Vellichor

The Return of the Past

It had rained all day, every day, for the past week, and Alice was sick of it. She was sick of the brown sloppy layer of mud that covered the roads, and somehow always found a way in through her clogs, until she could feel it sliding between her toes. She was sick of wet hair that never dried out, and of suffering from a damp chill that sunk into her bones. She was sick of the leak in the corner of the roof of the cottage that seemed irrepairable, and only grew worse with every torrent of water. So when the rain ceased one Saturday afternoon, and the clouds lightened to a pallid grey, Alice immediately seized the opportunity to trek into Molerton and pay a visit to Myrtle's bookshop. The track was so churned up that the mud was curved into crests and troughs like the waves of a stormy sea. Oh, how Alice longed to see the sea - just once in her lifetime. She imagined that it would be quite daunting experience, to witness something far greater than she could ever hope to be, immortal yet always changing, and if God did exist the sea would surely be the closest likeness to him on Earth. When Alice finally arrived at Myrtle's, her clogs were covered in the deep brown sludge, and she was obliged to leave them outside the shop to prevent the bringing of dirt onto the lovely soft carpet. She flitted between the bookshelves and darted up the stairs at the back of the shop, so lightly she could have passed for a ghost.

When she arrived at the top of the stairs, Geoffrey, who had been busy sorting out a box of new books ready to go on the shelves, spotted Alice immediately despite her silent approach.

'Ah! Alice my dear! How are you? It has been a while, has it not?' He cried fondly.

'Yes, Geoffrey, I'm afraid I've been terribly busy recently, and the weather has restricted my movements somewhat.'

Geoffrey glanced outside the window with a small sigh. 'I don't blame you. The Weather seems reluctant to give up its sulky mood. Makes you wonder what someone's done to annoy the big man up there.' Geoffrey said as he pointed up to the sky. He was rather like a sceptical grandfather, and had great trouble in believing in the common God worshipped by the majority.  'Well then, since you are here, I'd be extremely grateful for some help sorting through these.' He continued, gesturing to the large cardboard boxes scattered across the room. 'I decided it was time to clear out the old store room - I'd almost forgotten it was there! Some of these documents are extremely old, and while some may have value to them most are too yellowed and torn to be worth much at all. I haven't even gotten through half of them yet.' He sighed and continued rummaging through the one on his left.

The light that shone from the oil-lamp on the wall reflected of particulates of dust drifting through the air like golden snowflakes. An intense musty smell of aged paper consumed the room, and where some might have covered there mouths with the fear of evident miasma, Alice closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent embraced her with familiar arms, overriding the chill that had followed her in from outside, and filled her lungs with ancient wisdom and warmth. Many of the boxes lay half open, with books and papers strewn on the carpet surrounding them, but one box lay untouched. It sat in the corner, silent and observant, content to be watching the events of the room without getting involved. Either Geoffrey hadn't gotten around to it yet, or he had forgotten it was there - which would be perfectly plausible, as it's small size enabled it to nestle in the one dark corner of the room, where the light of the oil-lamp could not quite reach. So it sat there, unnoticed. Watching. Waiting. Alice's keen eyes missed nothing - and as she scanned the room, they lingered on the mysterious box in the corner, and she concluded that it should be an easy one to start with due to it's minute form. Alice opened it cautiously, careful not to worsen the growing cloud of dust already lingering in the room. As expected, it was filled with dry, yellow pages, curling at the edges. The writing was almost illegible. Alice took them out with a sigh, and rooted further in the hope of finding something interesting. The ordinary paper gave way to parchments, but still the documents were useless, until finally, Alice came across one which was mostly comprehensible. In the top-right corner was the date '1603' and the main body of the text seemed to document a particular event in a formal manner. Upon closer inspection, Alice realised that it was a report of someone's death. The slanted scrawl was hard to read in areas, and the paper had more creases in it than the trunk of an ancient tree, yet Alice managed to extract the main information. A village girl, Anne Browne, 'a bonny lass' had been discovered 'in the early hours of the morn...partially submerged in the village pond' having drowned several hours earlier. It appeared that she had been found floating face-down, with her wrists tied to her ankles 'in the manner of a wytch hunt'. Naturally, Alice was horrified by this report, but her initial distress was soon overridden by her irrepressible curiosity. What had really happened to the girl? Who had done such a thing? And why?