by Andy Houston
single malt
Sunlight reflects on the surface of the
loch in the distance as I walk through the dark trees of the forest. Sticks
snap under my heavy boots and I breathe in the scent of decomposing leaves and
pine needles. When I arrive at the water's edge, I stop. A range of purple
trees are visible on the far side. Beautiful.
I
whistle, and listen for a response. A few seconds later a creature darts
through the trees behind me.
‘Billie!’
My
dog, a cross between a Hungarian Vizsla and a Collie, leaps into the air next
to me, then races back into the woods over some bushes.
I
walk on along the path circumnavigating the loch. There’s no wind this morning
and it’s not as cold as it has been in recent days.
I
pass the fallen elm. Its long trunk and branches protrude into the water,
reflecting on the still surface in perfect symmetry. I step around a mire and
head towards the woodland further on. Billie runs ahead.
A
tree with the shape of an eye patterned in the bark, looks down at me as I step
onto the bank at the edge of the forest and head into the trees. I like to get
off the main path. There’s less marsh ground and the chances of running into
anyone is unlikely.
Here, thousands of fallen leaves have turned the ground into a soft
carpet of orange. Through some thorn bushes I find myself in an open area where
tree trunks stretch upwards like columns of a cathedral. A little further on
and I’m at the secret garden. Dozens of sticks form a fence around the base of
a tree and within them is a collection of stones painted in bright colours. One
has the image of smiling lips. Another a heart. One says: ‘RIP’. In the middle is a brown pebble, the size of a
hand, with neat, white painted writing: ‘The Secret Garden.’
The
first time I came across it was the day of my interview at St. Matthews Church.
It lifted my spirits when I saw it. One stone in particular. ‘Shine,’painted in yellow next to an image
of the sun. It encouraged me to do just that. The vicars job was offered to me
later that day. I’ve been living here three months now and I always start the
day walking around the loch. It clears my head, and wears Billie out.
The
day after my interview, I took the stone and placed it on another part of my
route by the side of the path. I wanted to pass the message on, and for the
person who painted it to know it had been seen.
Another time I saw a stone with the words: ‘Be Kind’. Further along my route I came to a
marshland and dragged a fallen branch over to make a bridge. I wanted to add to
the positive spirit of this rare place that hardly anyone else knew about.
I
found more. As I made my way through a particularly unapproachable part of the
woods, many fallen trees lined the ground and had to be climbed over. The
bushes were closer together and more difficult to pass. I saw something red and
white beyond, resting on the branch of a tree further in but couldn’t work out
what it was at first. It looked like it might be a cap or a piece of clothing.
I climbed closer and saw an envelope.
The
damp paper was delicate in my hands. I opened it and read: ‘This special garden is here for all to
embrace. Just be careful who you tell about this secret place.’
The
words reminded me of Lulu. A girl I shared an intense relationship with at
university. She wrote poetry all the time. Some of it like this. Enigmatic,
with an ability to touch you. My gut stirred. It couldn't be her surely. She
left to live in Ireland. I placed the letter back in the envelope.
‘Billie! Come
on!’
I
didn’t see anything new there for a week or so until one morning I discovered a
glove on the ground under a shrub. It was an adult’s glove. Pink. I picked it up and
placed it on a branch in the centre of the open area.
The
next day it was replaced by a note saying: Thank you.’
I
haven't seen any sign of life in the secret garden for weeks and wonder if the
person has stopped coming.
I
wonder if there’s anything today?
A
stone on the ground with a painted red arrow points up the hill. I press on up
the steep bank where the trees are closer together. I push my way through a
holly bush, protecting my skin by pushing my shoulder into the branches. There
in front of me are more stones. They line both sides of the trees with candles
painted on them. And at the end is another envelope sitting on the bough of an
oak tree. I open it and read the words:
‘I don’t know who you
are, but I wish you well. You’re clearly
a kind person and it’s good to know there are kind people out there. I am
moving from the area tomorrow, but before I go, I want you to know that I
appreciated your kindness. I pray that you will find happiness wherever you end
up.
L.
X.’
About the author
Andy Houstoun has had a number of short stories published in a range of
magazines and is the author of Short Stories of Love &
Entanglement.
