Damn!
The Bus was crammed.
Not a good thing.
For Pete and Greg this was a true nightmare made full flesh...
To compound the nightmare was the fact that there was literally no seats available for the lads to plant their hides.
So they had to stand.
IN the middle of the aisle.
Full drunk. Swaying and swerving with the sway and the swerve of the bus.
It was an evil business.
As I explained earlier Pete was a good drunk. Pete stood his ground as the bus moved around.
But Greg rocked like a rocking horse, back and forth side to side - in other words he was a mess!
Greg didn't think he could take it any more, and he couldn't. His mind said: "YES! HOLD ON!" But his guts said "NO."
Greg gave up and vomited on the man next to him in the aisle. That was a bad thing to do. But what was worse was that the man Greg had emptied his filth onto was a strong man with good sized muscles behind the skin of his arms.
The driver ordered the bus to halt, and halt it did. The strong man got up and grabbed Greg by the throat. The bus doors opened and Greg was thrown out and he fell down onto the ground. A couple of feet later the bus halted again and this time Pete calmly stepped out. Pete wasn't going to abandon his friend like that.
So the lads were back out in the wilderness and this time it was worse than before...
There was no bus shelter and seemingly no road either.
The wood was growing thick in all directions you turned your head - no path no road no field no clear skies... Just leaves and trees - and o please the breeze - but nothing else to ease the horror climbing steadily up their spines towards their fizzy brains.
They were nowhere and that was bad.
'How many bottles of booze do we have left son?' said Greg to his mate.
Greg looked bad. He was shaking and covered in vomit and dirt.
'Enough for the road,' Pete returned casually.
'There isn't a road right now my mate,' said Greg. 'I don't know how it happened but we have got lost in this here wood. It is my fault. When I saw that strong man I ran! He scared me to death! I am sorry to get you in this mess, Pete... Forgive me.'
'If there is a way into a wood there is a way out,' said Pete comfortingly. 'I love woods, forests... I love trees. We are part of nature right now and that is right and lovely for sure!'
'Pete... Please. Stop your D.H Lawrence impression and help me. Can't you see that I am shaking? I am shaking right now... I think it is the... I think it is the BIG DT!'
'O gosh! I hate DT... Are you seeing any giant spiders yet?'
'Not yet mate... Not yet... BUT! O NO! I... I think I saw ... NO... I don't want to talk about it...'
'You are sweating mate,' said Pete.
'Really? Damn! Things are getting worse for me,' Greg replied. His voice had shrank into a faint whisper. Aye. It was obvious to Pete, to the birds and to the fox hiding behind a tree that Greg was dying. He was dying real bad.
The slow death of the tremens...
'I helped you earlier on the bus,' Greg pushed on with his desperate wisps of breath. 'Now it is your time to help me, mate... please help me. Get me a bottle... Pour.'
'Bukowski style?'
BUKOWSKI STYLE
Pour son! Pour the juice into the guts pour it now!
And pour Pete did.
Pete poured good and he poured well.
Greg vomited the good juice up to begin with - but Pete consoled himself that the juice had not been wasted... Such fine liquor would feed with vigour the violent seeds of the earth!
Pete poured again. He used both hands to slam Greg's jaws shut firm to keep the juice from returning again. He punched his friend in the face. He punched him again! DRINK! GET IT DOWN YOUR THROAT SON! THAT'S IT!
The juice finally slid down. Instant relief.
Greg was himself again.
'So where are we?' he said.
'In a forest I think said,' said Pete.
'Ah! I love the wood! The sweet trees, the sweet songs the sweet breeze! O please listening to the breeze whistling in the leaves is so divine! The wood is alive - more alive than we, more alive then we will ever be - the living earth on whose turf our mothers gave birth and on whose terms we all owe our due...'
'You can shut up now!' Pete said and then he chuckled. 'Greg. You need to buckle up mate! We are LOST. So less of the William Blake nonsense and have a drink. That's it. Swig it up, son. Are your drunk enough yet? Good! Hopefully you can concentrate now. I have got some bad news for you Greg. I don't know the way out of this forest...'
'If you can get into a forest you can get out of one,' said Greg comfortingly. 'Let's just walk and see what happens.'
'What if we get attacked?' said Pete. 'Anything could get us out here.' Pete was shaking and it was nothing to do with the booze.
'Pete stop it!' Greg shouted. 'Think like an intelligent man will you! What could possibly attack us in a forest? Good lord! It is not like we are lost in Peru or something mad like that. This is Fenwick for goodness. We are kind of sort of part of the UK - sort of... Until we split from them after Brexwick... But you know what I mean? There are no monsters or wild animals lurking in forests like this! Like the only animal that we might meet that might turn us into meat is a boar.'
'A boar? You mean that giant pig like animal with huge tusks?'
'Yeah... boar... Yeah.' Greg had to think for a bit and then he continued: 'Actually now I am thinking about it I am quite scared...' he said.
'So am I,' said Pete.
'Yeah. Boars are pretty bad. Especially if we were to stumble on a nest of them - the parents would go crazy defending the younglings. They would probably kill us, tear us limb from limb. Damn it Pete! We are in a mess! Monsters are going to get us and kill us!'
'What are we going to do?'
RUN!
The two lads ran until they passed out, and then they decided to make camp.
Or decided that they were going to TRY and make a camp...
But of course they couldn't make a fire.
Neither of them had any matches, and rubbing sticks well... this ain't the movies right?
So instead the lads had to sleep out in the open and in the cold.
It was nasty business.
'I heard something moving out there in the brush,' said Pete, who couldn't sleep.
'It is your imagination,' said Greg.
'I need a drink.'
'So do I,' said Greg.
So the lads had a drink.
That fresh slither of booze helped to stable Greg's shaky mind and milky nerves.
'Listen mate,' he said with his new booze soaked confidence brimming, 'there is nothing out there that is going to kill is. No boar. No beasts. I know these things mate. I grew up in the countryside. The city now that is a dangerous place! But the countryside, no. The countryside is fair and fine and beautiful. There is nothing dangerous out here, not in this pleasant wooded land. We are quite safe!'
Just as Greg had concluded his gentle speech a giant sized man covered only in his own bodily growth leaped out from behind a tree in front of them. He was was about half an inch under six feet and had tattoos carved on his face and his teeth had been filed to be like those of a wild brown bear. The giant hairy man howled at them at the highest pitch of his throat - 'Sacrifice them!'
It was time for Pete and Greg to put flight to their shoes and run again.
But they just could not outrun the hairy man.
He kept beating them.
He was so fast!
His legs were like oars on a boat that would scoop him over over the laves of the forest and he just kept on getting in front of them again and again and again until Greg and Pete had to stop so that they could vomit on the leafy forest floor.
'You two lads need to calm down,' said the hairy giant laughing - like it was all some kind of an expected joke. He was stood there, covered in hair, hands on his hips, and laughing. It was a terrifying sight even for a drunken man to behold. 'I ain't sacrificing you to two lumps!' the giant went on.
'Then why say it?' said Greg.
'I was pulling your leg! Come on boys I am bored,' said the giant. 'Let me have some fun! The forest is so quiet these days - too many people stay at home playing with their things. There is no fun to be had for a man like me who likes to mess about!'
'Well I didn't find your joke funny so please do not try anything like that again,' said Greg.
The lads asked the giant for his name and the giant introduced himself thus:
'I am Woga. God of the Forest!'
Well that made a lot of sense.
Pleasantries aside it was now time for Woga to ask the pivotal question:
'How did you two lads get lost in this woodsy land of mine?'
'We are drunks,' said Pete.
'And we are looking for this,' said Greg.
Greg showed Woga the photo of the old house captured from the GOX game.
Woga looked and looked twice and shrugged his huge ugly hairy shoulders. 'I have never seen such a place,' he replied. 'But then I never leave this place. The wood is my home, lads. The wood is my home!'
'Don't worry about it,' Greg returned politely.
Woga looked mad but he sounded sane. Maybe Greg could do something plain and get the hairy man to explain if there was a way out of the wood...
'...and if you could show us a way,' dribbled Greg bringing things up to the grand finale, 'if you could if you would show us the way out of the wood. We would be very grateful, and maybe even able - to pay you... somewhat? Like a tip to a waiter? Do you have anything to which we might cater?'
'I do indeed,' Woga returned haughtily. 'I will lead you lads to the road,' the giant rolled on, 'but you must do something for me.'
ANYTHING - said they.
Bad response...
Woga held up his huge hairy hand and in its heart lay a lump of dirty mud.
'Eat this!' he said.
Obviously the lads thought he was joking so they just laughed in return.
But Woga did NOT return the laugh.
'What do you think I am holding in my hand?' said he.
'Just a bunch of dirty old mud,' Greg replied.
Woga bared his teeth like a furious dog that has been denied its feed. 'This ain't no lump of mud, boys. This is my life...'
Woga talked in such a strange way, I cannot find the words to describe it, but his tone was very confusing - it sent out mixed signals. So the lads didn't really know whether Woga was joking or really actually being quite serious. It was really difficult to tell.
The lads hoped he was joking of course.
But sadly that night there was no joke going about...
'I am not holding mud in my hands, lads,' Woga pressed on behind his barbed bear like teeth. 'This is a precious stew that I made with earths dew, and after waiting my due I serve it up to you. So it is up to you to imbue my product with a good review. Eat I say to you, eat my stew, so that I can give to you the road that will lead you out.'
'We can't eat that mud,' said Greg. 'We will die... or catch something bad! Our lives our difficult enough as it is. Please let us go Mr Woga. Please don't make us eat this!'
Woga would not relent. He portioned the mud with his other hand. 'There is a little stew for you, Greg, and little stew for you Pete. EAT!'
Greg and Pete were starring at one another frantically.
How were they going to escape?
They needed to escape!
There was no Einstein here. NO mastermind. NO plan. Just two drunk lads and a madman covered in mud and fur.
So Greg and Pete did what they could only do...
They tossed leaves at the giants face and made a run for it!
But the running was NOT good.
There was a trap lying in wait for them and the two lads fell into it instantly.
This whole scenario felt like a massive setup... it was mad! It was like Woga had been waiting for them... wait? NO! Conspiracy theory brewing... Maybe Woga really was a God of the Forest and not just a random crazy madman!
O the horror of it!
There was a mad looking little woman, almost a dwarf, covered in full fur waiting in the forest ahead. She had set a trap... She had to be Woga's wife or something - whatever. She knew what was going on, apparently, and had set everything up in wait for the lads to fall into.
And now there were the lads hanging three feet off of the ground in a fibrous web of doom. Yes. They were caught in a net like animals!
Woga came up to them with the dirt in his hand and he held the dirt up and said in a foreboding voice like he was some kind of a god:
'I say to you AGAIN...' he said, 'eat the stew...'
EAT THE STEW!
To Read GOX part 4 click here.
For more adventures set in the town of Fenwick check out:
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