The Oxford Set
“Some trip to the beach this turned out to be,” Scarlett Jones thought to herself as she surveyed the Bristol Channel from the top of Brean Down, the hood of her anorak trying as best it could to shield her from the deluge above.
As per usual, her husband Dylan had sauntered off across the world looking for lost treasure, leaving her alone in their Royal Crescent flat in Bath.
She was fine with this, of course, as she enjoyed the quiet and recommending wines to the various guests at the five-star hotel she worked at.
But this time, she felt like treating herself to a trip to Western-Super-Mare, the local seaside town.
At first, she enjoyed sunbathing on the beach. But then she became more daring and decided to climb to the top of Brean Down, a headland nearby.
Which would have been fine, had the weather not taken a dramatic turn for the worse.
So here she was, looking at the mist shrouded sea whilst being battered from above by the rain.
She continued walking forward, against the wind, towards an old fort at the far end of the down.
As she did so, she thought she could hear the sound of people screaming, as if they were falling off the edge towards a watery grave.
She kept running towards the edge to see if she could help, only to find nothing once she got there.
“Many people meet their doom here, ma’am.” A man from behind her said.
Startled, Scarlett turned round.
A wizened old man slowly walked towards her, using an old twig for guidance.
“Is that supposed to reassure me or freak me out? ‘Cause it’s certainly doing one of those things.” Scarlett said.
“You’re American, are you, my dear?” the old man said. “You’re very brave coming up here at a time like this. Yes. Very brave.”
“I am, but I live in Bath.” Scarlett said. “Do you know where the fort is, ‘cause I’d quite like to go there now.”
The old man said nothing. He simply pointed towards the far end of the Down, shrouded in mist.
“Somewhere over there, ma’am. But be careful, because you may never return.” The old man said.
Scarlett grabbed the hood of her coat and made her way towards the mist.
“Thanks,” she called back, before disappearing into the cloudy wall.
The next few metres were quite treacherous, as Scarlett tentatively made her way down the grassy slope through the mist.
“If only Dylan could see me now.” Scarlett thought to herself.
After a while, it appeared. A collection of bricked buildings situated at the far end of the down.
Relived, Scarlett made her way towards it.
The ruined fort was quite eery at the best of times, but even more so during a storm.
Whilst she observed the empty shells of old army barracks, Scarlett felt as though she wasn’t alone.
She looked behind her and saw nothing, except for a quick glimpse of a dark figure.
“Hello?” she said, walking toward the figure.
She rushed downstairs, behind walls, through windows; but found nothing.
Occasionally she would glimpse something up ahead, but could never catch it.
Eventually, she decided it was best to leave, and so she did.
The walk back was slightly easier, as she walk down a tarmac road towards the car park.
The clouds lifted, and the sun reappeared. She looked out across to Western-Super-Mare.
The clement weather lifted her spirits, but didn’t lessen her desire to go home.
A few hours later, Scarlett sat in an armchair in her living room, relaxing by the fire with a glass of her favourite Red Wine.
“Yeah,” she thought to herself. “From now on, I’m gonna leave the adventures to Dylan.”
The Robinsonverse 