I saw this article on-line, and I couldn't help myself. I could write half a dozen different stories about how this came to be. (I can't help it! It's intriguing, and I have a big imagination!)
http://www.accuweather.com/en/features/trend/medieval_human_skeleton_discovered_unearthed_uprooted_tree_winter_storm_sligo_county_ireland/52525123
The prompt for this week: How did the body end up under the tree 1,000 years ago.
(extra points for actually reading the story and picking up on some of the little details.
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My response:
Mae Robbins was still there when Brett got home that night. She sat hunched in the rocker by the hearth with her bony hands wrapped around one of Mary's carved, wooden cups.
Mary shot Brett a look and rolled her eyes as she pulled the pan of bread out of the brick oven. The stew simmered, and three pairs of bright eyes watched from the table.
"Thou ought best be on thy way, Mae," Brett held the door open behind him. "Thou knowest by now I tolerate no nonsense in my house."
Mae placed the cup on the floor and rose, but she raised a finger to Brett as she moved towards the door. "And thou wilt learn one day that I'm not so crazy as thou thinkest, Brett Wallace. Forget not, I was there when thou wast born, and I'll likely be there the day they lay thee in the ground."
Brett frowned and held his breath, but Mae made her way out. "Maybe so. But until then, thou wilt stay out of my house ... off my land, too, and away from my family!"
Mae paused on the doorstop. "I only came to warn thee. There is a witch around. Thou shalt need to be careful, or she'll take thee for a fool!"
(Ahhhh! I can't stand the thees and thous ... And I'm not entirely sure they're accurate for the time period ... Moving on ...)
Mary pushed the pan of bread onto the table. "I thought you would never get home ..."
Brett sat down in the chair at the head of the table. "Why do you let her in, Mary?! She does nothing but stir up superstition and trouble."
"You know that, and I know that," Mary said, taking her seat at the other end and smacking a small hand that reached too soon for the bread. "But one of the hands called for her to make a poultice for a swollen ankle, and once she was here ... she just doesn't listen to me the way she listens to you. I can tell her to get gone until I'm blue in the face, and she just stares at me with those creepy, blank eyes."
No sooner had Mary finished, then the still of the night shattered with a cry from behind the house. Brett sprang to his feet, his hand flying to the sword on his hip. He shot Mary a look. "Get yourself and the kids in the loft and stay down." Then he stood and flew out the back door.
Clouds covered the moon, and shade trees cast dark shadows over the farmyard. Brett headed towards the extra cabin, where the three hired hands slept. There should have been lights in the windows, they cooked their own supper in their hearth, and they were known to use a candle or two to work by in the evening. But the windows were dark.
Another scream, and Brett knocked open the front door. Across the room, something dark flew out the back door, just a silhouette of darkness flapping away. A figure on the floor choked and sobbed. Something in the corner moved.
"Mr. Wallace?" a thin voice called out. "Is that you, Sir?"
Brett strode over to the hearth and grabbed the flint and steel from its place. In moments, he had the fire going again. From the corner, two of the young men moved towards Brett.
"Did you see it, Sir?! Did you see the witch?!"
"Superstitious nonsense, boys. Witches aren't real." Brett grumbled. He turned from the fire. The third boy lay on the floor in a puddle of blood. His gasping and sobbing had ceased, and his still eyes stared up at the rafters.
"Oh, she was real, Sir." The hired hand whispered. "As real as Tommy's dead."
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