For Writers

By Writers

Ascriber / Writers Eyes Workshop - 9.

'Lights'

Imagine a light. It may be a torch coming towards you, a chink of light coming though closed curtains or perhaps the moon shining behind a cloudy sky. Watch how a candle flickers and the flickering shadows it creates. How the different types of street lights cast colours across the roads, broken by car headlights (or brake, rear or indicator).

Children hold torches under their chins and try to frighten themselves by looking in a mirror or jump out on their parents or peers. A streak of light across the night sky, we are taught from an early age to wish upon a falling star (though I must confess I haven’t a clue why).

Then there is the more serious side, how do artificial lights affect our environment? Is plant or animal life affected in the areas that no longer go dark? I’m sure you can think of many more examples.

Prose:

Story writers - Write a complete short story concerning lights or a light of around 2500 words.

Articles - Write an article on lights, lighting or the affects of. This should be no more than 1500 words.

Poetry - Any style in no more than 50 lines. The theme must be a light, or lights.

Submissions

We are always grateful for your comments and will be pleased to display them, or should the writer prefer, e-mail them on.

“Bloody Hell!”

The two lights swooped towards us from out of the sunset, turning the motionless sea to almost a blood colour. Then we ourselves were bathed in an aura of red as they rushed overhead, converging into one great orb of fire in the sky and crashing to the ground somewhere on the moorland behind. I held my breath waiting for the sound of the its destruction to come echoing back but no sound came. Then almost as a candle splutters before it goes out, there was a flicker and darkness.

"What on.." I started but both Jamie and Dave were already running in the direction of its demise.

I caught up with them on the road, puffing and panting, their bodies bent with hand's on knees. They may be good canoeists but runners they weren't. As with me, all their power was in their upper bodies and arms and after the day's exertions paddling along the Scottish coastline and over to the island, we were pretty well shattered anyway.

"There’s a track there." Jamie pointed to an opening, a signpost indicating a stone circle.

It was hard going, with light trainers on our feet and a rough and rutted path beneath us, we seemed to be getting nowhere.

"I'm going back." Dave was the first to complain.
"Come on Dave, we must be nearly there." Jamie's voice still showed his enthusiasm.

I too had had enough though and suggested that we come back in the morning when we'd be less likely to end up with sprained ankles. Reluctantly Jamie agreed and we cautiously started to retrace our steps.

That’s when it happened. There was a sudden flash and our shadows were cast along the rough ground. I don't know who turned to see first but further into the moorland a pure white ray of light was shining heavenward, gradually fanning outwards as it lifted until it caught the edge of a cloud and disappeared within its depths.

"I said we should've gone on." Jamie was first to speak, but both Dave and I were too much in awe of what we'd seen to make any comment and just stood there silently. Then once more we started for the road.

Just opposite the signpost, a white van was parked in a small parking spot, the driver standing by it's open door.
"Did you see...." Jamie was almost bursting with excitement.
"Aye, I did and I recommend you'll forget it."
"But.."
"I've seen it before and no doubt I'll be seeing it again."
"Does it happen that often?" Dave pushed forward.
"We'll, I don't think you need to know that."
"Oh come on, we've just seen it, we know what happened. What harm is there in knowing more?"
"I'll tell you the harm. You'll not be satisfied and funny things happen to those not satisfied."
"Just tell us," I interrupted. "Will we see it again?"
"Aye, like enough, it's usual for three nights together, tonight was the first so it's fair to say if you're about, you'll see it again tomorrow."
"We'll wait there, we could even camp there." Jamie said, putting his thoughts into words.
"Then you'll be a fool." The man said. "Just keep right away and forget about it." He glared at Jamie. "I'll bid you good night and hope I'll not to see you again." He climbed back into his van and slammed the door almost as though shutting his life away from ours.

The next day we tried the track again and walked up into the deserted moorland. Three massive standing stones stood together, like sentinels guarding a number of ancient stone circles marked out in the grass. A fourth stone stood on lonely sentry duty further into the moor.

"This must be where it came." Jamie stood looking around him. He ran to the centre of the three huge stones. "What a place, just think what might've happened here, right on this spot and it's even flat enough to pitch our tents."
"You can - I won't," Dave broke into his wild fantasy. "You heard what that bloke said last night."
"You'll stay, won't you Jase." Jamie looked in my direction and I felt a shudder run through me.
"Not likely, I don't mind watching from a long way away but getting that close..."
"Then I'll do it on my own. I'm not scared of a bit of light. It's only old superstitions that keep people away from things like this and I want to know what causes it."
"I'll tell you what," I said. "We'll ask around, if we can find anybody that knows it's safe, I'll join you. Otherwise you can do it on your own."

I honestly think the majority of people we asked knew little or nothing about the lights, they'd possibly heard a few rumours. In such a small community it would've been impossible for them not to but no one was prepared to say a thing. We asked about the driver of the white van and was told he lived on his own but rarely spoke to a soul. "A strange fellow, talks about flying saucers and things. Came to the island full of fanciful ideas but when his wife left, he changed completely and now apart from the occasional visit to the shops, keeps himself to himself”.

We helped Jamie to pitch his tent, it was extremely lightweight dome but the last one left in a sale at Marshall Awnings, and bright yellow only broken by the small 'M A' logo by the opening. As dusk began to fall Dave and I bade Jamie good night and made our way back to the beach. The white van was parked in the little parking bay again and we stopped for a word. Its driver was listening intently with a pair of ear phones clamped across his head and at first didn't see us, then with a finger to his mouth he lifted one side.
"I'll be pleased if you'll be silent." His small dark eyes almost seemed to burn into us as he spoke and we stood like a pair of schoolboys waiting to see the head.
"I thought I'd heard 'em coming." He pushed open the door. 'They'll be along soon enough." Then his face changed, almost contorted. "Where's your friend? The one who.."
"He's up at the standing stones, he wants to see."
"The fool, he’s completely mad. I told you all - He's got to get away!"
"Should we go back?" Dave asked anxiously.
"You've done enough, both of you. You let him stay." He looked at us as one would a naughty child. "Wait here, I'll go, I know them. Just pray I'm not too late."

The man dropped the earphones onto the seat and ran to the road, then stopped and looked round. "You'll be idiots if you follow me. Just stay here till they leave, that way you'll be safe." He turned again and set off along the track and was soon lost in the darkness.

We waited, both feeling a little sheepish, though quite honestly I don't think either of us could have persuaded Jamie not to have camped there. Dave picked up the earphones and listened, "He hasn't switched them off." "What can you hear?"
"Nothing much, just a shushing sound." He passed them to me. There was just the squelch noise of a badly tuned in radio and I reached out to fiddle with the knob of the home made box resting on the dashboard. "Don't.." Dave pulled my hand away.
"But.."
"He's probably set it. He seems to know what he's doing."
"Yeah, he's more probably a crank." For a moment the whole thing seemed completely ludicrous. Here I was listening for flying saucers or whatever they were, while some strange fellow was dashing off into the darkness to rescue my friend.
"But we've seen them." Dave had almost read my thoughts and I pressed the phones tightly to my ears.

"There's nothing there." I dropped them back to the seat and stood leaning against a fence staring out to the little islands on the horizon. The sun's last show of life now fading behind the dark blobs of land. A lighthouse flashed its warning from one of them and I found myself counting the seconds between flashes. The sun's rays had now completely gone. Or were they? A build up of redness, almost a replay of the sunset, came from beyond the headland and instantly a screaming sound came from the van. Even from this distance I could hear the earphones as they burst into life. Two lights, one slightly before the other came skimming over the water towards us. Their warm, ruddy glow lit the sea into a myriad dancing broken rays. As the last time, they swooped above our heads and seemed to converge, then almost with a final flourish, they shot as one skyward to fall into the moorland beyond. The earphones fell silent.

"Christ!" It was more of a gasp from Dave than a cry. "At least he's got a grandstand seat." But I could tell from his tone that he wasn't really joking. "Let's go Dave, we've got to be there."
"He said..." Just then the earphones began humming, not just a monotone but a full cacophony of sound and again we stood, silent, filled with awe.

I can barely describe the next few moments, there was the fear for what might be happening to Jamie, fear of what may be happening to his possible rescuer and the uncertainty of what may be happening next.
Another change in the sound, very faint, just a low moan emanated from those phones. Then a terrible din, a wild explosion of sounds and a ray spread heavenwards as last night but this time not of white light but vivid green.

"Come on." Dave was first to react and sprinted across the road and along the track with me trailing behind.

A sound from along further and we stopped, listening. A figure appeared from the shadows, almost staggering towards us. "The fool," he was repeating. "The fool, he wouldn't listen to me, he just wouldn't listen."

Together we walked the man back to the van but he seemed incapable of telling us what had happened.
He sat back in the driver's seat and reached across to switch off his radio. It may have been the familiarity of the movement and his surroundings but his dazed expression seemed to lighten slightly. "We may be lucky," he said, "Aye, tomorrow. We'll just have to wait."
"I've waited long enough." Dave expressed the anger, the next emotion that had led from concern. "What's happened to him?"
"I don't know. He's gone, that's all I can say."
"Gone where?"
"With them? Hiding? Who can tell? We'll just have to wait." "I'm calling the police."
"Do what you like but remember, you start talking about lights in the sky and people'll start talking about you. Like they do about me."
"We'll wait till morning," Dave said. "We can decide then."
"Aye, I'll see you here about eight." The man closed his door and his engine started.

My throat was dry, I felt tired, more tired than I'd ever felt before and I was hungry, together Dave and I waited by the small car park. We'd seen a few cars pass by and had spoken to a lone walker who'd been camping nearby. I mentioned the lights, he must've seen them. An emphatic "No", a strange look and he walked on. "I haven't just escaped." I cried after him.
Then the white van appeared. "Sorry I'm late lads, I overslept."
Overslept! He should be so lucky.
Where he'd been morose only the previous night, he seemed almost jovial this morning. He held his hand out. "I'm Mathew." Then formalities over, breezily set out towards the stones with us following like dogs on his heels.

We could see it before we'd arrived, that bright yellow of his tent would show up anywhere. But something was wrong and we almost ran to the stones. The tent had been squashed flat, as if an immense weight had been put on top of it. The fibre rods that had given it its shape were smashed and the fabric in ribbons. I picked up a loose peg and threw it in desperation.

"Jamie! Jamie!" It was Dave. The panic showing in his voice.
"Don't waste your breath lad," Mathew was examining the ground. "He's not here."
"He's got to be."

"Sit down." Mathew's dark eyes were flashing and somehow that little boy to school master syndrome came back and we sat.
"He's not here and that's a good sign, because if he was he'd probably be dead." "Don't talk stupid." Dave never was so subservient.
"If you think I'm talking stupid, look at the tent, they didn't want that. They only wanted your friend."
"What's happened to him?" I asked.
"I can't say, I can't remember."
“What do you mean, you can’t remember, did they take you?”
Mathew nodded his head, they wanted me. They didn't want Julie, she's dead. I found her body later but I couldn't tell, people would say I'm mad and that I killed her."
"What can we do?" Dave's voice had dropped to a whisper.
"The same as before," Mathew answered, "We'll wait it out till tomorrow. It's the only thing we can do."

How Dave and I passed the day, we'll never know, evening came, we met Mathew at the park and waited for the lights. Again, they soared across the water, crashing into the moors behind us but this time we knew exactly where they'd be landing. "Please God," I prayed. I hadn't told Dave about the radio bulletin I'd heard, of the badly crushed body of a man being discovered in the sea a few miles down the coast. I thought of the tent and shuddered.
The bright white light reached upwards into the clouds, "Come on," I cried and started to run but a hand held me back.
"You'll wait," Mathew was pulling me back with both hands.
"Come on, they've gone it'll be safe now."
"Not for running there in the dark it won't be. We'll wait till morning." His word was final.

It was the next morning when the three of us set back up to the track. A splash of yellow on the moor told us of our goal. My heart began to pound, they'd found that body yesterday, crushed. I wanted to run, yet I wanted to go back. I felt confused. I looked at Dave and he was sweating profusely. "I'd better tell you," he said. "The news yesterday - they found a body." "I know," I answered. So he had known and like me had kept it to himself, suffering, wondering.

The tent was more visible now and looking so much different from yesterday. It was no longer crushed but standing in perfect order. Running up to it we looked inside, Jamie's sleeping bag was neatly rolled and a water container was part filled with water.

"He's about somewhere," Mathew called us. He was a few yards away looking down at a small stove, a kettle bubbling merrily on top. Everything seemed so perfect, yet so strange. After yesterday with the smashed desolation how could this be. I remembered the tent peg I'd thrown and went to look for it. It was still there on a hummock of grass, shining in the early sun. As I stooped to pick it up I glanced back at the tent, there was something wrong, I could see it now. ‘Marshall Awings’, surely the on the front should read ‘M A’, it read 'A M' a mirror image. I’d not noticed it before, was it a manufacturing mistake?
And there was Jamie trotting happily towards us, "Hi kids," he called. "I said nothing would happen."

‘God no.’ I had this sudden thought. "Catch!" I shouted, and threw the peg towards him. He caught it, he always was a good catcher. But he caught it with his right hand and Jamie was very left handed.

Comments will appear here

Betrayal

'Dead,' by his own hand too. True as I am standing here.' A shocked village postman cried. 'A man of the cloth, my God, what's the village coming to?'

A small crowd had gathered outside the village shop. They stood in stunned silence. The Reverent Hughes was their chapel minister, nothing like this had ever happened before.

'I saw him only last night; I thought he was a little strange,' the postman continued, ' he shouted "Gethsemane, Gethsemane." on top of his voice. He didn't have his round collar on - I knew it was serious. His poor wife, shaking she was. They say those were his very last words.'

'Two deaths, one yesterday and another today.' An old woman muttered, in hushed tones, 'there's bound to be a third, on to whose house will the death Owl come next I wonder?'

'Looking for work? The pay is six shillings a week and keep. It's out door work. What's your name?' The farmer asked, giving her no time to answer. She gulped, opened her mouth as if to speak. Getting no response and thinking it unimportant, he said,

'Never mind I'll call you Maggie.'

Regurgitated from the work-house, uncared for, cold, tired and alone she kept her meagre belongings in an old hessian sack which at times she wrapped around her weary shoulders against the cold. She stood seemingly unaware of her surroundings; her eyes were dull and expressionless as she stared deep into the nothingness of her expectations. Her feet, clad in worn- out discarded boots stuffed with rags, spoke volumes, while she, a casualty of the harsh age was silent and uncomplaining. Driven by some inexplicable atavistic urge to survive, she had come to the Hiring Fair in the hope of a job before capitulating to the call of the great void and disappear forever without casting even a shadow on the world.

He felt her arms, then opened her coat and looked at her thin sinewy body; he guessed she was used to hard work. He did not mind her squint, or her hair shorn in a workhouse crop, she was being hired to work, and for six shillings a week and keep, he intended to have his money's worth.

'I'll try you for a season, to see what your like, its hard work mind.' Pushing a shilling into her hand to indicate she was hired, he pointed out to her his pony and trap which would take to her new job.

'Make sure your here at three o'clock,' and went on his way to the nearest tavern.

She stared at her shilling piece, it slowly dawned on her she now had a job. She held the coin tightly as if her life depended on it then wrapped it carefully in an old rag and put it in her pocket. A job, money, food and a roof over her head for the coming winter, she felt elated as she sat on a low wall near the trap to wait, her hunger forgotten.

At three o'clock the farmer returned and with a wave of his hand indicated to her to get into the trap. He untied the pony from the hitching rail, took the reigns and began the journey home.

'Where did you work last season?

She shook her head; she could not remember where she last worked.

'Been in the workhouse long then?'

She nodded; it seemed the only thing to do.

'You're used to work then, they know how to work their people.'

They had been travelling for about an hour when he turned to her and said, 'Not far to go now, have you had anything to eat?'

Frightened, he turned to look; an ethereal glow appeared above the pile of straw – he screamed. Too late, far too late for him, he saw the 'Light.'

Comments will appear here

Back