Writing for Fun
June 2017
Out Of The Mist - Jenni Bowers
It was so cold this December evening and Maisie had everything thermal on as she walked onto the moor to gather the sheep, they’d anticipated her calling and the dogs had little trouble rounding them up as they came out of the mist – it was really eerie but of course she was used to it – her life had been spent in this beautiful area and when she’d inherited her dads farm and Les had agreed to leave the city and learn about sheep rearing and farming she’d been overjoyed.
Their city lives ended abruptly, with much well-wishing from office and police colleagues they set out in their late forties, very much overweight and telling everyone they’d soon be slim with all that hill walking, they moved into the large, rambling building which her mum still called home.
At ninety three, Gertrude was quite active still, she milked the goats regularly and although her arthritic fingers hurt before she began the task she swore that after the exercise they felt better and the goats milk kept her digestive system healthy, she put her longevity down to this and the wonderful fresh air near Grassington, their closest village.
Maisie felt strange though, something felt wrong and then she heard it the faint wailing noise coming from the far field near the barn, ‘Oh drat,’ she thought, ‘I need to get this lot down the hill, but suppose some rambler has fallen and hurt themselves and ended up in the barn – better get Les up here to take a look’. Now at least the oft moaned about mobile phone would be useful although mostly one couldn’t get a signal out here – still she pressed the number and Les soon replied.
‘What is it love – I was just mucking out Lulu (their granddaughter’s pony ) Marie will be bringing Rhiana over tomorrow and I want the animal all nice and clean for her to ride.’
Maisie explained quickly and Les was persuaded to clean up and come quickly up the two acre field behind the house and bring a flask and blanket in case there is an injured person doing the wailing.
Thank goodness I’ve got fit since living up here for five years Les thought as he trudged up the hill – leading Lulu – just in case this ‘person’ needed bringing down. He met Maisie and together they walked up to the barn, by now the wailing was louder and they exchanged worried glances – suppose they’d have to call the air-ambulance out? – this had happened on numerous occasions when so many ‘walkers’ discovered the delights of Yorkshire Dales were often too arduous and heart attack or broken ankle ensued, people would never learn to prepare properly quite often and it was exasperating to Maisie and Les who’d joined a proper group and learned to walk safely in this area.
Reaching the barn they split up and as Maisie circled outside, Les entered the cold, smelly place where the sheep sheltered on really bad days, dark and damp with bats hanging from the ceiling it was not a place Maisie often ventured into, except to see the swallows when they nested in the spring and try to clean it out once a year.
Nothing outside so Maisie leaned in and called to Les – suddenly he shouted – ‘Oh my God – Maisie call the police quickly’.
‘What is it dear?’ as she pressed the number for the local constable PC Eldon, whom they knew well with his patrolling the lanes watching for sheep rustlers and drinking with him in the local Inn on occasions – he was a nice chap about thirty years old and six feet tall, who’d been posted to Grassington from Glasgow, Scottish brogue aside, they understood each other well.
‘Don’t look love, it’s a body and not pleasant at all!’
‘Oh no are you sure it’s dead? Is it a man or woman?’
‘I think it’s a man, but hard as it’s wearing shorts, could be a muscular woman.’
P C Eldon arrived half an hour later – by then Maisie had left Les guarding the body and taken the sheep home. So she accompanied the policeman, carrying hot soup in a flask and sandwiches for them all as she guessed this would take a while to sort out.
‘Les did try CPR but it was obvious the poor thing had been dead awhile Paul,’ Maisie explained. She’d watched and counted as Les gave his first aid training a work out but the person had no face – it looked like a shooting, a terrible sight and she’d been sick when she first looked at the cadaver.
But the wailing? How long had this person been dead, minutes? Hours? The wailing could be heard by both of them as they approached the barn so surely not long and should have been alive when Les entered? They were shocked and upset and trying to understand – feeling they should have been able to help the deceased.
Paul Eldon soon rang for support and the air ambulance arrived, needing lights to show where to land by this time as the winter night had drawn in with a very chilly wind blowing. ‘Thank goodness no rain or sleet yet, it’s been forecast for tonight,’ Paul told them.
Life went on as normal for the couple with Les investing in a quad bike to round up the sheep more quickly and save his legs, but a few months later with spring lambs in the fields and longer evenings, Maisie again went to round her sheep up for their annual trim, the shearer was happily ensconced in the kitchen with her mother fussing over him, a nice lad called Trevor, about twenty-five and as Maisie joked ‘Wish I was 25 again and could take him on,’ ruggedly handsome and extremely strong, his huge biceps impressed all who gazed upon his lovely brown eyes and sleek black hair.
Suddenly, the wailing began again! ‘No,’ she thought – it can’t be again! The person who’d been murdered in their barn back in December had been identified as a local drug dealer who’d tried to cheat his suppliers, a fool and not many tears were lost over him when they heard this news.
Apprehensively she climbed up to the barn. ‘It’s broad daylight but still the wailing goes on,’ she muttered looking all round her and calling the three border collies close to her. This time she entered the barn immediately, it was flooded with light as Les had knocked half the wall down after the discovery of the body in December – ‘We’ll make it less hospitable to anyone passing this way, it’s now open to the wind and rain but still ok for the sheep to shelter,’ he explained.
However, apart from the smell there was nothing there so Maisie called the dogs, Bruce, Milly and Cola and began to depart, but the wailing began again. Halting in her tracks she again looked all round her, then sent Bruce to search the upper fields – used to doing this for sheep he was their fastest dog. The wailing stopped. It’s no good, she decided, Bruce hasn’t found anything it must be wind in the roof of the barn although it didn’t appear to come from that direction – where did it come from though?’
She followed the flock back to the farm and watched Trev’ as he worked, telling him and her mother about the mysterious wailing.
Suddenly Gertie exclaimed loudly, ‘Oh, now I remember, a young lass was murdered up the back hill in about 1856 and the story goes that she still wails now and then if someone is hurt, it’s really weird but I think you should go looking again.’
They looked at her. ‘Are you serious mum? Sounds like old wives stuff and all that and I had a good look round, even Brucy found nothing.’
Debating went on for an hour, by then Les had returned from the pub with their son Gordon. ‘Ok, Maisie, we’ll go with the dogs and really search the fields in the morning as it’s dark now, Gordon could do with a good hike anyway.’
After enjoying a hearty full English breakfast Les and Gordon took the dogs and walked over the hills, scouring the landscape as they too could hear the wailing, approaching the barn they stopped suddenly. ‘It can’t be a ghost it’s broad daylight,’ Gordon exclaimed.
Les caught hold of Bruce as they all gazed up at the figure of a young woman hanging from the barn door. ‘Quick dad, cut her down, do you have a knife?’ Gordon had leapt forward to grab her legs and hold her up but his arms went round fresh air – ‘Oh my God, dad did you see that?’
But Les was leaning against the wall gasping for breath. ‘Get ambulance, heart attack, quick son.’