by Gregg Holt
Secret Burial Grounds
of Knocknakil
Gregg Holt
Chapter 1
Uncle Jim Reilly
Graham’s heart started to pound as he heard the footsteps and the door open. His Uncle Jim had arrived back from seeing to the chickens and would now sit down with his tea and chat. The anticipation started to build, he felt excited as Jim stopped to take a couple of deep puffs on his pipe, filling the immediate air with sweet smelling tobacco. This was the time of the day after the daily farm jobs had been completed that he usually furnished his nephew with his good old Irish tales and stories.
Jim looked at Graham, pointing his pipe in his direction and started, “I tell ye this lad it has been a strange day”. Graham leaned forward anxious for his next instalment.
“Those leprechauns are getting mischievous!” he proclaimed.
“I found one in the chicken shed this morning, as real as you sitting there. ‘Give me your pot of gold’, I shouted!”
“The leprechaun looked at me all serious and replied ‘Oh well you caught me red handed, you had better pass me that shovel behind you’.
“I looked behind to pick up the shovel but there wasn’t one there. I turned back quick to grab him but my small friend had vanished. Only took my eyes off him for a second, but that’s all it takes. I tell ye Graham, if you ever manage to catch up with one, never take your eyes off him for a second no matter what he tells you. Once you stop looking at him he will vanish into thin air. I’m ashamed to say it but he gets me every time that leprechaun does. Maybe you might have more success, hey Graham.”
He stopped to take a drink of tea and few more puffs on the pipe.
Graham’s Uncle was a traditional old Irish farmer, well into his seventies but still very active with that fresh healthy look that someone living in the country has. First impressions were deceiving, only the hint of grey catching the light gave some small clues that he had been around for some time. He had a warm glow on his chubby cheeks and a rounded nose which hinted he had a liking for the occasional whiskey. Dark bushy hairs protruded from his nostrils, whilst his ears had become overgrown due to the lack of cultivation.
Jim was not particularly tall; he wore a pine-coloured blazer over his well-worn sweater with its many holes from being ravaged through the years of hard toil. The hard work of farm life had resulted in his huge hands and broad shoulders. When he entered the room, a great presence seemed to accompany him which embossed his authority all around.
Jim put his cup down and continued his tale. “Over the hills last week was a strange man. I had gone down the slope at the rear of the chicken sheds to bring the cows in for milking as usual. The sun was just rising and partially illuminated the sky, creating a dream-like panoramic view. A fresh strong breeze blew against my face, assuring me that this wasn’t a dream. As I approached the bottom of the slope, I noticed the cows were agitated and they started kicking out, forcing me to retain my distance.
“It was then I noticed movement on top of the first hill, something was reflecting off the early morning sun. I stopped and focused me old eyes in that direction, then I noticed a tall man positioned on the hill. He was lifting a rock and placing something that seemed to sparkle under it. The stranger must have stood over six feet tall, even at that distance his eyes were striking, blue like the sea surging ashore on a paradise island. Catching the breeze, his ice white robe flapped gently until it came into contact with the grass beneath, concealing his feet. His hair was long and grey with a brilliant single white feather inside a small band. The wind intensified, generating a sudden decrease in temperature that travelled through my bones and eagerly tantalised the back of my neck, leaving the little hairs standing to attention. My body shuddered and shook in shock of the unearthly experience as if I had instantly arrived at Antarctica. My legs felt like lead and started to tremble slightly; if I had wanted to run it would have been futile. A standoff ensued, the man observed me inquisitively whilst I was spellbound gazing in his direction. I noticed out of the side of my vision one of the cows slowly moving around and standing directly behind me, seeking protection from this intruder. Its breathing was heavy, catching the freezing air, resulting in a visible white blast every time it exhaled.
“As the stranger suddenly sprang into life I fell backwards. His robe flapped vigorously behind him as he lifted his staff upwards in our direction. I stepped back and fell onto the cowering Friesian. The cow was having none of it; the great beast jolted me towards this advancing, unidentified mysterious man, probably for his self preservation. I am not ashamed to tell you I screamed as I started to lose the fight to stay on my feet. My eyes were still focused on the approaching danger as my cry rang out.
“The stranger moved swiftly towards me holding his staff high in the air. Suddenly a bright light from the peak of his stick blinded me for a second.
The cows near me panicked, heading in my direction and leaving me to scramble for cover. The nearest refuge was a large prickly blackthorn bush and I ended up in the middle of it.
When I came to my senses, I looked back in the direction of the strange intruder but he had disappeared, nowhere to be seen. My gaze could have only been broken for a few seconds.
“After this the cows slowly settled and started to make their way up the slope towards the milking sheds. I untangled myself from under the prickly bush and clambered up the hill after the cows. I made my way back to the farmhouse to tell Kathleen all about my encounter.”
Graham’s Aunt interrupted the story at this point.
“Ah Jim, you will leave the poor lad traumatised and having nightmares!”
“No, it’s OK Aunt,” Graham insisted and anxiously urged Jim to continue.
Jim pulled on his pipe in deep thought. After what seemed a long time to Graham, Jim sucked on his pipe a couple more times, his tobacco-stained teeth catching the light briefly, and noticing his beloved nephew gazing longingly in his direction he decided to ignore Kathleen’s advice.
Leaning forward towards Graham he continued the story. “After milking the cows, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to return to the slope to see what the stranger had been doing around the rock I had seen him move. This time I went slowly towards the place, stopping to check all around me for any signs of the stranger. I moved carefully, scouring the fields and rocky mounds for any signs of the unwanted visitor. It took a few minutes to locate the rock the man had been looking under. All my strength went into lifting that rock; a couple of inches gave way to sunlight and something glittered from the shadow. Using all my strength, I managed to push the rock slightly to the side. My eyes widened as a small round clear crystal rock reflected in the sunlight. I fell to my knees and put my hand out to pick it up. ‘What do we have here?’ I said.
“Instantly, a burst of movement shot past the palm of my hand and grabbed the crystal. ‘Thank you. I think you will find this is for me,’ he said snatching at the rock.
“I blinked my eyes a couple of times in disbelief, there in broad daylight was a little leprechaun holding my treasure.
“‘This is mine,’ he repeated indignantly, lifting the crystal towards the sunlight and examining it closely, his eyes squinting as he visually interrogated the jewel.
“'I think not, I found it!’ I shouted.
“‘Hmm then we have a problem,’ said the leprechaun softly.
“‘Did you pick up the other crystal?’ the leprechaun continued, pointing at the rock.
“I glanced back at the rock, instantly realising that I had taken my eyes off him. He had vanished yet again; I could not believe I was gullible enough to fall for the same trick a second time.”
His Uncle settled back into his chair now slurping on the brew Kathleen had made for him. Calling his nephew by his pet name ‘Spud’, he suggested the two of them go for a walk alone and get some fresh air. Graham was overjoyed at this idea and sat on the edge of his chair anxiously waiting to start out on their adventure.
Against the wall in the large kitchen stood a hefty range. Kathleen loved baking passionately and excelled with cakes and Irish bread. There was always something baking or cooking on the range, especially when relatives like Graham were visiting. It was a soft yellow in colour which had faded over time, giving it a rustic look. There were scorch marks around the side indicating that danger was never far away. Turf was the fuel used for heating and cooking which was cultivated from the bogs around Mayo. It has a pleasant satisfying aroma which drifts up the chimneys of the farmhouses scattered around the luscious countryside and the unmistakable odour slowly wanders around the green rocky fields.
Each year Graham and his parents holidayed in County Mayo on the Atlantic coast of Ireland. This lasted for two weeks which included daily visits to his Aunt and Uncle on the mysterious farm of Knocknakil. The greeting from his Uncle was always the same, “Welcome Spud”, spoken in a soft, deep Irish accent, followed by a firm handshake.
Jim’s hands were enormous with skin like sandpaper and every year Graham’s knuckles collapsed under the pressure and he ended up falling to his knees begging Jim to have mercy. Graham often wondered why Jim needed his Massey Ferguson tractor when he retained so much strength in his hands.
It was a fine summer’s day on Knocknakil; the air was full of harmonious sounds of birds sharing their songs. A short distance along the lane, a large flock of Starlings gathered in their hundreds, chattering away. They settled in a large Lime tree before suddenly taking back to the air to go through the same sequence all over again.
Jim urged himself out of his chair and beckoned Graham.
“Are you ready then Spud?”
Before Jim had finished his sentence, his nephew was already on his feet and heading towards the doorway.
They made their way outside as Jim reached for his trusty brown hat which he never left the house without.
“I have been planning to speak you recently Spud, now you’re getting older and I won’t be around forever.” His voice was serious and Graham sensed this was not going to be casual chat. Jim led the way from the farm, opening a large gate to a field they seldom visited.
“The story I was telling you earlier was all true. There are secret, mysterious and unexplained things on this farm.” Jim stopped, turned and looked Graham straight in the face. “Spud, can I trust in you?”
Graham nodded incessantly, a little bewildered.
“Everything we discuss is secret; you cannot tell anybody about our conversation, agreed?”
His nephew was still nodding, not quite sure what to expect. “Agreed?” Jim said again. Graham managed an unsteady “Yes” as Jim’s serious voice registered with him.
They walked on a little in silence and when they came to a small hill Jim stopped and sat down on a large rock. “Sit down Spud while I explain. On this farm centuries ago, lived a civilisation of children. They were a peaceful and friendly society, who were quite shy and secretive. As in all walks of life, some people resented them and were afraid of them. An old man known locally as Boggot betrayed this group of people. He was sure they possessed special secret powers and he wanted them. He traded their location to a notorious Viking known as Gregorian, telling him they had many treasures and secrets.
“They attacked and plundered, murdering most of the race of children. He handed over some of the survivors to the Boggot who interrogated and tortured them to find out their secrets. They never cracked. It was rumoured that a great warrior heard of their fate and rescued the survivors. Unfortunately, the Boggot escaped, vowing to track them down one by one. The survivors later returned and buried their families along with their secrets. For safety, the remaining children were separated to live in the four different provinces of Ireland. Even today, you will have heard the legend. To your generation they are known as leprechauns and now you will understand why they are rarely seen.”
Graham wasn’t sure what to make of this tale; a small grin appeared on his face, expecting his Uncle to start laughing. However, Jim’s face was stern with deep frowns appearing, he was very serious. He stood up and started walking on. The conversation fell silent as they passed over gently sloping hills. Graham noticed a stream some way in the distance that they seemed to be heading towards and the silence was broken.
“Spud, you need to be cautious around that stream, it’s very dangerous,” said Jim, pointing ahead. “Hidden underneath the surface is a swallow hole!”
Graham quickly interrupted. “A swallow hole, what is that?”
“Yes, that’s what it is called and it is a mysterious phenomenon. If you stray too close it will suck you down into the stream. I have never known anybody to be seen again if dragged underneath the surface. Nobody is sure why this happens or what it is. All I can tell you is it is very strange. If you think it is just an old tale I can tell you I have lost a couple of my cattle through that hole never to be seen again and if it can swallow cattle there is not much hope for a young boy.
“A couple of years ago a young farmer completely vanished on his way over to Knocknakil. He was a pleasant young man, good footballer they said, not a trace. The only clue they ever found was down by the stream, some handprints that were imprinted on the soft ground. Whoever made those marks was being dragged away into the stream!” Jim turned and started walking again, this time away from the stream.
Graham dropped behind his Uncle as he moved away; he kept stopping to look back at the stream, amazed at what he had just been told. In fact he was so engrossed with the stream he hadn’t noticed the lake they had been approaching and which was now just in front of him.
His Uncle stopped, looking out over the surface of the small lake. Graham caught up and gasped. He had been coming to this farm for years but he had never noticed this lake before. It sparkled in the sunlight and large razor sharp reeds around the side stood to attention.
“When the young farmer disappeared the local authorities turned their attention to this lake,” Jim told Graham. “They thought he might have fallen in and drowned; rumour has it they tried to drain the lake for forty days. Eventually they gave up, saying it had no bottom. My father always said when he was young there were tales about this lake having no bottom. I feel that one day Graham, you will come to find out more about this place!”
Jim was moving again before his nephew was ready, leaving him to jog to catch up. A short distance later they arrived at a circle of large rocks on a small hill. They stood alone and proud, protruding several feet out of the ground. Moss had been creeping around the smooth surface of the rocks, indicating the site had existed for millennia.
Graham moved into the centre of the circle, calculating what the structure could have been used for all those years ago. Moving closer to one of the stones he noticed strange markings engraved deep into the surface, similar to letters of today’s alphabet. There was a letter which resembled an ‘e’, although it was facing the opposite way, a straight line like ‘I’, and a ‘P’ on its side. He presumed it was some type of ancient writing.
Patterns were etched in among some of the letters and were also familiar: Diamond shapes all linked together in straight lines, single wave lines crossing over each other which reminded Graham of radio waves he had studied at school.
He was rubbing his hand across one of the rocks when Jim drew his attention to a small cross carved out of rock just beyond the circle. He could just make out behind it a small hole in the ground. There were two large rocks dropping down a few feet and a small archway leading deep into the earth.
Graham moved away from the circle and stepped down into the small archway.
“You are stood in the exit of a secret passageway Spud!”
Jim said quietly as he crouched down next to his nephew.
“This passageway is from the old abbeys a couple of miles away. When the Vikings used to raid the abbeys, all the clergy and people escaped to safety here next to the ancient ritual site,” he explained, pointing over to the stone structure.
Graham gazed into the tunnel but the darkness did not reveal any secrets.
“This was used on many occasions and is still a secret today. Not many people know about this and it has to remain this way, do you understand?” Jim asked Graham in a serious voice. Graham nodded, still trying to take it all in.
Jim, defying his age, quickly stood and beckoned his nephew.
“Come on Spud, we should start heading back before the others start sending a search party out for us.”
Graham, still trying to gaze down the passage, pleaded for a little longer but Jim was now moving swiftly away. He climbed out from the ground and ran to catch up with his Uncle.
The rest of the walk back was in silence and the sun had started to set. The flocks of starlings were now heading their way and blocked out the sun for a few seconds. Hundreds of them chatting with each other as they flew above. It was just then that one scored a direct hit on Graham, a big white splat right on the top of his head. Everybody thought it was really amusing when he returned to the farmhouse, except Graham who felt very embarrassed. Aunt said: “Don’t worry sunshine, they say it’s supposed to be lucky.”
The following day on his return to Knocknakil, Graham headed off alone over to the hill Jim had been describing in his tales.
As he reached the summit, the air turned cold, nipping at his skin. The hairs on his neck stood to attention and his heartbeat increased. An uneasy feeling settled throughout his body, leaving his legs tingling, sensing the need for flight. His eyes widened, astonished at the vision that had just appeared.