Michael was later than usual taking the dog out. They’d had friends round for a meal, drunk a lot of wine and the conversation and laughter had kept everybody together well past midnight. It would be good to have some fresh air even if there was a slight drizzle, and Jess, their sheepdog cross was champing at the bit. They both knew this footpath well and the half moon gave them enough light to see where they were going. Once out in the field beyond Michael let the dog off the lead and strolled towards the old mill. It was one of the few in the area that still had the water wheel intact, even if it was rusty with a few broken paddles. As he approached the building, converted into apartments in the last decade, Michael thought he saw the wheel turn. There was no sound except for the stream, rushing away from Pickering, boosted by the recent heavy rains, but the nearer he got the more convinced he became that the wheel paddles, wet and catching the moonlight, were moving around as the wheel turned, much as it must have done, centuries before. He saw Jess, high up on top of the wheel, balanced as the structure turned towards the raging water beneath. First she was in sight, then gone. Michael rushed towards the building, scanning the stream, hoping the dog had fallen clear of the churning metal, silently moving above her. But hearing a bark he spotted Jess on dry land. She’d jumped off the wheel and landed by the huge oak door that led to the apartments, then disappeared again.
Michael, terrified that she might put herself in danger, crossed the bridge over the stream. The door, much to his surprise, gave, when he put his weight against it. He walked into a silent storm, an avalanche of hard, penetrating particles that stung his skin hundreds of times a minute. It was grain, of course, pouring down on top of him. Somewhere close would be the shaft taking the grain to the mill stone on the floor below. Michael tried to find the way back but he couldn’t see, he was disorientated, the sheer weight, and relentlessness of the torrent forced him to his knees. The dust almost choked him, he was finding it difficult to breathe, he daren’t move too far in any direction in case he fell down the shaft. Where was Jess? Where was Jess?
It was early morning when Michael woke. The birds were singing and Jess was licking his face. He was lying on the grass, stiff and cold but otherwise OK. He stood up and could see that the mill wheel was static and there were a couple of lights on in the apartments above. Good grief, what had he done? Passed out drunk in a field at his age. It would be a long time before he drank that much again. He hoped his wife had gone to bed and not woken in the night wondering where he was. What a strange nightmare he’d had. He reached into his pocket for the dog lead and pulled out a hand full of grain.
