All my posts this season are “inspired by” a letter of the alphabet! 

– What?

– What what?

– I can’t understand you

– Why?

– You keep breaking up

– Where are you? You sound like you’re in a cave

– Where am I? Is that what you said?

– Where. Are. You?

– In a cave.

– Oh… Which cave?

– Which cave??! What do you mean? I’m stuck in a cave and I don’t have much battery, and the signal is weak. Help me!

– Where’s the cave?

– It’s up in the hills, you know, where we take the dog.

– Why are you there?

– Is that important right now?! Just come with some rope or something… I fell… When can you get here?

– I heard a voice. Who’s with you?

– The warlock pushed me in

– The who now?

And the line went dead. So, nothing else for it. I pulled on my coat and boots, grabbed a torch and stuffed climbing ropes and a pick into a rucksack. On holidays or long weekends we often go to the mountains to climb, so it was pretty fortuitous I had some equipment. Then again, it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. So I wasn’t hugely worried, and decided not to call for help. He probably just couldn’t see his way out when he went exploring, especially if the torch on his phone wasn’t working. He would insist on going off on his own, just to explore the lay of the land for possible future excursions. And he’d got “stuck” before. More panic than actual danger. But this time it seemed he’d just gone for a walk. Which meant it was a little weird if he had actually got into trouble as we both knew the area well.

It was beginning to get dusky as I reached our route over the hills. I parked up and looked around. No-one else was to be seen, which was not so unusual at this time of day, but unfortunate as I could have got some help. I set off, calling his name and peering into the gathering gloom.

After about twenty minutes, I came to a steep section covered with scree. I had to scramble, practically on all fours. Pausing to catch my breath, I heard something behind me. It was at that point that I remembered what I thought I’d understood him say. The warlock pushed me in. I assumed I’d misheard as the line was so bad, but now…? There was a legend I’d read about, of a warlock trapping solitary walkers. He’d ask them five questions, and if they answered incorrectly, he would trap them forever in his lair. The legend had sprung up out of a real-life case, 200 or so years ago, of a man who would lure travellers to a cave and keep them there in order to gnaw at their bones when they were barely alive as a result of inevitable starvation. Or maybe it was the other way around, and the man was a copycat of the legend. Why? In the case of a warlock, maybe the gnawing at human flesh would have given him strength… Who knows. Or maybe it was just whimsy. But the story had always stayed with me. One of those tales of folklore that I had a morbid curiosity for as a child. But if it was real? I shuddered.

– John?

Not John, came a rasping voice. I shivered a little. As I stood up and turned slowly, the shiver became shakes. There was a cloaked figure before me, pointing a short stick at me. A wand? A warlock? I couldn’t find my voice.

What are you doing here?

I swallowed.

– I’m looking for a friend.

My voice came out as a croak.

What did you say? I tried again to speak, but only sound, no words, emerged. I know where your friend is, I’ll take you to him.

So we walked. It felt like more than an hour, and it was off our usual route, but eventually we arrived at the mouth of a large cave. By now it was dark and no sound or light emanated from within.

Traveller, you must answer five questions. If you answer well, I will allow you to enter to save your friend. I will not interfere. But if you do not, you will share his fate.

My mind had gone into overdrive. The panic, maybe. And I had an idea.

– Wait. According to the laws of magic, (I said, scrambling), I have the right to ask you one question which you have to answer before you ask yours, and you are obliged to answer truthfully. And if you don’t, my friend and I go free.

It seemed like a good idea, it sounded plausible, if my memory of fairy tales was of any use, within the implausibility of everything that was happening.

Very well

Wow, I thought, I wasn’t expecting that to work. Deep breath.

– Why did you take my friend to this cave, and it would follow that you wanted me there too, so I don’t understand why you are helping me.

He looked flummoxed by the half-question I had formulated, pulled down his hood, and said,

I don’t know how to answer that.

Gotcha! I thought. Then I realised the rasping tone had disappeared.

– I know you! You went to school with John!

– Busted. Sorry, I didn’t want to do it, but John thought it’d be a good joke…

– A joke? Why?

– He said you’d talked about the legend… That you were fascinated by it, to the point of obsession, I think he said…

– What kind of sick…?

– I know, I’m sorry. I don’t think he really thought you’d fall for it and come looking for him. He probably would have admitted it on the phonecall, but he lost coverage. I was with him, so we decided to set it up in case you turned up… And then he’d jump out at you…

His voice faltered.

– You. Arse.

Nowadays, I don’t climb or hike. And John’s still down there. It seems when they set it up, he actually did get stuck. His joke on me backfired. I told his “friend” he shouldn’t go to him, or call rescue or anything of the sort. I told him I had “magic” of my own, and when he didn’t believe me, I showed him my pick. He must have seen the mettle in my eyes. He ran.

What do I do now? I go to the cave every day. It turns out John really did get stuck when they set it all up. But I take him food and drink, he’s fine. For his friends and family, I’ve told them he’s on sabbatical. Stress, no contact. But I’m not quite ready for him to come back. I don’t know if I ever will be.

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W is For…