Fever Dream by Ray Bradbury

Author:Ray Bradbury [Bradbury, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub

After an astonished bit of cogitation mine host asked him just what type of work he contemplated. Hovoco explained that he wanted to clear off his land to render it suitable for cultivation. He wanted some men to cut down the useless trees, and remove numerous stones that encumbered the fields. After that there would be rabbit-warrens to be destroyed, and birds to be killed. And, of course, there was that queer old altar off by the moorland. He would have that removed immediately.

The barman gazed at him for a moment in apoplectic silence. Then he bluntly informed the baronet that no man in the village would think of doing such things. They would not assist in the destruction of the old landmarks, and they most certainly would not go near the altar under any circumstances. Being a newcomer, Sir Charles would not know, but the altar was generally regarded as something to shun. It had an unhealthy reputation in these parts, and had always been looked upon as a blight and a curse. No one knew how long it had stood in those woods, nor how many had died in the old days when the drums had sounded from the hill. Wise folk said that the pagans had their dances there, and there was still talk of the old rites being celebrated on May Eve, and certain autumn nights. Bullocks had been led up that slope and given to those who were worshipped, and some folk said that they still were. There always were a lot of farm people absent from their homes on special evenings, and without any excuses to offer the next day to the rest of the people, who had sense enough to stay indoors when the fire burned up on the hill. No, the altar was a good thing to stay away from. The grandsires could tell some wild stories on winter nights about disappearances and deaths that had never been rightly explained. They didn't generally say much before outsiders, but even the Reverend Dobson, the clergyman, knew about the hill. What he probably was not aware of was the fact that some of his most loyal parishioners attended the furtive conclaves around the altar on the special nights, and carried secret charms that were handed down within their families from the days when the pagan folk ruled in the land. Therefore, the barman was of the earnest opinion that Sir Charles should keep his hands off, and carefully avoid even the mention of the altar or hilltop, and that under no circumstances should he foolishly attempt to destroy it. There would be trouble if he did.

At the conclusion of the innkeeper's advice, Sir Charles left the tavern, without saying a word. He was obstinate in his conviction, and he would not be baulked by the ignorant chatter of these yokels. Their silly superstitious prattle disgusted him, and their obvious unfriendly attitude wounded his city-bred pride. He would show them! He marched up to the local post-office and put through a telephone call to Birmingham.

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