Hit wis a poor nicht, wir men wir aff, guid kens whaur. Hit wis black ootside, dan da wind wid rise, whistling under da eaves an sleety shooers slappin aff da windows. I coodna keep me towts on me makkin. So aff I guid ta bed, dir wisna a soond ta be heard i da hoose.. So I curled mesel up under da bedcovers. Dan I heard hit!

Da fit on da stair fell haevy apo da laandin, Dey cam ower an sat apo da chair aside me.Da smell o fusty aerth an da stink o rotten taaties,I coodna bear da towt, but forced mesel ta luek.A dark robe o wadmaal ur hessian, whaur da heid wis, faceless, while a skeletal haand o whitened banes held oot a stack o parcels, wuppit tagidder in a black ribbon.

A groon cam fae da bundle o rags. “ Du has ta choose,da choice is dine, choose da daeth dat suits dee. “Afore I kent hit, da parcels are in me haands an A’m slippit da ribbon aff.Hit feels gooey atween me fingers an reeks o da stank.

Da fower boxes, dey cam itll different sizes, da muckle wan,da boddam een, wrappit itill strong broon papir, da caird sayin

“ Du’ll dee itill dy bed eftir a life lang lived. “

Da nixt box, peerier, wrappit itill saft redd velvet, said

“ A quick, but painful daeth’ll bury dee.”

Da third parcel wis peerier still an cled itill silver papir,

“ Du’ll dee fae a lang term illness, kerried wi bravery. “

An da last box, teensie, laek da kind you wid get an engagement

ur wedding ring itill, in boannie patterned papir wi gold pipin, telt me

“ Dy daeth’ll save da life o dy unborn bairn. “

Da faceless robe turned ta me an croakit.“I am daeth an da choice is dine, choose wi care,an be careful whit du wisses fur. “

Wi dat,I skirled athoot hoop,but nair a noise ur soond left me throt.

Dan I waakened, wi a start, da cowld swaet runnin doon me riggy bane.

I raise me an pat on me dressin gown. I wis shakkin, but wis da relieved.

I ran da cowld water tap i da bathroom sink an dichted af me face,filt a gless o waater an swallied hit doon fur me mooth wis dry. I med back fur da bed, thing wis, I could still smell yun rotten smell, hit hedna geen awaa. Whin I got back ta da bed, I guid ta lay me dressin goon doon on da chair aside da bed. Dir wis something else dere, I shined da licht dere an fur sic a shock as I got. Dir wis a hessian bag dere an whin I liftit da tap layer, underneath wis a pile o muck rotten taaties an dey wir joost crawlin wi slaters. I skirled an skirled an dis time I skirled till me lungs burst.

Written in Shetland Dialect by James Sinclair