Scratch That Itch by Dave


 When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn, sell your cow and buy your corn."

- Old proverb.

I couldn't stop thinking about those stones, what the oldies called Shepard's crowns. Could they exist, and could they protect me from the strange?

It was a heavy night, close with mug. Petrichoral aromas wafted strong from outside as I heard the first angry rumblings at sundown. The heat clung to me and the air closed in, a great crack sounded and a bright flash lit the bedroom. The storm grew rapidly in an impressive display, it was right overhead, seemed to wait there, deliberately striking around the village and surrounding silver hills, and though aware these were the conditions needed for the stones to appear, I wouldn't allow meself to believe. That would've been ridiculous.

The storm stopped suddenly but moisture hung on the atmosphere like a wet towel.

Must've dozed off...

Thinking back, I remember that in me halfsleep, I'd a notion there was someone outside. Someone handsome and familiar. They were waiting below on the street, but at some point seemed to be standing just outside me window.

I woke early in a pool of sweat, heard the morning birds, and knew the sun was on the rise. If I was gonna get one I'd have to be out there quick, find somewhere hot, somewhere the lightning had hit dead on, but honestly couldn't be arsed as it still seemed like madness. However, lying there in me puddle of perspiration, something niggled me, kinda like an itch that needed scratching.

Moments later I found meself up and out in the morning dew, and, as no one else was around, I headed along chalk lane in the direction of Chestnut farm.

Approaching the roundabout, through the morning mists, I did glimpse someone searching the turf in the field in front of the rusty barn. At first I wasn't convinced, but walking closer, wondered if it wasn't Gary? I hadn't seen him since Timbo went off grid and his beard was flecked with silver, but in the end there was no doubt.

Part of me wanted to call out, but the time lapsed, and the early hour made me pause. It didn't matter, he looked towards me with a start and it was clear the years between our last rendezvous hadn't been any kinder to him. He didn't wave or show any recognition, in fact he looked worried.

I watched him quickly dissappear behind the barn, out of sight, before moving towards the fence and to where he'd been searching. The Air was full of the unmistakable charr of scorched earth.

I climbed the fence, and after scanning the burnt patch where the lightning struck, could just glimpse something lying in the centre of a circular depression made in the grass. I went to pick it up; it was warm, but soon cooled in me palm. A stone about six inches in diameter; clean and obviously very old, from what I'd learnt, I assumed some sort of fossilised sea-urchin.

Still not fully lucid, I took it matter of fact that beyond reason and probability, I had what I'd wished for; a protective charm, a Shepard's crown, a genuine Thunderstone. 

Gary must've been looking for the same thing, but, how would someone like Gary know where to find Thunderstones, and more importantly, why would he want one? 

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