Halloween Task

To Hell and Back

As the Halloween task was a bit of a wash out and no photos were taken here’s something completely made up with a vague message about the repetitive nature of conservation work.

Before Moses Gate Country Park was a place of ponds and trees it was an industrial centre with dark satanic paper mills and choking dye and bleach factories. Before that it was part of a marsh land. In
this marsh there was a gate, a doorway to a place of fire and fright; and like every door it had a key.

It was a chill autumn morning in the BCV wildlife garden, sunlight filtered through the golden leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground, the shadows gently shifting as the leaves moved in the a light
breeze. But no birds sang, and the wildlife pond was still.

“Right,” said Tom to the assembled members of BCV, “Here we are at our wildlife garden, or own garden of Eden, hopefully. But it needs a bit of TLC. We’ll be doing a bit of hedge laying, cutting back the willow,
tidying up the paths and pulling up weeds, cleaning up the pond. And whatever else we can find.”
“Same as usual then?” quipped Francis.
“Yes, same as usual, Francis.”
From nearby there came a soft tinkling sound, like someone dropping a set of keys.
“Tom?” said James,
“Yes, James.”
“Are those your keys?”
Tom looked down, a strange key lay at his feet, the key was connected to a large iron ring from which also hung a large black crystal with words scratched into it. “Doesn’t look like mine, my keyring says ZZ Top on it not ‘Property of The Spawn of Hell’, good name for a band though.”
Tom reached down, as soon as his hand closed around the key all hell broke loose.. literally.

A whirlpool made from flame and shadow opened at his feet and a ball of energy spread out from the key, turning everyone it touched into ash. The ash was then sucked down into the whirlpool which
slammed closed leaving those lucky enough to be outside of it’s effects looking a bit surprised.
“Well, that was different,” said Eve.

The world the BCV crew arrive in was very different from one they had left. The sky was a slowly rotating mass of smoke and flame, lights flashed high above and the sound thunder and the dragging of
heavy chains could be heard as if from a distance. On the horizon a giant red sun pulsed and flickered as it was about to collapse in on itself.

Everyone’s names had changed they had undergone some form of transformation: bill hooks, saws and loppers for hands, the whirring blades of a wood chipper for teeth, others had eyes replaced by
camera lenses. Tom had a chainsaw for a left arm and in his right he held a whip made from braided strimmer cord. Horns protruded from his skull and his skin was a landscape of glowing red cracks and
patches of grey ash.

“What’s on going Tom?” asked Chipper Jim, spitting out bits of wood.
“Tom? I’m no longer Tom, or Tom B, I AM TOMB AND THIS IS MY SAVAGE GARDEN. AND FROM NOW ON I WILLSPEAK O NLY IN CAPITALS!” he belched out a sheet of flame.
“That’s impressive, Tom,” Said Craggy Craig, “Can you light my sparklers? I’ve brought some with me.”
“MY NAME IS TOMB. AND NO I WILL NOT LIGHT YOUR SPARKLERS.”
Tomb grabbed Craggy Craig’s sparklers and hid them were Craggy Craig couldn’t get them, “YOU CAN HAVE THEM BACK AT THE END OF ETERNIY.”

“NOW EVERYONE GET TO WORK, THE SPIKE THORN HEDGE NEEDS LAYING, THE WERE-WILLOW NEEDS COPICING, I WANT A LIVING DEAD HEDGE HERE, I WANT THE PATHS OF HELLISH GLORY CLEARED, AND I WANT IT ALL PHOTOGRAPHED AND RECORDED. NEO NATHAN WILL ENCOURAGE ANY SLACKERS WITH HIS PITCH BLACK FORK. HA HA HA. OH, AND STAY AWAY FROM THE SOUL POND.”

Under the prodding of Neo Nathan’s pitch black fork the work began.. and never ended. Every time a spike thorn hedge was laid it spring back to it’s original position; every were-willow that was felled would immediately grow back; every time the living dead hedge was completed it would crumble into dust; every path that was swept clear was re-buried under dust and ash. Every photo was blurred and faded within seconds.

And so it went on decade after decade until in the fiftieth year of their torment something new happened. The sky above began to spin faster, opening into a funnel. Black shards of lightning flashed across the sky and then a stream of white light plummeted down in the pond. The funnel closed.

Intrigued, Photo Face crept over to the pond, avoiding detection by TOMB and Neo Nathan. Beneath the surface lights swam in the shape of different creatures – birds, fish, insects, mammals. One of them rose to surface, a great crested newt. It looked at Photo Face and said:
“We can help you escape if you help us.”
“You can talk!!?” whispered Photo Face.
“You’re working for all eternity in a hell dimension, you’ve got camera lenses for eyes, and your surprised by a talking newt?”
“Ok, fair point. Want do you want?”
“We’re the souls of all of the creatures made extinct by the forces of evil, this dimension feeds on them. You have all temporarily replaced the real inhabitants of this realm which gives us an opportunity to change things. The key hanging on at TOMB’s belt, throw it to us the next time the portal opens and we’ll do the rest.”
“But GCN aren’t extinct.”
“Look, just go with me on this. Get the key and we can all get back to our day jobs.”

More decades of torment followed. Photo Face hatched a plan and told the others what they needed to do when the time was right. And on one dismal day the portal began to open, the plan was put in motion. As one, everyone stopped working and began to chant.
“Jaffa Cakes, Jaffa Cakes, Jaffa Cakes,”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”
“We’ve been working for an eternity, we want a rest… and something to eat. Jaffa Cakes and tea would be nice.” Said Franky Bill Hook Hands
“And I want my sparklers back,” added Craggy Craig.
As the argument continued, Photo Face carefully unhooked the crystal key from TOMB’s belt and threw
towards the pond.
“INGRATES,” shouted TOMB, “NEO NATHAN, GIVE THEM SOME ENCOURAGEMENT… WAIT, WERE’S MY KEY… NOOOOOO!!!”

Thousands of paws, claws, wings, and pseudopodia reached out as the key hit the Soul Pond’s surface.
There was a burst of energy and everyone was turned to ash, the portal reversed direction, ash and souls were pulled upwards like bats out of hell, and…..

It was a chill autumn morning in the BCV wildlife garden, sunlight filtered through the golden leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground, the shadows gently shifting as the leaves moved in the a light
breeze. The sound of birds could be heard in the trees, and ripples made by aquatic life flicked across the pond’s surface.

“Right,” said Tom to the assembled members of BCV, “Here we are at our wildlife garden, or own garden
of Eden. But it needs a bit of TLC. We’ll be doing a bit of hedge laying, cutting back the willow, tidying up the paths and pulling up weeds, cleaning up the pond. And whatever else we can find.”
“Same as usual then?” quipped Francis.
“Yes, same as usual, Francis.”
From nearby there came a soft tinkling sound, like someone dropping a set of keys.
“Tom?” said James,
“Yes, James.”
“Are those your keys?”
Tom looked down, a strange key lay at his feet, the key was connected to a large iron ring from which
also hung a large black crystal with words scratched into it. “Doesn’t look like mine, my keyring says ZZ Top on it not ‘Property of The Spawn of Hell’, they look familiar though.”
Tom reached down, but a grubby hand beat him to it, “These are mine. And I’ll thank you to stay out
of my realm!” said the owner of a scruffy beard. “You come to my world in your fancy T-shirts, touching my stuff; conservation my backside.” Scruffy shook the crystal, a portal opened beneath and he vanished into it.
“The supernatural’s on form today,” said Jane.
There was a long pause.
“Anyway, back to work, remember we’re doing this for wildlife.” said Tom, “Jaffa Cakes at dinner time.”
“Anyone seen my sparklers?” asked Craig.
No body had.

Halloween stuff from previous years can be found through this link

Moses Gate: Halloween

Sunday 30th November, Tree Planting

Professor Van Helsing sat in the semi-gloom of his mansion, quietly savouring a flagon from the cask of Amontillado he kept in his private cellar. While sharpening his one remaining stake he suddenly became aware of a strange noise coming from the kitchen wing, “Hmm,” he thought, “The servant’s locked away in his shuttered room, what can this be?” He rose and, cautiously, made his way to the location of the disturbance.
It was coming from behind the door to the larder.
Grasping the door’s handle, he readied himself, stake in hand, then pulled open the door to find.. nothing.
He realised with horror that the cupboard was bare and that he was going to have to go shopping.

Grabbing his Burberry coat and his pointy stick he exited the safety of his home and stepped out on to the dark, rain slicked streets of Murderside. He walked along Grimm Street, footsteps echoing as he passed beneath the flickering gas light. Coming to the last house on the left he turned down the Rue Morgue, a road well known for knife wielding primates and undead drag artists. The street was entirely dark, he suspected Council cutbacks and carried on stake in hand.

Suddenly three dark shapes, like women in black (although they may self-identify differently) detached themselves from the shadows and flew at him. Vampires! He had one stake and there were three of the creatures. He acted quickly. As two of the undead closed on him he deftly impaled them both with one stake, for the third he whipped out his pruning saw and de-limbed it shouting, “Timber.” As their dust drifted away, he muttered too himself, “While there’s a moon over Bourbon Street they will not gain victory.”

Returning home after his adventure and a nut cutlet, he realised he would need more stakes. He would have to use dark magic and invoke the Bolton Conservation Volunteers for help. He knew the dangers, knew the cost, knew what price they would ask. But it had to be done.

Taking down a long forgotten tome of Druidic lore he spoke the sacred words, “From the land beyond Bol-ton, from the world past hope and beer, I bid you BCV now appear.” He splashed the carpet with a small amount of ancient Super Seven ale and stood back. Slowly a mist rose from the age worn carpet, like stale smoke drifting musty and cold, the shapes began to take form, solidifying into the ghoulish group of hideous misfits that was BCV.
“I need you all to plant some trees that I can cut down later on and turn into stakes,” said Van Helsing.
“You have Jaffa Cakes?” asked one with spiders in her hair.
“No, not until you’re done. We need to go now, I don’t want to be late. And you can’t stay til morning, there’s no room.”

As they set off, travelling through the night to Mouldy Gate Park like a circus of horrors. As dawn broke the Professor laid out his plan.
“We’re not building a cabin in the woods, we’re planting bare rooted trees and sticking willow stems into the ground. I need enough stakes for an army of the damned to make war on the evil dead.”
“You have Jaffa Cakes?” asked a green haired freak.
“No,” said the patient Professor. “But, carry out my wishes and you’ll have more cakes than you can eat.”
“Jaffa Cakes?” asked three of the witches in unison.
Not wanting a witches strike on his hands, Van Helsing replied, “Maybe.”
With the repeated chant of “Jaffa Cake,” the zombieland rejects got to work.

Under the gaze of an old tree they worked. Swinging their spades like pendulums they pit planted trees with names that cannot be spoken, and T planting others in defiance of Mouldy Gate’s resident evil. Willow stems were impaled into the dank earth where their roots would sprout and push through the soil like undead rabbits in a pet sematary (blame Steven King for the spelling). Tree after tree after tree found its final destination, and Van Helsing watched on as the work progressed. Gradually the light began to fail, but just in time the work was done; the long day of the dead (tired) had came to an end; a new woodland had been created, and a new store of future stakes to fight the fanged menace.

The shuffling mob shuffled and groaned, mostly about their backs. One, slowly stepped forward and lifted a hand, not one of her own but it would do, “Jaffa cake?” she croaked.
The Professor stepped back slowly. “Errm… I’ve got Double Death By Chocolate Cake and a Victoria Sandwich…”
“JAFFA CAKE!!!!” the mob screamed and shambled forward.
“Time for the pub,” uttered Van Helsing and turned to run, but his Burberry coat snagged on a branch of the wicked old tree and the hoard fell on him in their hunger.

The following morning. The sun rose on a peaceful wood. The pale dawn light slanted through the misty air, sparkling on golden, dew covered leaves. Deer wandered between the newly planted saplings, they sniffed at the young trees but left them be, this crop was not for eating. Turning, they quietly walked away leaving not a mark on the earth to show that they were ever there. As they padded gently by they passed beneath a raven perched in the branches of a gnarled old tree…
..and Van Helsing’s empty coat swinging in the breeze.

And the raven said, “Nevermore.”

Respectfully dedicated to BCV’s Van Helsing

All characters in this post are ‘entirely’ imaginary and any similarity between them and any persons living or undead is entirely ‘co-incidental’. No zombies or vampires were injured and Van Helsing eventually got his coat back. Many thanks to Banana Enterprises and the Rock Hall Volunteers for their involvement and to BCV’s cast of thousands for dressing up for the occasion. As usual thanks to Rick, Tom, and Caroline for their continued and outstanding leadership. Extra thanks to Jane, Sheena, and Lynn for cakes. Other work included cutting up old tree branches and making a dead hedge.

Chew Moor: Field of Screams

October 31st 2021

Chew Moor, Lostock, a Site of Biological Importance, the importance being the autumn crocus that sprout up in September and October. The story is that the Knights Hospitallers brought them back from the Crusades, it was believed that they were effective against the Black Death but they were also more valuable than gold because of saffron. To prevent the valuable saffron being stolen the Knights laid a curse on the flowers, binding the spirit of one of their own to the meadow for all eternity. The ritual used to do this was gruesome and hideous and unbreakable, it is said, that on grim days his tall hooded shade can be seen walking the perimeter of the meadow in the exact areas where the crocus grows.

As BCV arrived on a cold October day the pale knight was already making his presence felt; punctured tyres, flat batteries, and sudden illnesses plagued the volunteers. Strange ghostly faces peered from the undergrowth as workers tried to cut back branches from the path, evil screams emanated from deep amongst the trees, and gloves would mysteriously go missing.

The volunteers tried to appease the vengeful spirit with cake and tea, and explained that the work was to help the meadow not damage it, cutting back the hedge and the trees would help improve habitat for birds and also help the flowers. The spook gave a hollow laugh and possessed a couple of our party to help speed the work along. He also made another one of the group so obsessed with the long handled pruning saw that we had to leave bits of him behind buried by the path.

All in all a typical BCV task.

If you want to see more creepiness go to Hallween Hall of Horrors.

Halloween Hall of Horrors

‘Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on.

-Hamlet-

For the last few years BCV has held Halloween themed tasks to celebrate the season of the witch, but with this year’s real global horror story limiting our undead lives, our ghoul fest has had to be chopped down in size. So, to remind us all how zombies danced and werewolves howled here’s a few creepy pics from previous years. Here’s to raising spirits.