In actuality, it wis me, Danny n Addison who hud followed them towards their new hideout. We braved the darkenin woods n waited in the trees until they left, then besieged it. We broke every window n used a lead pipe tae smash a plasterboard wall tae bits. Within months everybody knew, the farmhoose wis burnt doon, every room hud been vandalised atop vandalism, wrecked and ravaged. Nights wae the CD player n warm shelter fae the single glazin wur over anaw. It became cold n damp seeped through it. Somecunt even pulled oot the eld fuses and smashed the electricity box n the place fell intae a permanent sodden darkness. We reduced our great mansion tae its bare shell, a hidden treasure turned intae a bus shelter, a mere roof over our heads fae the rain. Only when it wis destroyed did we realise the error ae our ways but then, as always, it wis too late. We wid never find another place tae hang aboot and we wur stuck in our ruined mansion, tae suffer the destruction ae our own hands.

The path clears the trees n disappears. Water fae the field hus made a small marsh wae the stone path submerged somewhere beneath. It re-emerges after aboot a hundred yards and winds up towards the courtyard. The gable end ae the first building faces me as A walk up. The roof hus fallen away and the eld slates ir covered in green moss n burd shite. A’m stopped in ma tracks as A turn right intae the courtyard. The rumours aboot developers buildin flats hus finally come tae pass. Aw that’s left is the stable block n the wooden balcony inside. The grand stones which formed the hoose, the archway n the barn ir reduced tae a pile ae debris n piled up in the middle ae the courtyard. Strange, tae think we used tae sit somewhere among that rubble.

A walk over tae the only remainin section. Half ae the stables huv collapsed towards the back and the ferns huv begun tae storm the keep. Renegade weeds grow fae the slates on the top and in the puddles beneath. The eld filing cabinet still lies trampled, purposely blockin unfamiliar feet in the dark. A step over it subconsciously and peer intae the darkness. It wis still aw here, the graffiti, rubble n ash, waitin fur a broom sweep that’s never comin. The metal troughs and gates hud aw been ripped oot n likely sold fur scrap. A mind that feelin when yi walked intae each walled-aff pen, where horses wid huv steamed n stamped behind, scared in case somecunt wid be lurkin behind them in the gloom, beneath the dirty sky-lit roof.

We hud been the last life tae bless the place wae presence, signs ae our temporary passin still here. AZZY W 2K4 still scrawled in red spray-paint but faded noo n almost gone. It’s become a modern nest fur the local wildlife, a pot fur the foot-soldier weeds which huv begun tae reclaim it fur the woods behind. Nature always hus the last say. The woods ir dark noo n A cannae see through gaps in the trees. There’s residual energy here, some unseen force like the Friday Feelin at work, pullin me backwards n makin me long fur those simpler days spent within these walls. There’s nuhin left here apart fae eld ghost stories n shadows ae that past, still flickerin fur me like our fires in the woods. A make ma peace n leave, walkin back after a moment ae silent reflection.