Barnoldswick Way

High upon the sweeping, swaddling moors surrounding Manchester stood a small hideaway of a town. Weathered and resistant, its streets, dull, dirty and decaying, were cracked like an unloved mirror. Moss, dandelions and a cocktail of unremitting flowers grew through every crack and crevice of the asphalt. On main thoroughfare, the frosted windows of the town’s single off licence were guarded by secure, heavy bars which kept the town’s delinquents from seizing any of the stock outside of the law. Opposite the park stood the busiest pub in town. The mock Tudor design was a stark contrast to its neighbours. Its well-kept, milky white exterior remained true; as pure as the heavens. The windows had never been smashed as a result of any drunken brawl and confrontation between patrons and publicans was rare. Townspeople’s homes were uniform. No deviations in shape or size. Each had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The only variable between them was the coloured facades. Other than that, everything was indistinguishable.

Those who lived there were curious; somehow, wired differently. An uncanny folk. Any visitor would feel alien when stopping just for a jar of bitter in the local. They would feel the eyes of the regulars upon them; an inhuman stare stinging their backs. Unfamiliar vehicles invited hostility. They would watch these intruders closely, with their beady, close set eyes and like hyenas they would surround the unsuspecting callers. Any savvy stranger would consider leaving the vicinity immediately, unless they wanted to leave with their teeth in a Ziploc bag.

One joyless, October afternoon; as the town was dozing beneath a pale, waxen sky a gentle wind unsettled the tight-lipped trees which had begun to shed the first leaves of autumn. All of this would signify a perfectly ordinary day for the inhabitants of this small town. However, the residents were soon disturbed by a loud, abrasive foreigner. A brilliant, red Ford Fiesta - with an engine that hopped like a spinning jenny - turned into the unnerving serenity of Barnoldswick Way.  Some of the residents poked their heads through their net-curtains, some stepped outside, sheepishly, onto their empty driveways to get a closer look.

No one did a thing. No one even moved an inch. Not a cough or even a blink. They were frozen. Each of them glared at the intrusive Ford Fiesta. The residents were of single mind. How dare they!

The engine halted and silence was restored. As the door was opened, the unforgiving onlookers gasped.

The intruder, a thickset woman who was heavy in the hips and red haired stumbled out of her vehicle like a drunken fool. She wore a vulgar, hot-pink tracksuit and tired, white trainers. Unaware of the danger she was in. As she had obviously thought there was no harm done on her part. The foreigner chuckled to herself relentlessly, had this been an amusement to her? To an extent, yes, she had enjoyed the attention and the gestures of the local townspeople all watching her. Had she some disturbed reverie in which herself must be the isolated focal point of everyone’s gossip. Even throughout the bizarre that this intruder had spurred, the townspeople stood frozen. Not moving a muscle. All they did was stare at this dreadful abnormality. At this point, the intruder had dared to utter out of her mouth. “Oh, do please excuse me, I didn’t mean to so rudely intrude on your day like this. I’m your new neighbour though, Samantha. Lovely to meet you all.” Her voice was delicate and benign and provided just a brush-off scent of Liverpool within her words. She conveyed with much exuberance and purity, that she hadn’t realised the danger she was in.

Samantha then hastily staggered up the concrete steps that paved the course to her new home. She opened the murky red door and let herself in. Trailing behind her, the heavy wooden door was slammed shut and locked.

News of the arrival of Samantha spread like wildfire throughout the small hideaway town.  Alongside the news, the festering loathing hatred for foreigners built up inside the minds of all townspeople. Alike to a ticking time bomb, they were just waiting for a chance to detonate.

Many days passed, the loathing hatred for Samantha had continued to fester inside the mind of the local townspeople as she desperately tried to establish her place in their community. This concoction of bad ingredients led to a disastrous end-result. Samantha was forthright and coarse to everyone who lived in the town. She cared very little for any of the townspeople's privacy and personal environment. In the town's busiest pub, Samantha would talk for hours on end with friends on her mobile phone, overpowering anyone else’s conversations. In the grocers she was outspoken about the price of the milk or how the clerks were rude in asking to see ID when buying Alcohol for herself.

After one particularly vexatious day for the townspeople, one in which Samantha had accidentally reversed into her neighbour's hand-painted post box, filled with nostalgia and positive memories, that had been there since the day they had moved into this small little hideaway town. Samantha had then continued her day by confronting the manager of the off licence for drinking on site. Townspeople had had enough. Someone will find a way to solve this dilemma of theirs. Soon…

Samantha sluggishly let herself back into her house. This was all after a day of drinking and arguing with several people on her mobile phone on the topic on a large variety of subjects. She locked the murky red door behind her and locked herself in.

Samantha stumbled through the threshold of her home and turned into her living room. Her living room was large, loud and vulgar, it was a representation of Samantha in every way. The colours and patterns splattered all over were individualistic to Samantha. She nonchalantly placed her keys into a cyclical glass dish that was positioned in the centre of a luminous orange coffee table. The walls were painted kiwi green with canvas works of Andy Warhol situated precisely around the room and in the hallway. She lay down on her sofa and drifted slowly into a light doze.

She was soon disturbed by a light knocking on her front door. It was so light in fact she was not even certain there was one. What may have added to her growing suspicion was the fact that Samantha would not have been able to recall any one incident of someone at her front door in her time living in her house.

Half recumbently she rose to her feet and shuffled to the front door. The front door was unlocked and swung open to reveal a man, one of similar age to Samantha, he was dressed in casual red trousers and chequered shirt. He asked to use Samantha’s telephone.

No one saw Samantha again after that night.

Many weeks would pass over the small hideaway town before the disappearance would be noticed by anyone of the townspeople. However, once Samantha went missing, the town had curiously gone back to the way it had been before the rudeness of Samantha plagued its streets and choked its air. But once she was gone. A peace of mind returned.

One day the landlord, who owned the house, came face-to-face of the murky red door and thunderously hammered his fists on its body repeatedly. He hammered again. And again. The third time he had no reply. So, he pulled out his master key and let himself in across the threshold. All that was next seen was the landlord sprinting out of the house and calling the police.

Police arrived within minutes. They searched the entire property in every conceivable place. Samantha was missing. There was no sign of a break-in or a struggle. There was no body. No evidence apart from a few small droplets of Samantha’s’ blood on the bottom step of her staircase. Detectives could not figure what had happened to Samantha. When they interrogated the town folk, all had claimed to not have known anything about it.

Except they did. The townspeople had orchestrated against Samantha. She did not fit their ways, no foreigner could. This was because all inhabitants in this town were of descendants of three families, three families who were outcast of civilised society many years ago on basis of witchcraft. Townspeople did not wish to be disturbed by the outside world that had once outcast them all those years ago. As the town and the people who live in it never did anything to disturb them. But when they where disturbed, they would repay the favour anyway possible. All of single mind, the townspeople had one common goal and would do anything to achieve that it. The common goal of the townspeople was to keep those who aren’t welcome out.