The Watcher in the Woods

[Moving Shadow]

Location; The Saxon Mill on the Warwickshire Avon. Time; The Witching Hour...

It really is a most spooky place, and even in the daylight hours, that thin strip of ancient woodland. The old river used to run through a now blocked and silted channel at the back and the river now runs along the revetted millrace out front. Between is a narrow winding path and some truly magnificent old trees including a huge London plane and some of the most impressive ancient chestnuts I have ever seen, all cloaked as they are in thousands of sucker shoots that rocket upward and completely conceal their massive trunks. Just the sorts of thickets restless spirits hide amongst...

I sat to fish on the hollow bank that floats on the water beyond the revetment and cast out. Every heavy movement here creates a resounding boom in the water that the fish can certainly hear so quietness is paramount. Molly frisking about at the waters edge didn't help things but the bites came anyways. This time the bites were mostly from chublets, obvious even before fish came to bank by their extreme nature, the top bouncing about in great twangs as the greedy little fish rocketed away with the morsels of bread, nevertheless a roach came along so I wasn't about to move soon.

Molly was suddenly and inexplicably agitated by something and began to bark in that muffled choking way that dogs have when the source of their agitation is something less seen than felt. There was nothing there but I was aware that something was indeed around, somewhere down along the gloomy footpath to my left, and watching us closely --- though for the life of me, I couldn't fathom what it could be.

To allay Molly's fear I got up and walked down the footpath but saw nothing there and heard nothing scamper away either. She wasn't allayed at all because as I sat back to deal with the fish, she started up barking once again. I switched on my headlamp because the light was fading fast and then turned to see if its dim rays would illuminate things. There was nothing to see, but the feeling of being watched had returned.

Now I'm never scared of the dark or anything it contains besides big mad men with big bad knives, as anything else I have ever encountered in the dark of night, alone, and in the most remote places has always proven to be nothing more than badger, fox, owl or rat going about her nocturnal business. I once encountered an albino deer in the middle of a vast field of stubble on a moonless night and she really did look like a ghost of a deer, but she eyed me and I eyed her and we went our separate ways. This experience however, was different.

It wasn't exactly threatening or even scary to me, as having a barking dog around does much to remove all trace of silent threat from the air. But the presence was real enough to scare the dog, not badly, but enough to have her in this state of high anxiety and barking in that curious choking way, and real enough for me to be aware of the presence too despite it. Oddly enough, the presence was female, I was certain of that, indeed, I was very sure in point of fact.

Eventually I tired of both the barking dog and watching eyes and as the fishing wasn't going well with all the distractions I packed down and decided to go fish off the wall of the weir pool till Judy's prearranged pickup arrived in an hours time. Once laden with the rods and bags and nets we made our way down the footpath, Molly still yapping fitfully but allowing me to go ahead of her, which is unusual for a springer spaniel, a dog breed who usually tear off into the near distance on the off, dark or light, and followed behind skittishly. When we reached the point where the presence had been felt to stand all along, she came to heel and then raced ahead ten feet, still barking, and there stopped in her tracks, sniffing the air.

Then she found the courage to move twenty feet ahead of me and then further still until she was fifty feet along, stopping and starting, barking and testing the air as the presence retreated along the path in front of her. Then she reached the great chestnut and stopped in her tracks there to allow me to catch her up. We passed the giant tree and then Molly flew ahead as if nothing more was to fear and behaved as she usually does, whatever had been the source of her anxiety having vanished by, or hidden away in, the dense thicket of chestnut shoots.

We walked the last quarter mile without incident, crossed over the stile at the end of the race and there I set up to fish of the weir pool wall for the last hour. Last time I'd tried this I'd caught a surprise roach on a lobworm and wanted to see if that would happen twice, but it didn't. It was peaceful though, despite the roar of white water crossing the weir sill and crashing into the pool to my right hand side.

Then Molly started barking again, but this time at the stile behind me. The presence had completed its journey along the path after hiding away by the chestnut and was mounting the stile and crossing over to the weir and the bridge. I got up and went to the stile urging Molly to do the same. She came over and sniffed it all over, and then stopped barking at the stile but now at the bridge over the river leading to the mill. The presence was crossing over!

When 'she' had, Molly promptly stopped her barking and went about her spaniel business of getting into and out of water once again, but she was still a little skittish about it, as if the watching eyes would cross back over the bridge and turn our way again at any moment. On the way home in the car Molly was clearly agitated and wouldn't settle down -- at home I took a hot bath and she came to sit in the corner of the bathroom, something she has never done before. She huddled herself in as small and tight a ball as she could make, looking about with those big pink spaniel eyes ever watchful and alert as if searching for spirits in the air.

That night I slept peacefully, but in the morning over breakfast Judy told me of a dream she'd had in the night. I'd forgotten all about mine but as sometimes happens, the telling of another's dreams prompt the recall of your own. There was a fragment, but that was all that I remembered -- I wasn't fishing -- but my back was turned, and then, as if I knew I had to, I turned about to catch a glimpse of a dark-skinned girl just as she was about to jab a finger in my back... I laughed out, and was about to talk to her, but she'd vanished just before I could get a word out...

Ever since I've been sure it was she who really was, the Watcher in the Woods.

[The Sweetcorn Kid]

Splendid post Jeff, thanks for sharing pal. :thumb:

[Gary Bills]

A fine and fascinating piece of writing! :thumb:

[Mark]

Yes, very nice. :thumb:

[Snape]

Fantastic writing. Thanks. :hat:

[Davyr]

I must say I enjoyed reading that more than I enjoyed watching the Disney film with the same title! :thumb:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081738/

[Beresford]

Love it.

[Moving Shadow]

There's a kick in the tale too.

The story was published on my blog, and this was the last response I got to it ~

Having come across your blog I'd like to offer a possible explanation of who the watcher is. I know Guy's Cliffe well and have had many strange occurrences about the vicinity myself.
Many psychics have given over their insights on what is prevalent about the actual property but occasionally such insights also include the area as a whole.
I'm going to refer to a walk I took with a psychic around Guy's Cliffe, about the area you fished. Near one of the large trees down on this area the psychic picked up on the spirit of a black girl in her twenties called Bess. She had apparently been lynched after witnessing something illegal, taken to the tree, hung and buried hastily. She now walks the area as a troubled spirit desperate for the area to be blessed before she can move on. It was the dark skin of the girl in your dream that bought the recollection from the medium home to and it may relate to who you and your dog came across? There are apparently many other spirits about the site and I don't doubt that many have felt them and felt as if they're being watched.
I know on quite a few occasions I've felt eyes upon me down on the lower walks of Guy's Cliffe.
Hope my adding to the eeriness of the location though hasn't put you off fishing this stretch of water though.
Tight Lines!

[Snape]

There's a kick in the tale too.

The story was published on my blog, and this was the last response I got to it ~

Having come across your blog I'd like to offer a possible explanation of who the watcher is. I know Guy's Cliffe well and have had many strange occurrences about the vicinity myself.
Many psychics have given over their insights on what is prevalent about the actual property but occasionally such insights also include the area as a whole.
I'm going to refer to a walk I took with a psychic around Guy's Cliffe, about the area you fished. Near one of the large trees down on this area the psychic picked up on the spirit of a black girl in her twenties called Bess. She had apparently been lynched after witnessing something illegal, taken to the tree, hung and buried hastily. She now walks the area as a troubled spirit desperate for the area to be blessed before she can move on. It was the dark skin of the girl in your dream that bought the recollection from the medium home to and it may relate to who you and your dog came across? There are apparently many other spirits about the site and I don't doubt that many have felt them and felt as if they're being watched.
I know on quite a few occasions I've felt eyes upon me down on the lower walks of Guy's Cliffe.
Hope my adding to the eeriness of the location though hasn't put you off fishing this stretch of water though.
Tight Lines!

Desperately biting my rationalist lip here...... :hide:

[PDuffield]

Me too Snape, but despite my firm conviction about such things I can still be scared silly by the almost not heard noises that only seem to occur in early morning or late evening half light when there is no one but me on the bank. I often catch myself looking over my shoulder several times half expecting to see someone standing there... but there never is.