Having a final look around them especially behind at the trees, Malcolm follows Paris to the bridge.
Paris on reaching the bridge suddenly turns and looks her Dad in the eyes; “There is a man watching us.” she says in a quiet whisper.
Malcolm stops and looks Paris in the eyes, the fears that had filled him since his discovery in what he knew to be a dead body in the Well rises to the surface. Close to panic and filled with fear for his daughter and not taking his eyes from her he asks just as quietly; “Where is he? I have not seen anyone.”
“There is a stile leading into the woods behind me, he is sitting on it.”
Trying not to move his head he looks over Paris’s shoulder at the trees behind and it is several seconds before he sees the stile; and the man sitting on it.
Putting a smile on his face and not taking his eyes off her he says; “Probably just a birdwatcher, us being here has probably scared them all away, shall we get back to the car now?”
Paris smiles and nods, not aware of the danger she is in she skips across the bridge.
As Malcolm starts to cross the bridge he moves his head slightly so that he can get a better look at their watcher.
Dressed in army camouflage clothing Malcolm is not surprised he did not see him. The man was sitting so still on the stile he had merged perfectly well with the background of shaded trees. Looking to be in his late twenties or early thirties he looked to be a rough unshaven character with long hair. Malcolm knew he was no birdwatcher by the way he stared at him.
He had the look of a predator about him, apart from the eyes they were the only part of him that moved as he watched Malcolm cross the bridge.
“Come this way Paris.” Malcolm says as he turns left and heads towards the other side of the field to their watcher.
“Why is that Dad?” asks Paris as she catches up with him.
“There is a very old oak tree that must be a thousand years old I want to look at before we go home.” he says not being entirely truthful. Admittedly he did want to see the oak tree as he had known of it for more than twenty years from when he first came here.
The real reason was to get as far away from the mysterious person on the stile and to make it appear they were on a nature ramble. Taking their time they wander to the other side of the field and Malcolm leads the way through some large bushes.
Beyond the bushes the ground drops away several metres leading to a small secluded meadow. The stream that runs past the Well emerges from the trees here and meanders its way through the soft green grass and hawthorn bushes.
Paris gasps at the beautiful scene before her, the grass cropped short by the rabbits that live close by make it look magical. The ancient oak tree with ninety percent of its branches dead overlooks the quiet scene. Being slightly lower than the surrounding land the meadow felt ten degrees warmer and Paris hurries forward to look at the stream.
Malcolm takes the opportunity to look back at the stile; there is no sign of the watcher and the woodland looks peaceful.
Joining Paris at the stream Malcolm looks back towards the ancient oak tree; “What do you think of the oak tree Paris?”
Paris looks up from the stream at the dead branches of the tree; “It looks dead.” she replies not in the least bit interested.
“It has always looked like that for as long as I can remember, yet it is still alive. We can come back here in the summer and you can see the leaves if you want?”
“Could do I suppose.” replies Paris in a bored voice; “Can we go home now?”
“Yes of course.” replies Malcolm as he turns and walks out of the little meadow into the field. Looking across at the stile all is quiet and with Paris by his side they hurry back to the car.

Lewis walks quickly through the woods, he had seen the car parked at the entrance to the footpath and wanted to check who they were. Reaching the stile he had looked out across the field and not seen the owner of the car. Admittedly they could be walking the trails in the woodland behind him but all had seemed too quiet for that.
Settling himself comfortably on the edge of the stile he sat patiently and watched and listened. The only sounds he could hear was a small bird singing in the distance. He did not recognise the song and usually would be more interested.
The sound of voices in the trees near the Well drifts on the wind towards him and he moves on the stile in agitation. Hoping that the raised voices are due to the thickness of mud or finding the dead fox he waits patiently.
Paris appears at the edge of the trees and stands still looking about her. Her face looks pale, even as far as Lewis is away from her, he can see that she does not look at all well. Grinning broadly he watches as she walks over to the stream and stares into its clearness. Guessing she had found the fox Lewis looks anxiously back at the trees; whoever was with her had made no appearance and Lewis worries as to what they are doing.
He does not have to wait long as Malcolm appears where Paris had come out of the trees.
Looking at the man’s face Lewis can see that he also looks pale and watches him nervously. The man appears tense and looks around the field as if he is searching for something. Suddenly the man walks over to the girl by the stream and says something to her.
Getting up from where she was crouched by the stream Lewis watches them intently as they walk towards him. Suddenly he feels as if he has locked eyes with the girl for a few seconds and Lewis’s heart beats in anxiety.
The girl carries on walking until she reaches the bridge where she stops and waits for the man, who must be her father, to catch up with her. Softly she talks to her father and Lewis can sense that she is telling him about seeing Lewis.
The man gives no indication that he is being told anything alarming and even smiles in return at his daughter. As she turns to cross the bridge the man looks directly at Lewis and Lewis looks down at the ground.
When he looks back up again he can see the man and his daughter walking across the field towards the old oak tree. He had hoped by putting the road-kill fox he had found the other night by the Well would put off any curious rambler’s. The man’s body language told him otherwise; he had looked scared and very wary, along with looking ill.
Jumping off the stile Lewis heads back into the woods until he reaches a trail that parallels the field. Walking quickly he follows the trail until it reaches the road, stopping about five metres in the woods Lewis stands still and listens. The sound of a car driving away in the distance is the only sound he can here. Stepping out into the road he runs to Malcolm’s car, walking around it slowly he looks inside hoping to find some identification of the driver.
The inside of the car is clean and empty of any useful evidence. Walking to the rear of the car Lewis looks out across the field to see the man and his daughter walking towards him. They are still at the far end of the field and Lewis estimates it will take them another ten minutes to reach him.
Walking around the car Lewis makes a mental note of the make and colour, having no pen or paper with him Lewis copies the number plate onto his mobile phone. Satisfied he can gain no more information he picks up a stick about thirty centimetres long. Carefully lifting up the windscreen wiper on the drivers’ side Lewis places the stick underneath it and drops the wiper back down.
Seeing that the man and girl are now halfway across the field Lewis runs along the road until he reaches his car. Jumping in he switches the engine on and putting the wheel on full lock he pulls away and turns around in the road. Putting his foot down he races down the road and then slows as he reaches the corner and the man’s’ car. Quickly looking as he drives past he can just make out their heads as they reach the edge of the field.
Breathing a sigh of relief Lewis slows down until he reaches a small lay-by about two kilometres further on. Pulling over he switches the engine off and watches his rear view mirror. Lewis assumes that the man and his daughter live locally and to get home they would have to pass him, then it would be just a simple matter of following them home.

Malcolm climbs over the stile and walks around his car, all looks well apart from the stick that has been placed under his wiper blade. Lifting up the wiper blade Malcolm picks up the stick and looks at it closely. Looking like a normal stick he throws it down and examines his wiper blade. The blade appears undamaged and Malcolm lays it back down.
“What was that Dad?” asks Paris as she reaches the car.
“Just a stick that must have fallen out of the tree.” he lies.
That stick was deliberately put there by someone; and Malcolm had a good idea who that someone was.
Unlocking the doors he tells Paris to jump in. Starting the engine as he puts on his safety belt Malcolm drives slowly forward and turns onto the road.
“Dad, you are going the wrong way!” exclaims Paris.
“I thought we would have a little drive in the country as it is such a nice day, I will drive to the end of the road and then we can turn onto that road you like that ends with the sweet shop.” replies Malcolm.
Whoever had placed that stick under his windscreen wiper must have driven here to these woods like he had. Many kilometres away from town along a windy country lane was not a safe route to walk along so the man must have arrived by car.
By driving in the other direction Malcolm hoped to see where the camouflaged man had parked his car. Further along he knew there were several lay-by’s and a woodland car park.
Slowing down as he reaches the first lay-by Malcolm pretends to look up into the trees. Glancing down at the road as he reaches the lay-by Malcolm can see wet tyre tracks where someone has turned around in the road recently.
Continuing driving he hopes that he gives no indication of his behaviour to Paris. The last thing he wants to do is frighten her and fill her with paranoia; a squirrel runs out in the road in front of them and provides a good distraction. Malcolm slams on the brakes as the squirrel, terrified out of its wits, runs around in circles on the road.
“What is it doing?” shouts Paris; “it will get killed if it does not get out of the road.”
“It is so scared it does not know where to run, all squirrels seem to act in the same way that is why so many get killed.” replies Malcolm in a sad voice.
The squirrel finally stops running around in circles on the road and jumps into the long grass growing by the side of the road. Putting the car in gear Malcolm drives slowly forward increasing speed when he passes the second lay-by. Slowing down at the woodland car park Malcolm peers through the trees and can see no parked cars; “Looks quiet today.” he says when he sees Paris looking at him.
Paris returns her attention to looking out of the window hoping to catch sight of a badger, she had only seen badger’s on the television and hoped that one day she would see one for real.