New Burnley (Part 1)
A place where your sins will come back to haunt you.
The people of New Burnley were a peculiar sort, having been secluded within the acres of woodland very few knew of its existence and those who did never attempted to reach it. Accessed through dirt paths and narrow cliffs and beyond Lake Sebastian so named due to the unfortunate death of one of New Burnley’s founders on August 9th, 1759.
Now the tracks lay hidden beneath overgrown grass and weeds, those who dare tread the old ways are often lost, claimed by the woods or the treacherous lake, their souls trapped forever. Tales told over the years claim the forest has voices which spit vile words to all who become misguided on their journey. With only a few bodies ever being found since the rumours of the spirits of the forest began in 1770, most who live in the land beyond New Burnley believe that a witch or some other powerful entity lives within the depths of the woods, hidden where no man dares tread.
Now it’s the fall of 1859, more tales have been told, tales that keep men, women and especially children away from the narrow, faded path that would take them on the perilous journey to New Burnley. Hector cared little for these tales and superstition and that in particular which he’d been told the people of New Burnley believed in.
He’d only been living in New Burnley for two weeks, and already everyone was greeting him as if he had been living there for years. They made him meals and cakes and bought him drinks at their small establishment, The Old Stump where all their ale was brewed, as was the spirits, and some in their own homes.
Although an atheist he kept most of the crucifixes on the walls of his home, should any locals come knocking he thought it best to maintain the charade. He had no intention of letting them know he wasn’t a believer. On his travel to the village, he’d seen what happened to the last person who committed a crime. Although not believing wasn’t a crime lies were and he wasn’t keen on discovering what happened to liars.
It was that first day during the long hike up the hills and around the crumbling cliffs and past lake Sebastian. It was there on the crest of the final hill that overlooked the wooden pillars where the sign welcome to New Burnley hung but it wasn’t that which drew his attention on that fateful day it was the crucified man who did.
Hector would later discover the man was Vincent Watts, his eyelids had been removed. Crows adorned his arms and head. Their usual innocent caws now sinister as the winged scavengers pecked at the maggots and flies from within. A crow fluttered on his face and fed upon the tasty morsel dangling which once lay hidden within its socket.
His mouth was sewn shut. A spike had been driven up through the bottom of his chin and buried in his chest propping his head up. But what made the breakfast stir in his stomach was the man’s penis and testicles had been removed and nailed under him which two crows were fighting over sat on either foot. *** Hector knew he should’ve turned and run rather than come face to face with the crazy people who were behind this.
An orange hue spread across the once pale clouds turning them bloody. A grey wolf emerged from a bush, teeth white, itching to be stained with blood. Its black pits stared back into his hazel eyes. Its back arched, hairs stood on end. Another crept from the treeline beside it then another three from the right.
Hector stepped back following the widening path ever closer towards the sign. His grip tightened on his small leather bag which all his worldly possessions lay inside. The wolves flashed their teeth as their large paws gated closer with every step which far exceeded every pace Hector dared take.
Hector’s pulse raced. He peeked over his shoulder towards the growing buildings then back to his pursuers who made his fate appear even more ominous with the red and orange glow in the sky behind them. He ran. The wolves gave chase. Their snarls and frantic breathing although several metres behind felt as if it was inches behind. His hair stood on end. As he passed the sign, the pursuit ceased as if some barrier had appeared halting their movement. They howled and clawed the ground but didn’t approach. Hector ran into the village, his heavy bag slapping against his leg.
A group of men approached armed with muskets, bows, and furrowed brows. They surrounded Hector. Their attire was modern despite the overwhelming fact that they were so cut off from society yet all about town everything appeared modern apart from the way into the village.
Hector cleared his throat and explained his predicament. The villagers shook his hand and explained they were naturally cautious due to the lack of visitors from outside the area. A downpour ensued without warning through what had been a clear sky which was now grey and black with flashes of sharp light and booms that shook the ground. They escorted him to the office of Horacio Bannington, the mayor.
The stout, balding, Horacio invited him in, two men followed close behind. He gestured to the vacant burgundy leather seat in front of his desk. Hector placed his bag on the floor and sat. Horacio opened a decanter in the shape of a castle on his desk and poured them both a drink.
“Welcome to New Burnley,” he said handing over the glass of whiskey then sat down in his high backed black leather chair.
“Thank you,” Hector cradled the glass with both hands. Droplets of rain dripped from his hair on to his shirt and arms.
“Tell me about yourself, what’s your name, stranger?”
“I’m Hector Stanton,” he said.
“What brings you here? Not many know of our home and even fewer know how to get here.”
“As strange as it sounds I went out for a walk and I’d heard about this place before and decided to see if the rumours were true.”
“Rumours!” the mayor grunted, his eyes widened. “What rumours?” he scrunched his face.
Hector took his drink down in one swift swig. The cool drink set his throat blazing. He coughed.
“Just that it’s a hard place to reach and you’re all so cut off from everyone that you live in the past. The other rumour was there are ghosts in the forest and around the lake.”
“Do you believe the rumours?”
“Everything but the part about ghosts,” he said running his finger up and down the glass. “That’s preposterous.”
“Indeed. Tell me, Mr Stanton… do you believe in God?”
“Yes,” there was no hesitation in his voice if that man who was strung up had been there because he no longer believed, Hector knew he would need to play along. He could do it. He’d done it before. He was a liar, a good one at that.
“Excellent. I’m glad to hear that. Let me apologize for the sight outside. The man. Vincent Watts, he… he didn’t,” Horacio exhaled. “He raped a girl, and here in this peaceful community, we enforce strict laws.”
Hector’s hands trembled.
“Why did you try to find New Burnley? You said that you heard about it and you were out for a walk. To me…,” the mayor tapped a finger against his chin and furrowed his brow. “To me, it’s odd that someone would make any attempt to find this place based on rumours and curiosity. And I’m assuming your belongings are in that bag, so you planned on finding this place. Do you consider yourself an explorer?”
“No. no, I don’t. “
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“May I have another drink, please?” Hector stirred. Horacio glanced at the guards beside the door.
“Depends, are you going to answer my question?”
“Yes.”
“Talk, then you can have the bottle if you’re honest.”
Hector placed the glass on the table and leaned back into the chair. “My wife… she died six months ago and I didn’t want to be at my job any longer. I didn’t want to clean, didn’t clean myself, and the people who I considered my friends didn’t want to know me. There was a sickness in my mind which took me to some dark places but now it’s gone. I was out walking and the possibility of change, exploration, belonging somewhere drew me here.”
“I’m sorry you lost your wife. Mind if I ask how she died?”
“Childbirth.”
“That’s God’s choice. He makes some choices we agree with and others we question. Though it doesn’t do well to dwell on these things. The questions. His reasons. If it was meant to be then it shall be.”
“That was my wife and son,” Hector lowered his head into his hands and shook his head. tears filled his eyes. He fought them back and lifted his head.
“They’re with God now. Your son is one of his angels, as is your wife. What did she look like?”
“A living angel. Long hair as bright as the mid-morning sun. Tender hands, slender, sultry legs, jade green eyes, and a voice so soothing she could send me to sleep some nights when she read her work to me.”
“What did she write?”
“Love stories and poetry,” the tears returned but this time he couldn’t fight it. He clenched his fists. A tear ran from his left eye. He wiped it away while another cascaded down his right cheek then another. He wiped his face.
“Here, you’ve earned it,” Horatio nodded and passed the bottle of whiskey to Hector.
“Thank you.”
“You came here looking for a change. A new life. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Number five is vacant if you still wish to stay. We can go over the rules tomorrow. How does that sound?”
“My own place?”
“Yes,” Horatio grinned.
“I, I, I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say.”
“Thank you springs to mind,” Horatio stood and extended his hand to him.
“Oh, of course, thank you,” Hector replied shaking his hand. “Thank you so much.”
After Horatio gave him the key the guards took Hector to his new home. It was in pristine condition on the outside. It was a single storey home with three steps onto a porch. Two flower pots bloomed either side of the door. As he stepped inside and drew his first breath in his new home the odours of the previous inhabitant attacked his senses. No. It was the smell of death. He’d smelled it before.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes furiously and scrunched his face. He set the bag on the floor. Flies buzzed around the room. He swatted a dozen in one swipe only to have another dozen maybe more coming for him. They landed on his head, his arms, and crawled up his sleeves and down the back of his shirt.
He patted himself all over, slapping his own face to be rid of them. He considered leaving and returning to the mayor and then thought about leaving the village and returning home. That wasn’t an option. Neither were.
Hector pressed on swatting the air. An atrocious stench and further cloud of filth and decay ridden flies met him through the arch to the kitchen. Their shit, decay and puss covered legs patted over his face. Lying at the foot on the sink was a dead dog. Its stomach open and guts on display like a butchers window. Faeces scattered the ground creating a minefield of shit.
Maggots wriggled over the meat and grey fur of what was once an Irish Wolf-Hound. its malnourished corpse flashed a memory to Hector of a dog he once grew up with in his early years of life. Vincent. He couldn’t remember why the dog was called Vincent but he did remember how protective it was of him.
He covered his mouth and drew in a deep breath and held it. He leaned over the dog and reached for the window as his left hand rested on the sink. He pushed. Stuck. He tried once more. It nudged away with a crack. Hector released the sink and pushed with both hands. The window flew open, he slipped forward hitting his stomach against the sink. Squelch. Crunch.
Flies swarmed up. Their buzzing was torture. He pushed himself back and glanced down. His foot was inside the open cavity. Pale maggots wriggled over his shoes. Hector lifted his foot free of the mess and kicked the cupboard sending the larvae into the air and onto the floor.
The room was black with winged pests. Some flew towards the open window. Hector covered his mouth and took another breath and looked around the room. A stack of plates lay beside the sink precariously with cutlery and food on each and yet more maggots and flies feasting.
Three cupboards hung on the wall to the right with another three behind him. He opened the ones behind him. Empty. The row below beside his legs was empty too. He gated towards the furthest cupboards and yanked the doors open sending the swarm into a frenzy as the air pushed them away. A few plates and cups resided inside the first. The second cupboard bore a bounty of tins with faded labels.
The third had a dozen glasses and a bottle of wine and two bottles of rum. In the cupboards below were some potatoes, a wrinkled apple, some damp paper, pots, and a cup filled with mould. Hector placed the paper on the kitchen counter. There was some writing on it and markings. He couldn’t decipher it.
Hector left the room and headed down the hall to the right. There was a door either side and one ahead. He opened the right door, it was a dining room and study. The air was thick with the scent of wet dog. Grey and brown fur was trodden into the beige carpet. There was a small round table with two chairs and an embroidered tablecloth was pressed against the wall only allowing one chair to be sat in. A candle in a flamboyant holder sat in the middle.
A scratched and hair covered leather chair sat beside a desk and bookcase. The remains of a wooden chair lay in a pile on the desk. The room behind him was a bathroom and of everything he’d seen so far it was clean. the toilet bowl although browning at the bottom was clean and compared to the plates it was clean enough to eat off.
The bath and sink had some mildew on the outside but appeared unused or hardly used. There was an open small round window in the middle of the sink and toilet. Hector went on tiptoes and pulled it shut.
Before Hector opened the last door the familiar buzzing blasted through the door as if it were made of paper. He opened the door. Another corpse was riddled with maggots and flies. A woman. No. A teenager. Her throat had been slit, the last moments of her life had spurted over the wall beside the bed and onto it as her blood pressure dropped.
He set off back to the mayor's office and banged on the door. A dozen or so villagers emerged like hungry birds on a garden full of worms. They stared. Hector knocked again.
“Hello, Hector. How may I help you?”
“You can start by getting that dead dog and teenage girl out of my new house!” he shouted. The mayor frowned then beckoned him inside.
“Please sit my friend.”
“No. I’d rather stand. What’s going on here? How can my house be filled with flies?”
“Flies?”
“Yes, flies. Millions of the fuckers. As soon as I walked through the door they were on me. There’s a dead dog with its innards on the outside on my kitchen floor. But what sickens me most is the murdered girl on the bed.”
“Sit… please,” the mayor urged gesturing to the vacant seat. They both sat. “There’s no dog or girl or plague of flies in your home. Of that I’m certain. You’ve had a long journey to get here and I was told you met with some of the wildlife. It’s natural to hallucinate if you’re stressed or tired.”
“I know what’s real and what’s not. This was real. Go see. Go see for yourself.”
“Ok,” the mayor started. “William, Malcolm, Oliver, can you come in here please?” he hollered. Seconds later three men stepped in through the door on the side of the room.
“Is there a problem sir?” one said.
“No, not here. Number five appears to be, according to our new resident, Hector, a scene of despicable horror. I need you to go there and make sure it’s safe for Hector to return home and I need you to remove the bodies he says are there.”
“Bodies?” he asked with a slight grin.
“Yes, you heard correctly.”
“Consider it done,” the man replied. “Let’s go, Hector.”
“What, me?” Hector pointed to himself. The man nodded.
“You got to show us where the bodies are.”
“I will. I bloody well will. You’ll see.”
They walked through the village and entered the house. Nothing. No flies. No dog. And no dead girl. The blood which had stained the wall and sheets was gone.
“Where are the bodies?” the man asked.
“I don’t see any bodies,” the second man said.
“Nah, no bodies, nothin’,” the third mumbled in a dreary voice.
“But… they were here. I’m not making this up!” Hector bellowed then thumped the wall with a yell. “I saw them. It was horrible.”
“They’re not here. There’s nothing,” the first man said.
“I guess it was all in my head,” Hector said.
“That’s what the mayor told you,” the second man chortled. “Come on let’s go,” he said leading the way out of the house. Hector slammed the door shut behind them.
End of Part 1
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