The Yews of KIngley Vale (a ghost story)

A yew tree

As I stand here, the whole Vale remains a strange and foreboding place; from the outside the entwined trees give little away to the eye about the woodland. Once inside the first thing is the quietness, the birds are hushed and the canopy of yew reduces the sunlight to a winter glow. Even at the height of summer, Kingley Vale feels a deathly cold place.

Why I had returned after all these years I could not answer. But memories are strange things, especially those that cast a shadow over a lifetime. The darker ones have an unconscious life of their own; a fleeting thought or an unusual smell may turn on their ignition, sending the memory roaring into action. I had passed the station for years but only today had the flames of memory urged me back to the Vale. More forceful was the desire to travel as I had done all those years ago; a carriage to the past. Gazing at the reflection in the window, I had watched my car drift away as I had watched my father wave me off from the same spot decades before. In that moment, the two images had become one and lurking behind them was a dreadful-looking tree… Continue reading