Alfie was never the same after he came back from the hills. There were those as said the hills were no place for a man of his age, he’d be better to let the young fellas do the shepherding and stay by the fire, shelling peas and smoking his pipe. Alfie said that was women’s work and strode into the gloaming with a clean handkerchief wrapped around two of Marjorie’s green tomato jam sandwiches.
He was gone for three days, and when he came back, he was never the same. People would ask him where he’d been, what had happened to him out on the wild hilltops. They would ask how he came to stride back into town, as dry as the day he left, when the rain had lashed down like a punishment for full two days and two nights while he was away. They would ask and he would frown, purse his lips and look over his shoulder as though checking no one would overhear, and then he would say nothing at all.
He moved his rocking chair from the fireplace out onto the porch. Despite the encroaching chill of the late September evenings, he would sit there long after the rest of the townsfolk had retired to their beds, staring up at the black hills standing crisp against the dark blue sky. They gave him peas to shell and a pipe to smoke, but he would not touch either. Often during the day when the town bustled around him one person or another would stop to pass the time and find him staring at nothing as though listening to voices they could not hear. Try as they might, they could not rouse him; he would not hear them.
“He says he saw the fairies up there,” Marjorie confided in the womenfolk in the town store. “They took him in and kept him safe from the storm. He says they fed him milk and honey and that when it come time to leave, they didn’t want to let him go. Said he belonged to them, and if he wouldn’t stay, they would come and take the children in his place. That’s why he sits on the porch at night, to make sure he sees ‘em coming.”
The women laughed, but Marjorie’s smile did not touch her eyes. Through the grimy windowpane she could see Alfie, a bowl of peas that needed shucking forgotten in his lap as his eyes wandered the distant hilltops. Occasionally he nodded, his mouth moving as though he were answering someone.
They laughed, but they went home and told their menfolk. And on the morning the first empty cradle was discovered, the laughter turned to venom. The menfolk dragged him from the rocking chair on the porch and strung him up from the pear tree in the town square. They said he danced for an hour before he died.
And in the morning, the body was gone, and the rope they’d used to hang him.
In their place was a garland of flowers.
Stef Hall is a country girl at heart. Born and raised in Norwich, England, she now resides in London with her musician partner, Paul, and their three bonkers cats. She tries to make up for the bustle of city life by procrastinating, walking slowly, and drinking far too much tea. Since early 2007, Stef has enjoyed publication of many of her short stories in anthologies and magazines, including Twisted Tongue and La Fenetre. Her current focus is to find a home for her first completed novel while trying to write the second before the characters take over her head entirely.
This story was sponsored by
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17 Responses to “BACK FROM THE HILLS • by Stef Hall”
Comments
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November 21st, 2009 at 3:04 am
Loved this “little people”tale.
November 21st, 2009 at 7:20 am
This story was ver sad, but also very good. I love the way you included the faerieies wanting to go after the children and him wanting to protect them. It was sad that the villiagers hanged him, but the ending was beautiful.
November 21st, 2009 at 9:43 am
This one didn’t make a lot of sense to me. Something happened in the hills, but what? Was it what Alfie claimed? And then, why did the villagers hang Alfie? Sorry, I just don’t get this one.
November 21st, 2009 at 10:20 am
What a delightful fantasy……or is it……
We know so little about our world.
November 21st, 2009 at 10:27 am
Wow. So well written – and very powerful ending.
November 21st, 2009 at 12:50 pm
Chilling ending. Good job!
November 21st, 2009 at 1:44 pm
Fairies are not such friendly folk. Fact is, they’re rather spoiled and spiteful. Kudos for pointing this out, and 5 for a tale well told.
November 21st, 2009 at 5:25 pm
What an excellent “folk tale”. The stories I like best are the ones where at least part of the tale is left untold, such as, what happened to Alfie during those two days in the hills? Enjoyed it immensely, it fired my imagination!
November 21st, 2009 at 7:32 pm
Good campfire story. People laugh at fairy tale tellers until the cradles start to go empty, then they kill the messenger. Oh silly villagers, when will you ever learn?
–John
November 21st, 2009 at 11:09 pm
Great work I really enjoyed this little tale. Reminded me a bit of the Pied piper, in that a debt of sorts was paid with the lives of children. I like the fact we don’t actually find out what happened in those two days, and that you leave unanswered questions. This allows the reader to use their own imagination to fill in the gaps.
Thanks for a great read.
November 22nd, 2009 at 1:07 pm
If he was so worried, why didn’t he stay with fairies? What motivated him to leave? Four stars
November 22nd, 2009 at 2:51 pm
I like it. Maybe it was a coyote that took that kid.
November 22nd, 2009 at 3:34 pm
Atmospheric and powerful. I liked the sinister aspect of the fairies – the mysterious bunch of flowers at the end was a great clincher.
November 22nd, 2009 at 9:08 pm
This was a good one. Very good hook at the start: we want to know why he “wasn’t quite right”.
November 23rd, 2009 at 7:35 am
Really enjoyed this short story. Any more to come soon?
November 24th, 2009 at 8:49 am
Great story, Stef.
November 28th, 2009 at 3:37 pm
I found this piece extremely passive. The over-done inclusion of the word “would” became old after the first appearance.
Felt as though no action takes place whatsoever and the conclusion is thus lost in the redundant lull. The piece became an effort to finish.