Cold winter sunlight filtered through the bare branches of the ancient Oak that stood beside the driveway of Chelmingsford Manor. It's sparse coat of autumn leaves lay in a mouldering drift around it's base, some of them spilling over onto the harsh gravel of the drive itself. From between that gravel surface there grew, in places, rank weeds still clinging on to life despite the severity of the season.

The condition of the place, that was something that David often noticed on his walks through the grounds of the house on winter days like this. It hadn't been like this in the 'olden days', at least so old Mr Peterson said. He had been the butler at the house in what he termed 'it's greatest days', and he claimed that, perhaps thirty or so years ago, the old place was a grand spectacle to behold, it's gardens a riot of colour in summer, a stern, beautiful maze of frost-coated hedges and icy conifers in the winter. It's exterior had been a shining example of well kept, modest modern architecture, it's interior a hive of activity from dawn until dusk and, on many occasions, right through to dawn again. The old boy would always laugh at that point in the story, more often than not in a way which David found less than savoury. He could well imagine what sort of things might have kept the rich friends of the equally rich Lord of the Manor up until dawn, and he thought that perhaps at the age of nearly one-hundred, the old butler should have abandoned such thoughts by now!

Well, thought David as he trudged on along the earthworn track that led through the grounds of the old house, the garden was still here at least, though it was less the riot of colour or stern maze as just simple riotous maze, everything overgrown then grown over again. The hedges were now great tangles of hawthorn and bramble, and the once regal flowerbeds were now one great tangle of grass, dandelions and wild flowers. Not to detract from the place's still obvious attractiveness, thought David as he glanced across the wild, rambling expanse of the 'gardens'. No, the only thing that had got ugly now was the old house itself. Some ten years ago the manor might have been considered 'tumble-down'. These days it was virtually necrotic, it's windows shattered and boarded, it's facing approaching the stage of non-existent. Any charm the place might have had even as a ruin was now gone. It was just a big, mouldering junkheap sat in the middle of this pleasant expanse of Middle-England parkland, and defacing the whole place in David's opinion.

He wondered briefly, and for perhaps the hundredth time why the National Trust didn't just give up on the house altogether and try to preserve the land around it. Still, he though as he strode on through the grounds, his breath a misted cloud in the winter cold, such insights weren't meant for mortal man and all that. Besides, if keeping the old wreck afloat meant that the OAP generation like Peterson stayed happy in their twilight years then what harm was there in it?

He glanced at his watch and caught a quick intake of breath. He had to be at the bakery in fifteen minutes, and he still had to walk the half mile past the old church and down the lane into the back of Huntston. He worked as a delivery-man around the village on Sunday mornings as a way of getting a little extra cash for Christmas presents and the like, and Mrs Olson, the owner of the place, demanded punctuality. If he wanted to get there in time and pick up the bits Sally wanted from the shop on the way, he reflected, he'd better stop gazing at the scenery and hurry up!

The track that David now walked along ran for the mile between his and Sally's cottage, and the outskirts of the small village of Huntston where he worked on week-days as a Postal Clerk. On its way, it twisted through several low fields and over a style into the overgrown wilderness of the Chelmingsford House Grounds before passing the ruin of St Anthony's Church and, having traversed another style, followed a back-lane down into the village. David had not taken the route in over a month and, it appeared, had forgotten how long it took. As a result, as he neared the old ruin of the church, he was not being overly attentive to his surroundings. The figure that appeared on the path before him therefore came as something of a shock, David nearly colliding with the man. He pulled up short with a startled intake of breath, and the vicar, who had been serenely staring out along the path in the opposite direction, turned slowley to face him. He smiled warmly and David was struck by the openness and youth of the other man's features. His dress as a clergyman, a simple Priest's robe, seemed a little outdated to David, though he reminded himself that he knew little more about priest fashion than he did about the various whiles of the National Trust. However, with the winter sun shining down behind him and his white, almost radiant smock, there was something nearly ethereal about him, enough to make David pause instead of hurrying on past as he might have done. For a few moments the priest regarded him quietly.

"Good morning." He said at length, then regarded David smilingly. David stood awkwardly for a moment then replied in kind.

"Oh, uh, good morning." There seemed little else to say, but the priest did not yet seem satisfied, and David stood awkwardly for a moment longer. Finally, the priest half turned away again, an expression creeping onto his face that almost resembled resignation.

"There is so much to do, you know," he remarked, seemingly half to himself, "so very much to do". David blinked, thrown by the suddenness of the comment.

"So much to do?" he enquired, inwardly cringing at how moronic he must sound. The priest, however, did not seem to notice David's discomfort, simply nodding his head.

"Yes," he replied slowley, and his soft voice was edged with regret, "so much. I have been away you see, away for some time I regret, and whilst I was gone things appear to have somewhat fallen into disrepair." David nodded, not understanding a word. However, he did not excuse himself yet, or even think to. The priest had a voice which was somehow unsettling yet, at the same time, held the attention.

"Where did you go?" asked David at length, surprised by his own curiosity, and by the timid tone of his voice. The priest did not reply at once. Instead, a look of sad confusion entered his icy blue eyes for a moment, then was gone. He turned again to face David.

"Where I was, I suspect, is of little consequence. What is important is what must be done now that I have returned. There are many things to be done!" David nodded awkwardly in reply to the man's sudden vehemence, not knowing how to respond. For a moment longer he stood, glancing about at the morning, trying to avoid the piercing gaze of his companion. At length, the priest sighed deeply. Something struck David then, but before it had time to register, the clergyman was speaking again, serene once more. "Well, I suspect I detain you unduly from important business, friend, so I shall bid you good day. Oh, and if you are going into the village, tell that young snip of a butler that his service at tea last Thursday was excellent."

David's mind suddenly caught, confusion spreading across his face. "Surely you aren't referring to." but as he glanced back towards the priest, the young clergyman was gone again, as suddenly as he had appeared. David blinked with surprise as a thought, delayed from some moments ago, struck him, sending a cold thrill twining its way sinuously up his spine. When the young priest had exhaled, there had been no cloud of mist from the cold, nor had there been, for that matter, at any point during their brief conversation. And, his mind insisted, where had the man gone? Where, for that matter, had he come from?

David stopped that thought dead with a sudden effort. He cast a quick, involuntary glance towards the ruined churchyard where the ancient, moss coated gravestones threw their cold shadows and kept their cold secrets, then swiftly forced himself to walk on towards the village, because, he told himself, he was definitely going to be late now! As he walked away, David did not permit himself to glance back over his shoulder, for fear of seeing the priest stood there on the path once again, or seeing something darker or worse. As he clambered over the style and set off at a swift pace down the lane, his hands began to shake.