Goodbye Butterfly Chapter 1.2

“I bloody knew it!” Scarlet declared, slamming her hand on the table in elated victory. 
“Hang on, let’s not jump the gun…” I countered.
“Don’t give me that,” Scarlet replied. “I’ve been telling you since you started that job there was something going on! And now here’s the proof.”
“Well…” I began, but she continued as though she hadn’t heard me. 
“...It’s like I said at that barbeque. Serious sparks! I mean, who invites their employees and employees friends to a family barbeque? Someone that’s in love with their employee, that’s who.” She took a satisfied swig of her pino grigio and smiled at me knowingly.
We’d been friends for the depressingly long time of two decades, ever since neither of us had been able to stomach the idea of forced physical exercise and skived P.E by hiding under a trampoline. We became inseparable soon after. 
Scarlet was a voluptuous redhead, dyed of course, to match her name. She’d experimented with all possible shades of the hue, pillar box, auburn, copper, and was currently sporting a deep plum to match the wintery nights. Her eyes were fiery blue, like an ocean storm, the left had the merest hint of a freckle, chocolate brown, the size of a pinprick. She had an old soul that shone through her face, and wore a look of both serene wisdom and constant amusement.
She worked for a P.R company in the city, she’d picked out her career by the age of sixteen and worked solidly towards it ever since. She hadn’t flailed and scraped her way through life as I had, she’d always known her direction. From what she told me, her job seemed pretty stressful, but she was good at juggling responsibilities and took the edge off the seriousness by creating elaborate back stories for the people she worked with. In private, naturally. 

“It wasn’t a family barbeque,” I reminded her, “It was friends. And Tegan invited us, not Tom.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Still, you don’t see the invites flooding in from my boss do you?”
“Well he doesn’t have time for barbeques, he’s too busy smuggling all those drugs on his yacht.” I joked.
“I’m telling you! No one in their right mind would wear white linen trousers to an office, unless they were into some kind of drug pushing.”  
I sometimes worried Scarlet would believe her own stories and shop her boss to the police.

“What is it with that girl? You know, sometimes I spend hours trying to figure out what to wear. I think ‘maybe i’m a bit too old for that’ or ‘I’ll just feel fat and paranoid all night if I put that on’ then I come down here and wonder why I even bothered, clearly she hasn’t.”
“Oh my God, I know. Why is it the people who have the most blinding confidence are the ones who really shouldn’t?”
“Her relationship with horses distresses me as well. It’s just a bit too close.”
Scarlet nodded her agreement with a mouthful of wine before adding, “Horrendous… Oh God, she’s coming over.”
The horse girl was Sarah, she was a friend of a friend of a friend. Unfortunately Salamander was also her local and you could guarantee that she would appear at some point during an evening, no matter what night of the week you were there. As far as I could tell, other than buying and riding and generally obsessing over horses, Sarah did very little with her life. She gave the impression of being spoilt by her rich parents and placed little importance on anything other than making a scene. 
I could never remember being introduced to her but she was one of those people who, having been told your name, would insist on bounding towards you with dramatic over familiarity, making her presence unavoidable. I suspected this had more to do with a wildly overdeveloped ego, a condition that insisted she made everyone aware of her popularity coupled with the genuine belief that all who knew her were simply killing time until she approached, rather than friendliness. 
 Other than being irritating, she was harmless enough, but she could always be counted on to lower the tone. When our attention was drawn to her on that particular evening, she had been draped across a string of terrified looking men, none of whom were her other half, bragging about her skill with nipple tassles. Loud and brash, she had the weesy howl of a sixty year old truck driver, with arms thicker than the truck. Pure muscle, I often wondered if when she decided to mate, she clubbed her victim over the head and dragged them home, caveman style.
Since the summer i’d had extra reason to avoid her, each time I laid eyes on her I was reminded of a monstrous scene that could never be unseen. It was a lazy Sunday, late afternoon, Scarlet and I had decided to take advantage of the no doubt short lived sunshine by spending a few hours in the Salamander’s beer garden after a mooch around town. We regretted it almost before it began, but having already bought our drinks, it would have been rude to leave so quickly. It soon escalated, and after bearing witness to Sarah’s usual alcohol fuelled, attention grabbing, she suddenly removed her outer attire to reveal a bikini and lay on the grass, spread eagled. It was like witnessing a murder and I was left with the mental picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger in a black wig. 
The distinct aroma of stale sweat and hay notified me of the arrival. Being regarded as the more sociable of our pair, she engaged Scarlet first, giving me a chance to inch my chair proportionally backwards so I could legitimately claim the music dwarfed her booming drone. 
I watched Scarlet smile her fake smile and nod and tut in all the expected places as Sarah barraged her with a wall of words. From behind a muscular shoulder I caught sight of Scarlet’s why-doesn’t-this-ever-happen-to-you face and I returned it with a look of smug satisfaction. This, however, was short-lived as soon she wrestled a seat into submission between the two of us and I was also obliged to feign interest in her tales of scandal and debauchery at the stables. 
Just when we were beginning to lose hope of ever getting our evening back, we were rescued by her equally barbaric boyfriend, proof that there really is someone for everyone. He grabbed her, and after a nightmare-inducing display of affection, declared, “Sorry girls! I’ve got t’ take her away from ya!” 
We attempted to mask our relief with accepting smiles, the kind happily coupled people always expect from sad, lonely, singletons who are riddled with jealousy. 
“Remember, both of you, be around on the 16th!” She pointed in our direction aggressively, and for one terrifying moment, I thought she would fist bump me. I grabbed my glass and raised it in the couple’s direction. This seemed to appease her and they lurched away drawing glares and dismay along with them.
“Jesus Christ…” Scarlet sighed, shaking her head.
“She worries me,” I reflected. “She’s like a man that’s allowed to punch us in the face.”
Scarlet made a snort as she choked on her drink and then let out a mirthful cackle.
“I still don’t think that would be acceptable.”
“Neither is that dress. Any minute now she’s going to burst out of it like the incredible hulk.” 
“Come on, we need to go dance. We probably won’t get many more nights out before you run off on your honeymoon and leave me!” She lamented, taking my arm and resting the back of her hand on her forehead in mock distress. 
The people jostled around us, dusted in the sparkling, lilac glow. The tacky wisps of dry ice smelled like calpol and the sticky floor threatened to turn us to statues. When we’d first ventured there we were fresh from University, stuck on minimum wage, and the crucially, the Salamander boasted a 2-for1 happy hour. Before long the place felt like home and the night a bust if we hadn’t made an appearance. 

***

It is blacker than coal. All I hear is the whispering  wind and the creaking of hollow trees like arthritic joints. 
Nothing lives here. 
As my eyes adjust to the moonlight, I can make out the vague shape of the forest. Branches snake and writhe, barely concealing the minute flicker that bleeds inbetween them, so faint it seems miles off. 
I am drawn towards it. Twigs snap and crunch underfoot. I stagger between the twisted trunks, a foal taking it’s first steps, the bark scraping my skin and leaving its powdery, moss marks.  
Suddenly the light is upon me, screaming white hot, so bright it knocks me backwards. Falling into the abyss, there is nothing but whiteness envveloping me in the firey glow. 
And at once it is gone. The dark woodland returns, in place of the flickering light, there is movement up ahead, much closer than before. I see the silhouettes of people and a clearing behind the army of trees. 
I step forward and almost immediately find myself off balance again, this time by the presence of a flaming comet. It darts angrily through the tangled maze, lighting the dry branches with its orangey-red embers. It pauses three feet from me, dead ahead.
But it is not a comet at all. It’s a woman, engulfed by flames. Her matted, ebony hair flows down her spine, translucent skin barely contains her angular frame as she reaches skeletal arms out in my direction. The inane grin plastered to her skull is inhuman, she flashes sharp teeth and eyes me like a predator to prey. I stand as still as a statue, not even breath escapes my lips. 
With her black clawed hands inches from my face, she lets out a deafening roar like that of a wounded animal, and changing direction, disappears back into the night. My presence forgotten in lieu of something more pressing. 
Every muscle in my body trembling, I somehow surge onwards and arrive at the clearing in an instant. My first sight is of thirteen men standing knee deep in a foul looking river. It makes the tumbling clatter of a waterfall but is out of sync as it moves with the thick, sluggish consistency of molten tar. The men are holding something beneath the surface, I can see nothing, but as they attempt to pull it from the water's’ depths, I feel an unknown sense of dread in my throat, choking me. 
Without warning, the earth begins to shake. I call out to the men but they are unresponsive, unphased. 
A closer inspection reveals they have frozen completely, nothing more than waxworks.
The crunching beneath my feet grows louder. I look down to see the pearly white of bone, knotted and slithering below. 
The river runs red and thickens like blood. Bubbling and boiling, melting the men with it, contorting them into grotesque, unnatural shapes before swallowing them whole. 
The trees throb and pulsate as beating hearts, blue veins threatening to burst any second.
They deafen me. I cover my ears and clench my eyes shut tight.

Stop, Stop, Stop.