Suzy - Gary L Beer (best e book reader for android TXT) 📗

looks up at him sharply and bounds away behind the trees.
Five metres from the Well Malcolm can see a dead fox lying against one of the posts that supports the barbed wire. The fox looks squashed and bloody and it appears to move as thousands of flies swarm above it.
The body looks badly damaged and Malcolm wonders what could have happened to it, there were no lions or tigers in the English countryside or any other animal that he knew that could have inflicted such wounds. The smell of rotting flesh has him putting his handkerchief across his nose as he approaches closer.
“That is horrible.” says Paris when she sees the fox, feeling like she is going to be sick she backs away and watches her Dad as he approaches the corpse.
As Malcolm approaches the dead fox, a thousand flies take flight and swarm around his head. The smell of rotting flesh is almost too much for him and he can feel himself start to gag. The fox looks squashed, more as if it had been involved in a car accident than a fight with another animal.
The flies and maggots had done their part in opening the wounds, yet the rotting smell appeared to emanate from the Well. Bending forward Malcolm puts his face closer to the dead fox and removing his handkerchief from his nose smells it cautiously.
The smell is definitely different from the overpowering smell that seems to fill the trees. Malcolm realises that there is more than one dead body here.
“Stay back Paris, this fox could be covered in disease.”
Standing upright he replaces the handkerchief over his nose, looking at the ground around the Well he can make out recent footprints in the soft mud. The other side of the Well looks to have been covered with them and the signs of someone trying to disguise those looks obvious.
Malcolm can see where leaves had been thrown into the footprints along with moss covered twigs and branches. The litter thrown about on top of the footprints can only have come from under the deep shade of the trees.
Backing away from the Well, Malcolm turns and looks at Paris; “That is where the awful smell is coming from, that poor fox he must have got tangled up in the wire, best stay away from it.” he says as he walks up into the trees.
Paris is disappointed at not being able to see down the Well and no longer interested in dead bodies makes her way back to the field assuming her Dad is going for a pee.
Malcolm looks down at the ground as he walks; more footprints show in the soft ground and he can see where someone had gathered sticks and leaves. Below where the sticks had lain the ground had become pale due to the lack of light and could easily be seen. A few more days and most of this would become invisible as it darkened, making Malcolm realise that this was all done recently.
Deep concern for his daughter's safety parallels this thought and he turns quickly and walks out of the trees. Not seeing Paris immediately he panics and looks around anxiously; the movement of her head down by the stream catches his eye and he walks quickly over to her.
Paris is throwing sticks into the slow flowing stream trying to get them to flow in an orderly line when she hears her Dad approaching. Her Dad looks pale and appears a little scared as his eyes look around the field that surrounds them.
“You all right Dad?” asks Paris as she stands, throwing the rest of the sticks into the clear water.
“That dead fox has made me feel a bit ill, there were thousands of maggots eating it.” he says.
Paris is not convinced by his reply and gets the feeling her Dad is lying; “Did you find anything else?”
“No, nothing” lies Malcolm; “Shall we get back to the car now and breathe some fresh air?” he smiles weakly at Paris.
“Ok.” she simply replies and starts to walk towards the wooden bridge.

Having a final look around them especially behind at the trees, Malcolm follows Paris to the bridge.
Paris on reaching the bridge suddenly turns and looks her Dad in the eyes; “There is a man watching us.” she says in a quiet whisper.
Malcolm stops and looks Paris in the eyes, the fears that had filled him since his discovery in what he knew to be a dead body in the Well rises to the surface. Close to panic and filled with fear for his daughter and not taking his eyes from her he asks just as quietly; “Where is he? I have not seen anyone.”
“There is a stile leading into the woods behind me, he is sitting on it.”
Trying not to move his head he looks over Paris's shoulder at the trees behind and it is several seconds before he sees the stile; and the man sitting on it.
Putting a smile on his face and not taking his eyes off her he says; “Probably just a birdwatcher, us being here has probably scared them all away, shall we get back to the car now?”
Paris smiles and nods, not aware of the danger she is in she skips across the bridge.
As Malcolm starts to cross the bridge he moves his head slightly so that he can get a better look at their watcher.
Dressed in army camouflage clothing Malcolm is not surprised he did not see him. The man was sitting so still on the stile he had merged perfectly well with the background of shaded trees. Looking to be in his late twenties or early thirties he looked to be a rough unshaven character with long hair. Malcolm knew he was no birdwatcher by the way he stared at him.
He had the look of a predator about him, apart from the eyes they were the only part of him that moved as he watched Malcolm cross the bridge.
“Come this way Paris.” Malcolm says as he turns left and heads towards the other side of the field to their watcher.
“Why is that Dad?” asks Paris as she catches up with him.
“There is a very old oak tree that must be a thousand years old I want to look at before we go home.” he says not being entirely truthful. Admittedly he did want to see the oak tree as he had known of it for more than twenty years from when he first came here.
The real reason was to get as far away from the mysterious person on the stile and to make it appear they were on a nature ramble. Taking their time they wander to the other side of the field and Malcolm leads the way through some large bushes.
Beyond the bushes the ground drops away several metres leading to a small secluded meadow. The stream that runs past the Well emerges from the trees here and meanders its way through the soft green grass and hawthorn bushes.
Paris gasps at the beautiful scene before her, the grass cropped short by the rabbits that live close by make it look magical. The ancient oak tree with ninety percent of its branches dead overlooks the quiet scene. Being slightly lower than the surrounding land the meadow felt ten degrees warmer and Paris hurries forward to look at the stream.
Malcolm takes the opportunity to look back at the stile; there is no sign of the watcher and the woodland looks peaceful.
Joining Paris at the stream Malcolm looks back towards the ancient oak tree; “What do you think of the oak tree Paris?”
Paris looks up from the stream at the dead branches of the tree; “It looks dead.” she replies not in the least bit interested.
“It has always looked like that for as long as I can remember, yet it is still alive. We can come back here in the summer and you can see the leaves if you want?”
“Could do I suppose.” replies Paris in a bored voice; “Can we go home now?”
“Yes of course.” replies Malcolm as he turns and walks out of the little meadow into the field. Looking across at the stile all is quiet and with Paris by his side they hurry back to the car.

Lewis walks quickly through the woods, he had seen the car parked at the entrance to the footpath and wanted to check who they were. Reaching the stile he had looked out across the field and not seen the owner of the car. Admittedly they could be walking the trails in the woodland behind him but all had seemed too quiet for that.
Settling himself comfortably on the edge of the stile he sat patiently and watched and listened. The only sounds he could hear was a small bird singing in the distance. He did not recognise the song and usually would be more interested.
The sound of voices in the trees near the Well drifts on the wind towards him and he moves on the stile in agitation. Hoping that the raised voices are due to the thickness of mud or finding the dead fox he waits patiently.
Paris appears at the edge of the trees and stands still looking about her. Her face looks pale, even as far as Lewis is away from her, he can see that she does not look at all well. Grinning broadly he watches as she walks over to the stream and stares into its clearness. Guessing she had found the fox Lewis looks anxiously back at the trees; whoever was with her had made no appearance and Lewis worries as to what they are doing.
He does not have to wait long as Malcolm appears where Paris had come out of the trees.
Looking at the man's face Lewis can see that he also looks pale and watches him nervously. The man appears tense and looks around the field as if he is searching for something. Suddenly the man walks over to the girl by the stream and says something to her.
Getting up from where she was crouched by the stream Lewis watches them intently as they walk towards him. Suddenly he feels as if he has locked eyes with the girl for a few seconds and Lewis's heart beats in anxiety.
The girl carries on walking until she reaches the bridge where she stops and waits for the man, who must be her father, to catch up with her. Softly she talks to her father and Lewis can sense that she is telling him about seeing Lewis.
The man gives no indication that he is being told anything alarming and even smiles in return at his daughter. As she turns to cross the bridge the man looks directly at Lewis and Lewis looks down at the ground.
When he looks back up again he can