Midwinter Mystery - The Prologue

      _{The Town of No Return - The 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 wasin 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. 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 flitted sharply around surveying the area for any tell-tale movement in the undergrowth, then plunged itself – violently - beneath the layer of leaves where it 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. The crow's head shot to the surface as if sensing some unseen presence or danger, and cried out again and launching itself into the air, fast powerful wings, flapping wildly as it took flight, disturbing the leaves left behind. This radical displacement of the immediate landscape, revealed a foreign body – or rather part of one – re: one upturned frozen human hand, it's gnarled grey condition self-evident that life had long since slipped through it's icy fingers.}

   _{The crow had only removed itself to a few feet away, deciding to take refuge on an old warped rudely constructed signpost. Once more it commenced it's haunting lament, which seemed to echo in the emptiness between the trees, shattering the unearthly peace. Then slowly and steadily it began to pace along, from side to side, the top of the wooden sign, dislodging the last of the covering snow, and there, crudely etched into the wood in red was an arrow pointing the way, and underneath it, it simply read: Mistry – Dead Ahead .}

© Michael Burford, 2018

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