When the slide show began on the forty seven inch flat screen television not a word was spoken and all eyes were on the screen. Quietly people started to weep. The tears created a chain reaction as more and more people started sobbing. The crying was getting louder until it became a crescendo of wailing. The slide show was set to repeat, but was turned off after it had finished the first loop. It was too sad for anyone to endure.
The wake lasted for ninety minutes and all who were there stayed until the end. As the hall emptied, those who knew James and Sophie Walker well enough briefly spoke with them and promised to be in touch. All Sophie could take in was a blur of familiar faces whose names she could barely remember saying the same thing, “If there’s anything you need just call.” She feigned a weak smile and in auto mode thanked them for coming. James stood next to his wife half-heartedly shaking hands with the men and accepting a kiss on the cheek from the women.
The hall was empty, other than James, Sophie, her brother Martin and the catering staff who were putting the uneaten buffet food in black dustbin liners. The caterers left the hall to take the food away and Sophie’s brother left them whilst he went to get his car to drive them home. James and Sophie were left alone. Silently they looked at one another, too dazed to talk and too tired to reach out to hold hands. Neither could cry anymore. So many tears had been shed there were no more left.
Martin drove them home just after two o’clock in the afternoon. They were left alone in their empty house with the challenging business of rebuilding their lives.
Chapter eighteen
Badock’s Wood
8pm
Thursday 8th October 2009
As arranged, Markland Garraway and Polly Ellis had agreed to meet a second time, this time at the woods. Understandably, Polly had been reluctant to wait there alone for Garraway so he had offered to pick her up from her flat. The journey from her place to the woods had taken around twenty minutes during which neither of them said very much. There was a bit of small talk here and there, but mostly there was an air of awkward silence. Evidently the alcohol consumed at their last meeting had dispelled the nervousness they felt. But now was different. No drinks, anyway Garraway was driving, and Polly had decided to go with a clear head. She had considered a crafty joint before Garraway turned up to collect her, but decided against it.
It was a cool evening in early October, and even though the clocks were yet to go back, it seemed darker than it had the last few evenings. He parked his car on Doncaster Road. It was a five minute walk to the entrance and the hill was another few minutes from there to where the woods became a more arboreal landscape. The area where the hill was situated was known as Milltut Field. It had been recorded centuries before that a windmill had stood on the hill, hence the name Milltut.
Garraway had not told his wife he was seeing Polly this evening. He hadn’t even told her about his experiences at the hill. Joan had no time for this sort of thing and had laughed when he had told her about his encounter with a UFO when he was a boy. This evening he felt as if he was seeing someone behind Joan’s back, which he was and he wasn’t. It was true that Joan thought her husband was out on police business, but even if Garraway had intentions of making a move on Polly, he definitely wasn’t her type, so that would have put the end to any inappropriateness. It was just better that Joan didn’t know.
As they walked from the car to the woods they discussed the hill and how best they should use their time together. Polly suggested that they should just climb to the top, sit down and see what happened. Garraway was starting to feel awkward about the whole thing. If Joan knew what he was up to she would have had a field day, sat on top of a hill, in the woods and with another woman!
“So Polly, do you have any idea why this hill affects you and me the way it does?” asked Garraway.
“No I don’t, all I know is that over the years others have come here for different mysterious reasons.”
“You mean the witches, wizards and bonking couples?” smiled Garraway.
“I can’t say that I am a believer in that kind of thing, but it does seem to be very coincidental. I had no idea about the properties of this place until I experienced them for myself. And then it was only after I had done some research, spoke to a few of the locals, searched the internet which then led me to discover what I now know about the burial mound.”
They arrived at the bottom of the hill and stood in silence, momentarily lost in their own thoughts.
“Shall we do it?” said Garraway. Polly smiled.
“OK, you first.” As Garraway started to climb the slope, he turned to offer his hand to Polly. “I’m fine thank you.”
The grass on the top of the hill was wet from an earlier rain shower so Garraway, always the gentleman took off his coat for Polly to sit on.
“What about you? You’ll get a wet arse,” laughed Polly.
“Don’t worry about me,” he replied.
“Don’t be so soft Markland, sit next to me, I won’t bite, I promise.”
The two of them sat on his coat waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. They sat there for about five minutes both expecting the visions they’d seen before.
“Well, it’s not happening for me,” said Garraway.
“What’s different, why can’t I see Sarah?” Polly huffed, “I’ve seen her every time I’ve come here.”
“Do you always sit here on your own?” he suggested.
“You’re right, I am always on my own, how about you?”
“No, I’ve always had others nearby,” he replied, “but no one has ever been on the hill with me, they’ve been milling around at the bottom of the slope, right over there,” pointing to an area in the near distance.
“The first time I was here, when I was sick, I didn’t even climb the hill. I was standing with Sergeant Matthews at the bottom.”
“Perhaps that’s it,” she said, “perhaps we need to be up here alone.”
“Do you mind if I have a ciggy?” said Polly, “I could do with calming my nerves.”
They made their way down the hill whilst Polly walked to a nearby bench. She felt a bit disrespectful and a little odd smoking on the hill, almost like she would be upsetting someone or something. Then she remembered how Sarah hated her smoking. That was probably it she thought as she lit her cigarette smiling to herself. Garraway sat next to her.
“So, when did you start to come here and begin to see the visions of Sarah?” he asked.
“It was the month following her death. I’d turned up to the place where she’d been killed on Doncaster Road to lay some fresh flowers. At that time there were lots of flowers and cards, she had a lot of friends. These days it’s just me and her parents who leave flowers”.
She paused for a second and Garraway could see a tear welling in her eye. She wiped her eye and continued.
“This time I decided to take a stroll to the woods. This place looked peaceful and I thought I should spend a bit of time on my own and think of her.”
She paused again, wiping another tear from her eye. She inhaled on her cigarette and withheld the smoke as she thought of what to tell him next.
She let out the smoke and pointed to the hill.
“And then I saw that thing.” Garraway didn’t look to where she was pointing, he continued to look at her, hanging on to her words.
“Did you have an urge, or a calling to climb it?” he asked.
“No, not really, well, not at all actually, I just decided to climb, there was nothing to it, I didn’t really think about it, I just went up the hill, just as thousands of people who walk these woods probably do.”
“And is that when you had your vision of Sarah?”
“Yes” she replied, “but you must understand, she’s never been a vague vision, I can see her as clearly as I can see you”.
“What about her voice, can you hear her talking to you?” he asked.
“We’ve discussed this before, I can hear her, but it’s strange, I can�
�t explain exactly how I hear her, but I do”.
They sat in silence as Polly finished her cigarette.
“OK,” said Polly, “how about this. We try it again, but this time we’ll do it one at a time?” Garraway nodded. They stood up as she put out her cigarette. Polly said that she would go first. Garraway sat down as she walked to the hill. As he watched her climb, he remembered his coat.
“You don’t want a wet arse do you?” Polly looked back and smiled as Garraway walked over and passed her his coat which she took with her to the top of the hill.
Garraway sat on the bench and watched Polly on the hill, adjusting herself to get comfortable. He watched as she sat quietly. Listening to the sounds of the wood, it was not until now that he’d realised how noisy it was here. Birds were singing, dogs were barking in the distance and he could hear the sounds of children playing in a nearby sports field. He looked back to Polly and watched as she sat there with her eyes closed, almost as if she were meditating. She was rocking ever so slightly back and forth. At first she looked content. He thought he could make out a smile on her face. Then her contented look changed. She now had a look of irritation and appeared to be shaking her head. Polly had been sat at the hill for around five minutes when she quickly stood up and scuttled down the slope, almost losing her footing as she hurried down.
Garraway got up from the bench and walked over to her at the bottom of the hill.
“Is everything OK?” he asked, sensing things clearly were not.
“Yes Mr Garraway, everything is OK,” she replied, in the tone of voice he had heard many times before from his wife when she couldn’t hide her disapproval.
“Did you speak to Sarah?” He asked as she lit another cigarette.
“Yes, I spoke to Sarah, or rather, she spoke to me,” she replied bluntly.
“Is there anything wrong?” he asked, sensing that there was.
“No, no everything is fine,” which clearly it wasn’t.
“OK,” said Garraway walking away from her. He had learnt enough about women to know when it was best to keep his distance.
Near the bench was a monument which was about six feet tall. It was like a stainless steel menhir. On it was an inscription which he’d never noticed before. He read the inscription quietly to himself whilst Polly smoked her cigarette and sat alone.
“At Badock’s Wood ghostly windmill sails turn and, like a rewound film, spin through history to remote times when this was burial place for Bronze Aged warrior in that landscape wolves prowled and nervy red deer grazed while hogs rooted among trees”
He pondered over the words. How apt they sounded ‘windmill sails turn and, like a rewound film, spin’ It was almost like the words were meant for him. It made him think of the figures he saw the last time he’d sat on the hill. Like rewinding time, he had been watching those who’d walked past the hill, so many figures over the years.
Polly was finishing her cigarette as Garraway walked over to her.
“Do you want to continue or have you had enough?” As she looked up at him he could see there were more tears in her eyes. This place really has an emotional impact on this girl thought Garraway.
“I’m OK, let’s carry on,” she replied.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, softening his voice. His Scottish accent appealed to her. She liked the way he sounded. He had the voice of someone she could trust.
“The cow,” said Polly as she looked at Garraway.
“I’m sorry?”
“Sarah, the bloody cow,” she said, as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand and stared into the distance.
“I’ve been coming here for almost two years and we’ve always talked about us, our friends, her parents,” she paused and looked at Garraway.
“Guess who she wanted to talk about this time?” Garraway shrugged his shoulders.
“You,” she continued, “she wanted to talk about you?”
Garraway didn’t speak, he looked puzzled.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She said that they had chosen you,” continued Polly.
“Who are ‘they’, and what have I been chosen for, did she tell you what that meant?”
Polly shook her head.
“She said something about you needing to be here and they also mentioned another man’s name and that he wasn’t the one.”
“What other man?” asked Garraway.
“I’m trying remember,” said Polly.
She sat for a second trying to recall what Sarah had said.
“Strawfield, or Strawman or Straw………” Garraway interrupted her. “Strawbridge,” he said, not asking her, but telling her. “Strawbridge, is that the name she said?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I think she said John Strawbridge.”
Garraway couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Does this mean something?” she asked.
“Yes, it does,” he replied, “it’s not John Strawbridge, she’s trying to tell you about, it’s Tom Strawbridge. He was supposed to be heading up the Walker murder investigation, but he wasn’t able to do it. He was ill at the last minute and the case was assigned to me”.
They sat silently and weighed up what they had just discussed.
“Was that all she told you?”
Polly nodded her head.
“It’s your turn,” said Polly.
Garraway felt an air of anticipation as he made his way to the hill leaving Polly behind to watch from the bench.
With his damp coat under his arm he took half a dozen large strides and made his way to the top. He arranged his coat just where Polly had put it when she had been sitting there.
As he sat down he began to feel nausea just as before, but this time it wasn’t as acute. The feeling quickly went and he was able to relax. He let his mind unwind as he slowly closed his eyes and waited.
-----------------------------
Markland Garraway was on the beach at Ullapool. He was nine years old. It was an evening in early March and the sun was just setting. He was with his dog Bonnie, a Border Collie and they were both resting after playing on the sand. All of sudden Bonnie began to bark. She jumped up and tried to stand on her hind legs as she continued to bark and whine.
“What is it Bonnie, what’s the matter?”
Markland looked to the sky to where Bonnie was barking and he saw something magnificent.
Above him was a large black triangular shaped object silhouetted against the half-light of the Ullapool sky. It had faint lights twinkling like colourful stars around the perimeter of whatever it was.
It made no sound as it hovered in the sky.
He lay back in the sand and stared at the thing. Bonnie had stopped barking and was now whimpering and trying to bury herself into Markland’s side.
He didn’t feel scared, only fascinated by what he was watching. He found it hard to judge how close it was.
He looked up and down the beach to see if there was anyone else watching it, but other than Bonnie, he was alone. As he looked back to the thing hovering above him it was no longer there. It had gone, just like that.
Markland jumped to his feet and strained his eyes as he looked up to the sky. The thing had definitely gone. Without a sound the thing came and went and had been there for less than a minute.
His heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily as if he had just run the length of the beach.
Bonnie had stopped barking and whining and had bolted away. Markland ran after her.
“Bonnie come back, come back now!” he shouted as he chased after her.
Bonnie was making her own way home with Markland trying to keep up.
When he reached his front door Bonnie was there waiting for him, panting with her tongue hanging out. Markland started banging furiously at the door for his parents to let him in. He had a key, but his mind was in such turmoil he didn’t think to use it.
As Markland waited for the door to open the vision started to fa
de, the number on the door became blurred, but he could still hear his dog by his side.
-----------------------------
Markland Garraway was back in 2009 as he came to on the hill. He instinctively went to stroke Bonnie, who was still panting by his side. As he became aware of his surroundings the dog he could hear wasn’t Bonnie, but a Golden Retriever who was next to him on the hill.
The owner called her dog and apologised for bothering him, whilst giving him an odd glance as he sat alone on the hill.
“It’s OK, he’s with me,” shouted Polly as she made her way to Markland atop the hill.
The dog walker smiled and walked off with the Retriever bounding behind.
Garraway rubbed his forehead as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.
“Well?” demanded Polly, “what happened?”
“I’m not too sure,” he replied in a shaky voice. “Can I have one of your cigarettes please?”
“I didn’t think you smoked,” said Polly.
“I don’t, I used to. I could really do with one now, please.”
She handed him a cigarette and her lighter.
They made their way back to the bench and sat down.
He coughed as he drew in the smoke. He hadn’t smoked in ten years. Spluttering, he put the thing out.
“Ughh, now I remember why I gave those things up!” Polly smiled at him.
“Are you OK?”
He looked at her and nodded.
“I’m OK,” he replied flexing his arms and legs whilst rolling his head from side to side.
“Are you aching like an old man?” asked Polly.
He nodded again.
“It’s something you get used to,” she said reassuringly.
Garraway told Polly everything that had just happened. He explained how clear everything was. How he could even smell his pet dog Bonnie and hear the sound of the soft waves lapping Ullapool beach.
He couldn’t understand the relevance of the UFO memory and why he hadn’t seen a repeat of the shadowy figures he saw last time. Why was it that Polly saw the same image of Sarah every time and he had seen two completely different things?
The Hill - Ben’s Story (Book One).: A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book One). Page 9
