Story -

Doses of Salt

Doses of Salt

The clock struck the hour. The midnight hour. Witches and goblins were supposed to prevail. But were not inclined to do so. How could this be ? He perused the question and thought it warranted further investigation. The nub of the matter lay in finding the location to ascertain the over-riding problem. Turning to the research material, born of local interests, he ascertained the best place to sample the inclement conditions, was the churchyard ! Surely there, where the living dead reigned supreme some notion to explain the current situation would arise.
Getting on his bike he checked his equipment including a flask of hot soup, a tasty sandwich treat and a torch. The panniers were loathe to flex due to the nature of their roughened fabric. He had used this trusty friend many times to shop. But, never on such a meaningful reconnaisance. Spare batteries finished his rapid preparations for the adventure. He had to search effectively the dark corners of this tired, rather doom-laden, habitat neither suitable for man or mouse. What fun would be had !
At the gates, he found his way barred by padlock and chain. So, leaving his " stead " behind he took what he had with him through a narrow weakness in the boundary hedging. The effort to pass into the nether regions of the community would be worth it ! As soon as answers were available, to the motivating mystery.
Inside the beam of light pierced the interior to notch up monumental statement after another. The gloom was pervasive as autumn mist hung in the air, plus with ungainly stealth moved displaying random freedom not associated with the inhabitants. An atmosphere to treasure he thought as he headed to his once favourite spot, at the side of the biggest tomb. This would be a good place to make real in-roads into his subject. Devoid of that considered normal influence. Here, he hoped all would be revealed.
Sitting there eating his " snack " by morsels of light he listened for reassurance. Where had the spooky " capture " gone ? !  Never could the isolated settlement survive without its fascinations. He needed to hear the music to calm nerves. He did.
It could not have been more welcome. The sound of the stone shifting and the whining wind of change offering a hand of comfort. Was everything going to be alright, after all ? Was there to be confirmation of the positive path so sorely needed ? Of course,. He boldly rose and turned the perverse angle to an advantage, by following his lonesome heart. Straight into the alarmed face of bewilderment, at such a sterling example. To make " waves " !
They, the other elements to folklore, saw the light and reacted. It was not the surprise of it but the mistake of it being someone else, which led to the outpouring of such emotion. The axe struck home with such force the head nearly came clean apart. What else was there to be ? Due to their regular heightened readiness to see off attack. Having navigated the steps from the " underworld " ! Business reassurances were lacking in these harshest of times. Competition was fierce. As was proven.
Years of " trade " had seen little to merit conversation. But, one night made history redundant. The twist of fate to decide between life and death, with no consideration of myth or spiritual heritage had come. The darkness gave up the ghost. As squalid perceptions intervened on the reasons for " trafficking " weaponry of fiendish design. The innocent youth was sacrificed there and then to bring this backwater into crisp focus with the present. The " altar " was yet again cleaned, for respectful worship.
The hero was given over to his final rest. For the sake of others. And their gossip. Witches and goblins did not stand a chance against the overwhelming urge to promote the bizarre events turning everything on a dime.
How could supernatural conformity compete with the grizzly ? That said, how did anyone expect life not to finally interrupt prescribed " doses of salt " ?