Into the Forest

He wasn’t afraid because there was nothing to fear. He tucked up his hiking rucksack and carried on walking. Dry leaves and stones crunched under his boots and tall trees loomed on either side of him. A thick fog was rolling in and he felt a chill up his back.

The legends of the haunted forest filled his head. He didn’t believe them nor the recent stories of ghosts and demons. However, it was getting harder for him not feel like he was being watched. Were those footsteps in the distance? Was the creaking of the branches only the wind?

Wait….What was that fast moving shadow coming out of the fog?

 

 

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Growlery #WritePhoto #AtoZChallenge

Growlery; a place of refuge or sanctuary for use while one is out sorts or in ill humour. 

Kip, loud music pumping in his headphones, made his way down to the tiny beach, taking care to step correctly on the massive stones which often had hidden slippy parts. Walking across the rough sand stone mix, he ignored the clusters of tourists that were admiring the views in the little cove area.

He went passed the high waterfall that rushed over the jagged cliff face then streamed along to the sea in a surprisingly deep trench. He head to the largest of the caves far to his right and stood just inside.

More tourists were walking the short distance through the cave to the other side which was blocked by large rocks and the sea waves crashing on them. Most of the people were talking photos and talking, making dim echos along the roof.

Kip sat on his favourite rock that was close to the arched cave opening and was shaped as close enough to a low backed chair as a rock could be. He slipped his headphones off, paused the heavy metal German band he had been listening too. He heard the sea, the waves rushing around and the chatter of voices.

He picked up a small smooth stone and rubbed his fingers across it. He looked around, taking in the rough walls and the patches of sunlight. He knew this place so well. It was nicknamed Merlin’s Cave because the great wizard was said to have lived here underneath Tintagel Castle where King Arthur was born.

Kip loved all those legends and myths, he had grown up surrounded by them. All those knights, princesses, dragons, heroes, monsters, castles and sea adventures, they flowed in his blood just like Cornwall did. As a child he had played at being a knight and now almost an adult he still daydreamed of being one.

Merlin’s Cave though, was where he came to calm down. It was his escape to place and he found a peace here, listening to the rasping sea waves, the waterfall and all the echos in the cave. The tourists he would gladly do without and that’s why he timed his trips here to avoid the bulk of them. Two or three hours before Tintagel Castle closed and making sure the tide wasn’t in was the best time to come.

Living in the town of Tintagel, made access easy for Kip. His parents ran a local pub that often bed and breakfast rooms above and the three of them lived in the attached landlord’s cottage at the back. Kip worked in the pub when he wasn’t at school and he would take over the business in the future. He could never leave Cornwall.

Kip took a few deep breaths and watched the flow of tourists, they reminded him of the sea; always coming and going. Luckily, there wasn’t much of a beach here and no one really sat around or played in the sea for long. There were better beaches to visit for that kind of thing further around the coast. They were all here for the castle really, which stood on the edge of the cliffs, high above, the remaining walls sticking up from the long grass, hinting at a history long lost.

The last of the tourists slowly left, making their way over the massive stones and up the wooden staircase along the side of the cliff. Kip watched them, glad he was alone at last. He knew eventually two staff members would come, checking that everyone was off the grounds and then Kip would have to leave but they all knew him well enough not to hurry him away.

Kip took a few deep breaths and let everything out. He shut his eyes and thought about being carried away by the sea. He was drifting and nothing mattered as everything that he was feeling was gone, carried away on the waves.

 

(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2019/04/04/thursday-photo-prompt-threshold-writephoto/ with thanks).

 

Shoot Out #CCC

My English village has a strange legend. There’s a field with a small pathway running by it called High Noon Lane. Back in the 1800’s, an American cowboy arrived looking for a money lender that had stiffed him. It’s said they meet in that field at twelve PM and shot each other dead. The area was then named after that event.

As children it was believable and we would reenact the dual. As an adult, the legend stuck with me and I liked to think it was true, though there was no historical proof.

 

(Inspired by; https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2019/03/20/crimsons-creative-challenge-19/ with thanks).

Timeless #WritePhoto

It was a silly idea but it stuck in my head and what did I have to lose anyway? An afternoon getting lost, back tracking lots then finally finding the correct field. Though, it’s hard to say those hours were wasted because I actually enjoyed getting out of town and into the countryside for awhile.

I’m NOT going to start at the beginning, I’m sick of doing that with the doctors, nurses, support workers etc. I sound like a broken record in my head, stuck repeating the same lyrics over and over. Sorry for the use of cliche, but as I’ve found out things put plainly get more understood then some hyped up analogy.

To all those people and everyone else – family, friends, colleagues- they need to hear it to understand it, no matter how many times it takes. Also, they like to hear me being positive; ‘I’m okay,’ ‘I’m doing fine,’ ‘No, I don’t need help,’ ‘Thanks for your concern, I appreciation it.’

And all the while I’m just screaming in my head; ‘Can everyone just F off and leave me alone!!’

It’s strange how we are sort of programmed to hold everything in, to stay ‘normal’ when everything is anything but and just carry on.

I thought about this the other day, when I saw a boy having a tantrum in the shop because his mum wouldn’t buy him a toy. He was full on getting all his emotions out for everyone to see and though people didn’t like it, we all understood what was going on.

That’s what I want to do! Just scream to the world that I’m not happy and I didn’t get what I wanted in life and now I’ve been told not much can be done about it. As an adult, I can’t seem to do that. It’s not the to do action when you are mid-thirties.

The action is to accept and move on.

Or else you go out and try silly things like this!

Now, I’m walking across short, wet grass, heading to the almost center of the field. Ahead the massive standing stone looms, it’s a strange twisting shape and a total blot in the flat landscape. It’s a mystery how it got here but legend says it’s an ancient healing stone and has cured millions.

I come to a stop beside the stone. It’s covered in dark moss and bits have been chipped away which is why it has an odd shape. I guess people were so desperate for healing they removed bits. I wonder if that worked for them or if the bits lost power? Does it actually matter?

I touch the stone like I’m meant too. It’s freezing and wet, not a surprise there. I feel foolish. I breath and hope no one is seeing this right now!

Do I believe the stone will heal me? I’m not sure. Common sense says no but common sense also says drugs are meant to but when the drugs stop working what then?

When you lose belief in one thing how can you find it in another?

Tears roll down my cheeks, hot and salty, I don’t wipe them away. I’m too tried.

I move closer to the stone and hug it. My arms don’t reach all away around and there’s a large gap my fingers try to bridge but don’t. Dampness and coldness sink into me like the starting up of a shower before it gets hot. The stone is smooth, worn over the years. I press my cheek to it and just let everything go.

I cry, scream, shout, punch, kick, I bash my head against the stone.

Dizziness sweeps me. Sobbing, I slip down to the ground, press my back against the stone and turn my face skyward. Shutting my eyes, I listen to my hammer heart, my ragged breaths and a headache building.

It starts raining softly.

The stone feels warm.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel little bit of peace.

 

(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2019/02/21/thursday-photo-prompt-timeless-writephoto/ with thanks).

Wave #WritePhoto

There’s nothing special or magical about Wizard’s Cove, just an old impossible legend about Merlin. It goes like this; Merlin hid out in a cave here for years when the King cast him out. Merlin did a vanishing act but all the time he was right under the castle, waiting for the King to realise he needed a wizard to help save England from invasion.

Walking along the strip of sand between the rocks and the out going tide, heading over to the caves, I decided that if I was Merlin I wouldn’t want to live here for a few days let alone years! There was nothing on this small patch of shore and getting back up the cliffs was really hard for a fit, thirty year old man who’s hobby was rock climbing. So, I couldn’t imagine an old man being able to do it!

Unless, he used his magic powers….Could Merlin fly? Could he levitate? Could he call a bird or other beast to transport him? Or maybe he could just appear and disappear wherever he wanted? How much did the stories go into Merlin’s powers?

I cast my mind about trying to remember even a hint of information. Merlin was said to be a most powerful wizard. In the Disney film, he does lots of magic; he makes things smaller, things clean themselves, he changes others and himself into different animals and he does at one point vanish then reappear later saying he’s been to the future! I was fond of that film as unlike the other Disney movies there no Princesses.

Shells and rocks crunch under my boot, bring me back to my walk. A wave came close then rolled back, leaving seaweed behind. I avoided it and approached the caves. There were three entrances close by each other but only one of them went far back. The other two were just hollowed out holes.

I stepped into the cool gloom, happy to get out of the hot sun that had been burning my neck. A slow dripping sound echoed and I could hear the rush of the sea. I got my torch out and shone it around the walls, ceiling and floor. There was nothing but sand and natural stone.

What had I been hoping for? Some scratched in words; Merlin was here? A magic spell in Latin? The drawing of an owl? Perhaps even, the remains of a skeleton? I laughed and the sound boomed, trailed and took awhile to fade.

There was nothing and even if Merlin had come here anything would be long gone now. I turned, thinking that tonight I’d do some more research into the legends. My torch light caught something, a sparkling. I looked down at the wall and there just above the sand line was a faded letter ‘M’. Or so it seemed to me.

‘No,’ I breathed and shook my head, ‘it’s a trick of the light or someone carved it not long ago.’

I bent down and scrubbed at the wall and sand. I traced the shape with my finger and decided it could just be but of course that would be impossible.

 

(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2018/06/28/thursday-photo-prompt-wave-writephoto/ with thanks).

Ruining

The castle was pleasant by day but at night it became a sinister blot. Stories of supernatural creatures hung over the place, causing folk to stay away.

I’d set out to prove they were all legends. Peering out of my tent, the full moonlight touched the medieval stones, casting an eerie glow. I heard voices then a fire sprung to life. Before me, the devil and a coven of witches began to party.

I tried to convince myself it was a dream and perhaps it truly was but what I saw that night I will take to my grave.

 

(Inspired from; https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/08/30/1-september-2017 with thanks)

The King’s Skull

By the time the goblet was handed down to Wisdom, the legend that the sliver helmeted skull was that of an forgotten ancient King killed in an unknown battle, had long been lost.

Wisdom placed the goblet on to his bookcase, not knowing what else to do with it. Staring at the empty eye sockets, he decided the skull was too real looking and he turned the goblet around.

Feeling a little better, he sit down at his desk and loaded a fantasy war game up on to his PC. For some reason though, his eyes kept drifting to the goblet and he couldn’t concentrate on his game.

There was something creepy about the goblet he decided and he didn’t want it in his bedroom. Getting up, he picked the goblet off the shelf and took it downstairs. He went into the dinning room and placed it in the glass corner case. The helmet wearing skull goblet looked out of place beside a small crystal rabbit and a hand painted porcelain box.

Wisdom went back upstairs and sat down at his desk again. He felt a lot better now. He got back to his game and forgot all about the goblet.

 

(Inspired by; https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/01/15/sunday-photo-fiction-january-15th-2017/)