The Mist on the Moors
The Mist on the Moors
This is what was found of several notes found among scattered hiking gear on the Yorkshire Moors. Many pages were discovered torn and stained with soil and blood; others were simply illegible.
Kate and I arrived in Haworth and settled into the hostel late in the evening. We plan on visiting the Bronte museum tomorrow and then ramble on the moors after lunch to see if we can find the Bronte Waterfall. It shouldn’t be too hard; a lot of other tourists must go to it, so it must be fairly accessible. Even if it takes a while, it should be worth the views. They were lovely on the way here, even if we did have to gaze at it through a pane of glass and the rescinding sun of twilight.
The note ends.
The Bronte museum was a delight and something that I would encourage anyone who believes themselves to be a fan of literature to visit. Kate decided that we should have a look around the town before we ate.
While Haworth is only a small town, the sights are enough to satisfy anyone and the shops a pleasure to browse.There’s nothing quite so quaint as a small village in Yorkshire.
We had lunch at The Black Bull and set off to try and find the waterfall.
We’re currently sat on a rock, resting our feet while Kate tries her best to send photos to her mother. You’re less likely to get phone signal here than to see a creature of Tolkien or Carroll’s. It’s to be expected in the rural villages I guess. At least we’re unhindered by the rain. It would spoil the picturesque view; untamed moor with countless abandoned farmhouses dotting the landscape.
Kate claims to have seen something she can barely describe. Odd, was her first choice, but I managed to get some more detail from her. Fluffy, like a formless ball of hair that scuttled across the hillside with filth woven into its coat. A living ball of wool that had been dropped and rolled through the hillside’s mud and dirt.
I told her it was a sheep. We’ve seen plenty of them roaming around. She called me an idiot and told me it didn’t move like a sheep, nor like any other animal that she’s ever encountered. It was also large, apparently, and seemed to lack appendages. I gave her a puzzled look, as if to show that I was wondering what it could have been.
It was a sheep. Definitely a sheep.
The note ends.
It could happen to anyone.
It happened to us.
We got lost.
Kate got angry, claiming that I was the one that was meant to keep track of where we were going. I was, though I must admit it was difficult to do so when while were engaged in conversation and admiring the wild beauty of our surroundings.
I can still see her going up the hill. I’ll go after her in a moment, after I’ve caught my breath. Maybe it would be best to give her som-
The note ends, the rest of the note is torn.
Where could she have gone? I could still see Kate until only a few moments ago. I’m still looking. Walking and writing is never a good combination, especially in this terrain. I’m going towards where I had last saw her. Mayb-
The rest of the page is torn.
The next note is written in hurried scribbles and holes where it seems the pen had punctured the paper.
A stench hangs in the air. It’s not animal droppings, but more akin to rot in a flooded home. There is still no sight of Kate, but a trail of fresh footprints is leading me to where I believe she is, and hopefully towards the path leading to the waterfall. They’re hard to see. A mist began to hang over the more not long ago, though I can just about see where to head.
I followed the prints. They led to where there seemed to be signs of a struggle — the ground disturbed, grass torn, mud that looked as if something slid on it and rolled around as if fending something off.
Specks of blood on the surrounding plants.
I didn’t find Kate. Not whole, at least.
As much as I don’t want to describe the scene, I must, so that the proper authorities know what to expect. Pools of crimson; A visceral painting with weathered stone as the canvas. Eyes, gone. Claw marks and bites unlike that of any creature in England shredded the body.
It was difficult to resist breaking down when finding the remains of what had once been my best friend.
Every step became agonising, despite not being physically tired, the thoughts of Kate ran through my mind. Mentally it was exhausting, but she would have wanted me to go on.
The rest of the note is illegible, the ink stained by blood and tears.
Something chased me. I somehow got a good sighting of it while running, and it seemed to match the description of what Kate had seen several hours ago. Gore seemed rubbed into its fur. Even with legs like a used pencil, it was a match for my pace as a sprinted away.
I never saw eyes in what I believe to be the creature’s head, just a row of teeth any lion would envy and a tongue that seemed to be rotting that hung through them. The creature bleated an ungodly sound while it ran after me, something between a moan and a wail.
And it stank. A fanged peat bog on legs.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t a sheep, nor was it of this world.
I’m hiding in one of the ruined farmhouses. I heard the awful noise that the creature made nearby. Must be sniffing around. Trying to find my trail.
I need to run.
I have to get help.
I hear it getting closer.
God. Save m-
Note ends, crumpled and torn. Specks of blood dot it.
