Joan was carrying milk across the moors	She decided to get some water from the boundary stone, to cool her down.
She got some ice but didn't put anything back in	Jack Frost is angry but lets her off just this once.
Joan does this all the time. Jack Frost is angry.	Jack Frost stirs up a blizzard to kill her. (Joan's punishment - Try 1)
Jack Frost snows her in to kill her. (Joan's punishment - Try 2)	Jack makes a neverending hole to kill her but Joan decides it's too icy that way. (Joan's punishment - Try 3)
Joan is stealing things still. Jack Frost has a plan.	Jack Frost sucks Joan's soul into the boundary rock.
Joan's empty body turns into a statue and falls over, milk everywhere.	Joan warns people to put things back!

There’s an old inn called Mount Skip at the edge of Midgely Moor. It’s a place where travellers and quarrymen used to stop and rest, and it used to be a busy place. They sold beer and milk and porridge – everything to keep a working man going throughout the day. The milk came daily from one of the locals farms, and it was Joan’s job to fetch it. If there was time, she’d take the long way on the stony track that was the Heights road. But the quicker route was along the edge of the moor and over the top. All summer long she went that way. In the heat of the sun, fearing the milk might curdle, she’d stop at the Boundary Stone, chip a little ice from the strange little cold pool that was always at the top, and put it in her milk to keep it fresh. No one could explain it, but even on the hottest day there was still ice there.
The Boundary Stone stood as taller than a man, with a dip at the top a handspan deep where the water would gather and freeze. Joan could only reach the dip by standing on tiptoe on top of the rock that lay next to the stone. She saw no harm in taking the ice, but never considered saying thank you, not even in the middle of summer, on the days when she marvelled that ice was there. She never thought it might be a gift.
What no one suspected was that Jack Frost had made his home up on those wild moors, and his anger with Joan’s thoughtlessness grew. For now, though, he did nothing, hoping that perhaps she’d remember him and maybe leave a small token of thanks. But she never did.
The seasons turned and bitter winter came to the Calder Valley. People complained that the flames in their lanterns froze and that their words were so cold they needed to heat them to see what they were saying. One frozen morning Joan was late. She knew it would have been more sensible to take
the Heights Road, but she was in a rush and chose the quicker way across the moors. Jack Frost sent a blizzard, a reminder to her of just how cold he could make the moors. The next day was just the same, but still Joan did not remember to thank him for his summer gift of ice. She didn’t even stop at the Boundary Stone.
On the third day, as the clouds gathered to the west, Joan set off across the moors to the farm. Jack Frost was so angry that Joan had taken him for granted that he whipped the snow into ferocious fury, so it was impossible to see in front of your face. While the weather whipped up, Joan
dallied at the farm, gossiping by the fire and unafraid of the way back to the inn. She’d walked it in bad weather before. The snow fell thickly, as dense as a fog, with blasts of wind as cold as the grave as Joan set off with her churn. It wasn’t long before she began to realise she’d lost her way. Soon she was simply wandering aimlessly, her petticoat frozen brittle with cold, her boots heavy with ice As the hours passed the cold seep into her bones. Jack Frost saw, but he did nothing. Let her suffer, he thought.

The people at the inn were worried about Joan. The blizzard was howling and she should have been back hours before. But all they could do was wait for the storm blew itself out and hope she’d stayed at the farm. But Joan was stumbling on the moor, hopeless, icy tears like diamonds on her cheeks.
Then, as the wind let up for a moment, she was able to make out the old Boundary Stone and her heart leapt. Now she knew where she was and she began to walk purposefully towards it. Jack Frost, beginning to feel sorry for her, made thestorm a little less savage. But in her eagerness for the shelter of the Stone, Joan forgot the rock that sat by it. She tumbled over it, twisting her ankle as she fell, and dropping the churn, which landed against her leg. Jack Frost, now ashamed of his actions, could only watch as a will o’ the wisp, the devil’s flame, made its way from the top of the Boundary Stone towards Joan. She knew the legends - if that fire reached her, then her soul would be lost. But she also knew that the purity of milk could extinguish the flame. With numb fingers she scrambled at the churn, fighting to open it, then threw the milk at the will o’ the wisp, watching as the fire hissed and died. The milk seeped into the snow, white on white. Jack Frost, his anger gone now, knew that Joan was beyond help, but he didn’t want her to be left for the demons on the moor. So, as she died, he gently settled her spirit into the Boundary Stone, leaving her free to continue her
journey. He’d never meant to hurt her this way, simply to teach her a lesson.

They found her body the next morning in a snowdrift. The milk churn lay by her, empty,and from that time on the Boundary Stone has been known as Churn Milk Joan. People say that now the water that collects at the top of the Stone is opaque, just like milk. And if you stand on tiptoe and reach into the dip, you might find a penny or some ice. But beware. If you remove anything, be sure to repay it, for Jack Frost has a long memory, and his icy fingers and even longer reach.