The Quarryman

1

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat as a harrowing scream ripped out across the quarry, echoing eerily around its slab sides.

Hastily disentangling himself from his flaccid tent, he charged toward the lake: Carl stumbling and cursing, extracted himself from his own tent to follow. Their camp wasn’t far from the shore and in moments they’d passed the last spoil heap edging the lake. As they ran Ethan spotted his wife, collapsed on her side at the shoreline; curled into a foetal ball, she writhed and twisted on the ground.

“Jane!”

At his call she rolled onto her back, her face in rictus, locked in silent laughter. Confusion robbed his legs of urgency and Ethan slowed, dropping to his knees beside her. Squealing Jane pulled in a breath, then shook her head as ongoing laughter stole away her explanation. All she could do was nod toward the lake.

A deep chuckle boomed out as Carl spotted the source of Jane’s mirth. Face frozen in shock, Amy waddled unsteadily toward the shore; fully clothed, drenched from head to toe, with her camera held above her head - as if the knee-deep water could somehow leap up to snatch it.

“Huh-hu-h-it’s f-freezing!” she panted as Carl, still chuckling, crossed the last of the distance and threw a warming arm around her.

“You could have changed first.” He quipped, earning a soggy elbow to the ribs.

“Some help you are!” She accused Jane.

Jane managed the briefest of sympathetic looks, before laughter blurted out again: Despite themselves, they all grinned.

“What happened?” Ethan asked.

Snuggling into the warm crook of Carl’s arm, Amy waved towards a large boulder sitting on the shoreline.

“The landscapes incredible. I was taking photos but it moved when I got to the edge.”

Carl shot her a look of exaggerated shock, “What... Your bony backside moved that thing? I don’t believe it!”

With a whoop he was off; nimbly hopping from rock to rock and then up on top of the boulder.

“Don’t!” Amy called: Too late!

He landed legs apart; his greater weight tipping it alarmingly, almost throwing him off. But ever the master of mischief, Carl rebalanced, rocking it backward and forward a few times before jumping down.

“Idiot.” Amy laughed, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Come on,” laughed Ethan, “we need to get the tents up and a fire going.”

Standing, he helped Jane to her feet.

“It’ll be dark soon.”

2

It had been a long hike over the hills to Stanhope. They’d planned to stay at the local campsite but good weather, and school holidays, meant it was full. Tired and hungry they stopped at a pub, scouring their maps for a wild camping spot while they ate.

Ethan, seeking new material for his writing, befriended the Landlord asking about local folk tales. Learning of their predicament he suggested the Ashes Quarry; private, sheltered, with easy access to the village, “It’s used by many hill walkers.”

So, they found themselves camped near the lake’s edge, sharing beers, with a campfire warming their toes. Swaddled in a blanket, Amy hung her clothes near the fire to dry.

“So, other than finding this place, what else did you and the Landlord talk about?” quizzed Jane. “You were an age at the bar.”

Ethan looked up from scribbling in his notebook, “Quite a bit actually.” He quickly finished his notes before carrying on, “He told me a great ghost story: I’ve just jotted it down.”

“Oooo... tell us.” Carl said, rocking sideways to nudge Amy, “Amy’s warmed up, so I need a new excuse to get her to cuddle in.”

Amy pulled a shocked face, unwrapping an arm she playfully punched him. Jane snorted, shook her head, taking another sip of beer.

Having already decided to tell the tale, but eager to build some drama, Ethan screwed his face, “I’m not sure...” glancing towards the lake he continued, “It’s about this Quarry!”

Carl’s easy chuckle rolled out again, “Come on bud, you have to tell us now!”

“You’re… certain?”

Carl grinned expectantly, while the girls rolled their eyes: This ritual had played out on many campsites over the years. Ethan knew they enjoyed it so, undeterred by their disdainful looks, he began.

“For over 70 years family teams quarried limestone here for the local steel mills.”

“I thought it was a sandstone quarry!” Jane cut in, pointing at the boulders.

“Uh? No, that’s spoil. They cut through it to get to the limestone.” he explained, “Anyway, at its peak in the late 1940s it employed over 200 workers. Then, overnight, mining stopped.”

“Officially, they blamed economics; in reality, a callous display of jealously birthed something inhuman! This is the story of how the ghost Quarryman came to be...”

3

The second world war left a dearth of working age men in Britain. Desperate to rebuild its battered infrastructure, a call went out across the Empire inviting citizens to resettle in the motherland.

Many answered, dreaming of a better life. For most, those hopes died once they stepped off the boat. On offer were poorly paid jobs that nobody else wanted: The Quarryman in waiting scorned them! He’d spilled and shed blood, for Queen and Country. They would not make him a second-class citizen.

Having neither the money, nor inclination, to return to his birth land, he left London and chose the life of a tramp; moving from place to place, taking work where he found it.

After a time, this brought him to Weardale and then Stanhope. The hilltop farmers exhorting, “The quarry is always keen for new workers.”

As he approached, navigating the precipitous switchbacks of Crawleyside bank, he was surprised to see a pretty lady on a laden bread bike, peddling determinedly upwards. Pausing he doffed his hat as she passed: Face glowing and breathing fast, she acknowledged with a smile despite her exertions.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he watched her climb till she passed from sight. Chuckling, he mused that the trip had already been worthwhile, and carried on down the road.

A short time later he heard a shriek of dismay. The lady’s brake cable had snapped: careening down the hill she looked pleadingly to him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He called out as she sped towards him.

In a quick, measured, motion he hooked her waist; lifting her from the saddle as she passed. They spun for a moment before he set her down on her feet: the bike tumbled before coming to a stop.

After checking she was unhurt, and receiving a profusion of thanks, they made their introductions. Annie insisted he accompany her to her father’s bakery and share a meal: A small reward for his heroics.

As they walked through town together the villagers stopped and stared, whispering among themselves.

Noticing his discomfort, Annie advised, “Ignore them. Dale’s folks are fearful and suspicious of outsiders.”

After a warm welcome and fine meal, Annie’s grateful father arranged introductions that secured the Quarryman work and lodgings at Ashes Quarry. He quickly proved his worth, matching a work team’s quota by himself. He enjoyed the work but much more his lunch break; Annie would bring a picnic and spend the hour with him every day. Sadly, his happiness stoked a dangerous envy among less productive workers. An envy that wrought terrible consequences.

It began as talk, suggestive jibes about the “special ingredients” Annie shared each day. These slurs found the ear of the quarry owner’s son, Jack. He sought Annie’s favour, so on the pretence of an inspection, he observed the Quarryman about his business. Certainly, he was a fine worker, barely pausing in his industry. While he uncovered nothing improper in their liaisons, he was incensed by the ease of their conversation and the direction of Annie’s affections. Jack set his mind to removing him.

Blasting works were planned; conspiring with disgruntled workers, it was easy to arrange for a small charge to be placed on the quarry floor. It could have fallen from the works above; accidents happen all the time. Always last to leave a shift, Jack reasoned he could time the blast to injure only the Quarryman. But as Burns said, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry!”

At the appointed time Jack, secreted in the Quarry, watched the first workers leave and lit the fuse: Unknown to him, the Quarryman had finished his load early and left. Meanwhile, Annie had arrived early, walking in to meet him. The conspirators observed all this, unwilling to intervene and reveal their trap.

Seeing the Quarryman, an exiting worker told him Annie had gone down to meet him.

BOOM!

The explosion breached an underground watercourse; water surged into the quarry, rapidly flooding the basin. Unperturbed the Quarryman ran to the basin, desperately seeking a sign of his beloved.

Finding none he strode resolutely into the surging water to search below…

4

The girls were rapt, barely noticing Carl leaving to relieve himself, as Ethan carried on.

“Annie was pulled from the water hours later, barely alive. The Doctor could do nothing as she suffered fevered dreams. Of the Quarryman there was no sign.”

“The next day Jack visited and confessed all, begging Annie’s forgiveness. To his shock she said, ‘I know.’ Then with her dying breath, ‘Curse you… Curse you all!’”

“Shaken by her words, the community hastily made funeral arrangements. For the Quarryman, an empty grave with a blank headstone; his body was never found, only Annie used his name. His workmates favoured racial slurs or ‘Quarryman’ when addressing him.”

“The quarry closed soon after: The new lake was a factor, but it was the ‘incidents’ that decided it.”

“It began with Jack: A pickaxe fell from above, killing him.”

“Then came sightings; a broad figure walking the shallows at night, searching!”

“Finally, the disappearances: those that saw or searched for the Quarryman, he would visit with a question. If answered, he’d leave… All vanished without a trace...”

“What’s the question?” whispered Jane.

“His name.”

Her eyes widened, “But...”

Ethan nodded in answer, “So, if you hear noises by the lake; don’t be tempted, don’t get up and please don’t look. It could be…”

“THE QUARRYMAN!!!” bellowed Carl, who’d snuck behind them.

Screaming, the girls leapt away!

Carl laughed uproariously.

“You prick!” yelled Amy, clutching her blanket to keep her modesty.

Jane shot them a venomous look and skulked off.

“Come on!” Ethan protested as she went.

Amy marched off, Carl calling out, “Sweetie, where’re you going?”

Slinking back, she purred, “I’m going for a swim to cool off! You better hope its frosty, otherwise when I get back this...” she quickly opened and closed the blanket, “...is keeping itself warm tonight!”

Ethan held up a torch, “It’s almost dark!”

Snatching it, she stormed off. Carl looked around wide eyed; making a gun with his fingers he mimed shooting himself in the head.

“Yep.” Agreed Ethan, heading toward his tent.

5

“Ethan!”

He stirred.

“Ethan!”

Waking, he unzipped the tent to see Carl, fidgeting and anxious. Careful not to wake Jane, he crept out whispering, “What’s up?”

“It’s Amy, I can’t find her!”

Ethan felt for his torch; finding it he said, “Let’s go.”

As they walked Carl explained he’d given Amy twenty minutes to cool off, then followed. He’d walked the shoreline twice but couldn’t see any sign of her.

“It’s probably a counter prank. Your sense of humour’s a bit brutal.”

Carl nodded, but looked no calmer, as they arrived at the lake.

“Okay, you go that way, I’ll go this way. We walk to the Quarry wall then meet back here. Agreed!”

Carl nodded distractedly and set off, seeming dazed. Ethan watched him a moment before heading in the opposite direction; he passed the torchlight over both the water and ground as he went, occasionally calling Amy’s name.

All too soon, the torch was illuminating the quarry wall. With a sinking feeling Ethan turned back, seeing Carl’s torch at work in the distance. Determined he must have missed something he concentrated hard and glimpsed a flash of movement.

“Amy?”

Eyes straining, he hurried forward as a torch burst into life.

“Yes,” she hissed through chattering teeth, “Don’t look! I haven’t found my blanket.”

Turning away he asked, “Where’ve you been. Carl’s worried sick!”

“It got dark!” she snapped, “I got disoriented. Thankfully, I saw your torches... Ok I’m decent.”

Turning, relief turned to trepidation; beyond Amy, a shadowy figure moved silently towards them. Directing his torch past her, the figure was as wide as it was tall: Cloaked in shadow, its features were unreadable. Its movements slow, but purposeful; with a swagger that boasted of the power held within its stocky frame. Its right hand gripped a pickaxe.

With rising panic, Ethan beckoned Amy, saying, “Quarryman!”

“Seriously.” She stomped, “This again?”

The shadow was almost behind her.

“Seriously!” he shouted.

Silently it stopped and let the haft slide through his hand until he gripped its base.

“RUN!”

The axe had reached its apex as Amy sensed something amiss and started to turn: Ethan could only watch, horrified, as it began its inexorable fall. The axe struck hard and true. With a sickening crunch, Amy’s head burst like an overripe fruit. A nauseating rain of vitae and fragments fell on Ethan; he found himself staring into the twisted, goggle eyed remnants of Amy’s formerly pretty face.

The force of the impact had driven the axe deep, smashing her skull and compressing her spine; the tip exited beneath her jaw penetrating her chest. Shifting his grip, the Quarryman slowly pulled upwards to withdraw the axe. In a macabre spectacle it refused to release; like a marionette Amy rose to her feet, muscle spasms twitching her cadaver in a grisly dance.

“Ethan?”

Carl’s voice broke his revelry.

“Carl, NO!”

Amy danced a moment longer then, abruptly, the axe let go and she flopped to the ground.

“What the f... Amy?... YOU!”

A large rock struck the Quarryman on the side of the knee. Carl roared and followed up, barrelling into him; grabbing the axe with both hands he heaved, struggling to wrest it from his grip. Ethan ran to help but was swatted away; one handed the Quarryman forced Carl back and drove him to his knees.

Ethan recovered, catching Carl’s eye as he regained his feet.

Straining against the Quarryman’s prodigious strength, Carl shook his head grunting, “Run!”

With a quick jerking motion, the Quarryman hammered his fist into Carl’s nose; blood fountained as he tumbled backwards. In a well-practiced motion, the released axe was swung high.

Sobbing, Ethan ran; flinching as a loud, wet, thud told him the axe had completed its deadly work.

Lungs burning Ethan skidded into the campsite, ripping open his tent and calling to Jane. He recoiled, falling backward, as if physically struck. Inside was a charnel house! Blood coated everything; the body so battered he couldn’t recognise the woman he loved.

Kicking his numbed legs to get away from the horror before him, he regained his feet and fled up the trail towards Stanhope.

6

Tyres screeched, finally halting the car on the steep embankment.

“HELP!” screamed Ethan, banging his fists on the bonnet.

Cautiously, the driver got out, “Hello… I’m David, a police office.” Maintaining eye contact he pulled out a high vis jacket, showing the markings, “I’m off duty but I want to help.”

“My friends... my wife…” Ethan slumped to his knees, distraught.

“Come on.”

Ethan allowed himself to be ushered into the car, all the while muttering explanations about his friends, the quarry, and being attacked by the Quarryman.

“I’ll call for backup, can you direct me to your camp?”

Ethan nodded and did so.

“Good.” Smiled David, closing the door.

After talking into his radio for a few moments he got in and set off down Crawleyside bank.

Ethan jumped forward, “The quarry‘s up the hill!”

David smiled reassuringly in the rear-view replying, “I’m just heading to the straight; turning on the switch backs isn’t safe.”

Ethan settled as they arrived at the straight, turned, and headed back up to the hill. Anxiety ate at his insides as David navigated the narrow trail to the campsite. Arriving, the headlights hit upon a large man; Ethan’s heartbeat accelerated as he turned and slowly approached the car.

“Sidney!” David called, “What brings you here at this time of night?” He asked, opening his door.

“Damned kids! They’ve been hollering all night, and that’s no lie. Probably been at them funny mushrooms!”

“One’s in my car.”

“Hmph!”

“Says his friends are hurt?”

“Hurt? By my eyes there’s no one here!”

Shocked, Ethan bolted from the car, sprinting towards his camp: On arriving he froze in disbelief.

“Gone!”

David caught up, looking at him questioningly; Sidney, lagged behind.

Ethan moved to the centre of the clearing, pointing out where the fire and tents had been. Looking round, everything was gone!

Sidney tripped as he arrived, hissing his hand went his leg.

Looking, Ethan noticed him nursing his knee! Panic rose as Sidney, noticing his attention, stiffened; his right hand twitched in reflex.

His right knee: In a moment of revelation, Ethan turned and ran.

7

“Smart lad.” David observed.

“You aren’t chasing after him?”

David snorted, “Why? He sounds as mad as a box of frogs! Also, he’s fled a Police Officer and an alleged crime scene.”

“They won’t be happy!”

“Three’s better than none! I’ll contact the castle. A tribute’s been paid and three can leave this cursed place!”