Shallow-Wood

Prologue:

Over the past century, a story of either in beliefs of paranormal events, whispers of gossip spreads of unknown supernatural’s or just of fictional nonsense has since haunted and impacted the village of Shallow-Wood. The village was quiet, humble, and antiquated yet murky, obscure, and mysterious, as some of the natives of the countryside described it as creepy and advised those not of local to avoid it.

There were rumours of mad drunken maniacs of murderers and paedophiles of the ancestors that once lived upon there though they were either sentenced to life imprisonment or sentenced to death until their bodies were disposed of in the nearby lake called Thaw-Lake, that was literally named by the locals after that haunting story of the fate of those who have committed such crime and terrible circumstances. They also say that their spirits still linger on by the lake indistinctly though the voices demonic, rasp and rather hellish still visible in the air.

No matter where the spirits scatter beneath or about the lake so deep and wide, no matter what secrets Thaw-Lake keep in the air or in water, no matter where the remains were found or ever unearthed to dare discover, and no matter how forsaken the criminal’s spirits to remain persistence around the lake or maybe lurking near Shallow-Wood. The tale of the evil spirits that came from the peaceful village that would be remembered for all the wrong reasons by their so-called decriminalized actions of the dark past, would be known of fear and prudence.

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It was in the Autumn of a brightened yet cloudy day in the countryside somewhere far west in Ireland, where two back-packed females were trogging along heading South through scenes of greenery. The sun shone as a dimmer light bulb with the clouds surrounding it so dingy and depressing almost as though it sucked the light out of the world as they partially covered the sun.

The lands around them were mostly of plains and pastures of greenness either pale or dark, and so full of peace in the air with the wind so lightly wafting the grazes far as the eyes can see over farm tracks and dry stone, neighboured with boulders some with moss and most of proud grey stone like the dull sky above.

The sheep rambling and digesting over the seas of grassy fields spotted half a mile away, with a Blue Tit flying along to where the towering regions of thickened trees as bushy as broccoli florets with a rather heavy streaming dyke stretching on close by, and the verdancy of mountainous lands in greenish-yellow laid bare curvy and high view of the district ahead.

The two women, one Historian named Joanne in her early forties, and the other an Archaeologist named Beatrice no younger than twenty-nine, were hiking along the plains with large canvas backpacks and acknowledging their ecstatic beautiful surroundings, were chatting about their project regarding of a documentary script of a mysterious lake Kelpie as their last project was of a Morag in Scotland. They checked and went through the paperwork for their tasks over and over and worried not about hoaxes of critics, but they merely wanted to discover, research and undergo adventurous activities with their desires of mythical beings somewhere out there in the woodenness and terrains in many regions of the world.

"Exactly where is it we're going again?" huffed Joanne enduring the free air of the countryside though rather exhausted after ten miles of walking along the farm track.

"I've told you when we got of the ferry Jo" said Beatrice "We're trying to find this Inn at Shallow-Wood to speak to some locals regarding our documentary project" she assured with a mocking smile whilst taking out a compass to check from her front coat pocket.

"I mean don't you want to know about the other mystery monsters in Ireland, of the Kelpie you were so bragging on about since college?"

"Well yes" Joanne sighed with her feet feeling almost depleted from the long journey across the tracks of the countryside.

"But we didn't have to walk this far since our slopes in Scotland, and we've checked over and over on the map and there's no such thing as this unknown village nearby, we don't even know it even exists" the historian gazed around over her shoulders into thinking they were lost on a directionless journey to an uncharted village destination across the plain's miles and miles.

“I’m sure we’ll get to this village pretty soon” said Beatrice, “Just a little further if not longer”.

“Well hopefully before it gets dark and a place to stay for the night” said Joanne with a sense of mutter.

The sun now sluggishly setting like a golden coin descending at great slow motion as the evening darkness was slowly appearing. About another four miles had past tirelessly yet frazzling for the duo now passing along a hump hillock, until they now found their supposedly destination gazed upon their sights from half a mile away.

Beatrice and Joanne’s surroundings was becoming murkier with the darkness nearing but could still see clear enough to observe the village, with a hump stone bridge drawing to their path and destination, along with a sign they could not make out due to the gloom from their distance.

“This should be it” huffed Beatrice with a satisfied smile, “Shallow-Wood Village and whatever it has in store for us for our Kelpie work”.

“Oh good, finally” Joanne let out a grunting sigh feeling weary with some content. “C’mon, it’s getting late and I’m tired”.

The duo made their last stroll towards the Village with both hands on their backpack straps passing by the sign of Shallow-Wood and crossing the stone bridge, though failing to acknowledge what was attached to it below the sign letters stuck on to it of a sticker note as it barely caught their eyes so long as they could read the Village name with the sticker note inscribed in thick ink, People disappear round by here turn back now.

By now the sun sank behind the hills and swallowing up the clouds like it was obliterating all the gleam of the world as nightfall arrived. Shallow-Wood seemed ancient and old fashioned to them both as there was barely anyone in sight, into thinking if anybody really lived here at all or if they all slept in early for the night as the only lights that beamed around were the lampposts all in medieval texture.

There weren’t any transport vehicles in sight, the roads were cracked and the pavements lumpy, and every village house bared hoary with straw roofs, though some of the stone houses save venerable and remote. The church with its fences and gate so daunting, an odd-looking monument lay out on the Village circle leading up to the other road end out of Shallow-Wood, and a barn that looked abandoned and vulnerable as though anyone in the village hardly cared for it.

It was a bitterly silence on a depressing sight, until the duo by now had finished their stroll along the dreary Village and noticed some light and echoing commotions pitching up from indoors approaching an Inn called The Mauled Cow. At least the Inn seemed ample and painted well, though a creaking swing sign displaying an image of a crazed, possessed, and headless cow with spews of blood out of its neck as Beatrice couldn't help but gape at it so creepily and grossly.

Three squared picnic benches were also set outside, though they seemed drenched and one of them unstable with only an elderly man sat alone on one bench with a jug of bitter beer half drunken and a walking stick adjacent by his side.

He was wearing a creased grey linen coat, a navy scarf wrapped firmly round his neck, and a dark drab woolly hat with wearing only one leather glove on his hand. He sat quietly with strict motionless expression on his face both hands resting on the table pub bench as though he was expecting someone or perhaps on the lookout and not wanting to be disturbed to be looking for some company.

Joanne checked the time of her watch and turned to her coat pocket for cash in exchange of the Inn bookings for food and rest, Beatrice however had her eye caught staring arduously for a few brief seconds at the elderly man sat on a picnic bench about two yards away, feeling rather intimidated by the old man's depressing deathly glare until the old man faced back to his beer jug as she turned away from him.

“Well, here we are” Joanne exhaled in relief dropping her backpack to her hand.

“Gosh how sad and creepy is this place” said Beatrice darkly, looking over her shoulder upon the dispirited Village of Shallow-Wood so irritably and strangely whilst trying to ignore the old man on the bench from her sight. “And what kind of a name is The Mauled Cow?” she joked.

“I don’t know, too tired to care” Joanne muttered, "Let's get inside and check in".

Both the Historian and the Archaeologist were looking forward towards the morning more than the night in at the Inn of The Mauled Cow, with Joanne now wondering why they both ever agreed to undergo this so-called Kelpie research project in the first place, especially some nerves of concern now crossing Beatrice's mind since entering the Shallow-Wood let alone the Inn with the bizarre sign of a headless cow.

Dawn broke across the lands over and beyond of Shallow-Wood the next morning, the weather conditions were just about the same as yesterday only a slight breeze of wind occurred with a whispering breath so stiff, and the sunlight dimmed by the obscure of the clouds grey as pencil ink. The Village of Shallow-Wood brightened in pale though still glum and dejected from the nights view.

After a dozen awkward glares from the locals of the pub last night, poor services from staff, an unwelcoming atmosphere, creaky bed frames with smelly quilts, a bland breakfast, and complaints towards an inattentive Innkeeper later, Joanne and Beatrice stormed out of The Mauled Cow with darkly and irked facial expressions to each other and back to the Inn hoping it will be the last time they ever dine or stay there ever again.

"Well you can call that the worse countryside stayover ever" said Beatrice in annoyance in a slight temper, both bearishly scowling back at the Mauling Cow for the last time on-towards their next destination.

"Couldn't agree more" said Joanne darkly with disapproval.

"I mean we asked them if there was any lakes or nearby rivers for our mystery project, then we mentioned any Kelpies and that they kept cursing and wailing about ghosts, I mean why did they treat us like were aliens or something when we mentioned that, so ridiculous" Beatrice couldn't help but yammer on with the disappointing stay over at the Inn.

"Made us feel alienated you mean?" Joanne corrected scornfully.

"Something like that" Beatrice murmured.

"We'll just have to look at the map again and find any nearby landmarks with water"

The duo trailed on the disfigured road heading back towards the stone hump bridge, until they heard a raspy voice close by from around the corner.

"Who said that?" Joanne called out.

A man approached casually though sternly from the corner with a walking stick revealing to be the elderly man from last night outside the Inn. He was in the same clothing from the night before dressed warmly though he had a flinty look with eyes staring as though he could look right through someone so vastly.

"If you're wishing to find some mysteries around lakes or perhaps a body of water" said the old man in a deep rasped voice sounding rather unpleasant to listen for an entire conversation.

"There is one about a mile and a half east, if it may take any interest," said the old man

"You sure about that?" Joanne asked carefully.

"I know in and out of this territory well enough for something to uncover" the elderly man yearned.

The duo seemed sceptical and distrustful of the old man's advice when mentioned "Something to uncover" and "A body of water".

"Choice is yours though" the elderly man shrugged, "But if it does take your interest, don't hang around there for too long or get too curious as it can feel intense in the air, and don't get lost in the fog as you may lose your way" he warned and walked away limping out of view back to the corner.

"Ok thanks" Beatrice said dejectedly

After a discreet and uncertain discussion between the two whether they should head east to where the lake (or a lake) might be at, to find elsewhere for any water land marks, or perhaps to just head back to the ferry home.

So with hesitance and confusion of wise thought, they both decided (though unwillingly) to head east out of the other road of Shallow-Wood to find this mystery lake.

By the time they arrived, the duo found themselves in a breeze of mist beginning to evolve slowly, until they found themselves floundering through thick mud and leaves crunching and sliding through. Up until they found a grotesque tree with certain thick branches bent and curved like large dead snakes with scaly brown leaves. But now with complete shock surprise by the Historian, a relieving awe from the Archaeologist, and both quite stunned by their eyes catching view through the mist now beginning to thicken more, they found the lake the elderly man suggested.

Though something didn't seem right, the air was now feeling swelled up as though there wasn't much to breath in as though they were high up a mountain. The fog had now thickened in their surroundings even though they were able to see the lake wide as a farmer's field though rather of one large miss-shaped oval, dull as dishwater, dirty as bog and seemed salty as ocean sponge. The wind now crept upon their skin so envious like an uncomfortable stroke brushing their hairs.

"I say we get this done and over with and then head back" said Joanne with cores of concern in her voice.

"Agreed" said Beatrice in the mutual feeling but with more worry and anxiety in her chilling voice, "That old man did say to avoid the fog after all...".

"I know, but the sooner this is done the better" Joanne interrupted with hesitantly with frigid chills.

The sense of fear and jitters was now crawling up their spins so rashly, with both of them slightly shaking to reach in their backpacks so nervously. The Historian took out her sketch book and a case file containing research and proof of evidence through mystery discoveries along with what they find and see in their surroundings to draw it out on paper, whilst the Archaeologist took out a high gadget ground scanner along with a garden trowel to scan and dig.

Minutes passed by with worry, impatience and doubt with Joanne checking her surroundings in sight and jotting down on her sketch book whilst Beatrice continued scanning the ground with her gadget, until it made a higher pitch volumed radio like noise marked the spot for her to start digging and shovelling.

Whilst the Beatrice continued digging, Joanne listed down the notes for what she could see, hear and feel. She even described the atmosphere by drawing out the setting of the dark lake through the foggy mists upon an intimidating display. The Historian then began to forget what was going on in her surroundings, even the sound of the heavy breathing and the shovelling from the Archaeologist didn't cross her hearing as her thoughts and vision became lost upon glaring at the lake for more than a moment.

Beatrice continued to shovel tirelessly until something hard hit her garden trowel as though hitting a rock from the earth, she then used her bare hands to dig up the soil to unearth something that will hopefully fulfil a rare finding, perhaps of a fossil of a Kelpie or a bone of a sea monster to unearth. But no, it was a bone in dirt the size of a dagger and thin as a stick, to her shock and confound she dropped the bone to the side until she unearthed something else. At first it seemed like a breakable, drab granite sphere with holes inside, until she struck to panic shock dropping it to the ground as she realised what it really was, a skull. Buried beneath the earth into thinking as though someone was murdered and buried round this area near the lake.

The fear now began to crawl through her spine so irritably like tarantulas fast pacing on her skin as she no longer felt safe or comfortable in the area round the lake, this was now time for the duo to leave.

"Jo, we should go right now...". Beatrice mouth and eyes widened in shear shock horror, she witnessed three visible ghosts still seeing right through the of the lake. They were carrying the spirit of Joanne's corpse in the air as her body lay motionlessly flat on the ground. She screamed out her name until she froze uncontrollably to her panicking reaction to the sight of dismay, disturbance and disbelief. She began to scream to the top of her lungs as a wailing screech striking the ears in vain her soul was now snatched away from her body by the ghosts luring their lifeless bodies in the lake and the spirits disappeared without a trace. Never to be found or return the sketch book Joanne left behind closed shut like a door never to be reopened or discovered, maybe not ever.