The Bet

At any other time, probably when there was someone else with her, she would have considered the small cottage quirky. It was quite a higgledy-piggledy dwelling that had most certainly seen better times. About fifty years ago, and in another location entirely, it might have been considered rather quaint. Now, there was a sinister air to it that was distinctly alarming. From a distance, the windows on either side of the single story building looked like two beady eyes, spitefully daring anybody to venture near. The crooked chimney was so angular it looked as though a good gust of wind was going to blow it down. If it did, though, there was plenty of crooked straw on the disorganised thatched roof to protect its fall. It stood like a hornet’s nest, all haphazard and frighteningly woolly. Estelle watched the flicker of wings depart the straw-like beast and disappear into the darkened skies above, and shivered with unease.

Determined to keep her mind off just how unnerving the small building was, she turned her attention to the gardens. They bracketed the narrow path that led to the front door and could only be described as wild and unkempt. It was obvious that whatever the old woman was doing living in the woods it certainly didn’t involve tending the garden.

Estelle studied the path and wondered if she could bring herself to use it to go and knock on the front door but knew that she couldn’t. While the woman could provide Estelle with a way out of the woods, Estelle couldn’t wasn’t prepared to put herself at the old woman’s mercy. Heaven only knew what would await her behind that tattered old door.

“This is too unusual. She is too unusual,” she whispered aloud.

Slowly, she backed away until she had lost sight of the cottage. Then she turned around. As she did so, she caught sight of the ruins of another building lying just beyond the trees.

“This gets increasingly curious by the minute,” she whispered beneath her breath as she took a step toward it.

She searched her memory for any mention her grandma might have made about the Whisperings Woods being home to ruins, but other than the dire warnings of mysterious goings on within the hallowed shrubbery, Estelle couldn’t remember Wynne mentioning anything about the place being inhabited, in the past or present.

Given the way one side of the stone building reached skyward, she suspected it had once been a large manor house or a church of some kind. But that was odd given its isolated location deep in the darkness of dense woodland.

What was it then? What connection did it have to the small cottage behind her? The two were so unlike that it was difficult to believe they had any connection whatsoever but it was odd that they were so close together.

She stared at the decaying finger-like tower pointing skyward and turned away with a shudder. Whatever its purpose had been, Estelle had no intention of investigating it now. She would do that another time, maybe, preferably when she had her grandma with her to be her guide. Until then, she tucked the memories of both buildings to one side to ask Wynne about later, when she finally reached home.

Determined that was where she had to go now, Estelle turned around and headed in the opposite direction to both buildings. In truth, she was glad to leave them behind. When she began to move, however, she immediately felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The sense of no longer being alone was so strong that she was compelled to look over her shoulder.

“Hello?” she called.

She wondered if it was the old woman back to warn her again, but couldn’t see anything. Rather than wait around for the mysterious woman to make another appearance, Estelle began to forge a route through the trees. Her pace was hindered by the fact that the further she ventured through the dense woodland the more difficult her step became. Each time she put her foot down she winced with discomfort when sharp twigs and leaves bit through the soft soles of her boots. To add to her misery, the wind had started to increase and now tugged and pulled at the branches, which creaked and groaned in protest. The slight howl to the wind as it whistled through the woodland made her feel even more isolated from the rest of the world, and incredibly vulnerable. She hated it.

Shivering anew, she clutched her basket tighter and tried not to panic.

“At least I know why they are called the Whistling Woods now,” she murmured only wished she didn’t.

Suddenly, a loud cracking sound from directly above her head made her look up. Her eyes widened in alarm when she saw a large branch hanging at a precarious angle directly over her head. A scream locked in her throat when she watched it lower toward her. Seconds later, a gust of wind tugged it free and it came crashing toward her, far too fast for her to be able to move out of the way. The pain of it hitting her was prevented only by the blackness that engulfed her the instant her head hit the hard ground.

CHAPTER THREE

Estelle flinched when she became aware that something cold was touching her face. She wrinkled her nose up but whatever it was didn’t budge. Swiping absently at it, she sniffed, and only then became aware that she was painfully cold. Her fingers were so cold they were painful, and her feet had long since gone numb.

A shiver swept through her that was so strong it forced her to open her eyes and gasp at what awaited her. Night had fallen while she had been asleep. Not only that, but a heavy fog had descended and shrouded everything in an eerie gloom that was simply terrifying.

She frowned in confusion, unable to remember what had happened to make her fall asleep in such a place. She could vaguely remember being chased, or frightened, or both, but the exact details escaped her.

“What on earth?” she whispered in growing horror when she tried to stand up only for the heavy pounding in her head to warn her not to. She tentatively touched the sore lump on the back of her head with shaking fingers, and winced when a lightning streak of pain shot seemed to engulf her. Clutching her head in her hands, she waited for the worst of it to subside and tried not to succumb to the blackness once more.

When she was confident that she wasn’t going to be sick, she slowly lowered her hands and contemplated at her current predicament. Only the ghostly fingers of the trees closest to her were visible in the swirling mist that had reduced her world to a cloud of isolating confusion.

“Grandma must be frantic by now,” she whispered, horrified at the thought of Wynne’s worry; and the force of her anger when her grandma heard about what had happened. “She will be so angry and disappointed with me.”

Resting a hand on her churning stomach, Estelle slowly pushed to her feet. When the world began to dim, she leaned against the solid bulk of a tree until the feeling passed. She s

till had no idea which way to go to get home. Turning in a small circle afforded her little help unless she could consider finding her basket of apples a bonus. While she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts, she picked up the apples and tried to decide what to do.

“I hate fog,” she murmured. But this wasn’t just any fog. This was so thick it was cloying and almost impenetrable. As if to prove it she lifted her hand up to look at it, a little shocked to find that it was barely visible in the gloom.

“Oh, God, what have I done?” she whispered.

Desperate to keep her gnawing panic at bay, she purposefully blanked out the niggling fear that continued to grow, ignored the deepening sense of isolation, and began to walk forward. She couldn’t remember which way she had come from, so had no idea where she was heading, but knew that she couldn’t afford to just stand there and do nothing.

“I will freeze to death if I do,” she murmured with a sniff.

She hadn’t gone far when she sensed movement to her right. Her heart began to pound as she stood and waited for the source of the noise to reveal itself.