Beware Of The Farnocks
Lipard was not best pleased. A phone-call from the Yolverton
store had him seething due to their reluctance to clear out the store before
its closure. It was long overdue, a local store that was anything but
super. Apparently the staff were reluctant to clear out an old storage
area at the back of the store. It was because of poor stock control
that the hammer had to fall on this backwater venture. Shelbon Stores
was now a multi-million pound industry and could not afford such luxuries
as what the company deemed, village outlets.
The sign for Yolverton came at last, three
miles to go. It was a long journey from London and Lipard steeled himself
to demonstrate city values to these rustics. The sun was low in the
sky and now filled his car with calming light. Irritably he donned
his sunglasses and the village centre soon came to view. Why an earth
anyone would want to build a store in such a locale was a mystery to Lipard.
He raced through the all to small store car park and placed himself directly
in front of the store doors. Five other vehicles were on site as the
store was now officially closed.
A quick beep from the alarm confirmed the
car was secure before Lipard strode to the intercom. After a pause
a voice enquired who had come.
'Lipard here. I have an appointment here please inform Holloway I've
arrived.'
The door opened and Lipard at last could perform
the last rites. A brief walk ensued through the almost librarian silence
before he was hailed by a bespectacled man who he assumed was Holloway.
'Mr Lipard, nice to see you sir. I am Jason Holloway and here to help
you as I can.'
'I wish I could the same Holloway. I am not best pleased to come all
the way down from London to clear out your store. Surely you can sort
out a few pallets of stock to be returned to head office'?
'Aah. Sir you will see that things are not quite as easy as you will
think. We have some local difficulties that are proving most problematic.'
Lipard frowned unconvinced by this feeble excuse.
'I'll see about that now lead on if you wouldn't mind.'
Holloway ushered Lipard through the store
to the back. An old red metal door swung open and he found himself
in a dishevelled yard with five other members of staff clearing out some
debris into a skip. For the first time he beheld an old corrugated
iron building which was shocking in its appearance.
'What on earth is that eyesore over there'? was the enquiry he rattled to
Holloway.
'As you can see Mr Lipard there lies our problem. We have old stock
in there and no-one will enter there.'
Lipard gasped with exasperation. He could not believe he was summoned
all this way to clear out an old holding area.
'Are all the staff not under contract here. That contract entitles
you with the power to request them to perform general housekeeping duties.
That means clearing out old rotten buildings. I cannot believe that
you cannot do such a simple duty.'
One of the workers in the yard overheard the conversation between area manager
and subordinate and in a broad Irish brogue he added his voice.
'Sorry sir but you haven't heard of the Farnocks though have you? No-one
here will set foot in that old barn.'
'I beg your pardon. Firstly who are you and what an earth is a Farnock'?
'My name is Tom O'Moragh and I've never seen a Farnock. All I know
is if you should ever see a Farnock then you're as good as dead. I've
heard them and it chilled me to my core and I, Jim, Fred, Steve or Mr Holloway
will not go in there.'
Again Lipard glared angrily at both the barn and the five workers.
With contempt and barely concealed anger he spoke louder on the issue.
'Am I to be told that our business stops because of a fairy tale? Heads
are going to roll over this. I see that some of you are putting in
for transfers, well I am going to have to review that issue. I am extremely
disappointed in you Holloway.'
Now it was Fred who interrupted in a local cornish accent.
'Sir, have you not heard of the Steve Mcbride incident twenty years ago?
Like you he didn't believe in the Farnocks and went digging around the back
of that barn. He was never heard of again, the police just put him
down as missing, but we fancy he saw the Farnocks.'
Lipard was fully aware of the Mcbride incident and impatiently he revealed
what he knew.
'Mr Mcbride was found to be suffering from acute depression and had severe
personal problems. Your Farnocks are no more than vermin I imagine.
Now does that barn have electricity'?
The men shook their head. No electricity had run in that barn for many
years. The only means to see was through torch-light and an open door.
There were no windows just solid corrugated iron on the sides of the building.
'Well, I trust that a torch is around here somewhere? Holloway?'
Jason fetched a torch and Lipard set out to the barn.
'Not a good idea sir, these Farnocks are more than just tales'.
Dismissively Lipard brushed Tom's worries aside.
'Well, these goblins had better beware O'Moragh. I am Bert Lipard and
I will close this store and its superstitions down.'
The rotten green double doors to the barn
swung open and Lipard ventured in. The first thing that struck Lipard
was the smell. Old food gone bad, very bad and it was very powerful.
He shone the torch back and forth and was disgusted by the state of rotting
stock and puddles of mud and liquid. He saw an old pole on the ground
and picked it up. It was rusty but rather that than get his hands dirty
on some festering apple. Hastily he decided that he would tuck his
trousers into his socks, a ridiculous site but these trousers were not cheap.
So like a golfer he delved deeper into the dark.
It struck him then, the pallets of stock had
been ravaged by rats or other such vermin. A wooden crate laden with
cola had been attacked. A sticky mess trickled deeper into the barn
and Lipard investigated one of the bottles closer. The date on the
label heaped another unpleasant surprise for him. Best by 04/12/83.
The bottle was over twenty years old!
'Stock control? These yokels are totally stupid he cursed. The
enormity of the amount of waste was beginning to dawn on Lipard. There
were countless pallets in the barn, and they had to be long out of date.
Then something slipped. A scuttling sound came from his left and he
almost caught sight of movement.
The Farnocks had come to say hello he mused.
He shone the torch back and forth looking for the source of the sound.
'Come out rat, I have a nice stick here for you. Come on don't be shy
you don't scare me.'
With his threat came an almighty crash and
banging from over the other side of the barn. Lipard's resolve suddenly
fell and he was almost overcome by panic. Just a pallet falling down
he thought, it's the dark that's making me shaky. Bravely he strode
over to the source of the sound, only for the same thing to occur on the
other side of the barn. The noise this time was louder than the previous
time and he visibly trembled. On top of this there was more movement
scuttling around on the periphery of his vision.
'Show yourself damn you. I won't run away from some giant gerbils'.
A new sound came to the air. It was a chittering and rattling noise.
Almost like a kind of insect speaking, he could discern an audible challenge.
'Farnocks, Farnocks, Farnocks.'
Repeatedly the noise continued. Now anger rolled over Lipard's fear,
he was sure now it was someone in here playing pranks. He had been
set up and he would unmask the culprits.
'Right now you listen to me whoever you are. I am Bert Lipard area
manager for the South West, now you either come out or you'll be sacked.
What is it going to be'?
The answer for Lipard was yet more of the
same challenge. Lipard carried on deeper and deeper into the barn and
then at the back he discovered a tunnel. It was about five foot tall
and was covered in a luminous moss which had been there for many a year.
Lipard stooped, ventured down the corridor. It was not particularly long,
about twenty foot and emerged into a wide cavern. It was totally dark
now except for the light from Lipard's torch which he hastily swung to take
in his new surroundings. Still there were sounds and scrapes around
but no sight of the dreaded Farnocks.
He circled around and saw that almost all
the tunnels were identical. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket
and placed it in the entrance to the cavern. He placed it under a stone
just in case he got lost in the labyrinth.
'Right, I'll take this tunnel and see where this leads. Damnable Farnocks,
no more than O'Moragh playing pranks I'll wager.'
The tunnels now turned into a reddish colour
as he went deeper. It was the clay, a rich clay that must have taken
a long time to burrow. It must be the smugglers of old Lipard surmised.
Ever deeper he went and then he made a discovery. An old shoe, years
old but a shoe nonetheless. He carried on, another shoe, then a sock,
then another sock, both filled with holes. Onwards he went and then
more clothes, a jacket, a shirt then trousers, all filthy and old and filled
with holes. The last item in this grim striptease was a gnawed pair
of yellow underpants, now more reddish due to the clay. Then a more
disturbing find, an identity card with a picture of a thirty something man
and a name.
Steven Mcbride, store manager.
Now the fear began to return, but still Lipard
was convinced it was pranksters. Onwards he went before the ultimate
find. A skull and shattered bones strewn across the floor, the skull
was smashed in and almost parted in half. Now finally, Lipard believed
in the Farnocks.
As fast as possible he retraced his steps,
making his way to the handkerchief and his salvation. The Farnocks
challenge had returned and seemed to be getting louder. At last he
emerged back into the cavern and then he came to horror. His handkerchief
was in the middle of the floor and no longer marked his exit. All the
exits looked the same and he was totally disorientated. Hurriedly he
went into a tunnel thinking it was the one he came from. He was mistaken,
again and again.
Now new sights were coming to Lipard.
Pairs of blue lights, shimmering and in plenitude and always just beyond
the range of his torch. Now amid the Farnocks chant came growls of
anticipation. Ever patient and ever waiting for the batteries life
to expire. The arc of the torch got weaker as did Lipard's spirits.
He sat down, exhausted and the blue lights got ever closer. Then three
things happened, the torch flickered one last time, Lipard saw a Farnock
and his heart failed him.
Outside the barn O'Moragh looked at Holloway.
Over seven hours it had been since Lipard went into the barn and they doubted
whether the torch would still be on. They both looked at each-other knowingly
before the Irishman spoke.
'Silly fool, he thinks we are all stupid yokels who are all a bit simple.
Guess he's found the Farnocks by now.'
'Alas you're right my friend. Come on we better call the police and
head office. Let's go home.'
So ends this tale. Next time someone
tells you of local legends or pixies, goblins you can pretty much disregard
them. If someone mentions Farnocks to you, get in your car, drive as
fast as you can and don't stop until you get home. Then bolt up your
door, hide in your bed and pray you never ever see those blue lights.