Below a few short stories by Nico Volkerts
Behind the church, built out of large, irregular blocks of stone, almost black with age, the grave-yard sloped down towards the river that cut the valley in two. Centuries ago the villagers must have had a good reason to build their church on top of a wind-swept hill, a good mile and a half away from their humble dwellings. Penitence perhaps, Lucy wondered.
Martin parked his car behind the Commercial Hotel. The backdoor to the pub was closed. So was the entrance at the front. Perhaps they would be open later. It did not matter. He walked into the familiar street where he had so often walked before. That was a long time ago, yet everything seemed the same. There were the shops he remembered, the church, standing back from the road, there was the street leading up to the school. And there was the stone bridge over the brook that divided the small town in a north and south side.
They found her on the beach, together with an old man. They were both lying face down, not more than three feet apart. ‘’Dead,’’ Alec said.
Seamus kneeled down beside the girl and turned her over. Her eyes were open. They were green, as the fresh bracken in spring. The unusual colour unnerved him. He stretched out his hand to close them when she blinked. Seamus jumped up and cursed.
Together they lifted the old man up and put him on the cart, beside some planks and a fishing net.
‘’The girl can lie on the net,’’ Alec grumbled.
Seamus shook his head.
He lifted the wet bundle carefully. Looking down on the child’s face he said:
‘’You would be more worth to us dead. Now you only cost us.’’
