Theme: A bog or a marsh (edited)
(Assignment for July 18th)
It is nearing eleven o’clock at night and this interaction is taking place at the southern edge of Becton Marsh, a wildlife sanctuary and, possibly, the scene of a crime. Sergeant Allan Allum is talking to a Miss Corina Bagshott.
“Well, you won’t find the body if they’ve dumped him in here.”
The echoes of finality in his voice petered out and all was silence for a few moments.
“Do ‘you’ think this is where he is?” asked Corina.
“This is most probably where his body is… and where it’s going to stay.” Sergeant Allum paused. “To be honest, I wish he’d never returned here. Twenty years is a long time; but, some people never forgets an injustice.”
“People?” she asked. “How many ‘people’ are we talking about here? My uncle wasn’t even mentioned in all the time I’ve been here. Mother didn’t even put him in the family tree that we did.” Corina tailed off into a vague reverie. Sergeant Allum sighed a sad sigh and ‘buckled his resolve to the mast’ as he would often say – though he never really understood the saying.
“Let’s get back, miss; they can get the dogs out tomorrow and the frogmen can have a wallow in the marshes for a while to keep their arms in. We are doing no good gazing across the ‘Bog’ at eleven of the clock when there are warm fires somewhere questioning our absence”.
“Okay.” Corina spoke quietly. “Perhaps he ‘has’ left to go back to Australia, like Matthew Squires said.”
“Well, if Squire Matthews thinks that he can convince anyone with that story, after that fuss in The Red Lion last Thursday… well, I’d be fair surprised. Squires is three-quarters dodgy and one-quarter a crook – if I do say so myself – but, he’s so established round here that he gets what he wants and usually wants what he gets… that’s ‘off the record’ by the way, miss. He’s a fine pillar of our society, no matter what I think – or say”.
The silence between them, as Corina mulled this over and the Sergeant considered his loosened tongue, allowed the night to fall upon the scene. Bats flew in under the radar of most to grab a bite; whilst a motionless vixen, standing, vigilantly waiting on the opposite side of the trackway decided she would just get on with her nocturnal foragings.
By the time a barn owl, hunting nearby, had shrieked a call to answer another’s alert, the two humans had wandered along aways, and the body of evidence had sunk slightly deeper into the welcoming bog.