The people from the city never climbed the hill - fearing what they didn't understand. It was late March when the the first rumors started to circulate amongst the more observant citizens. The summit of the hill was beginning to change shape... beginning to grow. But few people took notice of the gossip back then as they had more localized rumors to contend with. It seemed things were going missing.
Only little things at first, like sections of fencing, containers, and scrap metal. But by mid Autumn, larger things were vanishing: Engines, telephone poles, corrugated roofs - even whole sections of airplanes. The city officials were at a loss as to what to do. The ever growing shape on the neighboring hill was obviously at the heart of the matter, but the people from the city never climbed the hill; they feared what they didn't understand.
But then, as the last of winters cold embrace had began to fade into Spring, the disappearances stopped.
The first rays of dawn had already cast their light upon the city below when the old man reached the foot of the hill. He noted to himself, as he always did, that the sun broke upon his back a few steps earlier than it had the day before. Several months ago he would have already reached his shack at the summit and be in his cot with a belly warm with sup; but the year gone had been long and he feared the chill of the winter would stay with him this time.
Stumbling, with a heavy load of metal at his shoulder, he halted for a while and lifted his head to the structure above - his gaze taking in each section in turn. A sudden smile alighted on the old mans face, and for a moment his wrinkled brow softened into youth. He hauled the metal from his shoulder and gave it to the brambles that lined the trail.
That morning, when the people in the city below had just begun to stir, the old man lay down in his cot and decided he would sleep from now on... his work being done.