I see the stars ahead across Salisbury Plain. I've driven at full speed down the M3 and then the A303, trying to get home at a reasonable hour after the unreasonable day at Head Office. Stupid H.R. with their stupid 'unconscious bias' training day.
What a waste of time.
Their blatantly obvious bias is against middle-aged white males: they think we’re all racist, misogynistic homophobes. There were no women or men of different ethnic backgrounds on the course and Fiona from H.R. didn’t like it when I pointed that out.
I grip the steering wheel and clench my teeth as I run through the pointlessness of it all again. I’m the only person on the road now, I slow down as I get to a roundabout, I’ve got to stay safe. I see the dark shape of Stonehenge to my right. I check my mirrors, still no one around so I pull into the dirt track on the left. I need to unclench my cramped driving muscles and hunched spine.
I walk across the road and inhale the damp, cool air. A layer of mist lies across the field ahead. I have a sudden urge to explore the ancient monument underneath the even more ancient stars. I climb over the wire fence and run across the field getting my trousers soggy up to the knees. The silent stones loom up like black obsidian blocking out patches of sky.
I feel a hum from the ground and look over my shoulder expecting to see another vehicle. There’s nothing there except the dark barrows and mounds of the plain. The hum is below me. I think about the news reports that a tunnel was being built under Stonehenge but I didn’t think the work had started.
I creep closer to the stones and climb over the wire fence into the circle. The hum is deeper. I take off my shoes and socks and squeeze my toes into the earth. The vibration flows up through my legs and into my body, I feel the hairs on my arms stand up, and my eyes are watering.
Mist curls around my ankles. I take off my shirt and undo my belt. I take a last look around. There's no one. I peel off my trousers and hop onto the fallen stone next to me. I beat my chest and let out an animal cry. the stone throbs. I jump down and plunge my hands through the mist up to my elbows and grab handfuls of dirt.
I yell again, the words indeterminate, guttural syllables. 'Ma, Om, Ya.' The mist curls higher around my waist and over my pants which are the last trace of my civilised self.
Concealed by the tendrils that have wrapped themselves around me I hop out of my pants one leg at a time. I swing the pants around my head and whirl them high above the circle, 'Ma, Om Ya!'
I run from stone to stone, touching them and absorbing the vibrations. My nose tingles now. ‘Ma, Om, Ya!’
The humming stops. The only sound is the drumming of my heart. The mist uncoils and leaves slick drops of moisture on my naked body. Something’s here with me that I feel rather than hear or see.
I turn around to see a bent shape in a green cloak. It has a long stick in one hand, and a gleam of red on the other. A bony forefinger extends and beckons me.
I cover myself. What’s happening here?
I shuffle over to the figure, its eyes glinting beneath the hood.
The End.
Thanks to Mary Walsh for being my first paid subscriber.
Recognise this?
Anyone who has seen ‘Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade’ might remember Petra. I didn’t know this when I wrote my story, “Three Wishes” which has been published in issue 3 of CandleLit Magazine.
This story started as a prompt in the ‘Imagine Writing’ group led by Jenny Kane. It has gone through several drafts and countless rejections until Shahema Tafader accepted it.
Location plays a big part in this story. I was inspired by a poem about the ancient city that I saw in Lowell Thomas’ book, ‘Lawrence of Arabia.’