The Road To Ponkerton Village - Part 1

 

Bob was pleased with himself, he wanted to celebrate getting the planning application through. He’d been optimistic all along, mostly because he held plenty of clout at the local council, making generous contributions towards community projects and being very pally with the top brass. Having a few decades of experience, he also knew which strings to pull in terms of circumventing planning laws. 

 

The building project was presented as an ‘infill development’ because if you looked far enough, there were houses on all sides, as long as you ignored the several acres of woodland in the middle known as Brite’s Clump. Bob and his brother had a wildlife survey done by an old friend who said that the land didn’t contain anything of special interest and was regularly used by fly tippers and other unsavoury activities. 

 

It was the last bit of green space left in Kerness town but none of that mattered to Bob. He thought Kerness was a bit of a dump and the people who lived there were simple commoners who would prefer low quality houses and fast food outlets to their own bit of countryside. In fact he had nothing but contempt for the residents of Kerness because he lived in the beautiful village on Ponkerton and saw himself as a cut above.

 

He’d included some affordable housing in the plans and the rest would be executive style, detached with just a few feet dividing them and postage stamp sized gardens. A deal was done with his mate who’d fit solar panels and heat pumps. There wouldn’t be any space for a pavement, the children on the estate would just have to learn to be careful, not that there was anywhere for them to play.

 

‘Let’s all go down to the White Hart,’ he said, his jolly face beaming, ‘the drinks are on me!’

 

So off they went, leaving the council offices in dribs and drabs. The councilors often left early on a Friday and the White Hart was their favourite haunt. Bob’s brother Rick was already there celebrating with a whiskey and soda. The two brothers embraced, patting each other’s backs. ‘I knew you’d do it, Bob.’

 

‘Well, it’s just a matter of time that’s all. First you get the busy bodies, then you get the plebs with their petitions and puerile objections but in the end,’ he chuckled, ‘it’s just about this isn’t it.’ He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together to show he was talking about money.

 

‘So what are we calling it?’

 

‘Brite’s Estate sounds good enough to me.’

 

‘To Brite’s Estate,’ said Rick and they clinked their glasses together.

 

The barmaid glanced across at them from the bar. ‘I used to go foraging at Brite’s Clump,’ she said, ‘me and my father saw two stags locking horns there once.’

 

‘Well deer are no good to people who need homes, Love.’

 

The barmaid paused and then said, ‘Well I always thought it was such a peaceful place…you had to watch your step mind, there were badger’s sets everywhere. It seems a terrible shame to put houses there..and so many.’

 

‘Silly cow,’ Rick muttered. ‘Come on the others are arriving now.’

 

The two brothers were joined by their mates from the council. There was a sense of celebration, like they were at the beginning of something exciting, a big change which they had driven through. They felt powerful and it made them delight in their own being, the sound of their voices, they had a swagger as they to'd and fro’d from the bar, occasionally popping outside to smoke a cigar.

 

Bob had noticed a sinister looking man staring at him from the bar. He was alone and unusual looking with a very rough face covered in stubble, small black eyes and a thick gnarly body. In between sips of his pint of Guinness, he regularly glared at Bob and his brother and appeared to shiver slightly and mutter under his breath.

 

To begin with Bob shrugged it off, he was used to people disliking him and had many tactics which he used to intimidate people and they usually worked but this man was different. It was almost as if he wasn’t quite human.

 

On one of his regular trips to the gents, the man appeared to block his passage, quite deliberately for a few seconds, placing his short thick body in his Bob’s way and staring at him before laughing and stepping aside. Bob also observed that the barmaid appeared to be providing him with free drinks.

 

‘How is Ponkerton?’ said Clive, one of the counselors. 

 

‘Oh, it’s wonderful. Still my favourite part of the county. There are so many places to walk the dog and this time of the year, if you’re lucky, you might spot some marsh orchids,’ Bob lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘if you know where to look.’

 

‘It’s a very unspoilt village,’ Clive said, ‘I only wish I could afford to live there.’

 

They both laughed and Bob made some noises about how he must be getting home because his wife was cooking a special meal and he was already late. He said his goodbyes and made arrangements to have Sunday lunch with Rick. Then he went out to the carpark. It was very quiet outside and beginning to get dark. It was just as he was inserting the key into his Range Rover that he felt a warm blast of air on the back of his neck, accompanied by a low growling sound.

 

Slowly he turned around to see the short gnarly man from the bar standing inches behind him, drilling him with those dark eyes.

 

‘Sorry, wha…what do you want from me? I’ve no money. I don’t know what you want?’

 

The man shifted on his feet, then gave Bob a hard poke. ‘Habitats for habitats,’ he said.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Well,’ the man said, ‘who’s to say that the habitat of an animal is a lesser habitat than that of a man and all because a greedy developer wants to go from a rich man to a filthy rich man?’

 

‘I’m sorry. I’ve heard all this before. It’s water off a duck’s back to me so if you’ll move back please so I can get into my vehicle.’

 

The man stood his ground, very calmly. Bob noticed the alarming amount of salt and pepper stubble on his face and that he had a strange smell, earthy and feral. ‘There’s a price to pay, a cost, you must know that everything has a cost?’

 

‘Well of course,’ Bob shook his head nervously so that his jowls shook. ‘Look, I need to get home. My wife has cooked.’

 

‘A home to go to or coming home to find…,’ the man gestured with his hands, stretching his finger out, his tiny eyes widening, ‘your home is no more.’

 

‘Well if you’ll excuse me,’ Bob shouted, annoyed now he forced his way into the car and sped out of the car park but as he looked back in the rear view mirror, the stubbly man was nowhere to be seen.

 

Ponkerton was only a fifteen minute drive away and it was a pleasant journey. A fox ran across the road in front of Bob’s car and he smiled to himself as he listened to Class FM. He loved the traffic island which led to his village, it was a large island with a lawn and an oak tree in the centre. The first exit continued the A road which eventually led to Kerness town, the second went to a gold course and the third exit led straight to the beautiful village of Ponkerton.

 

Except this time something strange had happened. Bob drove around the first time, bypassing the first two exits, expecting to swerve gently into the third, his own exit to his village, his home. But somehow he missed it so he went round again, one, two..but again, three was missing. He took a deep breath, thinking he was going mad, he’d only had four whiskies and he’d paced himself too. 

 

Angry now and feeling quite stressed, he repeated the process, driving around and around the island but each time the exit to the beautiful village of Ponkerton was missing. He shook his head and resigned to go the long way round, backtracking on the A road back to the other side of the village where there was a country lane which led to the back of the village. I shouldn't be doing this, he thought to himself, it’s ridiculous but when he reached the area where the road was, it also had gone.

 

Now, I’m really going mad, he thought, this must be a dream. He drove back to his favourite island but again the exit road to Ponkerton was no longer there so he drove down the A road a little, towards Kerness then turned around in a layby and went back but once again the exit road was missing. 

 

Feeling extremely anxious now, he decided to drive back to the pub to see his brother and explain what was happening, that’s if he could find the words. He considered sending a text but the words sounded so ridiculous, ‘the road to my village has vanished,’ It just couldn’t be.

 

In a frenzy now he turned the car again, not wishing to look stupid in front of his mates from the council. He headed back towards the island but the same thing happened, the road to Ponkerton village had simply gone. It occurred to him that perhaps his village had gone too or maybe he just had some memory problem or illness. The whole time, he couldn’t get the image of the stubbly man’s face from his mind.

 

‘I will go back to the pub,’ he said, his hands shaking but just as he began driving back towards the pub, he broke into a cold sweat and had to pull over, his heart palpitating and unable to catch his breath.