The Nacrée Falla

He walks in oats

His head all down

His world is gone

His dice is thrown

She held his heart

Her promise given

She slipped away

His chest is riven

He seeks again

To fill the hole

Innocent hearts

A forfeit soul

Old Scottish Poem

The village of Badbea sat on the Caledonian coast is known for it being a clearance village, its last inhabitants left in 1911 and it now sits in memoriam of a catastrophic period in Scottish history. The blame for the village’s decline has often been put on the end of herring fishing and indeed it is certainly a key factor but what is often ignored is something far more unusual, something that has had a hold over this remote place from long before the Highland Clearances led to the creation of the village in the late eighteenth century. Little is known about the various attempts to settle this often brutal, always wild but ultimately beautiful land before the creation of Badbea but at some point many years before, a darkness was born that has eroded every semblance of joy from the place.

As legends go, the origins of the Nacree Falla are as filled with rumour and supposition as any. But those, over the centuries, who have encountered it have given their accounts, they may be questioned, and doubted, but they are documented and in most, if not all, recorded contemporaneously which gives the content of their stories that touch more credence.

The Nacree Falla was once a man, that is the generally held view, perhaps a farmer, but certainly young and foolish. He fell in love, some say with a woman from a rival tribe, some say with a woman of higher standing. In either case it was a connection that was to prove disastrous. The accepted tale is that the family of his beloved had been kept in the dark about this relationship and on discovering it were incensed. Knowing that they had to break the bond they turned to the wise woman of their settlement who recommended a rather drastic approach. He should be captured and be subjected to an extremely brutal ritual in which he was tied to a pole and left to the elements for two days and two nights. At the end of this he must have believed his trauma was at an end as the family, headed by this mystic processed from the village to his spot overlooking the sea. Chances are he would have been hypothermic by this stage, he may even have been hallucinating as they lined up in front of him. One of them would have been holding a basket filled with flowers right in front of him. Sadly at this point his experience was to take a more brutal path. The weakend and broken man had his heart removed whilst he was still alive and replaced with thistle flowers and some of the other sweet smelling blooms from the basket.

While he was gone, the ritual was certainly not finished. The heart was then used to create a ‘medicine’ which would eradicate the feelings his crestfallen lover was experiencing. She was probably unaware of the contents of this tonic but what she did know is that while confined to her dwelling her love had been killed. The suggestion is that his death was ultimately fruitless as the young woman, as the story goes, threw herself off the cliffs to her death after seeing the bloodied pole.

This is just a story. But one that generations of inhabitants of this lonely place seemed to pass to each other either as morbid entertainment or perhaps as a warning of the pitiless creature this whole sordid affair had birthed. The Nacree Falla has lingered here since. Not always choosing to show itself but its presence has consistently been felt and every once in a while it would be seen. At distance, usually a silhouette against the greying sky that could be dismissed as a trick of the light. But those who know better recognise it straight away.

In 1942 a German spy made it onto the mainland after being deposited off the coast. He had been tasked to make it to a contact in Aberdeen. He made it no further than Badbea. His disheveled remains were found weeks after his swift demise. There were many rumours about the dead spy. It those who knew anything about the area were quite certain it was the Nacree Falla who saw him off.

The most famous encounter, and one the great Harry Price himself took an interest in occurred in 1910. It was well documented in local and national newspapers and brought the great ghost hunter north to see how a village so remote and now deserted could have generated an incident so terrifying that one of those involved spent the rest of their life in a succession of institutions. Much of what follows is from the accounts that made it into the newspapers.

Corrin McLeod was an ambitious young man who lacked in nothing other than money. He was born in Laide in the West Coast of Scotland and had made and lost small fortunes by the age of 25. This had brought him to Inverness and it was here in 1910 he had heard rumours from a surveyor that he had met in a pub that plans were yet again in place for a significant train line improvements on the line north towards John O’Groats. The line snaked around this part of the route and explorations of a more direct coastal route were underway. Corrin realised that this information could be useful to an entrepreneurial minded chap like himself and so set upon the idea of finding potentially lucrative sites for places where a new station might be built. He set off with his business partner Gordon Cupar and they moved around the coastline towards Wick.

Much of this journey was fruitless and deeply frustrating for Cupar in particular as he was recently engaged and not only did this trip keep him away from his fiancée it also meant he was not actively earning money. After a few days of minorly interesting locations the men were beginning feel that this was a fool’s errand and the remaining time on this folly was short. They resolved that they could afford one more week before they would return home and write this episode off as an experience they would learn from. It was at this point they stumbled upon the waning settlement of Badbea. The collection of small dwellings in various states of collapse were exactly what the men had been looking for. In the right location, immensely improvable and something they could surely persuade an unsuspecting landowner to part with for next to nothing. This was it, they had found their fortune. It was heading towards dusk when they headed down the track from the road and the sun setting behind them set fire to the calm sea in front of them. Both men felt immensely satisfied that this was going to be a successful enterprise. They made their way around the small stone houses finding them empty but for the odd piece of furniture and dried thistle hanging in bundles. Before they finished their sweep of the village they were startled by the sight of an elderly gentleman with a ragged white beard climbing up from the shore towards them. He was carrying fishing equipment and some crab pots which jolted with each of his stiff and clearly uncomfortable steps. He marched straight towards them with an angry expression on his face.

”What in christ are you two idiots doing here?” He said in an agitated and very frustrated manner.

“Just travellers passing through.” Replied Corrin confidently without missing a beat.

“You can’t be here. Oh god what on earth are you doing here?” He said throwing his head back and looking at the sky.

“It’s late, can we bed down in any of these houses?” Corrin replied completely ignoring the man’s clear discomfort with the situation. The old man paused for a moment and looked around, his eyes finally settling on the last slivers of the sun disappearing behind the highlands to his left.

“Christ, christ. Oh Jesus. Look, they’re all empty now. Pick one, but look, make sure they’ve got the thistles out. They need to be on the doors, windows and above the hearth then for the love of all that’s holy be out of here tomorrow.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Gone. And I will be by October. It’s a bad place this. Check for thistle and be gone in the morning.” He spat in exasperation before striding to his house and slamming the door shut behind himself.

Corrin and Gordon looked at each other and with simultaneous shrugs turned to look at the nearest inhabitable building. After a brief consideration they chose one and began readying it for the night. The fireplace was still in good condition and between them they managed to collect enough fuel for a fire. They lit it and settled on the floor of the building as the dark fell and the coldness began to creep in through the gaps round the doors and windows. They ate and discussed how they were going to secure the site before the plans of any railway reached the landowner’s knowledge. As the conversation died and they began to drift off to sleep the wind began to rise across the cliffs and through the houses. Corrin had fallen asleep quickly and was surprised to be woken by one of Gordon’s feet in his back. He looked up to see in the low orange light of the dying fire his friend pushed into the corner of the room, his hands clamped across his mouth, eyes wide open staring at the door. Corrin went to speak but his friends panicked shake of the head convinced him not to. He shuffled over to the corner and looked at Gordon with a confused expression.

“There’s something out there. I saw it looking in the window.” Gordon whispered so quietly that Corrin struggled to hear.

“It will be that old fella”

“It wasn’t any man I saw.” Gordon added.

Before Corrin could reply the handle on the door began to rattle. It was not locked and both men knew it wasn’t going to be long before they would see what was outside.

With a clink the door was unlatched and began slowly creaking open. The two young men huddled together both scrambling their feet against the ground trying to push themselves even further into the corner. Slowly the door groaned open and long, thin black fingers wrapped themselves around the edge of the door which opened further to reveal something that had the shape of a man but looked anything but. The face was only recognisable as such as there were eyes and a mouth but the eyes looked more like the eyeballs sat in the sockets of a rotted corpse. The smile too was out of place. It was too big and its joyful shape contrasted to the deep sadness of the eyes. The rest of the head was simply a shape. There was a small amount of light from the fire but it would not have revealed any more features of the face.

It had to bend to step under the door frame and as it entered and unfolded itself to its full height the ragged nature of its substance became far more apparent. It stretched its long thin arms out towards the men, its skin looked more like it was made from a pile of fallen leaves that had been left to blacken. It seemed like a strong breeze would blow them away and leave a frame of blackened bones. It took a step closer and began to extend one of its fingers. It seemed to take an age but when it did it was clearly pointing at Gordon. It’s other hand moved equally slowly towards its chest, as it did the men could see that where it was moving towards was a tear in the skin and a void where a heart should be.

“You have longing in your heart.” It rumbled at Gordon.

Gordon turned and looked at Corrin with confusion and fear in his eyes.

“We need to run.” Said Corrin snapping back to some sort of sensibility.

The creature filled the doorway but as he stepped towards them a space behind was created and room for them to escape.

“Two more steps and we run around it.” Corrin spluttered clambering to his feet while still pushing himself backwards against the wall. Gordon nodded and the pair stood shoulder to shoulder.

One step.

Two steps.

The pair darted from their position not daring to look at the creature. Corrin ran round to the left, Gordon to the right. Corrin ran with his head down daring not to look back, after he had got what he thought was a safe distance he turned to look to see where Gordon had gone, he wasn’t anywhere close. Corrin turned and looked back at the house and framed in the doorway, lit by the warm orange glow of the fire the creature stood holding Gordon a foot off the ground, its left hand gripping him by the throat. Suddenly its right hand shot forward and It appeared to punch Gordon in the chest. The young man let out a terrifying howl of pain and fear before going limp. The creature pulled its hand back. There was something in it. Blood cascaded to the floor and the creature dropped the lifeless body like a pile of rags.

Everything went still again for a moment as the creature inspected its prize. It cradled it in its hands and rolled it around like a precious stone before thrusting it into its own chest. As it did this there was a sudden blast of wind as if a hurricane had appeared out of nowhere from across the sea nearly knocking Corrin over. The creature threw back its head and let out a roar that did not sound like anything Corrin had ever heard then it turned and looked directly at him. He knew he was next.

Corrin was frozen, he did not know what to do as the creature began to step towards him. He knew he had to run but he could not. Just as he felt he was inevitably going to face his fate he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the old man. Without a word he placed a necklace of dried thistles around his neck and pulled him towards his own small house.

The two men hurried in and slammed the door behind them. The older man checked his hanging thistles were still over the door and then rushed to the window. To check if they had been followed.

There was nothing there.

“You fools. I warned you. You didn’t leave and you didn’t use the thistles. Now it has your friend’s heart.”

They didn’t say another word to each other for the whole of the night. They just both stood looking out of the window watching as the creature walked to the cliffs dragging Gordon’s lifeless body behind it and with an effortless swing tossed it into the black sea below. For the rest of the night they watched as the creature prowled the village in the moonlight looking in the windows. It approached the old man’s house briefly but stayed well away, the rows of thistles doing their job well.

When the sun rose the creature walked towards the cliffs and then disappeared from view. Nothing was said between Corrin and the old man, he simply opened the door and walked out and away from the village.

A week later a disheveled, dehydrated and starving man stumbled into a pub in Wick. A doctor was called and he was made comfortable. It took days before he could talk to give his name and even longer before he could tell his story. When he did the police went to Badbea and could find no sign of the events of that night, they found both Corrin and Gordon’s belongings but no blood and no body. The old man had gone too.

Corrin’s story inevitably made it into the local press and was picked up by the national papers. It gained very short term notoriety which attracted the great Harry Price. He made a visit but never wrote about it, apparently he chose never to discuss it with even those closest to him. He certainly visited Corrin as he lived his final tortured years in a special hospital outside Edinburgh but little more is known than that.

Badbea has remained uninhabited since the last resident left, though the consistent disappearance of foolhardy visitors suggests that one still remains.