Assembling the blog yesterday brought back some strange memories. Over the last 24 hours the murk and mist of time has been washed away and has now clarified to the point where I can recall our purpose in travelling out to the Tor.
We had heard rumours of people disappearing, a leaked government document had referred, in an oblique manner, to humans being predated by large raptors. Raptors with distinct changes to their biology, a crop adapted for better digestion and disposal of the metal and plastic bits humans carry, incredible strength, and a change of size that would put the wind up a person of stout bearing. There was also a report of sludgy remains found on a steep hillside in a cut-up area of grass - there were claw marks in a formation akin to that of the talons of a substantial bird with a very well developed hallux, close by was the pungent evidence of venting.
We were on the trail of the hawk people.
Travelling in our Escort van armed with nets, blowpipes, chopped liver, fat balls and industrial sized bags of Trill, we had the intention of capturing one of the creatures. Our hope was to work out how they managed to mask their presence and what they were after. We were heading for Mam Tor, the area referred to in the leaked report. The report had also mentioned there was often hang-glider activity in the local area around the time of human disappearances.
We parked the van and made a preliminary check of the terrain, and took a close look at the glider pilots around us. Walking back up a steep face of the Tor we were surprised by the number of gliders in the air above us.
Then when one of the gliders crashed into the hillside next to us it became clear this was no accident. The pilot looked at us for a moment and was about to speak, but then there was rapid drop in temperature, and an eye-distorting blast of fetid wind which presumably signalled the transformation. Whatever the original intention of the beast on our approach the scene rapidly turned into a red mist of disconnected parts, flesh and fluids. My colleague was being ripped and rendered into shreds. The pop and squish of a brain and skull cavity being crushed, and the sound of grey matter squirting into damp grass turns my stomach again now. The hot, organic, smell of organs being eviscerated filled the air.
Then when one of the gliders crashed into the hillside next to us it became clear this was no accident. The pilot looked at us for a moment and was about to speak, but then there was rapid drop in temperature, and an eye-distorting blast of fetid wind which presumably signalled the transformation. Whatever the original intention of the beast on our approach the scene rapidly turned into a red mist of disconnected parts, flesh and fluids. My colleague was being ripped and rendered into shreds. The pop and squish of a brain and skull cavity being crushed, and the sound of grey matter squirting into damp grass turns my stomach again now. The hot, organic, smell of organs being eviscerated filled the air.
The horror filled scene was over in an instant. The transformation from screeching, whirling, death ball of claw and beak back to the glider disguise happened before the steam had finished rising from the few kilos of gristle of human remnant on the cold hillside.
How the memory had been hidden for over 20 years implies further powers of the hawk people. When I discovered the old photographs, was it a coincidence that I caught sight of a hovering presence in my peripheral vision through the window, and was it that that triggered the return of the nightmare image of that day?
The snow washed denim and white trainers hiding the scrawny yet powerful raptor legs and claws
Wherever you are, keep a good lookout at the sky.
They are massing, They are among us.
They are here.
And never, never, approach a hang-glider which appears to be in distress, certainly not with a bag of chopped liver and Trill.
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