It was a toe.
It was definitely a toe.
What should she do?
Suze looked all around her, at the stark bare branches on either side, the decaying autumn leaf falls melting into mushy hummus on the ground, even up at the clouds scudding across the blue sky above, as if she expected to see something there that would explain the presence of a toe in the middle of the footpath, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of an ordinary day.
It was only a toe.
Lying all by itself on the path, no foot attached, no sign anywhere of the person who had presumably once owned it. Bending closer, Suze could see a few sparse hairs sticking out of it. The nail was neatly trimmed but at a slight slant. It seemed to be a little bit ingrown on one side, where the flesh looked reddened and swollen. The stump…
Suze straightened up abruptly. She didn’t want to look at that. The clotted blackish-redness… She gulped a few times to try to clear the knot in her throat, then took a quick swig from her water bottle. Breathing deeply, the rush of nausea slowly subsided.
What should she do? It clearly wasn’t a normal situation. She’d come across lost gloves before, dropped hankies, lights fallen off bikes, even someone’s phone once (she’d handed that in at the visitors centre). But toes didn’t slip out of people’s pockets. And if someone had been injured and taken off in an ambulance, surely the paramedics would have taken the toe with them? Her imagination started to run riot, considering how a person could lose a toe in such a way that it would end up far away from them – an impact so violent that the toe went flying through the air and rolled down the hill, a dog running off with the dismembered body part before it could be stopped…
Shaking her head, Suze tried to focus. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and absentmindedly traced out her access code. The screen sprang to life. But who should she call? 112 – her first instinct – seemed a little over the top. There wasn’t a life-threatening situation here. Whoever it was who had lost their toe, whatever condition they were in – they weren’t here to be given aid. Local police? As soon as the outline of the conversation started to take shape in her head, she cringed at the absurdity of it. Who would believe that a severed toe could be lying in the middle of a nature reserve? The police would think she was a prankster, or a nut.
Perhaps she could go to the visitors centre and tell them about it. That was her standard tactic when she discovered something out of order, a fallen tree, a broken gate. They were always very helpful. But what if they came back with her and the toe was gone? Would they think she was crazy? An attention-seeking timewaster?
Undecided, Suze looked back and forth between the toe and the phone. The phone! That was it! She could take a photo of the toe, then she could show it to the staff and prove her story. Crouching back down, she held out the phone, trying to focus on the small object. The light wasn’t so good…
Behind her, she heard the sound of footfalls. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a jogger coming towards her at a rapid pace, expensive headphones over his ears, wearing a stylish tight top and leggings. She stood up and shouted to get his attention, but he powered on, an inward-turned look of intense concentration on his face, with just a slight swerve to the side to go around her. At the last minute, she grabbed his elbow, and he swung round with a jerk, looking at her as if she were a psychopathic mugger, instead of a mild-mannered woman in need of assistance.
“What the hell…?”, he shouted, pulling down his headphones. Suze raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Please!’, she shouted back. “I need help!”. He eyed her suspiciously, eyes flicking back and forth as if he expected to be ambushed by an army of delinquents springing out of the bushes. “Look!”, Suze said, pointing down at the ground. “It’s a toe!”, she added, inanely.
The jogger did a doubletake, then bent over, looking at the toe. He examined it for a moment, then burst out laughing. He turned to look at her, with a superior expression on his face. “It’s just a fake”, he pronounced condescendingly. “Someone’s idea of a joke. Sick though!”. He pulled out his own phone and snapped a few pictures. “Mike’ll love this!”, he said, posting the pictures with a few emojis and a row of exclamation marks, then pulled his headphones back on and jogged off, absorbed in his phone.
Suze turned back to the toe. While reluctant to look at it up close, she squatted down and studied it carefully. Could it be a fake? She had never seen a dead body or even a body part, she had no idea what it should look like. The jogger seemed so certain. A flush of shame spread through her body. She was so naïve, so dumb, to fall for someone’s prank…
Well. She straightened her shoulders. If it was someone’s idea of a practical joke, she thought it was stupid and childish. She would just go on with her walk and ignore it. But then a thought stopped her. If she had fallen for it, then other people probably would. She couldn’t just leave it here to freak out the next person who came past. Surely she wasn’t the only one who would think it looked real. What if it gave some elderly lady a bad fright – even a heart attack?
There was only one thing for it. She would have to clear it away, throw it in the bin. But she couldn’t possibly touch it with her bare hand. Just looking at the thing made her shudder in disgust. She fished in her pockets, not quite sure what she was looking for, then came up with an empty muesli bar wrapper, from her midmorning snack. Holding it spread out over her fingers, she poised her hand over the toe. All she had to do was just scoop it up…
Urgh! She pulled her hand back. It was a repulsive idea to touch it, even through the wrapper. She took a few deep breaths and admonished herself. Come on now, you’re a grown-up woman, it’s just a fake toe, you can pick it up…
Suze stretched out her hand again. Her fingers on the wrapper, skin a warm shade of pink, her nails stylishly varnished in light blue, were in sickening contrast to the necrotic flesh of the toe. It’s just plastic, or latex, or whatever, she told herself. It’s no different to a tin can or some other piece of litter. You pick those up, you can pick this up…
But it didn’t look fake. So close by, she could see every detail, the pimples on the skin, the ridges on the nail, the crust of blood on the stump. She could almost imagine detecting a whiff of rot. It’s just your imagination, she told herself. But then a fly zoomed in and landed on the toe, mopping it with its proboscis with every sign of enthusiasm. Its motions made the whole toe tremble, giving it a horrifying semblance of life.
Would a fly bother to land on a piece of plastic? Insects weren’t fooled by appearances, were they? The more she looked at the toe, the more realistic it appeared, and the stronger the scent of decay grew in her nostrils. What if the jogger were wrong? He’d only looked at it for a few seconds. Who said he was any sort of expert on these things anyway?
The panic began to well up again. The conviction grew that this was a toe, an actual human toe, a chopped off toe. Who did it belong to? Who had cut it off?
Then doubt consumed her. Was she just a fool taken in by some idiot’s morbid sense of humour? A nitwit who couldn’t tell the difference between a manufactured prop and real human flesh?
Irresolute, Suze looked around again, as if she could find the answer in the wind-tossed branches, the pattern of the clouds in the sky. Then, her resolve hardened. She would rather be the gullible chump who fell for a trick than the cynical sophisticate who failed to report a crime. Her mind made up, she pulled out her phone again, and started to type in the emergency number.
Her phone flashed up a low battery warning, then instantly died. Swearing, Suze pressed the buttons and the screen, first gently, then stabbing at them with increasing force. The phone refused to respond. She couldn’t call the emergency services, she couldn’t take a photo and show it at the visitors centre. What now?
“Excuse me!”, a voice called out. The tone was not courteous, but querulous, strident. Suze looked up to see an elderly man almost on top of her, straining to restrain the dog he had on the end of his leash, glaring at her for blocking the path.
“Sorry!”, she called out automatically. Then, “Please, could you help me?”. The man stopped, his face a picture of barely suppressed irritation, the dog frolicking around and pulling at the leash. “Do you have a phone?”, Suze asked, ashamed to bring up the toe immediately. “No, of course not”, the man snapped. “I come here to enjoy nature, to be at one with my surroundings. Not to spend my time ‘scrolling’”.
What do you think I’m here for?, Suze thought, but didn’t say out loud. She needed this man’s help. “Of course not”, she responded soothingly. “I only asked because it’s urgent that I contact the authorities”. Somehow she was talking like she was in a police drama. “There’s a – well – a toe lying here. I must report it”. She gestured helplessly.
The elderly man bent over to look at the toe, then jumped back in revulsion. “Indeed!”, he exclaimed. “Dreadful! It’s probably a wolf, you know. They’ve been reported near here. All these halfwits who think that wild animals are cute and cuddly. They come out here, completely unprepared. I’ve seen those simpletons, walking in plimsolls, no water, no map, no idea of the real world. Then something goes wrong and they expect to be rescued. Ridiculous.” He pulled his dog, who was inspecting the toe with a worrying interest, back towards him, and made to go on his way.
“Please!”, Suze called. “I need help! What do I do?”. The man turned back towards her. “Do?”, he asked. “It’s not your problem. It’s not my problem. Someone didn’t take proper care of themselves and now they’ve got what they deserved. Why should I let it ruin my day?”. He continued on his way, his back rigid with indignation and self-righteousness.
Suze was left behind, feeling increasingly desperate. She looked at the severed toe, so small, so lost there on its own. She couldn’t just walk on and leave it. The memory of it would linger in her mind, torturing her. Her own toes tingled as, unwillingly, she imagined how it must have felt when the toe was cut off. It must have been done by something sharp, and hard. Illusory pain shot through her as she envisaged a knife, blade glinting in the sunlight, then slicing down in a deadly flash. Or the slavering mouth of a wolf, dagger-like teeth ripping through the skin, scraping on the bone as they crunched through it. Sickness rose up in her once more. How could this happen? Could it really be true that there were wolves here? Her walk through these woods had always seemed so safe, the wild animals she saw sent thrills of joy through her, not fear. The deer grazing peacefully, then gracefully springing away in leaps of alarm when they spotted her. The hedgehog snuffling comfortably through the undergrowth, the buzzard gliding noiselessly from the tree. A wolf just didn’t seem to fit. She thought of a maniac armed with a knife, sneaking through the bushes, hiding just on the other side of the tree trunk, and she started to tremble. A sudden rustling sound made her jump and spin around. The woods seemed to stretch out around her, so much space and yet so many places someone – or something – could hide. What could she do?
Come on, she said to herself. This is crazy. You’ve been here so many times before. Something out of the ordinary has happened, that’s undeniable. But why are you letting it get to you? The other two didn’t. They’ve probably already forgotten all about it. You can do the same. Just walk away. She tried to will her muscles to do that, to step aside, go past the toe, and carry on down the path. But she simply couldn’t do it.
Ok, Suze told herself. Fine. Then you need to do something about it, don’t you? You’re perfectly capable of that. You’ve just been too passive, as usual. You let the jogger convince you it wasn’t real, you let the old man walk off without helping. The next person who comes along this path, you have to make them help. Get them to call if they have a phone, or otherwise go and find help. Make it their problem. You shouldn’t be left to cope alone.
A cloud passed over the sun, the shadow swooping over her, and the sudden chill seemed to penetrate her bones. How long would it take before someone else came by? Surely not that long. It was a popular path. She started to shiver. This place, that she loved so dearly, that had always filled her with a sense of peace, had turned alien and threatening. She felt exposed and vulnerable. There was an irrational sensation of being watched: unfriendly, calculating, mocking eyes glowering from behind every bush, every tussock of grass, every tree trunk. Waiting for their chance. She shifted from one foot to the other, gazing longingly first this way along the path, then the other. The welcome sound of voices turned out to be the whispering of the wind, a whistled tune was a bird, approaching footsteps the crackling of a blackbird rummaging amongst the twigs. Then, finally, her vigil was rewarded, and she stepped forward in relief, a smile stretching across her face, her hands already reaching out in eager supplication.
It was a finger.
It was definitely a finger.
The hiker stared in shock at the thing lying on the path, the delicate blue nail varnish incongruous against the brown leaves.
What should he do?