Peter Wigglesworth and the Fifteen - Chapter 1

One

 

“A melody”

 

 

 

He sat on his own, his grey t-shirt worn, old and faded, while not a smoker, his t-shirt had visible cigarette burns. A t-shirt passed down to him by his father, one of the few mementos that the boy holds dear. His jeans, similarly aged, though not a hand-me-down, the hem's scuffed and torn, knees grubby and faded. The kind of appearance that is somewhat expected of a fifteen year old boy. His auburn hair sits scruffily, with a life of its own, dancing in the twilight, while not long or particularly short. A medium length and could certainly do with a brush through.

 

His hands were clasped together. Unmoving. It was his piercing green eyes that stared off into the distance, picked out by the moonlight, deep in thought about the one he had lost.

 

Peter Wigglesworth had often come here, to one of the three forests in Barne, in the dead of night, to sit amongst the peaceful shuffle of the leaves above him. No one ventured here very often, and if they did it was during the brighter hours.

 

This had become Peter's place to escape. A spot for him to be able to get things off his chest, to ponder and try and find some answers. To reminisce about the past, his childhood. To question: why was there was no body?

 

For him to sit stationary, as was his father's van when found abandoned, the engine chugging, as the vehicle rattled in its location at the entrance of the northern-most forest, the New forest. So-called, during the renovation of the area some 30 years ago, whilst it was planted to make up for the destruction that took place expanding the hamlet in order to make way for new businesses, homes and an increased population.

 

Not more than six months ago did Thomas Wigglesworth, Peter's father, disappear. Peter could tell you to the hour since his van was found just how long it had been; 5 months, 2 weeks, 1 day and 17 hours. Such is his attention to detail. Thomas was a carpenter, a kind man who knew and talked to anyone and everyone in the village. Never one to shy away from lending a hand, or putting himself out to serve someone else in need. And yet, the search for Thomas left a lot to be desired. Since that day Peter has struggled to maintain his regular happy-go-lucky self.

 

Peter can often be found on his own. Whether at school or otherwise. Whilst his school-work had not suffered, his friendships have become strained.

 

Spending much of his time waiting. Waiting for the answer to the disappearance of his father, waiting for the man to return home to him and Eleanor, his mother. Eleanor has coped better with the disappearance of her husband. Her daily routine mostly unchanged and reluctantly accepting her son's new reclusive nature.

 

It was gone nine o'clock on this mild winters night. The air chilled but not cold, which was not typical of mid-December. The moon was just peeking through the grey mist that had formed above. But the sky, with the exception of a few clouds, was clear. His bike lay next to him, chilled but still.

 

 

 

Crunch.

 

His eyes widened as the silence sheltering him was broken. His pupils constricted. Surprise and fear had washed over him as he was no longer alone. Crunch. Twigs and leaves buckling beneath, what he could only imagine was the foot of someone or something.

 

Peter had risen to his feet, in an attempt to seek the appearance of his company. His eyes adjusting to take in the darkness, no shadows, no movement. There was no one there. No one he could see. No one he knew. Nothing. Nothing but the crunch.

 

He looked left and right in the general direction of the noise. Hairs on his forearms began to rise. Not even a shadow of a figure. The noise had gone. Was he alone again?

 

"I suppose I should head home too." he thought.

 

He reached over to lift his bicycle from where it lay. His hand grasping the cold metal frame as he had now disturbed it from its slumber.

 

Crunch.

 

Peter froze. There was something violent about the sound of the breaking twigs.

 

Crunch.

 

Crunch.

 

Crunch.

 

Not only had the sound returned but there was less of a pause between them. His eyes darting this way and that trying to seek the identity of the crunch. Hand growing numb from the coldness of the steel. There in front of him just a few human-sized steps away from him was a small furred creature. Not a rat, squirrel, or rabbit but something unknown, something new, something that was tucking into it's dinner of twigs and leaves.

 

Crunch.

 

He stared at the creature, taking in its appearance. Its dark fur highlighted and animated under the moon and stars.

 

"What are you?" Peter asked, his voice hushed and low as to not scare it away. He had slowly placed his bicycle back on the ground and had resumed to his spot where he had sat just moments before.

 

The creature unflinching and devoid of any acknowledgement of Peter's presence continued tucking into it's meal.

 

Crunch.

 

Crunch.

 

Crunch.

 

He inched forwards, kneeling down in front of the creature, watching for a moment. Large bucked-teeth almost like that of a rabbit. A close look at it showed its dark matted-fur, and large bead-like eyes. It was possibly a rodent, though it bore some resemblance to a badger. Though not the traditional varieties of which he knew, either from the local area of his various books on wildlife and nature.

 

It looked up at the boy with the scruffy hair and the hand-me-down clothes, gave a low purr. Closed it's eyes and let out the first few notes of it's melody.
“Breeuuww-breeee-ooooh, breee-ooooh” it sang.
A melody of which Peter had never heard before. Cheerful and with purpose. He sat a while to listen, enchanted by the creatures song, watching as it swayed back and forth. The moonlight twinkling in it's eyes and bouncing off it's fur. The song rose high into the night, the forest was a buzz, the trees rustling almost in accompaniment with the creature. The last few notes of its melody took a while to settle back down into the darkness of the forest, and once the melody had subsided the creature scuttled away, deep into the depths of the forest.

 

“Don't go–” he started, though too late as the creature was so light in it's step and so quick that it had vanished in the darkness of the undergrowths. Peter knew how he did not hear its approach and wondered if he would ever encounter it again. He let out a yawn, and checked his watch.

 

“It's getting late.” he said in a low hushed voice, looking up towards the moon.

 

He raised himself to his feet, lifting his bicycle to make his way back home the song still resting at the forefront of his memory.

 

Crunch.

 

He cycled away, a smile stretched across his face as he imagined the bucked-teeth of the creature enjoying it's meal.

 

Stepping out from behind where Peter had sat, amongst the trees stood the bulk of a shadowy figure. Its white eyes glistening in the moon light.

 

 

 

Peter had not been alone.