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T he train's whistle pierced the morning air as we approached the small station at Lydney. I smoothed my traveling skirt, peering through the rain-streaked window at the platform beyond. A lone figure waited beneath a black umbrella, hunched against the downpour.

"Nasty welcome for a young lady," said the elderly gentleman across from me, shaking his head sympathetically.

"I'm told it rains frequently in these parts," I replied.

"Aye, the Forest of Dean has a way of collecting clouds." He studied me with curious eyes. "Visiting family, are you?"

"No, sir. I'm to be a land girl at Blackwood Farm."

His bushy eyebrows rose sharply. "A land girl? In these parts?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. "Be careful around that forest, miss. Strange things happen there. Things that aren't quite natural, if you take my meaning."

Before I could ask what he meant, the train shuddered to a halt with a sharp hiss of brakes and steam. The conductor's voice echoed through the carriage: "Lydney!”

I stood carefully, gathering my valise and checking that my hat was secure. The elderly gentleman tipped his cap to me as I moved toward the door.

"Remember what I said, miss," he called after me. "That forest's no place for a young woman alone."

I forced a smile and stepped down onto the rain-slicked platform, immediately buffeted by wind and driving rain. The station was little more than a wooden platform with a small shelter, and I hurried toward it. The man with the umbrella approached, his boots splashing through puddles.

"Miss Alice Harwick?" he called over the storm.

"Yes," I confirmed, struggling to keep my hat from flying away in the wind.

"Thomas Fletcher. Farm manager at Blackwood." His tone was brusque, businesslike. "Come on then, let's get you to the wagon before we both drown."

I followed him to a covered cart waiting outside the station, climbing aboard as gracefully as I could manage while my skirt whipped around my legs. Fletcher settled onto the driver's bench and snapped the reins, sending us lurching forward into the grey morning.

"You worked a farm before?" he shouted over the rain drumming on the wagon's canvas top.

"No, sir. But I'm a quick study."

He grunted. "We'll see about that. Farm work isn't like those fancy courses they give you London girls." He glanced back at me, his eyes hard. "You'll be working the far pasture tomorrow. Stone clearing, mostly. Hard work, but it needs doing."

I nodded, though unease prickled at his tone. "I understand."

"The farm sits right at the edge of the Forest of Dean," Fletcher continued, turning back to watch the muddy road. "Oldest forest in England, they say."

"It sounds lovely."

Fletcher barked a harsh laugh. "Lovely isn't the word I'd use, miss." He twisted on the bench to look at me directly. "That forest is pure evil."

A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the rain. "Surely you don't mean—"

"I mean exactly what I said." His voice was flat, final. "Stay out of those woods, Miss Harwick. For your own sake."

The wagon fell silent except for the steady drum of rain and the splash of wheels through mud.

To our right, I could see farmland stretching into the grey distance.

Neat fields and stone walls that spoke of civilization.

But to our left loomed a wall of ancient trees, dark and impenetrable through the curtain of rain.

We arrived at Blackwood Farm as the afternoon was fading into early dusk. Fletcher directed me to a small outbuilding where warm yellow light glowed in the windows.

"Work begins at 5:30," he instructed curtly. “Don't be late."

I watched him walk away before I opened the door. Inside, the building was cramped but clean, housing three other land girls who looked up from their card game as I entered. The eldest, a dark-haired woman with laugh lines around her eyes, rose to greet me.

"You must be Alice. I'm Margaret, and this is Bess and Jane."

The other two nodded but remained seated, studying me with frank curiosity.

"We've set up a bed for you by the window," Margaret continued. "It's not much, but it's dry."

"Thank you," I said, setting down my valise gratefully.

"You missed tea, but there's bread and cheese if you're hungry," offered Bess, a plump girl with rosy cheeks.

I accepted the simple meal and sat at the small wooden table, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was.

"So, Alice," Jane began, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "What brings you to the back end of nowhere?"

"I needed work," I replied. "This position was available."

"Bit of a fall from grace, isn't it?" Jane pressed. "You talk like one of those educated types.”

"Jane," Margaret said with a warning look.

But Jane continued, studying me with uncomfortable intensity. "Has Fletcher warned you about the forest yet?"

"He mentioned I should stay away from it."

The three women exchanged glances.

"There's things in those woods," Bess whispered, glancing toward the window where rain continued to lash the glass. "Unnatural things."

Jane nodded grimly. "Mary Sutton, the girl who had your position before you, she went in there on a dare. Came back white as a sheet and wouldn't speak of what she'd seen. Left on the next morning's train."

"What did she claim to see?" I asked, though part of me did not want to know.

"A beast," Margaret answered, her voice heavy with meaning. "A creature that walks like a man but isn't one. They call it the Beast of Dean."

I forced a smile. "Surely, that's just a local story."

"Laugh if you like," Jane snapped. "But stay out of those woods."

Later, as I lay on my narrow cot, I thought about their warnings. Through the small window beside my bed, I could see the dark line of trees in the distance. I pulled my blanket higher and tried to sleep.

The next morning came too early, announced by Margaret shaking my shoulder in the pre-dawn darkness.

"Up you get," she said. "Fletcher doesn't tolerate tardiness."

I dressed quickly in the work clothes provided, sturdy trousers, a thick cotton shirt, and heavy boots, and joined the others for a breakfast of porridge and strong tea. By 5:30, we assembled in the main yard where Fletcher waited with his usual scowl.

"Margaret, you'll work the vegetable gardens today," he instructed. "Bess and Jane, the dairy needs attention." His gaze settled on me with something that might have been satisfaction. "Miss Harwick, you'll clear stones from the far pasture. It needs to be ready for plowing by week's end."

I gathered the tools he indicated and set off in the direction he pointed with only a few words of direction. The morning was crisp and clear after yesterday's rain, the grass heavy with dew that dampened my pant legs as I walked.

The path led me past Millfield, where several workers were already bent over their tasks, then past Shepherd's Field where sheep grazed peacefully.

Finally, I reached the footbridge Fletcher had mentioned.

It was a simple wooden structure spanning the Blackwater Stream.

The water below ran clear and shallow, babbling softly over smooth stones.

Beyond the bridge lay the far pasture, a field that stretched to the very edge of the forest. Ancient oaks marked the boundary between civilization and wilderness.

Beyond the tree line, the woods were nothing but impenetrable shadows and shifting mist. I cast the forest a wary glance as I set down my tools.

After a deep breath, I put the rumors from my mind.

I set to work immediately, using the shovel to pry stones from the dirt and load them into my cloth sack.

Every rock was a fight, clinging to the ground stubbornly.

The bag hanging over my shoulder grew heavier with each victory, but I refused to quit.

Sweat stung my eyes as I worked and my long hair escaped my braid to stick to the sides of my neck.

By midday, I had barely cleared a quarter of the field. I trudged over to the stone wall that bordered the field and flopped down. I unwrapped the bread and cheese I brought, setting aside manners to take large bites in between gulps of water from a jug.

That is when I first felt it, the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I paused midbite and glanced around. There was no one in sight, nothing but sheep moving in the nearby field. I scanned the tree line. Nothing. Just the play of light and shadow between the massive trunks. But the feeling persisted, raising goosebumps along my arms despite the warmth of the sun.

I finished eating and returned to my work, but the awareness never left me. Several times I straightened, certain I had caught a glimpse of something moving in my peripheral vision. Each time I turned, there was nothing but forest.

As the afternoon wore on, the sensation grew stronger. Not threatening, exactly, but... watchful. The feeling should have frightened me, but whatever watched from the forest did not feel malevolent. Just interested.

When evening approached and it was time to return to the farm, I gathered my tools and walked back toward the bridge. At the edge of the field, I paused and looked back over my shoulder.

For just a moment, I could have sworn I saw a shadow shift between the trees, tall, broad, and definitely not a trick of the light. Then, it was gone. I blinked, unsure if I had imagined the whole thing. With a frown, I hurried back to the farmstead.

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