Gavin Skerry is a 47-year-old desperately trying to complete his first novel, provisionally titled Dark History, after many attempts. He also likes to write poetry and short stories as well as present a radio show on my local community station. He works for the NHS in local community therapy.
The land was desolate,1an unforgiving wilderness of craggy rocks and sparse wild grass, 2despair laced the air. 3Overhead the sky was dark with threatening grey clouds, 4in the distance streaks of lightning briefly lit the darkness. 5It was an evil place, 6not just the inhospitable environment 7but a real sense of terror 8that would rip through any who dared venture here. 9
Some always dared.Amid a clearing, three large slabs of rock had been arranged to form a crude table. Four hooded figures were gathered around the construction. The long green robeshid all details of those present. One took their place at the head of the table, long gnarled, bony fingers emerged from the deep sleeves and placed several objects on the surface, four green candles, a large shallow bowl, a menacing brute of a knife, so long it almost qualified as a sword.
