The girl in the plate

Hello everyone!!!

Here is the dawn of the prophecy… when everything is a mess… it’s always best to start from the beggining… so sit back and enjoy the tale of a normal girl and an extraordinary story :-)))

All the best,

Marta.A

Chapter 1: Old Chestnut Manor

Anna was a bog standard eleven year old English girl, the type of girl nobody ever really noticed much. She was neither plain nor pretty, her height could definitely be considered as medium and so were her school marks. In fact, if you passed her on the street you would probably wouldn’t have noticed her.

Anna spent most of her time running around in baggy jeans and trainers, teasing her mischievous younger brothers, Dick and Alex, who were classified by some as moderately mad and whose favourite sport was trying to drive their elder sister bonkers.

Their parents, Alfred and Penelope, were an exceedingly eccentric couple who did their best to raise their kids as normal human beings, though it was quite an ordeal as their work implied an anything but ordinary life style. The Spencerfords spent their entire lifetime trundling around the continent with their three children and Ginger, their chubby cat, restoring long lost works of art in places most people haven’t even heard of.

For that reason and as had happened so many times before, the Spencerfords were heading towards the unknown, oblivious to the fact that they were moving to the strangest house in the Scottish borders.

When Mr & Mrs Spencerford had told the children that they were moving to a stone manor house at the top of a wooded valley, in Dumfries, Scotland, it took Dick barely a second to find out its exact location. Both his elder brother and sister weren’t at all surprised when the little boy moaned.

“It just had to be in the middle of no-where, didn’t it?”

Meanwhile, Jenny Appleton had made it her business to tell everyone in the village about the Londoners who were moving into Old Chestnut Manor.

“That old place gives me the creeps.”-Farmer Hart murmured solemnly- “Just walking those corridors is bad enough, you always have an over the shoulder feeling of being watched”.

“That it does Wilfred, that it does…”- Old Mrs Bowers agreed – “ my great grandfather, god rest his soul, always said that in the foundations of that house was an ancient Druidic stone, the cursed Ball stone.”

“Fools.”- Farmer Hart sat down on his weather-beaten, wooden rocking-chair- “They don’t know what they’re getting themselves into…”

 

Chapter 3

“How can I be of service?”- the landlady of the decrepit establishment asked, staring at the man standing in front of her.

“I have come to call on father Petters.”- he answered in hoarse voice.

The ill-looking woman eyed him suspiciously as she fumbled with her greasy hair, thinking what answer to give the stranger.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”-the fat woman wanted to know.

“We have urgent matters to discuss.”- he dropped a small leather bag on the rough table, the coins jingled as the knocked on the wooden surface.

The woman picked up the purse and after examining its contents she answered.

“This way.”

Hiding the gift in her apron, the greasy woman lead the visitor through a series of dark corridors that stank of vomit and human filth.

“Help me!”-An lanky old man grabbed the visitor’s hand.

“Let go of him, old lunatic!”-the landlady threatened him with her walking-stick- “We don’t want a visit from my husband now, do we?”

“No, please… I am begging you…”-the dying man curled under the stone stairs.

At the end of the steep staircase, the woman took out a rusty bunch of keys from her apron.

“You have ten minutes.”-she opened the iron door- “If there is a problem I am afraid you are on your own.”-the woman locked the door behind the visitor- “I will not be able to hear you… our guests… like to shout.”-the landlady added, talking to the man from the other side of the bared windows.

“Thank you.”-the visitor entered the darkness.

Lying rigidly on a wooden plank, an old clergyman made no sign of recognition, ignoring the presence of his visitor.

“John.”-he took a seat on a mucky chair- “I need to know the truth.”

 

 

 

 

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