Flash Fiction Friday #1—The Abbey

The Abbey

It was called the Lost Abbey. We all knew about it, of course, having lived in these woods all of our lives. Outsiders didn't understand. Oh, we had the occasional tourist, or professor, or graduate student, who blundered into the woods to look for the home of the monks.

Sometimes, we led them up there for a few bucks. Other times, if the person was too citified, we led him on a merry chase, giving him the wrong directions. It was almost always a "him," never a "her." "Hers" were not interested in the monks or what had happened there.

Not too many people were, these days.

Only a few of us locals remain, to guard the old ways, to guard the Abbey.

I heard tell that the survivors disappeared into the World, believing their time in these woods had been a dream, almost. But the Abbey is there, for those who dare to look for it.

All I can say about what happened is that the monks' arrogance got the better of them, and Mother Nature Herself sent the storm that blew down the Abbey.

Wind can be horrendous out there on the balds. City people don't get that.

I looked down toward the foot of the bluff. The body would rot quickly in this rain.

Some people shouldn't be so nosy.