The Legend of Loxley Bottom 1

A new diary entry on hellsborough.com is coming soon:

Also known as "The Gabbleratchets of Sophie Hinchcliffe", this is a work in progress based on research that I have undertaken into the recent modern age of the history of Hellsborough under the rule of the nascenti. A local girl and simple shop worker, Sophie Hinchcliffe, who -- inexplicably -- becomes the first CEO of the DPDC -- that is the first Chief Executive Officer (the original boss, if you will) of the Dark Peak District Council, the local government that administers Hellsborough and The Dark Peak for the nascenti overlords.

Sophie is a major character in the forthcoming sequel to "Dark Peak -- Hellsborough Chronicles book one", so it is only right that I do the research to uncover her backstory, most of which I have gleaned from the local library in Hellsborough -- an awesome resource for research, because, as you would expect, those nascenti overlords want the populace here and hereabouts to understand the importance of local characters that have helped to define their rule.

It will be serialised here, as well on on Twitter/X in short form.

Chapter one: Sophie.

It came from above -- that sound. Piercing the squall and murk, a strangled yelping that chilled Sophie to the bone through her soaked overcoat.

She didn't have time to look up -- her scream caught in her throat as she fought for breath. She zoned out long before her comfortably closeted toes lost contact with the gritstone kerbside.

Always wear sensible shoes, her boss said, they'll see thee reyt. They didn't see her right this time -- one of those comfortable shoes was left behind on the pavement. Her limp body was carried, talons biting into her shoulder flesh, into the damp murknight.

Sophie left school at 14. No-one expected much, she certainly didn't. She'd flunked most of her exams, and she wasn't expected to achieve much. It was, what it was. She didn't much care, she was happy with her lot.

A job in retail seemed like plenty and she was content. She had a job on the shop floor, it paid her chits, she had a boyfriend, her world was complete. What more does a young lass need, eh?

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Faranteeeeeees!!

That was the last thing that Sophie remembered -- that ad on the hivemind.

After that she felt nothing. She was nothing.

Faranteeeeeees!! That's the sound that opens all of their shops every morning. Farantees owns all sort of shops -- hair dressers and barber shops, take-out joints, gruizer showrooms, coffee shops, flower shops. They have insurance places, and book shops, off-licenses and places that sell art, and places that sell nick-knacks and local produce; gardening equipment and plants, pet food and ironmongery, haberdashery and homeware.

Farantees sells pretty much everything that you could ever need -- and all their shops open with the same refrain: Faranteeeeeees!!

If you are lucky enough to live on the Bradfield road or the Middlewood road between the junction and the park, or on Hawksley avenue, then you can get anything you would ever need, without ever having to cross the road. Farantees has it all.

Sophie always got to work fifteen minutes before opening, as she was supposed to do -- and she never missed a single day; she turned up seven days a week. Sophie did what she was asked, and that worked just fine for Farantees -- they trusted Sophie and they valued her as a solid member of the team. And that's the way it should be, isn't it?

That's the way that things work in Hellsborough: A place with no social security or health service, a place where you need to work hard to not just better yourself, but to provide for basic needs that your family might need.

We're not talking food, since that -- as a basic commodity -- if available freely from community feed points like those at Corner News on the Middlewood road or the Green shop on Wadsley lane -- these places are dotted about every two hundred paces or so -- you won't starve in Hellsborough. These days, if you desire more than basic nutrition -- and most do -- you have as many choices as you can think of, and Farantees will see thee reyt whatever it is tha fancies.

It was a Mard'y, the day after Splend'y -- and everyone loves Splend'y. The murk was heavy in Hellsborough, and the day had been drismal, something to do with the time of year: It was 79.rain-rooter.4.14 -- nothing special, just a regular Mard'y, and folk were staying at home in general, it weren't a pleasant day for shopping, so the only ones out were them that needed supplies after the weekend.

It had been a steady day for Sophie. She had been on the checkout, but she hadn't exactly been rushed off her feet. A couple of customers an hour was about it, so she had also been consigned to stacking shelves and stock-taking, which is what tended to happen on quiet days like these.

The rain continued to fall, and the roof continued to leak. Buckets had been positioned throughout the store to collect the incoming stream, but the squall poured in through those holes like Dunlocksyn had decreed an injustice on the holy trinity.

As the gloaming approached, the number of customers stifled from a trickle to nothing, and Sophie's manager gave he go-ahead to shut up shop.

Tha should all get 'ome, he said, get thasen away for the neet. I'll see thee all tomorrow.

And with that, they all did as they were bid.

Murkfall was upon them as they left the closed shop. Most lived local enough to walk, but Sophie was a trolley bus ride away at Winn Gardens -- just a couple of stops. Most of the time she would save chits and walk, but on a night like tonight, she opted to stay a little drier and wait for transport -- that rain were still siling down, and it were best to stay under the cover of the tram stop until something come along.

Sophie waited. Alone at the tram stop. The Middlewood road was deserted. The drizzle and mizzle continued.

The lights of the trolley bus shone dimly through the murk. The tram itself wasn't visible, just those searching lights that said that it might be on the way. Sophie waited for those lights to come closer.

Then the whining and whelping began. Sophie ignored it. She concentrated on the hivemind, on the messages, on the music, even on the advertisements. But that whining got louder and more persistent.

It infiltrated her mind, cutting through the hiveshout like a shard cutting out the throat of a xinian.

She couldn’t ignore it any longer. It was driving her insane. She ran from the cover of her shelter, into the rain and the murk. Her slender frame was soaked instantly, but still she ran, away from that piercingly shrill whining that sliced into her brain and drove her to the edge of madness.

The gabbleratchets saw her and swooped, pecking at her hair, making her swot them away. Flinging and flaying her arms about, she defended herself as best she could, but there was too many of them, they were too strong. They took her under the arms, two on each arm, their talons biting into her, squeezing, piercing her flesh, drawing thin streams of crimson blood. They lifted her into the sky. She screamed and shouted. She kicked and splayed her legs, trying to impede their ability to fly. She failed. They took her from the street and kicking and hollering, she was lifted into the air -- up, above the tram stop, up above the first and second floors of the nearby buildings, up above the roofs.

The gabbleratchets screeched and squabbled and carried Sophie away into the murknight.

In other news, Hellsborough Chronicles book one “Dark Peak” is now available on Kindle and paperback.

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Cheers, until next time,

Pip :)

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