by Gregg Holt
As the car lit up the dark road, the moths flying around become attracted to the lights and made their last fateful flight into oblivion. The children gazed out of the window, confidently feeling the car’s speed offered them protection from the unfamiliar terrain and its occupants. The dips and bends slowly faded as they pulled up outside the little attractive cottage and the safety of home.
After an uneventful night’s sleep, Graham and Lorna made their way over to Knocknakil to spend the day on the farm. The door to the house was open but Kathleen was nowhere to be seen.
“You don’t think something has happened to her do you?” Lorna inquired.
“Hope not,” Graham replied, starting to think about the events she had described the day before.
“I thought I heard voices,” Kathleen said, exiting the milking shed behind them.
They both jumped and looked at each other, with smiles slowly replacing the shocked expressions.
“Come on then you two, I have a job for you both.” And she turned and walked towards the pig sties. They followed quickly behind and noticed two large buckets next to the entrance of the sty. Each bucket was full to the top with scraps and swill, an enjoyable feast for any pig. Graham cleverly allowed Lorna to enter first, the mud inside reached over the halfway point on their Wellington boots. This made walking quite difficult and each step needed caution and control.
After a few seconds, the sow noticed the arrival of her breakfast. She hurriedly moved towards Lorna, who was now a little apprehensive and noticed Graham hovering around the gate. The sow was hungry and was nudging the bucket with her soggy snout trying to empty the contents. The mud squelched as she aggressively bumped into Lorna who started to realise the enormity of this single task. Graham and his Aunt were now in fits of laughter as Lorna battled to retain her balance. Another strong nudge at the back of Lorna’s knee tipped the balance and she fell into the deep mud. She managed to stop her whole body falling in but her arm was in past the elbow. The bucket dropped and the sow’s snout was deep inside, grunting away as she ate.
Graham used the opportunity to casually walk in and empty his contents into the feed tray without an incident. Like a true knight in shining armour, he pulled Lorna by her free arm and into the upright position with a wry smile.
Slowly Lorna squelched her way out of the sty with one of her arms caked in mud.
“Phew, you will need a good wash now!” Graham chuckled. Lorna was not amused.
Graham was chuckling as they returned to the farmhouse for Lorna to wash off the undesirable and by now stinking muck.
“When you have finished in there will you collect the eggs from the chicken sheds for me and then you’re free for the rest of the day?” Aunt called as she walked off into the kitchen without waiting for a reply.
Soon after Lorna had washed her arm, Graham led the way out and towards the sheds where the chickens were kept.
They walked through the large rusted gate at the rear of the farmhouse which led to the main part of the farm including the hen sheds which were still locked with their occupants inside.
The door creaked as Graham pushed it open and the chickens stampeded out, narrowly missing his face in a desperate bid for freedom, much to Lorna’s amusement. Feathers floated and the chickens squawked as they bobbed away into the field.
“Grab one of those baskets Lorna,” Graham suggested, slowly moving into the shed.
“Phew that stinks!” shouted Lorna, entering just behind Graham and being met by an invisible field of pungent odour.
“Yeah it does,” replied Graham in a funny voice, holding his nostrils tightly together with his fingers.
After a few seconds their eyes adjusted to the dark shed, littered with the droppings of countless chickens and the little nests with eggs patiently waiting for collection.
One of the chickens returned clucking loudly, trying to warn off the invaders and protect the eggs.
Graham shouted, “AARGH!” and the chicken fled, leaving a large feather floating in the air.
They collected about sixteen eggs and were just starting back when Lorna said: “I have a good idea. Why don’t we draw a picture of Mr. Gallagher, our head teacher, at the back of the shed?”
“What do we want to do that for?” Graham replied, looking at Lorna quite puzzled.
“So we can throw a couple of eggs at him, Aunt won’t miss them all!” she said.
“Great idea,” replied Graham as a mischievous grin filled his face and they quickly scouted the surrounding area for a stone.
CRACK!! The egg smashed right on Mr. Gallagher’s head.
“Great shot Graham!” shouted Lorna and she proceeded to have her shot and also scored a direct hit.
They returned to the farmhouse with eight eggs, congratulating each other on their fine shooting.
“What have you two been up to, you look very pleased with yourselves?” Aunt inquired as she collected the egg baskets.
“It wasn’t us,” said Lorna looking as guilty as could be.
“What weren’t you!” she said a little pushily.
“Throwing the eggs.”
Graham stared at Lorna in disbelief.
Kathleen’s face turned to thunder; suddenly Lorna recognised the head teacher streak escalating with fury.
“GRAHAM FOLLOW ME!” she demanded, leading the way through the rustic farm gate.
“Chicken OK for dinner?”
They arrived at the chicken shed and the chickens were quite happily walking around pecking at things on the ground.
“What about this one?” she said, pointing at an innocent brown chicken with a little floppy red crown.
Graham, who was not sure what he was agreeing to, nodded cautiously. Instantly Kathleen grabbed the chicken, put her hand around its neck and twisted it violently.
He heard the crunch and instantly realised he had signed its death warrant by agreeing to have chicken for tea.
Graham was horrified; his stomach turned and his face lost its entire natural colour. Kathleen, noticing the impact, walked off holding the chicken by the neck saying “It still requires plucking and cooking yet, I don’t suppose you would be much help!”.
Graham returned to the farmhouse and Lorna stared at him.
“Oh Graham, you don’t look so good!”
“Neither would you if you had been there and watched your Aunt kill a chicken for our tea!”
“No way!” shouted Lorna. “I am not eating it, no way!” she protested.
Kathleen hearing this, shouted “Out with you, go and play!”.
They quickly exited the house just in case she changed her mind or gave them some meaningless chores.
Proceeding to the back of the farmhouse, they went through the large rustic gate and past the chickens’ shed. The chickens stayed well away from them this time, not that they had the nerve to go anywhere near them after Kathleen’s shocking misdemeanour.
Leisurely walking over the hill, they could now see right across the fields at the rear of the farm. Graham’s colour started to filter back to his cheeks but the vivid image was still imprinted deep in his thoughts.
Without realising, they proceeded in the direction of the stream.
Passing over a large mound Lorna noticed the rock formations that were imbedded deep into the hill. They definitely looked as if they were man-made although they had deteriorated over time, leaving a suggestion that the mounds had served some purpose in the past.
Graham then became conscious that the cattle and sheep were accumulated around them and none could be seen beyond that point towards the stream.
They continued on climbing over the hill. As they did so, the atmosphere changed, the air became heavier and their breathing was more laboured. They continued down the other side and onto a second hill, the atmosphere relented and their breathing returned to normal.
A flash of movement to the left and they both looked over, catching something just disappearing out of sight.
“
What was that?” Graham asked a little bemused.
Lorna looked at him for a few seconds, deciding whether to answer honestly.
“If I didn't know any better I would have said it was leprechaun. You’re the expert on Ireland, you tell me what it was?”
Graham, feeling a little relieved and confused, replied: “Yeah, that’s what I thought it was.”
They just looked at each other,
“You always said that if you find one, you can demand its gold!” Lorna inquired, her dimples appearing as an excited smile grew.
“Yes, that’s right,” Graham replied.
Lorna quickly came to her senses. “Come on, then let’s catch it!” and she started to run in the direction it had disappeared without waiting for an answer. Graham quickly followed down the second hill, dodging the large rocks.
They were utterly amazed as they peered around the other side of the hill. There, a short distance ahead, was a small ginger-haired man standing about one foot tall. He was wearing a light green tunic that blended into the background extremely well; only the red hair and movement surrendered his location to the inquisitive children who were now intently observing him.
Silently, Graham and Lorna watched the man happily looking around the field.
Without warning, he suddenly looked up, sensing he was being watched, turned around and noticed them looking at him; the three of them were just staring. The man squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at the intruders. He then turned away, only to look back abruptly after a few seconds. Three times he did this, as if astounded at what he was seeing.
Without warning, he turned sharply and accelerated away, quickly disappearing around another hill. Lorna and Graham responded, striving forward like hounds hunting the fox although it was a little cumbersome running with Wellington boots on.
“What do we have to do when we catch him Graham?” Lorna gasped breathlessly.
“I am not really sure; just don’t take your eyes off him, Jim used to say.”
As they arrived around the hill they noticed the stream providing a natural barrier the full width of the farm.
The pocket-sized man was scampering at full throttle towards the stream. Slowly, his pace started to slow and the youngsters noticed he seemed to be tiring. After a few seconds he stopped, bending forward, placing his hands on his hips and breathing heavily.
“We have got him trapped now Graham,” Lorna whispered, her hands pointing out the fact the stream had cut off his escape.
Quickly, the mysterious little man looked up with a scornful look upon his face. They started walking cautiously towards him.
With a little jump he turned again and started running towards the stream. Instantly, Graham and Lorna were in hot pursuit as their strides increased impressively. Rapidly they started to gain on him but not in time to stop him reaching the water. The wee fellow dropped down the bank of the stream and out of their sight.
Within seconds the hunters were on the bank searching frantically. Lorna was pulling the reeds apart. “He could not have gone far!”
They searched behind large tufts of grass and even lifted rocks but still there was no sign of him.
“Where could he be?” Lorna continued, her hands held skywards in a confused manner.
Graham just looked at her, shrugging his shoulders in a defeated manner.
Lorna continued “He was here a second ago!” as she moved up and down the bank probing everywhere, even under the rocks.
Lorna then looked around at the stream and said: “Do you think he went in there?”
Graham instantly remembered the warnings Jim had given him about this little deceptive stretch of water. Lorna started to move right to the edge of the water “Be careful!” he cried, “Jim always warned me about this stream!”
“Yeah, yeah, I am not letting him get away even if he’s hiding in the stream,” Lorna replied defiantly, her finger wagging.
Just under the surface of the water Lorna noticed a large rock. She tried to place her foot onto it so she could look under the water. It was just out of reach. “Come here Graham, let me hold your arm so I can reach the rock!” she ordered, indicating with her hand to approach.
Reluctantly, Graham moved towards her and held out his hand. Lorna grabbed it and they locked hands together as her foot moved away from the safety of the bank.
Cautiously, Lorna placed her foot on the rock checking if it could support her weight fully. After a couple of taps she became confident it would and placed her foot fully on it.
Suddenly the rock fell and violent bubbles rose from below the surface with loud sucking noises. Graham attempted to lean back and pull his friend to safety.
Lorna would not budge, in fact her weight was transferring closer to where the rock had once stood and the bubbles were rising.
“It’s pulling me in Graham, HELP,” Lorna screamed, panicking.
“I’m trying,” shouted Graham, still trying to pull back to the bank.
Time stood still for a few seconds as they appeared suspended in mid air.
Gradually gravity took control of the situation and Graham edged closer to Lorna past the point of no return. They gasped as their bodies impacted into the cold treacherous water; it pinched at their skin leaving them breathing erratically.
Furiously, air bubbles exploded all around, a violent current from underneath menacingly pulled at them. Graham and Lorna wrestled frantically but the pull of the water was too strong and they slipped deep into the darkness.
Chapter 5
Decaying Forest
The heavy fog lingered around this forgotten part of the Atlantic coast. It was strewn with jagged rocks which no sailing vessel dared to navigate. Hidden from view in these treacherous waters was a small island which time had forgotten. The small coastline had large sheer cliff faces and several small bays with shingle beaches. One of the bays, which had deep swirling water, was hidden from sight. The bay’s entrance looked well protected by rocks which gave the impression from a distance of a continuous large rock face. However, if you approached from a certain direction an entrance could be seen large enough for an ocean going craft to navigate and enter.
The bay harboured a long forgotten vessel which sat rocking with the wave’s motion, offering it protection from the elements and prying eyes. Fifty-foot long, it had one extremely large mast in the middle of the craft and a haunting monster carved into the bow. Engineered entirely of wood, the side of the vessel curved in the centre so it was only a few feet from the ocean level at its nucleus. Several large oars stood to attention, giving the impression they had not seen action for years. The wooden benches which stretched the width of the craft were deserted, only the Ravens sat high on the mast brought any life to this lifeless bay.
Waves crashed onto the pebbled beach trying to reclaim as much of the island as possible. A few feet beyond the shore and shingle stood a large dense and ancient forest; it appeared lifeless and dark. Some of the trees had died and branches fell limp off the trunks giving the impression the forest was dying. All around the floor lay broken branches. In patches, thick heather blocked any natural sunlight penetrating deep into the centre of the woodland. The forest was eerie in its silence with no birdsong to bring life to the dark and silent atmosphere.
Watching out over the bay from the edge of the shingle stood an ancient-looking man. He wore long cloth clothing with thick animal fur wrapped tightly around his torso. It was held together by a thick gold broach which sat proudly upon his heavy chain mail. Around his waist a broad leather strap housed a long razor-sharp sword. He lifted off his heavy steel helmet to reveal dishevelled long blonde hair for a few seconds, placing it back carefully so the nose plate sat across the bridge of his nose. His elongated face was overgrown with stubble and a large crooked nose provided evidence of being broken during battle, possibly several times. Swallowing deeply, he drove deep into his chest and spat out a disgusting mix of phlegm which landed a few inches away from his knee-length l
eather boots. Turning abruptly towards the trees, he edged into the fringes of the forest. After a few large strides, smoke started to drift in the direction he was walking. He continued in the same direction, bending down to pick up wood as he progressed. The undergrowth became thicker the further he ventured into the forest, making him pause for a few seconds to find his bearings. A short distance later the structure of the forest changed, the heather disappeared and so did the trees, slowly but surely old stumps appeared where the trees had been felled and the smoke became thicker. Edging out of the woodland, a large clearing could be seen with several round wooden huts. Smoke bellowed from the roofs and the breeze carried it deep into the trees. Moving towards the nearest hut, suddenly a low growl penetrated the cold air. The man turned instantly towards the noise and there snarling its teeth stood a large wolf. Running to attack him, the beast’s fangs protruded from its drooling mouth, excited by the prospect of the attack. Twang, a rope snapped and the wolf howled in pain as it was suddenly stopped in its tracks. The restraint prevented him achieving his target. The wood collector dropped his wood and drew his sword, lifting it aggressively above his head; he prepared to slay the wolf.
“Stop, Guthrum!” came an order from next to the nearest wooden hut. The wolf flinched and retreated slightly, still showing its fangs in defiance.
“Argh, one day you won’t be here to protect these beasts Gregorian,” he replied, holding the sword aloft.
“Retract your sword now!” Gregorian ordered, placing his hand on his own sword.
Guthrum grunted but retracted his sword; he bent down and collected his wood. The wolf howled loudly as if to celebrate his victory; he was quickly joined by several other wolves filling the air with their haunting and chilling cries.