The Green Stone

by Graham Phillips

  As she followed him that night, she felt instinctively there was something wrong. She had known that feeling before, the sense that something was not as it should be. To the left of the footpath were open fields, to her right the familiar row of houses past which she usually walked the dog.

  The man looked back. She could see him clearly in the light of the streetlamps. What was it about him? Was he not simply a local walking his dog? It was his walk, the coat, the hat. Surely no one still wore such wide-brimmed hats?

  She moved more quickly, hoping to draw nearer for a closer look. The man continued walking. She moved faster; it would take only a few seconds to get significantly nearer. So why was he still so far away? Each time she increased her steps, she gained no ground. However quickly she moved, he remained the same distance away.

  Pirehill Lane eventually ceases to be a minor road and becomes a track, rising gently onto the hill after which it is named. Here the houses end and a small stream crosses at right angles beneath the road. Opposite the last house are open fields and a bank of trees next to the stream. The highest hill for miles around, Pire Hill in the Staffordshire town of Stone, is named after the pyres and beacon fires once built upon it.

  But that night there were no beacon fires to light her way. She was alone, uncertain. The road ended in darkness, the line of streetlamps not reaching that far. She arrived a matter of seconds after the man. But he was nowhere in sight. Her dog suddenly went wild, yelping and barking at something unseen. She tried to calm him, but still he was frightened and agitated.

  The man was gone. He had not entered one of the last houses. Either he had continued up the pitch-black lane or had crossed the similarly dark field. Either way he had disappeared!

  She heard only the wind as she strained to peer up the lane and across the fields. No one. No footsteps of a man or his dog. Suddenly she was afraid. Home was only a short distance. She pulled at her dog’s lead and hurried back along the lane.

  That night she had a dream of the strange figure she had seen that evening. She was following him, the tall, dark figure in a cloak and wide-brimmed hat. He carried a staff. She went after him as he walked, slowly but assuredly, pacing through the rooms of the old building.

  Suddenly he turned. His bearded face was strong-featured and knowing. Pastor John. The words came to her, burning into her dream memory. She knew it meant something of importance.

  Carol Taylor, a friend of Martin’s, did not know that that night she had witnessed a bizarre, supernatural event.

  The road was much like any other, a close of semi-detached houses and bungalows in a suburb of the main town. It was 10.35 pm. He rounded the corner and walked into the road, lit by two streetlamps. Lights from behind the house curtains told him the owners were not yet asleep.

  As he walked, he saw the man, a tall figure coming towards him on the opposite footpath. It was unusual to see a man so tall, about six foot four. Beside him was a dog, a black dog.

  He walked on, taking no further notice. The man looked at him, a slow and determined movement of the head. His appearance was strange. A long black cape reached just below his knees, and his black hat was wide-brimmed. The man paced on, drawing level with him on the opposite side of the road. Again he looked, an unnervingly deliberate stare across the tarmac.

  Martin began to feel nervous. There was something wrong, he knew it. Who was this stranger, this tall, peculiarly-clad figure walking along the road near his house?

  Instinct told him it was no ordinary man. He could not explain the inner feeling he experienced. Fear, yes, but not terror. An intuitive knowledge that what he saw was not as it should be.

  The figure reached the streetlamp on his side of the road. For the third time his head turned, lifting slightly as it did so. Now Martin could see his face. A surge went through him, a rush of adrenalin, his body unconsciously preparing him for what was to come.

  The face was a black, empty mask. Neither he nor the dog made a sound as they walked.

  Martin’s nerve broke. Never had he moved so quickly. Looking back, he saw the figure turn for a fourth and last time.

  In seconds, he was home, his heart thumping as he bent forward, gulping air as he stood outside the house. But why had he run? He knew the figure was not real, an apparition, a ghost, but surely he should have stayed and watched, gone over to it? But no. Never before had he experienced a psychic vision, and even investigators get scared!

  That night he slept well, untroubled by the experience. He knew it had been a vision, in retrospect something he should not have feared, but for him to have such a vision... it must mean something.

  Carol and Martin compared notes. What they had both seen was clearly the same. Martin had been leaving Carol’s house after visiting her brother, when she happened to mention a strange, dark figure she had seen on Pirehill Lane.

  Quickly he asked her to say nothing more, and for the first time revealed what he had seen. Carol’s subsequent description tallied exactly. Pastor John. The mysterious figure remained an enigma, but in some way Martin knew the man had a part to play. Somewhere, somehow…

  In early February, Gaynor said that the search for the next four Lights must soon start. Again, she was unable to undertake the search herself, but three others were available: Andy, Graham and Martin.

  On Saturday, 5 February, the three travelled to Marion’s to collect the Stone. En route they all received psychic information, the guide advising them that they must go to the Devonshire town of Crediton.

  The process of releasing the Fifth and Sixth Lights was to be identical to the first four. However, the Seventh and Eighth would be different. To release them they would have to prove themselves worthy by passing a test, but they would learn no more of this until they had succeeded in finding Lights Five and Six.

  Driving through the night, they travelled south-west towards Devon. The sun was rising as the winding road passed through open fields and pastures, broken by low hills and grassy vales. The sign came into view as the road dipped into the shallow valley. Crediton.

  In the early afternoon they made their way to the Holy Cross Church, the town’s central feature. Even as Dorchester Abbey had been important in their search for the First Light, so might this church in Crediton also hold the key to the Fifth Light.

  Crediton’s Holy Cross Church is large and impressive, a medieval building of delicately ornate stone. As Andy examined a statue near the altar, Martin and Graham walked through the cloisters discussing how they might find the person who would lead them to the guardian. To their surprise, a large dog suddenly appeared from the vestry door and bounded up to them. Within seconds a bearded clergyman, dressed in a black cassock and carrying a wooden staff, followed the dog out of the vestry.

  Holy Cross Church, Crediton

  They were amazed. He was so similar to Martin’s and Carol’s visions of the Pastor John figure that it was beyond belief. They had both seen the pastor figure, and this clergyman, the unwitting guide to the Fifth Light, was dressed exactly as they had seen him.

  As Martin stared in disbelief, Graham bade the man good afternoon to divert his attention from Martin’s surprise. He had to be the one, but what mythical creature had he spoken about? Suddenly they knew. During their conversation he had made continued reference to his dog, saying that he was called Temujin, Genghis Khan’s former name before he became Genghis Khan in 1206. The dog, was this the connecting factor? The black dog Carol and Martin had seen accompanying the pastor. But how was this an indication to the spirit guardian, a black dog? On the signpost near the church they saw the name ‘Black Dog’. Perhaps this place name was the link. The black dog must surely be their clue to the Fifth Light.

  In the car Martin and Graham told Andy what had occurred, and he agreed that the small village they were heading for was undoubtedly the place.

  Black Dog - a curiously named village - is small and quaint, a quiet cluster of homesteads seven miles north of Crediton. In the village centre stands
an inn of the same name.

  The researchers sat in the lounge, discussing the events over a pint of beer and a pub lunch. In legend, a black dog is said to haunt the village, and especially the inn in which they were now sitting. As they talked, they decided that the pub itself was probably on the sacred site for which they had been searching. There was now no visible evidence, no standing stone or burial mound, to confirm that it was once revered by the Megalithic culture. But, perhaps, many thousands of years ago, the small rise upon which the modern building now stood was on such a site.

  The Black Dog Inn in Black Dog village

  They were convinced that this was it. They summoned the spirit guardian, the black dog, and as they did so a black Labrador walked slowly and deliberately from the bar, through the connecting door and into the lounge, purposefully walking straight under their table to Graham. As he patted the dog, he felt the now familiar energy running through him.

  They had the Fifth Light! How these startling coincidences worked or were brought about was unfathomable. But what they could not deny was what happened. The Fifth Light was now released back into the Meonia Stone.

  The Sixth Light was at, or near, Lydford Gorge, about twenty-three miles away. But that was all they knew.

  In Anglo-Saxon times, the Devonshire village of Lydford was a fortified borough with a mint. A monument to its history is Lydford Castle, once a prison for offenders against the special laws of the forests and the stannaries (tin mines). Built in 1195, the stone tower is set back from the road on an earth mound, next to which is the parish church, a fifteenth-century building constructed mainly of granite and surrounded by a half-overgrown graveyard.

  After they had booked in at The Castle Inn, a small hotel adjacent to the old prison, they examined the building and discussed just how they were to find the physical guardian to the Sixth Light. Returning to the hotel still undecided, they settled for a drink and a game of darts. In the hotel lounge, Graham had the strong psychic impression of monks chanting in Latin, followed by the sound of a cock crowing.

  Next morning, after breakfast, Andy and Graham happened to speak to an elderly gentleman in the lounge. As they talked, Martin experienced déja vu, the feeling of something having happened before. Although he knew this man was their unwitting guide, he kept his mouth shut.

  Without being prompted, the man then told them of a legend about a spectral cockerel that was supposed to act as guardian to an ancient earthwork on nearby Brentor. Brentor is an unmistakable landmark 1,130 feet above sea level, where, on the top of the tor, stands St Michael’s church, built between 1140 and 1150AD. It is a small but impressive building, perched high above the surrounding plain. Legend has it that the church was originally planned for the foot of the hill, but when the bricks were continually and unaccountably moved from the base to the summit, the mystified builders relented and erected it at the top. Around the base of the hill is a massive Pre-Roman earthwork, encompassing the whole tor.

  Brentor Church

  It was 10.30 am as the researchers parked their car. Crossing the road, they stood at the wooden gate, where the rugged track began its winding ascent up the tor to the church. That morning, the scene held an air of foreboding. Drenched in swirling white mists, the church stood out ominously against the sky. The path led away before them, rising gently onto the rocky slopes of the tor. The morning was cool and fresh, the sky cloud-covered and heavy with mist. After about a hundred yards, the muddy track petered out to become a footpath, rising steeply towards the church. A light drizzle began to fall as they climbed, causing them to slip on the sodden grass. Finally, they made it to the summit.

  Although small, its sentinel-like position on the otherwise bleak tor made it all the more imposing, the church looking out over western Devon and eastern Cornwall, an almost flat plain receding to the distant horizon in all directions.

  They entered the church. Andy read out the Latin words Graham had heard the monks chanting. Perhaps they held the clue to exactly how and where they must summon the cockerel guardian. Nothing happened. Perhaps they would find the words written somewhere in the church. They explored the interior, examining the benches and even the altar. Checking in the bell tower Andy found them, inscribed on one of the bells. But what did they mean? Graham went outside to ponder. As Martin flicked through the guidebook he came upon information about the bell. This was the Latin, translated into English. I am called the cock, and I alone sound above all.

  He told Andy and then ran from the church to find Graham, who was looking out over the plain. They hurried back inside, knowing now that it was in the church itself where they must call upon the guardian cockerel. The three of them faced the altar. Above it was a stained-glass window depicting St Michael.

  Stained glass window of St Michael, Brentor

  They summoned the guardian. As Graham felt the energy surge through him and enter the Stone, Martin, standing only a few feet away, also experienced the almost surreal sensation of the energy reverberating through his body. Simultaneously, he recalled a dream of weeks before which, at the time, he had dismissed. A figure in a stained-glass window exactly as he now saw the figure of St Michael in the East window above the altar.

  As they left the quiet church, they heard the unmistakable crowing of a cockerel breaking the silence.

  They had the Sixth Light.

  Back at the car Graham had the impression of three circles that held the key to the Seventh Light. Andy recognised them as a series of three stone circles called the Hurlers, on Bodmin Moor. They drove from Brentor and across the county border to Cornwall. A cart track leaves the main road outside Minions and leads to the stones. Legend claims that the Hurlers are petrified men, punished for playing games on the Sabbath. Dated between 2200 and 1400 BC they are roughly the same size, about forty yards in diameter, and run in a near straight line north-east to south-west.

  The Hurlers on Bodmin Moor

  The rain beat down from darkened skies overhead as the group crossed through the bracken. Within minutes, they were soaked, their clothes sodden and dripping as they entered the first of the three circles. For some reason, they felt they should each stand in one of the great stone rings. As they did so Martin had the impression of a lake. Simultaneously, Graham heard the guide telling them they must go to Dozmary Pool. As they left the circles they were confused. This Light was different from the others. They had been told it would be so, but now they had nothing at all to go on, except that they knew they must walk to Dozmary Pool, a lake at the heart of Bodmin Moor. They returned to the car and drove the hundred or so yards to the nearby Cheesewring Hotel.

  As they sat in the lounge debating their next move, the guide to the Light mentally instructed them that the test they must pass was to walk to Dozmary Pool, nearly seven miles away. The realisation of what this would mean quickly struck them. To walk so far by night meant crossing the treacherous bogs of the moor, through the bitterly cold and dangerous moorland. There was no question that, with their inadequate clothing, such an expedition might prove disastrous.

  Having decided to undertake the hazardous journey in the dark, they prepared to face the consequences. Then, as they made their decision, both Martin and Graham felt a sudden overwhelming energy shoot through them.

  To their surprise they had the Seventh Light.

  It was followed almost immediately by a second wave of power. They also had the Eighth Light! They were astonished to find that their actions had released the Seventh and Eighth Lights simultaneously, both of which had been at the Hurlers stone circle. They had no idea why this should be, but there was no mistaking the surge of power associated with the release of each Light. They had to assume they had passed the test to prove their strength of purpose in seeking the Lights. Perhaps it was this dedication which had acted as the trigger to release the Seventh and Eighth.

  One Light remained, the last and most important, the Ninth Light that would bind the eight now held within the Meonia Stone.

&n
bsp; In the following weeks, both Terry and Gaynor received psychic impressions about the Ninth Light.

  To release it involved a different procedure. There would be no guardians. Before they could release it, they must first prepare the Eight Lights already within the Stone. To do this, they would again have to visit the Avebury stone circle. They must go there on May Eve, the night of Beltane, one of the old Celtic fire festivals and traditionally a day of supernatural power. At Avebury they would know what to do.

  30 April 1981 - Beltane

  The day dawned, warm and sunny. Terry, Gaynor, Marion, Martin and Graham drove towards Avebury. Gaynor had told them that it was essential for five of them to go and release the last Light. They did not have to be there until around 9.30 pm.

  Darkness had fallen as they drove downhill through West Kennet village, turning right onto the minor road leading towards Avebury. Here a stretch of the Avenue still survives, running parallel with the road, before it reaches the high embankment and enters the village.

  Parking near the church, they left the car and walked into the circle. By day, the monument is visited by hundreds of curious tourists. By night the silent stones lie alone and undisturbed. Their first sight of the huge standing stones was made all the more awe-inspiring in the near darkness. They walked round the outer embankment, talking only occasionally, five silhouettes against the dark horizon. The ditch below was a black shadow, the only illumination being the warm house-lights of the village. Crossing the road, they again mounted the embankment, aware that they were making a deliberate trek clockwise about the high ridge. How long it took they did not know, but after an uneventful walk once round the circle, they crossed the ditch and up the opposite side onto the central plateau of the henge.

  Hardly a word had passed during their walk. Suddenly Terry broke the silence.