The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 42 - The Misdirections

England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
Forests of Dartmoor
5 November 1898, 9:52 pm

The trees were so thick that after a few yards one could no longer see the cottage and its light. Each of them carried a lantern, its velvet-bright glow bumping against the trunks of the trees, which enclosed them tightly like the walls of an endless labyrinth. They both stared tensely into the darkness, looking for any sign or trace of where the child might have gone. In his right hand, Kyle held the wand in an iron grip so that his fingers ached after a short time.

Dead leaves rustled under their every step. The ground was swollen and muddy from the rain, clinging to their boots, and moisture from the many puddles forced its way through every crack in the leather, no matter how small. The wind tugged at their coats despite the many trees, as if it sent its cold breath from the north to these climes for the sole purpose of making it harder for them.

Only those who had had to endure such an eternal tension in their limbs and spirit could understand what torture this time represented for the two seekers. This floating ignorance, which did not allow itself to be crushed by even the harshest waves of admitted courage, made their steps heavier and laid their nerves bare. It made her heart jump at the slightest sound and strained her concentration and muscles to the limit of what she could bear. Still, giving up was not an option, so they kept looking for bent twigs or tiny clues to see which direction to take.

There was a barely bearable heaviness in the air. They were both tense and whenever their shouts faded unanswered into the night, their worry increased more and more. Of course, they knew that Anna must be afraid. Maybe she was cowering somewhere, pressed against a tree or between roots, and just didn't dare raise her voice. But they could do no more than shout into the darkness, assuring the silent trees again and again aloud that they would do her no harm. They had to hope to find the little girl before the black man with the red feather did.

"ANNABETH!"

Like a recording of a cylinder reeling off the same text over and over again on a phonograph, they shouted the name into the night. They knew the risk that their enemy could hear them too. But they had no choice. Their hope, however, sank increasingly with every step. Even after what felt like countless minutes, they got no answer.

At first, they found a few narrow paths, probably trodden often, that could lead them into the forest. Soon, however, those intersected with game trails, and at some point, after a few forks and splits in the muddy path, the two men wondered if they were still following paths into the dense forest at all. Sometimes the trees were so narrow that they could barely see a few meters, then the firs and spruces opened up their rows, only to spread increasing patches of moss in between.

Muddy path and wild terrain alternated and soon they were trudging through the untouched, overgrown parts of the forest again. Their lights looked out of place and like a lighthouse on a dark cliff. They cast their glow up to the next obstacle, be it a tree or a bush with gnarled branches or remaining colorful leaves. Otherwise, on rare occasions, the starry sky alone dared to peep through the treetops along with the waning moon. Whenever a branch cracked in this gloomily charged atmosphere, both drove together and immediately turned to the source. At some point, however, something much worse than the crackle or pop on the forest floor or the rustle in the treetops took hold: Silence.

It was that ghastly silence in all its unnatural monotony that they had already come to know as a bad omen on the night of their arrival. Wisps of mist drifted more and more often in shreds across the moss and forest floor, hanging there like scattered ghostly curtains, as if she had left another world behind. Kyle felt as if it was getting colder and colder.