It was early on a winter’s morning, and the chilly darkness seemed almost palpable, a dense shroud draping the ground. Either side of the road, there were only shadows within shadows, tones of dusky grey blending into pitch black. But Ruth’s powerful light lanced into the gloom ahead, and she drove her bike onwards with strong, confident thrusts of her legs. As she turned off onto the mud path that led out of the town, it seemed for a moment as if she were cycling off the ends of the earth. Then, the beam of her light was answered by twin gleams, winking into existence exactly where she expected them, reliable eyes on watch at the entrance to the heath. They appeared to be straight in front of her, yet Ruth knew this path like the back of her hand, and was ready for the sudden bend just before the two posts, dexterously swooping left around the large oak tree that lay in wait for the unwary, then angling back to arrow in through the entrance.
Underneath the trees that crowded the outskirts of the heath it was, if anything, even darker. Despite the inky blackness, Ruth followed every twist and turn of the familiar route, barely even slowing. She kept her usual sharp eye out for the shine of torches or light-up dog collars, and the occasional flaming idiot who went about with no light whatsoever, mostly dressed in dark clothes, never sparing a thought for how they were completely invisible and a hazard to other road users. In recent weeks, however, she had had the path to herself. A spate of recent disappearances on the heath had frightened off most other people. The dog walkers and pensioners out for a stroll delayed their outings to after sunrise, while commuters chose the well-lit, if much longer, route around the heath through the villages.
Ruth was scornful of those who let their daily routine be dictated by some hysterical threads on social media. She had been cycling across the heath for nearly ten years, and had never had any serious problems. It was simply a question of being prepared for all eventualities. She kept her bike in tip-top order, hosing the mud off, giving it a once-over every week, and booking it in for regular maintenance. Should she happen to ride over an unseen shard of glass and get a puncture, she always carried a repair kit and a bike pump, and was expert at quick fixes. Her capacious bike bags also contained sturdy raingear and a first aid kit, along with a water bottle, spare batteries and gloves. A day-glo vest and wheel reflectors took care of traffic safety, and for the unexpected she always carried her phone, fully charged and within easy reach. In extremity, her keys or any one of the tools in her bag could double as a handy weapon.
That was all it took, preparation. She always explained that to her first aid classes. Leave nothing to chance. Be well trained and well equipped. Don’t be left facing an emergency with a kit full of outdated plasters while racking your brains to remember how many chest compressions you’re supposed to give. So many people on the heath were totally unprepared. Fools who jumped on a bike that had been in a dusty shed for months and were then surprised when their chain jammed. Or who strolled off the main road to cut across the heath on a whim, with no idea of which path to follow, and were astonished when Google couldn’t help them. Undoubtedly those who had disappeared – assuming they had really disappeared and weren’t just figments of someone’s over-active imagination – had been of that sort. Dawdling along in a dream, earplugs in, attention focused on their phones, oblivious to the world around them and its dangers.
The sky was lightening near the horizon as sunrise approached. Ruth switched off her powerful light to conserve its battery and avoid blinding any other people on the path. Her dynamo was enough now. In the grey pre-dawn, she could make out the steep ascent, over the motorway, that led to the heath proper. All signs of the motorway were carefully camouflaged by landscaping, so that the path ahead appeared to climb a natural hillside edged with tall bushes. Despite there being hundreds of people only metres below her, it felt as if she were utterly alone. Only the sound of the traffic penetrated, in an eerie mutter.
Panting slightly as she reached the top, Ruth nevertheless kept up a steady pace, unlike so many other cyclists who slowed to a ponderous crawl, or even gave up entirely and got off to push their bikes. Sweating from the effort, she briefly debated unzipping her jacket, then decided against it. The bridge often marked a cross-over point in the weather, with cooler air lying in wait on the wide expanse of the heath that spread out below. Indeed, as she guided her bike down the steep descent, ably avoiding rain gullies and fallen branches, she saw wisps of mist creeping through the brambles. As the slope flattened out, the trees on either side progressively vanished behind the haze. The marker for the crossroads was buried by grey murk, but Ruth knew the exact spot to turn left, onto the long avenue that ran straight across the heath, lined by trees.
Under normal circumstances, Ruth loved this stretch of the path. The parallel lines of tall oak trees marched off into the distance, mighty branches arching over the path to meet high in the air. In spring the first green leaves appeared, delicate at first, then gradually thickening into dense foliage. In summer caterpillars descended from the canopy on spun silk threads, and Ruth carefully brushed them off her clothes when she arrived at work. Autumn was heralded by shades of red, orange and brown leaves, drifting down to lie in thick piles, through which mushrooms still managed to spring up and unfurl their caps. To either side of the avenue, the heath stretched out, a seeming boundless plain subtly shifting from grey to green to delicate purple as the seasons changed. Sometimes, Ruth saw deer, or even the stoical highland cattle that were responsible for keeping the grass down. Now, though, the branches above were stark and bare. Ruth could see nothing to either side of the avenue, and only the first few trees ahead. Beyond, the path dissolved into an opalescent void.
The mist thickened, becoming genuine fog. Tendrils crept around Ruth’s hair, while denser billows crowded her light. Soon she could see nothing around her at all, and she was riding along in a grey limbo, haloed in a diffuse glow by her lights. She was undisturbed by this. The avenue went straight on until it reached the road, where there was street lighting, where the land rose once more, and the mists of the heath would dissipate.
As time went on, though, Ruth began to feel unaccountably edgy. She completed her journey in the same time every day, like clockwork, and it felt as though it were taking much longer than normal for the avenue to end. The mist was just slowing her more than she had thought, she told herself, and kept expecting to hear the rattle of the cattle grid that marked the boundary of the heath, as her wheels passed over it. Any minute now, she repeated to herself. She tried turning her powerful lamp back on, but it simply reflected from the myriad tiny droplets in the air, almost blinding her, so she quickly shut it off again. Any minute. Almost there.
Then, suddenly, in the mist ahead, a dark human shape loomed up. Just in time, she slammed on her brakes, and slewed to one side, throwing out one leg to stop herself from falling as she came to a stop, the bike sliding onto the ground. She gave it a quick once-over to check nothing was broken, then turned back round to give the walker an earful about watching out for other road users.
Instead of coming over to argue or apologise, the shadowy figure, its back turned, was actually moving away from her. A faint sound reached Ruth, irregular gasping, a gulp – a sob? The body was hunched over, trembling slightly, in a posture that suggested pain. ‘Are you hurt?’, asked Ruth. She knew she hadn’t hit them with her bike, but maybe they had already been injured, that would explain them stumbling along unawares like that. Her mind was already running through first aid protocol. Should she get out her first aid kit? No, first assess the situation. ‘Hang on a moment’, she said, then turned back to her bike, hoisting it upright and deftly hooking out the stand with one foot. Usually, she would have taken care to put it to the side of the path, for safety’s sake, but now she wasn’t even sure where the path was.
Turning back, she saw a silhouette disappearing into the fog. ‘Hey’, she called, and sprang after it. The ground was uneven, unseen branches and tangled clumps of grass clawed at her feet. Ahead, the figure kept going, staggering slightly as it passed between the vague vertical shadows of trees. Annoyed, Ruth struggled on behind. ‘Just stand still, will you?’, she called out in irritation. Honestly, people were so unreasonable. The number of times she had administered first aid, doing her best to help while the casualty in question flailed their arms about, or squealed and pulled their leg away as she tried to clean a wound or splint a broken bone. But this was beyond anything in her experience. The person actually seemed to be speeding up, as though they were actively trying to get away from her. Why on earth? – then it struck her. They must have been attacked, and were now traumatized, suspicious of anyone. That would explain it all. She slipped her phone from her pocket into her hand, ready to call for help. The ambulance first if the person was injured, they would pass on the message to the police if they were needed.
The figure lurched on in front of her, moving free of the last trees and out onto the heath. Almost immediately, the avenue behind was lost to view, and the two of them were all that was visible in a silent, ashen world. While Ruth could see only metres ahead, she could feel the vastness of the heath stretching out far beyond, an immense space filled with the unseen. Anything could be moving around out there. Cooling sweat trickled down the back of her clothing like icy fingers, and she couldn’t suppress a shiver. With no idea of what was underfoot, nevertheless she spurred herself onwards, hastening to catch up before her quarry was lost to her for good. ‘Don’t be afraid’, she called reassuringly. ‘’I’m a first aider. I’m here to help you”. There was still no sign that the person had heard her. They seemed only half-aware of their surroundings, bumping against a post that emerged from the mist without appearing to even notice. But then, finally, they came to a tottering halt in the midst of the heather, the mist swirling around their body in disturbed eddies.
Relieved, Ruth hurried forward. As she passed the post, she subconsciously noticed it was actually the handle of something stuck into the ground – a spade? Reaching the figure, she saw that its whole frame was shaking with suppressed emotion. Unwilling compassion filled her, and she hesitantly reached out and placed her hand on its shoulder. Ruth softened her voice. ‘I won’t hurt you, I promise. Let’s just take a look at you first’, she said encouragingly.
The shaking increased, and sound erupted from the figure’s mouth. Incredulously, Ruth realized it was not anguish, but laughter. Slowly, it turned around, its unspeakable face only inches from hers. Ruth was transfixed by the utter malice in the deep pits of the eyes. Frozen fingers closed on her wrist in an iron grip, and her phone slipped from her numbed fingers. Her mind raced from the lost phone, to the laughably ineffectual bunch of keys in her pocket, to the tools in her bike bag, as far away as the stars. Horror flooded her as she realized that, for the first time in her life, she was totally unprepared for what was to come next.