There was a presence, there always had been a presence.
Whenever you entered the field with the stones, it was there.
Sometimes all around you, sometimes decidedly pressing in on you.
The eeriness was profound, and at times it felt as though it could easily be rubbing against you or gave you the sensation of being tapped on the shoulder as if the presence had something to say to you.
Within the community, there was speculation as to where the stones had come from and what they meant. Most believed they came from druid times and had some significance to the movement of the sun.
None of that really mattered when you felt the presence around you. It was scary stuff.
The field was bordered by a stone fence which we thought of as kids as just the thing to keep them in.
My friend Barny Rudd believed they moved. He was adamant that one day when he was crossing the field, the stones moved. He said it was bad enough trying to put the presence out of your mind but feeling hemmed in was too much to bear, and he made a run for it in the end. When he looked back, the stones were still standing, but he argued in a slightly different configuration.
Either way, they gave us plenty to talk about, to create tales about why they were there and what they meant.
The presence is still there, ancient and mysterious, lurking in the field, hiding within the stones and awaiting the day it might venture forth.