Guardian of the Valley

By Dawn Bramwell

 Twelve year old Joe Clovelly leads a difficult life. His mother is widowed and an outcast in the village where he lives. His sister is deaf and mute, and he is frequently bullied at school. Then one night everything changes. He is visited by two spirits called 'Watchers'.

 The Watchers, Frieda and Ulf, tell Joe that he has been

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purple Parrot Publishing
• Release date: Oct 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781838276997

Dawn Bramwell

I am a writer. I am a Reiki Master. I am a lover of animals. I am a lover of nature. I am a Lancashire lass born and bred. I am a creative soul who simply enjoys telling a tale and sharing it with others.

Book preview

Chapter One

Midnight Visitors

I was twelve when the Watchers came to The Valley. They tumbled down my chimney at midnight. I know that was the time because the church clock had just woken me. It always does at midnight, which is very annoying. Most nights I go straight back to sleep. Most nights there is no other noise in the bedroom apart from the gentle snoring of my sister in the bunk below me.

Tonight, was different.

After the deep chimes of the clock had ceased, I heard another sound.

A rattling rumble clattered its way down the chimney.

There was a thud; actually, two thuds, as if something had fallen down from the roof and landed in the fireplace. I heaved a sigh into my pillow. Damn! It sounded like a bird or two had fallen down the chimney pot. I really did not want to get out of bed. It was cold and there was no fire lit in the grate. Mum only lets us light the fire when there is ice on the inside of the windows.

I wrapped my bedclothes around me tightly, rebelliously refusing to leave the warmth, yet even as I did so I knew that I would get out and rescue the birds.

I heard laughter.

My skin prickled all over.

Hairs stood to attention on my scalp.

I strained my ears for the sound, desperate to hear only silence, or the noise of trapped birds fluttering their wings in the fireplace. Nothing. All was quiet. Maybe there weren’t any birds after all. Maybe it was a loose tile dislodged from the roof that had made the noise. Comforted by this thought, I closed my eyes and muffled my ears with my pillow, and snuggled down to sleep once more

It was a definite giggle.

I sat bolt upright with any thoughts of sleep banished from my mind. Leaning over the edge of the bunk beds, I was about to poke my sister to see if she was laughing in her sleep. Then I heard her snoring and it dawned on me that the strange sounds of merriment could not be coming from her. Besides, if it had been Cassie laughing in her dreams it would have sounded so very different.

I was shivering now and not only from cold.

As well as the odd snatches of laughter that kept wafting round the room, there was the feeling that something else was present. Every scene from every horror story that I had read came back to haunt me. My sister and I were not alone in the bedroom. Something had come in via the chimney. A tiny brain cell managed to make a connection. Whatever it was, it could not be very big. I did not know whether this was good or bad. Big scary invisible thing versus small scary invisible thing.

When the whispering started, I decided size was irrelevant. I was scared. I sat on the top bunk with my sister below and could not move a muscle for fear. The impulse to hide under my blankets in terror was powerfully strong

Maybe it was actually a dream?

Maybe I was just a coward?

No. Never that. How could I sit there doing nothing with poor Cassie defenceless on the bottom bunk? No matter what I was feeling, I had to protect my little sister from… whatever it was.

Determined to do something now, I reached for the torch that I kept under my pillow. Mum said I was only to use it if I needed to go to the toilet in the middle of the night and not for reading. I didn’t want to put the main light on for fear of waking Cassie and to be honest, I had no burning desire to set eyes on whatever it was that had come down the chimney. So I fumbled for my torch and put my finger on the switch.

No! Get off me. Help!

I dropped the torch onto the floor and thrashed around my bed, arms waving madly to fend off whatever had grabbed hold of me. I was about to scream for my mum to come and rescue me (really brave for a twelve-year-old, I know) when the things in my bedroom spoke.

Do not be alarmed, Joe. We are not here to harm you. We are friends.

Who are you?

We are the Watchers.

Chapter Two

The Watchers

The pounding of my heart eased a little. The voices belonging to the Watchers, whatever they may be, did not sound evil. In fact, they sounded rather funny, like the squeaky voice you get when you breathe in air from a helium balloon; high pitched and giddy. Surely something that spoke in such a voice could not be evil.

What are you?

We have just told you. We are the Watchers.

Silly, he won’t know what that means.

How do you know?

He’s human of course. Remember what the Goddess said. Honestly, Frieda do you ever pay attention?

I pay more attention than you do. Wait until the morning, the Goddess said, don’t risk frightening him by appearing in the dark. And what time is it exactly? Just after midnight. So, as to who pays more attention, Ulf, I would say that I do.

I sat listening to this bizarre exchange from the invisible beings that had fallen down my chimney and, having decided that I was not at risk of any danger from them, intervened.

I don’t wish to be rude, but it is rather late, and I do have school tomorrow morning.

Sorry, it’s just that she can be so bossy at times.

I am not. You don’t listen, you never do. Besides, I am in charge after all.

How so? Where did that idea come from? I never heard the Goddess say you were in charge.

It stands to reason. I am older. Therefore, I am in charge.

Only by two hundred years, that’s nothing. We’re virtually the same age.

I could see that this weird conversation was going to go on all night if I didn’t put a stop to it.

Like I said, school tomorrow morning, so if you wouldn’t mind explaining what is going on, I mean, am I dreaming or imagining this?

See, you are boring him with your nagging.

Oh, do be quiet, Ulf. We are sorry Joe. We have never done this before. It is the first time the Goddess has honoured us with such a task.

Be honest, Frieda, it is a punishment really.

Oh alright! We are being punished by being sent here, but in all fairness, the Goddess does need us to do this job. It’s very important. She thinks the responsibility will be good for us.

And if we mess up, we’ll be in real trouble.

Not just us, Ulf, the whole of this world and ours.

If it was possible, this woke me right up. What did they mean? Our world and theirs? Who were they and where had they come from? Back to some direct questions.

Tell me again, who are you? I tried to sound masterful which is not easy when you are talking to invisible beings with squeaky voices.

In unison they replied. We are the Watchers.

You’ve already said that but actually, that tells me nothing. Who are the Watchers, what are you and where do you come from? There was a brief silence and I wondered if the three questions all in one go were too much for them. Then, one of them spoke. I think it was the one called Ulf. His voice was slightly deeper and I guessed that he was male.

You explain, you are better with words than me.

A coy giggle. You can be such a charmer at times. Very well then. A quick little cough. We are spirits. Echoes of those who have gone before. We come from the otherworld, from the Summerlands.

As clear as mud. The only thing I could grasp was the vague inkling of spirits. You mean you are ghosts?

Ooh no. Never ghosts, how horrible. This was uttered in unison with such revulsion that I was frickled I might have offended them.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve never spoken to a spirit before.

That’s quite alright. From the tone of Frieda’s voice I don’t think she was cross. Let me try and explain a little better. We used to be human, a long, long, time ago. We lived and breathed on this Earth. We laughed and loved and then we died on this Earth. Our souls passed over to the next world. Some call it the Summerlands. It’s a resting place between times. When our souls are ready, we revisit this Earth in human form; we are reborn again.

You mean like re-incarnation?

A little like that I suppose.

And who is this Goddess you talk about?

I heard an intake of breath.

How could you not know? How can you ask?

This came from Ulf, I think. He sounded disappointed. He was answered by Frieda.

Do not judge him, Ulf. Remember what the Goddess told us. He is ignorant of the old ones. It is not his fault. His Mother knows us though.

My head was spinning. Old ones? And what did my mum know about all of this?

Please tell me more, I want to understand.

Of course you do. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I felt a touch like silken fire caress my hand. I think it was Frieda patting me. She continued to speak in her sweet, sincere voice.

The old ones created this Earth. Gave birth and life to all things upon it. Humans used to worship them, gave them the reverence they deserved. But then the new Gods came. The old Gods were banished, cast out, forgotten. Her voice sounded cold and angry now. New religions took over. Religions that caused war after war; death after death. The time of harmony and light was over.

I felt a prickle run down my spine. The village I live in, the school I attend, are strictly focused on the Church. Religion. Christianity is the rule book of our lives here in The Valley. It is something I have never thought about too deeply. To be honest I care little either way. I just accept it. I know my mum is different. That is why the villagers shun her; well one of the reasons anyway and one reason why Cassie and I have such a hard time of it.

Mum is determined that we should be accepted in The Valley though and insists that we go to church on a Sunday, even if she does not. I used to question her about it, but the steely look that came into her beautiful silver- grey eyes was more than I could bear. Besides, I am not one to rock the boat. It is hard enough being Joe Clovelly without making matters worse. Now, I wondered why the Watchers had mentioned my mum.

What did you mean, my mum knows you?

Frieda continued, no longer sounding angry. Your Mother worships the Goddess. She is of the true faith; a follower of the old ones.

I swallowed hard. This was news to me. And what exactly does that mean?

Ulf’s voice broke through the dark. It means she is enlightened. She will help us.

But the Goddess sent us to you. Back to Frieda. You have to help us. It has to be a male.

What does? I wasn’t too sure I liked the sound of this one little bit.

The Guardian of The Valley. Your Mother can help us. Indeed as your Mother is a believer, she is special, but the Goddess has chosen; she insists that you are the one.

Why me? Why not any other boy in The Valley? What makes me so special?

You are of the bloodline, said Frieda simply.

Bloodline?

It is your destiny. Ulf’s reply was no clearer. He then went on to flummox me even more.

Something wicked has happened here. The harmony of The Valley has been shattered. You are linked directly by blood to the cause of this evil. That is why the Goddess has chosen you.

To be the Guardian of the Valley, I said slowly, thinking that I was tumbling deeper and deeper into insanity. And what happens, may I ask, if I don’t want to be the Guardian of the Valley?

Then the Darkness will come, and all will perish.

Chapter Three

All A Dream

No pressure there then.

I either become the Guardian of the Valley (whatever that is) or the Darkness (whatever that is) will come and we will all perish. Now I don’t know about you but when I hear the word ‘perish’, I think of disasters like the Titanic. So many souls were lost or ‘perished’ on that voyage. We had learnt about it in history. To ‘perish’, was to come to rather an unpleasant end. It spoke of a fate far worse than merely dying and had images of suffering attached to it that I really didn’t like.

I decided at this point that maybe it would be better to go back to sleep and wake up in the morning pretending that none of this had happened. I yawned decisively, stretched my arms in an exaggerated fashion and spoke as if laden with sleep.

Well it’s been lovely meeting you but I really must get back to sleep, like I said, school tomorrow and all that.

There was silence at this, and I reckoned I’d made my point. My head hit the pillow and I closed my mind to thoughts of old gods, guardians and dark things, and concentrated instead on the periodic table which I was supposed to have learnt for a science test. It goes without saying that I was soon asleep.

The next morning I woke to the sounds of my sister stirring. Daylight teased its way through the holes in the threadbare curtains. It was time to get up for school. I waited until I heard Cassie leave the room to go and wash and dress in the bathroom, then I jumped down from the top bunk.

I wanted to have a good look round before Cassie came back. I poked in the fireplace, looked under Cassie’s bunk, behind the curtains, even behind the books on the shelf until I was satisfied that there was nothing there that shouldn’t be, and then quickly got dressed. I must have dreamt it after all. There was no sign that any strange beings had been in my room last night. The relief was overwhelming, so much so that I even felt cheerful about my science test.

My sister came back into the room just then. She smiled her usual sweet smile in greeting. Cassie is deaf but that doesn’t stop us from chatting to each other with a combination of sign language and lip reading. Using my hands, I asked her if she had slept well. She replied that she had and was starting to tell me about a nice dream she had had when I heard Mum call that breakfast was ready.

We went downstairs together, eager as always for any food that Mum cooked. The kitchen, unlike the rest of the house, is always warm. I love mealtimes. No matter how bad things are outside of the house, this fireside is a real haven. Cassie went silently to lay the table and I poured us a glass of milk each. When everything was ready, Mum served us scrambled eggs on toast.

Before we could begin, Mum lowered her head and said quietly, We give thanks for the food on our table and the generous bounty of the land.

Blessed be, I responded as she had taught us, and Cassie moved her lips in harmony with my words. A different form of Grace to that which we have to say at school and up until last night I had never questioned it. Just Mum being different. Now I had cause to wonder.

Who exactly was Mum thanking for the food? The Goddess that Ulf and Frieda had spoken about?

No.

No.

No.

They did not exist. It had been a dream.

I started to eat my breakfast and listened to Mum tell us what she was going to do that day. It was always the same. We ate and shared with each other what was going on in our lives. I think Mum made a special point that mealtimes were as sociable as possible for Cassie’s sake.

Since the age of three, Cassie has lived in a world of silence. The day our dad died, Cassie’s chance of a normal life had ended too. No-one was ever sure what exactly had happened. The doctors suggested that Cassie must have been too near the explosion that had killed Dad which accounted for the sudden deafness, but no-one could reason why she could no longer utter a sound. From being a lively, noisy chatterbox, she became a silent shadow of her former self.

She was ten now and next September would join me at the high school which catered for the three villages in The Valley. I was already dreading it for her sake. I had to put up with my fair share of bullying and frequently came home with black eyes and a bloody nose. Living the way we did, I made an easy target.

I hated to think what the high school yobs would do to Cassie. It was bad enough at the primary school she attended. People had suggested that Cassie should be sent to a special school where she would have to board, but Mum fought that tooth and nail. Instead, Cassie has support from an assistant at school and Mum fills in the gaps of her education as best she can.

After breakfast Cassie washed the pots and I went outside to collect the day’s supply of eggs from our hens. The boys in the village tease me for having to do this but I quite like it. The hen house is warm and the birds are friendly. Next, I had to draw a bucket of water from the well.

We have the same mains supply that the rest of the village does, but in the back garden of our cottage, stands a well which, according to Mum, has been here for hundreds of years. It is fed from a spring whose source is high up on the hills. Mum insists that a bucket is drawn every day and used for our drinking water. She says it is better for us than the water in the pipes and considering how few times Cassie and I are ill, she may have a point. That done, I could delay it no longer. It was time to catch the bus to school. I gathered my bags and trundled to the door.

Good luck in your test. Mum snatched a quick peck on my cheek and ruffled my hair.

See you later, I held my hand up in a wave and set off down the lane. I had got twenty yards down the path when a dirty black cloud appeared from nowhere and swallowed up the warm September sun. I looked up at the sky and wondered if it was going to rain. I hoped not as we had cross-country today and I hate slopping around in the mud.

The clouds hung heavy over the village which lay before me and gave The Valley a sombre look. It often rains here, we are surrounded by hills and I gave the sudden darkness that had descended no thought. Then, as the bus rattled down the lane, I turned to look back at our cottage as I always did.

Black clouds loomed as far as the eye could see, apart from over our cottage. There, the sun still shone and the sky was blue. I stared hard. Surely not? Hovering around the chimney pot were two blurry shapes. I squinted harder, wishing the bus was not in such a hurry to shoot off. A glow of turquoise and a glow of orange seemed to be dancing around the top of the chimney. I found a seat on the bus and looked out of the other windows. All around was darkness and gloom. I stubbornly refused to dwell on the words of the Watchers. After all, they were not real. I had dreamt them. But if that was true, then what had I just seen flitting around the chimney?

Chapter Four

The Valley

Most days I enjoy the bus ride to school. Although I don’t have many close friends in The Valley, at least the kids who travel to and from the high school on the bus don’t fall into the enemy camp. So, the half hour it takes for the bus to wind its way from one village to the next until it reaches its destination, means that I can switch off and daydream. Usually, the focus of these daydreams is how I am going to find a way to escape The Valley when I leave school.

That sounds like I am a prisoner here doesn’t it? I’m not. Not in the real sense. I know that there is a bus that goes down the road every day and takes people out of The Valley. It also brings people into The Valley. Tourists come and spend time here at the weekends. Hikers and families with picnics come to enjoy the beauty of the place and the peace and quiet. They also come to buy the rainbow stones that are mined here.

The Valley is the only place in the world that has a semi-precious stone which holds all the colours of the rainbow buried within its earth. It has been mined here for two centuries. The mine and the factory, which turns the raw material into gifts, are both owned by Zaccariah Tull.

He is one of the Elders of The Church of The New Day and most of the adults in The Valley work for him in some way. Not my mum though. She stopped working at the factory the day Dad was killed in an explosion at the mine; the day that Cassie turned deaf and mute. Up until that day, the Clovellys were the same as every other family in The Valley, working for Zaccariah Tull and living according to the rules of The Church of The New Day.

Mum had a massive row with Tull after Dad died and since that day has not set foot in either his factory, or the church. She sells paintings of The Valley to the tourists that visit and grows vegetables in our cottage garden, as well as keeping the hens and a couple of goats for milk and cheese.

I think her paintings are brilliant and I am sure that if we lived outside The Valley with access to larger towns and cities, she could make a proper living. No matter how hard I press her though, Mum will not leave The Valley. Unfinished business she always replies when I ask her why we stay. She won’t say more than that and if you think I am being a wimp for not pushing my mum… well, you’d have to meet her to understand.

So, in a way, I am trapped here. I don’t mind too much. I love the wildness of the countryside, the way the moors roll on and on, steep hills reaching up to the skies, the colours of the heathers and bracken changing depending on the light; never the same two days in a row.

I love the roar of the river as it pounds its way through The Valley; fierce and angry in the winter with white churning water and merry and fast in the summer, musically dancing over the stones. I love the wildlife that roams at ease in the woods. Deer and badgers, otters and weasels, pheasant, grouse and that rare bird, the hen harrier.

I even like