Tales from the Black Meadow Read online

  With this simple process one can be free of a burden whilst a standing stone in the centre of Black Meadow will become ever so slightly larger.

  (Adapted from Recorded Conversations with a Meadow Witch by R. Mullins- Notes III)

  On the same day a labourer reported a strange feeling as though someone was with him in the plough shed. Over the following days the vicar felt spied upon through the vestry window, the milkmaid felt watched in the meadow, the butcher’s child in the heather, a skipping girl in her own yard …

  The Watcher from the Village

  Who was the watcher in the village?

  For as long as everyone could remember, people felt as though they were being watched by someone or something. This had been going on for generations. It went back to a story that grandchildren told their grandchildren and those grandchildren had told theirs.

  In the centre of the village was a well. No one was sure how deep it was or how long ago it had been dug. It had always been there, some said that the village had been built around it. The bucket for the well had a tremendously long rope attached because, in times of drought, the water was so far down that a pebble would make its splash in the time it would take the Old Soak to walk from his house to the tavern. Yet at night the people would talk of the Watcher from the well, a dark figure who would rise from the depths and stand in the centre of the village, turning his head slowly from side to side until sunrise. During a drought, on a sunny day, an opening could be seen far down in the side of the shaft; an opening large enough for an animal or man to crawl through. Was this where the Watcher came from?

  An adventurous youth, one dry summer, was lowered down to the opening with a lantern. He reported that this opening was actually a tunnel that stretched on into the black. The boy wanted to come back up, but was given promise of fine cake and ale if he would dare crawl down and return with news of what lay at the very end. Reluctantly the youth agreed, squeezing himself into the hole while his friends above watched the light of his lantern fade from sight.

  They waited for an incredibly long time. Some said it was an hour and a half, while others said it was closer to three. They began to fear what may have happened to their brave friend. They tried to fathom what excuse they would have to make to his terrifying mother for his disappearance. As the shadows began to grow long, they braced themselves to go to the family home and bear the terrible tidings. Suddenly, they heard a shout. Turning to see where it had come from, they saw, walking up the street, their muddy friend. His clothes were torn, his hair covered in leaves and bits of bramble.

  The brave youth told them that he had crawled in a straight line for hundreds of yards, finding that the tunnel sloped steadily upwards until, after a good hour of crawling, he had found himself in the centre of the blackberry field.

  So was there a Watcher at the bottom of the well? Was that same watcher from the blackberry field? The youth had put a marker down where he had made his exit and the friends all went to look at the hole from which he had made his escape. Upon examination, they realised that the entrance and the beginning of the slope had been paved by someone, centuries ago, judging by the mossy and lichen-ridden appearance. Perhaps it was the same age as the well itself?

  The news of this discovery, which spread like wildfire, did nothing to curb the feeling of being watched. Now it was being rumoured that the black robed figure could be seen not only in the centre of the village but also from within the field of Blackberry looking out at the villagers. This feeling, this fear of being watched, grew and grew to such intensity that they feared to leave their own homes, even though nothing tangible had even been witnessed or seen, only rumoured. People were jumping at shadows.

  The seeds of this terror began with the Old Soak who few listened to and fewer ever believed, but in this time of suspicion even his wild tales began to gain credence. When he said he saw something in the blackberry this started a storm of rumours and frightened speculation.

  The day after his revelation, the baker’s wife swore that she spotted someone at her parlour window. On the same day a labourer reported a strange feeling as though someone was with him in the plough shed. Over the following days the vicar felt spied upon through the vestry window, the milkmaid felt watched in the meadow, the butcher’s child in the heather, a skipping girl in her own yard and two or three people swore that someone was definitely in the well.

  The priest called a meeting and it was then, that for a moment, things began to calm down.

  It is incredible how pleasant one can feel when people begin talking to one another. A great calm descended as neighbour turned to neighbour and shared their nightmarish stories. As they conversed, a reassuring picture began to emerge. It appeared that the Old Soak had made everyone jittery. On the day following his report of something in the blackberry, the adventurous youth had seen a figure float from there to the baker’s house. He had bravely followed and looked in at the parlour window. The baker’s wife saw, what they now knew was the youth, head towards the plough shed and had sent her husband in pursuit. The baker happened upon the labourer and went back to the house via the church. The labourer, having sensed someone in the plough shed with him, ran outside and saw someone heading for the church. He ran to the vestry and, assuming this figure had gone inside, saw the priest through the window. When he realised his mistake he ran back to the plough shed and was seen by the priest, who had come out of the church, as he passed the meadow. The priest gave chase but stopped, distracted at the sight of the milkmaid resting in the field. Considering that his spying upon the maid might be misconstrued he made his way back to the church, past the heather where the milkmaid, now pursuing him, saw the butcher’s child. The butcher’s child followed the milkmaid, losing her by the tiler’s yard, where he gave up and went to pick blackberries. The tiler’s daughter, interrupted in the midst of some energetic skipping saw what she thought was her watcher disappear into the blackberry and bravely made chase. She happened upon the hole leading to the well and, assuming that the mysterious watcher of the village had escaped in there, abandoned all thoughts for her own safety and climbed to the well. The tiler’s daughter crawled her way to the end of the tunnel and saw far above her, at the mouth of the well, several figures about to draw water. They appeared startled by the sight of two eyes blinking up at them from the darkness.

  The villagers all clapped each other on the back, laughing heartily at their foolishness. What joy abounded at the realisation that it was they who had been watching each other.

  They exited the church, skipping towards the tavern under the now darkening sky. Several of the villagers stopped and looked up. Others, wondering what had caught their attention stopped too, until all of the villagers stood, stock-still, looking up in terrified silence into the two enormous eyes that stared back at them from the sky. The villagers didn’t move, they barely breathed. The two enormous eyes blinked at them and continued to stare. The villagers abandoned their plans for the tavern, immediately scattered to their various homes, locking the doors behind them and slamming the shutters on every window.

  Then, apart from the whites of the two enormous eyes floating above the village, the whole of Black Meadow was plunged into blackness.

  Fields of Blackberry

  Come out of the mists my friends

  Sail the fields of blackberry

  Part the fog and wave “Halloo”

  Take our hands so tightly

  Don’t you part and don’t you go

  When the mists are far away

  Come out of the mists my friends

  Sail the fields of blackberry

  I can see the old flint tower

  Your house in the valley

  I am counting hour by hour

  I know you cannot tarry

  But your hair so long and your eyes so clear

  And your breath so sweet on my face

  Keep out of the mists my friend

  Sail the fields of blackberry

  The devi
l has a wicked way

  Of keeping lovers parted

  But none more than the blackberry mist

  That makes me broken hearted

  For your love lasts long but I see you not

  Though I know that you are so close

  Come out of the mist my love

  Come and will you tarry?

  (Traditional)

  The first sphere diverted from its straight line as it passed the church and floated towards the lantern.

  The Land Spheres

  It is often wondered how Black Meadow got its name. Like so many questions about the area there is always more than one definitive answer. The obvious answer is that it is named after the fields of blackberry that dominate parts of the meadow. Another answer is the Land Spheres.

  In 1543 during the winter the first recorded instance of the growing mist occurred. It was said to spread from a central point and expand across the whole meadow. With it came tales of vanishings and a spreading darkness.

  There was a great house to the north of the village called Fylingdales Hall. It is now a heath covered pile of rubble. A grand but nervous squire lived there with his wife, four children and extensive household. The Squire’s name was Matthew Wilkes and his wife is said to have been called Elizabeth. The children were Jeremiah (7), Edward (6), Mary (5) and Michael (4). There is no record of the names of the servants.

  The house could be seen from the village, it stood on a low hill and a well-kept carriageway led up to its impressive oak door. At night-time every window was lit by a candle or a lantern, for the squire was rich and it was thought that he kept a store of candles in an upstairs room. Some say that this was because he greatly feared the dark and battled this terror by putting light wherever there was darkness.

  Every night, members of his household would walk along the corridors, winding up and down the stairs, lighting candles in every window. As the night progressed they replaced any that had melted down to the base with a new candle from the store.

  So Fylingdales Hall lit the land like a glittering beacon for all to see. It was a beautiful and sparkling sight to behold; tiny glittering lights in every window breaking the blackness with their little yellow spots. Although Matthew Wilkes’s fear was laughable to most, none could deny the beauty of the house, especially in the long dark nights of winter. On warm summer nights young lovers would often climb the hill overlooking the house, their embracing silhouettes breaking the pattern of candlelight.

  It was on the late afternoon of 15 May that the first recording of the mist appears. The parish records stated that the mist was seen spreading over the bramble field and into the village. Although the mist had been seen before, some spoke of its shocking coldness and of a terrible dark within its centre. The people of the village were afraid but heartened to see that the house could be seen through the fog.

  Matthew Wilkes had shut all the windows and doors to ensure that every candle burnt undisturbed. For once people didn’t scoff at him. They followed suit lighting every lantern, brazier, fire and candle they could lay their hands on, fighting against that feeling; that strange dark feeling that grew but was intangible.

  It was in the evening that things took a turn for the peculiar. People reported a black dot in the mist on the horizon. A few minutes later they reported that the dot appeared to be growing. After several members of the village gathered to look, it was agreed that the dot wasn’t growing but simply coming closer. As the villagers congratulated each other on their powers of observation, several were also excited to note that the shape of the dot was circular.

  The dark circle was moving towards the village and it appeared to be followed by two more. The first building these spheres approached was the church, its welcoming lantern shining out in the dark. It was said that each black sphere measured fifteen feet in diameter. They appeared opaque and tangible. But they also seemed able to pass through solid objects; wall, wood, wool and skin.

  The first sphere diverted from its straight line as it passed the church and floated towards the lantern. It was this point that the purpose of these spheres was surmised. The dark object flew to the lantern, enveloping it. The light from the lantern faded and disappeared. It didn’t sputter or flicker, it just faded away.

  The sphere gradually floated around the outside of the church touching every window and as it did so the light from each window turned to grey. The sphere floated back to the street joining its brothers. The villagers noted that it was ever so slightly brighter. It was no longer black, just slightly less black than the other two.

  This changed as the spheres progressed through the village; moving through each house, down side streets, and into the square, the lights fading everywhere. As they touched each flame, the spheres slowly brightened. After fifteen minutes the village was in darkness, save for the glow of the three spheres that now appeared to be drawn towards Fylingdales Hall.

  The Squire had seen, with members of his horrified household, the progression of the spheres and the trail of darkness that they left in their wake. He ordered more candles to be taken from the storeroom in readiness.

  Every fireplace in every room was ignited and at least three candles were placed on every window sill. If Matthew Wilkes had any foresight he would have extinguished all of the lights and let the spheres float on their way, but the squire could not bear the dark. The only way to battle this event was to fight back with light; sweet, safe light.

  The braziers that lit the way up to the house were the first to go. One by one the spheres took each light from each flame. They moved closer, encircling the house gradually. With every light swallowed they grew brighter and brighter.

  One of the household was standing at the window when the curved edge of a sphere passed through the glass. She saw the light of the flame vanish. When she brought her hand up to touch the wick she found her finger burnt and, on later inspection, black with soot. The flames were still present; it was just the light that had been taken. This was reported from the village too. The villagers had to blow out the blackened flames in case they forgot they were there.

  This information never reached the squire. In fact, even if it had, it would have made little difference, obsessed as he was with protecting his family against the dark.

  The spheres by now had swallowed all of the light from the windows and outer rooms. Gorged and bursting with light, they made their way into inner chambers and cellars where they took the light from the fires and lanterns within. The squire screamed at his staff to light more fires, but the spheres came for every single one. The spheres were now so bright that, if they had hung two hundred feet above the village, a grandmother with failing eyesight could have read by their light.

  As the servants fled into the night, Matthew Wilkes and his family ran to the top floor, huddling together in Jeremiah’s bedroom by the final fire. In a panic the squire began to frantically break up chairs. He pulled his sons horsehair mattress to the flames, where, unsurprisingly, a great conflagration began. Strangely the spheres backed away, retreating to the outside of the house where they hung bright and still and shining into the dark. The fire burnt out of control taking the lives of the squire and his family.

  The house lit up like a beacon in the night, outshining even the spheres which, when the fire was finally at its brightest, slowly swept in, swallowed the light and let the now black flames consume the house to nothingness.

  The three spheres shining brighter than stars floated along the land. They flew back down the street, into the mist, where they dipped behind a hill and set like three little suns.

  (NB. In times of mist, villages from all around the Black Meadow light enormous and bright bonfires on the outskirts of their land.

  They turn out all the lights in every house and wait for the spheres to come.

  These events are called Black Nights.)

  And the gentleman his eyes they flashed

  As he spied her from his hide …

  Beyond the Moor

/>   A maiden fair who wore all black

  A gentleman did chance to meet.

  She had a golden pendant there

  Plac’d around her neck so sweet.

  And the gentleman his eyes they flashed

  As he spied her from his hide

  And he jump’d upon the lonely girl

  And pull’d her to his side.

  He said, “Give me that fair pendant girl

  Give it now or I shall take

  From you that precious treasure

  That with a husband you should make.”

  But the maiden fair she was not scar’d

  She did not scream or wail,

  She did not bite or kick or punch

  Or writhe or twitch or flail.

  “Take my pendant if you dare

  And take my treasure for

  I have no fear of you good sir

  As I’ve been Beyond the Moor.”

  The rogue it seem’d was ta’en aback