by Tim Flanagan
They both cycled along the narrow lane until they got to a junction in the road where they would go off in different directions.
‘See you tomorrow,’ said Joe.
‘Goodnight,’ Max shouted as he turned to cycle home.
Joe arrived back just as his gran was starting to put the cutlery on the dining-table for their evening meal. There were only two place settings, so Joe knew they would be eating without his father. Whenever this happened, Joe would often lie awake in his bed waiting to hear the clanging of cutlery as his father ate his dinner later in the night. He found that he could never go to sleep until he knew that his father was home.
‘Dad not back yet then?' he asked as his gran took the plates out of the cupboard.
‘No, it’s just the two of us again. What did you and Max get up to today?’
‘Not much,’ Joe replied nervously, thinking that he was going to be in trouble for going inside the church. ‘We went for a bike ride and met a girl called Scarlet on the other side of the river.’
‘That’s Richard Baxley’s land. Scarlet must be his daughter. What happened to your trainers?’ she asked Joe noticing his muddy socks. She took a sausage casserole out of the oven.
‘The sole came away so it was easier to walk without them on.’
‘Well, that’s what you get for buying cheap trainers, but I’m afraid that’s all we can afford at the moment. You’ll have to get your old ones out. I know they’re a bit small, but they will have to do until we can get you some more.’
‘Do you know if dad found Peter Crisp?’
‘I haven’t heard I’m afraid.’
Joe wanted to talk to his father. He had been wrestling with the decision of whether to tell his dad about what they had seen at the graveyard or not. But, most of all he wanted to ask him if Peter had been found, but it would have to wait until the morning.
Later that evening Joe's dad had still not returned so Joe reluctantly went up to bed. He lay awake trying to move into the most comfortable position the springs would allow and thought about the shape he had seen scratched into the wall next to the statue in the church. The more he thought about it the more he began to convince himself that the two letters could just have been a trick of the light, making him see things that weren’t really there. Or if they were actually letters then maybe it wasn’t a P and C, maybe it was a D and L. But, Max said he had definitely heard Peter being dared to sleep in the graveyard by Jimmy Cox, and they had found a sleeping bag as well as a teddy bear, so he must have been there at some point. If it was Peter, why would he climb the statue? It couldn’t have been very comfortable to spend the night perched on top of a cold stone statue. It would have been better if he had taken his blanket and sleeping bag into the church and slept on one of the wooden pews. It was almost as if he was trying to escape from someone, or something.
Eventually his brain couldn’t think any more and he began to drift to sleep, but in a moment somewhere between wake and sleep he suddenly had an idea what the symbol might mean.
9. The Night Watchman
Bob King was doing his usual hourly checks at the old Parsley Bottom Paper Factory for the night. It was cold and he was looking forward to a warm cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit, before settling down for a short nap. Bob had been a night security guard at the factory for just over four years and in that time there had only once been an intruder, if that’s what you could call a homeless person looking for somewhere warm to sleep.
The long outside wall of the factory that joined onto the car park was lit by lamps attached from above, and as Bob walked slowly beneath them he moved in and out of the beams like an actor moving across a stage. The only sound came from the faint metallic chinking sound from a bunch of keys hanging loosely around his waist. Bob whistled a nameless tune to accompany his keys and break the silence.
As he came to a door, he tried the handle to make sure that it was locked, before proceeding towards the back of the building. He lifted his wrist and checked the time on his watch, tapping it to make sure that the hands had not got stuck. Ten past two in the morning. He made a note of the time on the chart that was clamped to his clip-board.
At the end of the wall, he turned round and took one final look across the car park, just to reassure himself that all was secure, before walking towards a small hut where his kettle, biscuits, deck-chair and heater were waiting. The river ran alongside the back of the factory. Moonlight reflected off the surface of the water as it trickled over the stones, flickering like last years faulty Christmas tree lights.
Knowing that he had fifty minutes before the next security check at 3am, Bob started to walk a bit quicker, drawn to his hut and the thought of a warm cup of tea.
Suddenly a loud splash came from the river. He turned and walked cautiously towards the edge of the river-bank, keeping his flashlight pointing at the ground in front of him so he would be able to see where the drop of the bank started. At the edge he swung the beam of light across the surface of the river.
Nothing.
There were many things that could have made a splashing sound in the river, such as a small fish jumping out of the water, or an acorn falling from an overhanging oak tree - but there was one conclusion Bob would never have thought of.
As he turned away from the river to go towards his hut, something caught on the leg of his trousers almost making him lurch forward. The flashlight fell out of his hand and rolled onto the concrete path. He turned his head to see what he had caught his trousers on, but something else pulled him. He landed heavily on his chest, the breath forced violently from his lungs. Gasping quick shallow breaths, he tried to look down towards his feet once again, but all he could make out were dark shapes clawing their way up the river-bank and clamping themselves tightly around his legs. He tried kicking at them but it was useless. More came out of the water and up his legs. A strange, sticky bubbling sound came from the shapes and it was getting louder and louder as more arrived.
Bob made an attempt to call for help, but he knew that it was useless; after all, he had just checked the grounds around the factory himself and he knew that there was no one else here.
He knew he was on his own.
This feeling of isolation seemed to give Bob an extra boost of energy and his instinctive need to survive kicked in. He tried to grab at whatever was attacking him as it slid towards his chest, but there was nothing solid to get hold of. It was like trying to grab onto a slug. His hands kept slipping off the soft cold surface. He tried instead to pull himself free, gripping the ground above his head with his fingers, feeling the grit and mud gathering under his nails as he clawed desperately at the ground, but it was becoming useless; he was getting nowhere.
By now there was another strange feeling in his legs, but this wasn’t on the outside, this felt like it was coming from within his legs, moving like a cold knife through his veins. He tried again to kick the things off, but found that his legs wouldn’t move at all, his brain had stopped controlling them, they were paralysed. In a desperate panic, Bob tried even harder to claw his way out, his fingernails snapping and chipping away on the stones in the mud.
Then another feeling; one of intense pain. It felt like someone had poured acid onto the skin of his legs; they were burning and itching so much, all he wanted to do was scratch them. His hands then started to become numb, followed by his tongue which seemed to become as heavy as a lead weight, stopping his cries for help. After all of the chaos and torture, he became still and calm. He could still hear and see, but couldn’t move any part of his body, not even to blink. Bob could only look at the ground he was lying on whilst the things continued to swamp his body.
Slowly Bob was dragged into the water. He knew that as soon as his body went into the river and his lungs filled with water he would drown, but even that seemed a good alternative to the agonising burning that crawled over his body. As Bob slid down the river-bank and into the water, his body rolled so that he was facing upwards. The last thi
ng he saw was the starry sky above him as the icy river water lapped into his mouth and filled his lungs.
The creatures moved quickly over his body, taking what they needed in a wild frenzy, like a lion picking the flesh from a zebra, until there was little left except a metal wrist-watch which floated heavily to rest on the gravel of the river-bed.
10. The Faerie Ring
Unfortunately for Joe, when he woke the following morning, his dad had already left for work again. As soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he wheeled his bike out of the hall, through the front door then cycled along the road in the direction of the church, but this time continued straight past it and along a narrow road. It wound its way around farmland edged with high stone walls on both sides and up to the top of a hill where he got off his bike and stood for a minute to catch his breath.
Whilst he was trying to get to sleep last night, he had been thinking about the symbol he had seen next to the statue and thought that it could possibly indicate the ancient stone circle that stood on the hill overlooking Parsley Bottom. He had decided to go and have a look, but he didn’t really know what he was looking for. Any indication that Peter had been there would give Joe more information to pass on to his dad.
Joe had stopped by the side of a public footpath sign which pointed away from the road and across a field of purple heather. He pushed open a pedestrian field gate and free wheeled his bike through. The strong spring on the post pulled the gate back as soon as Joe let go, hitting the opposite post with a dull thud.
With the bike at his side he walked along the well worn path up the gentle slope towards the stone circle. It was a nice morning to be walking across the Yorkshire Dale. There was no one else in sight and all Joe could hear was the odd call of a bird carried upon the gentle breeze blowing up the hill.
After a while, the heather gave way to a small clearing. The ground here was yellowed and dry. What made this place different to anywhere else in Parsley Bottom were the twelve large stones that stood in a circle around two central stones.
This was what Joe thought could have been the shape scratched in the church wall; the faerie ring, Parsley Bottom’s smaller version of Stonehenge. But why would Peter draw this? Did he leave the church and come here? If so he didn’t appear to be here anymore.
Joe put his bike on the ground and walked up to the first of the stones, all of which were about twice the height of him. The surface of the stone was grey and brown and it had been worn smooth over the centuries by the constant wind and rain that blew across the Yorkshire countryside. Tufts of moss poked out from cracks in the stone where rain-water had collected. The stones stuck out of the ground at awkward angles and all of them appeared to have the faint remains of something carved on their outer face.
Joe looked up at the unusual writing that was scratched into the stone.
It didn’t mean anything to him so he walked across the centre of the circle towards another stone. This one was a lot redder in colour and had a narrow base compared to its width at the top. Again he looked at the writing.
This was the first time Joe had actually been so close to the stones. Although he had often seen them from a distance and heard about them at school, now that he was actually standing amongst them he felt a strange feeling come over him almost like an electrical energy that caused static to crackle in the air.
‘Interesting place this,’ said the voice of an old man who now stood at the end of the footpath. Joe hadn’t noticed him at first and was surprised to hear another human voice. But he was even more surprised when he saw that the voice belonged to the white-bearded man that had followed them into the church the day before.
The old man was stood at the entrance to the circle where Joe had left his bike. He was leaning on an old twisted walking stick and dressed in the same brown suit as the previous day. He stayed where he was. Joe moved towards the two central stones, cautiously keeping an eye on the man whilst still trying to look for any sign of Peter.
‘Do you know the story behind this place?' asked the old man who sat down on a wooden bench, almost like he was settling himself down for a long conversation.
Joe tried to remember what he had heard about the stone circle at school, although it probably wouldn’t be as much as Max could recall if he had been there.
‘Isn’t it to do with the moon or something?' replied Joe.
‘That’s what your teachers will say about most stone circles, but this has a different story and one you might find interesting,’ he paused before adding, ‘especially if you’re looking for something.’
Joe glanced over to the old man, wondering what he could mean by his last comment. Did he know anything about Peter? How could he know that Joe had come up here looking for Peter? The old man’s striking blue eyes seemed to watch Joe like a hawk on a rabbit.
‘Look at the inscriptions on those two stones you’re standing next to. They read Belphoebe and Gawain.’
Joe cautiously looked up at the inscriptions:
‘They are written in Anglo Saxon Runic symbols. Sir Gawain was the nephew of King Arthur and one of the famous Knights of the Round Table, whilst Belphoebe was a beautiful faerie princess from the Underworld,’ continued the old man. ‘We are standing on what remains of Lud’s Chapel where the marriage of Gawain and Belphoebe took place. Standing in front of them is Bishop Baldwin and surrounding the happy couple are eleven of Gawain’s friends and fellow knights: Lionel, Dodinal, Gaheris, Bedivere, Erec, Bors, Ywain, Lamorak, Balin, Lucan and finally Morholt.' He passed his hand round the circle like he was introducing old friends at a dinner party. Joe could hear a certain amount of kindness in his voice as he seemed to fondly retell the knight’s names.
‘But they’re just stones,’ said Joe disbelieving what the old man had said.
‘It’s true, they are stones but they hadn’t always been that way. The marriage between a faerie and a human was strictly forbidden so the faerie queen cursed them and their guests by turning them to stone. But in doing so what she actually did was to create a magical place where the human world and the unseen faerie world would be permanently joined, protected by these eleven brave knights as well as Bishop Baldwin, as God's representative on Earth.’
'But I thought faeries are small things with wings?'
'You've been reading too many comic books, lad. The ancient faeries are shape-changers; they can be anything they want to be and can fly using magic not by papery wings on their back,' replied the old man with a look of frustration on his face.
‘So why would this be a good place to look for something you might have lost?' asked Joe, taking the old man back to his earlier comment.
‘You came here looking for Peter Crisp didn’t you?' he asked.
‘How do you know?' replied Joe with surprise.
‘He came here two nights ago to escape from something. I’m not sure what it was but there was something in the graveyard with him, I thought you and your friend might have an idea what it was.’
Joe shook his head. ‘We know you had been watching us.’
‘Your red-haired saviour told you, did she?' he said with a smile.
‘Yes. So where is Peter now?’
‘I don’t know,’ the old man sadly replied. ‘I should have been there to help him but now he’s gone.’
‘Where?' Max asked.
‘Legend has it that this circle is actually an entrance to the Underworld. I believe that is where he’s gone.’
11. The League of White Knights.
Joe was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the stone circle by himself. He wanted to get away as soon as possible, but the old man was still sitting on the bench nearest to the footpath and, more importantly, next to his bike. His exit was blocked. How could the old man know about Peter, unless he was somehow involved with his disappearance? The old man was talking about tales and stories from medieval days when they also believed in dragons and the bogey monster, but everyone knew there was no such thing as faeries.
'If this is an entrance to somewhere, then where’s the door?' he asked looking around the circle pretending he’d missed it, but secretly looking to see if there was any other way to escape. All around the circle was farmland. He was sure that he could outrun the old man, after all he needed a stick just to walk.
'You can’t see the door. It’s an energy field that can only be opened in one of three ways. The first way is by using the Silver Bough, a magical branch from an Elm tree. The second is for those that are gifted with The Sight, a unique vision of the unseen world only available to certain ancient families, and the third is the rarest of them all, by invitation. Any one of those will allow you to pass into the unseen world.'
'And you truly believe all of this?' asked Joe in a disbelieving voice. The old man was talking nonsense. 'You really think there is a silver Elm tree somewhere, or that people can see things that aren’t really there! And I suppose a Pixie is going to walk up to someone and just give them an invitation for you to go to their birthday party.'
The old man stood up, a look of frustration crossed his face fuelled by Joe's words.
'You do not have time to mock me, lad. Peter is in danger. Don’t be blinded by the things that you can see. There is much more to this world than what's in front of your eyes. You cannot see the air but you know it is there. You cannot see love or sadness, but you feel them inside you. Have you ever lost something even when you are certain you knew where you left it?'
