Tale 10- The Ghost of the Mill

 The Traveler and Sarafelle sat in a tavern, quietly seated at the bar. Sarafelle made small talk whilst drinking, before somebody bumped into her, the Traveler’s book falling to the floor in the collision. Quickly, the Traveler grabbed it, before noticing something strange. On the edge of one of the pages, there was a little dot of blood. Bright red, and fresh. A threat. She stiffened up, steadily surveying the room. No sign of him, but he was close enough. Sarafelle stared down, before going pale. She couldn’t risk him following her and endangering the Traveler. Helping her companion up, she promised to return at a later date and hurried off, the Traveler deciding to find somewhere desolate and quiet so she could keep an eye on her surroundings and make sure she wasn’t being followed. Her search led her to an abandoned windmill, battered by time and looking unstable, but a good enough hiding spot. As it began to rain, leaks poured in from the cracks, so the Traveler made haste and found an abandoned blanket, deciding to wrap herself in it to try and avoid getting too cold. She was, after all, already cold enough. But, when she lifted the blanket, a strange shape appeared. A young boy, glowing in a faint blue hue, was hidden underneath. He lifted his head, surprised to see her, before standing up. Gently, the Traveler gave a wave, to try and show she meant no harm. She understood the situation intuitively- this child was a ghost. The boy stared at her. “Hello?” He asked, almost making sure she was real, and the Traveler nodded, responding with a quiet hello. The boy gave a little smile, before noticing the blanket and gently pointing at it, asking if she was cold as his face changed from happiness to concern, but the Traveler shook her head. She then pulled out her book, and stared at the red spot of blood again. The boy also stared at the book. “Do you tell stories?” he asked, suddenly breaking the silence. The Traveler, wordlessly, shrugged. She could, but she didn’t normally. “Do you want to hear a story from me?” He asked, the Traveler immediately looking up at him in surprise. She nodded, the boy deciding to tell his story, the legend of ‘the ghost of the mill.’

‘A long time ago, during a war, it was commonplace for certain families to use the mill as shelter during attacks. Many invading soldiers would miss it, believing it was abandoned, or wouldn’t bother running all the way up to find the few people hiding there. One day, a little boy thought he heard gunshots outside his house, and thus ran up the trail to the mill, just as he was taught. His parents had been out and thus didn’t know he was missing until it was too late. The trail was rough to get to, and difficult to climb, but the boy was only worried about his own safety from soldiers, and thus managed to get to the top quite quickly. He ran inside the windmill and sat inside, hoping he hadn’t been followed. After several hours, night fell, and he ended up falling asleep inside, when the rain suddenly began to pour. It came down slowly at first, but then grew heavier, lightning and thunder gathering over the hill. The boy awoke to the storm, afraid, and accidentally knocked over a few bags of flour onto himself, which were much too heavy for him to push off. In the swell of the storm, a lightning bolt struck the mill, causing it to burst into flames. The boy, still stuck under the flour bags, called for help, but eventually fell unconscious from the smoke inhalation. When he awoke, he was no longer under the heavy bags, and instead found himself in the centre of the battered and broken windmill, left to haunt it until the end of time.’

The boy finished his tale, the Traveler writing it down. He then bent down toward her as she shivered slightly from the cold wind, gently holding out a palm. The Traveler placed one of her cold hands against his, surprised when she could feel a slight presence, a glimmer of corporeal form. The boy smiled, and disappeared, able to move on now that his tale was shared with another. The Traveler then watched as the rays of the sun gleamed through the cracks of the mill and stood up, now sure she was alone and safe. She clutched her book, and bid the ghost farewell as she walked down the trail.