The man grinned at Nush. Although he wasn’t a man, was he? With his muscular bare chest and hair in the style of a rugged, unkempt Mills and Boon Lothario, all shaggy mane dotted with leaves as though he’d this second finished rolling in the bushes with one of the more buxom members of the local cannibal clan. No, how could he be a man with a pair of antlers sticking out the sides of his head? Two. Fucking. Antlers. But there he was, hands on hips, waiting for Nush. When she didn’t respond, opting instead to stare slack-mouthed at the thing before her, he seemed to ponder something briefly, reinforced his grin and swept his arm theatrically across himself and into the clearing. Continuing to gawp, Nush dumbly followed the line of the stag-man’s arm and back to him.
She’d gone mad. That had to be it. Somewhere between London and wherever the bollocking-hell this was, she’d tipped into abso-fucking-lutely stark raving, dogshit-eatingly mad.
Stag-man tried again, this time clearing his throat and along with the sweeping gesture, he said, ‘Alight, and I shall show you the wonders of my wild wood.’
Nush didn’t move, which vexed the stag-man. He tried again. ‘Do not fear me. I am Herne and this is my dominion. Come, you are my welcomed guest.’
‘Fuck off,’ Nush blurted out.
Herne opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut. His thick brown eyebrows, that were flecked with gold, knitted together, and his full lips thinned, before he filled his chest with the forest’s air, expanding the sinuous muscles. ‘Come here at once,’ he bellowed. Birds squawked and took flight. Unseen animals turned tail and fled through the undergrowth.
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Nush felt the words vibrate through her and as much as she wanted to tell this Herne thing to piss right off, she was already standing against her will and her feet were moving. She tried to resist, which caused her to stagger as though someone had roofied her Pino on a night out and she was sacrificing dignity in order to stagger unmolested to the safety of an Uber. The step off the bus caused her to lose balance and land on her hands and knees in the grass. Herne laughed. The tossing wank-stain actually laughed.
His cloven feet appeared in front of her. Nush traced up his legs, covered in brown fur, and came up short halfway up his thighs when it became apparent he wasn’t merely tall, perhaps approaching seven feet, but he was also naked, stark bollock naked. The horrific reality of her situation came crashing down. She was alone, in the woods, having a psychotic break which now conjured a giant mythical stag-man-thing. Herne took a step closer, and offered Nush his hand, which although large, appeared entirely human, much like the dark, lolling genitals which were at her eyeline. She looked up into his bearded face. He was square jawed and handsome, if in need of a bath and industrial levels of waxing. Smiling, he nodded for her to take his hand. Nush did and felt whatever it was compelling her to walk off the bus lessen. She was half-way to her feet when, remembering the self-defence course she’d taken at college, she grabbed the bastard’s balls, squeezed and twisted. Herne bellowed in agony and fell to his knees, clutching his groin.
This was her chance and Nush took it. She gained her feet and without time to think she ran, veering across the top of the clearing, tripping over the miniature doll graves while Herne rolled in agony on the grass and roared. His cries rocked the earth and brought the woods to life with a cacophony of twittering, squawks, snorts and roars. The treeline was close, a few more strides and she’d have cover. Nush’s ankle wobbled on the uneven ground, but she kept her feet and threw a glance over her shoulder. Curled on his side in the foetal position, one hand buried in his groin, Herne reached out with the other towards Nush. A smile brushed her lips, but as she turned back a tree branch swiped through the air and caught her in the stomach. She flipped heels over head and landed hard on her back. With all the breath knocked from her lungs, she told herself to get up, but every time she tried to breathe no air would come. Flopping over onto her stomach like a drowning fish, Nush began to crawl toward the treeline, grabbing handfuls of leaflitter and dried twigs. She stopped when a tendril of ivy wound around first one ankle and then the other and lashed them together with a harsh tug. More ivy snaked through the forest floor towards her, and Nush managed the first small breath when her wrists became ensnared also and she was trapped.
