Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

We ran, bent at the waist, through the dark tunnels, with the wolf’s howls behind us. The cool dawn air had barely reached my nostrils when another sound – a hot, rushing roar   - came thundering behind us. I threw myself out of the mouth of the mine and rolled behind a rock, arms wrapped over my head, as all hell burst open around me.   Fire and dust and rock rained down. I heard yells and curses amidst the crash of rock on rock, but I daren’t lift my head to see if the others had escaped. Dust filled my eyes and ears and mouth, and I choked and retched. At last it subsided. I wiped my eyes on the filthy sleeve of my jacket and shook the dust from my hat. In the dim dawn light, I could make out the grey shapes of others, getting to their feet, looking around for their companions. “Here!” someone thrust a canteen into my hand. I looked up to see the woman standing over me still carrying her pack. A man with the same dark skin stood beside her, rubbing welts on his wrists.

The entrance to the mine gaped like the maw of some great beast, a gateway to Hell if ever I saw one. In the moonlight it was just visible as a patch of blackness somehow more complete than the twilight of our surroundings outside, as if the darkness of the tunnel had a different quality to it, one of a distinctly sinister nature. I wanted nothing more than to turn back from this madness I’d been dragged into, but I had a job to do and it seemed like all the answers I sought awaited in that passage of doom. A flame burst into life beside me, the strange woman lighting a torch she’d been carrying in a pack filled with supplies. New shadows danced around the flickering light as she approached the mine, my sense of foreboding heightened as I fell into step beside her, the darkness made somehow more eerie for the orange glow in its midst. It only seemed to grow stronger at the edges of the light and I shuddered to think what might lurk just beyond sight. There were no workers do

Aunt Margaret left me, with a long lingering look of regret. I didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved. Though my thoughts were racing, wondering just what was happening outside, I must have dozed off for a while because when I opened my eyes again, all was quiet. Carefully I sat up and got out of bed. My head seemed ok so I got dressed and headed for the door. The farmhouse was in darkness, as were the bits of the ranch I could see outside. No-one was around in the yard and even the stable block was silent as I crept in. The horses shuffled and snorted, wondering who was disturbing them, but the brown pony I led out made no demur as I saddled him and set off in the direction of town. Half an hour later I was flat on my back, staring at the stars. I’d not seen anything to be scared of but the pony had spooked at a lonesome bush, chucked me off and made his escape back to his stable. Now I was out in the middle of nowhere, with another headache and a black wolf roa

I awoke to silk sheets and the softest pillow against my cheek.    I never thought there would be such gentility in an Old West town like Collier's Creek but, as I opened my eyes, everything was colour and neatness.  Blue patterned plates with wagon trains around the rim. Embroideries with pink thread spelling out 'My Heart Got Lost in Austin' and 'Home'.    Purple curtains fluttered against the window. I sat up to see where I was but a small firm hand pressed against my chest.    "Rest, Mr Lawman," a soft voice said, "You're safe at the farm."    I turned to a woman with black ringlets in her hair that suggested youth and deep green eyes that revealed age. Her heart-shaped lips formed a smile.    "I am Aunt Margaret," she said, "You've only been asleep for an hour which is surprising considering the whack ol' Hannah gave ya! You mustn't have a head for such things!"    Hannah. So it was her. "