Hills of the North Ch. 01

Well, this is another story featuring vicars and churches, but this is darker and delves more into the supernatural and has less humour than my Jenna stories. I've put it in Erotic Horror, as it features themes of reincarnation and a bit of violence, but it could fit into other categories too. Bit of an experiment in writing something a bit spookier.

Regular readers of Jenna's adventures may have spotted that "Hills of the North" is the name of the book Reverend Morris brought for Gladys Wilcox to read in Chapter 1 of "Jenna's Cousin Mia."

Clitheroe, Worston and other locations featured in this story are real. St. Peter's CE parish church and its characters are alas, completely fictional.

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'But do not imagine we do not know, Nor that what you hide with such care won't show. At a glance. Nothing is done, nothing is said, But don't make the mistake of believing us dead: I shouldn't dance.' - W.H Auden - The Witnesses.

Nestled on the north-western slope of Pendle Hill is the small, secluded hamlet of Worston. This peaceful little corner of northern England associates itself with a Pendle Witch connection. The cottage opposite the Calf's Head pub has a small circular window known as the 'witches window'. When the fireplace was being altered in the cottage, clay effigies into which pins had been stuck were discovered, suggesting witchcraft may have been practised here. Behind the main street is a small meadow which is said to have been used for bull-baiting. In the centre of it is a large stone ring to which the bull would have been tethered, but thankfully this practice is long-abolished.

A prehistoric burial ground was found on Worsaw Hill, and when workmen were widening the road to Chatburn they found 1,000 Roman silver denarii. Very little has changed in Worston over the last 100 years, although all the quarries have now closed.

Worston Old Hall dates from the early 19th century, and built into its porch are three decorative shields said to have come from Sawley Abbey. They depict a lion rampant (arms of Percy) the quarterly arms of England and France, and three pikes (arms of Lacy).

In between Worston and the much-larger town of Clitheroe, stands St. Peter's CE parish church. It is here where our story begins.

Across the storm-bruised clouds, lightning followed a jagged course like cracks in a ceramic plate. In the unsheltered churchyard, parked cars glimmered briefly with hard-edged reflections.

"Looks like we'll have to call it a day, Vicar," a burly-looking workman in hi-vis clothing muttered. "There's a massive downpour coming."

Reverend Graham Hosking looked up at the darkening sky. "Most unseasonal isn't it? Almost as if something were trying to avenge itself."

The workman shrugged. "Eh, if you say so. Maybe something to do with them bones that were dug up? Anyway, the lads will finish up tomorrow." He loaded tools into a transit van and lit a cigarette.

"Yes, thank you, Greg." Reverend Hosking said, before hurrying back into the church.

The grounds of St. Peter's church had been undergoing maintenance work for several weeks; old water pipes long overdue for replacing were finally being replaced. Work had been disrupted by the discovery of human remains. The skeleton had been unearthed some distance from the church's graveyard, which had prompted an investigation. However tests confirmed that the remains were at least a century old. Further discovery of personal effects belonging to the deceased confirmed that she was a twenty-one year old woman by the name of Caroline. No other details were known.

Reverend Hosking had re-buried the remains in a proper grave and performed a ceremony for her. Local amateur historians were having a field day trying to find more information on the long-dead woman. Ever since the remains had been uncovered, a dim but persistent sense of fear had stalked the vicar. He couldn't put his finger on it. It was rare for him to dream, but for the past couple of nights, he'd suffered terrible nightmares. Horrific visions of a woman burning to death in a fire, a severed head on a church altar...a bloodstained knife. He hoped it was just the product of an overactive imagination, and the fact he'd read far too many Stephen King novels in the past.

In the empty church, the vicar sat in the front pew. While thunder reverberated through the low sky and seemed to hammer on the roof of the building, he read the application that the workman had given to him, on the pipe repairs.

"He's such a neat little man," Alice the forty-three year old church organist thought as she watched the vicar. "When he sits very still like that, you'd almost think he was a statue."

Reverend Hosking was a very old-fashioned young Englishman of the sort that did not really exist any more. He was thirty, but had the air of someone who'd just stepped out of the 1950s. He was exceedingly well-groomed. Clean-shaven and with watery blue eyes. His carefully combed blonde hair looked as if it had received the attention of a good barber less than an hour ago. He bore a slight resemblance to the actor Dan Stevens, when he first played the role of Matthew Crawley in Downton Abbey. His cassock and surplice were spotless, and his black shoes gleamed.

He'd arrived at this church early in 2022, when the world was emerging from the global pandemic. Prior to that, St. Peter's had been in interregnum, following the well-earned retirement of its previous vicar, Reverend Ashley Dickinson. When Alice had first been introduced to Reverend Hosking, she had thought he was prim, even prissy, and she had been prepared to dislike him. She was quickly won over by his smile, by his gracious manner, and by his sincere desire to serve the church and God. He was softly-spoken and polite, he seemed completely out of place in the stressed-out 21st century. Yet, in this sleepy little part of England, he had carved out a niche for himself. Dear Lord, he was shy when it came to affairs of the heart though. He was single, nothing wrong with that of course. Reserved, almost to the point of appearing asexual. Alice, being a bit of a nosey person, wondered if he'd ever had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend for that matter. Perhaps the good reverend was closeted? Though in these more enlightened times, she hoped that wasn't the case.

When he sensed the organist was looking at him, he turned and smiled. His smile was more sincere than the curate's, and as usual, Alice's spirits were lifted by it. He wasn't her type. But she couldn't deny that the vicar had a unique charm.

"Not many at this morning's Eucharist," Reverend Hosking said at last as he folded the papers he'd been reading and checked his smartphone. "I know the midweek one is never well-attended, but I blame the weather. You'd better get on your way, Alice, there's a dreadful storm coming. These country lanes are treacherous at times."

Alice finished putting music books away and ensured the lamp above the organ's manuals was switched off.

"Don't worry, I'm only half a mile from home. I'm sure the Sunday service will be really well-attended. It's the Feast of St. George."

Presently, the door to the vestry opened and Ray Hilton the curate, appeared. Aged forty-five, he was a stocky bloke with glasses and thick, greying hair. Neither handsome nor ugly, he made up for that with a personality which could charm women of all ages...into bed. He'd joined the church later after years of working in I.T, and had gone through two divorces. He credited his divorces with helping him "rediscover his faith" and wanting a complete career change.

Reverend Hosking raised an eyebrow as Ray began chatting to the organist. He couldn't tell what he whispered to her, but from her giggling reaction, it was obviously something obscene.

"I'll see you later then, Ray," Alice said, rising from the organ stool, trying to remain composed. The curate winked back and slapped her plump arse when the vicar wasn't looking. She gave a little yelp and scuttled down the aisle with more than a spring in her step.

"See you on Sunday, Vicar!"

"Oh yes. Take care, Alice. Thanks again for playing."

When she'd gone, he rose from the pew. "Not in the church, Ray. Please."

"God will forgive me," the curate replied. "You've got to admit, she's a good-looking lass. Curves in all the right places."

"She's also married," Reverend Hosking reminded him. He and the curate were polar opposites, and he barely tolerated this lecherous man most of the time.

"Beautiful woman like that shackled to a dullard who is always away on business," Ray continued. "I feel sorry for her."

"Then just pray for her," the vicar said, heading to the vestry.

Ray pulled a face. "I'll do more than pray," he smirked to himself. "Tonight, I'll give her a special organ to play. A nine-inch one!"

Reverend Hosking hurried to his car. The cold, wind-driven rain was falling so hard that it stung his face. By the time he reached the car, his hair was plastered to his head. Carefully, he drove home through the rain-choked country lane. The journey to the vicarage usually took five minutes. The only sounds were the whispery hiss of the tyres on the wet tarmac and the metronomic thump of the windscreen wipers. He hunched forward a bit, over the steering wheel, squinting through the streaming rain. Heading down the lane that led to the town of Clitheroe, Reverend Hosking hung back a little, watchful and cautious. He prided himself on being an extremely careful driver. Other road users were far too aggressive for his liking.

Suddenly, a young woman stepped out from a bus shelter, directly into the path of his car.

"Shit!" The vicar shouted, ramming his foot down on the brake pedal so hard that he lifted himself up off the seat. The brunette glanced up and froze, wide-eyed. The brakes shrieked, and the car missed her by a fraction of an inch.

"Oh God!" Reverend Hosking pulled up alongside and lowered the window. "I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" He was visibly taken aback when he got a good look at the woman. Mid-twenties at a guess. Though her hair was soaking wet and rain streaming down her face, her beauty radiated through. The vicar felt as if he'd had an electric shock. This stranger seemed to exert some kind of hold over him and for a moment, he was unable to speak.

"I'm fine," the woman replied. "That was careless of me! Sorry for the trouble...Reverend," she added, noticing his clerical collar.

A little flustered, he was finally able to speak. "Uh, that's a relief. Um, well I'll let you get on your way. Don't you have an umbrella?"

"No, but it's okay. I'm almost home. With all this rain, I must look dreadful!"

"Oh not at all. I happen to think you are extremely beautiful." He suddenly felt himself blushing as he said this. Damn, what a cringe comment to make in this day and age. Before he could get himself into an even deeper hole, he apologised to the stranger and drove away, his face burning. He glanced in his rear view mirror, expecting to see her walking along the pavement, but there was no sign of her.

"What? Where did she vanish to? Surely she didn't jump into those bushes? There was nothing but farmland on either sides of the road. His thoughts were disturbed by an impatient van driver coming up behind him and beeping his horn.

When Reverend Hosking reached the vicarage, the storm was in full swing. He hoped Alice, Ray and the young woman he'd narrowly avoided on the road had made it home safely. After a shower, he entered the kitchen, took a copper saucepan from a rack of gleaming utensils, and began to prepare dinner. He couldn't get the mysterious woman out of his mind and couldn't understand why she'd made such a powerful impression on him. He didn't believe in love at first sight. Lust, yes. Love was something that developed over time, surely? Not that he had any experience in either.

Then lightning flickered, and the kitchen lights dimmed for a second. His eyes drawn to the window behind the sink. On the rear lawn, the trees appeared to writhe and shimmer and ripple in the fluttering storm light, so that it seemed he was looking not at the trees themselves but at their reflections in the surface of a lake. Suddenly, another movement caught his eye, though he wasn't sure what he was seeing.

In that gloomy landscape, something abruptly darted out from behind the thick trunk of an oak tree, crossed a stretch of open grass, and quickly disappeared behind a lilac bush. For a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a human face.

"What the hell was that?" He said out loud. "Had to be a trick of the light."

His next thought was that it had been a dog. Most likely Bruno. He was a friendly, brindle Boxer dog who belonged to the Morrisons, a family who lived opposite the vicarage.

The vicar shook his head. No chance. They wouldn't let Bruno out in weather like this. They pamper that dog. On the other hand, he could've gotten loose and wandered into the vicarage garden. Maybe he should go out and check.

The thing he thought he'd seen--the slightly twisted, moon-white face of a woman, lightning reflected in her eyes, her mouth curled into a snarl of hatred or rage--had surely been a trick of light and shadow. Still, the incident left him slightly unsettled.

After spending the rest of the day working on his sermon and reading through a dozen church emails, Reverend Hosking switched on the radio and listened to Classic FM. Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto #2 in C Minor, helped soothe away any uneasy feelings from earlier.

The storm had abated when Alice received a knock at the door.

"Hello Ray. I knew the rain wouldn't put you off!"

"It'll take a damn sight more than rain to put me off," he grinned, as she welcomed him inside.

Alice smiled back. "Okay. Well can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?"

Ray nodded. "A whiskey would be nice."

He removed his glasses and sat on the couch, slyly observing her as she entered the kitchen. Ever since joining St. Peter's, he'd found Alice very attractive, but for obvious reasons had kept such feelings deeply hidden. Until recently, when it became obvious she was in a sexless marriage and welcomed his flirtatious overtures.

"So...Mike's away again is he?"

"Yes. Until Tuesday. Said it was some seminar on cordless vacuum cleaners in Milton Keynes."

"Best place for him," Ray muttered to himself.

Being the church organist had meant Alice had made frequent visits to the vicarage, and Ray's home, allowing the him the opportunity to get to know her quite well. He knew she trusted him. He'd even overheard her telling the vicar once that she thought "Reverend Hilton was a fine asset to the church."

He smiled as he recalled this. Oh yes, he'd show her just how charming he could be. Ray watched her reach up into the cupboard. She was just wearing a plain white top and floral-print skirt. She had a fantastic figure, curves in all the right places. She'd never had children, so no wonder she was in such good shape. Even in flat shoes, her shapely legs looked amazing...he could feel himself getting hard. There was nothing he wanted more than to rip her skirt and knickers off, bend her over and fuck the living daylights out of her right this minute.

"Control yourself, don't blow it. Wait until the right moment...God, give me the strength I need..."

He composed himself as she entered the lounge and offered him a glass of whiskey.

"Thanks," He replied, catching a glimpse of her cleavage as she sat down in the armchair opposite him. He averted his eyes quickly, not wanting to get further aroused.

"The Vicar's seemed distracted of late. The discovery of that skeleton really affected him. Almost as if he knew the deceased personally."

"He's a cold fish," Ray replied, in typical blunt fashion. He sipped his brandy. "Can't figure him out. Now my life is an open book. Him? He never talks about himself. I've tried to get along with him but shit, he's hard to read. I get some guys are more reserved, but he's as cold as an iceberg. And sometimes, I feel like I'm the Titanic!"

Alice laughed at this. "He's not that bad. I like him. And no, not in that way. What he needs is someone to love."

"You think?" Ray took another sip of whiskey.

"Female intuition," Alice continued. "I look at him and think, there's a bloke who needs coaxing out of his shell."

"But are there any women out there that desperate?"

"Oh Ray, you're terrible. You're supposed to be a man of God!"

"I'm the worst," he laughed. "And you know it."

A hand on his shoulder almost made him drop the glass. He hadn't noticed Alice stand up and walk over to him.

She sat down beside him. "Show me how bad you can be."

Ray grinned as he embraced her. The needs of the flesh, I can resist no longer. I am prepared to take punishment for my sin. Besides, she needs me...

"Tell me exactly what you want, he asked her. It was always better to ask directly.

"Well, you know..." Alice whispered back.

He said, "I know exactly what you need."

"I want you, Ray."

He grinned deviously. She needed a release from the dull marriage Mike had burdened her with. They kissed with a passion, Alice pulling him down onto the couch. Oh yes, she was up for it all right.

Alice reclined on the couch as the curate lay on top of her. He unfastened his black shirt and pulled her close to him. She slid her tongue into his and circled it between his lips and gums. He slowly brushed against her breasts and ran his hands up under her skirt. His probing fingers reached up further, grinding her mound whilst he searched to get under her knickers to touch her bare slit.

"Oh dear God," she gasped.

"Do you like that, Alice?" He asked her calmly. "Would you like me to continue?"

"Y-yes," she whispered.

It dawned on Ray that this sort of foreplay was new to her. He rolled his eyes. Eight years of marriage and Mike had never pleasured his wife life this. He intended to show her exactly what she'd been missing. He continued fingering her, enjoying her little moans as he teased her clit gently before slipping a finger inside her silken folds. He removed her extremely damp white knickers and went down on her; his tongue had a holy mission of its own to complete. Alice was delightfully juicy downstairs just as he'd imagined; she didn't disappoint him. He slid his tongue past her plump labia, savouring her juices, whilst she cried out for more.

He'd never felt as aroused as this for a while and his cock strained painfully against his trousers, begging for release. He gripped her voluptuous white thighs and quickly brought her to orgasm as he tongued her.

"Oh Ray...oh God yes!" She cried, sweat breaking out on her forehead.

Ray said nothing and grinned broadly at her as he unfastened his belt, before unzipping his black trousers. Alice's face flushed as he lowered these and his underpants; she assumed he'd be big, but hadn't expected him to be this well-endowed.

He could tell from her expression that she liked what she was seeing. He gripped his member tightly, rubbing it slowly. "You're so good at playing the church organ. When I watch you play, I often wonder what your talented fingers would feel like...on my organ."

The sight of Ray's hard cock had her practically drooling. "Then let me play it for you!"

Moving closer, he shoved his huge, sweaty dick close to her face. Alice took the shaft in her hands and teased him a little, running her index finger around the head.

"God, it's a beauty, Ray. You've got a beast in your pants."

She naturally opened up to taste him. Sweet and manly. Her hands quickly wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer to her face, shoving his cock deeper into her mouth, until his wiry grey pubes brushed her nose.

"That feels fucking amazing!" Ray sighed.

"You taste fucking amazing," Alice said, withdrawing and licking up every drop of pre-cum. She wasn't one to use expletives, and even Ray was momentarily surprised at her boldness. Ray spread his legs, took her head in his hand and guided her to his cock. Alice opened her mouth wide and greedily started to suck it again. She looked up to him, his eyes were closed and head tilted back moaning softly, "Oh, Alice. Keep on doing it...please."