The Bone Forest by Robert Holdstock Read Free Book Online Page B

wide. Something moved with incredible speed across the lawns, through the trees, causing leaves and apples to fall. Whatever it was stopped suddenly close to the hedges, then crashed through them, passing Huxley like a storm wind.
    And stopped. And moved in the moonlight.
    Gray-green man… ?
    There was nothing there. There was moon-shadow only. And yet Huxley could sense the outline of a man, a naked man, a man still hot from exertion, the smell of the man, the heat of the man, the pulse of heart and head, the shaking of the limbs of the man…
    Gray-green…
    "Come back. Come and talk."
    The garden was aflow with movement. Everything was bending, twisting, writhing in a wind that circled the motionless shadow. And the shadow moved, toward Huxley, then away, and there was no glimpse, no sight, no feeling of reality, just the sense of something that had watched him and had returned to the wood.
    Huxley ran back to the broken gate, tripping on the shattered wood. He had not even heard the breaking of the gate, but he followed the wind with his ears and night vision, and saw the scrubwood thrash with life, then die again into the steadiness of night, as whatever it was passed through it and beyond, into the timeless realm of the wood.
    "Jennifer… oh no…"
    She was not in the room. The bed was still warm, disturbed and disheveled in an obvious way. He walked quickly out onto the landing, then downstairs again, following the slightest of sounds to the smallest of rooms. She was seated on the toilet, and pulled the door shut abruptly as he opened it.
    "George! Please! A
little
privacy…"
    "Are you all right?"
    "I'm very all right. But I thought you were going to have a heart attack."
    She laughed, then pulled the chain. When she emerged into the dark corridor she reached for him and put her arms around his neck. She seemed startled to discover him wearing his jacket. "You've not got dressed again! Good
grief
, George. There really is very little hope for you." She hesitated, half amused, half anguished. "Well… perhaps there's
some
hope…" Her sudden kiss was deep, moist and passionate.
    Her breath was strong, a sexual smell.
    "I'm going back to bed. I rather hoped you'd be there too…"
    "I have to think."
    In the darkness he couldn't see her face, but he sensed the smile, the weary smile. "Yes, George. Of course. You go and think. Write in your journal." She walked away from him, toward the stairs. "There are fresh bones in the pantry should you get peckish."
    But her voice gave away her sadness. He heard the moment's crying, and intuited instantly and painfully that something she had thought renewed she now realized was not.
    So he
had
been here again. The encounter in the garden, in the darkness… that
had
been the gray-green man. And he had seduced Jennifer! Huxley drew the journal from its hiding place, and with shaking hands opened it, switching on the lamp.
     
    *
The same? You and I? No. No! It feels wrong. I am no ghost.
    Am I a ghost? Perhaps. Yes. When I read your words. Yes. Perhaps right.
    I am confused. I live in brief moments, and the dreams are strong and powerful. I am dreaming a life. But I belong in Oak Lodge. When I am there I feel warmth. But the wood pulls me back. You are right. You other writer. I am your dream and I am free, but not free. Oh confused! And ill. Always so ill. The blood is so hot.
    The dreams, the urging. I am such a hunter. I run them down and use my hands. I am plastered with detritus from the forest.
    My son Steven. You have tampered with my son. This was wrong. Such fury in me. If I see you I fear to control my anger. Leave Steven alone. I am aware of him in the wood. He is here. Something has, or will happen, and he is everywhere. Something will happen to him. Do not interfere with him. An immense event is shaping around him, not yet happened, but already changing the wood, and time is recoiling and refashioning. I watch seasons in frantic change, in full, seconds-long flight. I