The small village of Crinkley Bottom stood just below the snowing mountain-top of Blankets.
It wasn't a particularly tall mountain nor one of extraordinary beauty, at least not in the daytime. It was at night that its curvy top lit up like a grand, all-weather, Christmas tree. Small red lights, easily seen from the village, blinked against the night sky competing even with the brightest of stars.
Those were the lights of the mobile phone masts that like a dense, petrified forest covered the peak entirely, creating a rather sympathetic effect of divinity and surveillance.
The people of Crinkley Bottom opposed to the masts at first but on second thought the constant visits from engineers and electricians did fill them with a sense of importance so they accepted them as something good.
The masts gave them something to talk about during the long, lonely winter nights.
Those lights became a beacon of advancement and opportunity; to leave, to be introduced, to leave..
After the 100th mast was planted among the 99 others our story begins because it was then that the disturbances began.
The wind became noisier and more deliberate, some windows opened with a crash while others never left their hinges, the single bell of the church rang all by itself, bee hives emptied, cows, hens and horses went missing and most importantly..the dogs started howling, like they were possessed, in the dead of night. All these made the once quiet village a place of madness. The people of Crinkley Bottom could not see the blinking lights at night because persistent mist covered the masts, night and day, even in the summer.
It was decided that an extra priest was in demand due to the increase of functions, services and confessions. Fear started to spread like a disease and the church was called in to cast it away. Despite all efforts however, the phenomena grew more intense as the year went by and so was the consumption of alcoholic beverages.
It was when the first electrician came to check on the masts that the people of Crinkley Bottom finally made the connection.
Mr Jack Bywater, a 45 year-old electrician working for Beaver Network was the first to visit the village after the disturbances became a real issue of concern. He arrived on a warm summer evening the day before he was to check on the Beaver masts and as usual he stayed at the local pub for the night. The men who were mostly drunk by the time he arrived told him what was going on but Jack, being a practical man who believed only in what he saw, shook his head sympathetically and bought them another pint. In a few hours he was too drunk himself to listen to the howling that made the sober people's blood curdle and the children run to their mothers' shaking arms.
The next day and a few hours out of schedule Mr Jack Bywater left the village. He was going to be back for dinner at the pub to enjoy the rooster that was on the menu that evening so he didn't take any food with him.
It was a warm, sunny day and he thought he would enjoy the exercise. He could see the mist obscuring the top completely but he was certain he could manage not only because he was a very experienced electrician but also because he loved a little adventure.
45 minutes later and 10 degress less Jack stopped his climb right in front of the cold mist. He was very cold and a little apprehensive since he had never experienced such a peculiar kind of mist before. It encircled the top of Blankets forming a kind of dome, so round and dense it looked, he thought that he could cut it with his knife and take a piece back to Crinkley Bottom . Even from such close distance he still couldn't spot the forest of masts that were supposed to be not more than 10 metres away. However, what really upset him was a strong buzzing noise the was coming from within the dome which was so loud that Jack ran out of ideas of what that thing might be. It sounded like an engine, a motor and other electrical things.
He stood there for a few minutes contemplating on his situation and in the end he decided that there was nothing to it. He should go and do his job like the proper electrician that he was.
Taking a deep breath he stepped inside the dome.
It was decided that an extra priest was in demand due to the increase of functions, services and confessions. Fear started to spread like a disease and the church was called in to cast it away. Despite all efforts however, the phenomena grew more intense as the year went by and so was the consumption of alcoholic beverages.
It was when the first electrician came to check on the masts that the people of Crinkley Bottom finally made the connection.
Mr Jack Bywater, a 45 year-old electrician working for Beaver Network was the first to visit the village after the disturbances became a real issue of concern. He arrived on a warm summer evening the day before he was to check on the Beaver masts and as usual he stayed at the local pub for the night. The men who were mostly drunk by the time he arrived told him what was going on but Jack, being a practical man who believed only in what he saw, shook his head sympathetically and bought them another pint. In a few hours he was too drunk himself to listen to the howling that made the sober people's blood curdle and the children run to their mothers' shaking arms.
The next day and a few hours out of schedule Mr Jack Bywater left the village. He was going to be back for dinner at the pub to enjoy the rooster that was on the menu that evening so he didn't take any food with him.
It was a warm, sunny day and he thought he would enjoy the exercise. He could see the mist obscuring the top completely but he was certain he could manage not only because he was a very experienced electrician but also because he loved a little adventure.
45 minutes later and 10 degress less Jack stopped his climb right in front of the cold mist. He was very cold and a little apprehensive since he had never experienced such a peculiar kind of mist before. It encircled the top of Blankets forming a kind of dome, so round and dense it looked, he thought that he could cut it with his knife and take a piece back to Crinkley Bottom . Even from such close distance he still couldn't spot the forest of masts that were supposed to be not more than 10 metres away. However, what really upset him was a strong buzzing noise the was coming from within the dome which was so loud that Jack ran out of ideas of what that thing might be. It sounded like an engine, a motor and other electrical things.
He stood there for a few minutes contemplating on his situation and in the end he decided that there was nothing to it. He should go and do his job like the proper electrician that he was.
Taking a deep breath he stepped inside the dome.
The rooster was getting cold on the plate and its buttery sauce was turning into a crust made of fat, so many hours was Jack late for dinner.
The patrons were already telling stories trying to justify his disappearance:
the spirits must have got him
the devil himself must have devoured him
the mist is a porthole to another dimension
the masts must have fried him to bits
In the morning the people gathered at the school to discuss what should be done for poor Jack. It was decided that he shouldn't be left alone up there.
They thought about calling the local authorities but the nearest town was more than a five-hour drive away. By the time the police arrived, Jack would surely be dead.
Some of the bravest men of the village; Milton the baker, Timothy, the school teacher and John, the pub owner's son volunteered to go and have a look. In the meantime the police would be called as well as an ambulance just in case.
The people waved goodbye to the three brave men lookιng at the thick mist on the top of the mountain in horror wondering if their people were ever coming back.
Now, these men knew the mountain and all the shortcuts to the top very well, and so they arrived at the misty dome far quicker than poor Jack had.
"What in the world is this strange sound?" asked Milton the baker.
"I don't know but we'd better stick together." said Timothy the school teacher.
One by one they stepped inside the dome.
It was like stepping inside a cloud. The sun disappeared and nothing could be heard except a monotonous, sinister buzz that seemed to attack their nerve systems making them cold and sweaty at the same time.
Timothy the school teacher stretched his arms before him and like a sleepwalker walked a few steps towards the masts. He was having difficulty breathing and the noise must have been making him dillusional because he thought he could see shapes gliding inside the mist, ghostly things with mouths open, sucking the air around them. He thought they were coming for him, just like that American movie he had seen not many days ago.
"I shouldn't watch stupid things like that" he thought and tried to shake his fear away.
Timothy took a few steps backwards, turned around and started to run as fast as he could away from this damn place, to the fresh air but BANG! He smashed his face against one of the masts so hard that he lost his balance and realised that he was about to fall backwards.. but didn't. His face was stuck on the mast which was covered in a gluey substance, and then something started to crawl on it making the buzzing sound grow louder. Insects crawled on his face and hands as he tried to push his head away. He felt their stings all over his face, on his eyes and mouth. The whole mast was covered in bees. Soon they were crawling on his arms and legs, in his hair and underneath his jacket.
Then something airy and very cold started to curl around his waist..
"Please no...." he begged and tried to open his mouth to scream.
Milton the baker and John the pub owner's son remained together. Milton was feeling protectively for the boy, being the same age with his own son, who had left the village three years before to go to University. Milton wanted to be certain that nothing would happen to the boy so he held him by the left shoulder and told him not to move before they decided what the hell was going on.
Since Timothy was nowhere to be seen and shouting would be useless with all the racket they decided to move towards the masts to check that everything was in place.
"Look!" said John pointing at a strange shape that was coming towards them. They didn't move only stared at the figure coming closer.
"It's Jack, I think it's Jack!" said Milton who looked at the man approaching apprehensively.
"There's something wrong, don't move.."
"What's wrong with him?" asked John who took a step backwards in shock.
If they hadn't seen the familiar plump outline, the dark beard covering his face, they both would have sworn that a huge puppet was coming their way. Though his strings could not be seen, the way his feet seemed to barely touch the ground while hopping towards them, the way the arms swang from right to left and his head tilted a bit to the left, all these made them wish they had never found Jack or even gone looking for him; he was Jack no more.
The both of them watched 'Jack' as he was approaching. Just when the details of his face were starting to show the thing stopped and like a banana peel his body fell on the ground, a side at a time. First his right side then the front and finally the two men saw his left side collapse.
Their screams froze on their petrified faces, the shell that used to be Jack was occupied by a horrid, gliding spirit who slithered towards them. As they turned on their heels and started to run the buzzing noise surrounded them. They were attacked by a million bees which as if they were following orders covered their bodies and faces in a second. The two men fell on the ground writhing in pain and agony until they felt something cold curling around their dying bodies.
Several months later there was nothing left of the quiet village of Crinkley Bottom. Most of them had perished trying to find out what had happened to all those people who had gone to the mountain top, the rest had fled out of fear.
The masts however, continue to function admirably and without fail.
The patrons were already telling stories trying to justify his disappearance:
the spirits must have got him
the devil himself must have devoured him
the mist is a porthole to another dimension
the masts must have fried him to bits
In the morning the people gathered at the school to discuss what should be done for poor Jack. It was decided that he shouldn't be left alone up there.
They thought about calling the local authorities but the nearest town was more than a five-hour drive away. By the time the police arrived, Jack would surely be dead.
Some of the bravest men of the village; Milton the baker, Timothy, the school teacher and John, the pub owner's son volunteered to go and have a look. In the meantime the police would be called as well as an ambulance just in case.
The people waved goodbye to the three brave men lookιng at the thick mist on the top of the mountain in horror wondering if their people were ever coming back.
Now, these men knew the mountain and all the shortcuts to the top very well, and so they arrived at the misty dome far quicker than poor Jack had.
"What in the world is this strange sound?" asked Milton the baker.
"I don't know but we'd better stick together." said Timothy the school teacher.
One by one they stepped inside the dome.
It was like stepping inside a cloud. The sun disappeared and nothing could be heard except a monotonous, sinister buzz that seemed to attack their nerve systems making them cold and sweaty at the same time.
Timothy the school teacher stretched his arms before him and like a sleepwalker walked a few steps towards the masts. He was having difficulty breathing and the noise must have been making him dillusional because he thought he could see shapes gliding inside the mist, ghostly things with mouths open, sucking the air around them. He thought they were coming for him, just like that American movie he had seen not many days ago.
"I shouldn't watch stupid things like that" he thought and tried to shake his fear away.
Timothy took a few steps backwards, turned around and started to run as fast as he could away from this damn place, to the fresh air but BANG! He smashed his face against one of the masts so hard that he lost his balance and realised that he was about to fall backwards.. but didn't. His face was stuck on the mast which was covered in a gluey substance, and then something started to crawl on it making the buzzing sound grow louder. Insects crawled on his face and hands as he tried to push his head away. He felt their stings all over his face, on his eyes and mouth. The whole mast was covered in bees. Soon they were crawling on his arms and legs, in his hair and underneath his jacket.
Then something airy and very cold started to curl around his waist..
"Please no...." he begged and tried to open his mouth to scream.
Milton the baker and John the pub owner's son remained together. Milton was feeling protectively for the boy, being the same age with his own son, who had left the village three years before to go to University. Milton wanted to be certain that nothing would happen to the boy so he held him by the left shoulder and told him not to move before they decided what the hell was going on.
Since Timothy was nowhere to be seen and shouting would be useless with all the racket they decided to move towards the masts to check that everything was in place.
"Look!" said John pointing at a strange shape that was coming towards them. They didn't move only stared at the figure coming closer.
"It's Jack, I think it's Jack!" said Milton who looked at the man approaching apprehensively.
"There's something wrong, don't move.."
"What's wrong with him?" asked John who took a step backwards in shock.
If they hadn't seen the familiar plump outline, the dark beard covering his face, they both would have sworn that a huge puppet was coming their way. Though his strings could not be seen, the way his feet seemed to barely touch the ground while hopping towards them, the way the arms swang from right to left and his head tilted a bit to the left, all these made them wish they had never found Jack or even gone looking for him; he was Jack no more.
The both of them watched 'Jack' as he was approaching. Just when the details of his face were starting to show the thing stopped and like a banana peel his body fell on the ground, a side at a time. First his right side then the front and finally the two men saw his left side collapse.
Their screams froze on their petrified faces, the shell that used to be Jack was occupied by a horrid, gliding spirit who slithered towards them. As they turned on their heels and started to run the buzzing noise surrounded them. They were attacked by a million bees which as if they were following orders covered their bodies and faces in a second. The two men fell on the ground writhing in pain and agony until they felt something cold curling around their dying bodies.
Several months later there was nothing left of the quiet village of Crinkley Bottom. Most of them had perished trying to find out what had happened to all those people who had gone to the mountain top, the rest had fled out of fear.
The masts however, continue to function admirably and without fail.
