I used to know a girl called Mistletoe.
“My parents thought it'd be cute to name me that as a nod to their first kiss,” she always joked. “Shame they didn't realise mistletoe is a parasite that literally sucks the life out of its host.”
Understandably, she went by Miz.
The day Miz disappeared started like any other. My hometown had humble beginnings as a handful of shabby buildings erected in a Sherwood Forest clearing. Centuries later there are rows of terraced housing, small businesses and the forest has receded. There are still pockets of ancient woodland within walking distance though and, with only five TV channels and the internet still in its infancy, these woodlands were where we spent most of the summer holidays back when we were kids.
At first they were just hangouts to trade Pokémon cards and build dens. But when we got older The Trees (as we came to call our favourite spot) was a great place to drink, smoke cigarettes and occasionally get stoned if anyone had the money. There were rumours of worse going on in nearby Glover's Wood but to be truthful we were a tame bunch and never went there to investigate.
The summer day in question was hot and balmy. I remember I received a text from Mistletoe saying that we were meeting at The Trees around midday. When I got there Miz was already talking with Gus and Cherie, trying to convince them that we should hike all the way out to the old fishing pond on the other side of the woods.
To understand how strange of a request this was, you really need to know a little bit more about Miz. She was smart, pretty, with freckles and a blonde pixie cut. But Miz was no manic pixie dream girl. She was studious, reserved and shy around people she didn't know. Miz was also a bit emo (to use the parlance of the time). She was always reading novels by dead Russian guys, writing in her journal and, on days when the weather was bad, Miz could be found playing her acoustic guitar in the cramped bedroom she shared with her sister. My point is that Miz being adamant about anything was kind of rare. She mostly just went with the flow.
But that afternoon Miz was determined we all go and so, despite the heat, the four of us headed up the woodland footpath towards the fishing pond. Once we got there we actually had a lot of fun. Sunbathing, skimming stones and doing the quizzes in Cherie's trashy magazines. Miz was strangely distant though, even though the pond had been her idea. Whilst we goofed around she sat on the bank staring out across the water, occasionally making a note in her journal. It was a relief when she finally stood up and asked if anyone fancied taking the boat out.
The one boat abandoned by the side of the pond was a small rowboat with a single oar and just enough room for two people. After we rescued the rowboat from its prison of brambles Miz and I went out on the water. We paddled around the pond laughing and splashing water at each other, we timed ourselves to see how fast we could paddle bank to bank, and we talked in stupid pirate voices the whole time. After a while, Miz asked me to paddle out to the centre of the pond so we could work out how deep it was. She took the oar from me and pushed it down into the water, following it in with her outstretched arm right up to her elbow. From her measurements we guessed the pond was somewhere between eight and nine feet deep.
Our little boat trip was nice. Really nice actually, one last good memory before everything went so wrong. All good things must come to an end though, and once the sun began to sink we came ashore and then the four of us all headed back along the footpath.
As we neared The Trees Miz slowed and stopped me.
“Me and you,” she said quietly, “we're coming back out tonight.”
Now, I was a teenager and, like I said, Mistletoe was pretty. What I was hoping for must have registered on my face because Miz rolled her eyes.
“Don't get any ideas,” she said. “We're not doing that, we're doing this.” She handed me a folded up piece of paper. “Don't read it until you get home.”
Believe it or not I still have this piece of paper. I'd kept it tucked inside a secondhand copy of Anna Karenina Mistletoe lent me before she disappeared. When I looked it was still there, all these years later. I'll type out what was printed on the paper for you below:
Wherever two worlds meet a porous boundary is created. Exocyde is a game that takes advantage of this boundary effect, offering one of two players the chance to commune with the other side and receive an answer to their most desperate question. Two people, the Speaker and the Witness, must take a Vessel out onto the water in full dark and under a half moon. An electronic Receiver is also required and must be present aboard the Vessel.
Once the Vessel is upon the water, a weighted Tether is dropped to the waterbed linking the Vessel to the water/earth Boundary. The Witness may then light a candle, this is the Beacon. If the ritual has been set up correctly the game begins and the pair's resolve will be Tested. Should both Speaker and Witness remain silent and keep the Beacon alight during the Test they will have passed. Only then will the Speaker receive a call on their Receiver from the Caller. Once prompted the Speaker may ask their question. But be warned, once the question is answered the Caller will demand a rich price be paid for the information. This is the Forfeit and it cannot be evaded or escaped.
Rule One: Exocyde must only be played upon freshwater.
The gamespace must be deep enough that, if the Speaker and Witness were to stand upon the bottom, neither would break the surface.
Rule Two: The Vessel must be propelled by the Speaker's labour only.
Rule Four: The Tether must link the Vessel directly to the Boundary.
Rule Five: The Receiver is the only electronic device allowed aboard the Vessel.
Any two-way communication device such as a house phone or CB radio may serve as Receiver. Any other devices must be kept external to the gamespace.
Rule Six: The Witness must light and maintain the Beacon. The game begins when the Beacon is lit. If the Beacon is extinguished, the game ends.
Rule Seven: Whilst the Test will be different for every Speaker and Witness combination, the goal is always to remain silent and to keep the Beacon lit throughout.
Rule Eight: If either the Speaker or the Witness speak once the Beacon is lit, the game ends. If either the Speaker or Witness enter the water, all is lost.
Rule Nine: Only the Speaker may speak with the Caller. The Speaker may speak only when The Caller addresses them.
The Speaker must answer the Caller's questions in either the monosyllabic affirmative or the monosyllabic negative. The only exception is when the Caller prompts the Speaker to ask their question. Under no circumstances is the Speaker permitted to ask the Caller to identify themselves.
Rule Ten: The Forfeit is non-negotiable.
After the Caller declares the nature of the Forfeit, the Speaker must—
Bizarre, right? Rule Ten is cut off at the bottom of the page, like there was too much text for a single sheet of A4 or the message board or forum or wherever Mistletoe got Exocyde from was incomplete. I haven't failed to notice that Rule Three is either missing or deliberately omitted either. The only other detail of note on the paper are the words The Trees 9pm written in Mistletoe's handwriting and underlined.
Back to the day that Mistletoe disappeared.
After dinner I told my parents I was going to bed to watch a film and snuck out through my window. As expected Miz was waiting for me at The Trees. To be honest I was still hoping that this was some weird emo version of foreplay and I was going to get lucky. But, of course, Miz told me that we were hiking out to the pond to play Exocyde.
The pond seemed very different at night. Whilst the surrounding woodland had resembled a picturesque scene from a storybook in the day, in the darkness the trees looked crooked and warped. Creaking limbs seemed to reach for us as we walked along the bank. Above, the sky was cloudless, the pond below still and perfectly reflective. It looked as though I'd be able to scoop a star or even the moon from the water if I wanted to.
Miz made me leave my mobile phone on the bank with hers and then she launched the boat and paddled us out. She stowed the oar and opened the backpack she had brought. She pulled out an old ring dial telephone with a long extension cord attached. I noticed Miz had tied some kind of lumpy fishing ledger to the end of the cord and it sank quickly when she threw it overboard. Next, Miz sat down and coiled the slack into her lap. She reached into her bag again and passed me a candle and matchbox.
“Light it,” she instructed. “And no matter what happens, don't say a word.”
At first what happened was precisely nothing. Sure, there was the rustling of trees and the gentle lapping of water against the boat. At one point I thought I heard laughter from deep within the woods, but nothing otherworldly. My mind started to wander and, being the teenage cliché I was, I soon found myself staring at Miz in the candlelight. She was peering across the water, deep in thought and trembling slightly. She was still wearing the denim shorts and old band tee she'd had on all day. Perfect for a hot summer afternoon but I wondered if she was starting to feel the chill of the night air. Maybe I should scoot over and put my arm around—
THUD
The sound reverberated through the hull of the rowboat like we'd hit floating debris at top speed. But we weren't moving, we were tethered and still.
Miz looked at me and raised a finger to her lips. Then I saw that the cord in her lap was uncoiling, slowly being pulled into the water. Miz noticed too and promptly wrapped her fingers around the remaining slack. When the cord met resistance, whatever was pulling on it started to yank it over and over again, rocking the boat and causing me to almost drop the candle. Somehow the cord didn't snap, somehow I managed to keep the candle alight.
After a short struggle the line went slack again.
Confused, I leaned over the boat and looked into the water. All I saw was my own reflection. No, not my reflection at all. It was Mistletoe's reflection in place of mine. Ghostly pale and shivering. She mouthed the words Help me…
I reached out with my free hand but the real Mistletoe grabbed me and pulled me back into my seat. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the reflection dissolve and a dark shape behind it turn in the water and dive. Had whatever it was somehow used Mistletoe's reflection as a disguise?
THUD THUD THUD
Bangs on the boat like a hailstorm of arrows turning their target into a pincushion. We both held onto the rim of the rowboat as the barrage continued, rocking the boat violently. I'm sure we both gasped but crucially I don't think either of us actually spoke any words.
THUD THUD THUD
And then, as suddenly as the clatter had begun, it ceased. For a few moments the boat continued to rock before gently coming to a stop. The water became calm.
Then, to my absolute horror, the phone began to ring.
Miz drew in a deep breath and raised the receiver to her ear. After a whistle of static I heard a voice speak on the other end. Cold and ragged like sheet ice cracking. I could hear the voice but I couldn't make out what it was saying. Mistletoe on the other hand listened and then answered “Yes”, then “No”, and then “No” again.
Then she asked her question in a low growl:
“Why haven't I been granted what I'm rightfully owed?”
The Caller responded but still I could hear no words. This was a long answer that went on for at least a minute. Eventually, Mistletoe said “Yes'' and then the voice continued.
As the Caller's tone became increasingly vicious, the colour drained from Mistletoe's face. In the candlelight I watched as a tear trickled down her cheek. Finally, Miz slammed the handset home, cutting the Caller off mid-sentence.
I blew out the candle.
We didn't talk much on the way back to The Trees. I was too shaken up. When we got there Miz gave me a long hug before telling me she would call me tomorrow and explain everything. Then she walked off into the darkness. I never saw or heard from Mistletoe again.
That night broke me. I retreated into myself, became a different person. I was scared of leaving the house, scared of being with people, scared of being alone.
There was an investigation into Mistletoe's disappearance of course, but it struck me as half-hearted. Mistletoe was a teenage girl who had run away from a broken home to try and make it on her own. That was the official line but I never believed it. Someone or something stole Mistletoe away and I knew it. But, shamefully, I never came forward to reveal what I had witnessed that night. I never told the police, my parents or even Gus and Cherie. I thought I would be ignored at best and considered a suspect at worst. After all, I was the last person to see Mistletoe alive.
When my family moved away eight months later I was beyond relieved. Still broken, but at least further away from the Caller and that cold, feral voice.
After that I coasted for years. Uninspiring grades at school turned into a lacklustre degree. Then, after bumming around for almost a decade, I got a job at a struggling Midlands rag, the Sentinel. I'm not even a real reporter, I run the ad pages. But two months ago I saw that my hometown was on the circulation list. That stirred something in me. I realised that words I had written had found their way back to my hometown. Even though it was just crappy advertising copy I felt like I had taken a first step without even realising it. Suddenly, I knew what I needed to do.
That's why I'm writing and posting this. As a statement of intent, as a plea for assistance. I'm heading back home to Edwinstoak tomorrow. And I'm not coming back until I've figured this whole thing out.
Even if I have to search every inch of that godforsaken forest myself.
Even if I have to play that damned game again.
I already know what my question will be:
“What happened to Mistletoe Marrion-May after she played Exocyde?”
-- John
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