If you have not already, I recommend reading Troll Bridge Part 1. This is the sixth tale in my short story collection, You Want It Darker. The collection is free to read and if you want to enjoy each character’s backstory, I recommend The Banshee, for Rita and A Rest Stop At The Red Post for Jen, Ben and Celeste.
“What do you mean it’s not a frigging troll?”
That was Ben, going from dazed to belligerent in a hot second. To his credit, he’d wrapped his coat around Jen, who looked like a drowned mermaid.
Callum was sitting up now, presentin’ as sick as I felt. We weren’t soldiers. Hell, we couldn’t even claim to be drunk dickheads; we’d gone up against a fairytale in sober daylight and got our arses kicked.
I pulled out the first-aid tin from my pocket and handed Callum two paracetamol. He dry-swallowed them and grimaced as I dabbed at his bleeding hand with an antiseptic wipe. “You were right an’ I was wrong,” he said, his voice rough. “Trolls haie away from iron - it stings ‘em – but I’ve never heard of one with enough power to heat the metal. That’s a spell lash-back.”
“I guessed a curse” I agreed. I wasn’t smug: a curse could be much worse than a river creature. Instead, I tore open the sterile wound pack and carefully wrapped the dressing around Callum’s hand. The horseshoe had caught him on both sides. He hissed at the pain.
“We need tae get ya to a hospital” I warned. “fore it gets infected. By rights, yer should be dippin’ it in a bucket of clean water right now.”
Callum grimaced as he gripped my shoulder. “If we go now, what’s the chance we’ll be back?” he asked me, sweeping his injured hand to include the rest of the group.
I made a face. I didn’t want a second round with the thing under the bridge. I didn’t think I’d survive it. Jen and Ben looked equally unenthusiastic.
“Yeah, exactly,” Callum agreed. “We won’t. But no one else will either, an’ one day I’ll open the papers to read about the workmen who drowned here 'cause’ I was too frit to finish the job.”
“So, what do you suggest?” Jen asked.
Callum chewed his lip. “It’s intelligent and reactive,” he said. “Let’s try flashin’ it.”
*
Ben stood at the boundary line, both hands holding the torch at crotch level. “This is not how I thought I’d spend the evening,” he muttered.
“Come on,” I encouraged him. “Show us what yer learned in Scouts.”
“And be quick,” Jen said sharply. “I’m freezing here.”
With a sigh, Ben clicked the torch on three short times, three longer pauses and three short times again. We looked expectantly at the water under the bridge. It was dark enough now to see the orange glow of the motorway lights above.
“Nuts,” Ben said, shaking his head. “Why do we even think-”
The water flashed back. One long dash, one short. There was a pause, then three long dashes.
“Well, fuck,” Callum said.
“D’you know what that means?” I asked, feeling old and utterly clueless.
“Naw idea,” he said cheerfully. But I’ll see if I can tempt it with a bit of shine.”
He stuttered off with small footsteps towards the bridge, unlooping a bracelet from his wrist. It glittered in the sunset, the small silver beads chiming against each other as they slid down the leather thong.
“Sure he’s not one of them?” Ben asked me uneasily.
“Yeah,” I said. “No glamour, all heart. Stupid bastard.”
Callum had made it to the water. He dry heaved but stuck his uninjured hand into the stream, holding the bracelet at the surface. The water hissed and seethed like it was a jacuzzi. I sucked in my breath; how was I gonna explain to the hospital burns and scalds on either hand?
Unfussed, Callum withdrew from the stream and pulled off his hat to display the warding tattoos on his skull. The darkness shifted then like it had mass. His footstep rang on the concrete, and I heard something scrape at the wall.
Screw this; he needs help.
I forced myself to walk forward, gagging, until I was one step from the bridge. Callum popped his head out. “Found it,” he said simply. “But I’m gonna need all of us to lift it.”
“It” turned out to be a paving stone dropped in the concrete.
“How’d we miss this?” I asked. We were huddled like ducks under the parapet. As long as we were under the bridge, the sickness couldn’t assault us. I ignored the hairs on my neck and the instinct to stare at the water.
“Cause we were lookin’ for a monster,” Callum said glumly. “Which it’s not. It’s a prisoner.”
Ben wrinkled his nose. “Do we want to free it?” he asked. “We don’t know why it’s down here in the first place. Could be dangerous.”
“More’n leaving it?” Jen retorted. “Let’s get this done and bury the stuff somewhere else.”
“If we can,” I said morosely.
Ben and Callum squatted down, carefully leveraging the stone up. Jen was holding the flashlight and a supermarket bag next to Ben’s shoulder whilst my job was to reach around Callum and check the spell contents into the bag. I tugged nervously at my gloves. Callum’s horseshoe was dangling from a string looped to his coat’s toggle, and I could already smell it smouldering away. If something erupted from earth, it would be clobbered with hot iron.
The stone scraped. I heard an echoing splash in the water. Jen gave a half-shriek.
“Keep going,” Callum said through gritted teeth.
The flashlight’s beam bobbed about before settling on the shallow depression under the stone. It was only hands-length deep, filled with something dank and green, like mossy compost. I gingerly prodded the mass, my index finger sinking to the knuckle.
Further upstream something large and angry started wading towards us. I realised my toes were wet and looked down. The river had risen, pecking at my shoes with small, fast waves.
“Hurry up, for God’s sake!” Ben boomed out. He was looking over my shoulder, white-faced.
I held my breath and plunged both hands into the mound. Something fleshy and organic yielded under my fingers and I almost screamed before I realised it was a small, oblong shape. I pulled it out and flung it into the bag.
“Let’s go!” Jeny said, scrunching the plastic handles in her fist.
“You go,” Callum agreed, pushing over the slab with one hand and grabbing the torch. Jen and Ben took off. Callum stayed in place, hunched over the underside of the slab. The waves had picked up the pace now, slapping at our ankles. I could smell something too – pungent with an acid aftertaste, wafting in with the noise.
“What’s that?” I asked. Callum trained the torch on the slab. Burnt markings interspersed with copper nails flickered malevolently in the LED glare, and I briefly wondered if candlelight would make it appear worse.
“It’s a binding spell,” he said gruffly, then spat and made the old sign against evil. “A nasty one.”
I looked timidly at the night sky outlined by the bridge. It was black—too black. The comforting overhead glow had gone. I felt cold, and the last wave nearly knocked me off my feet.
“Let’s goo-o, lad,” I said, hating the break in my voice. “It’s getting late.”
“Aye,” Callum agreed and, with a jerk of his arm, smashed the handle of the flashlight against the slab. I heard it crack, and at the same time, something just over my shoulder howled. It reminded me of Chewbacca from Star Wars as I fled across the field, Callum right on my heels.
*
We arrived back at the car in one piece. I leaned on the bonnet, red-faced and panting like a tugboat. I could see the dirt on the paintwork under my fingers and the shine of the pub’s light. It felt mundane, in the best sense of the word, like someone had set us right side up. Sadly, that didn’t apply to my ribs, and I had a massive stitch on one side. Callum leaned next to me.
“We did it,” he gasped out.
I nodded, still breathless.
“Did what exactly, karoryon?”
I winced at the familiar voice. Celeste loomed out of the darkness by the bushes, her pale face pinched with anger.
Callum bolted upright, his hands spread out defensively before him. Celeste hissed at his wounds before stabbing a finger at the horseshoe. “Take. That. Off.”
“Good ta see ya again, lass,” I said as Callum fumbled with the knots on his coat. She gave me a short nod, her gaze cemented to her lover.
Callum let the curved iron clatter on the ground before giving a short, old-fashioned bow. He took his time about it too; a proper back-bend and pause with an arm folder behind him.
“Is that supposed to soften me?” Celeste said suspiciously.
Callum looked up, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. “Naw, mo chridhe,” he said, his accent softer than I’d ever heard. “Yer my blessing after a night of woe and I thank you for it.”
I jimmied myself upright. “I’m getting a whiskey,” I said clearly. “When you two have finished playin’ eighteenth-century footsy, come an’ find me.”
*
The pub was busy, but I spotted Ben wedged between the bar and the open fire, thanks to his height. He was pale and quiet, nursing a brandy with hot chocolate in front of him.
“You made it,” he said with deep relief, pulling me into a tight hug.
“It takes a lot to kill me,” I agreed.
“Callum?”
“Him too.”
Ben let out a shaky laugh.
“Jen’s drying her hair in the ladies. I was going to give it five more minutes before we called the police.”
I nodded before gently disengaging to get the barman’s attention. By the time Jen arrived, bag bumping her leg, I had three glasses of whiskey in front of me.
Jen looked between the drinks and us. “Which one’s mine?”
“The cocoa,” Ben said. “You wanted something hot.”
“Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose as Ben and I sipped the amber liquid in tandem. “I don’t think I could face that. Sorry, Rita.”
“Just as well,” I said amiably. “We’ve got a guest coming, plus Callum. Have you peeked at our findings?” I extended two fingers off my glass to point at the bag.
“It’s a book, well, maybe a journal. It’s covered in weeds, and I didn’t want to risk touching it too much. Y’know, in case…”
“The Knockturn Curse,” Benn intoned, half-joking and half-serious.
Jen elbowed him, grinning. Her eyes lit up as she spotted Callum coming our way before fading to confusion as Celeste walked in. I glanced up at Ben, who looked murderous.
“Don’t,” I warned him. “Whatever she did to you, don’t start a fight. You won’t win.”
“She took Mum.” The venom in his voice was unmistakable. “She tricked us into letting it happen.”
I pushed the other two drinks further out of reach. “She’s a banshee. That’s what they do.”
Jen laid a hand on his arm, looking torn. “We said yes, Ben, we agreed it…”
Callum joined us then, smiling as he swept Celeste into our group. “Guys, this is my girlfriend – “
“We’ve met,” Celeste interrupted. “Hello, Jenny and Benjamin. How are you?”
Ben seethed whilst Jen uttered a faint, “doing well.” I hastily handed over the two whiskeys. “Yours in friendship, without malice or obligation,” I told Celeste, completing the routine toast. I turned and clicked Callum’s glass. “To success, you bone-head. Can we do something a smidgeon less terrifying next time?”
“Aye,” he said. “But it’s not over yet.” Studiously ignoring Ben, he turned to Jen. “Can we see the bag? If there’s anything orgly in it, Celeste can take care of it.”
Jen meekly handed it over. To our surprise, Celeste drained her drink in one gulp and upended the bag on the wooden bar stool, leaving slime trails of weed to drip on the floor. She cleared the rest with her index finger, touching the book’s cover as little as possible.
It was a sheaf of loose pages made of pressed plants stitched and wrapped in soft leather. Despite the mud and damp, it was remarkably dry.
“Ahhh,” Celeste breathed out. “It’s a way-book.”
“Is it safe?” Callum asked over her shoulder.
“Yes,” Celeste said almost reverentially. “But I can’t touch it. Who claimed it?”
We all exchanged glances before I bobbed my hand. “Erm, I hauled it out of the hole. But we all helped.”
Celeste blinked. “Then it’s yours, Rita. But others can call on you for help with it. There hasn’t been one of these in your realm for millennia.”
“What is it?” Ben asked, still as taunt as a bow. “Can it bring Mum back?”
Celeste frowned at him. “No. Nor should you ask it. Deborah’s at peace now.”
Ben shook his head, the anger unfurling throughout his body. “You took her. You – you tricked us! She’s with you!”
He turned to grab the poker from the fireplace, and Callum lunged to intercept him. Jen froze while I picked up the small way-book and slapped the enraged man. There was a soft, wet splat, and Ben fell backwards, his arm windmilling against the wall. His face was unfocused, his mouth half-full of pondweed.
Celeste was an elegant statue, still holding her glass aloft.
“You should treat your book respectfully, Rita,” she said sternly. “It’s a path between both our peoples.”
Callum bent down and hauled Ben up by his lapels. “What did you do?” he asked me. Ben was mumbling incoherently. Jen reached around, wide-eyed, to wipe the plant drool away.
“It looks like a seizure,” she said.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I half-turned to see the barman hovering. Thank the saints, he was my age, with thinning hair and a moustache. “Do you need an ambulance?” he asked. His phone was balanced in his palm.
I shook my head. “Epilepsy,” I lied. “Can we take him to a quiet spot to recover? He’s going to feel embarrassed.”
*
We ended up in the dining room, propping Ben up at an empty, reserved table in the corner. He came to in a few minutes, but the dazed look remained.
Celeste gently tapped his forehead. “he’ll be fine,” she said confidently.
“I haven’t cursed him then?” I asked fearfully.
“Naught but a time bump. He’s dizzy like his balance is gone, but he will be fine. He might have confused memories about today, though.”
Jen nodded, stroking his hair. “Erm, Celeste…”
“Yes?”
“Was Mum OK? At the end? I don’t want to think of her as scared or…”
Celeste leaned in to hug Jenny, surprising all of us. Even with Callum, she barely touched in public.
“There was joy, little one,” she said. “Her choice and her time.”
Jenny started to sob, and the fae quickly disengaged, pushing her back towards her brother. Ben’s arms flopped over Jen’s shoulders, but he didn’t seem to register that she was crying.
“What next?” I asked Callum quietly. “Is it over…?”
“Yeah,” he said, preoccupied. I saw his gaze straying to the book. “We broke the curse when we broke the stone it was written on. The river spirit, or troll, or whatever is free.”
I picked up my glass thoughtfully. “Cept for the thing it was guarding.”
“Yeah,” Callum said. “We’ll have to be careful about that book.”
A way book sounds like so,etching an unsuspecting junk journaler would tear pages out of to make into a junk journal….