The Fragment Trilogy: The Willow Tree

Marshall.

PROLOGUE

AUGUST, 1981

Mark

Don’t give yourself away. Pick up that blue brick over there. Now put it on the castle, it’s going to be the turret. Keep focused, you can do this. Don’t let him know, don’t let him know.

I tried to keep focused on building my castle, but the weird man in the corner of the room kept looking at me. He was pale, white, and he smiled but it wasn’t a nice smile. He showed too much teeth, and his eyes were too wide as they stared.

The man then started to move, shuffling along the floor towards me. He was now kneeling forwards, his hands flat against the floor, inches away from my face. Tears fell from my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry; I didn’t want him to know how scared I was.

I flinched when he reached out and touched me with his cold, greasy hand, his fingers brushing past my flushed face. But I couldn’t scream for Mum and Dad; they couldn’t help.

Nicky was in the corner, crying, whimpering. My baby brother, only five years old and this horrible man had tried to grab him and take him away. But I stopped him, and I told him that it was me he wanted, it was me with the powers. Of course it was, because I was ten and I knew how to work my powers. What would a five year old need to be able to see into the future for?

Of course, it made sense, I just hoped that he didn’t figure out I was lying.

Don’t worry Nicky, I said, but I kept my eyes on the man. Its going to be alright.

A memory flashed through my mind then. When Nicky was first brought home, I didn’t like him; I wanted them to take him back. But I was told that this wasn’t allowed.

I remember sulking for a while, until Dad sat me down and told me that this purply, gross-looking thing was my brother, and that he loved me, and that I should take care of him.

And I have ever since.

If this man thought he would be leaving my house with my brother, he could bloody well think again, as my Dad sometimes said.

The man asked me again if I was lying. His breath was disgusting, and his mouth was dry and cracked. I shook my head, wiping away more tears. I held my head up high, sticking out my chin in defiance.

He told me that I could never come back. Nicky then ran to me, and wrapped his arms around my legs. He cried for me not to go, but I pushed his arms away and knelt down. I gave him a hug, something I never usually did, and I told him to go and get Mum, who was downstairs in the living room with Dad. Nicky was still for a while, looking at me, confused. He frowned at the man before looking back at me.

Go, I repeated. Now. Go. I gave him a little shove, and he went slowly towards the bedroom door. I heard him run down the stairs.

I turned to the man, my fear gone.

You had better do it now then, before they come back.

The man studied me for a few seconds, making up his mind.

In the end, he believed me. In the end, he took me away, and I went with a smile, knowing that I had saved my little brother.

CHAPTER ONE

JULY, 2007

Aria

I heard the snap of their jaws, the click and scrape of their fingernails on the cold, metal door. They were angry, impatient, hungry. Their loud, tortured screams pierced the otherwise quiet corridor; there was no one left now. No one left, except me.

A sob caught in my throat, but I balled my fists up tight; I couldn’t be so pathetic as to cry now. I had to be ready, prepared to fight, when they eventually broke down the door.

Looking back at Laura, her body now cold, I saw that her blue eyes were open, looking at me, her golden hair cradling her head, her broken neck. It gave me fire, hatred, anger, what I needed. It fed my desire to kill.

But I just needed to hold onto myself, before I forgot everything that I was supposed to be here for. It wouldn’t be long, I could already feel the haze growing around me.

A bang lifted me from my thoughts, brought my heart leaping into my throat. They scratched and punched the door, and I watched in horror as it began to give way. I shuffled back to the dark corners of the room in terror as a long, bony hand started feeling around for the lock. Another punch, another slimy hand. A milky eye. A sharp, lapping tongue. I felt sick.

The haze kept growing, kept distracting me. Don’t lose yourself, don’t. You’re Jenny, you’re Jenny, your mother is dead beside you. If you remember nothing else, remember that. I know who I am, I know who I am, I…know…I…

…A dream, that’s all this was, a stupid, harmless nightmare. Or had I just woken up from one? Where am I? What’s that noise?

I opened my eyes to find tears streaming down my face, my head banging, my fingernails black. What the fuck?!

I looked at the hands that were attached to my arms, attached to me, and they were those of a stranger. The lines…so unfamiliar, the marks and freckles, foreign to me.

I looked around. The room was dim, but not completely dark. It was quite bare, save for a few tables and chairs. There was a single, dirty window, where the moon shone brightly through. And underneath that, was a body.

I screamed, I didn’t mean to, but I did, and that was when I heard a horrific roar. My eyes were pulled away from the poor woman who was staring at me intently as though she was still alive, and they rested on the door in front of me.

Dozens of eyes stared back at me through various holes, and a collective low growl made the room vibrate. The eyes were white, completely, like someone had placed a kind of skin or film over them. They were placed quite hollowly into sharp, bony faces. There were chattering teeth and overhanging jaws.

Fingers reached for the lock, scraping an arm through a small, jagged hole in the door. The metal drew blood, a blue, oozing fluid that dripped. But the creature did not notice. The key was turned, it clicked, and the door swung open.

All I could do was stare back at them, my limbs heavy and slow from terror. The creatures were tall, some were stood, looming over me, some were crouched, like animals, waiting to pounce. I let out a choked cry, and tried to burrow deeper into the corner. A couple of them noticed the dead woman, sniffed the air, and crawled over to where she lay. They smelled her hair and licked her skin, and then proceeded to tear off her clothes.

No! I tried to shout. Stop! But my voice came out as little more than a squeak. What good would it do anyway?

I clasped my hand over my mouth to stifle another scream. They were tearing at her flesh now, pulling her skin away from her muscles, and dropping it delicately into their mouths. One took her pale, cold arm, and tore it from her body with a sickening crack. The creature clamped its mouth over the flesh and bone, and crunched its way through the meat.

I’m sorry, you poor woman, I am so sorry I can’t save you. My only consolation is that you are already dead. I need to run…get up, get out of here! For fuck’s sake you’re going to be next. Run! Run! RUN!

I stood up, and faced the rest of the creatures, who were still blocking the door. They approached me, sniffing me through the air, and turning their long necks to scope out the rest of the room before turning their attention back to me. When they were almost upon me, I darted to the left, banging into a table. But I wasn’t stopping for anything, let alone a sudden searing pain in my leg, so I half ran, half crawled, out of the room.

Sharp nails tugged at my skin, and hot, stale breath, wet with human blood, prickled the back of my neck. I ran down a small, narrow corridor, the sterile whiteness hurting my eyes, but they were inches behind me.

I kept running.

At the end of the corridor I found another door. I came to it so fast that I almost fell through it, but I yanked it open and slammed it behind me just in time. The creatures were so close that as I closed the door, they bashed into it, creating a series of yelps and shrieks from them. I locked the door, knowing it would only buy me mere seconds.

This room was larger, with more windows, and I ran to the nearest one to open it, hopping over the half eaten bodies that littered the floor. Whoever these creatures were, they’d had fun here, they’d had a feast, and some of these bodies, ripped open and with the insides devoured, were of children.

I need to get out of here.

The door behind me was flung open, and I screamed again as they scurried and leapt towards me.

The windows would take too long to open, so I ran for another door at the end of the room. I reached for the door knob and twisted it. It was locked.

This cannot be happening! I’m going to die! I’m going to be eaten by these disgusting things! Oh God!

There was only one option. I turned around and faced them, my heart pounding thunderously in my chest. My wide, tired, horrified eyes met their milky stares. There was one, taller than the others, who stepped forward, a sickly smirk on his face, a low, guttural chuckle escaping his lips.

This is it; I’m dead, and I don’t even know what I’m doing here.

I closed my eyes, and waited for one of them to grab me, to claw and scratch at me. Will they kill me first and then eat me? Or eat me alive? Where would they start? Will anyone ever find my remains?

A loud smash broke my soft sobbing, and I opened my eyes in fright. A dark form had erupted through one of the windows in the musty room. It was long, like a snake, but sturdier, more rough. Another one broke a second window, and others followed it. The creatures turned in surprise, and didn’t have time to utter a sound before swarms of these things surrounded them, and wrapped around their limbs. The creatures were torn apart, torn inside out. I could smell a familiar earthy smell, and it was only when one of the limbs brushed against my skin, that I realised what they were. Tree branches.

The branches forced themselves into the creatures’ throats, and down, choking them, and ripped them from the inside out. I looked away to save the horrific memories, but I could still hear the rip and tear of skin, the wet smack of snapped bones, the gurgles coming from the creatures as they were unable to say much more.

An eerie silence followed, and I forced myself to open my eyes. There was nothing left except twitching body parts and blue, oozing fluid. The branches slithered back out the windows. When I had regained my ability to move, the only sound in the room was my deafening short gasps for air.

I nearly died tonight. I was nearly killed. Everyone else was killed.

Where the fuck am I?

I moved quickly, the need to put as much space between myself and this hell hole almost making me sick. I punched through one of the windows, cutting my hand. I dragged my aching body out of the building, and into the fresh air.

I then ran, I ran through numerous fields until I found a road. I walked down the road, sobbing, until I could no longer walk. After that I don’t remember much, except curling up beside the road, freezing, the only warm thing on my body were my tears. I was losing consciousness. And a car…I remember a car…and footsteps, coming towards me.

CHAPTER TWO

SPRING, 1852

Freya

As I looked up towards the bright blue sky, I could see the trees swaying majestically in the breeze all around me. I reached out my hand and touched one of the green leaves, lightly, and it sent a warm shudder through my body. I could smell the earth, and I could feel the warm air circling me as I sat on my favourite tree stump.

I felt at peace here, in the woods near my house; it was the only place where I could think, and reflect. It was also the only place where I could be my true self, without submitting to ridicule from others, who would accuse me of dealing with the Devil or playing tricks on people’s minds. It wasn’t something I could describe with any accuracy; it was more of a feeling, a connection, to all things. As I sat there, reading quietly, as I usually did, I felt a sudden pull. I looked up, and saw nobody, but I knew it was not a person. This was a spirit of nature, calling for me to help it. I closed my book and set it down, and proceeded to follow the voice through the trees, whose own voices sung out as strong and as powerful as their sturdy branches.

I walked slowly to an opening in the woods, where the voice had led me to a small, withered tree. I knelt beside it, and I could immediately feel its pain. It was dying, but from what I did not know. It didn’t matter, I had to heal it. I closed my eyes and emptied my mind of all other thoughts, and sought to find the green tendrils of energy that radiated from all the other living things around me. I took it, not by force, but because there was an abundance of it, it was everywhere, and I fed it into the dying tree. Almost at once I could hear it sigh in relief, I could feel its strength returning, its will to live becoming brighter.

After a few seconds, my task was complete, and I opened my eyes to find the small tree, which only a few moments ago had given up. It was now sprouting green, healthy buds, and I knew it would live for a long time.

In an otherwise solitary and painful life, my secret was the only thing that gave me strength, hope. I was a lonely, rather secretive sixteen-year-old girl with no friends. But then again, I rarely had a desire for them, although sometimes I wished that I could just fit in with other people. The girls I knew who lived near me never talked to me, and when they did, it was never to say anything nice.

My mother told me once that they were just jealous because I had been fortunate enough to be taught how to read and write, and they hadn’t. I kept telling myself that, but deep down I knew it was just because they didn’t like me. I would watch as they played in the sun, laughing and running around, or just sitting together and talking, and I could not help feeling jealous of them.

But still, I had my books, which were more precious to me than anything else in the world. I loved the tales and adventures of the characters and what they would get themselves into. I could escape with my books and pretend I was somewhere else, doing something important or going on an adventure. I could be anywhere but here. My mother once said I had a wild imagination and that I should use it to my advantage. That was when I started writing my stories. I used to show her them and she said they were the best she had ever read.

It was my Grandfather who taught my mother and me how to read. He used to sit in his old wooden chair with a blanket wrapped around his legs, smoking his pipe and telling stories. He also used to tell me about what he used to get up to as a young boy, according to my mother, but I had long forgotten what he had told me about that. In fact, I thought to myself, the only intact memory I had left of him was when he used to sit in his chair. I think he may have been smiling. The rest was fuzzy and incomplete. We still had the old chair in the front room but his blanket had been misplaced years ago.

My father was working on our farm. We ate almost every meal from what he had grown and so we hardly ever went without food. My mother said that we are more fortunate than some families, who sometimes went days without meals. That was when I started noticing how plump I looked compared to the other girls. I seemed enormous next to their bony frames. That was probably another reason why they did not like me. It seemed, at one time, that my mother was the only friend I had. Sighing heavily, I thought about the talks and the fun she and I used to have together.

That all abruptly stopped as soon as my little brother was born. It seemed that I had become almost ghost-like since then; appearing and disappearing and no one would even notice. I would carry out my daily chores and sometimes help my father with his work without even so much as a thank you. I felt more like a maid flitting from room to room, tidying up and looking after everyone, rather than the child that I was. At the time, however, I was considered a grown up, and I was expected to act as such.

I remembered when my brother was born; I hated him. He cried and screamed almost every night for months, and all of my mother’s attention was taken up by him. He had stolen her from me, and I resented him for it. She was with him all the time, and when she left him for just one second, he would kick and scream and tantrum. They were together today, in