Giant’s Bread · Book I · III · Chapter 1 3 5

V

Such a thing had never happened before in Vernon’s experience. Again and again he had secretly tried that door. Always it was locked.

He crept up to it cautiously. The Forest! It stood a few steps away outside the door. You could plunge straightway into its cool green depths. Vernon’s heart beat faster.

He had always wanted to go into the Forest. Here was his chance. Once Nurse came back, any such thing would be out of the question.

And still he hesitated. It was not any feeling of disobedience that held him back. Strictly speaking, he had never been forbidden to go in the Forest. His childish cunning was all ready with that excuse.

No, it was something else. Fear of the unknown⁠—of those dark leafy depths. Ancestral memories held him back.

He wanted to go⁠—but he didn’t want to go. There might be Things there⁠—Things like the Beast. Things that came up behind you⁠—that chased you screaming⁠ ⁠…

He moved uneasily from one foot to the other.

But Things didn’t chase you in the daytime. And Mr. Green lived in the Forest. Not that Mr. Green was as real as he used to be. Still, it would be rather jolly to explore and find a place where you would pretend Mr. Green did live. Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree would each have a house of his own⁠—small leafy houses.

“Come on, Poodle,” said Vernon to an invisible companion. “Have you got your bow and arrow? That’s right. We’ll meet Squirrel inside.”

He stepped out jauntily. Beside him, plain to Vernon’s inner eye, went Poodle, dressed like the picture of Robinson Crusoe in his picture book.

It was wonderful in the Forest⁠—dim and dark and green. Birds sang and flew from branch to branch. Vernon continued to talk to his friend⁠—a luxury he did not dare to permit himself often, since someone might overhear and say, “Isn’t he too funny? He’s pretending he’s got another little boy with him.” You had to be so very careful at home.

“We’ll get to the Castle by lunch time, Poodle. There are going to be roasted leopards. Oh! Hullo, here’s Squirrel. How are you, Squirrel? Where’s Tree?”

“I tell you what. I think it’s rather tiring walking. I think we’ll ride.”

Steeds were tethered to an adjacent tree. Vernon’s was milk white, Poodle’s was coal black⁠—the colour of Squirrel’s he couldn’t quite decide.

They galloped forward through the trees. There were deadly dangerous places, morasses. Snakes hissed at them and lions charged them. But the faithful steeds did all their riders required of them.

How silly it was playing in the garden⁠—or playing anywhere but here! He’d forgotten what it was like, playing with Mr. Green and Poodle, Squirrel and Tree. How could you help forgetting things when people were always reminding you that you were a funny little boy playing make believe.

On strutted Vernon, now capering, now marching with solemn dignity. He was great, he was wonderful! What he needed, though he did not know it himself, was a tom-tom to beat whilst he sang his own praises.

The Forest! He had always known it would be like this, and it was! In front of him suddenly appeared a crumbling moss-covered wall. The wall of the Castle! Could anything be more perfect? He began to climb it.

The ascent was easy enough really, though fraught with the most agreeable and thrilling possibilities of danger. Whether this was Mr. Green’s Castle, or whether it was inhabited by an Ogre who ate human flesh, Vernon had not yet made up his mind. Either was an entrancing proposition. On the whole he inclined to the latter, being at the moment in a warlike frame of mind. With a flushed face he reached the summit of the wall and looked over the other side.

And here there enters into the story, for one brief paragraph, Mrs. Somers West who was fond of romantic solitude (for short periods) and had bought Woods Cottage as being “delightfully remote from anywhere and really, if you know what I mean, in the very heart of the Forest⁠—at one with Nature!” And since Mrs. Somers West, as well as being artistic, was musical, she had pulled down a wall, making two rooms into one and had thus provided herself with sufficient space to house a grand piano.

And at the identical moment that Vernon reached the top of the wall, several perspiring and staggering men were slowly propelling the aforesaid grand piano towards the window since it wouldn’t go in by the door. The garden of Woods Cottage was a mere tangle of undergrowth⁠—wild Nature, as Mrs. Somers West called it. So that all Vernon saw was the Beast! The Beast, alive and purposeful, slowly crawling towards him, malign and vengeful⁠ ⁠…

For a moment he stayed rooted to the spot. Then, with a wild cry, he fled. Fled along the top of the narrow crumbling wall. The Beast was behind him, pursuing him⁠ ⁠… It was coming, he knew it. He ran⁠—ran faster than ever⁠—His foot caught in a tangle of ivy. He crashed downwards⁠—falling⁠—falling⁠ ⁠…