The Locals Read online

  I could see my aunt at the side, clapping her hands above her head as if she was in church. I thought it would make me feel less awkward to know she was part of this, but it didn’t. She was just as weird as the rest of them.

  The locals jumped, twirled and threw their hands in the air as we made our way to the green.

  I couldn’t begin to imagine how Roxy would react if she saw this. I thought she’d probably laugh herself to death.

  Charlie leaped to the very front of the parade. He was twirling high in the air like a ballet dancer without missing a single note on his accordion. I’d have been impressed if I wasn’t so freaked out by it all.

  I started to notice those leaf faces everywhere as we went on. There were stone faces peering down from drains like angry gargoyles, there were vague carvings in weather-beaten wood and I even spotted a couple of garden gnomes with leaf skin and acorn eyes.

  We arrived at the green and Charlie leaped around, prancing nimbly and playing his accordion.

  I thought the men would put me down now, but they carried me right into the middle and held me up high.

  “Alright,” I said. I could feel my pulse speeding up. “Parade’s over.”

  The locals formed a circle around me, held hands and hummed along to the jaunty accordion tune.

  I scanned the circle for my aunt. I had to twist my head round to find her. “What’s going on now? It’s finished, hasn’t it?”

  “Of course not!” shouted my aunt. “It’s time for you to become May Queen.”

  “Queen of the May!” shouted a high, mischievous voice in front of me.

  The crowd hummed louder and began to swing their linked arms up and down.

  “I’m getting sick of this,” I shouted. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead into my eye, but I couldn’t wipe it away. “Untie me now!”

  The locals hummed louder.

  “Auntie Carmen!” I shouted. “Tell them to untie me!”

  I tried to pull my arms out of the ribbons, but they held tight.

  “Take me down, you stupid bumpkins!” I shouted in an uneven voice. “I don’t want to stay in this pathetic little backwater. I want to go back to civilisation. I don’t want to be your May Queen.”

  Charlie broke away from the crowd and pranced towards me.

  “Charlie!” I shouted. “Stop this now. Joke’s over.”

  He lowered the accordion to the floor. The humming cut out and the locals fell still.

  “Finally,” I said. “Someone’s listened to me.”

  I could hear Charlie giggling behind his mask. It was a high, shrieking sound. Not the sort of laugh I’d have expected him to have.

  “Take that mask off and talk to me,” I said.

  Charlie lifted his hands up to his cloth hood and peeled it off.

  There wasn’t a curly-haired white boy underneath, but more green. At first I thought he had another mask on, but then I realised it was a long, grinning face made from leaves.

  This wasn’t Charlie at all. This was him. The one I’d seen all those carvings of.

  CHAPTER 7

  The green man

  I stared at the figure in front of me. Thin branches sprouting red berries were growing out of his nostrils, ears and tear ducts. His slanting brows were made from fine roots and there were patches of moss around his acorn eyes. Tiny flies and ticks crawled around the oak leaves that swept across his forehead, cheeks and chin.

  Everyone in the circle bowed and chanted, “Hail to the Green Man.”

  “Take me down,” I screamed.

  The locals carried me nearer to him. I could hear my pulse beating in my ears as I tried to yank my wrists free.

  “Queen of the May,” shrieked the Green Man. He shed his bulky cotton costume to reveal a lean body of twisting branches, thick vines and emerald leaves. “Queen of the May! Queen of the May!”

  He hopped towards me in a lightning-fast Morris dance and held out his right arm.

  “Queen of the May!”

  A sharp branch ripped out of his wrist and shot towards me. I tried to pull back, but the ribbons held firm. The Green Man squealed out a laugh as the branch coiled around my arm and the arm of the chair.

  “Stop it, you leafy freak!” I shouted. The branch squeezed my arm like a snake. “Let me go!”

  “Don’t resist!” shouted my aunt from behind me. “Let him take over. You won’t regret it.”

  Sharp thorns sprouted from the branch and broke my skin with bright flashes of pain.

  “Why are you doing this?” I screamed. I tried to wriggle free but the thorns cut deeper.

  I heard Charlie’s voice from near my feet. All the time I’d thought he’d been in the bulky costume, he’d been one of the robed men carrying my chair. “If you let the Green Man into your heart you’ll see why we love him. You’ll love him too, and you’ll want to bring him new followers just like we do.”

  As the thorns dug into my skin, an image of the Green Man hopping through thick woodland came into my mind. Then an image of him leading a procession of ancient people in animal skins.

  I tried to force these pictures out.

  The Green Man fixed his acorn eyes on me and giggled.

  “You’re a parasite,” I shouted. “You feed off the worship of gullible idiots like this lot. But I’m not going to fall for it. I think you’re just as much of a tragic yokel as the rest of them.”

  “Don’t fight it!” shouted my aunt. “You’ll feel such joy.”

  Images of people from long-gone ages dancing, parading and skipping swept into my mind. I felt a sudden swell of love for these old traditions.

  How long did anything last these days before it went out of fashion or needed an upgrade? Wouldn’t it be better to be part of something that went back thousands of years? Why didn’t I just give in and let myself worship him?

  I fought these feelings. The Green Man was planting these thoughts in my mind. They weren’t mine.

  I concentrated on London, desperately trying to replace the ancient images.

  I thought about going down to Westfield for the sales and loading up with plastic bags. I thought about going to Shoreditch with Roxy to mingle with hipsters. I thought about queuing outside the O2 to get right to the front for Jay Z. That was my world. Not this place.

  “Queen of the May,” hissed the Green Man. His smile dropped and his mossy brow knotted above his acorn eyes. “Queen of the May.”

  The branch around my wrist gripped tighter and the thorns cut deeper. A vision of Victorian men and women dancing around a maypole came into my mind. I felt joy welling inside me again, but I fought it. It was a filthy, false joy and I didn’t want it.

  I took a deep breath and lunged sideways. The men holding my chair buckled, but held their grip.

  “Stop struggling!” shouted Charlie. “Give in to him.”

  I tried again. This time they tumbled to the floor.

  The branch connecting me to the green man snapped, and I hit the ground with a crack that jolted my entire body. Both arms of the chair splintered into wooden shards and I yanked them away. I pulled my arms free of the ribbons and the coiled branch and got to my feet.

  The Green Man was staring down at the broken branch coming from his hand and yowling. Green sap was squirting from it like blood from a burst artery.

  “Queen of the May!” he shrieked.

  “Queen of the May!” chanted the locals, closing in on me.

  I charged at them.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Road

  I tugged my dress over my head as I ran down the track. Wild flowers shook loose as I dragged it away.

  After I’d forced my way out of the circle of locals, I’d headed for the stoniest, bumpiest track I could find. I was the only one wearing trainers, and I wanted to make the most of the advantage.

  I threw the dress to the floor and looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, the locals were falling behind. But there was one figure racing ahead. The Green Man was sprinting
with his acorn eyes fixed on me. Leaves and berries were blowing away from his branches as he dashed.

  The track ran along a field with a dozen cows in it. A couple of them were looking up, but the rest kept grazing. A long hedge marked the far edge of the field and I could see cars flitting through the gaps.

  It was a road. Not a very big one. But it would lead to a bigger one, which would lead to a motorway, which would lead back to London.

  I pelted up to the hedge and searched for the thinnest spot. I launched myself through, scraping my arms and neck. One of my braids got stuck on a twig and I stopped to untangle it with shaking fingers, knowing that the Green Man was silently gaining on me.

  I dragged myself out of the hedge and jogged down the side of the road. A car was coming.

  I glanced back and saw blank, acorn eyes peeping through the gap in the hedge. The Green Man had caught up.

  I ran into the middle of the road and waved my arms. The car skidded to a halt just a couple of feet away and a woman with glasses stared at me with her mouth open.

  The Green Man tried to leap through the hedge, but one of the vines on his leg caught on a branch. He reached down and snapped it, wincing with pain.

  I ran round to the passenger door. The woman leaned over to lock it, but I managed to get inside.

  “I don’t have any money,” she said.

  “I don’t want any,” I said, slamming the door closed. “I just want you to drive me away from here.”

  Tears were welling in my eyes and I couldn’t see very clearly, but I could tell the shape of the Green Man was approaching fast.

  “Please!” I shouted. “Now!”

  The woman turned the key and the car pulled away just as twig fingers scraped the back window. As I blinked the tears away, I caught a glimpse of the Green Man’s furious, acorn eyes for the last time.

  “Was that a tree?” asked the woman.

  “Must have been,” I said.

  *

  I’m back home now and looking out of my window at the London skyline. My parents still think I’m in Hobb’s Green and I’m going to let them keep thinking it.

  I doubt my aunt will be in any hurry to tell them I’ve come back either. As she says, they like to keep themselves to themselves up there. The last thing they want is some outsider spreading rumours about how they worship an ancient pile of leaves.

  You know what? Let them keep doing their freaky thing. I’m just never, ever going back.

  Tomorrow I’m meeting Roxy in Westfield. We’re going to hang out in the Food Court, where I won’t be able to see a single leaf or blade of grass in any direction. Sounds perfect.

  THE END

  The Locals ISBN 978-1-78464-225-9

  Text © Tim Collins 2014

  Complete work © Badger Publishing Limited 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

  reproduced, stored in any form or by any means mechanical,

  electronic, recording or otherwise without the prior permission

  of the publisher.

  The right of Tim Collins to be identified as author of this Work has

  been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and

  Patents Act 1988.

  Publisher: Susan Ross

  Senior Editor: Danny Pearson

  Publishing Assistant: Claire Morgan

  Copyeditor: Cheryl Lanyon

  Designer: Bigtop Design Ltd

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