The Witchwood Toadstools
By Andy Morris
The curving line of oak trees provided a natural defensive perimeter while their leafy boughs helped to shield the area from any passers-by. Sitting alone on a fallen log amid the scattering of rugged spiky gorse bushes Luke appreciated the sense of detachment that this secluded spot offered. It was a good place to be alone and chew over his situation. Over the last few weeks, Luke had often been drawn to hidden pockets of The New Forest like this one. He wasn't sure why he'd chosen this particular spot. He could have pulled over at any point along the road but instead, he chose this place. He just wanted somewhere quiet to sit and think about things on his own, which was his preferred strategy for dealing with life's ups and downs. Luke had always liked his own company ever since he was a kid. He loved withdrawing into his own imagination, pretending he was a soldier armed with an endless supply of hand grenades and fighting a never-ending war to save the world. This was his secret world; an imaginary world that no one else knew anything about.
Right now Luke needed these precious few moments alone to re-group before entering enemy territory, and it really was enemy territory because Cliff Ferguson was located right at the centre of it. Normally Luke would never take a break like this while he was on a delivery but because the pizza on the back of his moped was going to Cliff Ferguson’s house Luke felt justified in taking his time with it.
Cliff, Luke guessed, had probably ordered the pizza so he and his friends could eat it while watching Bournemouth in the FA Cup final this afternoon. Usually Luke would have been watching the match as well but he’d lost interest in it now. He’d lost interest in most things since Mary had dumped him for Cliff bloody Ferguson. He was the reason Luke’s world had fallen apart - why his imaginary war had taken a turn for the worse.
Cliff was the current face of the enemy.The enemyhad changed over the years, usually marking different chapters of his life. His enemy usually took the form of teachers or other kids at school who were causing him problems. However, the sole focus of his war was now on Cliff Ferguson. Cliff and Luke had been at school together, although they had never been friends. Cliff was one of those guys who spent most of his time either at the gym or on skiing holidays and girls loved him. Cliff often swaggered into The Pizza Place with his mates and Luke would watch him from the secrecy of the kitchen with a twisting dislike as the local gods gift to womenflirted with the girls on the counter.
Cliff didn't know Luke worked at The Pizza Place and what's more, he probably didn't even know who Luke was anyway. That was a good thing though because that meant he didn't know that Luke had access to his pizza this afternoon. Luke had already taken the opportunity to spit on the takeaway while he was putting it onto the back of his moped. It had been a feeble attempt at revenge, an anonymous, albeit likely-to-go-unnoticed warning to stay away from Mary. It had very satisfying at the time but the righteous feeling of rebellion had passed, leaving him with that drifting sense of lethargy that was always there since Mary had dumped him for Cliff Ferguson.
Staring out over the lonely landscape Luke sighed another deep shuddering sigh. He was alone, totally alone now that Mary was gone. She and Luke had lived together for just over a year in that tiny little flat above the chip shop. It was longer than anyone else he’d ever been out with, he reflected sadly. She had meant everything to him. She laughed as his jokes, she was really clever and she was drop-dead gorgeous. What she had seen in Luke, he had no idea but whatever it had been it was gone. She had been amazing and always made him feel… alive. Yet despite that, Mary had complained they hadn't been getting on for ages but that wasn't true. Maybe they had had the odd fight but it was nothing serious; nothing they couldn't get through. No twenty-year-olds should have to go through this kind of heartache. If only she had waited a little longer: Once she finished her course, Luke had reassured her she'd be less stressed and they'd get on better. Plus, when he found a proper job that didn't involve riding around The New Forest on a stupid moped delivering stupid pizza's they could afford to go out and do more things as proper couples did.
She was living with her parents again over in Beaulieu and he was left within that flat with nothing save for this numb sinking feeling inside. He found it hard to describe but it felt like a constant empty rush of nothingness. It was as if his stomach was plunging down through his body, pulling on his insides as if he were on some theme park ride, only without the fun. He'd never experience any fun, ever again. He kicked a stone over the short wiry grass and watched it roll to a stop near some dried horse droppings.
His life was over. Everything he had ever wanted had walked out of the door and he knew he’d never again experience that intoxicating happiness that Mary had given him.
Luke didn't know how long he'd been there at the side of the ironically named ‘Jealous Lane'. He was just starting to think about getting back on the road again as a big Land Rover rumbled around the corner. Its rough diesel engine growled its deceleration as it bounced over the gravel and came to a stop behind him. On the side of the vehicle, large white letters spelt out the words ‘New Forest Agister’.
“Afternoon Young Master Jones” greeted the weather-beaten face of the eccentric old Joe Butterfield. He was a familiar face all over Lymington and the rest of The New Forest. Everyone knew him and strangely, he seemed to know everything about everyone else. Mary, in that delicate Irish accent of hers, had suggested that Joe Butterfield must be lonely and that’s why he went about talking to anyone that would listen to him.
Leaning out of the window the old man enquired if everything was all right. “Not broken down or nothing ‘ave you?”
“No, I’m… I’m fine. Thanks” Luke replied slowly, tiredly. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not this weird old git. He needed to get his head together, heal his wounds and work out what he was going to do next.
"I was sorry to learn about you and Mary" Joe offered apologetically as if they were old acquaintances.
“Yeah, thanks” Luke replied without looking up, hoping he would hurry up and go away. He wondered briefly how Joe Butterfield knew about him and Mary or why he would even care, but the thought quickly passed as he heard the door to the Land Rover creak open with a rusty squeal.
Great! Now he’s coming over Luke groaned to himself.
The old man came to sit down beside Luke. Luke had nothing to say and didn't want to encourage any conversation so he continued to watch a fly as it buzzed around the horse droppings. Joe said nothing either and an uncomfortable silence stretched out before them. Luke felt fidgety. This was too quiet. It was doing his head in and he'd have to say something but what? He hadn't asked Joe to come over, had he!
“I’ve got to get ready for the drift soon” Joe mused quietly, at last. “Got to round up all the ponies for their annual veterinary checks. Then take out the colts before they breed and separate the other ponies that are going to market. It's a busy time of year for us folk. Anyway, I just wanted to warn you about something." Joe paused pointing away to the side towards the right flank of oak trees. "I don't know if you're planning on stopping ‘ere for long but if you are then I'd suggest you stay on the main roads for now. There's something growing over there that I think maybe quite nasty." Luke couldn't find the energy to hide his disinterest.
"You see over the years I've learned things about these parts. Things they don't teach you in school or in books mind. Now, I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure I've found a rare breed of toadstools. They're known as Witchwood Toadstools" Joe announced sagely. "Them things can make you very ill if you touch them and cause nasty hallucinations so you'd be warned not to go near’em, you hear me.”
That small spark of rebellion was ignited once again at these words. It was a compulsion, an undeniable order from his subconscious that; when someone told him not to do something, he had to do it. It was a weakness that Mary had hated in him and it had cost him his paper-round and his job at Tesco’s.
"Now then, fungi are usually found in ancient woodland where there's lots of dead and decaying timber for them to feed on. Here's an interesting fact for you; did you know there were over 2700 different species of fungi found in The New Forest? As a result, this is one of the most abundant habitats for fungi in the whole of Europe."
Luke neither knew nor cared but still, Joe Butterfield continued. "So it's unusual you see them out here in the open like this. Now, if they are Witchwood Toadstools, I'll need to come back here and destroy them before anyone comes to any harm. They're said to be a bad omen, what with the legend and all."
Luke made a show of looking at his watch and then yawning in a very unsubtle gesture but Joe seemed oblivious to it. He was in full flow.
"Lauren Witchwood's story is a sad tale of loss and abandonment." Joe continued obviously relishing the role of storyteller. "Young Lauren had been an orphan, you see, having lost her parents to a fire at a young age. Lauren had barley escaped the blaze herself and it had left her horribly scarred and disfigured, so much so that people would actually avoid her. All Lauren wanted as she grew up was a friend; a lover but no one wanted her. Then one day a cruel local boy and his friends played a nasty trick on her. The boy pretended to like her and, sadly, Lauren was too naive to see his true motives and she fell for his act. Before long she was head over heels in love with him. The boy continued his cruel charade picking her wildflowers, reciting prose to her in the moonlight, yet always within earshot of his giggling band of followers. Eventually, he proposed to Lauren, making the sweet innocent girl so wondrously happy. Yet the night before they were to be married and to the raucous laughter of his friends, he told Lauren it had all been a joke: He could never love, let alone stand to be seen with anyone so ugly.
"Distraught, grief-stricken and humiliated, Lauren Witchwood fled into the night. In her turmoil, she lost her way and stumbled into a bog where she slipped, hit her head and drowned in the cold fetid water. But, the legend says that The New Forest claimed her. Her body sunk into the ground and was never found. All that remained in that spot was her shoe lying next to some strange coloured toadstools. They became known as Witchwood Toadstools after poor Lauren, but more about them later" Joe Butterfield paused dragging out his pointless tale.
“Now, it is said that Lauren Witchwood still craves the love of a companion, even after her death. There are some who believe Lauren Witchwood climbs up out of the ground at night and wanders The New Forest in search of someone to share her grave with. Once she's found her unfortunate victim she drags him down into the earth burying him alongside her. There they remain for many years until their body eventually rots away leaving Lauren all alone once again. That is when she rises up again to wander The Forest in search of a new companion.
“Now, I bet you’re wondering where the toadstools fit into all this?”
Luke couldn’t care less about where the toadstools fit in but Joe continued nonetheless. “If by sunrise Lauren Witchwood hasn’t found a companion, she returns to the earth to wait for nightfall again and the place where she lays is marked with a crop of Witchwood Toadstools. These rare toadstools are said to only grow when Lauren Witchwood is alone in the ground and they only ever grow on the spot where she is resting. That’s why they’re so rare and why you should stay away from them, just in case you’re there when Lauren wakes up.” Joe lapsed into silence, finally concluding his rambling monologue.
At last! Now go away…
“Well, just make sure you take it to heart and stay well clear of them. Now then, I’ve got to sort out some stuff over in Sway then I’ll have to get my gear and treat these toadstools.” Joe slowly got to his feet and headed back to his Land Rover. “And I was hoping to knock off early today for a quick pint of Ringwood” he shook his head, muttering to himself. “Oh well, no rest for the wicked. All the best, Young Luke.”
"Yeah, bye." Luke watched the mud-splattered wheels of the Land Rover kick up the brown dust of the layby as the vehicle grumbled back onto the road. Luke waited until the old man was out of sight and, driven by his futile protest against authority Luke quickly set off looking for the toadstools. His rebellious streak was going to get him into trouble one day but he didn't care. A new, even more important idea had just occurred to him: Spitting on Cliff Ferguson's pizza had been one thing but it hadn't been enough. So what if Cliff was tricked into eating some hallucinogenic toadstools? Now that would be a better response for stealing Mary. They could make him ill, but Luke decided that would also be worth it. Poisonous or not, this could be fun. He was already really late for the delivery and he'd be in trouble anyway so what else did he have to lose? Luke had a new mission.
It didn't take long to spot the toadstools. They were easy enough to find: large pink, purple and blue growths bulging out of the grass. They were quite unpleasant to look at and reminded Luke of mould growing on a slice of pizza that had fallen behind the oven. The toadstools festered there amid the greenery like pale bloated tumours. Their thick white stalks were scarred with purple spiral patterns like varicose veins bulging on the calf of some pale obese leg. Their tall bell-shaped domes started with a deep purple base rising through shades of wild blue before peaking in a hideous pink crown. Crusty white spots speckled the unnaturally colourful domes, seeming to add to the sense of a disease that they gave off.
When he was a kid walking to and from school Luke and his friends loved finding a patch of autumn toadstools and kicking them, watching the pieces of fungus fly into the air as if they’d been blown up by one of his imaginary hand grenades. He didn’t have the energy to kick these ones so instead of booting them Luke carefully picked a couple, still wearing his gloves to avoid touching them. Then, after a furtive glance to ensure he was still alone he set about sprinkling them onto Cliff Ferguson’s Veggie Supreme Pizza. It was nearly cold now but Cliff could always reheat it in the microwave.
There was something enticing about the toadstools, despite their repulsive appearance but before Luke could consider this further his thoughts were gate crashed once again by Mary. She would have been interested in these toadstools because of her course. She had just finished her first year studying Biology at Southampton University. He and Mary had had so many things planned to celebrate the end of the academic year but with one thing or another, they never materialised. Thoughts of romantic picnics in the woods, fun drinking games and sunbathing on the beach flittered through Luke's mind, drawing on more painful memories of the good times they had spent together. He thought of the concerts and festivals they'd gone to as well as their first, and now only Christmas together in their flat.
Stop ithe told himself. Just try not to think about her.
Luke concentrated hard on thinking of nothing at all. It was easier that way. He had to clear his mind and focus on nothing.
The purple-pink toadstools drifted through his mind but he pushed the images away.
He thought of nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Time passed somehow beyond his awareness.
Luke felt tired and he slowly, reluctantly, pulled himself back to the present. He had just been deep in thought about something.
What was it again?
He couldn’t remember.
Never mind.
The sky had grown darker all of a sudden. A deep orange glow lit the horizon, painting the wispy clouds in a dazzling magenta. It was later than he thought and he’d been here a lot longer than he had intended. He glanced back towards the road to see his moped was still there where he left it.
I should probably get going again, he told himself, before his depression could consume another slice of his soul. The football, he realised with a reproachful stab of guilt, would have finished ages ago and dusk was already crawling up over the countryside. Normally he'd be feeling quite hungry by now. Had he eaten earlier? A vague memory surfaced in his mind's eye of eating something. It hadn't been nice whatever it was.
I really should go.
Then he realised he was no longer wearing his gloves. Strange, he didn’t remember taking them off. He must have done though when he ate that…? Whatever it was. It didn’t seem important.
Luke put his hand in the pocket of his black jacket to retrieve his gloves but they weren't there. Had he put them down somewhere? Inside his jacket pocket, his fingers brushed a number of soft oval objects that he didn't recognise. He took one out to investigate, while casually scanning the ground for his missing gloves. When he still couldn't locate them he glanced at the thing held in his hand and felt a mild sense of confusion wash over him.
Where did that come from?
Gripped gently between his finger and thumb was a blue-pink Witchwood Toadstool. He stared at it wondering when he had picked it up and why? Then it slowly dawned on him that he’d gathered some spare ones in his pocket earlier.
But, why?
Obviously, he has been distracted since Mary left him but he wasn't losing his mind. Another fleeting thought – shouldn't he be wearing gloves while he was holding this toadstool? He probably should be and then Luke wondered again why he had stopped at his particular spot near Jealous Lane. He felt tired, confused, more so than before.
It was nearly dark now and yet he was still here.
What the hell?
Was the sun sinking faster than usual this evening? It seemed to get dark all of a sudden. The last rays of light had just disappeared and the wispy cloud trails were now black against the liquid ink sky. The night air was chilly and he shivered. Why hadn’t he delivered the pizza yet?
He still held the Witchwood Toadstool in his hand but as he looked more closely at it he saw that he’d been wrong about its appearance earlier. It wasn’t a gross foul fungus at all. No, in this light it looked quite glittery. It sparkled like frosty ice as he held it up to the moonlight. It looked nice, quite beautiful in fact.
Luke continued to stare at the remarkable toadstool, only half aware of a movement in front of him. The grass at his feet shifted and a small mound of soil began to grow as if a mole was digging its way up out of the ground. But Luke was too enchanted by his toadstool to pay it much attention. Tiny light seemed to dance on the toadstool as he turned it over. It was the kind of magical toadstool that faeries would live under. It looked good enough to eat. Better than the ones he had eaten earlier.
What? He asked himself shaking his head and rubbing his very heavy eyes. What other ones?But the thought was like smoke and as he tried to catch it just dispersed around him and was gone.
Just on the periphery of his vision Luke noticed the molehill was getting bigger, earth tumbling faster as it rose upwards. Whatever it was it was too big to be a mole but he didn’t want to shift his attention away from his beautifully coloured toadstool. He continued to gaze absentmindedly at the magical fungi, totally distracted to what was happening in front of him.
The mound continued to rise like a miniature volcano quickly becoming bigger and bigger until something burst out from the centre of it, showering his feet with dirt. Luke almost dropped the toadstool. In the dim light, his shocked brain struggled to register the impossible sight suddenly unfolding before him. A dead thing– and it was very obviously dead - was clawing its way up out of the ground. It gave off an overpowering stench like rotten meat and decayed vegetables. The smell enveloped him, raking the back of his throat and causing him to cough painfully. Yet despite his frozen senses, Luke watched the creature smile at him through a mouth of rotten teeth. It moved closer, slowly, like a spider stalking a fly that's trapped in its web. The reek of the grave was intense and Luke could do nothing but stare in dumb horror as the corpse-like figure took another lurching step forward. This was impossible, it shouldn't be happening. The blood rushed from his face. He couldn't move. The putrid swamp-like stench continued to assail his nostrils and sting his eyes. Luke screwed them shut as he tried to turn away but it was already too late. Her black skeletal hands held his arms in a terrifyingly strong grip. Luke couldn't break free as Lauren Witchwood's dead claw-like fingers dug painfully into his flesh. He struggled but felt himself being pulled forwards. He tried to fight gravity but lost his balance, toppling on top of the dead thing and they crumpled to the ground together. Luke half expected her brittle remains to break under his weight but they did not. Then, with sickening dexterity, the corpse wrapped its rotting decayed arms around his neck as if she were about to pull him into a passionate kiss. Luke grimaced but as he turned his head away he felt the land shifting under him. Less than a heartbeat later the floor gave way and the ground beneath opened up. The dried earth cracked apart like a huge yawning mouth, tearing dried grass and tree roots apart. Luke realised with an icy horror what the thing was trying to do. He was powerless to stop it as the corpse rolled into the sinking grave, pulling him down with it. Together they tumbled several feet downwards into the hole. Luke landed heavily with Lauren Witchwood's dead body pinning him down. He tried to roll free of the cadaver but he was stuck fast. Where she held him, the peeling leathery flesh of her arms and face were cold and damp compared to the dry warm earth that had started sliding over him. Luke felt dried mud, stones and soil pilling up on top of him as the earth closed in around him. A primal fear exploded in his head, erupting in an uncontrollable panic. He was being buried alive. Suddenly his mind was sharp and clear. A single thought lanced through his confusion, ordering him to shout, to get help. But his terror was overwhelming and all he could manage was a senseless string of meaningless syllables. Kicking his legs frantically, more soil collapsed in on him, pushing the dead girls' skull into his face. Luke's final desperate cries were choked into silence as dried mud ceaselessly crumbled into his open mouth. He gagged pitifully on the dirt already gathered in his throat. Bright stars exploded before his eyes as his lungs threatened to burst. He lay still, unable to move as the crushing black earth pressed down on him. Then deeper darkness came. It was a darkness so absolute, so primal that it caused Luke's fear to slip away from him. Next, he felt his anger retreating, quickly followed by grief and then all sense of his war. It was a curious sensation as all of his regrets and all his worries were washed from the battlefield of his life. He let go of all his defences until all that remained was the core of his being, the undamaged pre-birth essence of his soul and then a moment later, even that was gone.
Meanwhile above ground the earth had settled and flattened out once again. There was nothing to suggest anything had happened or that anyone had even been there, save for an abandoned moped and a few meaty chunks of toadstools. The colourful pieces of fungi lay scattered over the rough grass as if someone had kicked them apart. Or as if they had been blown up by a child’s imaginary hand grenade, in the last battle of a secret war that history would never record.
Right now Luke needed these precious few moments alone to re-group before entering enemy territory, and it really was enemy territory because Cliff Ferguson was located right at the centre of it. Normally Luke would never take a break like this while he was on a delivery but because the pizza on the back of his moped was going to Cliff Ferguson’s house Luke felt justified in taking his time with it.
Cliff, Luke guessed, had probably ordered the pizza so he and his friends could eat it while watching Bournemouth in the FA Cup final this afternoon. Usually Luke would have been watching the match as well but he’d lost interest in it now. He’d lost interest in most things since Mary had dumped him for Cliff bloody Ferguson. He was the reason Luke’s world had fallen apart - why his imaginary war had taken a turn for the worse.
Cliff was the current face of the enemy.The enemyhad changed over the years, usually marking different chapters of his life. His enemy usually took the form of teachers or other kids at school who were causing him problems. However, the sole focus of his war was now on Cliff Ferguson. Cliff and Luke had been at school together, although they had never been friends. Cliff was one of those guys who spent most of his time either at the gym or on skiing holidays and girls loved him. Cliff often swaggered into The Pizza Place with his mates and Luke would watch him from the secrecy of the kitchen with a twisting dislike as the local gods gift to womenflirted with the girls on the counter.
Cliff didn't know Luke worked at The Pizza Place and what's more, he probably didn't even know who Luke was anyway. That was a good thing though because that meant he didn't know that Luke had access to his pizza this afternoon. Luke had already taken the opportunity to spit on the takeaway while he was putting it onto the back of his moped. It had been a feeble attempt at revenge, an anonymous, albeit likely-to-go-unnoticed warning to stay away from Mary. It had very satisfying at the time but the righteous feeling of rebellion had passed, leaving him with that drifting sense of lethargy that was always there since Mary had dumped him for Cliff Ferguson.
Staring out over the lonely landscape Luke sighed another deep shuddering sigh. He was alone, totally alone now that Mary was gone. She and Luke had lived together for just over a year in that tiny little flat above the chip shop. It was longer than anyone else he’d ever been out with, he reflected sadly. She had meant everything to him. She laughed as his jokes, she was really clever and she was drop-dead gorgeous. What she had seen in Luke, he had no idea but whatever it had been it was gone. She had been amazing and always made him feel… alive. Yet despite that, Mary had complained they hadn't been getting on for ages but that wasn't true. Maybe they had had the odd fight but it was nothing serious; nothing they couldn't get through. No twenty-year-olds should have to go through this kind of heartache. If only she had waited a little longer: Once she finished her course, Luke had reassured her she'd be less stressed and they'd get on better. Plus, when he found a proper job that didn't involve riding around The New Forest on a stupid moped delivering stupid pizza's they could afford to go out and do more things as proper couples did.
She was living with her parents again over in Beaulieu and he was left within that flat with nothing save for this numb sinking feeling inside. He found it hard to describe but it felt like a constant empty rush of nothingness. It was as if his stomach was plunging down through his body, pulling on his insides as if he were on some theme park ride, only without the fun. He'd never experience any fun, ever again. He kicked a stone over the short wiry grass and watched it roll to a stop near some dried horse droppings.
His life was over. Everything he had ever wanted had walked out of the door and he knew he’d never again experience that intoxicating happiness that Mary had given him.
Luke didn't know how long he'd been there at the side of the ironically named ‘Jealous Lane'. He was just starting to think about getting back on the road again as a big Land Rover rumbled around the corner. Its rough diesel engine growled its deceleration as it bounced over the gravel and came to a stop behind him. On the side of the vehicle, large white letters spelt out the words ‘New Forest Agister’.
“Afternoon Young Master Jones” greeted the weather-beaten face of the eccentric old Joe Butterfield. He was a familiar face all over Lymington and the rest of The New Forest. Everyone knew him and strangely, he seemed to know everything about everyone else. Mary, in that delicate Irish accent of hers, had suggested that Joe Butterfield must be lonely and that’s why he went about talking to anyone that would listen to him.
Leaning out of the window the old man enquired if everything was all right. “Not broken down or nothing ‘ave you?”
“No, I’m… I’m fine. Thanks” Luke replied slowly, tiredly. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not this weird old git. He needed to get his head together, heal his wounds and work out what he was going to do next.
"I was sorry to learn about you and Mary" Joe offered apologetically as if they were old acquaintances.
“Yeah, thanks” Luke replied without looking up, hoping he would hurry up and go away. He wondered briefly how Joe Butterfield knew about him and Mary or why he would even care, but the thought quickly passed as he heard the door to the Land Rover creak open with a rusty squeal.
Great! Now he’s coming over Luke groaned to himself.
The old man came to sit down beside Luke. Luke had nothing to say and didn't want to encourage any conversation so he continued to watch a fly as it buzzed around the horse droppings. Joe said nothing either and an uncomfortable silence stretched out before them. Luke felt fidgety. This was too quiet. It was doing his head in and he'd have to say something but what? He hadn't asked Joe to come over, had he!
“I’ve got to get ready for the drift soon” Joe mused quietly, at last. “Got to round up all the ponies for their annual veterinary checks. Then take out the colts before they breed and separate the other ponies that are going to market. It's a busy time of year for us folk. Anyway, I just wanted to warn you about something." Joe paused pointing away to the side towards the right flank of oak trees. "I don't know if you're planning on stopping ‘ere for long but if you are then I'd suggest you stay on the main roads for now. There's something growing over there that I think maybe quite nasty." Luke couldn't find the energy to hide his disinterest.
"You see over the years I've learned things about these parts. Things they don't teach you in school or in books mind. Now, I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure I've found a rare breed of toadstools. They're known as Witchwood Toadstools" Joe announced sagely. "Them things can make you very ill if you touch them and cause nasty hallucinations so you'd be warned not to go near’em, you hear me.”
That small spark of rebellion was ignited once again at these words. It was a compulsion, an undeniable order from his subconscious that; when someone told him not to do something, he had to do it. It was a weakness that Mary had hated in him and it had cost him his paper-round and his job at Tesco’s.
"Now then, fungi are usually found in ancient woodland where there's lots of dead and decaying timber for them to feed on. Here's an interesting fact for you; did you know there were over 2700 different species of fungi found in The New Forest? As a result, this is one of the most abundant habitats for fungi in the whole of Europe."
Luke neither knew nor cared but still, Joe Butterfield continued. "So it's unusual you see them out here in the open like this. Now, if they are Witchwood Toadstools, I'll need to come back here and destroy them before anyone comes to any harm. They're said to be a bad omen, what with the legend and all."
Luke made a show of looking at his watch and then yawning in a very unsubtle gesture but Joe seemed oblivious to it. He was in full flow.
"Lauren Witchwood's story is a sad tale of loss and abandonment." Joe continued obviously relishing the role of storyteller. "Young Lauren had been an orphan, you see, having lost her parents to a fire at a young age. Lauren had barley escaped the blaze herself and it had left her horribly scarred and disfigured, so much so that people would actually avoid her. All Lauren wanted as she grew up was a friend; a lover but no one wanted her. Then one day a cruel local boy and his friends played a nasty trick on her. The boy pretended to like her and, sadly, Lauren was too naive to see his true motives and she fell for his act. Before long she was head over heels in love with him. The boy continued his cruel charade picking her wildflowers, reciting prose to her in the moonlight, yet always within earshot of his giggling band of followers. Eventually, he proposed to Lauren, making the sweet innocent girl so wondrously happy. Yet the night before they were to be married and to the raucous laughter of his friends, he told Lauren it had all been a joke: He could never love, let alone stand to be seen with anyone so ugly.
"Distraught, grief-stricken and humiliated, Lauren Witchwood fled into the night. In her turmoil, she lost her way and stumbled into a bog where she slipped, hit her head and drowned in the cold fetid water. But, the legend says that The New Forest claimed her. Her body sunk into the ground and was never found. All that remained in that spot was her shoe lying next to some strange coloured toadstools. They became known as Witchwood Toadstools after poor Lauren, but more about them later" Joe Butterfield paused dragging out his pointless tale.
“Now, it is said that Lauren Witchwood still craves the love of a companion, even after her death. There are some who believe Lauren Witchwood climbs up out of the ground at night and wanders The New Forest in search of someone to share her grave with. Once she's found her unfortunate victim she drags him down into the earth burying him alongside her. There they remain for many years until their body eventually rots away leaving Lauren all alone once again. That is when she rises up again to wander The Forest in search of a new companion.
“Now, I bet you’re wondering where the toadstools fit into all this?”
Luke couldn’t care less about where the toadstools fit in but Joe continued nonetheless. “If by sunrise Lauren Witchwood hasn’t found a companion, she returns to the earth to wait for nightfall again and the place where she lays is marked with a crop of Witchwood Toadstools. These rare toadstools are said to only grow when Lauren Witchwood is alone in the ground and they only ever grow on the spot where she is resting. That’s why they’re so rare and why you should stay away from them, just in case you’re there when Lauren wakes up.” Joe lapsed into silence, finally concluding his rambling monologue.
At last! Now go away…
“Well, just make sure you take it to heart and stay well clear of them. Now then, I’ve got to sort out some stuff over in Sway then I’ll have to get my gear and treat these toadstools.” Joe slowly got to his feet and headed back to his Land Rover. “And I was hoping to knock off early today for a quick pint of Ringwood” he shook his head, muttering to himself. “Oh well, no rest for the wicked. All the best, Young Luke.”
"Yeah, bye." Luke watched the mud-splattered wheels of the Land Rover kick up the brown dust of the layby as the vehicle grumbled back onto the road. Luke waited until the old man was out of sight and, driven by his futile protest against authority Luke quickly set off looking for the toadstools. His rebellious streak was going to get him into trouble one day but he didn't care. A new, even more important idea had just occurred to him: Spitting on Cliff Ferguson's pizza had been one thing but it hadn't been enough. So what if Cliff was tricked into eating some hallucinogenic toadstools? Now that would be a better response for stealing Mary. They could make him ill, but Luke decided that would also be worth it. Poisonous or not, this could be fun. He was already really late for the delivery and he'd be in trouble anyway so what else did he have to lose? Luke had a new mission.
It didn't take long to spot the toadstools. They were easy enough to find: large pink, purple and blue growths bulging out of the grass. They were quite unpleasant to look at and reminded Luke of mould growing on a slice of pizza that had fallen behind the oven. The toadstools festered there amid the greenery like pale bloated tumours. Their thick white stalks were scarred with purple spiral patterns like varicose veins bulging on the calf of some pale obese leg. Their tall bell-shaped domes started with a deep purple base rising through shades of wild blue before peaking in a hideous pink crown. Crusty white spots speckled the unnaturally colourful domes, seeming to add to the sense of a disease that they gave off.
When he was a kid walking to and from school Luke and his friends loved finding a patch of autumn toadstools and kicking them, watching the pieces of fungus fly into the air as if they’d been blown up by one of his imaginary hand grenades. He didn’t have the energy to kick these ones so instead of booting them Luke carefully picked a couple, still wearing his gloves to avoid touching them. Then, after a furtive glance to ensure he was still alone he set about sprinkling them onto Cliff Ferguson’s Veggie Supreme Pizza. It was nearly cold now but Cliff could always reheat it in the microwave.
There was something enticing about the toadstools, despite their repulsive appearance but before Luke could consider this further his thoughts were gate crashed once again by Mary. She would have been interested in these toadstools because of her course. She had just finished her first year studying Biology at Southampton University. He and Mary had had so many things planned to celebrate the end of the academic year but with one thing or another, they never materialised. Thoughts of romantic picnics in the woods, fun drinking games and sunbathing on the beach flittered through Luke's mind, drawing on more painful memories of the good times they had spent together. He thought of the concerts and festivals they'd gone to as well as their first, and now only Christmas together in their flat.
Stop ithe told himself. Just try not to think about her.
Luke concentrated hard on thinking of nothing at all. It was easier that way. He had to clear his mind and focus on nothing.
The purple-pink toadstools drifted through his mind but he pushed the images away.
He thought of nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Time passed somehow beyond his awareness.
Luke felt tired and he slowly, reluctantly, pulled himself back to the present. He had just been deep in thought about something.
What was it again?
He couldn’t remember.
Never mind.
The sky had grown darker all of a sudden. A deep orange glow lit the horizon, painting the wispy clouds in a dazzling magenta. It was later than he thought and he’d been here a lot longer than he had intended. He glanced back towards the road to see his moped was still there where he left it.
I should probably get going again, he told himself, before his depression could consume another slice of his soul. The football, he realised with a reproachful stab of guilt, would have finished ages ago and dusk was already crawling up over the countryside. Normally he'd be feeling quite hungry by now. Had he eaten earlier? A vague memory surfaced in his mind's eye of eating something. It hadn't been nice whatever it was.
I really should go.
Then he realised he was no longer wearing his gloves. Strange, he didn’t remember taking them off. He must have done though when he ate that…? Whatever it was. It didn’t seem important.
Luke put his hand in the pocket of his black jacket to retrieve his gloves but they weren't there. Had he put them down somewhere? Inside his jacket pocket, his fingers brushed a number of soft oval objects that he didn't recognise. He took one out to investigate, while casually scanning the ground for his missing gloves. When he still couldn't locate them he glanced at the thing held in his hand and felt a mild sense of confusion wash over him.
Where did that come from?
Gripped gently between his finger and thumb was a blue-pink Witchwood Toadstool. He stared at it wondering when he had picked it up and why? Then it slowly dawned on him that he’d gathered some spare ones in his pocket earlier.
But, why?
Obviously, he has been distracted since Mary left him but he wasn't losing his mind. Another fleeting thought – shouldn't he be wearing gloves while he was holding this toadstool? He probably should be and then Luke wondered again why he had stopped at his particular spot near Jealous Lane. He felt tired, confused, more so than before.
It was nearly dark now and yet he was still here.
What the hell?
Was the sun sinking faster than usual this evening? It seemed to get dark all of a sudden. The last rays of light had just disappeared and the wispy cloud trails were now black against the liquid ink sky. The night air was chilly and he shivered. Why hadn’t he delivered the pizza yet?
He still held the Witchwood Toadstool in his hand but as he looked more closely at it he saw that he’d been wrong about its appearance earlier. It wasn’t a gross foul fungus at all. No, in this light it looked quite glittery. It sparkled like frosty ice as he held it up to the moonlight. It looked nice, quite beautiful in fact.
Luke continued to stare at the remarkable toadstool, only half aware of a movement in front of him. The grass at his feet shifted and a small mound of soil began to grow as if a mole was digging its way up out of the ground. But Luke was too enchanted by his toadstool to pay it much attention. Tiny light seemed to dance on the toadstool as he turned it over. It was the kind of magical toadstool that faeries would live under. It looked good enough to eat. Better than the ones he had eaten earlier.
What? He asked himself shaking his head and rubbing his very heavy eyes. What other ones?But the thought was like smoke and as he tried to catch it just dispersed around him and was gone.
Just on the periphery of his vision Luke noticed the molehill was getting bigger, earth tumbling faster as it rose upwards. Whatever it was it was too big to be a mole but he didn’t want to shift his attention away from his beautifully coloured toadstool. He continued to gaze absentmindedly at the magical fungi, totally distracted to what was happening in front of him.
The mound continued to rise like a miniature volcano quickly becoming bigger and bigger until something burst out from the centre of it, showering his feet with dirt. Luke almost dropped the toadstool. In the dim light, his shocked brain struggled to register the impossible sight suddenly unfolding before him. A dead thing– and it was very obviously dead - was clawing its way up out of the ground. It gave off an overpowering stench like rotten meat and decayed vegetables. The smell enveloped him, raking the back of his throat and causing him to cough painfully. Yet despite his frozen senses, Luke watched the creature smile at him through a mouth of rotten teeth. It moved closer, slowly, like a spider stalking a fly that's trapped in its web. The reek of the grave was intense and Luke could do nothing but stare in dumb horror as the corpse-like figure took another lurching step forward. This was impossible, it shouldn't be happening. The blood rushed from his face. He couldn't move. The putrid swamp-like stench continued to assail his nostrils and sting his eyes. Luke screwed them shut as he tried to turn away but it was already too late. Her black skeletal hands held his arms in a terrifyingly strong grip. Luke couldn't break free as Lauren Witchwood's dead claw-like fingers dug painfully into his flesh. He struggled but felt himself being pulled forwards. He tried to fight gravity but lost his balance, toppling on top of the dead thing and they crumpled to the ground together. Luke half expected her brittle remains to break under his weight but they did not. Then, with sickening dexterity, the corpse wrapped its rotting decayed arms around his neck as if she were about to pull him into a passionate kiss. Luke grimaced but as he turned his head away he felt the land shifting under him. Less than a heartbeat later the floor gave way and the ground beneath opened up. The dried earth cracked apart like a huge yawning mouth, tearing dried grass and tree roots apart. Luke realised with an icy horror what the thing was trying to do. He was powerless to stop it as the corpse rolled into the sinking grave, pulling him down with it. Together they tumbled several feet downwards into the hole. Luke landed heavily with Lauren Witchwood's dead body pinning him down. He tried to roll free of the cadaver but he was stuck fast. Where she held him, the peeling leathery flesh of her arms and face were cold and damp compared to the dry warm earth that had started sliding over him. Luke felt dried mud, stones and soil pilling up on top of him as the earth closed in around him. A primal fear exploded in his head, erupting in an uncontrollable panic. He was being buried alive. Suddenly his mind was sharp and clear. A single thought lanced through his confusion, ordering him to shout, to get help. But his terror was overwhelming and all he could manage was a senseless string of meaningless syllables. Kicking his legs frantically, more soil collapsed in on him, pushing the dead girls' skull into his face. Luke's final desperate cries were choked into silence as dried mud ceaselessly crumbled into his open mouth. He gagged pitifully on the dirt already gathered in his throat. Bright stars exploded before his eyes as his lungs threatened to burst. He lay still, unable to move as the crushing black earth pressed down on him. Then deeper darkness came. It was a darkness so absolute, so primal that it caused Luke's fear to slip away from him. Next, he felt his anger retreating, quickly followed by grief and then all sense of his war. It was a curious sensation as all of his regrets and all his worries were washed from the battlefield of his life. He let go of all his defences until all that remained was the core of his being, the undamaged pre-birth essence of his soul and then a moment later, even that was gone.
Meanwhile above ground the earth had settled and flattened out once again. There was nothing to suggest anything had happened or that anyone had even been there, save for an abandoned moped and a few meaty chunks of toadstools. The colourful pieces of fungi lay scattered over the rough grass as if someone had kicked them apart. Or as if they had been blown up by a child’s imaginary hand grenade, in the last battle of a secret war that history would never record.