The Trees Have Eyes: Simon's Halloween adventure

This is this week's Simon installment, and others are on their way for the weeks to come! 

The Trees Have Eyes

Story by BC, text by Bondwriter

Chapter 1 – Practice Makes Perfect

“We have to, Stilo! You know the number needs to be ready for the show in Scotland. I can perform the stunt, but I need to practice regularly. You said so yourself.”

“It’s late October. It’s damp and cold, and we’re in northern England, not in Florida! At least you could put on some warm clothes.”

“I’ll be in my blue underwear for the trick on the big day, so I’d better get used to it. It’s just the pouch underneath. I’ve got the shawl and a coat, plus blankets in the bag for when we’re done. A month from now, I’ll be hanging down on top of a hill and above a cliff. I’ve got to be ready for the cold, snow, or hail.”

Stilo knows Simon is right. His reluctance comes from tales he heard at the local pub. Two horribly mutilated bodies have turned up in the surrounding woods since August. It is the talk of the town, and there is no shortage of patrons peddling vivid folklore explanations. Ghouls, leprechauns, and werewolves make for entertaining stories to impress the American circus artists.

Three old men tell Stilo of a centuries-old werewolf legend: the young owner of a large farm had been accused of lycanthropy and of devious, wicked murders of villagers.

The story is embellished for the visitor, and of course, each man has a different speculation for the killings and the remains torn by wild animals, which made autopsies a guess and let the mystery live on. Their tales justify strangers paying drinks.

Stilo isn’t superstitious, and he understands the importance of the Inverness show, which will gather the cream of worldwide circus performers. He mustn’t hamper the plucky escape artist’s will to train for the performance of a lifetime.

Not one to hang out in pubs, Simon is blissfully unaware of the creepy stories, but his act requires privacy against potential competitors. The mayor’s son told him of the best spot for a discreet practice session, a clearing not too far from the camping grounds where the circus has settled.

Simon and Stilo turn at an indicated crooked tree and go through thick shrubbery and patches of forest featuring huge old trees. The path goes up, down, and around. They pay attention to the layout so they find their way back. Eventually, the duo and its bags of gear reach the clearing.

They waste no time and set up the equipment: Stilo threads a rope over an oak’s horizontal branch and helps Simon to prepare. He puts the performer in the straitjacket and binds his legs before he wraps the rope around his ankles. Stilo then helps Simon lie on a tarp and hauls him up by his feet, pulling on the other end of the rope running over the branch.

Simon rises in the air and Stilo binds the rope to the tree. He takes his watch out.

“The gag, Stilo!”

Stilo puts the red rubber ball inside the young artist’s mouth, buckling it tight with the leather strap that’s threaded in.

“Go!” he says, launching the timer. Simon first tackles sliding out of the straitjacket to gain the use of his arms. The contraption is rigged, allowing the release of the arms with concealed buttons. After undoing the strap holding his arms, he pulls himself up to grab the rope above his feet and releases himself from its grip.

He’ll be hidden by a screen when he performs, but it’s small and he’s got to keep compact while performing the routine. They redo the number and focus on putting the straitjacket dramatically to ensure the audience believes it’s genuinely restraining.

They repeat the number several times. It’s early in the afternoon, and even with leafless trees, the area is not very bright. They have another hour or two before they can’t see well enough. There’ll be fog too, if it’s like the day before.

On their last tries, Simon starts feeling confident on its success one month away. He’s hanging by his feet when he picks up on a change in Stilo’s demeanor. A whiff of cigar smoke is in the air; Simon knows something is afoot. The magician tightens the straitjacket. Stilo is out of reach of his apprentice’s gagged pleas.

Even if he could speak, Simon would be ignored by the bewitched magician, who comes and adds ropes around the straitjacket. He wraps each coil taut and knots it tight. Soon, five extra pieces of rope are cruelly biting in Simon’s tender skin—the canvas being welcome to protect some of it.

Once Stilo has wrapped his package tight, his intoxicated brain has him flee the scene. Like a bug caught in a spider’s web, Simon is trapped. He’s been in the situation before and doesn’t panic. Keeping his cool is crucial. He’s glad the rope isn’t on fire like it’ll be on the day of the show.

The maniac Stilo is brutal but not particularly good with knots. After ten minutes, Simon may only rejoice the fit was sudden. Stilo didn’t block the release mechanism, at least, and Simon gets out of the straitjacket soon.

Chapter 2 – Hidden Menace

Simon is working at freeing his ankles, having successfully freed his arms and grabbed the rope above his ankles, when he feels a presence. A veil covers his eyes—someone slid a leather sack over his head.

“I love picking fruits from trees!”

Fours hands seize him and start binding his ankles. They grab his wrists, bring them behind his back, and encircle them with cuffs. A hand slides inside the hood and places a fabric under Simon’s nostrils. A sickly sweet smell assaults them. The men hold him tight until he fades away into unconsciousness.

He comes back to his senses in a dark room. It’s warm, at least. He’s chained to a wall: iron bracelets surround his limbs and pin him to the damp, smooth stone surface. He assesses his predicament while recovering from the narcotic, becoming aware of his plea as his mind gets back to working as usual.

He takes in his surroundings and spots a fireplace a few feet away in the wall perpendicular to the one he’s chained to. Torches light up the underground room. A box of cigars lies on a table near the chimney. The attackers must have brought him right under the clearing where the practice took place, he figures.

Simon tests the strong restraints and the heavy gag. He’s got massive packing inside his mouth. Then it strikes him: there is someone who knew where he and Stilo would practice.

The door across the underground hall opens and Aloysius, the mayor’s nephew, enters. His grin shows his canine teeth, worrying the captive. The young man crosses the room, his eyes glued to the chained and spread body.

“I’m sure a professional like you appreciates how cleverly I abducted you. No witness, no scream. You vanished after practice, and now you’ve been picked for a new number. When the old fool you entrust your safety with recovers from his madness bout, you will be gone. And when you’re found eventually, it’ll be too late.”

Simon feels Aloysius’s malevolent intents; he pleads with his eyes and moans.

“Ha! You’re trying to soften me, but why should I?”

The man walks up to Simon and lays his right hand on the boy’s chest.

“I’ve got you for my convenience. I’ve seen you practice and perform. I’ll need to be up to the task of keeping you my prisoner and ensure you can’t warn anyone of your presence. It would spoil the fun!”

Aloysius goes on describing the many ways he intends to restrain Simon. Having fallen in the clutches of tie-up-obsessed men before, Simon doesn’t hear much new. The amount of equipment the man describes and the size of his facilities promise a long, arduous captivity.

“Try and escape, but my men are behind the door,” he says, preparing to leave. “You won’t get too far. But we’ll treat you better if you succeed.”

The door slams shut and the barrel rattles inside the lock.

Simon feels the twenty iron bands surrounding his limbs and locked to the wall; alas, without any accessories—he’s grown to keep a hairpin in his hand at all times, but it’s gone—he won’t be able to defeat the steel locks. He feels a weakness in the right wrist’s restraint, nevertheless. He sets to exploit the defect and gets his wrist free after some minutes. He’s covered in sweat from the effort and wonders how to make progress, since nineteen more steels bands stand between him and freedom.

The door opens.

“So, you feel completely helpless?” Aloysius mocks him. He spots the wrist freed from its bracelet.

“Maybe I shouldn’t joke. I didn’t expect you to get out of any of these fetters! I think I need to get you to a more secure location. I have just what you need in store.”

The man undertakes to release him from the wall.

“I must tell you about this place. It’s a room worthy of your abilities. We’ve had the secret brewery for three generations, and it has remained a secret all these years. We make absinth, you see, which is forbidden in this part of England. Prohibition makes our trade even more profitable. And we don’t give the treasury too much work, keeping everything off the book!”

The man chains Simon and tugs the scantily glad performer along; they walk outside the dungeon and cross the narrow, dimly lit hall to another room.

“This cell will prove a better choice for a difficult customer like you. Not to worry, I’ll keep you muzzled and shackled so you remain in a familiar environment.”

Aloysius leads Simon to a chair; at first, he thinks it’s a dentist chair, but looking closer he recognizes with horror the contraption used for capital punishment in his country: an electric chair!

The man toils to strap Simon to the seat. He starts with the legs: a footrest and steel bars hold fixtures to link the limbs to, and despite a valiant struggle when he takes care of his arms, Simon ends up pinned to the huge, sturdy seat. Aloysius knows his trade: the mooring points are as adequately picked on this armchair as those of the chains on the wall. The headrest and helmet make Simon’s head still and lock his jaws. His fingers are kept under custom-made gutters screwed in the chair’s arms.

“You can sit down for a while. And you’ll benefit from all the modern comfort.”

The abductor goes behind to a control panel and pulls a lever. Simon feels a tingle along his arms and legs. The current runs through his body.

“You should feel something, but let me make sure you get the gist of this device.”

Aloysius turns a dial and the tingle makes Simon shake.

“Mmmmrmmph!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you say. You’d better listen. I’ll get the dial down and I’ll leave you to enjoy some rest after this trial. If you pull another escaping stunt, know it’ll fail and that I barely moved the dial.”

Simon screams and writhes for an eternity before the sadistic man turns the power down. The escape artist breathes slowly and savors the ordeal’s end.

“It got you properly calmed down. Don’t give me an occasion to repeat this treatment. You said in an interview escape artistry requires lots of energy, and we’ll drain it out of you if you leave us no choice.”

Simon gasps behind his thick gag.

Chapter 3 – On Display

Simon is left alone, which starts his captivity. The thorough contraption manages to keep his efforts futile. The threat of getting shocks also hampers his enthusiasm. All he can do is hope that someone finds Stilo and sets up a rescue party.

The man comes back every two hours or so to check on Simon. He gets fed and watered, but the kidnapper has him gagged as tight after each of these lenient moments.

On the second day, Simon sees the door to his cell open, telling of Aloysius’s coming. His adrenalin surges when he sees a shape bearing a wolf head and waving arms that end in shiny steel claws.

“I fooled you, didn’t I?” the man brags as he removes his fake hands and pulls the head off. “If the costume works on you, it’ll work on the peasants who will come to see the werewolf is real. If they see him slaying a foreign escape artist, the legend will live on. It has kept people away from our facilities, and it helped when competitors came to make us an offer that we had to refuse. We worked on these two middlemen from Manchester well enough with our knives and blades to rip them apart so well that the local constables will tell the story for decades. They won’t forget the gruesome sight soon!”

Simon doesn’t blink. He’s in deadly peril, but he won’t give this scoundrel the pleasure of seeing fear in his eyes.

“Don’t take it personally. I wouldn’t mind keeping you my guest. It’s entertaining having you with me. But your sacrifice will fulfill other plans.”

Simon has a hard time believing this is a real homicidal maniac, and he casts dark looks at him.

“To entertain you until your next meal …”

The man draws clothes-pegs out and clamps them on Simon’s bare skin: his nipples, but also his ear lobes, the flesh under his armpits or on his hips and thighs. The pinching sensation lasts for three hours, and it gets worse when the kidnapper comes back to feed Simon. The pegs’ removal is the worst, most stinging moment, which has the boy moan in his gag and the evil abductor smirk.

Aloysius expedites the meal and Simon gets a fresh muzzle for dessert. His captor stuffs his mouth with rags and puts a head harness on him.

“I’ll set the machine so you get jolts for a pleasant digestion,” the evil man says. He cackles all the way down the hall, leaving Simon locked inside the room, unable to focus on defeating his restraints due to the shocks.

His ordeal lasts for an eternity. When Aloysius gets back, he has two henchmen with him, wearing hoods that conceal their faces.

“I need help to set up a show to ensure the villagers stay away from these woods once and for all.”

The two assistants release Simon from the chair and shackle him for transportation.

“Edgar and Horace will bring the peasants around by midnight to watch the werewolf rip you off. Of course, he’ll escape, leaving bloody remains behind him!”

Simon fights all he can, but the three men have no difficulty overpowering him. They march him outside the cell to the end of the hall and up a flight of stairs. The door at the top is concealed by shrubbery, and they come out to the clearing where the performer practiced with his magician friend. At the back, a fire crackles at the foot of a large rock with a flatbed top. Iron rings are hammered to the grey stone slat. Mysterious runic symbols are carved on the stone.

The three men bring the victim to prepare him for the sacrifice. Iron bracelets, chains, and locks allow for a tight, inescapable bondage.

“I’ll keep you company until it’s time, Simon. You should be weakened enough by your captivity to offer no resistance, but you’ll understand I can’t take any chances.”

The two goons leave, having another role to play in Aloysius’s evil plans. Simon has to bear the villain’s nasty talk. He’s gagged with his red ball gag, trapping rags inside. The man explains his criminal enterprise, never shying away from reminding Simon his own demise would be part of a greater scheme.

“I’ll remember you all my life, as one of those pawns I’ve played with to climb to the top of the food chain.”

The late evening and early night feel endless and cold. The man won’t let Simon use his skills to thwart the locks and chains, and Simon starts to despair.

In the distance, they hear a clamor.

“It’s time. My faithful assistants have turned into rabble-rousers.”

Aloysius adds wood to rekindle the bonfire. He steps behind a bush and reappears wearing the costume. The fire’s flames reflect on the long, stainless-steel claws. Simon squirms, but the chains holding his collar to the front and back rings and the inextricable network make it a real challenge.

The roar from the crowd increases and the light of torches glimmers very far away. They grow nearer until he can hear the shouts: ‘Down with the werewolf!’

Simon feels stuck; the shocks made him weak and the bonds’ tightness overwhelms him. He watches Aloysius in his scary disguise, hoping the crowd will save him.

The crowd is close enough to see him act, so Aloysius leaps from behind the bush and tramples towards Simon. The escape artist is desperate; he sees the first set of claws rise in the air, ready to fall on his chest and tear his rib cage apart.

He hears a ‘whoof,’ fearing it’s the arm swinging towards him, but a thud sounds louder. A beast threw Aloysius to the ground. It’s as big as a bear, but with longer legs. Aloysius flees, hampered by his mask and unable to fight the threat.

The creature is on its four legs. The people are close now but none dares attack the large animal, its huge jaws and sharp teeth on display. The eyes glow red, reflecting the fire’s embers. This time, Simon is going to have it, victim of a supernatural being.

The two seconds feel like hours; the beast turns around and sniffs the air filled by the smell of Aloysius blood drawn from the first caress of the claws.

Horace and Walpole go into the woods after the beast. All Simon hears is the bloodcurdling scream of a man caught by the werewolf and its savage sounds as it tears its prey apart.

The villagers come to rescue Simon. He finds out Stilo is with the mob; his help is welcome to remove the most remote locks—and getting a hairpin to pick them.

In the distance, more horrible, desperate screams resound, informing the crowd of the two henchmen’s fateful encounter with the eerie creature. Two police constables accompanied by five villagers light up new torches and go find out what happened. They come back half an hour letter, their faces pale.

With Simon rescued and the evil men dead, the group heads back to the village. No doubt this evening will be told in the pub many times in the years to come!

End of the episode