Ramblers (standard:horror, 1981 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Jul 01 2025	Views/Reads: 1/1	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It's good to ramble out in the countryside, but avoid the hermit in the cave.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

looked at the ground and was genuinely surprised. “Oh dear, how have we 
lost the pathway?” he said with a smile, until Joan said: “This is not 
the official route though. I hope we're not trespassing”. Kevin's eyes 
widened. “We'd best get back on track”. They retraced their steps until 
they came to the well-worn path and continued. “Good,” Kevin said, 
relieved, “I was thinking about what the banks interest rate would be 
at the end of the year, when I just carried on off the path. I 
predicted it would down by one percent”. “One percent,” Joan repeated, 
“maybe nought point seventy-five”. Kevin thought about that for a 
moment and nodded. “Yes, you could be right”. “Well, I was thinking 
about that supper we had the other night in that village in Mrs 
Benson's café” said Joan. “When we had afters and she brought out that 
blackberry chocolate cake covered in custard. Wasn't it amazing?” Kevin 
stopped in his tracks as he remembered. “It was gorgeous,” he said, 
“the way the chocolate just melted on the tongue. I think she must have 
had a special recipe, that was just...so sweet and delicate”. “We 
really must go back there. I remember she also served lemon poppyseed 
tea-cakes which we must try next time”. “Reminds me of that time when 
we were in that bed and breakfast at the coast, and we had that 
ice-cream strawberry shortcake sundae for breakfast”. “Yes, that was 
delicious. Ice-cream for breakfast”. 

Onwards they trekked. The rain came back stronger for around a mile,
then eased off altogether, and they traversed more fields, more hills, 
crossed another stream by stepping across rocks, and came to one of the 
foothills of the mountainous Pennines, which curved around to the left 
where they walked until they came across a sheer fifty-foot-high rocky 
cliff wall. In that wall was a natural cave. Opposite was a smaller 
field which looked more like an allotment, where there were patches of 
overturned soil and lines of plants and gardening equipment. It looked 
like somebody was growing food. Two small trees had an empty washing 
line strung between them. Outside the cave was a small sign staked in 
the ground. ‘Keep out'. “Looks like somebody's living here,” said 
Kevin. Joan stopped and looked concerned, staring at the entrance. “Do 
you think they have permission? They would need approval from the 
countryside ethics committee to live here?” Kevin thought for a few 
moments. “Maybe they're here on some sort of holiday,” Joan gestured to 
the allotment. 

“No, this is somebody's home”. Kevin knew they couldn't just walk past
without finding out whether or not the occupant had the correct 
permission to live in the cave. It would not play well on his or Joan's 
conscience if they didn't know. If they knew somebody was living here 
illegally, then they would ring the countryside ethics committee to let 
them know. Or indeed, the police, and if the phone was not working or 
they couldn't get a signal, then they would end the walk and head 
straight for the nearest phone-box. 

They approached slowly to the entrance to find that the cave was not
very large. It went back about twelve metres and was quite well lit by 
daylight. As well as a small fire cooking a pot of rice and beans near 
the middle, sitting besides it on a rock stoking the flames was a 
long-haired, thin man, dressed in ordinary clothing, as if he had 
wandered in straight from the streets. He looked up when shadows fell 
across him as the ramblers entered the cave. “Excuse me, sorry to 
bother you,” said Joan politely, “but we were wondering if you had 
permission to live here”. “Yes,” said Kevin, “it is a legal requirement 
in the countryside ethics act rules and regulations, section 8, that 
anybody occupying the land will need to get written permission from the 
landowner”. “It's just we need to know if we will have to inform the 
relevant authorities”, said Joan, looking concerned that he might not 
actually have any documents. 

The man just stared at them as though they were aliens that had just
stepped out of a spacecraft. “Hang on,” he said, “let me just go and 
get the documents from my office.” He stood up, and Kevin looked 
slightly confused, not sure if the man was serious. Maybe he actually 
was going to show him permission. However, the man stepped across to 
them with a face like thunder. “I'm giving you permission mate, to go 
away. Leave me alone to my own business,” he gestured to the path 
outside. “We only need to check,” Joan said, “then we will leave”. 

“You know,” the hermit said, “it's people like you is why I'm out here.
I come here to get away from society. People like you who will do 
anything you're told and don't ask questions. Yes sir, thank-you sir, 
anything you say sir. I'm here off the grid. I've got everything I 
need. I don't need money. I grow my own food, got warmth, peace and 
quiet,” he said with emphasis. 

Joan pointed to the side where there was a super-market carrier bag and
a mobile-phone on a towel. “That's not off the grid,” she said. “Look, 
I need essentials okay, I'm still learning, so please do me a favour, 
and get out”, he gestured again to the path outside. “Just show us the 
permission please,” said Kevin. “I can't get away from society can I? 
This is my sister's fault. I keep trying to tell her the truth about 
governments and conspiracies, and d'you know what she said? ‘Leave 
society then and go and live in a cave', so you know what, I did. I 
showed her. She can't see the truth. The truth that...” The hermit then 
proceeded to launch into a rant about governments and politics. It was 
clear he had a lot of frustration built up and was perhaps, at the back 
of his mind grateful for an outlet to speak his opinions. Yet, as he 
waffled on, Kevin and Joan simply looked at each other. Kevin leaned 
towards her ear and said. “I don't think he has permission,” “Agreed,” 
Joan said, looking disappointed, then pointed to the fire cooking the 
rice and beans. “I'm hungry,” Kevin looked at the fire also, and nodded 
agreement. “Alright,” he said as the hermit droned on. He and Joan both 
put down their rucksacks and opened them up, catching snippets of words 
from the man: “...corruption ...wake up...poison minds...” He was so 
focused on his rant, that he didn't see the ramblers take from their 
rucksacks well-used machetes. They hefted them up and advanced on the 
hermit, who only noticed when the weapons were slicing through the air 
towards him, and he barely had time to put up his arms to protect 
himself. 

They hacked and hacked and hacked him, chopping until he was in pieces. 

Five minutes later they were sat at the fire, cooking chunks of his
flesh and eating them. Joan skewered and cooked and bit into his heart. 
“Never had heart before,” she said, and swallowed a bite, blood 
dripping, her hands glistening with the red fluid. 

“Very delicate,” Kevin said, as he ate in the fleshy part of the hermits
cooked fore-arm, tearing it from the snapped bone. 

“I like heart,” he said, “but it's not my favourite part. I love the
spleen. It just has a special...texture”. Outside, the rain began to 
pour once again, and they looked out across the allotment and field. 
“Shame he never had permission” said Joan. “Wouldn't have mattered 
either way, but some people just have no respect for authority”. 
“That's true,” Kevin said, looking genuinely disappointed. “None 
whatsoever”. They finished up their meal, eating only about ten percent 
of the hermit, and were soon hefting up their rucksacks. 

They left cave, and continued on with their ramble.


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