The Ghosts of Greenslinch

In the quiet heart of Devon, where mist clings to hedgerows and the past presses close to the skin, lies Greenslinch—a hamlet older than memory, its soil steeped in blood and burden. Beneath modern rooftops and manicured lawns, the land remembers the tyranny of Nicholas the Bowman, a Norman warlord whose iron rule scorched the earth and broke the backs of those who tilled it. Though centuries have passed, the ghosts of his cruelty endure: spectral peasants trudging through eternal labour, their hollow eyes fixed on forgotten furrows, and the phantom archer himself, bow ever drawn, guarding the fields with a vengeance that time cannot tame. In Greenslinch, the past is not history—it’s a haunting.