A/N: Yes, it's been a while, I know. School came up with these things called Junior PTA's (Dutch people will know. bitchy little things, really) but I managed to write this thingy nevertheless. it's amazing what your brains spits up in days of stress isnt it? I also have another one, but I still need to edit that one a bit. it's more messed up and bloody than this one- it's a softy this time. just a little fun with every little kid's hate for vedgetables.
THE CHILDREN OF SPARROW ROAD.
Eleonor Ferthon was waiting outside the old, wooden farm. there she was; an old lady covered with a thick scarf standing on the beginning of a long way called Sparrow Road. it was a road going through the numerous fields where vedgetables grew, and from this point she had a good look on the endless green fields and the asphalt way breaking the green. it still looked misplaced in her eyes, and even though her husband thought it came handy for transport, to her it looked like someone had taken a pair of scissors and cut out a strip of green. if you'd follow Sparrow Road, and eventually turned right, you'd be welcomed by a small amount of houses forming the beginning of Gasbury Town.
and like every other wednesday, her husband Herbert had gone to sell some of his vedgetables with a few other men in the center, now covered by a thriving market. just like she was waiting outside for his return-like every other wednesday.
but today he was terribly late. which was certainly not like every other wednesday.
the woman carefully walked back in again, not to slip in the mud before reaching the front porch. worried sick. it wasnt LIKE him to be late, ANYWHERE. maybe the forming mist lingering on the fields was worse in town, or maybe the tractor had broken down- and his knees were so bad. if he couldnt get a lift back..
these thoughts kept circling through her head, untill she stood up from the couch with it's stitched pillows, and walked over to the telephone.
something was bad, and she could sense it.
in disbelief Herbert Ferthon had parked on the side, just halfway on the way home.
now that the motor of his tractor had disappeared, the silence was pressing heavy on his chest. or maybe it was the mist, or the lonleyness of Sparrow Road shrouded in mist. he didnt know.
but then he saw it again, and it looked like the shadow of a child running away in the mist tempting him to come and play.
"hey! it's dangerous out there kid!,,
another giggle sounded, and forced his slightly protesting knees to action. maybe it was little Susie from the Moor-family..
and so he took a deep breath, and walked into the field. the mud was deep because of the rain a few hours ago, and he could feel his boots sinking in the ground a bit. "come back now.. it's no playground over there!,,
there was the shadow again, just metres in front of him but covered by the mist. starting to get slightly agitated now he quickened his pace, asking everything and more from his poor knees. but he kept going, feeling like he was doing this not only for the child, but also for the one he never had.
putting strength out of that thought, he kept walking. chasing minutes after minutes and giggle after playful gasp, slightly echoeing in his ears.
untill suddenly, a small voice came from behind him. "haaai..,,
it was a voice like the wind; drifting by and disappearing in the distance, but still coming from behind.
he turned around quickly. his heavy breath forming clouds adding to the thick mist. a mist so indulging, so completely vast but seeping at the same time, that he felt like it intruded him through every pore in his body.
and thats when he saw it.
but he COULDNT have seen it- right? crobs didnt move. or at least not like the shaking one he was staring at now. petrified by utter disbelief.
it looked like it was crawling underground. moving like a baby buried alive that tried to come up.. the mud made sucking noises as he approached the crob.. thing. kneeled down and pulled it up.
Tommy Laswell's voice sounded over the fields, as a troop consisting of big german shepherds, villagers and police in uniform followed him. the fields werent particularly surveillance area (too much wild animals and tractors) and David Sherrren, local police officer and now bog-walking dog-leading searcher of missing elderly people could hit himself in the face for it; You had almost endless looking fields on the brink of a village where every young couple had children and AT LEAST four people alzheimer, and you choose to go for only a quick glance from Sparrow Road. it was tiring, cold, wet, and he felt personally ashamed to let this happen. it wasnt one of his favourite nights.
"Davey?,, Tarina Harris, a detective from the big city who had come over to help, was stepping beside him. on other days he would have enjoyed the sight of her petit frame stepping through the vast mud, in boots three sizes too big. but not tonight. "I really think we should just wait till tomorrow, we've been searching for hours now and that mist.. I think we should wait till it drifts away. we'll get a far better chance.,,
she knew his point of view, he could hear it in her voice. but he didnt quite know what to do with that knowledge. so tired as he was (but knowing he'd hate himself for it later to a point of no return) he agreed.
a slimey, thick brown root covered in mud had wond itsself around his wrist. he tried to pull away but a second root followed. kicking and pulling the thick ropes started to pull him in slowly..
"Everybody gather around me please!,, Tarina's calm voice overcame the mumbling that had lingered between the group. From her usually neat bun of black hair damp strands had escaped and were now curling in front of her face, but her dark eyes had taken full control in their shimmering blazing glory. this was why she had a higher rank than him, Dave knew; she had this aura around her that made people drop their files and obey her blindly, whether she asked them to dig into a dead man's organs or to get her a coffee.
but Herbert couldn't. somewhere far above the choking blackness and almost in another dimension (or so it felt), he heard her voice faintly. felt the feet of the small crowd in tiny tremblings in metres above his head and felt himself suprised that he could hear anything, distracted by pain shooting up his back and legs.
(no, please dont. god dont stop them I cant live here or die please god in heaven)
but he couldnt make any noise, and he couldnt move. and thats when Herbert Ferthon realised that for them, he was already dead.
two years after her husbands disappearance, Eleonor Ferthon died on the field by a sudden heartattack. the farm became the property of a certain Mr. Sherren, and it would stay in the family for two more generations before Andrew Sherren, young architect looking for ground for a big project, found what was left of the body with thick roots tightly wounded around the ribs and spine as to break them a second time.