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The Beast of Blackmore Lane

by Gerry 

Posted: 13 September 2011
Word Count: 637
Summary: For Sandra's week 241 challenge. I hope you don't think this is a cheat but it's just a reworking of 'Neddy's Paddock', which Dave didn't spot coz I'd not put in the link on the forum. A true story, this. Me at my Nana's scared witless and s***less by a fiend from the bog.


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Bloody Bones was real. I’d peeped through the crack under the stairs and seen him crouching; gorging on the carcase of the untruthful child. The Banshee, too: I’d heard her keening for the dead in the night. And I'd glimpsed the myriad jewel-eyed fairies in the dark under the bed, who would steal you away unless you were safely tucked in. And all of them were there, waiting for me, at that solitary house at the end of the boreen.

August turning into September. Tea was hot on the range when we arrived, and the aroma of soda bread in the hall. There’d be salty butter, too, from Dick Culton’s farm, where Nana milked the cows at sunrise. And blackcurrant jam from the fruit off the hedgerows round the paddock where Neddy the donkey munched on the nettles and thistles.

With our bags upstairs, I drank my tea and ate the still-warm bread, staring across the lane at the well. Tomorrow, I’d see Grandda out there, bending with the heavy enamel bucket. Not like a well in a story, with a tiled roof and a handle, just a concrete hole. But the water so soft, it foamed when it boiled for the tea. And Nana’d be there, too, hands behind bent back as she pushed her way up the hill to the village for Mass.

Bacon and cabbage that first evening, with big floury praties peeled hot at the table. Then, the paraffin lamps lit, Grandda sat with his shtinky pipe and told me and Sis-Cow about the ga-nomie who lived in the well, who’d nearly hoicked him in again this morning, the fecker. And what about Blackmore Lane? The muderin’ fella they hanged there had the devil himself come in the dead of night to take him to his black house. The cloven feet had sliced through the hangman’s knot in one swish of his pointy tail. Did I hear tell of that?

But Ma said that was enough now; it was time for my bed.

A candle to light me up the stairs. Half-way, I turned to see my shadow, bigger than any man ever, rising up over my head.

I woke in the night needing the jacks. I felt for the china gazunder, but I wanted more than just a wazz. Much, much more. I had to go out to the privy in the kitchen garden by the back paddock. The paddock on the edge of Blackmore Lane ...

Clouds hurried over the moon. The wind whipped the tops of the trees. I stumbled inside the lav, tripping on a root or a stone in the dark. The latch was broken so, perched on the wood over the hole, I held on with my fingers.

Waiting for the drop.

Footsteps. Christ, footsteps. The wind blowing, but there, through the grass. Heavy. Slow. My hold slipped, the door creaked open. And Oh, Jesus: a face in the moonlight. Long, with his horns reaching up to the lintel. And bad breath. The breath of hell. My poo came down in a torrent and I pulled up my jimjams and ran inside, elbowing the Devil in his hairy nose, praying to Jesus and all the bloody saints that ever were as I scrambled upstairs to bundle the sheets over my head.

###

Morning now, warm and safe. I got up, and padded across the lino to my window over the back. A thick mist had risen from the bog. I stared. No, it couldn’t be. But God, yes. Still out there. The Devil his-feckin-self in the daylight! His horns showing dark in the haze, and his long face coming towards the house. Oh, Christ. My mouth open, but no scream came ...

The misshapen head dropped now as Neddy, long ears twitching, nibbled on a forbidden cabbage.










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Comments by other Members



V`yonne at 09:03 on 13 September 2011  Report this post
It's brilliant. It reminded me of many a night at my friend's farm crossing that dark yard to the barn toilet and the soda bread and bacon and cabbage stew. Oh I've gone all nostalgic!

Sending you a ww mail...

Gerry at 09:12 on 13 September 2011  Report this post

Thanks very much, Oonah. Glad to have given you a nostalgic buzz. One tea we had at Andy (not Dick) Culton's farm was sheer heaven, and all it was was freshly-baked soda bread, that day's milk, and blackcurrant jam with the butter (salty - it must be salty) that I'd watched Andy's missus churn that very morning. Magic.

Gerry.

Desormais at 14:05 on 13 September 2011  Report this post
This is excellent Gerry, you really must send this somewhere. It's even better the second time around.
Sandra

Gerry at 14:38 on 13 September 2011  Report this post

Thanks very much, Sandra. I couldn't resist working on it a bit more; partly because I remembered a couple more things; and partly because you gave us a few more words to play with, which I think I needed to get everything in. Bloody Bones (aka Tommy Rawhead) gave me nightmares as a kid. Still does, in fact.

Yes, I think I'll send it somewhere. 'The People's Friend'?

V`yonne at 16:59 on 13 September 2011  Report this post
Jean's granny always had soda farls and potato bread on the go and huge fluffy spuds wi their skins on and milk straight from the cow and salty butter and mince wi carrots and onions that you ate with a spoon. I make my own potato bread still.

Gerry at 17:22 on 13 September 2011  Report this post

I made some soda bread not long back, but it wasn't right at all; the wrong type of buttermilk maybe. At my Nan's we always had this fantastic porridge (way better than the stuff Ma bought) and when I grew up I wanted to know the brand. Ma would say it was Flahavan's, but I've had theirs and it's not the one, no way. I suspect the stuff Nan had was produced by a group of monks out in the wilds somewhere.

Fluffy spuds!



fiona_j at 21:17 on 13 September 2011  Report this post
Hello,

A very funny story there. Poor donkey being mistaken for the devil. I like the description of the cottage and the night-time pit stop.

My parents used to have a coal fire. As a kid I hated having to get coal from the bunker on winter nights. One night I was so afraid of the dark that I rushed inside with a full shovel. I tried to push the door shut but it wouldn't go. I paniced that someone was trying to break-in, only to find that I'd dropped half the coal in the doorway. The dark can make your imagination go wild!

Fi x

Gerry at 21:35 on 13 September 2011  Report this post

Thanks, Fi. Yes - poor old Neddy. And oh, the dark and the night. I suffered terribly as a kid. When I heard how Hamlet's dad had been murdered, I started sleeping with the covers over my head, fearing that someone would try to pour poison in my ear. And after I was allowed to stay up to watch 'The Fly' (Vincent Price), I panicked if any sort of flying insect was with me in my bedroom at night. I'm not a lot better now. And - oh, God - the coal hole scared the bejaysus out of me ...



tusker at 10:51 on 16 September 2011  Report this post
This is a great story, Gerry. I remember it the first time, and no you're not cheating.

Wonderful atmosphere, sense of place and taste with your images from childhood. Adults don't realise how kids imaginations can terrify and remain with them for the rest of their lives.

I couldn't look in a mirror as my religious paternal grandmother used to say the devil would look back at me. There are many more childhood tales but that one did give me the shivers.

Jennifer

Gerry at 11:19 on 16 September 2011  Report this post

Thanks, Jennifer. I think, mind, I loved being scared as a kid. Weird, that. I am very rational now and find that real life holds very few terrors, but I can't watch horror films - Jesus, no. I remember going to see the original Alien film at the pictures and spent the whole thing hiding behind the seat in front. The girl I was with wasn't too impressed - she was braver than Ripley.




Prospero at 14:41 on 17 September 2011  Report this post
Brilliant, Gerry, wonderfully well drawn and therefore marvellously evocative.

When's the book coming out.

Incidentally, Bewildering Stories would probably bite your hand off for this.

Best

John

Gerry at 14:47 on 17 September 2011  Report this post

Thanks, John. Glad you liked it. I'm thinking about sending it to BwS or someone similar and/or thinking about turning it into something a lot longer ...



tusker at 07:51 on 18 September 2011  Report this post
Do both, Gerry. Send the flash and then make it longer with a different title, neat switch of words.

Jennifer

Gerry at 08:01 on 18 September 2011  Report this post

Thanks, Jennifer. I may very well do that.








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