Dark Well

A little bird had told him that it was not safe to collect the water at night - it had tried to caution Jonathon, however, not being conversant in bird speak he had ignored the chattering, and persisted.

Jonathon had leaned into the well a little too far and when the wet pail had slipped from his grasp, and as he instinctively moved forward to catch it, he landed flat onto a cross beam some five foot down.

There was a crude fretwork of wooden beams holding the sides of the hole from collapsing, and Jonathon had managed to hold onto one above his head, whilst balancing on the wood beneath. The grimy footing was only inches wide.

He thought of Fatima, and of how he loved her so. It had only been a handful of weeks they had spent together, after she had found him at this very well, at a time when he had lost all direction.

He wished he was on the other side of its wall now. Frightened to move, lest he would slip down even further, he began to call out, even though he knew there would be no one to hear him. This community never ventured outdoors at night, as they were generally too vexed with whatever malady confined them there. He was, by their standards, the fittest amongst them. It would be a long cold wait until morning.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

His Maria

A young woman was sitting on a stone seat at the far edge of the garden. With the light behind her, he could see through the linen dress draped over her shoulders, a fine form defined in haloed silhouette.

She smiled with recognition, as he made his way to her side.

“Come lie beside me Jacob”, she said taking his knobbled hand, and placing it in her lap.

He could see now that she resembled the marble statue of a young woman reclining over the tomb that she and he was sitting upon. It was not a garden seat after all, but a slab that covered a coffin.

“Maria? my Maria?”

“Heaven is good and kind, dear husband. And I have waited now so long for you. Step out of your decrepitness and come to me now, as you have done before.”

He pulled away. He wanted to be with her, yet he was frightened. The wraith took up some of the morning light and became semi transparent, her presence was thinning. She looked at him lovingly before vanishing completely.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Broken Fiddle

The old man looked down at the splintered wood of his violin and cursed the diddle-o under his breath. His son had never respected him - and now he had taken his only joy. Life would never be the same. “My heart is aching for my beloved fiddle.” He cursed again.

His only chair was in splinters also. The tall grain bag had been split and scattered the floor. There was blood on the tiles - Jacob’s blood - from where he had hit his head.

“That boy was never any good”, he muttered to himself.

The sun was beginning to rise, and he did not feel cold of it, but rather strangely warm. The elderly man fumbled for the latch, the door was already open.

Outside, the air smelt of Spring. A golden light permeated the garden, and lit the flowers, nudging them to open. Jacob blinked at its brightness.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Toast

“You can see me?” he [Puck] asked, this time dissolving into their common space and floating up into the ceiling.

“Yes, I can still see you” she said, now a little sarcastically.

“What about now?” he asked, surrounding himself with the strongest glamour he had to muster.

“Yep” Eve said, taking off her shoes and walking into the hall to find her indoor slippers.

Puck followed her.

Eve went into her small kitchen and dropped two slices of grainy bread into the silver toaster. Puck followed.

She put the kettle on, and he was still hanging around.

Eve was well used to spirits shadowing her, but was beginning to notice something very different about this one. She looked over her shoulder … he was eating her toast.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Shooing the Ghosts

~ Truth is the nucleus to which all philosophies circulate. ~

Crowded in the corner was a huddle of ghosts. They seemed to be watching his every move. Puck got up from the couch to shoo them on.

“Stop! what are you doing?”

“A little house-cleaning - you seem to have some unwanted guests.” Puck said well pleased with himself.

Eve objected. “I don’t know what you think you are doing here, but they are my friends. The only unwanted visitor is you.”

She instantly felt she had gone a bit far in saying this, but he had startled her. By all appearances this ghost had got a little taller, and somewhat bossy.

The group in the corner moved in a little closer. Needles was amongst them. There was a collection of great aunts and uncles, and a few unrelated spirits, who Eve had recently met during readings.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Black Harvest

“I am Smithy - Jon Smithy - from down yon.” He pointed to the valley in the distance where the village of the Haverlock shouldered. He had stayed the night by the well, having no particular direction to travel.

“I am Fatima.” she hesitated, biting her lip and crinkling her brow, she went on “Sir, you have come into to the district of the Black Harvest. The people who live here, have come here, to die. We are, well, we are … kept separate from the healthy - and have been banned from normal life. Some say that we are cursed. If you are not one of us, you should probably leave."

Jon was unafraid of such things. He had heard of these communities, but had never before come upon one let alone ventured in.

“Should you not have a signpost of warning?” he asked, still mumbling from tiredness.

“Yes, Sir, there are many”, she said pointing to one, just yards away from them. It was a single stick with a scull and crossbones burnt within the wood.

He started to weep. Jonathon had never really cried like this - not even when his Ma had been buried, nor, throughout the passage of the last few days, when he had lost his father, his income, his tools, and his way. But now, in a rush, the sadness came upon him, and he wept like one who can hold the tides no more.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Communal Well

As Fatima approached the communal well, with Peter and Paul slowly lumbering along behind her, she could see a young man on the ground, lying upright with his back to the stone, fast asleep.

The warmth of the sun was accelerating, and his cap was tipped over his face: it was impossible to see his providence, or age - however his mud-soiled clothing spoke of destitution.

She hesitated at proceeding further. Perhaps it was best to turn back before he was roused to wake? Yet the dogs needed their watering, and had gone ahead of her, right up to the stranger, with their eager panting, whining and yelping enthusiastically.

“Shush” she scolded.

The two obeyed faithfully, and then returned to stand to the right and left of her. Fatima could see that the young man was watching the hounds with a broad smile on his face.

“All bones in velvet suits” he said with a tired smile.

She could see he was exhausted as he still sat there: this youth, she guessed, was but a few years older than herself, and by the look of his dark curly hair and grey eyes, there was something of the gypsy about him.

She took a stub of dried meat from her apron pocket, that she kept for the dogs and offered it to him. He accepted it gratefully. Paul appeared genuinely dismayed.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series