Fish, Copper, and Secrets

         Porthtowan was a popular place for tourists during the Summer months but it was late Autumn now. There was a chill in the air and in the wind that blew off the Atlantic Ocean. It did not stop the most hardened surfers though, they wore dry suits by this time in the season and a few dedicated pros could be seen riding the rollers to the Blue Flag beach. Jim was dressed against the cold and the wet wrapped up in waterproofs and thermally lined clothes and he breathed the salt air like it was an elixir of life itself.

         He'd been away too long. Too long away from the fishing and the sand. He was still exploring, still rebuilding his map of the area half-constructed from childhood memory and now the rest from his return and long walks like this one. The familiar site of the old mining settlements all along this coast warmed his heart. The copper mines of yesteryear had polluted the landscape all along this coast but now it was protected territory owned by the National Trust. The salt and the toxins in the soil from centuries of mining in the area meant that it was not suited for farmland and it looked better covered in heather anyway. Waves crashed against clifftops, seagulls screeched in the air and Jim watched it all from his high place, happy to be home.

         He'd been abroad in Germany for a long time working on projects for an IT Consultancy company. Every week a different company, and a different German accent to master. He loved the German towns with their restored historical buildings, their quaint local festivals, Schlage music, and dancing. He loved the beer and the wurst. But the woman that had tempted him to foreign lands was long gone, promises broken, stories fading, her memories snarling rather than smiling now and so he had come home.

         He owned some land south of here just back from the coast near Sally's Bottom, yes that was a real place that still made his heart sing and brain giggle like a 14-year-old boy looking at a half-naked woman on the beach in mid-summer. The land was set in woods and surrounded by rocky Cornish hills. It was not far from the airbase at RAF Portreath. Combat squadrons were based there and were replaced by a chemical warfare establishment and then finally a radar station. His brother had managed the family estate when his parents died but then he too had died mysteriously leaving it all to Jim. So now he was the proud owner of a rocky Cornish hill with a mine tunnel set into its side. There had been no copper mining for a hundred years here but the stories were still very much alive in his head. It was just that he had no one to share them with. His parents owned a small fishing vessel moored in Portreat and ostensibly made their living from the catches though now that he returned and had lived a little he wondered how they had ever made ends meet.

         He made it home to his Cornish red brick house set into the hillside near an open mine tunnel. His parent's collection of tractors, trucks, and vans were parked nearby. Again he wondered how their fishing boat had supported the purchase of such an impressive collection of vehicles. He glanced at the mine suddenly curious as to what was inside. He and his brother Bob had played inside the mine many times, but never too deep because of the stories that their father told them of collapsing roofs and ghosts. Yes, every old Cornish mine has stories of ghosts. Of forlorn lovers searching for dead miners in the dark, the sound of weeping. Or Roman soldiers whipping slaves to death and then the ghost of the slave returning to terrify these same soldiers. His favorite was one about King Arthur's knights searching the tunnels for the Holy Grail, swords drawn just in case there were dragons there also.

         Today such stories no longer frightened him. Using his mobile as a torch he moved deeper into the tunnels than he had ever been before, they tended downward and he followed the path until he found to his surprise a door. It was one of those thick metal ones, all brown with rust and still sporting the tattered remains of a sign. The symbol of a skull and crossbones in a red diamond. The standard hazard sign for something extremely toxic. But what was this doing on his parent's land? He pulled the door expecting it to be locked. But to his surprise, the door opened without a sound on what must have been a well-oiled hinge. It was dark inside and he was in the process of lifting his mobile to see what was there when something hit him on the back of the head and he fell unconscious to the floor.

Notes ▼

FORUM

Chapter One   (18+) Write the first chapter of a book, inspired by the prompt. #2251577 by Cubby

PROMPT: Picture of a mine tunnel
W/C:828