A Change In The Weather

Chapter 3: Something stirred

By local reckoning, the white windmill had stood the test of time by West Ketton Marsh at the edge of Bracken Wood for at least three hundred years, but nobody could say with any real certainty. In any case, it had been there for as long as the villagers cared to remember, always in a tumbledown state, with sad ruined sails and a dilapidated roof that sagged in the middle.

It was cold and the early light from the morning sun grew in the east. Tendrils of mist crept silently along the footpath and across the fenced garden, drifting and swirling just above the ground, giving the impression that the mist was somehow alive and intelligent, seemingly going against the direction of the wind which would, of-course, be impossible under normal circumstances. As it was, the mist continued to creep over the garden and around the windmill, in its own sinister way.

The dim yellow haze of the sun was gradually brightening on the eastern horizon by the minute. Soon, the mist would lift as the warmth of the sun brought its influence to bear on the cold morning. But for now, there was not a sound to be heard. In the slight fog of the morning, the waterway was as quiet as the proverbial church mouse.

‘Wendle! Come on boy. Walkies!’

The words rudely shattered the cathedral-like silence.

A scruffy-looking dog shot out of the doorway, forcing a flock of frightened crows to take to flight into the mist.

As if from nowhere, an old man with a white beard appeared from the shadows, and started to walk briskly along the path. He hadn’t got very far when he paused, shook his head, rummaged around in his pockets, turned around and walked back to the door and locked it.

He finally walked off, with a slight stoop, in the direction of the dog. Even though he carried a walking stick, he gave the impression that he seldom used it, and walked with the air of a man of much younger years.

The dog ran to and fro, wagging its tail playfully. Eventually they both wandered off along the footpath until they disappeared from view into the trees.

* * * * *

In the centre of the wood something strange was happening.

The wind had changed direction and the breeze was quickly turning into a gale, blowing from the east. The rain that had started as a light shower fell harder as a mass of black storm clouds gathered ominously overhead.

The stone wall that had encircled Bracken Barrow for hundreds of years still stood proud, even though brambles, nettles and ivy thrived in between its many tumbledown gaps. Like a circle of protection, it remained, guarding its ancient secret with resolute silence.

Beyond the wall, in the heart of the wood, something was happening.

In the middle of the clearing on top of Bracken Barrow, a small circle of flowers had started to grow. Over the course of several seconds, like watching time-lapse video footage, they had fully and miraculously bloomed.

The ground buzzed with tiny vibrations and a strange smell filled the air almost like an electrical charge. Except that, rather oddly, nothing had been built in Bracken Wood since the discovery of electricity.

A fork of lightning struck the ground with an ear-splitting crack, leaving in its wake a trail of steam and smoke that issued from the sodden earth. A deep rumble of thunder rolled across the ashen sky as dark clouds obscured the sun. Lightning struck again, a brief flash here and there silhouetting trees and branches.

And then - as if from nowhere - a lightning flash revealed the figures of an old man and a dog.

The old man clambered over the remains of the crumbling wall, carrying his walking stick above him almost as if it were an umbrella with an invisible canopy. Even though he was thoroughly drenched to the skin, it didn’t seem to bother him, and he began to slowly climb the wet grassy dome of the barrow.

The dog stood under a tree, looking quite miserable. The lightning striking down nearby didn’t seem to perturb it. Instead, it gave a vigorous shake and trotted over to a nearby bush, which seemed to offer marginally better protection from the rain.

Meanwhile the old man, who now stood high on the summit of the barrow, grasped the handle of the walking stick and held it aloft. His lips moved as he mouthed some words, but whatever they were, they remained a mystery as the crashing thunder and driving rain rendered them silent.

And then, the dark clouds that had gathered above the barrow started frantically swirling and churning like a seething whirlpool in the sky, curling and spiralling, twisting and surging faster and faster, around and around. Suddenly, without warning, a blast of lighting struck down from the centre of the clouds, striking the walking stick and travelling through the body of the old man until the stream of electricity struck earth.

The entire area was bathed in a silent explosion of bright light.

When the light faded, there was no trace of the man, or curiously for that matter, his dog at all. And for a few brief moments the glade was unnaturally quiet. A few wisps of smoke were all that remained before the wind eventually blew them away into nothingness.

And then, almost as quickly as they had appeared, the swirling storm clouds drifted apart, and the rainfall became softer and less urgent until it stopped completely.

Piercing sunlight broke through the clouds and trees, illuminating the small ring of new flowers on top of Bracken Barrow…

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