A Watery Tale

by Anne Ward 

Legend speaks of strange goings on. Fact or fiction, it’s a compelling story of the day they flooded the village of Dracoe to make a reservoir on the moors.

There had been much protest by the locals, warning of a curse should even one brick be touched.

All to no avail. In came the bulldozers, the gravel grinders and an army of work men in yellow safety jackets and white helmets, they looked like mobile banana splits with ice cream on top (that’s the only humour there is in this account).

The tiny church bell tolled for the last time before it was removed, (or was it?)

With a roar like an unleashed lion the water gushed in raging torrents engulfing house after house, down the once bustling streets when the village had been a market place.

In the background people bewailing the warning that went on deaf ears.

The water reached the required level, a high wall was built round it, the crowd dispersed.

For a while all seemed quiet, the protestations of the villagers appeared unfounded, until...

The environmental health came to take samples for consumer quality, many a test tube and bottle were filled labelled and sent for analysis.

Meanwhile the scientists aware of the stories asked had anything happened regarding the curse (which said those who disturb the sleepers did so at their peril ).

At first no one came forward. Then like a sluice gate had been opened, report after report of ghostly sightings, cries of anguish , the bell tolling and the strange red stain across the water, was it dye, animal blood, or Human?.

It goes back to the name of the village (Dracoe), the disappearance of young girls once they reached eighteen, the bodies found with unexplained bite marks, something which started slowly and came to an abrupt end in mysterious circumstances, as if an agreement had been signed with something evil.

Now no attention had been paid the shadows had returned and they were out for blood.

The wind howled, the water from the natural springs trickled in to the reservoir, the bush grass and the bull rushes swayed nothing looked different to any other manmade lake on the moor except...

Floating on the surface was the body of the publican, the fact he had been missing for two days wasn’t unusual the outcome was not expected.

Once again the crowds gathered as the body was brought ashore. Questions were asked, was he dragged in by forces unknown, or too drunk to realise his plight. Peace is restored, the shadows have been quietened. On certain eerie nights the bell tolls, the water bubbles up and traces of a red stain are left on the edge of the wall...