The Awakening by Ray

At last!  A second offering from the Grosmont Writers!  This one is courtesy of Ray.  It's mysterious and more than a little sinister, and we hope it's the beginning of something much longer.  Ray, you'd better be at home slaving away over the next installment or there'll be trouble!

Don't forget to add a comment and/or click on Like, Tweet or Google+ it!  Thank you.

 

 

The Awakening

By

Ray

His eyes opened. The white ceiling looked back at him… Where was he? …Who was he? …He had been walking… walking... yes but to where? He had been on his way to work… No… he had been on his way back home... Home... to whom…? From where? The work had been dirty. He remembered that much… He lifted his hands… but they were clean.

  How long had he been lying here? He heard voices outside… distant mumbling voices that did not sound familiar… voices… who had said the fond farewells to him as he went to work that morning... It was that morning that he had gone to work… wasn’t it...?

  He closed his eyes and the darkness enabled him to see more clearly. He was walking along the old waggonway. It was all so familiar. He felt tired…. well you would do after a twelve hour shift at the Dolly… The Dolly… That’s where he had spent his last twelve hours… hewing coal and swallowing coal dust. He heard a whistle from the other side of the hedge as the coal wagons from his efforts were hauled towards the town by a panting black engine. Hannah would have his tea ready when he returned. The bairns would be playing outside the front door. It was much better in the summer when there were still a few hours of daylight when he returned from work… How different in the winter when he left home early in the morning in the darkness, worked for twelve hours in the darkness and then returned home in the darkness. The darkness… oppressive…

  He opened his eyes to rid himself of the darkness… He looked again at the ceiling… He turned his head slowly to survey his situation and his neck ached. It must have been a heavy shift. He usually didn’t suffer from aches and pains. How old was he…? He was still a young man. Closing his eyes he remembered that the Dolly had been his second pit. He had started as a putter at the Peggy when he was fourteen. He had worked at that for about four years, building up his stamina and insensitivity to the pain before he progressed to the coal face as a hewer. He had met Hannah about the same time on a Sunday outing organised by the Chapel… They had started walking out and it was not long before they were being married in the same chapel... and only seven months later that young Tom was being christened. It wouldn’t be long before Tom would be going along with him on his first shift. His life was mapped out for him but his sister Margaret’s was yet an open book. The teacher at the village school had told them that she was clever, but as a miner’s daughter what doors would be opened for her?

  He heard a voice… He thought that the voice was talking about him… He opened his eyes again and saw a man he did not know. He was young, tall and he wore a white coat. He was talking to a nurse… He thought it was a nurse but the white clad figure was wearing trousers… He looked at the figure and yes, the shape was that of a woman. They were saying that he was stable and the police would be coming soon to talk to him.

  He wondered why the police would want to talk to him... He had never crossed the boundaries of the law… apart from the odd poached rabbit.

  He closed his eyes again to greet familiarity. He thought about popping into the Three Horseshoes for a quick pint before his tea but walked on realising that one pint would lead to three. It was a fine night and he contemplated an hour on the allotment after his tea. He had a fine crop of taties and carrots this year, and Hannah would soon be making good use of them in the kitchen. He began to ache again and he opened his eyes. The room was stark and clinical. The voices continued a little way off and he was alone. A sudden thirst came over him. Looking around the room he saw a tap over a sink and he moved to fill the empty glass that was beside his bed with some water. He slipped out from beneath the sheet and taking the class he moved unsteadily towards the sink. Filling the glass he raised it to his lips and looking into the mirror he saw a man he did not know.

You Reap What You Sow by Tamsyn Naylor

Here is the first of what we hope willbe many great stories, poems and other pieces from various genres, posted herefor your delectation!  Thanks Tammy foryour bravery in being the first of us to put themselves forward!  Readers beware – this is a creepy one.  Please let us know your thoughts by adding acomment or clicking 'like'.

You Reap What You Sow

By

Tamsyn Naylor

I miss my life……I miss looking out of the window, sittingby the fire, pottering about humming to myself as I went about my ordinarylife. But that is far from ordinary now…

            Itall started quite subtly, just a feeling something was different, not quiteright. I would look out of the window as I dressed and glimpse, in the formingdewy mist creeping along the field, a slight movement, a shape merging into ashadow. The light was dim and shifting. Could it be a deer? It didn’t move nimblyor gracefully, didn’t really appear to be there at all.
            Afew days later, as I climbed the track behind my house, the sun beat down ontomy shoulders, the ground smelt warm from the late summer rays penetratingthrough the trees. As I walked on, following the path of a hover fly flittingbetween dandelion flowers, I heard a rustle, deep in the hedge. I know therewas something there, the faint cloud of its breath lit up against the dampvegetation. But I was alone...
            Thisuncertain feeling continued in my mind on several occasions after that.
            Theyear was turning; the mornings were more crisp and clear. I was pulling seedheads out in the garden one day, when the pig lumbered into view. It wassnuffling through the fallen leaves, looking for worms. That’s strange, Ithought, my neighbour would normally have told me if she was getting morelivestock. It was not alone, there were four or five, all different sizes butall intent on their grubbing. Two more appeared in the following week, gentlecreatures. I didn’t see my neighbour, didn’t get the chance to ask her aboutthe additions.
            Ispent a precious hour in the garden – tidying up before winter. As I pushed thebarrow of deads through the gate to the compost corner, I was startled to seethe rough turned over, exposed ground. Holes had appeared. In my pause I didnot hear them coming. I jolted as the gate smashed against the back of my legs,powered by the combined force of several large pigs gambolling into the field.I fell onto the bare sticky earth, cracking my skull on the corner of my barrowas I went, and lay motionless and limp. I sank into a motionless sleep.
            Thepigs carried on scurrying and romping, pulling at my clothes. As they scuffedunder my arms and sides, the soil started to slip and move, swallowing me intothe damp, leafy loam.

Winter came and the last of theleaves fluttered from the trees. I consciously felt the first frost and knew Ineeded to fill my belly with something. Moving over to the hedge, I slumpeddown onto the ground with tiredness and waited, waited for a morsel to pass meand quench my hunger. After quite some time had passed and a watery sun hadsunk below the level of the hill, a creature approached. As it passed thehedge, I clearly saw it carried something in its mouth. I couldn’t make it out– was it meat, a limp lifeless body? No it was stiff and pearlescent, a furlessmorsel.

            Asthe dog stopped, it carefully dropped its prey and began to dig. I recognisedthe dog as my own, my faithful happy friend who loved me beyond all else. Themany times, whilst out shopping, I recollected her smiling loyal eyes and wasreminded to bring her home her favourite – a pigs ear. But when, I thought, hadyou ever seen her eat them? Take them yes and relish them, laying in the hall withthe treat placed between her paws, coveting them.
            AsI watched the horror of the realisation dawned on me. They were my treats; theywere my pigs, planted by my own dog. My breath was panicky, I could not shout.I fell to the ground, my snout steadying me where I lay and I watched in horroras my dog covered over the ear, planting the seed of my destiny and trottedback up the field and into the comfort of my old home...

 

First thoughts...

I can't believe how well the group is going! We had our first gathering on 12th September, and have met up 6 times so far. The Crossing Club is a great venue for us - we have adopted a cosy corner where we can lose ourselves in great writing, supplemented with interesting ales.  It’s still early days, but we’ve got a hard-core of regulars already, some of whom have been writing for years, and some are newer to it but have become incredibly enthusiastic and prolific!

 I love the variety of themes and styles we have each week.  We’ve had interesting and comical autobiographies; we’ve had local history; we’ve had murder, romance, domestic violence, witches, wizards and, this week, a lesson in friendship and some mysterious pigs!

iPhone users, if you download Opuss from the app store, you can read Caroline’s excellent romantic serialised mini-epic, as well her quirky and often hilarious musings on life and death.  (Search for ‘the_rop’.)  You can also read my dark tales with surprising twists.  (Search for ‘antony’.)

New members are always welcome!  Our next meeting will be on Wednesday 5^th December at 8:30 in the Crossing Club at Grosmont.