Church Cottage, by June Pettitt

The caw - caw of the rooks from the rookery in the tall beech trees was the only sound that broke the silence of the hot summer's day. Occasionally the song of a blackbird tried to compete, but the continuous noise would be too much and it would fly away in defeat.

  When Daisy first started to visit Church Cottage she had been constantly aware of their noise. She felt they were objecting to her presence.  Why shouldn't they? She was the stranger, an intruder, this was their domain, had been for centuries. Strangers were not welcome. From the beginning, when she had first found Church Cottage, she'd felt as if they were always watching her.

  Daisy had been on a touring holiday. When looking for somewhere to stay for the night she suddenly came across a sign: Bed and Breakfast, Church Cottage. Following the direction down a narrow country lane she was led into a valley with picturesque cottages dotted amongst the trees. She was looking around to see which one was Church Cottage when she saw the tiniest church she'd ever seen. It had brightly coloured stained glass windows standing out against the grey stone. The graveyard in front of the church was only as big as Daisy's front garden. The headstones were crooked and covered in yellow-green moss. She got out of her car to inspect it closer, when she was deafened by a noise. At first she couldn't make out what it was. The sun was suddenly blotted out by a black mass of wings. Rooks! Rooks! Hundreds of them, flying from the trees and cawing at her presence. She was terrified and just about to get into her car when a voice stopped her.

  It was from a little old lady leaning over a white wooden gate. ‘They always make that noise when strangers appear. Don't be frightened, they won’t hurt you. They act as my watchdogs, they do,’ said the old woman.

  Daisy walked towards her and asked her if she knew where Church Cottage was. The old lady answered. ‘Yom at it. Why, dun yo want a room?’ The old lady saw her hesitate then said, ‘There’s no need to be frightened of them there rooks, there just being protective towards me.

   After the old lady had reassured her about the rooks not harming her, she agreed to go into the cottage and accept the cup of tea that was offered.   The old lady opened the gate and Daisy had no alternative but to follow her. When she entered the cottage the smell of home-baked bread filled the air, complimenting the warm friendly atmosphere of the kitchen.

  The old lady held out her hand and introduced herself. ‘My name is Miss Adams. Now, while I brew the tea yo go and view the room, should yo decide to stay. It’s up the stairs and first on the right.’

  Daisy went up the rickety dark oak staircase and entered the room. She stood there open mouthed. It was a lace fairy tale room, painted white and decorated with a bright yellow flowered wallpaper. On the small marble washstand was a china jug and bowl in which stood a bunch of dried flowers, their aroma filling the air. There was a small pine dressing table and matching wardrobe. The setting sun was sending a shaft of sunlight that shone on the brass bedstead knobs, reflecting rays of light around the room. Daisy sat on the bed, sinking deep into the feather mattress succumbing to the temptation to lie back.

  She was brought round by a friendly voice from the stairwell. ‘Tea’s ready.’   Not only was a cup of tea waiting but a plate of tea cakes.

   ‘Well, have yum made up yo mind,’ asked Miss Adams.

     Daisy Brookes stayed, not only for one night, but for the rest of her holiday. She couldn’t estimate the age of Miss Adams Daisy because her complexion was fresh and rosy with hardly any wrinkles. But from the conversation they had she must have been quite old. Her hair, which had once been black, was streaked with grey. Daisy noticed a deep discoloured scare on Miss Adams’ arm, but was too polite to ask how she came by it.    

    Daisy really enjoyed her stay and over the years she returned time and time again. But she never got used to the noise of the rooks. Miss Adams was the village healer and taught her all about the healing power of the herbs and where in the woods to find them. Most of them she grew herself in the garden. Daisy spent a lot of her time tending the garden and exploring the woods but always she felt the rooks watching her, even following her when she went for a walk. Despite Miss Adams’ reassurance, she was still a little afraid.

    Many nights they would sit by the Aga, her host telling her of country tales and superstitions. She became Daisy's dear friend, teaching her the country ways and the magic of the herbs.

   The Vicar from the church would sometimes join them for supper. Daisy didn't like him, he looked too much like one of the big rooks with his blue-black hair and beady amber eyes. His nose was long and hawk-like, his features and the black robe he wore made him seem quite sinister. The little church was not used very much, but when it was for a burial or a christening, the strange thing was, the rooks were quite. Miss Adams liked him, so Daisy thought he must be alright.

   One night Daisy couldn't sleep.  It was so hot and she went to open the window. Looking out she saw what looked like Miss Adams and the Vicar talking to several rooks that were perched on the gravestones. The window catch made a sound and within seconds the tableau had disappeared. Next day when she mentioned it to Miss Adams she shrugged it off saying it must have been her eyes playing tricks.

   When Daisy returned home she forgot about the incident. Not long after an official letter arrived from a firm of solicitors informing her Miss Adams had passed away and could she come to their office.

   Daisy sat in the solicitor’s office speechless. Miss Adams, having no relatives, had left everything to Daisy, including Church Cottage.

   In the early days Miss Hazel had asked Daisy about her family. When Daisy had replied saying she was an orphan and had no relatives that she knew of, Miss Hazel smiled and said how sorry she was. Daisy supposed that the old lady had felt sorry for her and that was why she had left her all her possessions.

   She got out of her car and opened the gate to the cottage; the rooks were making their usual cawing noise. As she went to unlock the cottage door it slowly opened, the smell of home baked bread filling the air. The Aga was alight and warmed the kitchen. She expected to see Miss Adams sitting in her favourite chair, but instead a big black shiny rook was perched on the arm. It turned its head to one side, giving it a look of Miss Adams. A beady amber eye watched her. Suddenly it flew at her, pecking a piece of flesh from her arm and swallowing it. Blood spurted everywhere, staining Daisy's clothes. Screaming, Daisy fought it off and ran from the cottage right into the arms of the Vicar.

   He asked her what the matter was. Hysterically, she managed to tell him what had happened. He didn't seem surprised and remarked calmly, ‘They sometimes do that.  Come, let me dress that wound.’

  He tried to get her back into the cottage but she screamed, ‘No, no, the bird, the bird.’

The Vicar assured her that the rook would have gone, but Daisy made him go in first to make sure. He came out saying, ‘It’s not there. I told you it would have left.’

   The Vicar rolled up his sleeve to wash her wound. It was then she noticed an indentation on his arm as if the flesh had been torn away. This sight stirred in Daisy the memory of Miss Adams’ scar.

   After the Vicar's reassurance and a cup of sweet tea Daisy felt calmer. Walking with him to the gate she thanked him. It was then she became aware of the silence. She looked up expecting to see the rooks gone, but no, there they were watching her. Daisy looked at the Vicar and whispered, ‘No cawing?’

   The Vicar smiled, his amber beady eyes shining as he said, ‘Why should there be cawing, Daisy, you are no longer a stranger, you are one of us now.’