Search for the Sunlight
Chapter 9

The following day found the party hacking their way through thick undergrowth in the dark outer reaches of the forest. The once easily accessible trade routes, used for generations by the dwarf tea merchants and marshmelon farmers, were almost impassable. With the absence of sunlight and the consequent crop failures, business in the provinces had ground to a halt. As a result, with little or no traffic movement, the ancient paths and highways had become overgrown. Furthermore, in the pale green half-light, the swirling fog played the most sinister tricks with their eyes.

From behind trees and hollows and out of holes in the ground, nippy little demons, mischievous imps and growlers appeared and disappeared, stalking them like hungry hyenas, waiting for the slightest opportunity to steal their souls and fill their already frazzled minds with self doubt and terror. But by far the scariest threat of all was that of The Moose Men.

Part elk and part human - the result of an ill fated experiment by the Cyclops biologist, Dr. Harald Ousterhout - legend has it that these chimerical creatures can strip the bark off a Treewood in less than thirty seconds. Cleverly disguised as caring medical practitioners, dressed in green scrubs and freshly laundered white laboratory coats, The Moose Men gain their innocent victim’s trust by means of a reassuring handshake and a cosy chat. But there the niceties end. In a sudden change of tack, their friendly smile and seemingly caring disposition quickly turns feral. It is then, without warning, like the blade of a switch knife, razor sharp antlers spring forth from discrete openings in their knurled skulls and strip the bark clean off their unsuspecting victim’s limbs.

With this, the first gory stage of their gruesome operation complete, the merciless fiends roll their heads back in triumph and bellow a mad echoic laugh, while their barkless terror stricken prey lies choking in silent agony on the blood and sap soaked ground.

In a final act of deception, feigning remorse for the horrific injuries they have inflicted on their terror stricken subject, the psychopathic, shape-shifting scoundrels quickly retract their antlers and reinvent themselves as innocent mild-mannered tree surgeons, whereby, in return for immorally high sums of money, they offer to graft fresh lifesaving bark back onto the raw stinging limbs of their dying victim. Bizarre images of greed and genetic science gone wrong you might think, but to a tired and disorientated Treewood, these terrifying mirages, real or imagined, were as scary as can be.

Afraid for their lives and eager to vacate this nightmarish part of the forest, the travellers set their sights firmly on the path ahead and ran. Soon they arrived at a small clearing in the tangled undergrowth, where Basil suggested they stop for tea. The brothers needed little persuading and, without delay, they set about making themselves as comfortable as possible on the damp forest floor.

Herbert filled the kettle from a puddle in the exposed roots of a large oak tree, while Harry packed the portable twig burner with the driest kindling to hand. Then, adding a little trouser fluff and some marshmelon spirit, he opened his tinderbox and hit the small sharp flint stone on the striking plate. To his satisfaction, a flood of tiny sparks burst forth and ignited the stove first time.

“Success!” he whispered to himself as the flames danced into the cold night air.