Moondog and the Reed Leopard

by Neil Mach

  Finally, he broke the silence, ‘So you were telling me about your husband, telling me how busy he was.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I quite forgot. Are you married, mister?’

  ‘Yes. My wife of four years isn’t with me now...’

  ‘Oh, dear. Is everything alright? Have you separated?’

  ‘My Mummy told me never to lie. She said if I lied to a pretty woman, I would end-up in a fiery hell. So, I won’t lie to you now, Missus.’

  ‘You think I’m pretty?’

  ‘Oh, yes, my lady, of course, you’re very pretty.’ He gazed at her with his azure eyes. ‘You already know that, of course, don’t you?’

  She leaned forwards and slid her stool even closer. ‘So, where is your wife now?’

  ‘She went to stay with her mother. I do not know when she’ll be back. So yes, we’re separated…’

  ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that. You must miss her very much. Did you do something to make her go?’

  Moondog swept his hands through his hair. ‘No, Ma’am — I did nothing wrong. God is my witness. Someone attacked my wife, you see. A fella with hostile intent.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Was she badly hurt? ‘

  ‘She was, my lady, she was very badly hurt. Which is why she’s gone to recover with her mummy. Though the truth is that I blame myself over the incident. I should have done something more to save her…’

  ‘Why didn’t you? Were you overwhelmed?

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I was overwhelmed that is a good word to use. Though it’s no excuse…’

  ‘Don’t you think you should be with her? It would help her to recover quicker.’

  ‘No, that’s not the Romani way. She and I must be separated until she recovers. ‘

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Ma’am, did you hear the news? About a loving couple? They were at Groby Pool, and they got attacked by a leopard cat. And they got scars to prove it. Did you hear about that?’

  ‘Yes, everyone is talking about it. My husband thinks it was a lover’s spat; I don’t know...’

  ‘You think it was something else?’

  ‘Houses can be haunted, can’t they?’ she twiddled with her cuffs. ‘So why not natural places too? That place could be haunted, couldn’t it? I’ve been there, and it felt very unnerving… almost eerie? Is that a word?’

  ‘Do you mean Groby Pool is spooked?’

  ‘That’s where the young couple stopped in their car. The local radio station said the incident happened at the pool. Very creepy place…’ She came close to his ear and whispered, ‘I head they got out of their car to spread a blanket on the ground. Then the thing sprang at them and tore them to pieces. A spectral beast, big as a lion…’

  Moondog let out a little yelp and shielded his mouth theatrically. Then he shook his head slowly, to show he needed time to think this through before he took a deep breath and sipped on his tea. ‘Why would you possibly think that Ma’am? There’s no such thing as a spectral beast…’

  She drew back for a moment then twisted her bracelet, ‘There are many strange things around here that we don’t understand. This whole neighbourhood is filled with uncanniness… Haven’t you heard what’s going on?’

  ‘No Ma’am, I have not...’

  ‘Well, they say we have a supernatural panther on the loose. And it’s that creature that probably attacked them.’

  ‘Why must it be a supernatural panther? Couldn’t it be a regular panther? For example, one that bolted from a zoo?’

  ‘You’ve heard of werewolves, right?’

  ‘Yes, I have, they’re mythological beasts...’

  ‘Well, what about were-cats? There’s a man that lives in town; his name is Mister Ram. He’s a foreigner. He tells folk that he’s a were-panther. That’s the equivalent of a werewolf. But a big cat version... Mr. Ram tells people he can turn into a panther at will…’

  ‘Surely there’s no such thing as men who turn into wolves, let alone cats?’

  ‘I watch a whole load of those dark fantasy shows on telly. I saw were-panthers on True Blood. And Mister Woo-Ram, he’s very odd. He’s dangerous too, I’m told. A bad man. I think it’s true… you know, about him being a were-panther. ‘

  ‘Why would you think that? It’s just fiction. He probably saw the same television show as you and thought he’d copy. Probably this Mister Ram is wound tight as a wristwatch. Or suffering psychosis, poor fella.’

  ‘Based on truth, though aren’t they? Werewolves? And don’t you think it’s a more than a coincidence? A man from Hugh-Lupus tells people he becomes a panther at night. Then a pair of lovers are attacked at Groby Pool by a big cat. This must be connected, mustn’t it?’

  ‘Does Mister Ram live near here?’

  ‘In town, I see him out frequently. He’s always driving about.’

  Moondog put down his cup, ‘Have you seen him turn into a werewolf or were-cat?’

  ‘Well, no…’

  ‘Has anyone seen him turn into a cat?’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘He’s probably just saying that to scare people. Maybe he doesn’t like people getting too close. So, he frightens them with a legend. What does he do, this Mister Ram?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ she said. ‘He drives around in his car. He always looks dirty and disheveled. And drives a crumpled old wreck…’

  Moondog sighed and finished his drink.

  But the lady hadn’t quite finished ‘That’s not all…We had to call the police; you know... We think he’s involved.’

  ‘You called the police?’

  ‘About the head…’

  ‘What head?’

  ‘Terrible. A poor creature. The head of a poor creature. Pure evil. Shocking and repulsive it was. A head ripped from a body. Cruel. The head of a dog. We think it was the panther man who did it. Who else would? It must be him, though we can’t prove it.’

  ‘Why did you call the police?’

  ‘Calculated to intimidate, wasn’t it?’

  ‘How do you know the head wasn’t meant for someone else?’

  ‘The card.’

  ‘What card?’

  ‘The head ended up at our neighbours somehow house but was intended for us. We know that because a delivery card got pushed through our door.’

  ‘Did you tell police that you thought Mister Ram was responsible for it?’

  ‘Yes, but they ignored it.’

  *

  The following morning, Moondog placed his customary early morning phone call to his agent & production assistant, Tibby Fromstein. He’d completed his regular training regime at the hotel gym and had returned to camp.

  ‘Since when can you order severed heads on Amazon? Or do folk get that kind of service on eBay?’ he asked.

  ‘Hmm…’ His comment was evidently a joke, so it didn’t deserve a sensible answer. ‘What’s Amazon got to do with the price of beans?’ she asked after a long pause.

  ‘Actually, I don’t know yet —but it seems the dog’s heads were transported by a parcel delivery service to a mistaken address.’

  ‘Those guys have computer tracking, don’t they? It’s a straightforward job to discover who sent the heads. Why didn’t the police do it at the time? It might have saved us a whole lot of bother.’

  ‘Who knows?’

  Tibby paused for a moment as Moondog entered his trailer. ‘Does the name Cyril Calcedon mean anything to you?’

  ‘No. Should it?’ he asked.

  ‘Not necessarily. He’s the local nature-watch nutter up there at Hugh-Lupus. All regions have them, don’t they? A nature enthusiast? He’s the chairman of the parish Wildlife Group, and so he might be of some help. He has a great sense of self-importance, though not much savvy if you know what I mean. He’s contacted our show twice about sightings of exotics, so we’ve got him on file. But we’ve never spoken to him…’

  ‘Do you think I should meet him?’

  ‘It wouldn’t do any harm.’

  ‘Is he ko
sher, this cheese?’

  ‘No actual qualifications, of course — but then again they ever have. He seems genuine enough. Natural England approved him, and they’ve his sanctioned his wildlife group as a legitimate local nature partnership.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll get in touch. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, the panther attacks at Groby Pool have been hushed up now. After the radio broadcast, the police have decided not to reveal anything more to the media… We tried to get some facts but were told to buzz off…’

  ‘Why has it been silenced?’

  ‘The authorities are concerned that speculation about drug use might upset the families involved. The kids who were attacked were god-fearing types. And Mum and Dad are big in the local Rotary Group, that sort of thing. And anyway, the ‘sexual nature’ of the gossip was likely to excite unwelcome interest.’

  ‘Do you have contact details for the victims? Maybe I could pay a visit, get a testimony for myself.’

  ‘When we get the information, I’ll send over a voice message…’

  ‘Great. I’ll see what I can rustle up here. That wraps things up, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Does it? Haven’t you got anything juicy yet? Don’t you have something we can put on YouTube? I’ve got an enthusiastic producer breathing down my neck and a script-writer with itchy pants...’

  ‘These things take time, Tibby. I have one or two lines of enquiry that I need to study. But, if you want, I might find time to get pictures at the weekend.’

  ‘Pictures? You might?’ she mumbled, ‘Please, please, that would be helpful. Pictures of what?’ Moondog could sense she held her breath, so he paused for dramatic effect. ‘Go on, make me happy…’ she pleaded.

  ‘I’ve been checking on the reports on that thing at Groby Pool as you suggested.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, it might be something uncanny after all. I intend to have a look for myself.’

  ‘That’s amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much. It would keep Rowley Goldwrath off my back.’

  Moondog snorted. ‘I thought it might. My goal is to find out if it’s an actual cryptid or just a pack of lies. Most likely it’s fevered imagination.’

  ‘Keep safe, won’t you...’

  ‘You know, I will.’

  ‘Get good footage…’

  The Graveyard

  Hopie Sopgood arrived at the Beau-Manor Corner Shop on Wylie Road to purchase weekend essentials. She completed the short walk from her cottage to the edge of town in record time. She knew she had to call into the chemist’s too, that’s on the Main Road, but most of her shopping was done at the Beau-Manor store. It still had a metallic ‘Wavy Line’ sign on the wall outside that must’ve been fifty years old. The shop sold provisions that the Asian owners collected once a week from the cash-and-carry in the City.

  As Hopie didn’t own a car, she couldn’t travel miles to the huge Superstore near Charnwood. She knew that people sometimes took the bus to the Superstore — but she imagined that it was an all-day trip, with one bus leaving Hugh-Lupus every two hours. Some townswomen made the journey once a week. They often stayed at the Superstore and had lunch in the cafeteria before the long haul back. She had neither the time nor patience for that.

  At the corner store, she chose a can of spaghetti rings, a box of vegetable Oxo cubes (for cheap soups) a crispy cup and a jar of chocolate spread. She also found dates and a can of peaches for later. When she went to the counter, she was distracted by a recent edition of the glossy woman’s magazine Elle. The cover proudly promoted a story, ‘This is the New Age of Love,’ and it presented a magnificently tanned, enormously bosomed female who was surrounded by a gang of handsome guys. It made the concept visually attractive. Hopie could do with a little New Age Love, she decided. But Elle magazine costs a pretty penny, four tins of spaghetti, so she turned away and carried her plastic basket to the counter. The good thing about corner shops is that they specialize in giving a customized service. The lady, although sometimes a turbaned man, knew Hopie quite well and they often got chatting.

  ‘Good morning, Miss. How is your day?’

  ‘Great,’ Hopie replied. ‘Actually, will you do me a favour? Please look at this card…’

  ‘Card. What card?’

  ‘For the window.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ The vendor smiled and held out long fingers to take the postcard. Hopie noticed that her hands had been etched with henna.

  ‘Wow, your hands look beautiful...’ she commented.

  ‘Thank you. My sister in law did them. It’s a Sikh wedding today...’

  ‘Is it your wedding? Gosh!’

  The woman giggled uncontrollably, and Hopie realized, for the first time, how impeccable perfect her facial features were. ‘Not me, miss. It’s my cousin wedding, right? ‘

  ‘Well, you look drop-dead gorgeous. What time is the wedding?’

  ‘Three.’

  Hopie inadvertently checked her phone; it had gone ten. ‘So, you are working on the wedding day? Shouldn’t you get ready? Don’t you get the day off?’

  The woman gave another flash of super-white teeth and, with a huge smile, she said, ‘Of course not. I am in the store...’ She looked around with shoulders back and a proud gleam in her eye. ‘This place must open...’

  ‘Who will take care of things when you go to the wedding?’

  ‘My cousin…’

  ‘The same cousin who did your henna and is getting married today?’

  ‘Of course not,’ the shop lady stifled a snigger. ‘Another one isn’t it?’

  ‘She will not go to the wedding?’

  ‘No. He will stay at the store.’ The shop lady gave a little frown as if Hopie had been intentionally stupid. So, she shuffled her feet, felt a little sad, and decided to lower her eyes so she wouldn’t make eye-contact.

  ‘A week of card?’ asked the shop lady after a pause.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Hopie raised her chin.

  ‘A week? For postcard in the shop window?’

  ‘Oh yes, how much does it cost?’

  ‘Forty pee.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable.’ Hopie took her bag from her shoulder to find her purse.

  ‘You want a friend?’

  ‘Heh?’

  ‘You want a friend to share rent?’

  Hopie realized the saleswoman had read the advert on the postcard and was asking about it. ‘Oh, yes. I’m at the porter’s cottage. Do you know it?’ The lady shook her head. ‘Anyway, the Chief has been helpful, and he managed to secure it when I transferred over from Rothley. But the rent is too high, actually…’ Hopie rubbed at her neck. ‘Do you want to know the truth?’

  The lady started to scan her groceries and plonked them into a free bag. She just nodded.

  ‘The truth is I feel lonely in the cottage. I used to share a flat with friends, but here in Hugh-Lupus, I have no friends. There’s Sarah-Jane in the office, of course. But the man in her life collects her every evening in his truck. And they whizz off, so I never get to see her in the evening. They live in rented accommodation over by the Rothley by-pass… It’s miles away, and I don’t have a car. I don’t even drive…’

  The lady completed the packing and rung the till. She seemed mildly interested but was probably thinking about the wedding.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Hopie. ‘I’m boring you, aren’t I? I just thought it would be nice to have someone to share with. I’ve got two bedrooms so that another person could use the smaller one.’ Hopie glanced at the cash register, then collected the exact money from her purse. She used-up her loose change. She didn’t want to break into a precious fiver.

  ‘I put the card in the window presently…’ replied the shop lady. ‘Can you give me forty pee, please? I didn’t ring it because we collect card monies in a tin.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Hopie passed another fifty pence coin.

  ‘Do you want my advice, my dear?’

  ‘Sure, why not?

  ‘No one is going to call...’
/>   ‘Why? Did I forget to put my phone number on the card? Typical…’ She gave herself a frown. ‘I’m sometimes a daft apeth— truly I am. My Mam told me I’d lose my head if it weren’t tied tight on my neck.’

  The shop lady gave a patient smile. ‘It’s not that… The phone number is here… It’s just that there are no young people in the town anymore, you see. So, there’s nobody to answer your advert. Haven’t you noticed? All young persons are gone, and that’s long ago. There’s nobody around these parts to share your rent...’

  ‘Er?’

  ‘Most young people live in the City. My two sons, they are at university in the North. They are studying law. ‘

  ‘Are they?’ She didn’t look old enough to have sons, let alone student sons.

  ‘This place is only for old. The only peoples who are left in this place are pensioned, sickly and moneyless. Most people are on the breadline... This town is falling apart. All jobs have dried-up. It isn’t good for a young girl to live in a place like Hugh-Lupus. This town takes away free spirit. This place is ailing. Hugh-Lupus will die. Very soon. My advice is this: you head for City. In City, you find liberation and plenty of friends...’

  ‘Er, I never... um. Thanks for the advice. I can see the truth in what you’re saying. I never see young people around. Probably because there isn’t much work, I suppose.’

  ‘There is no work. Not in this town. We will have to give up our shop...’

  Hopie shook her head and blinked. ‘Oh no, that’s dreadful... Where will I get my essentials if the corner shop is closed?’

  The lady gestured for her to come closer so she could whisper in her ear, ‘My husband says we sell up this summer. If all goes well, we will move close to Bradford.’

  ‘What will happen if you go? Will the store get left empty?’

  ‘Yes, probably.’

  *

  Hopie passed the spooky tomb yard, located near the crossway, on her way back from the Beau-Manor Corner Shop. Since her recent adventure with Moondog, she now put comfortable shoes on her feet for any round trips she made and wore jeans and a brown anorak. Better prepared, she decided.