Satan’s’ Well
Created | Updated May 31, 2007
Only darkness could he see. No matter which way his thoughts twisted hew as confronted by darkness. That he should be glad of. Up until recent times nightmarish images of torment were his constant companions. Whether he is awake or sleeping the memories of his friends haunted him. Friends who had lost their lives in the cold muddy trenches that snaked across Europe.
Though asleep his body rocked too and fro, too and fro with a monotonous rhythm. In his mind he knew that he was sleeping, but his thoughts were conscious ones.
Somewhere out of the darkness he heard the single shot of a rifle been fired, then a cry. A sniper had fallen one of his brothers in arms.
All the men mobilised themselves, a German sniper was out in no mans land. He was part of the group who dealt with such a situation. The night sky was illuminated periodically by bangs and flashes of bombs exploding, the bang that followed would hardly have an effect on him, the sound was a common one.
Instructions given to the unit to which he was a member fanned out along the trench. This activity was always the same, always a waiting game.
Flares and explosions lit up the exposed moonscape of the planes between trenches, but still no sign of the elusive gunman was apparent.
The men found it hard on sniper watch. It was the middle of February and it was cold, colder then anything he had ever known. Hour after hour passed, though wearing a pair of thick heavy woollen gloves the tips of his fingers were frozen solid. Would he be able to pull the trigger when the time came, would he be able to arm the rifle? He shivered so much that he doubted that he could carry out such a simple task as that.
How many times had he asked himself, ‘Why had he ever volunteered to come to this hellish place?’ during his time at the front line he had witnessed the senseless waste of life as his friend and comrades had been murdered before his very eyes.
The corner of his eye twitched the flash of a small flame or spark had caught it. Slowly he turned in the general direction.
There it was again, he took aim. Holding himself steady took an almighty act of self control, he waited. Knowing the third and fatal spark would come.
The enemy had made a mistake, whoever it was had been foolish enough to try and light a cigarette, two goes already his lighter had failed. Now if he tried again that would be…
Bang. His gun fired. He had seen the light and emptied the barrel directly at the light source. He heard the grown of a man, someone dying, another death.
In the sky a flare crackled into life illuminating the land.
Out of no mans land he could see the twisted shape of a body lying on its side. The eyes in his head stared into space while his right hand slowly rubbed the left side of his chest. Slowly the rubbing stopped.
In front of him he noticed for the first time a pair of boots, the body attached to them he knew was the snipers last victim, he already knew it was his mate Nobby Collinson.
Though his hands were numb with cold he took hold of Nobbys feet and dragged him over the lip of the trench. As the lifeless body fell it landed in a heap on the duck boards.
Bending down beside his friend he whispered in his ear, “Nobby, Nobby.” It was a helpless act, but maybe he thought, just maybe.
He cleared the mud off his friends face in a desperate attempt to clear his mouth and nose. He scrapped the thick wet mud from the eye sockets and then…
He jumped back in shock, turning to his left he was physically sick. The face of the body resting on the ground was not that of his friend Nobby, but his own.
A loud shrill steam whistle blew echoing through his mind. He woke with a start o rat least he thought he had. All around him was dark. Momentarily he panicked, his limbs stiffened, his breathing increased getting heavier and heavier.
The whistle sounded again as a blinding light hit his eyes. For a second all he could see was white light causing a stabbing pain in his eyes, then colours followed, all in a blur.
His brain was now making sense of his surroundings, he was on a train, it must have just emerged from a tunnel. Where was he? Had he mist his stop?
No of course not the guard would have woken him. His brown suit was ruffled, the tie around his neck off to one side. His nightmare had been one off the more violent ones.
Standing he straightened his clothes and adjusted his tie. Taking a deep breath he sat back down in the seat.
Outside the countryside rushed past. During his time away in those dark days he had longed to see England’s greenery once again. He lived in the heart of the ever more industrialised city of Hull, the Kingstown which sat upon the north bank of the Humber Estuary. In the last ten years or there about things had changed and in his own opinion not for the better,
The old queen had died, the empire was now on shaky ground. The Great War had engulfed Europe with a ferocity unseen since Napoleon. This was too him an age of change and he didn’t care for it at all.
Though the train was only thirty minutes or so out of hull he looked upon wide open countryside, the rolling hills of the Yorkshire Wolds and freedom all around. In the fields sheep gambled while cows slowly and methodically chewed lumps of grass ripped out of the earth. He was so pleased with himself to actually see a red deer in its natural habitat. The animal watched the carriages pass alone the line before disappearing into the wood.
The sunlight which streamed into the compartment window was suddenly broken away as the engine steamed through a cutting.
As the engine thundered through the wholly unnatural land formation the squeal of brakes echoed out into the countryside around.
As he looked out of the window through the plumes of smoke he could make out the spares vegetation which grew on the chalky cutting walls. It was cool now in the compartment, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine, then sunlight once more.
The engine was pulling into Little Weighton Station. The sunlit fields were once more in full view to him. He stood up and reached up to the over head luggage rack and took down his brown suitcase. He pulled on his overcoat and put his brown bowler hat firmly on his head before taking one last look out of the window.
The sloping edge of the platform was below him now quickly raised up on the level of the carriages.
Beyond the platform sat a newly painted white picket fence. His eye though was drawn up and beyond the confines of the station, to the field beyond.
He could see a girl, no, young woman. A young woman in a black dress watched from her vantage point on the side of a dale.
He stared at her for a moment, the carriage jolted slightly putting him temporally off balance. When he regained his continuity and looked back to the hillside the girl was gone or at least he could no longer see her. Quickly he looked around trying to find her once more, then the hillside was gone, the station house blanking it out of site. The brick building ordained with hanging baskets took his mind temporality away from the girl.
As the smoke cleared he watched the red light marking the end of the train disappear into the first of the three long deep tunnels which cut through the Wolds. Though it was early in the morning the sunlight was strong and had warmth too it, something he appreciated greatly.
The four studs on the base of his suit case clicked as he put the bag down.
Somewhere toward the south he could hear a crow crying into the morning air. With a sigh he checked his watch, the time was six forty five.
Looking around he expected to see something or someone. Where was the Station Master, surly if traffic was coming through the station someone must be here to sell or collect tickets.
From somewhere out of sight the noise of horses hooves on a gravel track came to his ears, not only a horse though, but a cart also if he was not mistaken.
Picking up the case he walked toward the sign marked exit.
From down the track came the horse drawn cart just as he had imagined. Sitting in the front, reins in hand sat a man I his forties whistling some cheery tune. Behind him in the confines of the cart sat various bottles and churns of milk ain various sizes.
The horse came to a halt, instantly its head dropped and started to chew at the grass verge.
“Morning.” Said the milkman, his voice as cheery as the whistle he had been chirping until a moment before.
“Morning.” He replied.
The milkman took one of the small churns from the back of the cart then took it to the back door of the Station house. “You just arrived, ‘ave ‘ya?”
“Yes.” That was obvious, he had probably seen the train as he arrived.
“You must be Daniel Forester?” said the white coated man climbing back onto the cart.
Forester was more then taken aback, “How on earth do you know who I am?”
“Ah well, this is a small village you know, everybody knows everybody’s business here. Your staying up at Drewton Farm aren’t ‘ya? The farmer, old Albert told me, well told one of the people in the village shop, it’s all the same thing in the end.”
“Old Albert, oh Mr Bell. I always have known him as Mr Bell, it seems strange to think that he has a first name. For many years he had only heard him of his host for the next few weeks as farmer Bell. They had never met, though the image of the farmer was firmly fixed in his mind. He imagined a large thick set man with a florid face, bad skin and large strong hands.
Now for the first time he wondered what he actually looked like. His wife also and daughter, Daniel remembered Bell had a daughter, Sonia. That was strange he didn’t know she existed, but now he knew her name. The effects of the war were long and the effect was deep on his mind and his mind could play cruel tricks on him.
“It’s a good walk up to the farm, do you want a ride? I’m on my way up there next.” The horse finished its early morning snack and was readying itself to continue its daily round.
Daniel accepted the offer of a lift purely for the reason he didn’t know where he was going. The milk cart set off back down the track from where it had just come. Daniel looked around at the early morning mist rising from the earth, what a wonderful site it was. Then he saw the girl, her long dark hair framed a little white face. Her eyes followed him as he past.
He heard not a word of what the milkman was saying for those few moments. As the carriage moved he strained his neck turning his head more and more to see the figure. Finally the angle became impossible. Manoeuvring his body to obtain a better viewing passion he looked up again, the figure was gone.
He open his mouth to ask the man who sat next to him, he wanted to know how it was how was spying on him. As he drew in a breath to speak he suddenly thought the better of it. There would be plenty of time to find out for himself.
The journey was a short one, it took only a matter of a few minutes before the cart clattered over the rise of the hill. The old farm house then came into view.
A thin wisp of smoke floated vertically into the air from one of the half dozen chimneys posistioned on the apex of the gable end.
The milk cart drew up in the muddy yard, somewhere under the all the earth and cow dung laid a cobbled surface, in some places it could be seen poking through. Daniel thought how it would appear if the yard were cleaned. The image in his mind was a much better one then his eyes looked upon, but this was a farm and muck was an occupational hazard.
The milkman jumped off the dart with a well practised efficiency, much practised over the years. “Here we are then.” He took a churn of milk off the cart and rolled it to the green door which Daniel presumed must lead into the farm house kitchen.
Why would a farmer be buying milk from the milkman? Oh well, what business was it of his.
Daniel dismounted the cart in a much more amateurish way, immediately he felt his shoe sink into the soft surface covering the yard. As his other foot found a selection of clear cobbles he lost his balance and took two steps forwards to steady himself. As he did the sound of both feet entering soft muck reached his ears. He knew hat keeping clean was going to be all but impossible in this environment.
Taking the brown case from the back of the cart he carefully made his way across the yard to the door. “Thank you very much for the ride.” He said to the milkman who was striding past him back to his transport. Daniel dare not walk and talk at the same time, it took all his concentration to stand, and remain upright. Walking was out of the question.
“Don’t mention it, good luck.” He said turning the horse back on itself and making his leave, “You’ll need it.” The later words were said in a hushed tone to himself, they were accompanied by a smile.
Daniel didn’t hear the words, drowned out by the clatter of the old cart wheels.
It was cold here, because of the house, barns, and out houses surrounding the yard the sunlight almost never breached the barriers thrown up by the buildings. He gave an involuntary shiver before turning and knocking on the door.
“Albert, that must be Buller.” It was a female voice he heard coming from behind the door, “Put the kettle on the stove.” She continued. Who Buller was he had no idea, maybe it was the milkman. It seemed to take an eternity for anyone to answer the door . When it did finally open he was confronted by a large woman in her late half of middle age. She whore a blue and white flowery dress, it’s chintz pattern gave it away as being from the Victorian era, now sadly gone.
Resting on top of the dress was a white piny looped around her neck and tied off at the back.
As her eyes fell upon him the betrayed her, surprise, disappointment and acknowledgement as she realised that their guest had arrived.
“Oh, er,” in an effect to give a good impression to the young man at the door she fumbled with the left hand side of her curling brown red hair. “You must be Daniel?” she said smiling. The smile lit up her whole personality. Daniel knew he was going to enjoy his stay. “Oh my dear,” she apologised, “What am I thinking, come in, come in.”
He was ushered into a large kitchen. On the opposite wall to the outer door stood a black stove, the heat emanating from it filled the whole room, instantly he felt warm and comfortable. This was a place he would love to call home. On the right hand side fixed in the wall sat a fire place, at present no fire occupied the grate, no need for one. The left hand side of the room was occupied by domestic affairs. A large Belfast sink dominated while a dolly tub and mangle sat alongside. In the centre of the room a large wooden table served as the focal point of the room. The table was used in the preparation as well as the serving and consumption of food mainly cooked fresh from the kitchen garden.
This single room was bigger then the whole ground floor of Daniels small terraced house. It seemed to him that he was a world away from home although geographically he had travelled only some fifteen miles. If this rural setting was a world away from his life in the industrial centre of the town or his life in the fields of Flanders. The world he had now entered was so alien that he could have been on another planet.
His thoughts were interrupted by the warming aroma of freshly backed bread drifting across the kitchen.
“Take a seat, make yourself at home.” Said the woman as she rushed over to the stove, “I’ll just get this out before it ruins.” Quickly she crossed over the flag stone floor to the arga. A towel hung over the handle of the main oven door, gripping it she opened the oven door. In one swift motion the two round loafs of bread were dragged out of the oven and placed on the oak table. The heavenly smell of the bread engulfed Daniel. The tops of the bread were crusty and glazed with what he could only presume was honey. He watched closely as small twists of steam rose from them.
“There we go, perfect.” The woman pronounced flicking the towel over her shoulder. “So, “ she pulled out the chair directly behind the bread and sat down straightening out the creases in the piny as she did so, “You must be Daniel, oh I’ve asked that?”
“Er, yes,” Daniel replied, his mind was still thinking about the sweet smelling bread. “Oh, sorry,” he rose to his feet on offered his hand to shake, “Daniel Forester.” He wore a smile on his face as he spoke. Once hand contact had been broken he resumed his seat.
“You’re here for a holiday, I believe?”
“Yes, a much needed one. I had a bit of a bad time in France and…” his voice filed, breaking off before it showed any emotion.
“Yes, yes. It is such an awful thing what is happening in the world now-a-days. Just look at the poor Russian Royal Family and I don’t know what’s happening on the continent. There’s a lot to be said about the Empire you know, at least you know were you stand. You know sometimes I think we are the only civilised people on the planet.
None of this would have happened under the old Queen, she would have put a stop to it there and then.”
With that point he did agree, the glory days of the empire were coming to an end, the ashes of it he felt were all around them. The war was proof of that.
“Any road,” she continued, “Have you had any breakfast yet?”
He had, but had been nearly two hours ago now, that coupled with the smell of the bread made his stomach yearn for a longing ness to eat.
Before Daniel could make a reply his hostess was on her feet placing a large frying pan on top of the stove.
“That would be lovely Mrs. Bell.”
“Oh, be on with ‘ya, Mrs Bell indeed, call me Maureen.” She laughed as a slab of pig fat was dropped into the pan and began to fizz and crackle.
Sitting back in his chair he took the opportunity to cast his eyes around the room. For the first time since arriving he noticed that the ceiling was quite high. He had always imagined old farm house such as this one to have very low ceilings. Running across the ceiling was half a dozen dark wooden beams, twisted and knotted as though they were part of an old tree which the house had been built around. In the centre hung a gas light, how did they get gas out here? Still the lamp was lit so there must be a line. While he busied himself surveying the ceiling and other points of interest around the room Maurine has disappeared into the pantry. As the door closed behind, the room for cold storage must be of a size if she can walk right in and the door shut on her. No sooner had she gone in the farmers wife was out again carrying several rashers of bacon. Dropping them in the pan the fat spat out splashing Maureen on the wrist and arms. The woman didn’t even flinch at the red hot oil burning her skin, “Do you like bacon?” she asked turning to look at her guest.
“Very much.”
While the bacon fried in the pan she cut two generous slices of bread from one of the freshly cooked loafs. Turning once again she fiddled over the meat frying in the pan, “So, how did you find out about us here?”
That, he thought was a good question. How had he ended up here. On his return from the war he had spent some time in hospital, several weeks if his calculations were correct. On leaving Lesley, his wife had arranged a month of convalescence for him in the country. For the final two weeks she would join him here. His time back in England had been somewhat disjointed, time either seemed to fly or stand still, now he wasn’t sure even what month he was in.
“My wife is a local of these parts,2 he began, “it was her who arranged it.”
“And a good thing too,” said Mrs Bell flipping the bacon over in the pan, “there.” She said taking the pan off the heat. The two sizable rashers of bacon where taken out of the pan and placed onto one of the thick slices of warm bread. Before performing the same operation with the other piece of meat she took the slice of bread and held it face down in the pan allowing all the hot fat to soak into the white bread. Around the edge the crust began to crisp up. The operation was mirrored with the other doorstep which made up the other side of the sandwich.
“Here you go Daniel.” She placed the sandwich laded plate in front of him, “Tell me, what do you think to that?”
Daniel looked at the plate on the table in front of him, it wasn’t so much a sandwich, but an edible cushion. The smell drifted up it was fantastic, warm bread and bacon, was there anything in the world more appealing? Clamping both hands around it he raised it to his mouth, without the slightest hesitation he sank his teeth into it.
Biting off a mouthful he chewed, a moan of satisfaction hummed from his lips.
“That’s ok then.” Smiled Maureen, the satisfied sound was more then any words could utter. The kettle was now boiling on the stove, the whistle blew with a perfect pitch. Moments later a cup of hot tea occupied the table sitting next to the plate.
Finally Daniel managing to swallow his first mouthful of sandwich, “That bacon is, well, lovely.” He said whipping a dribble of hot fat off of his chin.
“It should be, it was walking around the yard this time yesterday.”
The prospect of the meat coming from a living beast for a moment almost put him off continuing with the sandwich, but only for a brief moment.
As he ripped another corner from the sandwich he felt an unusually cold chill on the back of his neck, so cold that the hairs on the base of his scalp jumped to attention. The icy cold burst was out of character with then room. The heat coming off the stove gave the room a warm close feeling. Taking a look over his shoulder he caught the slightest glimpse of a young women looking at him through the window. As he manoeuvred in his seat to gain a better view the image vanished. Was it the same figure he had seen earlier , it certainly seemed that way to him.
Suddenly another blast of cold air blew across the kitchen. Daniel turned quickly to see the door was open and daylight silhouetted a large figure framed in the opening. Daniels heart felt as though it had skipped a beat.
“How do?” said a deep gruff voice. The figure stamped his boots on the doormat. Great lumps of soil dislodged themselves landing all around him. As the door closed Daniel court sight of his host, Morris Bell. The mans face was red, weather beaten by many years of outdoor life. His clothes were somewhat shabby, but at the same time practical.
“So,” said the newcomer banging his hands together and vigourously rubbing warmth back into them, “Who do we have here?”
Daniel got to his feet to meet his host, holding out a hand for Morris to shake in way of a greeting. The burly faces farmer crossed the room to meet his guest, ignoring the hand he proceeded to slap Daniel on the shoulder, as he did a smile appeared on his face, “Don’t get up Youngman, finish ‘ya lawns.”
Daniel was puzzled at the phrase ‘lawns’, not being of these parts he knew not that the word in fact was an abbreviation of the word allowance, or in this case something to eat.
The good natured farmer sat along side resting back on his chair. He spread his legs wide apart and slapped his palms down on his muscular thighs while letting out a sigh of relief . “Any more tea in that pot mother?” he asked his wife, while his eyes cast a glance at the bacon sandwich in Daniels hands.
“Of course.” She broke off cleaning the frying pan and poured another cup of tea for her hard working husband.
His old wide eyes followed her around the room with a loving glow, she returned his affectionate smile as she placed the mug down before him, “So young ‘un. How long ‘ya here and what are ‘ya plans?” the two questions seemed to roll into one with the greatest of ease.
“One month, and as for my plans, I have none as yet.
Perhaps you could advise me into any points of interest in the area or maybe I could help on the farm?”
“Oh,” he began to laugh as the words came, “Ya’ don’t want to be messin’ around with pigs if you’re here to rest my lad. Its damn hard work, no, no you occupy yourself with other things. There’s good walking and fishing about here and, and do you like trains?”
Did he like trains? He never really thought, trains were so common place never has hr thought of them as more then transport. The walking and fishing though did appeal to him, then there was that other matter to look into. The girl who had spied on him earlier.
“I only ask,” continued Morris, “because we have three fine tunnels here abouts, the finest you’ll see for a mile. ‘Ya can get right through them if ‘ya wish, can be a bit hairy though if you get caught when one of them bloody great freight trains come through.”
“I do have plenty of time, so I will take a look at them.” Why not?
“Good on ‘ya lad.” The farmer downed his hot tea almost in one great mouth. Daniel watched in wonder, his own cup was still steaming hot, the slightest sip would be enough to scold his tongue into numbness. He must have the skin of an elephant?
Morris slapped his thighs once more before standing, “Well,” he said flexing his shoulders, “this won’t get the pigs fed.” At the door he put on his hat and coat before disappearing into the sunlight.
Disappointedly he swallowed the last piece his sandwich, disappointed because it had tasted so good, he never wanted it to end, if that was a sample of what to expect then his time here would be a pleasant one.
Maureen on seeing the empty plate immediately cleared it way, “Was that alright for you?”
“Yes thank you.” He took another sip of tea, the sweet brown liquid was still at an undrinkable temperature.
The plate now sat on the draining board. Maureen dried her hands on a tea towel, “I suppose I should show you to your room, let you get settled in.
He followed her up the narrow staircase. His suitcase trailed behind him, banging on every wooden step. Maureen was talking constantly to him as they ascended, but he didn’t catch many of the words. At the top of the stairs a wood lined corridor met his gaze, three doors on either side and one at the far end. Maureen shuffled her way along the landing finally stopping and turning to face the third door on the right hand side. Taken a golden coloured key out of the front pocket of her piny she opened the door and went in, “Here we are then. She said as she disappeared into the room.
As Daniel entered Maureen was in the process of opening the sash window allowing the cool morning breeze to fill the room.
The room itself was small, though more then enough space to navigate around the single bed, dresser and wardrobe. The sheets of the bed where white, each corner turned in and under the mattress with precise angles.
For a moment she paused and looked out of the window, surveying the land, “Lovely day, it’ll be, I think.” She announced, taking in a deep breath of air. Through the now open window Maureen could see the patchwork of uneven green, yellow and brown fields. It had only been a matter of minutes since Morris had left the cottage, but now he was far away across the land standing under the Great Ash tree which stood majestically over a mile from the farmhouse. “Nice day for a work, I’ll do you a bag of lunch and…”
Suddenly her cheerful demeanour changed into a more solemn mood.
Realising something was wrong Daniel replied in as cheery was as possible, “Thank you, I’d like that.”
Without a word or looking at him she left the room, the figure she had seen silhouetted against the sky was not that of her husband, but some other.
Now alone in the room Daniel looked around, the sun was shining in through the window giving plenty of natural light. He put his case down on the bed ready to be unpacked then stopped. Slowly he walk to the window and peered out. He scanned all the earth from the yard to the horizon looking for anything that could such a reaction.
He could see nothing. In the barn, on the track, nothing right up to the ash tree in the distance. Nothing out of the ordinary, but then how would he know if anything was out of the ordinary? He didn’t know what was normal.
By ten o’clock that morning Daniel had finished unpacking his case. His shirts hung in the wardrobe, his briefs in the draws, all was in order. The final thing to be removed from his case was a silhouetted picture, a picture of his wife’s profile which he placed it on the bedside table. Smiling to himself he walked out of the room.
Maureen heard the heavy thud of the lodgers walking boots coming down the stairs. As the door opened from the staircase she was placing the last item of the packed lunch into a cloth ruck sack. Flipping the top leaf over quickly the buckles were fastened. “There ‘ya go my dear,” she said turning to face him, “that should keep ‘ya going until tea time.”
“Lovely.” Did Daniel feel a tension in the air, the mood had changed since his arrival that was true, but why> had it been something he has said or done or said? The best course of action available to him was to go out for the day. He had his map and now his lunch, so nothing to stop him.
The sun was now high and hot, only one hour to go until midday, he had to find some kind of cove to sit while he rested.
Daniel was now high up on the Yorkshire Wolds were banks of trees, copses and woods were in abundance.
Finding such a haven he sat down on a fallen tree and opened his lunch bag, “Well?” Maureen certainly knew how to fill a bag.
The wrapped up sandwich was two inches thick, a large slab of pork being the filling. It was now a very hot day. Pricks of sunlight coming through the trees intermittently blinded his view. How he had longed for days such as this during his time away. The War seemed to be a world away to him now. Once again he delved into the bag, this time producing a hard boiled egg. Now there was a rear treat, an egg. Cracking the shell on his knee his fingers quickly peeled off the hard outer shell. It was cooked to perfection and tasted sublime.
Drink, that’s what he needed now more then anything. Out of the bag he took a thick dark green bottle, on the top of its neck sat a stone stopper.
Beer, he hadn’t tasted beer for many a long day. The cork popped out allowing froth to bubble over the rim, Daniel paused and licked his lips before taking as large a mouthful of the liquid as possible.
The small cops he was currently resting in was cool out of the sun. Not only was it cool but also silent, only the occasional tweet of a bird or the rustle of undergrowth broke the silence.
It was because of that very fact when he thought a voice spoke to his rear he quickly turned to see who had come upon him.
Distressed, he looked around. No one was behind him. Thinking on it was not so much a voice he had heard, maybe just the wind. Was there any wind today?
It was no surprise to him, all his senses had been affected by his experience, why not his hearing too?
Once fed and watered he continued on his way. By the time he returned to the farm it had become late in the afternoon.
Marion was taking in the now dry washing, the sheets which she folded were a brilliant white, the sunlight reflecting off of them.
On seeing his approach she quickly bundled the material into the basket and hurried inside.
That night the temperature had cooled dramatically. A cool breeze ruffled the net curtains which hung at his bedroom window.
The gentle blast of night air was more then a welcome relief from the hot sticky uncomfortable night. All day his clothes had stuck to his skin with perspiration.
He was dressed now in blue and white stripped pyjamas, the jacket tucked into the trouser bottoms, firmly tied with a white cord. Removing his slippers he swung two tied legs around and under the crisp linen sheets of the bed.
For some time he lay quite still, unable to sleep. For what must have amounted for almost an hour he watched the curtains move too and fro in the breeze while beyond the stars slowly moved across the sky in their stellar precession.
Many thoughts ran around the head resting on the pillow, his general feeling of calm was overshadowed by the uneasiness of his memories of those resent days gone by in the southern part of France. Another thought ran through his mind, who was that girl who had started to following around?
The open countryside was as foreign a country to him as France had seemed on his arrival. Maybe he would find the ways and customs here as strange as any overseas land.
That particular thought settled his uneasy mind and it wasn’t long before he was drifting off into sleep, not even the noise of the owls and foxes woke him.
It was no animal noise, suddenly he sat bolt upright, a scream had aroused him from the peaceful slumber. Had he actually heard someone cry out in the night or was it all in his head? Was it a memory of the days now thankfully gone by? He decided that it must be the later of the two.
The night air was warm and the bed covers heavy, he put a leg out from under the sheets and placed it on the upper side of the blanket. Slowly he again began to drift off.
That was when it happened, another scream drifted in the open window on the night air. A shiver of fear ran over him a she remembered the long cold nights of Flanders. Shutting his eyes tightly and buried his head deep into the pillow forcing himself to sleep.
The next morning was again the beginning of another glorious summer’s day. As the stairway door open Daniel could smell the unmistakable aroma of breakfast drifting up from the kitchen.
The buck some figure of Maureen was at the argor manoeuvring a mountain of sausages, bacon and black pudding around in the large black frying pan.
“Just in time.” She said turning to him, a smile filling her face.
Minutes later a plate filled with all manner of farmyard produce graced the plate which sat before him. His health would certainly improve if the good lady of the house cooked a meal such as this every morning.
Just had it had been the previous morning the smell of bread filled the kitchen, it was lovely. The aroma almost encouraged him to stay indoors on such a beautiful day as this.
Daniel sat back in the chair almost too full to move, he was now on a second mug of tea, steaming hot, straight off the stove. The top of his trousers dug into his abdomen, when Maureen had her back turned he undid the double button on the waste band of his brown trousers to ease the bloated gut.
“Any idea’s what you’re going to do with yourself today dear?” Maureen flipped a tea towel over her shoulder which up to that point had hung over the handle of the oven door.
“Yes,” replied Daniel, “I’m going walking again.”
“Over the dale and down into that village I think.”
A casual hand made a gestured motion toward the southerly end of the room.
“Oh well, there’s a small handful of villages down that way, you should enjoy that, some nice pubs too.” She opened the oven door and looked in. a wave of heat flashed across her face. Quickly she closed the oven and jumped up somewhat flustered, “Oh my dears, it’s a little hot in there.” She slapped the tea towel toward her face, the draft flicking her hair back and forth.
As she removed the empty plate from the table she noticed Daniels undone trouser buttons, a slight smile spread across her face as she turned away toward the sink.
With his ruck sack on his back Daniel made off through the farm yard and up the track into open countryside. Checking the map a bearing was set and he walked toward the ash tree.
From the apex of the hill which the old tree was rooted he surveyed the surrounding lands. So clear was the morning he thought that the whole county must be visible from that high point. To the south was the river, easterly lay the flat lands of Hull and beyond while to the west was the industrial heart of Yorkshire.
Looking down the hill a dark figure was walking in a circular motion around a large barrel, or at least something of that description. The large frame of the figure could only belong to one man, Morris Bell.
In the valley below Bell was busying himself with what could only be described as maintaining the land. He had dug over three patches of earth, each patch around three feet in diameter. The three formed an equilateral triangle. At its centre sat what he could now clearly make out. The object he though to be some kind of barrel was in fact a stone circler well. The well was a simple affair, just a low stone wall covered with a pointed roof shielding its innards from the elements.
Morris was so deeply involved with his task that he failed to hear the approaching rambler. “Morning.”
Bells head sprung around, in his eyes was a look of terror, for a slight second Daniel almost thought of himself being in some kind of peril?
On the realisation that the newcomer was only his lodger Morris’s expression changed, a smile coming to his face.
“Oh, now then young Daniel.” As he spoke his eyes flittered around scanning the area, had someone been here or was he expecting someone else. “I’m just…” he began, faltering for words, “Just tidying up the old well you know.”
Daniel had taken note of all points of reference on his OS Map, to his recollection he could not remember seeing any reference to a well being in the area, but here it was. The only logical reason was that the well was a new feature on the landscape added since the map was redrawn. “How deep is it?” Daniel asked taking a step toward it and peering in.
“I don’t really know come to think of it. I’ve never had to get water from it myself, some of the villages still use it though. I try and keep it clear for them to get to”
Daniel crouched down and picked up a small white pebble. After a pause he tossed it into the darkness. For some unknown reason Bell gave a grimace as he did so.
Forester listened with eager anticipation for the sound of the waters surface being broken. Seconds past, nothing came. “Must have dried up.” Daniel said shrugging his shoulders, with that remark he took his leave, “See you later.”
“Ey, have a good day.” Replied the older man, was a hint of contempt
in his tone?
By lunchtime Daniel Forester had traversed almost twenty miles. The path he now followed led down steeply to a road. Looking at the map his observed that the village of Riplingham was only a mile or so away and yes, there on the map where the small blue letters PH. Taking a bearing he headed off toward the village and the promise of a well earned pint.
The sun was now at its highest point, he needed a rest. As he turned the corner of the lane leading into the village his gaze was met with an oasis in the hot summer day. The pub was a long thin building, its exterior was of a Tutor style while inside was more of the Victorian era then the Tudor.
“Pint please.” He said placing both hands on the wooden bar.
The landlord was a large individual who looked at him with more then a hint of curiosity. It wasn’t often that strangers came into his pub, though with the coming of the railway the arrival of outsiders was becoming a common event.
“Afternoon,” a voice said from the right hand end of the bar.
“Afternoon.” Replied Daniel.
The landlord placed a full glass of beer down on the bar and picked up the small pile of coins from next to it. He kept an eye on the stranger as he turned to put the coins into the money tray.
The first two inches on the cool liquid was soon consumed. The next half pint was quick to follow.
The landlord couldn’t help but notice a self satisfied look on the young mans face, “You stopping local then?” he was short in his manor and matter of fact in his questioning.
“Yes up at,” he for some reason temporality forgot the name of the farm, funny that he was normally of the finest memory, “up at, with Morris Bell.” He finished.
The man sitting at the other end of the bar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Daniel could not see him clearly as his face was obscured be the shadow of the low ceiling.
“Oh, old Morris,” answered the landlord.
The man at the end of the bar downed his pint, slamming the glass down on the bar he then left without speaking a word. “See’s ya later Edward.”
The door slammed shut, the man not answering the farewell from the inn keeper. A moments uneasy silence hovered around the bar following the departure. “Was it something I said?” Daniel enquired.
For several moments the landlords said nothing, vigorously he polished a pint pot with a towel and watched the known as Edward walk off down the hill toward the station. “There was a bit of a do between old Edward and Morris Bell. It was a few years since, but still no one mentions it and Edward and Morris have never spoke since.” He paused, should he tell this outsider the tale? Then after a moment he decided that, why not. He liked nothing more then spreading a good story. “They both had a daughter, the girls grew up together. They were best of friends. One day a man arrived in the village, and he arrived in style, driver a motor car no less.
It was the first time a car had come to the village, no one had seen such a thing before. Vans, yes and trains of course were becoming a common sight, but never a car.
Naturally he became the focus of attention, especially with the young ladies. The man was in his twenties and a handsome young man he was too. The girls swooned around him like flies around a honey pot. The two most attractive girls in for many a mile were Edwards’s daughter Lisaie and Morris’s daughter, Sonya. Both girls set their sights on him.
It was such a shame that two such good friends could do such awful things to one another over a man. Both were convinced that the motor car owning man would take them away with him, how miss guarded young girls can be?
To be honest I can see their reasoning. Life her doesn’t change much, a life here for a young girl is marrying a farmer from one of the local villages and having children, when a chance such as a man from the town taking away to something more then this life, well you could imagine.
Over the course of a week they turned into the bitterest of enemies. It all came to ahead one Saturday night, he was to blame as much as them, playing them off against one another. He was leaving that night you see, what he’d said to them we won’t never know. One thing for sure was they both went to meet him.”
He paused to look at the almost empty glass in the customer’s hand. Daniel understood the gesturing nod from the landlord.
“Please, yea.” He didn’t care for the drink, all he wanted was the rest of the sorry tale.
“So, where was I?” he put the refreshed glass down next to the sole customer in the public house, “Both girls went to meet him at the arranged point, both unaware of the other being there. They both arrived at the departure point, bags packed.
You can imagine the conversation that took place between them as they both waited, both thinking that he was coming for each of them to take them away to the bright lights of the city. As far as we know, well now I come to think about it, I don’t know” pausing he looked deep in thought.
“What?” Daniel asked impatiently, “What?”
“Well, he may have picked them both up and whisked them away, but at the time we thought he never showed up to pick either of them, why did we think that?
Oh yes, one of the regulars of this pub mentioned that he had seen ‘the motor car’ leaving on the Skidby road and not on the Cave road where the girls were waiting.”
“So if he didn’t take either of the girls what happened to them?” Daniel expected an answer that would explain the situation.
The landlord fell silent, “Something’s are better left alone.” He said the words in a gruff tone.
“If they are not here then he must have picked…”
A stare from the landlords terrifying eyes stopped him mid sentence. Daniel resumed his pint in silence and began to scan the walls of the pub. Looking at the painted scenes of local areas hung on the walls. On the far wall was a fire place. The summer now being at its height no fire had been in the grate for many a month which puzzled him. Ever since entering the inn he could sear that he could smell the aroma of old soot.
The clock on the church tower was ready three o’clock as walked past the lych gate. A foreign object had entered his boot which was beginning to irritate him immensely on every alternate step.
Leaning against one the vertical supports of the gate he removed his boot and shuck out the irritant.
As he took his hand off the post he noticed something beneath it. Burnt onto the post were four dots. Three were arranged in a triangle with the fourth the middle of the shape.
“Rings a bell” he mused to himself.
For a moment he thought he had caught sight of someone watching him from inside the church yard, somewhere from among the head stones.
Looking across the church grounds he could see no one. He was convinced though it had been the strange girl that he had spotted the other moment. Maybe it was just the heat combined with the beer plying tricks on his brain.
The next few days saw the weather change from hot sunny days to stormy showers and strong winds. Thunder rolled across the hills, valleys and dales of this part of East Yorkshire.
Daniel continued himself by helping with the running of the farm, never straying more then a mile or so away from the farm house. He enjoyed the work, it gave him a sense of purpose once more. It was something to do and a mental distraction from the ghosts of his past.
On one particular afternoon he was out in the fields when suddenly a storm sent sheets of rain lashing down upon him.
He ran for the nearest cover he could see, the only thing in sprinting distance was the ash tree. Its canopy was wide and the foliage thick, the perfect shelter.
Daniel sat down on the ground and lent against the thick old trunk. Below him in the valley he could see the wells were Morris had been working a few days previous. There were three patches of earth disturbed by the farmers spade. They formed a perfect triangle with the well at the centre, where had he seen that pattern before? Picking up a stick he drew the pattern in the dusty earth next to him.
A triangle with a circle in the centre.
It meant nothing to him, “Coincidence?” he said to no one in particular.
Looking back into the valley he could see Morris Bell standing next to the well, bell and well, that was almost funny. He smiled at the thought, but the smile was soon whipped off his face when a voice said in his ear, “Rains stopped.”
With a start he spun around to see Morris standing beside him. Taking a sharp intake of breath he looked back down into the valley.
The figure in the valley was gone.
As Daniel retied to bed that night he climbed the stairs and stood at the opposite end of the narrow landing corridor which led to his room. For a few moments he stood and listened to the movements down stairs, all was quiet.
Slowly he edged along the corridor. His breathing was heavy, his heart raced out of control while a single bead of sweat ran down his left temple.
As he reached the second door on the right he stopped. Was there a scuffing noise coming out of the room. It sounded as though doors were being opened and closed.
This room he had never looked in. the door was always locked. Out of curiosity most of the rooms he had poked his head into, only the quickest of looks, but this one he had never gained access too. Was this their daughters, Sonya’s room?
Slowly his shaking hand lifted toward the brass door knob. An icy cold draught ran down the back of his neck. He though someone was standing behind him, a presence was there along side him. How could that be so, there was only one way in and out of the corridor and that door was closed. He turned the knob and this time, no resistance, the door slowly opened.
Bracing himself he took a step toward the door ready to push it open.
A noise like a key being dropped onto bare floorboards clattered from the direction of his left flank, his mind shot back to the snipers in the trenches. He spun around to see only a shadow on the wall, his own shadow cast by the moonlight.
Letting out a sigh of relief he took this as a warning and didn’t take the investigation any further. As he walked the few extra feet to his own door the shadow on the wall remained stationary.
Thankfully the following day, a Friday in mid June the sun shone once again. The flora and fauna of the woods and dales had seemed to have rejuvenation with the rain fall over the previous days.
Daniel was glad to get out of the farm house today and away from the farm. After last night the house had become oppressive, both Mr and Mrs Bell had not altered in their demeanour, it was the house he feared.
He had high hopes that getting out for the day would clear the cobwebs from his mind so he could return refreshed and with no preconceptions in regard to the house.
For the first time he walked down to the three tunnels that formed part of the Hull to Barnsley railway. Morris had been accurate in his description of the tunnels, they were magnificent feats of engineering.
For several hours he sat on a hill and watched the numerous trains travelling through this part of the Wolds. Both passenger and freight used the line and he wondered how so much traffic could sufficient cargos to maintain the industry of South Yorkshire.
The longest tunnel, Drewton was ventilated by a series of shafts from the tunnel to the surface every half mile. This enabled Daniel to calculate the speed of the various engines.
Lunch time was approaching, as he looked back on the mornings thoughts he was aware of several things about this place he could not explain.
The strange girl who seemed to be following him, the well that didn’t appear on the OS Map and the significance of the triangle in the circle embalm which seemed to crop up around the countryside. Then there was the story of the two missing girls, what was that all about? Could all these events be connected in some way?
Sub consciously he found himself outside the pub ha had visited a few days previous. It was almost with a hint of surprise that he saw it in the distance. Was it due to the fact that he had approached the village from a different direction the other day? On that occasion he had approached from the Riplingham road and today the South Cave road.
As always Maureen had packed him up with a bottle of stout, today thought the pub was favourable, he wanted to know more about the two girls and what had happened to them.
The door closed behind him, it took a few moments for his eyes too adjust to the lack of light in the room. No one was around, so he sat at the end of the bar rest himself on a high bar stool and waited for the landlord to appear. Only half a minute had passed when he heard the voice of the landlord, “Hold on Edward, I’ll be there in a minute.” The noise of something being dragged echoed through the bar. The noise emanated from the back room, once the noise had stopped the inn keeper voice spoke again, “Do you think he’ll go for it tomorrow night…”
The landlord appeared in the doorway, when he saw that the new comer was Daniel and not Edward he stopped suddenly, taken aback by a mixture of shock and fright.
“Oh,” he said, “it’d you young man, er…” he paused as he steadied himself, “What can I get for you?”
Daniel pointed at the stout barrel, “Pint of stout please.” His mind was now hard at work, what was it with the locals around here, where they all scared of something and what was happening tomorrow night?
Of course it maybe something as innocent as a dominoes match or card school, but why was there something at the back of his mind, what ever it was the voice was telling him something was very wrong with this place.
The pint of black liqueur landed on the bar next to him, his money handed over the transaction was made. “Tell me,” began the sole customer, “the two girls, Sonya and, er the other one. What became of them?”
The landlord didn’t answer, as the question was asked he had already began to slip away into the back room, it was obviously avoiding any more questions about the event.
Daniel felt snubbed but then he was placed in a state of shock as a voice drifted through from the back, “Lisa, you mean?”
Daniel turned around to see the milkman standing beside him.
“Hello again.” He said to the new comer.
“How are you enjoying Bell Farm then? Asked the milkman with a broad smile on his red face, “Is Maureen feeding you well?”
“Just a bit.” Replied the younger of the two, patting his stomach as he did.
Just at that moment the landlord made a second appearance, “Albert, whiskey is it?” without waiting for an acknowledgement a generous tot of scotch was poured into a glass and passed to the latest customer. As soon as his had left the glass the landlord vanished again into the back.
“Now, that was a curious occurrence that?” what did happen to two girls?” he took a step closer to Daniel and in a hushed tone spoke, “Some say that the man never showed, they got into a fight and one killed the other, and this is the best part, through the body into Satan’s Well…”
“Satan’s Well?” interrupted Daniel.
“Yes, you must know of it, it’s on old Bells land.”
“Oh yes I know of the well, but I didn’t know what it was called.”
“Some say…”
“Hold on,” interrupted Daniel once again, he was suffering from an information overload by this point, “Who though who down the well and what happened to the other one?”
“Oh, I see your point.” He paused for a moment, “You know nobody knows. It was just said at the time that one killed the other then ran off.
Then, some say that the mysterious man turned up and took one off with him. Then there’s some say that he turned up and took and away with him while the other was too embarrassed to return so either left for good or killed herself.
He took a mouthful of whiskey before licking his lips.
“Why is the well called Satan’s Well?”
“You know, I haven’t a clue, maybe because it’s so deep. Maybe it goes down to the centre of the Earth, down to the depths of Hell?” he finished his drink off then called out to the landlord for another, “Hello, hello, anyone serving?” after a pause and an impatience look over the bar he once a gain turned to Daniel, “Some do say though that the jilted girl, whichever one it may have been can still be see, well her ghost anyway, seen at the Well still waiting for her man to collect her.”
As the landlord returned the look on his face clearly told Daniel that it was time to leave. He had a feeling that the inn keeper had returned from the back in a volatile mood, weather it was of something he had overheard or an event in the back he didn’t want to find out.
Quickly he walked up the dale back toward the farm, the plan was to watch a few more trains running through the tunnels before returning to the farm house for tea.
Back on the hill over looking the tracks he opened the bottle of beer which had travelled in his ruck sack for most of the day.
As his head returned to the horizontal from tossing a draft of beer back into his mouth he became aware of a figure standing on one of the lines at the entrance of Drewton Tunnel. The glare of the sunlight made it difficult to see clearly, but someone was defiantly down there.
From half a mile away a plume of smoke puffed out of one of the chimney stacks.
They were going to be killed if he didn’t do something, were they mad? Could they not hear the train coming toward them?
He jumped up and ran down the hill. The ruck sack on his back was a hindrance, so twisted it around as he ran until it fell away off his back. By the time he was almost at the bottom of the hill he velocity was out of control, but he could see the figure more clearly now. It was a woman, a young woman, dressed in black. Soon he realised that it was the girl who had been watching him. Was that why he here now, was it to save her from a horrible death on the tracks? “Get off the line.” He called as loudly as he could manage. Waving his arms trying to attract her attention, but she just stood there, each foot neighbouring sleepers, “Get off the line.” Again he called.
The noise of the engine was getting louder and louder he knew that at any moment the locomotive would come bursting out of the tunnels mouth.
At the bottom of the hill he fell against the wooden two bar fence which marked the boundary of the railway lines. As he lifted a foot onto the lower horizontal bar the girls black bonneted head rose to reveal her face. It was ghostly white with two cold lifeless eyes staring at him. As she did so the train thundered out of the tunnel.
Daniel grimmest at the thought of her being hit. When the brake van had passed he looked around, no sign of the women was to be seen.
Slowly he walked around the top of the dale back toward the farm house, he was deeply in his own thoughts regarding the events which had just passed, not knowing what to make of them.
So caught up in himself he was that he never saw the figure of a young women dressed in black watching him from adjacent to the well.
The following day all previous thoughts were put behind him.
Then time was coming onto mid afternoon and on the west bound platform of the railway station Daniel stood waiting in eager anticipation for the next train to come alone for it would be carry his wife, Lesley.
A whistle blew. Before the echoed had faded away a door in the station masters house opened. Out stepped the station master fully uniformed with blazer and lamp along with two flags under his arm, one red, one green.
He peered past Daniel down the line before checking his watch.
The engines brakes screeched as it came to a halt, its train perfectly placed along side the platform. Clouds of steam exhausted from under the tank engine as a voice called out, “Little Weighton.”
It was only one carriage door that opened. From it an elegant women around the age thirty stepped out. She whore a blue and white patterned summer dress while on her head was a matching bonnet.
Daniel caught sight of her and his heart took a leap, “Lesley!” he waved his arms to attracted her attention.
The woman turned to see her husband, she was as pleased to see him as he was her. They embraced one another as though they had not seen the other for all their lives.
The station master allowed himself a smile at the sight of the young couple reunited.
The train pulled away leaving only the two of them on the platform. The station master headed off back indoors, but stopped as he reached the entrance to the waiting room. He turned back to look at the couple. He was right, he had recognised the women. Suddenly he felt a cold shiver run up his neck and decided to return indoors.
The happy couple walked up to the farm, both were in no rush, the day was too good to rush today. Daniel filled his wife in on his progress over the last couple of weeks while told him of the happenings of the smoke filled city.
Maureen had put on a huge spread for tea that evening. Knowing that a new guest would be arriving the arga had been working overtime cooking many a dish for the evening meal.
The conversation throughout the meal had been light hearted and cheerful. On one or two occasions though had Daniel noticed a sinister undertone to a passing comment made by one or another of the assembled dinners? It must have been his imagination, no more.
At ten thirty the sun had set and at last the sky was begging to darken. Tonight was the eve of the summer solstice, the longest day. It was at midnight that Daniel awoke. What had made him he could not say, but something had. Next to him his wife was sleeping her breathing rhythmic and deep. From outside he thought that he had heard voices, but on investigation no one was present. He put his head back down on the pillow next to Lesleys, and started once again to drift off back into sleep.
Then he woke again. This time something had changed. Lesley was no longer beside him. His first reaction was panic, then as his brain steadied down into a more logical thought pattern he came to the conclusion that she may have only gone to the kitchen to get herself a drink of water. After all it was a hot night.
He waited.
Nothing.
After a few moments, he could not tell how long had past, then a voice floated through the open window. “Lesley,” the way the single word was called out it gave the impression of someone calling out into the unknown and not someone talking face to face with another.
He took no notice of the voice, putting it down to his imagination or a half curious dream, but when the voice called out again, he sat up.
Lesley was the name of one of the girls who had been involved in the incident that had left such a scar on the residents of the village. For some reason a fear gripped him, not for himself, but for his wife.
Swinging his legs out of the bed he peered out of the window. The moonlight was strong, it cast a large shadow of the ash tree on the apex of the hill.
Below them standing in the middle of the farmyard was a figure, a small female figure. Was it she who spoke. As he watched her she stood motionless. The voice called the name again, though it was her speaking he could swear her lips never moved. Then her right arm lifted making a beckoning motion.
Who was she speaking too?
Should he investigate? Or at least wake Morris, he must know who she was? Then terror overcome him senses, he could not believe what his eyes where seeing. Lesley, hi wife was walking across the yard toward the women, then ignoring her she walked straight past the strange figure and away up the hill.
Quickly he put on his trousers and ran out of the room. The situation called for immediate action, Mr and Mrs Bell needed to be woken, with just the slightest of a pause outside their bedroom door Daniel knocked then entered. “Morris, so sorry but…” the moonlight streamed in through the window illuminating the bed, the bed which lay empty.
Never, not even in the trenches had he felt so alone and afraid.
So quick was his assent of the staircase he slipped falling down the last few steps. Now in the kitchen he saw the front door wide open, he made a line for it.
“Daniel.” A voice said from behind him. Stopping only to turn and look he saw no one. Who had spoken?
Once out of the farm yard and onto the track he could see Lesley at the top of the hill, following her about twenty yards behind was the girl dressed in black. He couldn’t be sure before, but now the girl who had been outside the yard was the same figure who had been following him over the past weeks. The revelation only spurred he pursuit, his wife, he knew instinctively was in danger.
As he raced up the hill the figure of Lesley disappeared out of sight. She had past over the hill, followed by the strange girl.
Over the panting of heavy breathing he thought he could hear voices, several voices chanting. Still he ran up toward the great ash tree. Also in the air was a smell, not an unpleasant small like most on the farm, but the smell of something cooking.
As he peered over the top of the hill he looked down into the valley, a sense of shock, horror and fear ran over his entire body.
Far below there were a circle of thirteen people equally spaced around the well, Satan’s Well. “Oh my God?” he said in a quiet voice. In the circle burnt three fires. Each making up the corner of an equilateral triangle. Lesley was walking toward them. Did she not know what she was doing?
As she reached the well she suddenly woke from what must have been some kind of trance. Where was she? That she already knew, the last night she had seen such a sceptical as this had been the last night she’d stayed in then village. That night years ago she knew she could not stay here any longer. In that split second the awful events of that night came flooding back into her memory…
It had all happened one fine sunny week. Just as the weather had been of late. The two of them were inseparable, they did everything together. Both she and her best friend were the two beauties of the village, as a matter of fact, for several miles around. They sheared everything, well almost everything.
One Sunday morning both dressed in their Sunday best they walked home from church together. Their parents were deep in conversation on some subject which was of complete disinterest too the girls. They walked on ahead, both were now in their sixteenth summer and attracting the eye of the young males for miles around. No matter what happened though, never was there a secret between them, not until that Sunday.
A roar broke the quiet morning air, the noise was then followed by a bright red open topped roadster. The heads of everyone out doors turned too looked upon it. In the drivers seat sat a young man in his early twenties. The oiled back brown hair stuck his head extenuating the chisel like good looks gave him the appearance of a boys own story book hero. All the men’s eyes looked at shining red car with a desire to one day own. In the shorter term even just to sit in this one and maybe, maybe taken for a spin would be enough for the village folk.
For the two girls though the car held little or no interest, only the man seated in the cockpit held their attention. Both had similar feelings for this man and simultaneously they approached him.
Both knew that if they were to marry any man (which would be the normal cause of events) then this dashing young man was a prime candidate for matrimony. He held a much prospect of a comfortable life then the farm hands and labourers they would meet at the annual village dance. Both set out their stalls that morning to try and capture husband, both were now rivals.
Over the next week the two friends didn’t see a lot of each other, both distracted by the quarry they had set their sights on.
The motor car driving stranger took both of them out individually on more then one occasion, Lisa was told that her friend had been blackening her name, so she did likewise.
Was fare in love and war? Were did friendship enter into the equation?
On two occasions she saw Sonya but only from a distance and then didn’t speak. Lisa pretended not to have noticed her and carried on her way in any case making no attempt to communicate.
It all came to a head the following Saturday night. She had arranged to meet with her young man, Nick Old was his name, she didn’t care very much for his name, he had a car and money. She stood at the crossroads with her suitcase alongside her.
Sneaking out of the house had been easy, no one was in that night. She had left a note explaining the situation and telling all that she would be in touch by letter within the week.
The evening was a warm one, she sat on her case, the walk up the road from the village had played heavy on her feet. The heels of her stilettos dug into her feet like chisels.
It was then the horror of the situation was realised as a familiar voice was heard over her shoulder, “What on earth are you doing here?” Sonya’s voice was full of distain.
“What am I doing here?” Lisa replied turning to see her old friend, “What are you doing here mores the like?”
“I,” she replied, voice full of self importance, “am here waiting for my boyfriend, were going away together you know.”
“And who might that be?” the question was a loaded one.
“Nick, of course.” A self satisfied smile appear on her face.
“No, no your not. I’m here to meet him.”
“What would he want with you, you, you evil cow.”
“And what’s that suppose to mean?”
Sonya felt fully justified with the comment, “You tried poisoning him against me, he told me that, and now you just happen to turn up here when we’re going away together. You’re pathetic.”
“Me?” a look of disbelief was on Lisa’s face. “you more like, you evil bitch. You found out about us then, then got jealous. I always get the best men first, you only get my cast offs, well your not having this one.” Sonya screamed, then from nowhere she pulled out a long bladed knife from her bag.
The next moment Lisa was running toward the wood being chased by Sonya. What had happened, why was she running for her life, from her friend? All she knew was that it was happening, this wasn’t a dream. Her shoes where now lost, long gone somewhere in the undergrowth. She breached the boundary of the wood, but did not stop. To hide from her friend who had obviously gone mad with jealously she must get deeper into the trees. She saw Sonya follow her trail, but thankfully run straight past the point were she hidden in a ditch.
Once she was out of sight the time had come to double back out of the wood and meet Nick.
As she stepped out onto the path Lisa heard a scream. Suddenly she panicked, that cry of terror like it had been Sonya in distress. Indecision filled her mind, in the end it was an overwhelming feeling of consciousness that won her over, Sonya, her friend was in trouble.
As quickly as she dare Lisa took the path which Sonya had followed. Through the trees there see could see a point of light. The sun had set now so what was the light?
As she reached the other side of the wood instinctively her legs stopped obeying a sense of self preservation which had overcome her. Through the foliage she could make out the ash tree which stood on farmer Bells land while in the valley below she could make out a circle of bodies. The figures were all dressed in black their head obscured by some kind of hood. In the centre of the human circle was the old well.
Outside of the circle burned three fires equally spaced forming a triangle.
Lisa watched in horror as Sonya continued to walk toward them. Should she run out after her friend and bring her back, save her, but she didn’t.
Something told her that showing herself would mean death.
One of the hooded figures turned to see Sonya walking toward them. The circle broke allowing her through. The young woman was trapped in the circle of linking hands. The black clad figures closed in on her. Slowly she edged toward the well, then falling backwards over the wall her cry’s echoed for what seemed like an eternity.
As she fell one of the figures shouted, “No…” at the same time throwing off his hood.
Lisa struggled to see who it was under the cowl, the light was fading and the distance between her and the well was great. Not only that but some of the other figures obscured the view, then there was the glare from the fires the voice though she did recognise, it was a voice she knew too well, her best friends father Morris Bell. Another of the assembled ring also took off their hoods.
When she saw the other member of the ring's face she took in a sharp intake of breath. The second person she recognised instantly, it was her own father.
Shocked, she knew the only thing to do was to run, run and keep running.
What had happened their? Was it some kind of Devil Worship, Satanic rights? It was called Satan’s well, was that why?
The next morning she stepped off a train at platform two of hull Paragon Station. It was then that she decided that a new life was needed. She would live and work here, a new life, new name. From that moment Lisa no longer existed, she would be known as Lesley.
How had she come to be in this place? The last thing she could recall was lying next to her husband in bed under freshly washed crisp white sheets. Instantly she knew where she was, but still didn’t understand why.
For a moment she looked beyond the assembled hooded figures, high up on the dale she could she Daniel, then below him another figure now walking slowly down the hill. As far as Lesley could make out it was a teenage girl. Had she just been dreaming about her, or had they known each other before.
Slowly the circle closed in on her, frantically she looked around searching for an escape route, and none was evident.
Against her back she could feel the cold hard stone of the well.
Then all of a sudden a gap opened in the circle, a route to liberty, she thought. Then through the gap came the figure of a women all dressed in black.
For the first time Lesley saw the features of her face, cold white, eyes dead to the world.
It was the face of her oldest friend, Sonya Bell.
From the top of the hill Daniel stood watching in horror at the sceptical below. Quickly he began to run down the hill shouting, “No, stop, are you mad?” his cries where to no avail.
The circle closed in on Lesley. Daniel couldn’t see what was happening, his only concern was to reach his wife before it was too late.
Suddenly the circle of black figures reached the well he heard a scream then all plunged into darkness as all three fires went out.
He stopped running, his bearings were lost. All he could see was one thing.
When he awoke he was cold and damp. For a moment his mind went back to Flanders. The sun was just appearing over the horizon. All his clothes where damp with due. His body shivered with cold then realising were he was and what had happened the previous night he gave another involuntary shiver.
He was lying under the canopy of the great ash tree, his back ached as did his head.
As he sat up his two tied eyes saw something down in the valley. Getting to his feet to obtain a better view he could see a figure lying next to the well.
Moments later he was kneeling beside the body of a woman. From the rising and falling of her rib cage he could see she was alive. Placing a hand on her shoulder he rolled her over, the face was that of Lesley’s.
“Lesley, Lesley are you alright?”
As she turned to look at him a look of terror came into her eyes. The two grey eyes looked past him over his right shoulder.
Daniel looked around, he could see nothing apart from the ash tree in the distance, but she only saw the figure of her old friend. Sonya was standing over them both.
Though asleep his body rocked too and fro, too and fro with a monotonous rhythm. In his mind he knew that he was sleeping, but his thoughts were conscious ones.
Somewhere out of the darkness he heard the single shot of a rifle been fired, then a cry. A sniper had fallen one of his brothers in arms.
All the men mobilised themselves, a German sniper was out in no mans land. He was part of the group who dealt with such a situation. The night sky was illuminated periodically by bangs and flashes of bombs exploding, the bang that followed would hardly have an effect on him, the sound was a common one.
Instructions given to the unit to which he was a member fanned out along the trench. This activity was always the same, always a waiting game.
Flares and explosions lit up the exposed moonscape of the planes between trenches, but still no sign of the elusive gunman was apparent.
The men found it hard on sniper watch. It was the middle of February and it was cold, colder then anything he had ever known. Hour after hour passed, though wearing a pair of thick heavy woollen gloves the tips of his fingers were frozen solid. Would he be able to pull the trigger when the time came, would he be able to arm the rifle? He shivered so much that he doubted that he could carry out such a simple task as that.
How many times had he asked himself, ‘Why had he ever volunteered to come to this hellish place?’ during his time at the front line he had witnessed the senseless waste of life as his friend and comrades had been murdered before his very eyes.
The corner of his eye twitched the flash of a small flame or spark had caught it. Slowly he turned in the general direction.
There it was again, he took aim. Holding himself steady took an almighty act of self control, he waited. Knowing the third and fatal spark would come.
The enemy had made a mistake, whoever it was had been foolish enough to try and light a cigarette, two goes already his lighter had failed. Now if he tried again that would be…
Bang. His gun fired. He had seen the light and emptied the barrel directly at the light source. He heard the grown of a man, someone dying, another death.
In the sky a flare crackled into life illuminating the land.
Out of no mans land he could see the twisted shape of a body lying on its side. The eyes in his head stared into space while his right hand slowly rubbed the left side of his chest. Slowly the rubbing stopped.
In front of him he noticed for the first time a pair of boots, the body attached to them he knew was the snipers last victim, he already knew it was his mate Nobby Collinson.
Though his hands were numb with cold he took hold of Nobbys feet and dragged him over the lip of the trench. As the lifeless body fell it landed in a heap on the duck boards.
Bending down beside his friend he whispered in his ear, “Nobby, Nobby.” It was a helpless act, but maybe he thought, just maybe.
He cleared the mud off his friends face in a desperate attempt to clear his mouth and nose. He scrapped the thick wet mud from the eye sockets and then…
He jumped back in shock, turning to his left he was physically sick. The face of the body resting on the ground was not that of his friend Nobby, but his own.
A loud shrill steam whistle blew echoing through his mind. He woke with a start o rat least he thought he had. All around him was dark. Momentarily he panicked, his limbs stiffened, his breathing increased getting heavier and heavier.
The whistle sounded again as a blinding light hit his eyes. For a second all he could see was white light causing a stabbing pain in his eyes, then colours followed, all in a blur.
His brain was now making sense of his surroundings, he was on a train, it must have just emerged from a tunnel. Where was he? Had he mist his stop?
No of course not the guard would have woken him. His brown suit was ruffled, the tie around his neck off to one side. His nightmare had been one off the more violent ones.
Standing he straightened his clothes and adjusted his tie. Taking a deep breath he sat back down in the seat.
Outside the countryside rushed past. During his time away in those dark days he had longed to see England’s greenery once again. He lived in the heart of the ever more industrialised city of Hull, the Kingstown which sat upon the north bank of the Humber Estuary. In the last ten years or there about things had changed and in his own opinion not for the better,
The old queen had died, the empire was now on shaky ground. The Great War had engulfed Europe with a ferocity unseen since Napoleon. This was too him an age of change and he didn’t care for it at all.
Though the train was only thirty minutes or so out of hull he looked upon wide open countryside, the rolling hills of the Yorkshire Wolds and freedom all around. In the fields sheep gambled while cows slowly and methodically chewed lumps of grass ripped out of the earth. He was so pleased with himself to actually see a red deer in its natural habitat. The animal watched the carriages pass alone the line before disappearing into the wood.
The sunlight which streamed into the compartment window was suddenly broken away as the engine steamed through a cutting.
As the engine thundered through the wholly unnatural land formation the squeal of brakes echoed out into the countryside around.
As he looked out of the window through the plumes of smoke he could make out the spares vegetation which grew on the chalky cutting walls. It was cool now in the compartment, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine, then sunlight once more.
The engine was pulling into Little Weighton Station. The sunlit fields were once more in full view to him. He stood up and reached up to the over head luggage rack and took down his brown suitcase. He pulled on his overcoat and put his brown bowler hat firmly on his head before taking one last look out of the window.
The sloping edge of the platform was below him now quickly raised up on the level of the carriages.
Beyond the platform sat a newly painted white picket fence. His eye though was drawn up and beyond the confines of the station, to the field beyond.
He could see a girl, no, young woman. A young woman in a black dress watched from her vantage point on the side of a dale.
He stared at her for a moment, the carriage jolted slightly putting him temporally off balance. When he regained his continuity and looked back to the hillside the girl was gone or at least he could no longer see her. Quickly he looked around trying to find her once more, then the hillside was gone, the station house blanking it out of site. The brick building ordained with hanging baskets took his mind temporality away from the girl.
As the smoke cleared he watched the red light marking the end of the train disappear into the first of the three long deep tunnels which cut through the Wolds. Though it was early in the morning the sunlight was strong and had warmth too it, something he appreciated greatly.
The four studs on the base of his suit case clicked as he put the bag down.
Somewhere toward the south he could hear a crow crying into the morning air. With a sigh he checked his watch, the time was six forty five.
Looking around he expected to see something or someone. Where was the Station Master, surly if traffic was coming through the station someone must be here to sell or collect tickets.
From somewhere out of sight the noise of horses hooves on a gravel track came to his ears, not only a horse though, but a cart also if he was not mistaken.
Picking up the case he walked toward the sign marked exit.
From down the track came the horse drawn cart just as he had imagined. Sitting in the front, reins in hand sat a man I his forties whistling some cheery tune. Behind him in the confines of the cart sat various bottles and churns of milk ain various sizes.
The horse came to a halt, instantly its head dropped and started to chew at the grass verge.
“Morning.” Said the milkman, his voice as cheery as the whistle he had been chirping until a moment before.
“Morning.” He replied.
The milkman took one of the small churns from the back of the cart then took it to the back door of the Station house. “You just arrived, ‘ave ‘ya?”
“Yes.” That was obvious, he had probably seen the train as he arrived.
“You must be Daniel Forester?” said the white coated man climbing back onto the cart.
Forester was more then taken aback, “How on earth do you know who I am?”
“Ah well, this is a small village you know, everybody knows everybody’s business here. Your staying up at Drewton Farm aren’t ‘ya? The farmer, old Albert told me, well told one of the people in the village shop, it’s all the same thing in the end.”
“Old Albert, oh Mr Bell. I always have known him as Mr Bell, it seems strange to think that he has a first name. For many years he had only heard him of his host for the next few weeks as farmer Bell. They had never met, though the image of the farmer was firmly fixed in his mind. He imagined a large thick set man with a florid face, bad skin and large strong hands.
Now for the first time he wondered what he actually looked like. His wife also and daughter, Daniel remembered Bell had a daughter, Sonia. That was strange he didn’t know she existed, but now he knew her name. The effects of the war were long and the effect was deep on his mind and his mind could play cruel tricks on him.
“It’s a good walk up to the farm, do you want a ride? I’m on my way up there next.” The horse finished its early morning snack and was readying itself to continue its daily round.
Daniel accepted the offer of a lift purely for the reason he didn’t know where he was going. The milk cart set off back down the track from where it had just come. Daniel looked around at the early morning mist rising from the earth, what a wonderful site it was. Then he saw the girl, her long dark hair framed a little white face. Her eyes followed him as he past.
He heard not a word of what the milkman was saying for those few moments. As the carriage moved he strained his neck turning his head more and more to see the figure. Finally the angle became impossible. Manoeuvring his body to obtain a better viewing passion he looked up again, the figure was gone.
He open his mouth to ask the man who sat next to him, he wanted to know how it was how was spying on him. As he drew in a breath to speak he suddenly thought the better of it. There would be plenty of time to find out for himself.
The journey was a short one, it took only a matter of a few minutes before the cart clattered over the rise of the hill. The old farm house then came into view.
A thin wisp of smoke floated vertically into the air from one of the half dozen chimneys posistioned on the apex of the gable end.
The milk cart drew up in the muddy yard, somewhere under the all the earth and cow dung laid a cobbled surface, in some places it could be seen poking through. Daniel thought how it would appear if the yard were cleaned. The image in his mind was a much better one then his eyes looked upon, but this was a farm and muck was an occupational hazard.
The milkman jumped off the dart with a well practised efficiency, much practised over the years. “Here we are then.” He took a churn of milk off the cart and rolled it to the green door which Daniel presumed must lead into the farm house kitchen.
Why would a farmer be buying milk from the milkman? Oh well, what business was it of his.
Daniel dismounted the cart in a much more amateurish way, immediately he felt his shoe sink into the soft surface covering the yard. As his other foot found a selection of clear cobbles he lost his balance and took two steps forwards to steady himself. As he did the sound of both feet entering soft muck reached his ears. He knew hat keeping clean was going to be all but impossible in this environment.
Taking the brown case from the back of the cart he carefully made his way across the yard to the door. “Thank you very much for the ride.” He said to the milkman who was striding past him back to his transport. Daniel dare not walk and talk at the same time, it took all his concentration to stand, and remain upright. Walking was out of the question.
“Don’t mention it, good luck.” He said turning the horse back on itself and making his leave, “You’ll need it.” The later words were said in a hushed tone to himself, they were accompanied by a smile.
Daniel didn’t hear the words, drowned out by the clatter of the old cart wheels.
It was cold here, because of the house, barns, and out houses surrounding the yard the sunlight almost never breached the barriers thrown up by the buildings. He gave an involuntary shiver before turning and knocking on the door.
“Albert, that must be Buller.” It was a female voice he heard coming from behind the door, “Put the kettle on the stove.” She continued. Who Buller was he had no idea, maybe it was the milkman. It seemed to take an eternity for anyone to answer the door . When it did finally open he was confronted by a large woman in her late half of middle age. She whore a blue and white flowery dress, it’s chintz pattern gave it away as being from the Victorian era, now sadly gone.
Resting on top of the dress was a white piny looped around her neck and tied off at the back.
As her eyes fell upon him the betrayed her, surprise, disappointment and acknowledgement as she realised that their guest had arrived.
“Oh, er,” in an effect to give a good impression to the young man at the door she fumbled with the left hand side of her curling brown red hair. “You must be Daniel?” she said smiling. The smile lit up her whole personality. Daniel knew he was going to enjoy his stay. “Oh my dear,” she apologised, “What am I thinking, come in, come in.”
He was ushered into a large kitchen. On the opposite wall to the outer door stood a black stove, the heat emanating from it filled the whole room, instantly he felt warm and comfortable. This was a place he would love to call home. On the right hand side fixed in the wall sat a fire place, at present no fire occupied the grate, no need for one. The left hand side of the room was occupied by domestic affairs. A large Belfast sink dominated while a dolly tub and mangle sat alongside. In the centre of the room a large wooden table served as the focal point of the room. The table was used in the preparation as well as the serving and consumption of food mainly cooked fresh from the kitchen garden.
This single room was bigger then the whole ground floor of Daniels small terraced house. It seemed to him that he was a world away from home although geographically he had travelled only some fifteen miles. If this rural setting was a world away from his life in the industrial centre of the town or his life in the fields of Flanders. The world he had now entered was so alien that he could have been on another planet.
His thoughts were interrupted by the warming aroma of freshly backed bread drifting across the kitchen.
“Take a seat, make yourself at home.” Said the woman as she rushed over to the stove, “I’ll just get this out before it ruins.” Quickly she crossed over the flag stone floor to the arga. A towel hung over the handle of the main oven door, gripping it she opened the oven door. In one swift motion the two round loafs of bread were dragged out of the oven and placed on the oak table. The heavenly smell of the bread engulfed Daniel. The tops of the bread were crusty and glazed with what he could only presume was honey. He watched closely as small twists of steam rose from them.
“There we go, perfect.” The woman pronounced flicking the towel over her shoulder. “So, “ she pulled out the chair directly behind the bread and sat down straightening out the creases in the piny as she did so, “You must be Daniel, oh I’ve asked that?”
“Er, yes,” Daniel replied, his mind was still thinking about the sweet smelling bread. “Oh, sorry,” he rose to his feet on offered his hand to shake, “Daniel Forester.” He wore a smile on his face as he spoke. Once hand contact had been broken he resumed his seat.
“You’re here for a holiday, I believe?”
“Yes, a much needed one. I had a bit of a bad time in France and…” his voice filed, breaking off before it showed any emotion.
“Yes, yes. It is such an awful thing what is happening in the world now-a-days. Just look at the poor Russian Royal Family and I don’t know what’s happening on the continent. There’s a lot to be said about the Empire you know, at least you know were you stand. You know sometimes I think we are the only civilised people on the planet.
None of this would have happened under the old Queen, she would have put a stop to it there and then.”
With that point he did agree, the glory days of the empire were coming to an end, the ashes of it he felt were all around them. The war was proof of that.
“Any road,” she continued, “Have you had any breakfast yet?”
He had, but had been nearly two hours ago now, that coupled with the smell of the bread made his stomach yearn for a longing ness to eat.
Before Daniel could make a reply his hostess was on her feet placing a large frying pan on top of the stove.
“That would be lovely Mrs. Bell.”
“Oh, be on with ‘ya, Mrs Bell indeed, call me Maureen.” She laughed as a slab of pig fat was dropped into the pan and began to fizz and crackle.
Sitting back in his chair he took the opportunity to cast his eyes around the room. For the first time since arriving he noticed that the ceiling was quite high. He had always imagined old farm house such as this one to have very low ceilings. Running across the ceiling was half a dozen dark wooden beams, twisted and knotted as though they were part of an old tree which the house had been built around. In the centre hung a gas light, how did they get gas out here? Still the lamp was lit so there must be a line. While he busied himself surveying the ceiling and other points of interest around the room Maurine has disappeared into the pantry. As the door closed behind, the room for cold storage must be of a size if she can walk right in and the door shut on her. No sooner had she gone in the farmers wife was out again carrying several rashers of bacon. Dropping them in the pan the fat spat out splashing Maureen on the wrist and arms. The woman didn’t even flinch at the red hot oil burning her skin, “Do you like bacon?” she asked turning to look at her guest.
“Very much.”
While the bacon fried in the pan she cut two generous slices of bread from one of the freshly cooked loafs. Turning once again she fiddled over the meat frying in the pan, “So, how did you find out about us here?”
That, he thought was a good question. How had he ended up here. On his return from the war he had spent some time in hospital, several weeks if his calculations were correct. On leaving Lesley, his wife had arranged a month of convalescence for him in the country. For the final two weeks she would join him here. His time back in England had been somewhat disjointed, time either seemed to fly or stand still, now he wasn’t sure even what month he was in.
“My wife is a local of these parts,2 he began, “it was her who arranged it.”
“And a good thing too,” said Mrs Bell flipping the bacon over in the pan, “there.” She said taking the pan off the heat. The two sizable rashers of bacon where taken out of the pan and placed onto one of the thick slices of warm bread. Before performing the same operation with the other piece of meat she took the slice of bread and held it face down in the pan allowing all the hot fat to soak into the white bread. Around the edge the crust began to crisp up. The operation was mirrored with the other doorstep which made up the other side of the sandwich.
“Here you go Daniel.” She placed the sandwich laded plate in front of him, “Tell me, what do you think to that?”
Daniel looked at the plate on the table in front of him, it wasn’t so much a sandwich, but an edible cushion. The smell drifted up it was fantastic, warm bread and bacon, was there anything in the world more appealing? Clamping both hands around it he raised it to his mouth, without the slightest hesitation he sank his teeth into it.
Biting off a mouthful he chewed, a moan of satisfaction hummed from his lips.
“That’s ok then.” Smiled Maureen, the satisfied sound was more then any words could utter. The kettle was now boiling on the stove, the whistle blew with a perfect pitch. Moments later a cup of hot tea occupied the table sitting next to the plate.
Finally Daniel managing to swallow his first mouthful of sandwich, “That bacon is, well, lovely.” He said whipping a dribble of hot fat off of his chin.
“It should be, it was walking around the yard this time yesterday.”
The prospect of the meat coming from a living beast for a moment almost put him off continuing with the sandwich, but only for a brief moment.
As he ripped another corner from the sandwich he felt an unusually cold chill on the back of his neck, so cold that the hairs on the base of his scalp jumped to attention. The icy cold burst was out of character with then room. The heat coming off the stove gave the room a warm close feeling. Taking a look over his shoulder he caught the slightest glimpse of a young women looking at him through the window. As he manoeuvred in his seat to gain a better view the image vanished. Was it the same figure he had seen earlier , it certainly seemed that way to him.
Suddenly another blast of cold air blew across the kitchen. Daniel turned quickly to see the door was open and daylight silhouetted a large figure framed in the opening. Daniels heart felt as though it had skipped a beat.
“How do?” said a deep gruff voice. The figure stamped his boots on the doormat. Great lumps of soil dislodged themselves landing all around him. As the door closed Daniel court sight of his host, Morris Bell. The mans face was red, weather beaten by many years of outdoor life. His clothes were somewhat shabby, but at the same time practical.
“So,” said the newcomer banging his hands together and vigourously rubbing warmth back into them, “Who do we have here?”
Daniel got to his feet to meet his host, holding out a hand for Morris to shake in way of a greeting. The burly faces farmer crossed the room to meet his guest, ignoring the hand he proceeded to slap Daniel on the shoulder, as he did a smile appeared on his face, “Don’t get up Youngman, finish ‘ya lawns.”
Daniel was puzzled at the phrase ‘lawns’, not being of these parts he knew not that the word in fact was an abbreviation of the word allowance, or in this case something to eat.
The good natured farmer sat along side resting back on his chair. He spread his legs wide apart and slapped his palms down on his muscular thighs while letting out a sigh of relief . “Any more tea in that pot mother?” he asked his wife, while his eyes cast a glance at the bacon sandwich in Daniels hands.
“Of course.” She broke off cleaning the frying pan and poured another cup of tea for her hard working husband.
His old wide eyes followed her around the room with a loving glow, she returned his affectionate smile as she placed the mug down before him, “So young ‘un. How long ‘ya here and what are ‘ya plans?” the two questions seemed to roll into one with the greatest of ease.
“One month, and as for my plans, I have none as yet.
Perhaps you could advise me into any points of interest in the area or maybe I could help on the farm?”
“Oh,” he began to laugh as the words came, “Ya’ don’t want to be messin’ around with pigs if you’re here to rest my lad. Its damn hard work, no, no you occupy yourself with other things. There’s good walking and fishing about here and, and do you like trains?”
Did he like trains? He never really thought, trains were so common place never has hr thought of them as more then transport. The walking and fishing though did appeal to him, then there was that other matter to look into. The girl who had spied on him earlier.
“I only ask,” continued Morris, “because we have three fine tunnels here abouts, the finest you’ll see for a mile. ‘Ya can get right through them if ‘ya wish, can be a bit hairy though if you get caught when one of them bloody great freight trains come through.”
“I do have plenty of time, so I will take a look at them.” Why not?
“Good on ‘ya lad.” The farmer downed his hot tea almost in one great mouth. Daniel watched in wonder, his own cup was still steaming hot, the slightest sip would be enough to scold his tongue into numbness. He must have the skin of an elephant?
Morris slapped his thighs once more before standing, “Well,” he said flexing his shoulders, “this won’t get the pigs fed.” At the door he put on his hat and coat before disappearing into the sunlight.
Disappointedly he swallowed the last piece his sandwich, disappointed because it had tasted so good, he never wanted it to end, if that was a sample of what to expect then his time here would be a pleasant one.
Maureen on seeing the empty plate immediately cleared it way, “Was that alright for you?”
“Yes thank you.” He took another sip of tea, the sweet brown liquid was still at an undrinkable temperature.
The plate now sat on the draining board. Maureen dried her hands on a tea towel, “I suppose I should show you to your room, let you get settled in.
He followed her up the narrow staircase. His suitcase trailed behind him, banging on every wooden step. Maureen was talking constantly to him as they ascended, but he didn’t catch many of the words. At the top of the stairs a wood lined corridor met his gaze, three doors on either side and one at the far end. Maureen shuffled her way along the landing finally stopping and turning to face the third door on the right hand side. Taken a golden coloured key out of the front pocket of her piny she opened the door and went in, “Here we are then. She said as she disappeared into the room.
As Daniel entered Maureen was in the process of opening the sash window allowing the cool morning breeze to fill the room.
The room itself was small, though more then enough space to navigate around the single bed, dresser and wardrobe. The sheets of the bed where white, each corner turned in and under the mattress with precise angles.
For a moment she paused and looked out of the window, surveying the land, “Lovely day, it’ll be, I think.” She announced, taking in a deep breath of air. Through the now open window Maureen could see the patchwork of uneven green, yellow and brown fields. It had only been a matter of minutes since Morris had left the cottage, but now he was far away across the land standing under the Great Ash tree which stood majestically over a mile from the farmhouse. “Nice day for a work, I’ll do you a bag of lunch and…”
Suddenly her cheerful demeanour changed into a more solemn mood.
Realising something was wrong Daniel replied in as cheery was as possible, “Thank you, I’d like that.”
Without a word or looking at him she left the room, the figure she had seen silhouetted against the sky was not that of her husband, but some other.
Now alone in the room Daniel looked around, the sun was shining in through the window giving plenty of natural light. He put his case down on the bed ready to be unpacked then stopped. Slowly he walk to the window and peered out. He scanned all the earth from the yard to the horizon looking for anything that could such a reaction.
He could see nothing. In the barn, on the track, nothing right up to the ash tree in the distance. Nothing out of the ordinary, but then how would he know if anything was out of the ordinary? He didn’t know what was normal.
By ten o’clock that morning Daniel had finished unpacking his case. His shirts hung in the wardrobe, his briefs in the draws, all was in order. The final thing to be removed from his case was a silhouetted picture, a picture of his wife’s profile which he placed it on the bedside table. Smiling to himself he walked out of the room.
Maureen heard the heavy thud of the lodgers walking boots coming down the stairs. As the door opened from the staircase she was placing the last item of the packed lunch into a cloth ruck sack. Flipping the top leaf over quickly the buckles were fastened. “There ‘ya go my dear,” she said turning to face him, “that should keep ‘ya going until tea time.”
“Lovely.” Did Daniel feel a tension in the air, the mood had changed since his arrival that was true, but why> had it been something he has said or done or said? The best course of action available to him was to go out for the day. He had his map and now his lunch, so nothing to stop him.
The sun was now high and hot, only one hour to go until midday, he had to find some kind of cove to sit while he rested.
Daniel was now high up on the Yorkshire Wolds were banks of trees, copses and woods were in abundance.
Finding such a haven he sat down on a fallen tree and opened his lunch bag, “Well?” Maureen certainly knew how to fill a bag.
The wrapped up sandwich was two inches thick, a large slab of pork being the filling. It was now a very hot day. Pricks of sunlight coming through the trees intermittently blinded his view. How he had longed for days such as this during his time away. The War seemed to be a world away to him now. Once again he delved into the bag, this time producing a hard boiled egg. Now there was a rear treat, an egg. Cracking the shell on his knee his fingers quickly peeled off the hard outer shell. It was cooked to perfection and tasted sublime.
Drink, that’s what he needed now more then anything. Out of the bag he took a thick dark green bottle, on the top of its neck sat a stone stopper.
Beer, he hadn’t tasted beer for many a long day. The cork popped out allowing froth to bubble over the rim, Daniel paused and licked his lips before taking as large a mouthful of the liquid as possible.
The small cops he was currently resting in was cool out of the sun. Not only was it cool but also silent, only the occasional tweet of a bird or the rustle of undergrowth broke the silence.
It was because of that very fact when he thought a voice spoke to his rear he quickly turned to see who had come upon him.
Distressed, he looked around. No one was behind him. Thinking on it was not so much a voice he had heard, maybe just the wind. Was there any wind today?
It was no surprise to him, all his senses had been affected by his experience, why not his hearing too?
Once fed and watered he continued on his way. By the time he returned to the farm it had become late in the afternoon.
Marion was taking in the now dry washing, the sheets which she folded were a brilliant white, the sunlight reflecting off of them.
On seeing his approach she quickly bundled the material into the basket and hurried inside.
That night the temperature had cooled dramatically. A cool breeze ruffled the net curtains which hung at his bedroom window.
The gentle blast of night air was more then a welcome relief from the hot sticky uncomfortable night. All day his clothes had stuck to his skin with perspiration.
He was dressed now in blue and white stripped pyjamas, the jacket tucked into the trouser bottoms, firmly tied with a white cord. Removing his slippers he swung two tied legs around and under the crisp linen sheets of the bed.
For some time he lay quite still, unable to sleep. For what must have amounted for almost an hour he watched the curtains move too and fro in the breeze while beyond the stars slowly moved across the sky in their stellar precession.
Many thoughts ran around the head resting on the pillow, his general feeling of calm was overshadowed by the uneasiness of his memories of those resent days gone by in the southern part of France. Another thought ran through his mind, who was that girl who had started to following around?
The open countryside was as foreign a country to him as France had seemed on his arrival. Maybe he would find the ways and customs here as strange as any overseas land.
That particular thought settled his uneasy mind and it wasn’t long before he was drifting off into sleep, not even the noise of the owls and foxes woke him.
It was no animal noise, suddenly he sat bolt upright, a scream had aroused him from the peaceful slumber. Had he actually heard someone cry out in the night or was it all in his head? Was it a memory of the days now thankfully gone by? He decided that it must be the later of the two.
The night air was warm and the bed covers heavy, he put a leg out from under the sheets and placed it on the upper side of the blanket. Slowly he again began to drift off.
That was when it happened, another scream drifted in the open window on the night air. A shiver of fear ran over him a she remembered the long cold nights of Flanders. Shutting his eyes tightly and buried his head deep into the pillow forcing himself to sleep.
The next morning was again the beginning of another glorious summer’s day. As the stairway door open Daniel could smell the unmistakable aroma of breakfast drifting up from the kitchen.
The buck some figure of Maureen was at the argor manoeuvring a mountain of sausages, bacon and black pudding around in the large black frying pan.
“Just in time.” She said turning to him, a smile filling her face.
Minutes later a plate filled with all manner of farmyard produce graced the plate which sat before him. His health would certainly improve if the good lady of the house cooked a meal such as this every morning.
Just had it had been the previous morning the smell of bread filled the kitchen, it was lovely. The aroma almost encouraged him to stay indoors on such a beautiful day as this.
Daniel sat back in the chair almost too full to move, he was now on a second mug of tea, steaming hot, straight off the stove. The top of his trousers dug into his abdomen, when Maureen had her back turned he undid the double button on the waste band of his brown trousers to ease the bloated gut.
“Any idea’s what you’re going to do with yourself today dear?” Maureen flipped a tea towel over her shoulder which up to that point had hung over the handle of the oven door.
“Yes,” replied Daniel, “I’m going walking again.”
“Over the dale and down into that village I think.”
A casual hand made a gestured motion toward the southerly end of the room.
“Oh well, there’s a small handful of villages down that way, you should enjoy that, some nice pubs too.” She opened the oven door and looked in. a wave of heat flashed across her face. Quickly she closed the oven and jumped up somewhat flustered, “Oh my dears, it’s a little hot in there.” She slapped the tea towel toward her face, the draft flicking her hair back and forth.
As she removed the empty plate from the table she noticed Daniels undone trouser buttons, a slight smile spread across her face as she turned away toward the sink.
With his ruck sack on his back Daniel made off through the farm yard and up the track into open countryside. Checking the map a bearing was set and he walked toward the ash tree.
From the apex of the hill which the old tree was rooted he surveyed the surrounding lands. So clear was the morning he thought that the whole county must be visible from that high point. To the south was the river, easterly lay the flat lands of Hull and beyond while to the west was the industrial heart of Yorkshire.
Looking down the hill a dark figure was walking in a circular motion around a large barrel, or at least something of that description. The large frame of the figure could only belong to one man, Morris Bell.
In the valley below Bell was busying himself with what could only be described as maintaining the land. He had dug over three patches of earth, each patch around three feet in diameter. The three formed an equilateral triangle. At its centre sat what he could now clearly make out. The object he though to be some kind of barrel was in fact a stone circler well. The well was a simple affair, just a low stone wall covered with a pointed roof shielding its innards from the elements.
Morris was so deeply involved with his task that he failed to hear the approaching rambler. “Morning.”
Bells head sprung around, in his eyes was a look of terror, for a slight second Daniel almost thought of himself being in some kind of peril?
On the realisation that the newcomer was only his lodger Morris’s expression changed, a smile coming to his face.
“Oh, now then young Daniel.” As he spoke his eyes flittered around scanning the area, had someone been here or was he expecting someone else. “I’m just…” he began, faltering for words, “Just tidying up the old well you know.”
Daniel had taken note of all points of reference on his OS Map, to his recollection he could not remember seeing any reference to a well being in the area, but here it was. The only logical reason was that the well was a new feature on the landscape added since the map was redrawn. “How deep is it?” Daniel asked taking a step toward it and peering in.
“I don’t really know come to think of it. I’ve never had to get water from it myself, some of the villages still use it though. I try and keep it clear for them to get to”
Daniel crouched down and picked up a small white pebble. After a pause he tossed it into the darkness. For some unknown reason Bell gave a grimace as he did so.
Forester listened with eager anticipation for the sound of the waters surface being broken. Seconds past, nothing came. “Must have dried up.” Daniel said shrugging his shoulders, with that remark he took his leave, “See you later.”
“Ey, have a good day.” Replied the older man, was a hint of contempt
in his tone?
By lunchtime Daniel Forester had traversed almost twenty miles. The path he now followed led down steeply to a road. Looking at the map his observed that the village of Riplingham was only a mile or so away and yes, there on the map where the small blue letters PH. Taking a bearing he headed off toward the village and the promise of a well earned pint.
The sun was now at its highest point, he needed a rest. As he turned the corner of the lane leading into the village his gaze was met with an oasis in the hot summer day. The pub was a long thin building, its exterior was of a Tutor style while inside was more of the Victorian era then the Tudor.
“Pint please.” He said placing both hands on the wooden bar.
The landlord was a large individual who looked at him with more then a hint of curiosity. It wasn’t often that strangers came into his pub, though with the coming of the railway the arrival of outsiders was becoming a common event.
“Afternoon,” a voice said from the right hand end of the bar.
“Afternoon.” Replied Daniel.
The landlord placed a full glass of beer down on the bar and picked up the small pile of coins from next to it. He kept an eye on the stranger as he turned to put the coins into the money tray.
The first two inches on the cool liquid was soon consumed. The next half pint was quick to follow.
The landlord couldn’t help but notice a self satisfied look on the young mans face, “You stopping local then?” he was short in his manor and matter of fact in his questioning.
“Yes up at,” he for some reason temporality forgot the name of the farm, funny that he was normally of the finest memory, “up at, with Morris Bell.” He finished.
The man sitting at the other end of the bar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Daniel could not see him clearly as his face was obscured be the shadow of the low ceiling.
“Oh, old Morris,” answered the landlord.
The man at the end of the bar downed his pint, slamming the glass down on the bar he then left without speaking a word. “See’s ya later Edward.”
The door slammed shut, the man not answering the farewell from the inn keeper. A moments uneasy silence hovered around the bar following the departure. “Was it something I said?” Daniel enquired.
For several moments the landlords said nothing, vigorously he polished a pint pot with a towel and watched the known as Edward walk off down the hill toward the station. “There was a bit of a do between old Edward and Morris Bell. It was a few years since, but still no one mentions it and Edward and Morris have never spoke since.” He paused, should he tell this outsider the tale? Then after a moment he decided that, why not. He liked nothing more then spreading a good story. “They both had a daughter, the girls grew up together. They were best of friends. One day a man arrived in the village, and he arrived in style, driver a motor car no less.
It was the first time a car had come to the village, no one had seen such a thing before. Vans, yes and trains of course were becoming a common sight, but never a car.
Naturally he became the focus of attention, especially with the young ladies. The man was in his twenties and a handsome young man he was too. The girls swooned around him like flies around a honey pot. The two most attractive girls in for many a mile were Edwards’s daughter Lisaie and Morris’s daughter, Sonya. Both girls set their sights on him.
It was such a shame that two such good friends could do such awful things to one another over a man. Both were convinced that the motor car owning man would take them away with him, how miss guarded young girls can be?
To be honest I can see their reasoning. Life her doesn’t change much, a life here for a young girl is marrying a farmer from one of the local villages and having children, when a chance such as a man from the town taking away to something more then this life, well you could imagine.
Over the course of a week they turned into the bitterest of enemies. It all came to ahead one Saturday night, he was to blame as much as them, playing them off against one another. He was leaving that night you see, what he’d said to them we won’t never know. One thing for sure was they both went to meet him.”
He paused to look at the almost empty glass in the customer’s hand. Daniel understood the gesturing nod from the landlord.
“Please, yea.” He didn’t care for the drink, all he wanted was the rest of the sorry tale.
“So, where was I?” he put the refreshed glass down next to the sole customer in the public house, “Both girls went to meet him at the arranged point, both unaware of the other being there. They both arrived at the departure point, bags packed.
You can imagine the conversation that took place between them as they both waited, both thinking that he was coming for each of them to take them away to the bright lights of the city. As far as we know, well now I come to think about it, I don’t know” pausing he looked deep in thought.
“What?” Daniel asked impatiently, “What?”
“Well, he may have picked them both up and whisked them away, but at the time we thought he never showed up to pick either of them, why did we think that?
Oh yes, one of the regulars of this pub mentioned that he had seen ‘the motor car’ leaving on the Skidby road and not on the Cave road where the girls were waiting.”
“So if he didn’t take either of the girls what happened to them?” Daniel expected an answer that would explain the situation.
The landlord fell silent, “Something’s are better left alone.” He said the words in a gruff tone.
“If they are not here then he must have picked…”
A stare from the landlords terrifying eyes stopped him mid sentence. Daniel resumed his pint in silence and began to scan the walls of the pub. Looking at the painted scenes of local areas hung on the walls. On the far wall was a fire place. The summer now being at its height no fire had been in the grate for many a month which puzzled him. Ever since entering the inn he could sear that he could smell the aroma of old soot.
The clock on the church tower was ready three o’clock as walked past the lych gate. A foreign object had entered his boot which was beginning to irritate him immensely on every alternate step.
Leaning against one the vertical supports of the gate he removed his boot and shuck out the irritant.
As he took his hand off the post he noticed something beneath it. Burnt onto the post were four dots. Three were arranged in a triangle with the fourth the middle of the shape.
“Rings a bell” he mused to himself.
For a moment he thought he had caught sight of someone watching him from inside the church yard, somewhere from among the head stones.
Looking across the church grounds he could see no one. He was convinced though it had been the strange girl that he had spotted the other moment. Maybe it was just the heat combined with the beer plying tricks on his brain.
The next few days saw the weather change from hot sunny days to stormy showers and strong winds. Thunder rolled across the hills, valleys and dales of this part of East Yorkshire.
Daniel continued himself by helping with the running of the farm, never straying more then a mile or so away from the farm house. He enjoyed the work, it gave him a sense of purpose once more. It was something to do and a mental distraction from the ghosts of his past.
On one particular afternoon he was out in the fields when suddenly a storm sent sheets of rain lashing down upon him.
He ran for the nearest cover he could see, the only thing in sprinting distance was the ash tree. Its canopy was wide and the foliage thick, the perfect shelter.
Daniel sat down on the ground and lent against the thick old trunk. Below him in the valley he could see the wells were Morris had been working a few days previous. There were three patches of earth disturbed by the farmers spade. They formed a perfect triangle with the well at the centre, where had he seen that pattern before? Picking up a stick he drew the pattern in the dusty earth next to him.
A triangle with a circle in the centre.
It meant nothing to him, “Coincidence?” he said to no one in particular.
Looking back into the valley he could see Morris Bell standing next to the well, bell and well, that was almost funny. He smiled at the thought, but the smile was soon whipped off his face when a voice said in his ear, “Rains stopped.”
With a start he spun around to see Morris standing beside him. Taking a sharp intake of breath he looked back down into the valley.
The figure in the valley was gone.
As Daniel retied to bed that night he climbed the stairs and stood at the opposite end of the narrow landing corridor which led to his room. For a few moments he stood and listened to the movements down stairs, all was quiet.
Slowly he edged along the corridor. His breathing was heavy, his heart raced out of control while a single bead of sweat ran down his left temple.
As he reached the second door on the right he stopped. Was there a scuffing noise coming out of the room. It sounded as though doors were being opened and closed.
This room he had never looked in. the door was always locked. Out of curiosity most of the rooms he had poked his head into, only the quickest of looks, but this one he had never gained access too. Was this their daughters, Sonya’s room?
Slowly his shaking hand lifted toward the brass door knob. An icy cold draught ran down the back of his neck. He though someone was standing behind him, a presence was there along side him. How could that be so, there was only one way in and out of the corridor and that door was closed. He turned the knob and this time, no resistance, the door slowly opened.
Bracing himself he took a step toward the door ready to push it open.
A noise like a key being dropped onto bare floorboards clattered from the direction of his left flank, his mind shot back to the snipers in the trenches. He spun around to see only a shadow on the wall, his own shadow cast by the moonlight.
Letting out a sigh of relief he took this as a warning and didn’t take the investigation any further. As he walked the few extra feet to his own door the shadow on the wall remained stationary.
Thankfully the following day, a Friday in mid June the sun shone once again. The flora and fauna of the woods and dales had seemed to have rejuvenation with the rain fall over the previous days.
Daniel was glad to get out of the farm house today and away from the farm. After last night the house had become oppressive, both Mr and Mrs Bell had not altered in their demeanour, it was the house he feared.
He had high hopes that getting out for the day would clear the cobwebs from his mind so he could return refreshed and with no preconceptions in regard to the house.
For the first time he walked down to the three tunnels that formed part of the Hull to Barnsley railway. Morris had been accurate in his description of the tunnels, they were magnificent feats of engineering.
For several hours he sat on a hill and watched the numerous trains travelling through this part of the Wolds. Both passenger and freight used the line and he wondered how so much traffic could sufficient cargos to maintain the industry of South Yorkshire.
The longest tunnel, Drewton was ventilated by a series of shafts from the tunnel to the surface every half mile. This enabled Daniel to calculate the speed of the various engines.
Lunch time was approaching, as he looked back on the mornings thoughts he was aware of several things about this place he could not explain.
The strange girl who seemed to be following him, the well that didn’t appear on the OS Map and the significance of the triangle in the circle embalm which seemed to crop up around the countryside. Then there was the story of the two missing girls, what was that all about? Could all these events be connected in some way?
Sub consciously he found himself outside the pub ha had visited a few days previous. It was almost with a hint of surprise that he saw it in the distance. Was it due to the fact that he had approached the village from a different direction the other day? On that occasion he had approached from the Riplingham road and today the South Cave road.
As always Maureen had packed him up with a bottle of stout, today thought the pub was favourable, he wanted to know more about the two girls and what had happened to them.
The door closed behind him, it took a few moments for his eyes too adjust to the lack of light in the room. No one was around, so he sat at the end of the bar rest himself on a high bar stool and waited for the landlord to appear. Only half a minute had passed when he heard the voice of the landlord, “Hold on Edward, I’ll be there in a minute.” The noise of something being dragged echoed through the bar. The noise emanated from the back room, once the noise had stopped the inn keeper voice spoke again, “Do you think he’ll go for it tomorrow night…”
The landlord appeared in the doorway, when he saw that the new comer was Daniel and not Edward he stopped suddenly, taken aback by a mixture of shock and fright.
“Oh,” he said, “it’d you young man, er…” he paused as he steadied himself, “What can I get for you?”
Daniel pointed at the stout barrel, “Pint of stout please.” His mind was now hard at work, what was it with the locals around here, where they all scared of something and what was happening tomorrow night?
Of course it maybe something as innocent as a dominoes match or card school, but why was there something at the back of his mind, what ever it was the voice was telling him something was very wrong with this place.
The pint of black liqueur landed on the bar next to him, his money handed over the transaction was made. “Tell me,” began the sole customer, “the two girls, Sonya and, er the other one. What became of them?”
The landlord didn’t answer, as the question was asked he had already began to slip away into the back room, it was obviously avoiding any more questions about the event.
Daniel felt snubbed but then he was placed in a state of shock as a voice drifted through from the back, “Lisa, you mean?”
Daniel turned around to see the milkman standing beside him.
“Hello again.” He said to the new comer.
“How are you enjoying Bell Farm then? Asked the milkman with a broad smile on his red face, “Is Maureen feeding you well?”
“Just a bit.” Replied the younger of the two, patting his stomach as he did.
Just at that moment the landlord made a second appearance, “Albert, whiskey is it?” without waiting for an acknowledgement a generous tot of scotch was poured into a glass and passed to the latest customer. As soon as his had left the glass the landlord vanished again into the back.
“Now, that was a curious occurrence that?” what did happen to two girls?” he took a step closer to Daniel and in a hushed tone spoke, “Some say that the man never showed, they got into a fight and one killed the other, and this is the best part, through the body into Satan’s Well…”
“Satan’s Well?” interrupted Daniel.
“Yes, you must know of it, it’s on old Bells land.”
“Oh yes I know of the well, but I didn’t know what it was called.”
“Some say…”
“Hold on,” interrupted Daniel once again, he was suffering from an information overload by this point, “Who though who down the well and what happened to the other one?”
“Oh, I see your point.” He paused for a moment, “You know nobody knows. It was just said at the time that one killed the other then ran off.
Then, some say that the mysterious man turned up and took one off with him. Then there’s some say that he turned up and took and away with him while the other was too embarrassed to return so either left for good or killed herself.
He took a mouthful of whiskey before licking his lips.
“Why is the well called Satan’s Well?”
“You know, I haven’t a clue, maybe because it’s so deep. Maybe it goes down to the centre of the Earth, down to the depths of Hell?” he finished his drink off then called out to the landlord for another, “Hello, hello, anyone serving?” after a pause and an impatience look over the bar he once a gain turned to Daniel, “Some do say though that the jilted girl, whichever one it may have been can still be see, well her ghost anyway, seen at the Well still waiting for her man to collect her.”
As the landlord returned the look on his face clearly told Daniel that it was time to leave. He had a feeling that the inn keeper had returned from the back in a volatile mood, weather it was of something he had overheard or an event in the back he didn’t want to find out.
Quickly he walked up the dale back toward the farm, the plan was to watch a few more trains running through the tunnels before returning to the farm house for tea.
Back on the hill over looking the tracks he opened the bottle of beer which had travelled in his ruck sack for most of the day.
As his head returned to the horizontal from tossing a draft of beer back into his mouth he became aware of a figure standing on one of the lines at the entrance of Drewton Tunnel. The glare of the sunlight made it difficult to see clearly, but someone was defiantly down there.
From half a mile away a plume of smoke puffed out of one of the chimney stacks.
They were going to be killed if he didn’t do something, were they mad? Could they not hear the train coming toward them?
He jumped up and ran down the hill. The ruck sack on his back was a hindrance, so twisted it around as he ran until it fell away off his back. By the time he was almost at the bottom of the hill he velocity was out of control, but he could see the figure more clearly now. It was a woman, a young woman, dressed in black. Soon he realised that it was the girl who had been watching him. Was that why he here now, was it to save her from a horrible death on the tracks? “Get off the line.” He called as loudly as he could manage. Waving his arms trying to attract her attention, but she just stood there, each foot neighbouring sleepers, “Get off the line.” Again he called.
The noise of the engine was getting louder and louder he knew that at any moment the locomotive would come bursting out of the tunnels mouth.
At the bottom of the hill he fell against the wooden two bar fence which marked the boundary of the railway lines. As he lifted a foot onto the lower horizontal bar the girls black bonneted head rose to reveal her face. It was ghostly white with two cold lifeless eyes staring at him. As she did so the train thundered out of the tunnel.
Daniel grimmest at the thought of her being hit. When the brake van had passed he looked around, no sign of the women was to be seen.
Slowly he walked around the top of the dale back toward the farm house, he was deeply in his own thoughts regarding the events which had just passed, not knowing what to make of them.
So caught up in himself he was that he never saw the figure of a young women dressed in black watching him from adjacent to the well.
The following day all previous thoughts were put behind him.
Then time was coming onto mid afternoon and on the west bound platform of the railway station Daniel stood waiting in eager anticipation for the next train to come alone for it would be carry his wife, Lesley.
A whistle blew. Before the echoed had faded away a door in the station masters house opened. Out stepped the station master fully uniformed with blazer and lamp along with two flags under his arm, one red, one green.
He peered past Daniel down the line before checking his watch.
The engines brakes screeched as it came to a halt, its train perfectly placed along side the platform. Clouds of steam exhausted from under the tank engine as a voice called out, “Little Weighton.”
It was only one carriage door that opened. From it an elegant women around the age thirty stepped out. She whore a blue and white patterned summer dress while on her head was a matching bonnet.
Daniel caught sight of her and his heart took a leap, “Lesley!” he waved his arms to attracted her attention.
The woman turned to see her husband, she was as pleased to see him as he was her. They embraced one another as though they had not seen the other for all their lives.
The station master allowed himself a smile at the sight of the young couple reunited.
The train pulled away leaving only the two of them on the platform. The station master headed off back indoors, but stopped as he reached the entrance to the waiting room. He turned back to look at the couple. He was right, he had recognised the women. Suddenly he felt a cold shiver run up his neck and decided to return indoors.
The happy couple walked up to the farm, both were in no rush, the day was too good to rush today. Daniel filled his wife in on his progress over the last couple of weeks while told him of the happenings of the smoke filled city.
Maureen had put on a huge spread for tea that evening. Knowing that a new guest would be arriving the arga had been working overtime cooking many a dish for the evening meal.
The conversation throughout the meal had been light hearted and cheerful. On one or two occasions though had Daniel noticed a sinister undertone to a passing comment made by one or another of the assembled dinners? It must have been his imagination, no more.
At ten thirty the sun had set and at last the sky was begging to darken. Tonight was the eve of the summer solstice, the longest day. It was at midnight that Daniel awoke. What had made him he could not say, but something had. Next to him his wife was sleeping her breathing rhythmic and deep. From outside he thought that he had heard voices, but on investigation no one was present. He put his head back down on the pillow next to Lesleys, and started once again to drift off back into sleep.
Then he woke again. This time something had changed. Lesley was no longer beside him. His first reaction was panic, then as his brain steadied down into a more logical thought pattern he came to the conclusion that she may have only gone to the kitchen to get herself a drink of water. After all it was a hot night.
He waited.
Nothing.
After a few moments, he could not tell how long had past, then a voice floated through the open window. “Lesley,” the way the single word was called out it gave the impression of someone calling out into the unknown and not someone talking face to face with another.
He took no notice of the voice, putting it down to his imagination or a half curious dream, but when the voice called out again, he sat up.
Lesley was the name of one of the girls who had been involved in the incident that had left such a scar on the residents of the village. For some reason a fear gripped him, not for himself, but for his wife.
Swinging his legs out of the bed he peered out of the window. The moonlight was strong, it cast a large shadow of the ash tree on the apex of the hill.
Below them standing in the middle of the farmyard was a figure, a small female figure. Was it she who spoke. As he watched her she stood motionless. The voice called the name again, though it was her speaking he could swear her lips never moved. Then her right arm lifted making a beckoning motion.
Who was she speaking too?
Should he investigate? Or at least wake Morris, he must know who she was? Then terror overcome him senses, he could not believe what his eyes where seeing. Lesley, hi wife was walking across the yard toward the women, then ignoring her she walked straight past the strange figure and away up the hill.
Quickly he put on his trousers and ran out of the room. The situation called for immediate action, Mr and Mrs Bell needed to be woken, with just the slightest of a pause outside their bedroom door Daniel knocked then entered. “Morris, so sorry but…” the moonlight streamed in through the window illuminating the bed, the bed which lay empty.
Never, not even in the trenches had he felt so alone and afraid.
So quick was his assent of the staircase he slipped falling down the last few steps. Now in the kitchen he saw the front door wide open, he made a line for it.
“Daniel.” A voice said from behind him. Stopping only to turn and look he saw no one. Who had spoken?
Once out of the farm yard and onto the track he could see Lesley at the top of the hill, following her about twenty yards behind was the girl dressed in black. He couldn’t be sure before, but now the girl who had been outside the yard was the same figure who had been following him over the past weeks. The revelation only spurred he pursuit, his wife, he knew instinctively was in danger.
As he raced up the hill the figure of Lesley disappeared out of sight. She had past over the hill, followed by the strange girl.
Over the panting of heavy breathing he thought he could hear voices, several voices chanting. Still he ran up toward the great ash tree. Also in the air was a smell, not an unpleasant small like most on the farm, but the smell of something cooking.
As he peered over the top of the hill he looked down into the valley, a sense of shock, horror and fear ran over his entire body.
Far below there were a circle of thirteen people equally spaced around the well, Satan’s Well. “Oh my God?” he said in a quiet voice. In the circle burnt three fires. Each making up the corner of an equilateral triangle. Lesley was walking toward them. Did she not know what she was doing?
As she reached the well she suddenly woke from what must have been some kind of trance. Where was she? That she already knew, the last night she had seen such a sceptical as this had been the last night she’d stayed in then village. That night years ago she knew she could not stay here any longer. In that split second the awful events of that night came flooding back into her memory…
It had all happened one fine sunny week. Just as the weather had been of late. The two of them were inseparable, they did everything together. Both she and her best friend were the two beauties of the village, as a matter of fact, for several miles around. They sheared everything, well almost everything.
One Sunday morning both dressed in their Sunday best they walked home from church together. Their parents were deep in conversation on some subject which was of complete disinterest too the girls. They walked on ahead, both were now in their sixteenth summer and attracting the eye of the young males for miles around. No matter what happened though, never was there a secret between them, not until that Sunday.
A roar broke the quiet morning air, the noise was then followed by a bright red open topped roadster. The heads of everyone out doors turned too looked upon it. In the drivers seat sat a young man in his early twenties. The oiled back brown hair stuck his head extenuating the chisel like good looks gave him the appearance of a boys own story book hero. All the men’s eyes looked at shining red car with a desire to one day own. In the shorter term even just to sit in this one and maybe, maybe taken for a spin would be enough for the village folk.
For the two girls though the car held little or no interest, only the man seated in the cockpit held their attention. Both had similar feelings for this man and simultaneously they approached him.
Both knew that if they were to marry any man (which would be the normal cause of events) then this dashing young man was a prime candidate for matrimony. He held a much prospect of a comfortable life then the farm hands and labourers they would meet at the annual village dance. Both set out their stalls that morning to try and capture husband, both were now rivals.
Over the next week the two friends didn’t see a lot of each other, both distracted by the quarry they had set their sights on.
The motor car driving stranger took both of them out individually on more then one occasion, Lisa was told that her friend had been blackening her name, so she did likewise.
Was fare in love and war? Were did friendship enter into the equation?
On two occasions she saw Sonya but only from a distance and then didn’t speak. Lisa pretended not to have noticed her and carried on her way in any case making no attempt to communicate.
It all came to a head the following Saturday night. She had arranged to meet with her young man, Nick Old was his name, she didn’t care very much for his name, he had a car and money. She stood at the crossroads with her suitcase alongside her.
Sneaking out of the house had been easy, no one was in that night. She had left a note explaining the situation and telling all that she would be in touch by letter within the week.
The evening was a warm one, she sat on her case, the walk up the road from the village had played heavy on her feet. The heels of her stilettos dug into her feet like chisels.
It was then the horror of the situation was realised as a familiar voice was heard over her shoulder, “What on earth are you doing here?” Sonya’s voice was full of distain.
“What am I doing here?” Lisa replied turning to see her old friend, “What are you doing here mores the like?”
“I,” she replied, voice full of self importance, “am here waiting for my boyfriend, were going away together you know.”
“And who might that be?” the question was a loaded one.
“Nick, of course.” A self satisfied smile appear on her face.
“No, no your not. I’m here to meet him.”
“What would he want with you, you, you evil cow.”
“And what’s that suppose to mean?”
Sonya felt fully justified with the comment, “You tried poisoning him against me, he told me that, and now you just happen to turn up here when we’re going away together. You’re pathetic.”
“Me?” a look of disbelief was on Lisa’s face. “you more like, you evil bitch. You found out about us then, then got jealous. I always get the best men first, you only get my cast offs, well your not having this one.” Sonya screamed, then from nowhere she pulled out a long bladed knife from her bag.
The next moment Lisa was running toward the wood being chased by Sonya. What had happened, why was she running for her life, from her friend? All she knew was that it was happening, this wasn’t a dream. Her shoes where now lost, long gone somewhere in the undergrowth. She breached the boundary of the wood, but did not stop. To hide from her friend who had obviously gone mad with jealously she must get deeper into the trees. She saw Sonya follow her trail, but thankfully run straight past the point were she hidden in a ditch.
Once she was out of sight the time had come to double back out of the wood and meet Nick.
As she stepped out onto the path Lisa heard a scream. Suddenly she panicked, that cry of terror like it had been Sonya in distress. Indecision filled her mind, in the end it was an overwhelming feeling of consciousness that won her over, Sonya, her friend was in trouble.
As quickly as she dare Lisa took the path which Sonya had followed. Through the trees there see could see a point of light. The sun had set now so what was the light?
As she reached the other side of the wood instinctively her legs stopped obeying a sense of self preservation which had overcome her. Through the foliage she could make out the ash tree which stood on farmer Bells land while in the valley below she could make out a circle of bodies. The figures were all dressed in black their head obscured by some kind of hood. In the centre of the human circle was the old well.
Outside of the circle burned three fires equally spaced forming a triangle.
Lisa watched in horror as Sonya continued to walk toward them. Should she run out after her friend and bring her back, save her, but she didn’t.
Something told her that showing herself would mean death.
One of the hooded figures turned to see Sonya walking toward them. The circle broke allowing her through. The young woman was trapped in the circle of linking hands. The black clad figures closed in on her. Slowly she edged toward the well, then falling backwards over the wall her cry’s echoed for what seemed like an eternity.
As she fell one of the figures shouted, “No…” at the same time throwing off his hood.
Lisa struggled to see who it was under the cowl, the light was fading and the distance between her and the well was great. Not only that but some of the other figures obscured the view, then there was the glare from the fires the voice though she did recognise, it was a voice she knew too well, her best friends father Morris Bell. Another of the assembled ring also took off their hoods.
When she saw the other member of the ring's face she took in a sharp intake of breath. The second person she recognised instantly, it was her own father.
Shocked, she knew the only thing to do was to run, run and keep running.
What had happened their? Was it some kind of Devil Worship, Satanic rights? It was called Satan’s well, was that why?
The next morning she stepped off a train at platform two of hull Paragon Station. It was then that she decided that a new life was needed. She would live and work here, a new life, new name. From that moment Lisa no longer existed, she would be known as Lesley.
How had she come to be in this place? The last thing she could recall was lying next to her husband in bed under freshly washed crisp white sheets. Instantly she knew where she was, but still didn’t understand why.
For a moment she looked beyond the assembled hooded figures, high up on the dale she could she Daniel, then below him another figure now walking slowly down the hill. As far as Lesley could make out it was a teenage girl. Had she just been dreaming about her, or had they known each other before.
Slowly the circle closed in on her, frantically she looked around searching for an escape route, and none was evident.
Against her back she could feel the cold hard stone of the well.
Then all of a sudden a gap opened in the circle, a route to liberty, she thought. Then through the gap came the figure of a women all dressed in black.
For the first time Lesley saw the features of her face, cold white, eyes dead to the world.
It was the face of her oldest friend, Sonya Bell.
From the top of the hill Daniel stood watching in horror at the sceptical below. Quickly he began to run down the hill shouting, “No, stop, are you mad?” his cries where to no avail.
The circle closed in on Lesley. Daniel couldn’t see what was happening, his only concern was to reach his wife before it was too late.
Suddenly the circle of black figures reached the well he heard a scream then all plunged into darkness as all three fires went out.
He stopped running, his bearings were lost. All he could see was one thing.
When he awoke he was cold and damp. For a moment his mind went back to Flanders. The sun was just appearing over the horizon. All his clothes where damp with due. His body shivered with cold then realising were he was and what had happened the previous night he gave another involuntary shiver.
He was lying under the canopy of the great ash tree, his back ached as did his head.
As he sat up his two tied eyes saw something down in the valley. Getting to his feet to obtain a better view he could see a figure lying next to the well.
Moments later he was kneeling beside the body of a woman. From the rising and falling of her rib cage he could see she was alive. Placing a hand on her shoulder he rolled her over, the face was that of Lesley’s.
“Lesley, Lesley are you alright?”
As she turned to look at him a look of terror came into her eyes. The two grey eyes looked past him over his right shoulder.
Daniel looked around, he could see nothing apart from the ash tree in the distance, but she only saw the figure of her old friend. Sonya was standing over them both.
