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The Priory
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Set in Stamford, taking in some well-known sights such as St Leonards Priory, the Tobie Norris and the willow tree on the meadows... but masquerading as Westford, The Priory is the first full length novel by Jonathan Wheatley. A copywriter by trade and a novelist by night Jonathan’s work is a mixture of contemporary horror and historical fact.
Born and raised in Stamford, Lincolnshire; son of Deeping’s Peter Wheatley, he is a dedicated dad to his two sons, Sonny and Harlan. He is keen to promote and encourage young and new writers.
Intrigued? Read on....
The girls walked fifty-yards ahead of them. Not that there was anyone in the fields that would have seen them anyway. To their right, the cut hay had left behind sharp, hollow sticks that stuck up like urchin’s spines. Large hay bales, like dominoes, littered the countryside. Tracks of heavy machinery made their way in evenly spaced lines down to where the bushes separated the fields from the motorway.
To the left, through the bracken and stinging nettles, they passed an abandoned cemetery. Crumbling stone graves and carved angels emerged from the grass. The graveyard itself was well-maintained, a large clearing with freshly cut lawn surrounded by tall trees and a brown wooden bench. Fresh white flowers lay on a handful of the graves. On others, just the remains of flowers–a dried up petal here, a crusted vase there. They had buried no one there for twenty years. As they got further up the field, they only glimpsed the odd gravestone through the trees.
52 It was quiet besides the non-stop drone of the cars on the motorway. The boys caught up to the girls. Luke and Petey walked in silence until they were well past the graveyard. Even in the sunshine, dead bodies spooked them. They cut through the break in the bushes and into another larger field. Over the trees and shrubs, they saw the first floors of the red brick houses on the estate. “Race you?” Petey said to Luke. “Nah, it’s too hot, let’s walk.”
Petey looked down at his feet and continued to walk next to his friend.
Up ahead, the girls had stopped. Lisa stooped over, looking at something to the side of the path; Ruby was crouching. Luke and Petey looked at each other and jogged to them.
“What is it?” Luke asked over Ruby’s shoulder when they arrived.
“I don’t know.” Ruby looked up at Lisa–Lisa shrugged.
It was a hessian sack. It’s top,tied with a tatty purple shoelace. Some of the fabric was stained black, and it was stiff as if a pattern or symbol was once printed on it.
“It’s probably a dog poo bag,” said Lisa, her body pointing towards home. “Why to go to the trouble of picking up dog poo if you’re then going to leave the bag?” asked Petey.
“Definitely not dog poo.” He fumbled to get the end of the twig through the hole where the shoelaces tied the bag, missing once, twice, but succeeding the third time. Lifting the bag off the ground, the twig bent in the middle. “It’s heavy.”
Ruby reached out to the dangling bag. “Ruby, what’re you doing?” asked Lisa, turning back to them. A cloud passed over the sunshine, the field turned dark.
“We should open it,” Ruby said,looking up at them with glazed eyes.
Petey looked at Luke, his head shaking side-to-side. Luke lowered the bag to the ground in front of Ruby’s feet. She reached forward and untied the shoelaces. The bag opened, and Ruby emptied the contents onto the dusty, hay-littered path. It was a dull silver dictaphone. And then something else fell out, a black rock, perfectly round,the size of Luke’s fist.
Want to know more? Visit https://www. amazon.co.uk/PrioryWestford ChroniclesBook-ebook/dp/ B085T8DJKH/
Oakwood est 1996
