ma story for yall to read "HEX"

wrote this in english class
The man o the moors
Picture the scene, there is a small stone and wooden hut, a croft, and in this croft there lives a man. The croft is on the high moors of Ben Macdoe. The man is of the grumpy, unhappy sort who has no faith and believes that nothing happens when you die except that you rot away and are used as fertiliser. He had lived alone and had only had one love in his life. She had promptly died of extreme cold and hunger. The year is 1711. Legally he shouldn’t live here but no one ever ventured up here. Who would want to? The ground was hard, the water had to be boiled and the winter reached lows of-13 degrees with fast, rough edged winds which closed in on you from all sides. This suited him fine.

He stood up, walked around the room to loosen his legs before getting closer to the small, metal hearth .It was a sopping wet night and it was pouring with rain. God had stopped using buckets and was now using the hose. It would be a hard walk to the burn o’ doely to catch a few trout. He huddled even tighter when a huge gust of wind went over. He was used to the wind but his was different. It reached into his heart and started playing around with a knife. It sounded like a whale that could roar. Whorhahigh! The fire cracked and popped without a care in the world. He was at the peak of his fright when… AIERGH! He knew that sound. It was the sound of eagles closing in on their prey. A group of young bucks no doubt. He picked up his crossbow, spear and knife and left the croft.

He ran through the walls of the storm seeking the call of triumph. He didn’t usually hunt this way but when the weather was as harsh as this it was harder to find a decent meal than finding a needle in a hay stack. After 20 minutes he had found the place. A barren expanse of heather and rocks. A group of young bucks and old frail ones were caught in a hidden bog. A fog had come down but that didn’t matter as he was a good shot. He loaded the crossbow and took aim. He was about to fire at an old and withered deer when the dreadful sound came again. Whorhahigh! He ran through the heather and gorse and over slippy moss and lichen-coated rocks to escape that trembling roar. A normal person would have fallen long ago but he had lived here all his life. The sound came again and, as if on cue, he tripped on a root and was catapulted through the harsh, moist air…

He awoke soon after. He didn’t want to open his eyes. The reason for this was that he felt hundreds of small, sharp legs all over him. He knew all about this from experience. The legs belonged to “black devils”, large black beetles unique to the mountain. They had 3 methods of killing. 1. Venom 2.their claws and 3. Teeth. They stripped men to the bone and weren’t rare. But suddenly they were gone in a frenzied buzz. Then he opened his eyes which was a mistake. There stood a man or at least an outline of a man. It was dark and only some parts were clear. The eyes ,sword ,shield and a large spot on its chest which looked nastily like a wound. The rest fuzzed and blurred. The thing was about to lunge when it suddenly turned and ran…as did he. He had just heard a sound like a strangled trumpet.

Fifteen days later he was out on a hunting trip. That came from living up here. If you worried you died. He was stalking a male grouse he had been at it for forty-five minutes. Then he heard it was as if both the sounds had merged with the sounds of war. The grouse was gone but what was worse was what he saw a battle of darkness the shapes of horses and men covered the field. He ran and hid in a deep dank heather hole.

He waited many hours, shivering. Eventually he left, feeling stiff as a rope soaked in tar, he ran into a small mountain wood.

The wood was avoided by almost all animals as this was the home of the “black devils”…
But he didn’t know that.

He ran and he ran, stumbling in the dark. The shadows were, on their own, enough to send a grown man screaming, what with the gnarled branches and madly deformed leaves. He stopped eventually when he came to an enclosure covered in knobbly lumps. He sat on one and removed his tinder box from his coat. It was one of his few modern items, for, once a year a timid, sneaky, merchant came up to his croft. He got a little money for showing lost travellers the way and this was when he spent it. The small, silver box had a carved wooden panel which when lift lifted, revealed a sharp flint. The wood chippings were in a larger compartment. He found a log, poured some chippings on and lit them with the flint. They lit instantly and he warmed his shaking hands on the mini inferno which was giving off sparks regularly. One particularly large spark hit the lump, which, to his shock immediately disintegrated in a ball of smoke. Beneath it was a long, thin sword which was completely undecorated besides a large ruby in the handle. He picked it up and the WHORHAHIGH sound emitted. He ran, carrying it. He was at the end of the wood when he heard it. The bzzz he really didn’t want to hear… The devils. He sprinted, bouncing off rocks and mounds of heather but he didn’t get far before he tripped, but, this time landed on a mound of heather. They were on him in a second. Luck was on his side though as the heavens opened the flood gates. The vermin were gone in a flash. He stumbled back to his house and threw the sword into the smoking hearth where he saw an orb full of the same dark figures he had seen waring. They were bowing to him. He blinked and the sword and the orb were gone…

not bad eh
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