy, and saw him when I woke up. He was standing outside my bedroom window. Please let me go into the back garden again.

***

You were right to be worried, her husband said, when he arrived home that evening. This is getting out of hand. Maybe we should go back and see the school counsellor.

Yes, we have to do something. Anything. Sara agreed. We will go first thing in the morning, if you can get time off work, that is.

I would quit my job completely, if it meant helping our daughter, David replied without a hint of humour in his tone.

***

The next morning, a Friday, Sara was shocked to see the look on Penny’s face. The girl was still sleeping when Sara entered the bedroom, but her daughter’s face was pale and haggard.

She rocked Penny’s shoulder gently until the girl awoke. Morning. Baby, are you feeling okay? she asked gently, trying to disguise the alarm in her voice.

Mummy, the girl sobbed. Greybark came again in the night. He tapped on the window and woke me up. He asked me why I was not going to the garden to talk to him. I told him that my mummy would not let me play in the back garden, and he got really angry and was shaking his branches.

Sara was at the breaking point, and unable to hold back her fears, she snapped at Penny. Now that’s enough of this nonsense, Penny! I don’t want to hear any more about that horrible tree!

She immediately regretted the outburst and bit her lip, instantly bending forward and gathering the girl up in her arms. Oh, I am so sorry, darling, she crooned, as Penny began crying. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I am just so worried about you.

Penny’s weeping slowed under her mother’s loving embrace, and when the girl was relaxed and tucked back into bed, Sara left the room and went downstairs, where she told David what Penny had said. David was visibly upset and wandered out to the back garden with his mug of coffee. He stood on the lawn, deep in thought, staring down at the old oak tree that seemed to be the catalyst of Penny’s problem.

Damned tree, he muttered to himself. I should have cut the bloody thing down along with all the others. He turned and went back inside.

***

Greybark? Jane Archer said to David and Sara after she had heard the account of Penny’s dreams. "Like the talking tree from the book, Death in the Forests of Doom?"

That’s what she calls it, Sara replied.

"Penny is too young to have read Death in the Forests of Doom," Jane said. The children don’t reach that reading level until they are about fifteen, and I am sure we don’t even have it in our school library. She has not seen the movie, I presume?

No, definitely not! David protested, with a hint of hurt in his voice. It is far too adult for a five-year-old. No, Penny has never seen the movie and would have never even heard of it, I am sure.

Well, in that case I agree that this development is worrying, the doctor admitted. But it still must be, after all, the result of an overactive imagination that has filtered into Penny’s dreams… Although where she came up with the name Greybark and her imaginary friend being a talking tree is beyond my guess. Are you absolutely sure that Penny could not have had even the remotest access to the book or the films? Doctor Archer asked.

Absolutely, David asserted. She has no older friends who might have seen the movie, and as you said, the book is far too advanced for young kids.

Are you able to get away for a few days? Doctor Archer asked after a moment’s silence, changing tack.

What do you mean, get away for a few days? David frowned.

"I mean are you able to take Penny away from the environment that is conjuring up these dreams? Maybe a short break at the seaside or something like that. I think the removal from the location and an enjoyable family weekend would benefit all of you."

The idea sounded good to David and Sara, and they were prepared to take any opportunity to help Penny escape from her infant torment.

Okay, David said, decisively, turning to his wife. Sara, we can go immediately. We will go home, pack our swimsuits and a change of clothes, and set off for Weymouth. Although it is September, the weather is still fine, and it is only a few hours’ drive. We can be there by mid-afternoon and check into that nice little hotel we stayed in a few years ago.

***

The weekend was a success; Penny made sandcastles on the beach or paddled in the sea under the autumn sun and the watchful eyes of her parents. David and Sara swam or relaxed in deck chairs and sipped cool drinks and at night they all slept peacefully and undisturbed in their comfortable hotel suite. Penny did not dream of Greybark at all… or if she did, she did not mention it. David and Sara hoped that Greybark was gone for good.

***

The family arrived home at lunchtime on Monday. David had taken the day off work to make the weekend longer, and in the afternoon he and Sara played board games with Penny, or helped her with her colouring books. trying to perpetuate the normality of the weekend. Penny tired early, however, due to the long drive home, and so Sara took her to bed very early in the evening. Penny was almost asleep by the time her mother had tucked her in.

Just before the little girl dropped off to sleep, as her mother was about to leave the bedroom, Penny said. I am glad to be back home, Mum.

Sara smiled. Me too, darling.

‘Cos Greybark has missed me, and I missed him. I am going to play with him tomorrow, said Penny as she closed her eyes.

Back downstairs, David poured them both a stiff drink, and then collapsed onto the sofa. Oh, boy, he sighed. What a palaver!

Sara looked down at him. It’s not over yet, David. Penny just told me she’s glad to be back at home… so she can play with this damned Greybark and… Oh, my! she exclaimed, interrupting herself. This is all so sudden that I had not even made the connection.

What is it, Sara? David reached over and grasped her hand.

"It’s just come flooding back to me; the talking trees in Death in the Forests of Doom are called Harts—and the woodlands at the rear of our house are named Hartdown Woods. This is far too much to be a coincidence."

Oh, come on, Sara. David interjected. That’s ridiculous. Of course it’s just a coincidence.

But they both went to bed worrying.

***

Very early the next morning, at first light, before Sara and Penny were awake, David dressed and went outside and for some time stared down the garden toward the tree. He wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the tree had moved position slightly, or maybe the whole situation was making his eyes play tricks upon him. Right, he said decisively to himself after a few minutes’ contemplation. I should have done this in the first place.

Done what? Sara asked, having stepped out of the kitchen door and overheard her husband.

I’m gonna cut the bloody thing down, that’s what!

David turned and walked off to the garden shed, coming back a few moments later carrying an axe. As he stomped off down the garden, there was an angry and determined look on David’s face. When he arrived at the tree, David paused. The soil was disturbed and torn up all around the roots, grass sods were ripped up and there were many small rocks exposed and scattered around.

Bracing his legs apart, David lifted the axe above his shoulder, canted it over to one side, and twisting his body, swung the axe hard toward the tree. As the blade bit into the tree, chips of thick corrugated bark flew off, along with the green-blue dust of old lichen. The tree shuddered. David swung the axe again, and more chunks of bark fell away, exposing raw, yellow-brown wood and bleeding sap. When he swung the axe again, however, it bounced back with a clang, as if it had hit something very hard. He swung the axe again and again, but as sharp as the blade was, it would not cut any further into the wood. Instead, it bounced back each time; the shock waves jolted up David’s arms causing the axe to flop about, almost out of his control. So hard was the wood, it was as if the tree was made of iron. David threw the axe aside in frustration and stomped off back up the garden and into the house.

What are you doing now, David? Sara asked, as David passed her; there was a tremor of fear in her voice. She was still standing with her back to the wall of the house; fearing to go closer to the tree… or even her husband in his present mood.

I’ll be back soon, David growled as he snatched up his car keys. I’m going into town to rent a chainsaw!

Christ, David! Sara exclaimed in dismay. "I don’t know about Penny, but this thing is turning you into a damned psychopath!"

***

David returned an hour later, walking from his car, along the side of the house and into the back garden. Sara was in the kitchen, nursing a second mug of hot coffee. Penny was still asleep upstairs. The kitchen door was still open, and Sara saw David striding down the lawn, an orange, industrial-size, petrol-driven chainsaw swinging at his side.

Sara stood and went to the door. She leant with one shoulder on the doorpost, her mug still in her hand.

David approached the tree once more. Sara could see him fiddling with something on the machine. His elbow jerked up as he pulled the starter cord and the chainsaw roared into life, churning out blue smoke from the exhaust. The harsh noise of the two-stroke engine was deafening in the early morning quiet. Upstairs, in her parent’s bedroom, Penny was awoken by the sound. She went over and knelt on a footstool; staring out of the bedroom window where she saw what her daddy was about to do. No, Daddy, no! she screamed. Greybark is my best friend! But her voice could not be heard through the glass or above the roar of the chainsaw.

With arm muscles straining, he swung the heavy chainsaw in an arc until it came in contact with the tree; right in the cut line he had made with the axe. David’s fingers clamped down on the throttle trigger as he pressed the chainsaw hard against the tree. As the whirring cutting teeth penetrated the wood, yellowish sawdust began to spurt out; the tree shuddered once more, and the roots flexed and gripped the soil; like someone curling their toes in the sand on a beach. David braced himself, leaning into the chainsaw with all his strength. The branches quivered, a shower of autumn leaves and dry dusty twigs fell around David, but still he pressed on.

Penny flew out of the kitchen door, brushing past her surprised mother, who spilled her coffee. Daddy, no! Penny was screaming.

Sara stood dumbstruck for a few seconds before finding her voice. Penny. What—what are you doing? Sara shouted after the girl, who was running down the garden.

Penny came up behind her father and picked up one of the loose rocks. Stop it, Daddy! she cried. You’re hurting my best friend, Greybark!

David could not hear his daughter’s voice above the noise of the chainsaw engine. Penny threw the rock as hard as she could. It hit her father in the middle of his back. Surprised, David instinctively spun around, but his feet slipped, and he stumbled on the torn-up grass and fell forward, landing on the still-whirring chainsaw. Before he could react and release the throttle trigger, the vicious teeth chewed into his stomach. Blood flew in a crimson spray as the fiercely rotating teeth cut deeply into his flesh as his body jerked. His fist gripped convulsively around the throttle trigger. Sara dropped her mug and ran down the garden, screaming as she ran. Oh my god, oh my god, David!

The