The Town of No Return - Prologue
It
was deep into midwinter, and the woods were heavy with a foreboding sense of death, that permeated the atmosphere of the chilling early morning. The wood - for the most part -was nothing
more than just a collection of various shades of grey, punctuated by the odd coniferous tree, or two, with some of the more
evergreen shrubs to offer the slightest resistance to the colourless
scene. The rising sun hung low on the skyline as it's heavily
filtered rays attempted to break through the skies freezing bleak
shroud, with only minimal effect, to awaken another day - minus any
of it's life-affirming warmth.
But,
despite this chilly tableau, the lower areas of the woodland, were
showing signs that it's snowy covering was in retreat, a fact wasted
on the small, furry, inhabitants, who were still fully committed to their ritual states of hibernation, as if they knew, deep down, that this phenomenon was just a temporary polar ceasefire.
The
raw, morning air was motionless, as if unable to move due to being
saturated with the damp, freezing cold. Nothing was stirring,
there was just the grey and the deathly silence. Then, from out of
no-where, a crow suddenly swept down, cawing as it dove into the
newly exposed wet leaves on the ground. It cawed once more, while
it's head flitting sharply around surveying the surroundings and for
any tell-tale movement in the undergrowth, then it plunged itself –
violently - beneath the layer of leaves, and began tossing and
turning the earth into the air, as it began the search for hidden
morsels of food. Then, as sharply as it had began, it ceased. It's
head shot to the surface as if it had sensed some unseen presence or
danger, it cried out again and launched itself into the air, it's
fast, powerful wings, flapping wildly as it took flight, disturbing
the leaves it left behind. This radical displacement of the immediate
landscape, revealed a foreign body – or rather a part of one –
re: one upturned, frozen human hand, it's gnarled, grey condition was
self-evident that life had long since slipped through it's icy
fingers.
The
crow had only removed it's self a few feet away, deciding to take
refuge on an old, warped, rudely constructed signpost. Once more it
commenced it's haunting lament, which almost seem to echo against the
trees themselves, as it shattered the unearthly peace. Then it began
to pace, slowly but steady, along the top of the wooden sign,
dis-lodging the last of the covering snow, and there crudely etched
into the wood, in red, was an arrow pointing the way, and underneath this it simply read: Mistry –
Dead Ahead .
The
Mistry Files..coming soon
