{"id":1138,"date":"2020-09-03T23:09:03","date_gmt":"2020-09-03T23:09:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/?p=1138"},"modified":"2023-01-28T15:02:05","modified_gmt":"2023-01-28T15:02:05","slug":"morning-on-crow-hill","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/fiction\/morning-on-crow-hill\/","title":{"rendered":"A Morning on Crow Hill"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Fiction<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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A Morning on Crow Hill<\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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Nora Watkins is the wife of a 17th Century village gravedigger. When the night-watchman kills a mysterious figure it falls on Nora to retrieve the body \u2013 but on Crow Hill, things are never what they seem…<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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Her most fearsome maledictions, as she trudged to the rhythm of a squeaking barrow, were directed at her husband, Thomas Watkins.<\/strong>\u00a0<\/p>\n

Beneath the nearly dawn sky she grumbled at her husband\u2019s uselessness, grumbled at his drunkenness and grumbled upon his very existence. The wheel of his barrow squeaked because it had not been oiled, though he had made such grandiloquent assurances to her that the recent quiet period had provided time for checking and repairing all the equipment he regularly used for interring the dead. With no deaths in the parish, a gravedigger must keep occupied, Thomas Watkins had said, and solemnly added, it wouldn\u2019t hurt to pray that the lord may call one or two of the faithful to his side sooner rather than later, or at least allow a brief sprinkling of dysentery or apoplexy to waft through the village upon a malodorous breeze.<\/p>\n

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Nora Watkins stopped. She took a moment to catch her breath before starting up the incline of Crow Hill, making sure the lantern that hung from the end of the barrow was still secure and the shovel remained fastened across the handles. With a deep breath she continued, and the squeaking wheel started again but less frequently as her speed became hampered by the scrappy and uneven desire line that followed the rise in the ground.<\/p>\n

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What annoyed her most was that her husband would hardly even care to know the details of the morning\u2019s events by the time he\u2019d sobered up later that day. She could picture the scene; Thomas would clatter about the cottage, oblivious \u2013 save for vague recollections of drinking at the Black Horse Inn with the Reverend Lucius and all the other pontificators of the village. Nora knew Thomas might feel sheepish and sick from the ale for a time, but no longer a time than it took him to empty his chamber pot, give her a peck on the cheek, then smoke his first bowl of the day. He would show no real gratitude that she had done his job and collected a corpse. If indeed a corpse it was.<\/p>\n

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Nora had answered the knock upon their cottage door though it was well after midnight. Stood in her night gown, Nora made assurances to the watchman that her husband would soon be roused. At first Nora had feared that the watchman, whose name was Mr Blake, would wait upon her husband and she would have to confess that Mr Watkins was stewed and oiled and thoroughly bed bound, but the watchman only appeared relieved to have delivered his message. Mr Blake nodded stiffly. It was then Nora noticed how white his face was and how it was smattered with drops of blood, all the more scarlet against his pale skin.<\/p>\n

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\u201cIs there something the matter?\u201d she asked<\/p>\n

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\u201cI have shot a man, Mrs Watkins,\u201d he said once again, his gaze falling on the space between them both. \u201cIt is not something a man, even a night watch, ought do without his soul entreating the mind to consider the action which God must see so clear.\u201d His eyes continued to look at something which wasn\u2019t there.<\/p>\n

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\u201cRight. And you\u2019re sure this man be dead?\u201d Nora frowned.<\/p>\n

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The question seemed to return Mr Blake to the present moment. \u201cIt may be thirty years or more since I fought upon the battlefield but I can assure you my aim is still as true, such as this office demands.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cOf course,\u201d she agreed. \u201cI only ask with it being such a moonless night.\u201d Nora knew that during the war Blake was a cook and had likely killed more men with his boiled chicken than any musket. \u201cAnd you say the body is upon Crow Hill?\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cYes.\u201d His hand trembled as he wiped at the moisture which had bubbled above his lip. \u201cNeighbouring villages have reported some minor thefts these past few days and then tonight Mr Waite on Oak Lane saw a light coming from the stones upon the hill. I went to investigate and on discovering the interloper I had no choice but to fire upon the strange creature.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cStrange creature?\u201d<\/p>\n

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Mr Blake nodded. \u201cYour husband shall see. The garments of this man were outlandish. He is probably Dutch. See that Mr Watkins collects the body and places it in the barn behind the Blacksmith\u2019s. I shall summon the Sheriff. In the meantime, I think it best that a grave be dug. Tell your husband.\u201d The night watchman nodded curtly, retrieved his lantern from the doorway and left.<\/p>\n

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Nora felt a gloom. Her husband would be aware of nothing for hours. She stood in her kitchen and tried to recall when she had last visited the stones but couldn\u2019t. No one ever went there, save the daft or deranged. \u00a0<\/p>\n

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At the top of Crow Hill the stones stood as they had for thousands of years; silent, solemn and content in their remoteness. What was different on this morning was the body of a man, his back slumped against one of the large standing monoliths, wearing clothes that appeared to Nora to be made of pure silver. Even in the dim light and the glow from her lantern his garments sparkled. Her first thought was that the night watchman had shot an angel and not a man. She looked about her but there was only the loneliness of the spot and the shiver of dawn proceeding from a split in the clouds. She took the lantern from the barrow and cautiously approached the stones to get a better look at the fallen angel.<\/p>\n

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Nora had such a powerful inclination to reach out and touch the material of his outfit, bloodied or not. If spring moonlight could be woven, she thought, then this is the cloth it would make. Even his boots were lustrous like valentine frost. Nora took a step nearer. The eyes of the man were closed and long hair obscured his face. She knew that something was not right about the scene. Any idiot, apart from the bumptious Mr Blake, could tell that this stranger was no simple thief \u2013 this was something more. Nora sighed, knowing well that the corpse, indeed the whole matter, would be buried and dismissed and, like as not, the menfolk would be congratulating themselves upon their work in the Black Horse before the day had ended. \u00a0<\/p>\n

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\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d spoke the corpse with a jolt of its head.<\/p>\n

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Nora stumbled back and into the wheelbarrow which tipped forward so that she fell upon the ground and sat face to face with the silver man only a few paces in front of her.<\/p>\n

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\u201cMy stomach hurts so much,\u201d the corpse went on, not seeming to notice the blood. \u201cIt must be that stupid homebrew they were passing around last night. Then this morning I just wanted to sleep but they dragged me up this hill and now I\u2019m having some sort of a seizure.\u201d<\/p>\n

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The man breathed heavily and raised his head to see Nora staring at him. He did not seem surprised. He nodded at her and breathed again.<\/p>\n

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\u201cI\u2019ve come to collect you,\u201d Nora told him, her voice gentle but more from confusion than benevolence.<\/p>\n

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\u201cWonderful. You\u2019re not from the magazine, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cI\u2019m from the village.\u201d She pointed a finger back behind her, not taking her eyes from him. \u201cI\u2019m the gravedigger\u2019s wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

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The man turned his head about him. \u201cThese stones. I don\u2019t like them. They made me feel bad as soon as I got here.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cWhere is it you are from?\u201d Nora asked, her voice now a whisper.<\/p>\n

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He coughed and winced with pain. \u201cWe were coming from Hull and on our way to Cambridge for the next gig. Dave, that\u2019s our manager, suggested we stop off here for a photoshoot for Popfizz Magazine. He thought it would add a nice mystical ambience. The man\u2019s an idiot but the others don\u2019t see it. We\u2019re on the up. That\u2019s what I keep telling them.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Nora could understand some of the words but the meaning was lost to her. \u201cThese stones,\u201d she told him, \u201care bad. Many years ago, before I was born, in the time of Good Queen Bess, witches gathered here and worshipped the devil, so they say. The devil\u2019s hand has touched these stones and things aren\u2019t right upon this hill \u2013 never have been.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cI shouldn\u2019t be here,\u201d the man said shaking his head. \u201cI ducked behind that big stone over there, you know, to relieve myself. One minute it was daylight and then the next thing I knew it was dark and everyone had disappeared.\u201d<\/p>\n

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For a time the two figures said nothing. Nora only stared, trying to understand what was before her. At last the man spoke again. \u201cMy name is Kenny Fry,\u201d he told her, with a faint smile obscured by pain. \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cI\u2019m Nora Watkins.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cAnd you\u2019re the gravedigger\u2019s wife?\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cYes,\u201d she said with a nod. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t be here either. My husband is sleeping off the drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Kenny sighed. \u201cPlease, tell me; what year is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cThe year sir?\u201d she said to check her understanding.<\/p>\n

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\u201cYes. Because I don\u2019t think it\u2019s the same year that it started out as this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cWell this morning, tis Thursday, the twenty ninth day of March. The year is 1674 of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

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He shook his head. \u201cIt\u2019s supposed to be 1974.\u201d<\/p>\n

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The sun had risen further to meet the morning and Nora could see the blood more clearly upon the silver man now. \u201cThe night watch has shot you. He has sent me to collect your body,\u201d she told him. Nora knew that Kenny Fry could do her no harm but still she felt afraid.<\/p>\n

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\u201cNo,\u201d he said, his head barely raised. \u201cI\u2019m supposed to be on tour. We\u2019ve got a dozen more gigs to play. I\u2019m in a band. I\u2019m the guitarist in this great little band and we\u2019re finally getting somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Nora did not understand. His words made sense but only like a dream made sense in the moments after waking. Even when she thought she had grasped each sound he made, its meaning suddenly dissolved. It was the stones. They were the cause of it. Of the corruption. It was the stones that had conjured Kenny Fry; that much Nora understood.<\/p>\n

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\u00a0\u201cListen!\u201d he declared. He lifted his head and the hair fell from his face. He was handsome, Nora thought. His skin, though pale, seemed to glow. \u201cI can hear the others. They\u2019re looking for me. They\u2019re calling my name.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Nora listened but heard nothing more than the wind beginning to skirl about the stones. There was no one. Kenny Fry had slumped again and was murmuring to himself. She stood and straightened the barrow, then searched inside the leather pouch that hung upon one of its handles. She took hold of the small knife that her husband always kept inside it, along with the cloth he used to wipe the sweat and muck from his face.<\/p>\n

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\u201cThe others are looking for me,\u201d Kenny said again. Nora was stood in front of him. \u201cI\u2019m in a band,\u201d he told her.<\/p>\n

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\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said as she lunged the knife into the side of his neck and dragged it as far as the blunt blade would allow.<\/p>\n

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A strained gurgle and cry issued from Kenny\u2019s mouth, but it took no more than a moment for him to die. Nora made sure that her cloth caught the blood. She then managed to guide and tip the body and drag it on to the barrow. When she had wheeled the corpse of Kenny Fry to the centre of the stone circle, she went to each of the stones in turn, wiping the blood from her cloth on to the boulders. It would be the only way to mollify the dark spirits of the stones \u2013 it had always been done that way. When she had finished, she did not bother to say a prayer. There was little point.<\/p>\n

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Whilst wiping blood upon each stone, Nora had considered what to do and had decided not to take the corpse of Kenny Fry to the barn behind the blacksmith\u2019s. It would do no good. It was best that the body be kept among the stones. She would explain things to her husband and he would understand. He\u2019d have to. It was as Nora began to dig the grave in the stone circle that the wind seemed to change. She could hear distant voices calling out for Kenny. There appeared to be a sudden flash in the sky. Nora stopped and looked about. The air smelt different. Stood a little way in front of her were three men with long hair and dressed in bright, shining clothes.<\/p>\n

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Writer & archivist for @occultaria
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More stories ><\/a><\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\tA Glazed White Face\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/h2>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\tCould the harmless effigy of a cat hold such sinister power? For god's sake, beware the stare from the Glazed White Face.\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div><\/article><\/div>
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\tDust and Shadow\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/h2>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\tDominic Thresher, Consultant in Obstetrics and purveyor of humiliation to the unfortunate, finds a different audience in this story by Paul Radcliffe...\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div><\/article><\/div>
\"intoxication\"<\/a><\/div>
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\tIntoxication\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/h2>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\tDaniel\u2019s relationship with his roommates has deteriorated, along with his dangerous relationship with drugs and alcohol. There is a high price to pay, however, when Daniel\u2019s anger spills over one last time\u2026\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div><\/article><\/div><\/div><\/div>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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Nora Watkins is the wife of a 17th Century village gravedigger. When the night-watchman kills a mysterious figure it falls on Nora to retrieve the body \u2013 but on Crow Hill, things are never what they seem.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":123450,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"elementor_header_footer","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"no-sidebar","site-content-layout":"page-builder","ast-site-content-layout":"","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"disabled","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2028],"tags":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/A-Morning-on-Crow-Hill.png?fit=2000%2C1466&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1138"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1138"}],"version-history":[{"count":35,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1138\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":124327,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1138\/revisions\/124327"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/123450"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1138"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1138"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1138"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}