The Lower Strangling Chronicles
He returned to the cemetery to personally scrub some of the moss growing on the oldest gravestones that were historically important to the village.
Upon finishing one particularly mossy stone, the Rev. Simon Abernathy glanced upward at the cottage on the corner of the road.
A for-sale sign had been placed outside by a local estate agent, as it had been for the past year.
Like most of Lower Strangling, Simon hadn’t a clue why it snapped up sooner, as most of the other cottages got bought almost as soon as they went to market.
As he observed the seemingly abandoned building, he spotted a slender middle-aged man wearing Khakis and a black Stetson making his way up the hill, clutching a large hunting rifle.
The vicar narrowed his eyes as he watched the hunter and crossed his arms.
With his arms folded over his chest, Simon plodded over grassy hillocks and graves towards a drystone wall.
Once he reached his destination, Simon cleared his throat.
Bruce, the man with the gun, rotated his eyes in Simon’s direction.
A toothy grin as wide as a Cheshire Cat appeared on Bruce’s stubbly face.
”G’day, Rev,” Bruce said, ignoring the stony expression on the reverend’s face.
Simon gave Bruce a glassy stare and reached out a hand, beckoning the hunter.
“Give me the gun, Bruce,” Simon said, pressing his lips into a white sash.
Bruce stumbled back and placed the gun down. “You can’t do that, mate, it’s mine.”
Simon glanced around the surrounding area. “I know, but its presence may cause alarm to any prospective visitors.”
”There’s no one here, mate,” Bruce said. “Only us.”
Simon grimaced at the hunter. “Just hand it over.”
Bruce lowered his chin to his chest, letting his hands go limp.
”Fine,” he said, handing the gun to Simon.
“Thank you,” Simon said, holding his chin high with a smirk as he held the rifle as one would a staff.
Bruce turned towards the cottage next to him and gazed at it.
”I only wanted to get to the bottom of what’s going on with this house, mate,” Bruce said. “I needed to protect myself, just in case. There could be squatters in there.”
”I agree the cottage requires a thorough investigation,” Simon said. “I will arrange for the entire council to pay a visit to the cottage together to carry it out.”
Bruce took a few steps backwards and clung to the dry stone wall.
”We gotta be careful, mate,” Bruce said. “It could be a trap. Why else would every possible buyer run away screaming?”
”I highly doubt anyone was screaming,” Simon said. “But something is deterring people from purchasing the property beyond economic instability.”
Bruce stared at the vicar, his chin trembling. “You mean, like a ghost?”
Simon laughed in Bruce’s face. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. But something else is possibly at work.”
”Right,” Simon said, nodding his head. “Gotcha.”
Clutching the gun in his hands, Simon marched towards the heart of the village.
”Come along, Bruce,” Simon said. “I believe an impromptu village council meeting is in order.”
Bruce let himself into the St Gerald the Damned cemetery and hobbled on after the Reverend.
”Can I have my gun back now, please, mate,” Bruce said, trying his best to catch up to Simon.
”Not yet,” Simon said. “I’ll decide when the best time is to return it to you if there is one.”
”Ok, mate,” Bruce said.
The two men vacated the graveyard at the other side of the church and wandered down a village street.
John Granger, the proud owner of Lower Strangling’s pub, the Hangman’s Noose and a devoted village council and PCC member, was making himself a hearty breakfast when he heard a knock at the door.
He stiffened his body at the sound of the loud knocking and ambled towards the door.
When John opened it, he found Simon and Bruce in the doorway, with the vicar clutching a large gun.
He did a double take and cleared his throat.
“Si, morning,” John said. “What brings your visit?”
”Good morning, John,” Simon said, a beam on his face. “I won’t be long; I’m hatching a plan that requires the entire village council.”
John took a few steps further into his house and stood by the wall, allowing his unexpected visitors into the cottage.
”Of course, Si, come in,” John said.
Simon and Bruce made their way into John’s home and ventured into his living room.
After they had made themselves comfortable and John had given them some sustenance in the form of tea, Simon and Bruce elaborated on their plan.
”No. 6 Welgrot Drive has been vacant long enough,” Simon said, siping his Earl Grey. “I suggest we grab the keys and figure out what’s happening.”
A slow smile appeared on John’s face. “That’s great to hear, Si,” John said. “Janet’ll be pleased. She wouldn’t stop going on about the cursed house in the corner of the village.”
Simon chuckled. “So I understand.”
Just then, a young man with short blond hair, a beard of a similar length and colour, and glasses traipsed past the living room.
He glanced into the living room.
”The hot water isn’t working in the bathroom, sir,” the man said.
John smiled at the man in the doorway. “Don’t worry about it. Have breakfast; I’ll sort it out.”
Bruce leaned forward in his armchair, glancing at the man. “Who are you, mate?”
The man’s body shrunk in on itself, stepping back from Bruce.
”He’s Nick, one of my daughter’s friends from her vegan pagan thing,” John said. “He’s staying here until he can find a place he can afford.”
”Vegan, eh,” Bruce said, sneering at John’s guest. “I knew there was something about the blighter who irked me.”
Nick emitted a brittle laugh and jammed his hands in his pockets.
“Ignore him, Nick,” Simon said, smiling warmly at the lodger. “I’m Simon Abernathy, the Parish Priest. Welcome to Lower Strangling.”
Nick addressed Simon. “I love the village, vicar. It’s very… old.”
The Pastor chuckled. “Yes, quite. Go and enjoy your breakfast.”
Nick bowed his head and rushed into the kitchen.
”Charming man,” Simon said, finishing the dregs of his tea. “Now then, I suggest we retrieve the keys to number six, enter the house and see what’s going on.”
”Sounds good to me, Si,” John said, adjusting his seat. “How do we get the keys from the estate agent?”
”We’ll explain our proposal and ask for them,” Simon said. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted that we’re doing something to ensure they get a sale.”
”Why don’t we buy the house ourselves?” Bruce said. “It’s our village; it makes sense if we own it.”
Simon chortled, sitting up in his seat. “That could be an option somewhere down the line, but for now, we should allow someone else to purchase it first.”
”Suit yourself, mate,” Bruce said, slouching in his seat.
Simon leaned forward and clasped his hands. “So, is everyone clear on the plan.”
Bruce and John nodded in agreement.
Simon smiled. “Excellent.”
He espied a Spanish guitar leaning on the wall in the corner of the room.
”Now then,” Simon said, grabbing the guitar and placing it on his lap. “Who’s up for a hymn?”
John placed his hands in front of him and shook his head.
Bruce gawped at Simon, wide-eyed, his knuckles bright white from gripping onto the sofa.
Simon guffawed. “Perhaps not.”
He placed the guitar back against the wall.
John sunk back in his armchair, gazing towards the heavens.
Bruce pressed a hand to his heart and bowed his head.
”Right,” Simon said, prising himself out of his armchair. “No time like the present.”
Simon skipped out of the cottage. The publican and the hunter glanced at each other momentarily, then followed him.
An hour later, having gathered the rest of the village council and successfully persuaded the estate agent to let them borrow the keys, Simon, Bruce, and John stood outside number six Welgrot Drive.
“Thank you, everyone, for agreeing to come here,” Simon said, rubbing his hands together.
”No problem,” Dave Peterson, Banana Technician and village councillor, said. “It beats fiddling about with code any day.”
Simon grinned. “Good to know.”
He held the front door key aloft. “Right, in we go.”
Simon unlocked the door and slowly creaked it open.
He took a deep breath and valiantly stepped inside.
The other village council members made their way in, but Janet Foster, Simon’s church administrator who really wanted to be a police detective, stopped in her tracks.
She placed a hand out, to get the others to stop.
”Wait,” she said.
The other members of the group pivoted around to see her.
”We do all need to go in there, do we?” Janet said, rubbing her arms.
Simon clasped his hands and bowed his head at Janet. “It would be better if we did, Janet. Safety is greater in numbers, after all.”
Bruce sighed at his empty hands. “We should’ve brought the gun, mate.”
Janet stared at Bruce momentarily, pinching the skin on her left hand with her right thumb and forefinger.
Simon skipped further into the cottage. “After me, everyone. Nothing out of the ordinary so far.”
The Lower Strangling Village Council flowed into the empty building behind their leader.
Janet stepped closer to the door, her stride uneven.
She stopped just before the threshold.
She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and inhaled deeply.
“Come on, Janet, you can do it,” she said.
Janet opened her eyes, stepped over the doorstep without exhaling, and closed the door.
Janet crept through the hallway, clinging to the wall next to her.
She could hear very little over the beating of her heart and her laboured breathing.
”You’d never get a job with the police if they saw you like this,” Janet thought as she plodded on.
As she pushed further into the house, Janet heard Simon’s voice in the distance.
She discerned that it was coming from the doorway on her left.
Janet swallowed some saliva as she entered the room.
”It may have been the previous owner’s witty idea to welcome the new inhabitants,” Simon said as Janet rejoined the other village council members.
They were all congregated in the cottage’s library, examining a plastic bag on the floor.
”It could be evidence of a drug deal,” John said, tilting his head as he stared at the bag intently.
Simon laughed. “I highly doubt it. I would know if nefarious types were languishing in the village.”
Janet glared at the Vicar, believing his usual singsong demeanour to be inappropriate in this matter.
Dave crouched down to analyse the plastic bag before him.
”It’s just the right size for a human heart,” Dave said, slowly rising to meet his audience at eye level. “It could’ve been used to carry a sacrifice to an altar somewhere.”
Janet giggled darkly as she made her way to a mantelpiece to the side of the room.
On it was a lone matchbox that appeared to be sopping wet.
Janet tilted her head and squinted at the matchbox as she picked it up.
“This is a bit odd, lads,” Janet said as she held the matchbox aloft.
The rest of the village council turned round and faced Janet.
Dave took a few steps closer to the matchbox, squatting to see it at eye level.
”You’re not going to light anything with that,” Dave said. “Even attempting to do so would be a damp squib.”
Janet groaned and rolled her eyes before gazing at the box, furrowing her eyebrows before releasing them as she did so.
“But what would it be doing here, on the mantelpiece,” Janet said. “And, more to the point, why is it soaking?”
Janet carefully opened the box and took out one of the matches.
”No one’s used them,” she said. “Something really odds going on in here.”
”Curiouser and curiouser,” Simon said, stroking his chin as he circled on the spot.
Inspecting something in the corner of the room, Bruce spun around and gawped at the rest of the group.
“What’re you guys talking about,” he said.
Simon glanced at Bruce, then at the tarot deck in his hands.
He shuffled over to the hunter, his eyes still fixed on the cards.
”Where did you find those,” Simon said, observing the intricate painting on the top card.
”On here,” Bruce said. “I just liked the pretty pictures.
”That would explain why I don’t remember seeing the previous occupants of this house in church,” Simon said, taking the deck from Bruce’s hands to get a closer view of them.
“So we’ve got a plastic bag, a soaking matchbox, and a tarot deck,” Janet said. “But what have they got to do with nobody buying this house?”
John leaned against a table and sagged downwards, sighing as he did so.
”We’re never going to find out what the problem is,” he said, hanging his head. “There’s just no definite answer.”
”Don’t be so sure, John,” Simon said, striding into the centre of the room. “I’m fairly certain the prior inhabitant’s clear occult leanings may have a connection.”
”They might admire the artwork,” Dave said, propping himself on a wall.
”I have strong reason to doubt that,” Simon said, placing the plastic bag, tarot deck, and wet matchbox onto a tray that he had discovered, “there is a dark presence here that is scaring people away.”
”None of us seem pretty scared, mate,” Bruce said, shrugging.
Simon smiled at the Aussie. “You might be right there, but some people are more sensitive than others.”
Simon picked up the tray and pushed through the crowd towards the doorway.
”I believe we’re done here, everyone,” Simon said as he stepped over the door frame. “A simple house blessing should do the trick.”
Janet clasped her hands underneath her chin, a face shining. “Does that mean we can go now?”
Simon grinned at Janet. “Yes, thank you for your time.”
The wannabe detective sagged against a wall, sighed, and gazed towards the heavens.
The Lower Strangling Village Council followed the vicar’s lead and traded the cramped library for the refreshing April sunshine outside.
The plan didn’t go as expected.
Simon valiantly returned to the cottage with a jug of holy water and a copy of the Book of Common Prayer. Wandering through the entire building alone, he splashed every door with the liquid and recited ecclesiastical incantations to ward off what he believed was holding the house prisoner.
He marched out of the house with his chest puffed out and a smirk, assuming the cottage would have a new owner in a matter of days.
But weeks flew by, and the cottage remained just as abandoned as before
It got to the point that even Lower Strangling stalwarts such as the Peterson’s and Robert Sherman, the village’s brewer, couldn’t even look at the place without the hairs standing on the back of their necks.
Simon leaned on the drystone wall surrounding the church, facing off the enigma before him.
”I don’t understand,” Simon said, frowning at the cottage. “Whatever occult manifestation held sway in the cottage should now be gone.”
John placed a hand on Simon’s back. “Perhaps people just aren’t interested.”
Simon backed away from John, vigorously shaking his head. “Don’t be absurd; who wouldn’t want to acquire a property in Lower Strangling.”
John gazed at the house in front of him. “It’s not the prettiest building in the village and doesn’t offer much of a view.”
The publican gazed in the direction facing away from the cottage, gesturing at the view of the village visible from the property.
Simon hung his arms low and exhaled a long, low sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”
He leaned against the drystone wall before him and watched the cottage.”
“The question now is, where do we go from here,” Simon said.
Just then, Nick, John’s lodger, slowly approached the two men.
”Where are my socks,” he asked.
John and Simon turned round to face him.
The pub landlord smiled warmly at Nick. “I don’t know. Have you checked the wash basket?”
Nick scratched his head and stared into the middle distance. “No, I don’t think I have.”
“Have a look in there, and then wait for me to come home if you can’t find them,” John said.
Nick clenched his lips and nodded curtly. “Yes, I’ll do that.”
The lodger made his way back towards John’s cottage.
“Good to see you this morning, Nick,” Simon said, pushing himself off the wall.
Nick pivoted in Simon’s direction and acknowledged him. “The same to you, Reverend.”
”I’d suggest getting an umbrella when you next pop out,” Simon said, gazing up at the grey clouds overhead. “Something tells me the good Lord above has decided we’re in need of another shower.”
”Of course, reverend,” Nick said, bowing his head before trundling back towards John’s house like a Zombie.
A bright smile appeared on Simon’s face. “You know, John, I think I have a marvellous idea.”
He glanced at John, who gawped at him briefly before a lightbulb appeared in his head, making itself known as a grin on the publican’s face.
Simon, the leading authority figure in Lower Strangling, chivied up the other villagers to contribute to the cost of purchasing the empty cottage so that John’s lodger could have the residence he was waiting for.
Nick moved into the house when the village had finished bandying together to spruce it up for his arrival, and he was grateful for this.
He wasted no time in putting his belongings in their rightful place, including his socks, which he found in a laundry basket in one of John’s cupboards.
The following morning, when Simon was cleaning the gravestones, he took a moment to lean on the wall and gaze at the cottage opposite the road.
The sight of it made him beam from ear to ear.
What was once considered a cursed building again became a home.
The Robinsonverse 