Write Horizons

These stories are from a group of local writers, who meet in the area once a week. We write poems and stories some fact some fiction, enjoying one anothers company and sharing ideas and encouragement

I Wonder…

December thoughts

Once, long ago in Bethlehem a baby boy was born in a stable. This was not an ordinary boy but the son of God. Three wise men came to visit him with gifts of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh. Glory shone around as it was the most beautiful experience anyone could ever have.

Today I get have the same feeling again as I look in churches and at all the Christmas treasure. Christmas to me is a time of light, happiness and peace. I still get excited at opening my gifts on Christmas day, although I am 67 years old I feel like a little girl again. I love the atmosphere of Christmas, with family, friends and the giving and receiving of gentle hugs.

All Hallows Eve

It was 11.30pm on All Hallows Eve and I was walking home from the Halloween dance at the Vestry Hall. The sky was lit by a harvest moon with black clouds skidding across its face from time to time. Leaves rustled in the orchard as I walked passed. I had taken the short cut by the village church and at once begun to wish I hadn’t. The ancient Saxon tower glowed in the moonlight and cast an eerie presence on the scene. An old village legend recounted by old Mrs. Bloone at the dance rang in my ears. It had taken place in the reign of James 1 when Mathew Hapkins, witchfinder general, had come to the village and accused a local lass, Sarah Parish, of witchcraft. Mathew led the villagers in a chase, screaming and shouting at the terrified woman as she ran for sanctuary towards the church. Just before the porch door the mob caught her and dragged her screaming into the orchard and burnt her at the stake. It occurred to me that this incident had taken place on this very night of All Hallows Eve. Had I imagined it or had a distinct chill descended the air? I started to quicken my step. Was that a movement in the hedgerow? Perhaps it had not been a good idea to walk this way. What was I thinking, it is the 20th century after all! As I walked on an odious smell began to assail my nostrils. I couldn’t think what it was but it reminded me of burnt flesh.

Someone was behind me. I picked up my heels and began to run. The presence of what ever it was also quickened its pace. I weaved this way and that, stumbling off the path and into a cornfield. The cloud obscured the moon light and I heard a piecing scream. I ran as fast as my legs would allow me, my heart thumping in my chest as I thundered round the corner of the lane. I risked a glance behind me but fell over an old tree stump. I quickly picked myself up and ran the last few hundred yards towards my cottage door. Fumbling with my key and fear in every movement I at last fell in on the mat and slammed the door fast behind me. I dashed to the fire place and grabbed the old wooden cross from the mantelpiece and stood holding it by the door while singing in a weedy voice ‘rock of ages’. My scotch terrier, Jess, joined in my howling until I realised that all was still outside.

I fell gasping into the armchair with Jess on my lap. Whatever had chased me had gone but I held the cross tightly and gave thanks. I prepared to sit in the chair until dawn lit the sky and I made a resolution there and then never, ever to go to the village Halloween dance again!