Studio Devona

Black Barn

This is a ghost story I wrote in 2017. The barn idea came from a place in Brixham called Black Barn where there was once a building standing high on a hill that was painted black.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

On a dark moonlit night back in October 1985 I visited the old barn. It was late with a chill in the air and no breeze at all. After climbing the steep hill my breath puffed out small clouds in front of me which drifted upwards into the star-filled sky where they blended in with the milky-way. Now, just a few paces ahead of me, lay the spooky form of the building – ‘Black Barn’ as it was called according to the local history books. As I drew closer the sillouette of the long roof and a small porch in the middle began to make more sense to me out of the gloom.

In the distance a village church bell striked 11pm. An owl in a nearby tree hooted, as if to let me know it knew I was there or maybe the bell had woken it from a nap. Then this lovely bird took to the air, its large white feathered wings making no sound but carrying it smoothly over the long grass and away into the distance. It was a ghostly looking scene and I pondered as I watched – was the bird scared of me or was it more fearful knowing that I was about to enter the Black Barn which was reputed to be very haunted?

I lifted a latch and pushed open the large oak door. Its big rusty hinges murmered and the thick heavy timbers creeked, both announcing my arrival within this quiet space. Closing that door behind me, I took comfort knowing I was inside now and safe, yet aware I was here in the living body of this old tormented structure.

I stood with my torch beam shining into the stillness of the barn. It was a large long room with mud and dry straw on the floor.  There were large shaped oak beams that were all a dark sooty black colour. A deep window cill in a near corner had plenty of those big fluffy looking spider webs like the ones you see in Halloween movies or neglected garden sheds. A large spider scurried off into a crack in the wall having discovered that there was no meal but the web had been blown around as I had entered.

I whispered out to the spider “So long as you remain in that corner out of my way”, thinking to myself that by some supernatural means the spider would hear and understand and be nice to me – I had always been a bit nervous of these creatures.

I moved several slow paces forwards through the long barn observing all I could as my torch beam moved from side to side, up and down. Then I saw it – a large iron ring hanging from a thick bracket which was embedded deeply into the main stone wall. It was very old looking and had that hammered appearance about it, the sort that stated that it had been an item forged by a skilled craftsman who knew what he was doing – this was not just any run of the forge iron ring – the books said it had been specially commissioned for the purpose of chaining up Royalist prisoners during the English Civil War.

Here was one of many stories that had been heard over the years. Black Barn was a place of awful terror and particularly a number of dramatic hauntings! Well that was the reason I was here, alone, in the dead of night. Some say the only way to really experience the supernatural is to be alone. Ok I admit I was a bit nervous but I felt confident that particular night. I had spare batteries for my torch, a candle and matches for my ritual. I was wearing my protective charm and had prepared my mind while climbing up the hill. I had grounded myself and raised a circle of protective energy. I felt I would be safe.

So there I was. I sat down on a stone step next to the wall with the iron ring and I placed my large ceremonial candle firmly down on a piece of old masonry which made a nice alter nearby and lit it. I switched off my torch and waiting for my eyes to get accustomed to the magical light from the candle flame. I watched as it swayed and reached around as if it was exploring every nuke and cranny of the room, as if seeking out past secrets, mysteries, hauntings and bringing them into the space I was now working my magic in.

Under the light of this flame, my senses awakened and my heart began beating harder as I waited, watching, listening. I broke the silence speaking out aloud with confidence though I was drenched with a nervous fear as I did so.

“Spirits of this place I come to you with an open heart and curious mind. I call upon you - those who built this barn, those who worked in it, those who’s lives were warmed by it and those who’s lives were crushed by the sadness of it. Come visit me now in this midnight hour and reveal to me your secrets”.

I sat there for a few moments in the silence and as I continued to watch the moving flame I felt as though this was not a cold dark barn anymore but a space that was brightly lit and warm, as if the candle light was changing the energy all around me. I felt as if I was safe, like I belonged here, as if it was my own home. I was rapidly developing a familiar bond to the building.

The room remained quiet but I no longer felt nervous or fearful. I took from the pocket of my coat a scrap of paper and unfolded it. It was a photocopy of a page from a historical book written back in the early 20th century which spoke of some of the facts about Black Barn. I glanced over the page then began speaking out once more.

“I know you are there and you can hear me. I read in a book about Black Barn, as it is now called, that it was built shortly before the English Civil War and that during the war it was adapted for use as a small prison where Royalists were chained up. I read that this big iron ring fixed to the stone wall right here was made specially for this purpose – it is a large thick well made ring I can see, and looks like it would have done its job.”

I stood up and reached across to grab the iron ring to give it a swing and listen to the sound of it rattling. I grasped the ring firmly with both my hands but let it go quickly as it felt extremely hot like it was burning my fingers! The ring fell against the wall with a loud clang and I suddenly felt very light-headed. I missed my footing in the panic and giddiness and fell to the floor.

It seemed like only moments had passed between each loud heart-beat but it felt like I was waking up from some sort of dreamy state. Had I been unconscious? Had I knocked myself out when I fell? I was lying part on my side, part on my back and I turned my head round to look at the candle flame to get myself oriented. I felt giddy as I tried to make sense of my situation. My feet suddenly began to tingle then I felt a burning heat around them. I wriggled myself up into a sitting position with my back against the wall, only too aware that the iron ring was close by,  now an object that had taken on supernatural energy and was potentially a source of danger to me.

Then things got worse, the burning around my feet began to creep upwards, moving at an alarming pace up my lower legs, over my knee’s and up my thighs. By now I was very alarmed and scared!

“What’s happening to me?” I cried out. “Stop!”.

I tossed my head from side to side looking around the barn to see if there was anything there. I saw my familiar candle light which made me feel slightly calmer again, but then my eyes met with something terrible.

A face! A scruffy looking man’s face with a torn look. Half frowning, half grinning. A frieked out, scared looking face which revealed the moment when death that had consumed him. I drew a sharp breath then gasped in fear.

No sooner had I taken this vision in it began to drift towards me, gliding silently in the room in the manner of the barn owl I had seen earlier, and as it got closer I heard him utter these words

“Us be burned alive, that’s what us be!”.

His apparition passed right through me and once again I think I must have passed out but came around a few moments later.

What was that!? I tried to gather my thoughts. Was it over? Was there more to come?

I decided I had had enough, grabbed for my torch which thankfully lit up and gave me the confidence I needed to scarper from the barn and get as far away as I could. I blew out the candle and as I left the scene of my encounter that big creekly old door banged shut behind me. I swiftly made my way back down the hill trembling at the knee’s as I went, occasionally glancing over my shoulder in case it was coming for me.

As I arrived back at my car my mind was bombarded with thoughts - Did that really happen? Was what I had just experienced supernatural? Did it ever happen at all? Was I blessed or cursed to have been given such insight? The reason why Black Barn got its name seemed obvious to me now - they had been chained up in there and for some reason the barn had caught fire and they died a horrible death as they were burned alive.

Since that day I have visited Black Barn on several occasions, always in daylight, always with my protection up. I am only too aware they must know I have returned,  and that I share with them part of their history. But I have never seen or felt anything like I did on that dark night back in October 1985.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

The Old Exe River

I wrote this in 2012 and it was inspired by the huge flooding that often occured in the area of Cowley and Stoke Cannon in Exeter, Devon. Here the Exe River has come down from North Devon and all the tributaries of this river come together in this one narrow area which is a vast amount of water. I had this thought of the mighty River Exe  being dammed in Roman times to tame it and the many salmon that lived in it and eventually it was flowing backwards.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

Dartmoor Full Moon Poem

I wrote this on July 8th 2017 to be read out during a gathering on the moor at one of the tors while the full moon was rising. It seems to have been enjoyed. I also wrote a piece of music called Moon Magic inspired by this which you can find on my Youtube Channel.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

Goddess of the Moon

Rise high over the moor 

Pale as a cloud in the waning blue sky

You brighten and take your place 

We greet you this night

And feel your lunar heartbeat

Fox, deer, sheep, rodent and owl

Welcome you as we do 

Grant us in these moments of ritual

Moon magic and power

Your ever-knowing wisdom

Through your eternal gaze

Shine your silver light upon our skin

Calm and healed - we are comforted again

Grounded and guided our destiny is derived

The rhythms and cycles you ever provide

Music, Poem and Song inspire

As we gaze upon your movement this hour

Illuminating knowledge to those who know you

The pathway of moonbeams revealed

With a curtain of mist drawing around

Your theatre has been played

We bid you hail and farewell

As you pass through the sky

For ever watching and waiting

Until the time to seek you again 

Your waxing and your waning face

When next we bathe in your light

Moon Goddess we bless you as you have blessed us

Upon this Dartmoor night

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

Scorhill Stone Circle

I wrote these during troubled times in my life in December 2018 and 2019 while at the stone circle at night. I often go down to the stones in all seasons and weathers, sometimes to relax and enjoy and other times as a place where I will sit and seek guidance in my life. I will stand next to one of the stones and put my hand on it then close my eyes and clear my mind and words come to me. I will scribble the words down if I have pen and paper with me or I will record the words on my phone as it happens.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

Speak to me O stone

Cast your moonlit shadow upon me

Enter me as I enter you

Light my way, be my vision

See me through the dark mindscapes

Give me your ancient wisdom

A Tayle from Exeter

A poem I wrote in 2008 to go with my drawing of the fat cat that was travelling in the 17th century. I have tried to give this poem a bit of old language for fun.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

Here is Nothing

A melancholy poem I wrote in 1995 at a time when I was very sad in my life. It is about loss and loss of self love. When I read it the words sometimes make me think of the suicide victim buried on an old cross roads on Dartmoor. Jay's Grave is respectfully visited by many walking and passing over the moor. She is said to have lived in the 18th century and hung herself in a barn after having an affair with a man who she was not allowed to be with because he was of higher class and she was also pregnant. In those days those who took their own lives were not allowed to be buried in churchyards for religious reasons.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

Here is nothing.

My life, my love, my heart, the air before me - nothing more.

I wake, the cold air of the morning. The ice smiles and I cringe, my naked body falls in the shade.

Behold I am no more. I fade. My last is my all now. The story ends and is not a happy one.

No one is here but my heart. It fades fast and I wait,  my turn is here, I wait.

I have no need of this body, of these primitive emotions, of flesh and blood. All is divine. All is lost.

I break and my pieces will scatter. No one will give them place to spend the time to love and to care. 

I used to hope but now I give up. I have struggled long and hard in hope but all has failed.

Wipe me away, forget me. Forget the pain of my childbirth. Forget the joy of my life.

Happiness was here for a while like a welcome stranger in a desert, like the rains that fall but my joy was burned up in the hot sun and faded fast. This time the sun will burn even harder.

How dare you enjoy happiness.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

A Tale of Wistman's Wood

Wistman's Wood is a very old strip of oak woodland near Two Bridges on Dartmoor. The twisted tree branches covered in lichens and ferns look like creatures from a fantasy and there are moss covered boulders that are said to hide magic and mystery. Over decades the wood was studied by scientists who found the wildlife there remarkable, and also because of interest many people went there to see it. In recent years too many visitors has had a bad impact and notices have been put up to encourage visitors to stick to the paths that go around the wood rather than going through it - it is hoped it will have some time to recover - there are other areas on the moor with similar features, Wistman's is not the only place to see.

This story was one I completed on May 18th 2017 and is about a character I call Drew, an old spirit person who has lived there almost as long as the wood has existed. It is set in Saxon times and about a small family who lived nearby. I hope you will enjoy it.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona

Sabina and Elena were sisters; I say 'were' because they lived long, long ago, in times when much of Devon was still a well-forested land full of twisting rivers in deep gorged valleys. High above, on the wild windy hills of Dartmoor, the grey rock tors watched over the ancestors of ancient dayes -- and they still do so today.

Sabina was twelve, and Elena was eight, and she looked up to her older sister as her guide and teacher. They lived with their parents on the higher open moor in a cottage, or cott as they were called back then. It had been built long ago, using the granite boulders found scattered round about, and though the rocks were thick and strong, it was often cold even in summer months, so they would have to go out to gather wood all year round for keeping warm and for cooking.

Dartmoor had once also been a land richly covered in ancient oak trees, alder and ash but all cut down by the ancients long ago, leaving a vast open landscape and vulnerable to all manner of weather, from baking hot sun to howling wind and rain. It was a hard life back then, for all.

On many a night the whole family would sit around the fire, and their grandparents (who had passed some years earlier) used to play flute and sing songs of the land, which had been passed down from generation to generation. The children remembered with fondness their voices, and also the many tales they used to tell of the Moors and the many creatures of myth that lived in the region.

There were few trees around nearby now on the open moor, but one special cluster remained. However, all were forbidden to go in there or take wood from this place because it was said to be sacred and inhabited by fairies and spirits, and that is why it was the last remaining strip of wood on the whole wide moor that had never, ever been cut.

Wistman’s wood, as it was called, lay across the river on the other side of the valley, not too far from the cott. The trees there were quite unlike any others that grew in the valleys down yonder. They had twisted branches with shapes like strange animals all covered in mosses, lichens and ferns – it was quite something to see when you were nearby. Deeper inside it looked very dark and mysterious.

In the warmer summer months, the family would bathe in one of the larger pools in the river which was filled with fresh spring waters which flowed out from the bog further upstream, and also there was an array of stepping stones which made it easier to cross to get to the other side of the valley.

Each day, in the afternoon, their parents would send the girls out to fetch some wood to top up the fire. They would watch and smile as they headed off up the valley towards the stepping stones and cross safely to the other side, then head off in the direction of Wistman's wood and far beyond down yonder valley. Their laughter would gradually fade, finally blending in with the rustle of the river.

Along the way, the girls would sing to each other and tell stories which their grandparents had told them, stories which even their grandparents' grandparents had passed down through the ages.

But although their songs and stories would cheer them as they went on their way to the forest, there were days when the journey would be weary and they often wished there was wood closer to home that they could gather, especially when it was cold, or the mists and rain came in suddenly and drenched them.

Today, mother remained at the cott, and father had been on a much longer journey of several days to trade a good number of sheep for a new metal cooking pot and other things they would need to see them all through the winter months.

On special days of the year, the family would celebrate the goodness of the land and the food it had provided them during the summer months, and though that particular summer had not been such a warm one, the fruit was really good and had lasted well until now -- which was nearing the beginning of the darker times.

As the girls set off that afternoon to fetch more wood, their mother was making up a large pie of berries and promised them they would all enjoy sharing it when they returned with the wood -- by which time father would also be expected back.

Off they went as usual, singing a soft song about the river. Up the valley and over stepping stones which passed the bog, and where they then waved to mother when they reached the safe bank on the other side.

The girls walked for some distance and finally reached the far end of Wistman’s Wood where the boundary of boulders lay. Here Elena broke off from her singing and with a tired voice exclaimed, “I need to sit and rest a while, for my legs are weary today and the journey to fetch wood will be long”. Sabina, knowing her sister was still young and not as strong as her, was always very sympathetic, although there were times when she did wonder if Elena was just giving in to being lazy, she was so often distracted by everything around her.

So they sat on a rock there which was a favourite one they often used, it was just the right height and nice and flat and smooth, suitable for both of them. A few minutes went by as they rested and watched the wind rustling the nearby reeds, and a dragonfly with pretty colours flew past and swirled around, as if to greet them, before heading off down the valley, following the river to find another pond.

Sunshine warmed the girls and Elena began softly humming the song they had been singing a while ago. She felt so content, and it felt so nice resting there with the sound of the river gurgling among the stones and boulders, more time went by and she felt like she could stay there for the rest of the day.

Just then, a dark solitary cloud began to edge its way closer to the sun, blocking out some of its rays (as they so often do on the Moor!), and a gust of wind came up, as if out of nowhere, which broke the tranquillity -- and Sabina stirred suddenly from the rock.

“Come now sister”, she beckoned, “let us continue to the forest in the valley down yonder, for the day grows shorter and there is much work to be done. We need to gather wood, and the journey will not be pleasant if the weather should suddenly change”. She gazed up at that solitary cloud, which appeared to be growing larger instead of passing the sun which, was not always a good sign. “Oh, I do hope it will blow over quickly, and sun will return”, she said.

Elena’s mood had changed again, and she pulled a glum-looking face that resembled one of the shadowy faces often imagined in the rock formations of the nearby Tor -- a face that looked as if it had had to endure centuries of blustery winds and rain. Sabina giggled at her younger sister, who would often make her laugh, and together they both began laughing louder as they made ready to continue on their way.

Just then, there was a light sound and movement to one side of them and they both glanced round, slightly startled to see what it could be -- a deer perhaps? Or maybe a rabbit or a bird? But to their surprise, a small figure was sitting a few yards from them, on one of the other nearby boulders. It was a tiny figure, a bit like a child, and yet very aged like a grown up, much older than a mother or father, even perhaps older than a grandparent. They stared at him, puzzled. He wore a small jacket made from plaited reeds, had sewn leather boots, and carried a neatly-carved stick of oak.

He called out to them, “Be not afraid, for I were working in the wood when I heard your lovely singing and laughter, and it brightened my daye. My name is Drew and I live nearby. I have often seen you both going off to the forest down yonder, to fetch wood to take back home to your parents, to keep your cott warm and to cook lovely pies. You are Sabina and Elena, aren't you?”

As he spoke, his deeply wrinkled face began to change and take on a more trustful look, the girls continued to stare at him, pleased that someone admired their singing and laughter and also curious as to how he knew their names and more. As they gazed, the wrinkled expression on his face was, well… evolving more and more into an intense-looking grin which was almost hypnotic to look at. His hair and beard… they looked weathered and seasoned, like the mosses and the lichens that clung on to the branches of the ancient trees of Wistman’s wood itself! Come to think of it, even his face looked a bit like one of the other expressions often imagined in the nearby tor.

Sabina spoke first, being the older sister, and so protective of her younger sister. “What? You know us, do you, and our parents too?”

“Why yes, I do indeed”, said Drew. “I have lived nearby for many years, so long in fact that I watched your parents when they were young children, growing up. They used to pass by the wood right here, on their way to the forest in the valley down yonder to fetch wood for their parents! Why… I have lived here nearby for so many many years that I used to watch even their parents when they were children, going to fetch wood in the forest down yonder for their parents too!”

“Oh my goodness!”, exclaimed Elena, her eyes almost bulging out of her face and her jaw wide open. By now she had quite forgotten how her afternoon had begun with intentions to gather wood, then her tired legs, her rest on the rocks in the sunshine, the pretty dragonfly and the dark daunting-looking cloud. “You must be very old and so very wise to have seen all this, and to know so much about us and our families”.

“Indeed I am”, said Drew. “And I will tell you another thing”, he said. “When I work in the wood here, I also gather the biggest and most tasty of berries to eat. I swear, I am sure the fairies that watch over this wood make them grow, and they really are the very best! But every year I have grown more and more fond of the smell of those pies your mother makes, that wafts across the valley”, he said, “but I know not how to make one myself. I have often told people who pass by tales and stories, but in all the years none have ever come back with a piece of pie for me”.

Sabina, although impressed by Drew’s apparent knowledge and friendliness towards them, remained slightly cautious and protective of her sister. Though this was turning out to be an eventful day indeed, she was still only too aware that all this was delaying them from their original task for the day -- which was to go down to the forest in the valley down yonder to gather wood as their parents had asked them to do -- and glancing up at that dark cloud, things were not improving, for the sky was thickening up, and what looked like a bad weather front was brewing.

She looked back at Drew, then Elena, and back to Drew. With a worried, fading smile she said, “We thank you for your kind words, and I am glad our singing and laughter brightened your day. Perhaps when we have more time, we can return to hear more of your wise tales and bring you some berry pie, but we need to go now, as we need to gather wood as you know, and the day is passing by -- and I think that the weather is turning”.

Elena, too, looked up at the sky and replied in her weary voice, “Oh dear, I don’t like the look of thaaat. I wish we didn’t have to walk so far to the valley down yonder for our wood, for we shall become tired and will suffer on the journey back in the rain”.

Drew’s expression changed to one of sympathy for their worry. “My dears”, he said, “You are right, a storm is coming, and it will not be good for you to travel so far for your wood. But have no fear, for this very day I was working right here, in among the ancient trees, gathering wood as I have always done. Your singing and laughter brightened my day and I would be most pleased to give you both a bundle. You can go home with plenty and you need not be weary. You can even have some of those delicious berries… they really are the very best in Wistman’s Wood!”.

Elena cried out delighted “oh yes please!”. This was a far easier option, and Drew did seem so friendly and helpful, and it would mean they would not have to walk so far with the storm – which was now rapidly looking even more fierce by the minute.

“No!”, cried Sabina. “I mean, it is so very kind of you to offer, but we have been told by our parents, and our grandparents, that this wood is a sacred place revered by the ancestors and inhabited by fairies, and that no wood is to be collected here, for terrible things would happen to those who did!”

Elena fell silent. Yes, she knew the stories, but the thought of passing up this kind offer for a long walk in the rain which was now falling made her feel desperate and miserable. She looked at Sabina with yet another of her long glum expressions. Even Drew looked sad too for the sake of both of them.

“Come now”, he said. “I have told you I live nearby, and I have gathered wood in this sacred place for many years, and no harm has ever come to me. Have I not told you that I have watched your parents grow up, and their parents, and many generations before them?”

The girls looked at each other, then back at him. Why, indeed this appears true. Their parents and grandparents had handed down this tale year upon year to them and no harm had come to any of them, and as Drew says, no harm has ever come to him and he is clearly far older and wiser.

So into the wood with Drew they went, both feeling glad that they were able to avoid the storm, so grateful for the bundles of wood he gave them -- and not only that, but that they had made a new friend who would be only too pleased to tell them many a story next time they were nearby. They were even given some of the berries, and indeed they were delicious -- the very best, they agreed wholeheartedly!

They remained with him until the rain passed, listening to more of his tales, and there was much laughter. Eventually, the air freshened up and a light mist came in, and when the time came, later in the day, for him to finally bid them farewell, they waved and smiled as they stepped out of the wood and made their way back along the valley towards the stepping stones, singing as they went. Evening was approaching, but they would soon arrive back home, where the family would be waiting with a warm fire and freshly made pie. They could already smell burning wood and the perfume of cooked berries wafting across the valley, and they smiled and pictured Drew sniffing on the breeze the delicious pie -- and in their hearts they remembered their promise to take him a piece when they next ventured out.

“Mother, Father”, they cried, “We are home!”

“Thank goodness”, they heard mother shouting back in the distance on the other side of the valley, “I was getting worried about you, for you had been gone for so long and the storm had come through, there has been much rain and now the mist is thickening fast!”

The girls reached the stepping stones which cross the river, and though the mist was closing in, it was not far to go. In single file, and clutching on tightly to their bundles of wood and what was left of their juicy berries, they began to cross.   

“One… two stones, and there’s the third one!”, shouted Sabina”. It was easier to count out aloud as they crossed, they were familiar with how many there were, and anyway it was always reassuring for her younger sister to know how many more there were left until they reached the safe bank.

Then Elena cried out, “I’m scared!”. A very thick fog now surrounded them like a dark shroud, and the waters were much noisier than usual. The rain from the storm had much gathered in the bog nearby and was flooding over the stones, making them almost invisible and fearful to cross. Great swathes of water gushed at their feet, and the longer Elena remained in a state of fear, the more trapped they would become. It was imperative that they proceed with the utmost caution and haste.

“I’m scared! I’m scared!”, cried Elena as she stepped forward into the fog, her foot feeling for the next stone, but the strength of the water was too powerful for her tiny legs to find a safe place. Sabina, feeling a sense of dread and urgency, shouted out to her, “Never mind the wood and the berries, just drop them! You need to get down on your hands and knees and feel for the rocks, it’s the only way, or you will fall in -- you remember the tale, don’t you?”

“Sister, I’m scared! Mother, I’m scared”, Elena cried, as she now wept deeply and sorrowfully. “The tale. We were warned not to take anything from the sacred Wood! We were tricked!”, she cried. “The old man Drew, he tricked us! We were told long ago, no one who takes from the wood returns home alive, for they will be swallowed in the mist and consumed by the bog!”.

There was no reply from Sabina, nor calls from mother, just the ever louder roar of rushing water. They would be swept, screaming, from the stepping stones and pulled into the depths of the deep bog -- just as old the tale had warned. And in time, their souls would join the many others who had fallen before, and become the rocks and the boulders that are found scattered in the river.

Her head was spinning and before her the haunting face of Drew appeared from the mist and she felt a strong hand take hold of her pulling her from the rocks down to the depths – it was almost over.

Our tale ends there… well almost… for the hand that took her was not that of Drew but her father who had come to their rescue. And with speed and strength of any parent who dearly loves their children he had pulled them one by one to himself and taken them safely to the bank where they were comforted. Soon they found themselves back at the cott sitting around a large warm fire and extra helpings of delicious pie and that night the tales of the moor gained another chapter.

So if you go down to Wistman’s Wood today, you’d better beware -- for there lurks Drew, with a wrinkled smile like the folds and crevices of a nearby boulder, where the mosses and lichens cling. 'Tis he who will hypnotise the weary traveller, and gift wood for your fire and the very best berries. Wistman’s Wood is far better left alone, or you too may never return home. It is a sacred place where spirits and fairies dwell, and is the last standing ancient wood of the wild wild moor. And nearby the grey face of the high tor grimaces and screams over all the moor for all of eternity, for Drew still longs for a piece of berry pie.

© Copyright 2025 Studio Devona