Ramblers (standard:horror, 1981 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Jul 01 2025	Views/Reads: 1/1	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It's good to ramble out in the countryside, but avoid the hermit in the cave.

They had forgotten how arduous this hiking trail could be, but for
seasoned walkers Joan and Kevin, they somehow couldn't help themselves. 


This wasn't the most popular of routes, being as it was, one that
segwayed off the more popular Pennine way, and was quite rough in 
parts. It was also raining heavily, but there was no wind to push at 
them, and it wasn't cold. Hills sloped upwards on either side, dotted 
with coarse shrubbery. 

They trekked for around a mile. At one point stepping across rocks over
a thin stream. Ahead, another hiker was headed in their direction, and 
only seemed to notice them when a few feet away. 

“Hi, nice weather for it,” he said, trying to be funny but not stopping.
When he had passed he slowed and looked back, “Oh, and try and avoid 
the hermit up there. He's one of those conspiracy fellas,” Then he 
waved and continued. 

Kevin and Joan looked at each other. 

“Conspiracy fellas,” Kevin said with curiosity. “I don't remember seeing
anyone like that the last time we did this route,” Joan said, looking 
at the path ahead. 

They were in their late fifties, not a couple, but the type that seemed
to have made the outdoors their home. Their journey was their 
destination. With rucksacks and waterproof clothing, hiking boots and 
hats, they looked like ramblers, because they were, and had been for 
many years. 

They continued onwards along the rough path worn by years of boots and
weather carving their trail. The view a panoramic vista stretching for 
miles out into the distance, and across to their left the range of 
Pennine mountains. They trekked on, through the terrain, and after two 
miles had forgotten about any hermit and decided to stop for a drink of 
water at a rocky outcrop. Their rucksacks were placed against the rocks 
and they took in the view. 

A small Roe deer was down in a field on its own, minding its own
business, munching grass, completely unaware of Kevin and Joan and the 
rain. “Look Kevin,” said Joan, pointing, “a deer, all on its own”. They 
watched it in silence for a few moments, then Kevin said: 

“Reminds me of the time when we were walking in Dorset and we saw that
parrot sitting on the wall on its own”. “Oh, yes, I remember that. I 
think it must of got out from somewhere. We should have reported it”. 
“Yes, we probably should have informed the relevant authorities. Yet, 
it could have been wild. There are parrots that are wild here in the 
UK”. 

They hefted on their rucksacks and continued along the stony, rough-hewn
path, and for the next three miles saw nobody, and it seemed like they 
were the only occupants of the land, except for distant sheep and cows, 
society non-existent. They passed through and beyond the path into a 
valley with sparse fields. 

“I wonder where that Parrot is now,” said Jean, stopping. “Parrots live
a long time, so it could still be out there in the wild, terrified, 
alone.”  Kevin also stopped and looked forlorn, knowing she was right. 
“Yes, we should have done more,” he said, “but we can't know. It could 
have been taken back in by its owner and is living a happy life with 
other parrots”. 

“I hope so. We're never going to know. We should have done more. It's
the not knowing that hurts the most”. Kevin nodded but said nothing. He 
walked on, and Joan followed. 

The path cut through a rocky field for around two miles before blending
into a field of heather which after a mile gave way to a more narrow 
path curving into a grassy field dotted with red clover flowers. The 
rain eased away but did not stop altogether. 

They also found themselves not on a pathway but on the wet grass.
“Kevin,” said Joan, “we seemed to have gone a little off-route”. Kevin 


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