A Shelter from the Storm
by Ron A. Sewell
Genre: Horror/Supernatural
Swearwords: None.
Description: She had been saved from her ordeal, but nothing was as it seemed.
_____________________________________________________________________
In the distance dark storm clouds harassed the sky. They appeared to touch the ground and the beginning of thunder rumbled overhead. With an unearthly crash, lightning lit the whole landscape causing macabre shadows to dance on the ground. The deluge began; visibility became a few yards.
Niki Jewell, wet, cold and miserable, placed one mud-splattered boot in front of the other as she trudged along the sodden track. For the second time she attempted to retrace her footsteps but the rain had obliterated every recognisable landmark. Downcast, she sat in the lee of an aged stone wall for a few moments to consider her position.
The prospect of discomfort and a night on the moor alarmed her. Without a tent her future appeared distinctly bleak. Her large, dark brown eyes searched for the slightest of shelters. As she considered her plight, the parting words of the course instructor rang loudly in her ears: Whatever happens, don’t become separated from your team. As a group we can find you.
Conscious of her own inadequacies and weighed down by a sense of helplessness, the realisation that she was lost did nothing for her self-esteem. One thing was certain; if she remained out in the open this would be the worst night of her life.
One option remained, move on and hope to find some respite from the storm. With her head bent, she set out. Suddenly, the ground gave way and she was fighting to survive as thick brown water surrounded her.
Terror seized her and with the energy of desperation she struggled to release the heavy rucksack strapped to her back. She was drowning and as the confines of this muddy tomb were disturbed, a black cloud enveloped her. From deep within, the need to survive overcame her fear; unknown reserves of energy worked overtime. As she concentrated her efforts one strap was released and then the other. The rucksack fell away. Free, her sodden frame moved rapidly to the surface. Exhausted, it required a major effort to drag herself out and onto the edge. She opened her mouth, spitting out foul water before dragging in fresh air. As she coughed and enjoyed the fact of being alive her sense began to return.
She asked herself what had happened to the 25-year-old area manager, who was now a bedraggled mess? Normality was being elegantly dressed, her long blonde hair the envy of other women. Why had she argued and left the team? Before this she had considered herself to be healthy and strong. All she had wanted was to arrive at the base camp ahead of the others. Fear changed her priorities.
Recovery of the rucksack was high on her list; everything she needed was somewhere at the bottom of that loathsome black hole. Gingerly, she re-entered the water and for a few moments held onto the muddy edge, hyper–ventilating, building up the oxygen level in her bloodstream. When she was ready she exhaled and forced her long slim, frame beneath the surface, down and down into the darkness.
After numerous attempts the rucksack and one worn-out young woman lay prostrate on the soggy peat. She was alarmed at how much the recovery had debilitated her. For a while she remained still, recuperating from her ordeal.
In the darkness her wristwatch glowed as a firefly and indicated that it was well past seven. So much had happened that Niki found it difficult to believe it was so late. The northerly wind and the coldness of the rain were cutting. The accompanying chill factor would soon sap her remaining strength.
A gruff voice from behind startled her. “Are you all right?”
Niki turned; her eyes stared at a small, bent man with a wrinkled face that resembled worn leather. He wore a cloak of aged oilskin that almost reached the ground. Despite his appearance she realised that they could not be far from safety.
“What do you think? I’m lost, frozen, soaking wet, frightened of my own shadow and probably miles from the nearest hotel.”
He pointed and shouted, “You can’t be that lost, girl. My village is barely a mile away."
Niki stared through the rain and as the lightning dashed across the clouds, she saw not far away a cluster of stone houses. She blinked her eyes and began to make out a few shimmering lights, where, with luck, a comfortable bed for the night might exist.
“You fell in the Devil’s Hole,” said the man. “Most people who don’t know the area seem to find it.”
“Well I’m on this course...” The man was already walking away and did not hear. Niki grabbed her rucksack and followed.
For a seemingly old man he was energetic and sure-footed. He nimbly sidestepped many a small pool that she found. He stopped long before they reached the buildings. From what Niki could see there were barely more than a dozen properties. The grey stone buildings seemed ominous as they were coloured by the darkness of the thunderclouds. She shivered but strangely not from the cold.
He pointed. “Over there you’ll find the inn with a good fire burning and a pot of stew by the hearth. Old May will see you right.”
Before she had a chance to say anything, he vanished.
With hopes raised, Niki moved towards the brightest light. She knocked and opened the door slowly; it was as the stranger described. What cheered her most was a large log burning fire with a huge black caldron suspended from a hook. With its low, smoke-darkened beams, the room was homely, warm and welcoming and it met all the needs of the moment.
A thin but pretty woman with sparkling blue eyes came from behind the bar and greeted Niki with warmth and sincerity.“Welcome, my dear. Come in and shut out that awful weather. My, my, you are in a mess. The Devil’s Hole, no doubt. I’m May and I’ll look after you just like your mum.”
Before she could say a word May steered her into a backroom and insisted that Niki remove all her clothes. These she draped over a rickety wooden clotheshorse next to the kitchen stove.
A giant kettle of hot steaming water filled an enormous stone sink. Niki luxuriated in being able to wash herself from head to toe. In the mirror she gazed unbelievably at her own image. Her make up had run and her blonde hair, a muddy brown colour.
Dry and warm, May wrapped a soft woollen blanket around her shoulders and gave her a cuddle. “Dear, you’ll feel much better now.”
Niki enjoyed the mothering.
“It’s warmer in the big room, lass.” May directed her to a wooden chair next to the roaring log fire. On rough wood shelves were rows of glazed jugs, each with the name of a spirit stamped on its side.
The kindness and the whole ambience of the room comforted her. May placed a bowl of steaming stew in her hands. Grateful, she ate ravenously.
Her ordeal began to fade and Niki glanced around the room. The bar had several customers who looked intently at her. Seeing her embarrassment, May went to whisk Niki away when one of the men approached.
“Here you are, lass. Get that down.” He thrust a pewter tankard full of dark, frothy ale into her shaking hands. “That’ll bring the life back into you.”
To conceal her femininity, Niki held the blanket close to her body. She raised the jug as a toast to the man who had now returned to the bar.
“Cheers.” The man nodded his acceptance.
It was good beer, real ale. Feeling better, she relaxed in the glow of the fire. For a moment or two she must have dozed for when a hand fastened itself on her shoulder she jumped; it was May. With an intriguing twinkle in her eyes, she pointed to the back room. It was patently obvious that Niki would have to get dressed within sight of the village men. To her amazement they turned away. May chuckled at her unease. “They’re married men, dear. They’ve seen it all before.”
Once dressed, Niki gathered together her possessions, shoved them into her rucksack and walked across to the bar.
“Gentlemen, the drinks are on me. Thank you for your kindness.” The men accepted and together they drank into the night. Niki had to listen carefully as their strange accent was difficult to understand. Her awareness of their dialect appeared to improve as the night wore on. It was nearly midnight when her ordeal, and too much alcohol, took its toll. All she craved for was the comfort of a nice warm bed.
May approached with a lit candle and declared in her homely voice that it was that time.
The rain had stopped but the wind still blasted its coldness from the north. Niki followed May and the flickering candle across a cobbled yard and into an out-building.
May thumped the bed with her fist. “It’s not much of a room but it’s warm and dry and you should sleep well.”
“How much do I owe you?” asked Niki.
“A couple of shillings will do.”
In her stupor she handed over two one-pound coins. Without looking, the change went into her anorak pocket.
May left with the candle, plunging the room into darkness. Niki sat on the edge of the bed. Her head became a whirlpool of thoughts and images. Fully clothed, she collapsed and passed out. The night was a mixture of strange dreams, confusion, peculiar odours and unusual noises.
It was the rough handling that dragged her fogged mind back into the real world. Her head hurt and the smell of dung overpowered her as it attacked the senses. Her eyes opened, cows milled around in confusion.
“You bloody hikers. Clear off, this is private property not a blooming youth hostel.” The farmer roared abuse.
She tumbled to the ground and staggered to her feet, grabbing her belongings. Her mind befuddled, she left.
Once away from the building and in the fresh air, she stopped and sat on a large boulder to gather her thoughts. The smell of the cowshed had impregnated her clothes. Unable to do anything about it, for a few moments she attempted to come to terms with the mystery of the previous night. The buildings from the night before stood with their bare walls open to the sky, gaping sockets remained where windows had been. What added to her dilemma were the strange coins in her pocket? Three Victorian half crown pieces were there in her palm. It hadn’t been a dream.
Doggedly, she began to walk along the muddy farm track. Thankfully today, no rain, no lightning scorching the clouds.
On the brow of a hill she glanced back. The sky was blue and the moor appeared almost friendly. Even the ruins seemed to absorb the sun and radiate the pleasantness of their surroundings.
After walking for a short distance an old lady approached. As she drew near Niki heard her muttering. “Pennies for the poor. Spare some pennies for the poor.”
Niki gazed at her and recognised the sparkle that emanated from those bright blue eyes. She gave her the three coins.
The woman pocketed the coins. “God bless you, love.” She stared affectionately into Niki’s eyes, winked and walked on.
Swearwords: None.
Description: She had been saved from her ordeal, but nothing was as it seemed.
_____________________________________________________________________
In the distance dark storm clouds harassed the sky. They appeared to touch the ground and the beginning of thunder rumbled overhead. With an unearthly crash, lightning lit the whole landscape causing macabre shadows to dance on the ground. The deluge began; visibility became a few yards.
Niki Jewell, wet, cold and miserable, placed one mud-splattered boot in front of the other as she trudged along the sodden track. For the second time she attempted to retrace her footsteps but the rain had obliterated every recognisable landmark. Downcast, she sat in the lee of an aged stone wall for a few moments to consider her position.
The prospect of discomfort and a night on the moor alarmed her. Without a tent her future appeared distinctly bleak. Her large, dark brown eyes searched for the slightest of shelters. As she considered her plight, the parting words of the course instructor rang loudly in her ears: Whatever happens, don’t become separated from your team. As a group we can find you.
Conscious of her own inadequacies and weighed down by a sense of helplessness, the realisation that she was lost did nothing for her self-esteem. One thing was certain; if she remained out in the open this would be the worst night of her life.
One option remained, move on and hope to find some respite from the storm. With her head bent, she set out. Suddenly, the ground gave way and she was fighting to survive as thick brown water surrounded her.
Terror seized her and with the energy of desperation she struggled to release the heavy rucksack strapped to her back. She was drowning and as the confines of this muddy tomb were disturbed, a black cloud enveloped her. From deep within, the need to survive overcame her fear; unknown reserves of energy worked overtime. As she concentrated her efforts one strap was released and then the other. The rucksack fell away. Free, her sodden frame moved rapidly to the surface. Exhausted, it required a major effort to drag herself out and onto the edge. She opened her mouth, spitting out foul water before dragging in fresh air. As she coughed and enjoyed the fact of being alive her sense began to return.
She asked herself what had happened to the 25-year-old area manager, who was now a bedraggled mess? Normality was being elegantly dressed, her long blonde hair the envy of other women. Why had she argued and left the team? Before this she had considered herself to be healthy and strong. All she had wanted was to arrive at the base camp ahead of the others. Fear changed her priorities.
Recovery of the rucksack was high on her list; everything she needed was somewhere at the bottom of that loathsome black hole. Gingerly, she re-entered the water and for a few moments held onto the muddy edge, hyper–ventilating, building up the oxygen level in her bloodstream. When she was ready she exhaled and forced her long slim, frame beneath the surface, down and down into the darkness.
After numerous attempts the rucksack and one worn-out young woman lay prostrate on the soggy peat. She was alarmed at how much the recovery had debilitated her. For a while she remained still, recuperating from her ordeal.
In the darkness her wristwatch glowed as a firefly and indicated that it was well past seven. So much had happened that Niki found it difficult to believe it was so late. The northerly wind and the coldness of the rain were cutting. The accompanying chill factor would soon sap her remaining strength.
A gruff voice from behind startled her. “Are you all right?”
Niki turned; her eyes stared at a small, bent man with a wrinkled face that resembled worn leather. He wore a cloak of aged oilskin that almost reached the ground. Despite his appearance she realised that they could not be far from safety.
“What do you think? I’m lost, frozen, soaking wet, frightened of my own shadow and probably miles from the nearest hotel.”
He pointed and shouted, “You can’t be that lost, girl. My village is barely a mile away."
Niki stared through the rain and as the lightning dashed across the clouds, she saw not far away a cluster of stone houses. She blinked her eyes and began to make out a few shimmering lights, where, with luck, a comfortable bed for the night might exist.
“You fell in the Devil’s Hole,” said the man. “Most people who don’t know the area seem to find it.”
“Well I’m on this course...” The man was already walking away and did not hear. Niki grabbed her rucksack and followed.
For a seemingly old man he was energetic and sure-footed. He nimbly sidestepped many a small pool that she found. He stopped long before they reached the buildings. From what Niki could see there were barely more than a dozen properties. The grey stone buildings seemed ominous as they were coloured by the darkness of the thunderclouds. She shivered but strangely not from the cold.
He pointed. “Over there you’ll find the inn with a good fire burning and a pot of stew by the hearth. Old May will see you right.”
Before she had a chance to say anything, he vanished.
With hopes raised, Niki moved towards the brightest light. She knocked and opened the door slowly; it was as the stranger described. What cheered her most was a large log burning fire with a huge black caldron suspended from a hook. With its low, smoke-darkened beams, the room was homely, warm and welcoming and it met all the needs of the moment.
A thin but pretty woman with sparkling blue eyes came from behind the bar and greeted Niki with warmth and sincerity.“Welcome, my dear. Come in and shut out that awful weather. My, my, you are in a mess. The Devil’s Hole, no doubt. I’m May and I’ll look after you just like your mum.”
Before she could say a word May steered her into a backroom and insisted that Niki remove all her clothes. These she draped over a rickety wooden clotheshorse next to the kitchen stove.
A giant kettle of hot steaming water filled an enormous stone sink. Niki luxuriated in being able to wash herself from head to toe. In the mirror she gazed unbelievably at her own image. Her make up had run and her blonde hair, a muddy brown colour.
Dry and warm, May wrapped a soft woollen blanket around her shoulders and gave her a cuddle. “Dear, you’ll feel much better now.”
Niki enjoyed the mothering.
“It’s warmer in the big room, lass.” May directed her to a wooden chair next to the roaring log fire. On rough wood shelves were rows of glazed jugs, each with the name of a spirit stamped on its side.
The kindness and the whole ambience of the room comforted her. May placed a bowl of steaming stew in her hands. Grateful, she ate ravenously.
Her ordeal began to fade and Niki glanced around the room. The bar had several customers who looked intently at her. Seeing her embarrassment, May went to whisk Niki away when one of the men approached.
“Here you are, lass. Get that down.” He thrust a pewter tankard full of dark, frothy ale into her shaking hands. “That’ll bring the life back into you.”
To conceal her femininity, Niki held the blanket close to her body. She raised the jug as a toast to the man who had now returned to the bar.
“Cheers.” The man nodded his acceptance.
It was good beer, real ale. Feeling better, she relaxed in the glow of the fire. For a moment or two she must have dozed for when a hand fastened itself on her shoulder she jumped; it was May. With an intriguing twinkle in her eyes, she pointed to the back room. It was patently obvious that Niki would have to get dressed within sight of the village men. To her amazement they turned away. May chuckled at her unease. “They’re married men, dear. They’ve seen it all before.”
Once dressed, Niki gathered together her possessions, shoved them into her rucksack and walked across to the bar.
“Gentlemen, the drinks are on me. Thank you for your kindness.” The men accepted and together they drank into the night. Niki had to listen carefully as their strange accent was difficult to understand. Her awareness of their dialect appeared to improve as the night wore on. It was nearly midnight when her ordeal, and too much alcohol, took its toll. All she craved for was the comfort of a nice warm bed.
May approached with a lit candle and declared in her homely voice that it was that time.
The rain had stopped but the wind still blasted its coldness from the north. Niki followed May and the flickering candle across a cobbled yard and into an out-building.
May thumped the bed with her fist. “It’s not much of a room but it’s warm and dry and you should sleep well.”
“How much do I owe you?” asked Niki.
“A couple of shillings will do.”
In her stupor she handed over two one-pound coins. Without looking, the change went into her anorak pocket.
May left with the candle, plunging the room into darkness. Niki sat on the edge of the bed. Her head became a whirlpool of thoughts and images. Fully clothed, she collapsed and passed out. The night was a mixture of strange dreams, confusion, peculiar odours and unusual noises.
It was the rough handling that dragged her fogged mind back into the real world. Her head hurt and the smell of dung overpowered her as it attacked the senses. Her eyes opened, cows milled around in confusion.
“You bloody hikers. Clear off, this is private property not a blooming youth hostel.” The farmer roared abuse.
She tumbled to the ground and staggered to her feet, grabbing her belongings. Her mind befuddled, she left.
Once away from the building and in the fresh air, she stopped and sat on a large boulder to gather her thoughts. The smell of the cowshed had impregnated her clothes. Unable to do anything about it, for a few moments she attempted to come to terms with the mystery of the previous night. The buildings from the night before stood with their bare walls open to the sky, gaping sockets remained where windows had been. What added to her dilemma were the strange coins in her pocket? Three Victorian half crown pieces were there in her palm. It hadn’t been a dream.
Doggedly, she began to walk along the muddy farm track. Thankfully today, no rain, no lightning scorching the clouds.
On the brow of a hill she glanced back. The sky was blue and the moor appeared almost friendly. Even the ruins seemed to absorb the sun and radiate the pleasantness of their surroundings.
After walking for a short distance an old lady approached. As she drew near Niki heard her muttering. “Pennies for the poor. Spare some pennies for the poor.”
Niki gazed at her and recognised the sparkle that emanated from those bright blue eyes. She gave her the three coins.
The woman pocketed the coins. “God bless you, love.” She stared affectionately into Niki’s eyes, winked and walked on.
About the Author
Ron A. Sewell was born in Leith, Edinburgh. At the age of fourteen, he ran away from home. Heading for the south of France, he found work as a deckhand on luxury yachts. On his return to the United Kingdom, he enlisted in the Royal Navy, eventually becoming a commissioned officer. During his career, he travelled the world, qualifying as an engineer, deck officer, boarding officer, a diver, and parachutist and for a time part of an Air Sea Rescue team. This has given him much experience and many ideas.
Ron has been writing for twenty-three years. He has written numerous short stories (many of them published) and five complete novels to date. Two of the novels, entitled The Collectors, are currently with his agent, who is attempting to sell them to a publisher.
Ron has been writing for twenty-three years. He has written numerous short stories (many of them published) and five complete novels to date. Two of the novels, entitled The Collectors, are currently with his agent, who is attempting to sell them to a publisher.