My brother attended that Halloween party. The famous one. He had to speak to the police and everything afterwards. His statement was not entirely accurate.
Halloween had been on a Friday in 2003. Perfection. The party took place on the Long Ashton side of the bridge. A mini mansion with multiple floors and many bedrooms. Parents on holiday, and a decent host. Costumed teenagers and underage booze lined every room.
My brother had eaten beforehand, so his four stolen cans of weak lager had little effect. But others descended into full adolescent partying. Many wanted a true Halloween experience. A real scare. Three had gone upstairs with a board, declaring they would contact the people of the woods.
This was at least historically accurate. A scrap of ancient woodland exists in the nearby forest, close to the ruins of an iron age settlement. Stokeleigh Camp if you want to look up the details. A good pub tale told of voices in the woods. Faces between the trees. Even those without a home do not camp there at night.
My brother never saw what the trio did upstairs. But he remembers them leaving. Their pale faces. The host told them to stay, but they walked past him in their homemade costumes, and marched off down the road.
I know the official story is they wandered too close to the Gorge. The mud is thick, and the water foggy. Fall in at night, and it is unlikely you will be found anytime soon. But my brother insisted the whole point was they headed to the forest.
He went with a few others to the gate that marks off the treeline. No-one went any further. Too dark. This is before a torch became an intrinsic part of a mobile phone. But he is certain he saw someone. A figure with furs drawn over his shoulders, face grinning, gesticulating to come across. He was tempted. Had he been alone he might have gone.
Someone eventually called the police. Most people drifted away, too young and embarrassed to deal with the situation. The host’s rushed around, hiding cans and bottles. My brother checked the room upstairs. The board and planchette were still laid out, next to a biro and a sheet of paper. The scrawled out letters were a jumble to begin with, but they evolved into a sentence.
’See our wares.’
You can understand why he left this out of the police report. But the rumours stick around. The party turns into legend.
I have always been too scared before. But tonight I managed to get to the entrance of the wood. The point my brother had reached twenty years ago. I still could not cross the threshold. But I own a decent torch.
At the point where the path descended into darkness were the outline of three costumes. Their faces were hidden, but what was clear is that they were gesticulating, looking for me to head across.
I was so tempted.
Line: My brother attended that Halloween party.
