by H. Y. Hanna
The Widow Mags gave her a severe look.
“Oh, all right…” said Pomona sulkily.
The Widow Mags picked up the stone and closed her fingers over it, chanting softly under her breath all the while. The stone glowed red… then gold… then green… a whole kaleidoscope of colours… but Mrs Gibbs still remained unable to speak.
“It is resisting me,” said the Widow Mags. Her hands were clenched around the stone, shaking slightly, and beads of sweat appeared on her brow. “What we need to do is cover the stone… envelop it with something, to muffle its power… a padded box or a bag lined with fleece…”
Caitlyn’s eyes alighted on her glass of lemonade.
“What about if it’s submerged?” she asked the Widow Mags.
The old witch’s eyes lit up. “Yes! That would be even better. But we would need a thick liquid—water or similar would not be dense enough.”
Caitlyn grabbed her glass and closed her eyes, concentrating hard. When she looked again a few seconds later, she was delighted to see that the glass was now filled with thick hot chocolate.
“Here,” she said, shoving the glass towards the Widow Mags.
The old witch tossed the hag stone into the molten chocolate. There was a loud hiss as it touched the liquid, as if the hag stone was burning hot—although no steam rose from the glass. Then it sank into the creamy brown depths and disappeared.
A second later, Mrs Gibbs gave a loud gasp, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. Caitlyn released a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, and an excited hubbub rose in the room as everyone tried to work out what had happened.
“You!” cried Mrs Gibbs, turning to point an accusing finger at the Widow Mags. “It was you, wasn’t it? You hexed me!”
Caitlyn felt a rush of indignation. She wanted to shout: “The Widow Mags saved your life, you stupid woman!” However, before she could open her mouth, Inspector Walsh said testily:
“Mrs Gibbs, that is quite enough! If you thought that your ridiculous pantomime would convince me that there are supernatural forces at work, you are sadly mistaken, and frankly, madam, I am losing patience with these ludicrous accusations. Unless you can show me a real offence, I ask you to cease these complaints–or I shall have you arrested for public disturbance and wasting police time!”
“You…! You…!” Mrs Gibbs spluttered, her face practically purple with suppressed rage. She looked wildly around the room, and then, with a strangled cry, she stormed out of the pub.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Caitlyn felt drained and exhausted after the events of the day, and as soon as she’d washed up after dinner and Pomona had left to go back to the Manor, she excused herself and went to bed. She wondered if her cousin would return the hag stone (now rinsed of all chocolate) to the Portrait Gallery as soon as she got back, like she’d promised. Thoughts of the Gallery reminded Caitlyn of the piece of folded parchment that she had tucked into her pocket that morning. Getting back out of bed, she padded across the attic bedroom to where her jeans were slung across the back of the chair beside the ancient chest of drawers. She extracted the paper and returned to bed, propping herself up against the pillows. Slowly, she unfolded the parchment, frowning at it in the dim light from the bedside lamp.
A sense of disappointment washed over her again as she remembered James’s prosaic explanation for its existence. To think that it was nothing more than a silly prop used in a child’s game! She had been so sure that it had some special significance, that those scribbled marks and symbols meant something… Then she paused. Wait. Even though it was just a plaything, surely the fact that the symbols matched those on her runestone did mean something? The coincidence was too strange to ignore. Why would that young man have picked these symbols to use? How could he have known about them? Even if he was just doodling them in a careless fashion, he had to have known the symbols from somewhere…
She reached up and carefully untied the runestone from its ribbon around her neck, then held it up next to the parchment to compare. Yes. They were a match. Not all the marks—it was not the identical pattern of symbols engraved on the runestone—but enough to see that these marks were from the same source; the same “language”, if you like.
But what do they mean? wondered Caitlyn in frustration. Then she remembered Viktor; she hadn’t had a chance to speak to him about her mother yet—when she had seen him with Nathan Lewis that morning, there hadn’t been any opportunity to talk privately, and she hadn’t seen him again all day. The old vampire might’ve also known what the symbols meant, or at least something about them. Tomorrow, she thought.
Folding the parchment carefully back up, Caitlyn placed it on her bedside table, then switched off the lamp and lay down. Sleep didn’t come easily, however. Instead, she lay awake, staring into the darkness, while her mind whirled around, thinking about her runestone… the symbols on the parchment… the mysterious young man who had scribbled them… the Fitzroy Portrait Gallery… her mother… Viktor… Her thoughts swirled, then sank slowly at last, like snowflakes settling on a windowsill, and she felt herself drifting away…
An eerie howling sounded from outside her window. Caitlyn jerked up, wide awake again.
The Black Shuck!
Flinging back the covers, she rushed to the window and looked out. Despite it being only a few weeks to September and the official start of autumn, the nights were still balmy and she had left the window open to let in the evening breeze. Now, she leaned out precariously as she scanned the woods around the back of the cottage. Was the demon hound there? The howling had sounded close. She hesitated, then turned and flung on some clothes before hurrying downstairs. The Widow Mags’s bedroom door was firmly shut and Caitlyn remembered that her grandmother had taken one of Bertha’s herbal tonics after dinner. It was to help her arthritis, but it usually meant that the old witch also slept sounder than usual.
Caitlyn tiptoed past, then through the kitchen and out the back door, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over her. Hadn’t she gone through this exact sequence only two nights ago? Only this time, she didn’t rush up the hill; she paused at the edge of the garden and strained her ears to listen. There was nothing for a moment—nothing except the night sounds of the woods: the murmur of the wind through the trees, the sharp bark of a fox, the call of an owl… and then…
She heard it again: that eerie, mournful howl. It seemed to be coming from deeper within the trees. Without stopping to think, Caitlyn plunged into the woods. The moon was still full and bright, but here under the canopy, it was dark—although it was better than the night after the dinner party, when she had been wandering with Evie in the Fitzroy parklands. The trees here seemed to be spaced farther apart and have less dense foliage on their branches, so more of the moonlight filtered through. At any rate, Caitlyn found that her eyes adjusted quickly and she was able to walk fairly confidently along the path between the trees.
She couldn’t really understand what had compelled her to rush into the forest. She knew that she was being foolhardy—after all, she was unarmed, wandering in the dark, searching for a ghostly hound which some believed to have attacked and even killed two men. And yet somehow she didn’t feel scared, only excited and full of anticipation. It was as if she wanted to prove something to herself—to confirm that her experience that night at the top of the hill hadn’t been a hallucination or a figment of her imagination. Was the Black Shuck the monster that everyone claimed it was? Or was it the inquisitive, playful creature that she had met?
A rustling up ahead made her slow her steps and peer cautiously into the undergrowth. Was that…? Yes! Her heart gave a lurch of recognition and delight as she saw a large, shaggy black hound step out from between the trees. The Black Shuck’s eyes glowed red, just like the legends said, but there was no malice in them. Instead, there was an expression of intelligence and empathy and—Caitlyn was surprised to realise—anxiety. The demon dog gave a soft whine, exactly like a pet who was worried about s
omething and looking to its owner for reassurance, then it turned its head and looked at the shadows which led deeper into the forest.
There was something out there that was bothering the big black dog, Caitlyn realised. Something it was worried about. Even as she had the thought, the ghostly hound turned and trotted purposefully off, deeper into the forest. She hesitated a second, then hurried after it. She hadn’t gone a few steps, however, when she heard a louder rustling ahead of her. It was coming from the left this time, at an angle from the path that she and the Black Shuck were on, and it was accompanied by voices. Male voices.
“Careful!”
“Where is it? I can’t see it.”
The next moment, she heard a shout, a menacing growl, and a wild rustling—someone crashing through the undergrowth—and then there was a blur of motion around her. She whirled in confusion, stumbling forwards, and cried out in surprise and alarm when something—someone—collided with her, knocking the wind out of her. She was flat on her back, in the undergrowth, and blinded by a light shining in her eyes. She blinked and put up a hand to shield her face, then gasped as she found herself staring up into the barrel of a hunting rifle.
“Caitlyn!”
The gun was swiftly lowered and someone crouched down next to her. It was James Fitzroy. His grey eyes were wide with shock and concern.
“Caitlyn—are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“I… I’m okay,” she said as he helped her to her feet. “Just a bit winded, that’s all… something smacked into me.”
James gave her a rueful smile. “I’m afraid that might have been me. I was running and couldn’t see very well… I thought—but what are you doing out here in the forest?”
Before Caitlyn could reply, they heard a shout nearby: someone calling James urgently. Caitlyn recognised the voice—it was Nathan Lewis. James hurried off in that direction and Caitlyn followed. They were soon met by the journalist, who raised his eyebrows at the sight of Caitlyn, but didn’t waste time asking questions. Instead, he turned urgently to James and said:
“I think it’s there… in the clearing, up ahead.”
James nodded silently and started forwards. Caitlyn felt a flash of alarm as she saw him lift his rifle.
“James!” She darted after him and put a hand up to grab the rifle. “No… you mustn’t shoot it!”
He looked at her, startled. “Caitlyn, this is a wild animal, a dangerous predator—”
“No, you’re wrong. I think it’s not—”
“THERE!” Nathan shouted suddenly behind them.
They all turned to look. Something was emerging from behind the fallen tree trunk in the clearing. James shoved Caitlyn behind him, shielding her with his body, and raised the rifle to his shoulder. His finger slid over the trigger. Caitlyn felt his muscles tense as the shape moved across the clearing… and then James gave an exclamation as he saw who it was.
“Professor Thrope?”
The cryptozoologist froze, then came forwards quickly, a finger on his lips. “Hush! You’ll scare it away! The Black Shuck… it was just here… I saw it—”
“Bloody hell, Professor—what happened to you?” said Nathan, coming to join them.
Caitlyn saw that the cryptozoologist looked as dishevelled as when she’d last seen him at the top of the hill. His spectacles were crooked, his hair mussed, and his clothes torn in places. He had an air of nervous energy about him and he seemed to be unable to stand still, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“I haven’t got time to talk,” he said hurriedly, turning away. “I have to go after it—”
“Absolutely not,” said James, grabbing the older man by the arm. “I can’t let you go into the forest like this. There’s a dangerous animal loose and you could be killed.”
“But I—”
“It’s too late now to go any deeper into the forest. I think we’d better abandon the hunt and head back.”
The cryptozoologist became agitated. He struggled against James’s grip. “No! You don’t understand—this is very important! It’s my only chance—”
“I’m sure you’ll see it again, Professor,” said Nathan, patting the man’s shoulder. “There have been so many sightings recently. The creature is obviously staying in this area. We’ll have a much better chance of catching it in daylight.”
“Yes,” said James. “I’ll organise a hunting party in the morning and you’re very welcome to join. But you’re not going anywhere tonight.”
His voice was quiet but there was a finality in his tone that was more authoritative than any loud posturing. Caitlyn saw the professor’s shoulders sag in defeat. He sent one last yearning look into the forest, then sighed and turned around to follow them.
“We’ll see you back to the cottage first,” James said to Caitlyn.
“Oh no, you don’t have to—” She saw the look on James’s face and sighed, knowing that she’d have to give in to his old-fashioned chivalry. “Okay. Thank you.”
“What were you doing out in the woods anyway?” asked Nathan as he fell into step beside her.
“Um… I heard a strange howling sound and came out to investigate.”
“Alone? Didn’t you think that it might be dangerous?” demanded James.
“Well, I… I wasn’t really thinking,” Caitlyn admitted. “But… I can’t really explain it—but I just have a feeling that the Black Shuck wouldn’t harm me.”
James made a noise of exasperation, but Professor Thrope said eagerly behind them:
“Yes, yes! I have always said that I don’t think the Black Shuck has malevolent intentions.”
“I’m sure that’s very comforting to the two men who are dead,” said Nathan.
“But there’s no proof that the Black Shuck was responsible for those deaths!” protested the professor. “This is yet another case of a cryptid being blamed, just because of blind fear and ignorance. Besides, I’d heard that the police are treating it as a murder investigation now and have a suspect—a human suspect?”
“Yes,” James admitted. “The police do think it’s possible that both men were the victims of foul play, and they are investigating… but they also haven’t ruled out the possibility of a… a wild animal being involved—”
“But the Black Shuck isn’t a wild animal!” said Professor Thrope. “It is a spectral hound—and it is not roaming the countryside, looking for its next meal.”
“Well, what is it doing then?” said Nathan.
The professor hesitated, then shrugged. “I… I don’t know… But that is why it is so important that I follow it and observe it!”
Before Nathan could answer, they emerged from the forest next to the Widow Mags’s cottage.
“Oh Lord… what is that amazing smell?” said Nathan, distracted from the discussion and inhaling deeply.
James laughed. “Probably one of the Widow Mags’s latest chocolate creations. It’s almost impossible to come near this cottage and not be tempted in.”
“I think it’s the new salted caramel sauce recipe that Grandma’s been trying,” said Caitlyn.
“Salted caramel?” Nathan clutched his chest in an exaggerated fashion. “Be still, my heart! Forget the Black Shuck, I would commit murder for some salted caramel sauce.”
Caitlyn giggled. Then she looked shyly at the men. “Would… would you like to come in for a drink?”
“Now? No, it’s late and I’m sure you’d like to get to bed,” said James.
Caitlyn laughed. “I don’t think I could sleep a wink right now—I’m too keyed up! But I think a cup of salted caramel hot chocolate might help…”
Nathan’s eyes glazed over. “Homemade hot chocolate?”
Caitlyn nodded. “The thick, rich, dark kind—not that watery, sugary instant stuff.”
“Say no more!” Nathan pushed James aside with mock violence. “You can go home, mate. I’m accepting the lady’s invitation.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
James had been in the cottage
several times, although usually in the front shop area, and Caitlyn couldn’t remember if he had ever spent time in the kitchen. Now, she felt herself blushing slightly as she invited him to sit down at the long wooden table. It seemed somehow a much more intimate gesture—a sense of domestic familiarity—and she would have felt terribly awkward and shy if it hadn’t been for the presence of the other two men. She was grateful to have the excuse of busying herself collecting mugs and the ingredients for the hot chocolate drinks.
“Oh, not for me, thank you,” said Professor Thrope. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I have a coffee instead?”
“You’re turning down homemade hot chocolate?” Nathan gaped at him. “Have you been hit on the head, Professor?”
The older man chuckled. “It sounds unbelievable, I know, but I’m not a fan of chocolate.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Caitlyn said with a smile. “But I’m afraid we only have instant coffee—”
“That’ll be fine. With a bit of sugar would be lovely.”
Caitlyn began to make the drinks, conscious of James’s eyes on her as she moved about the kitchen. Suddenly, she wished that she had taken a bit more time selecting what to wear when she had rushed out earlier. She had just grabbed whatever was to hand—an over-sized T-shirt and some leggings—and thrown it on with careless haste. Now, she realised to her horror that she had put the T-shirt on backwards. And her leggings… they were old and faded… did they make her bottom look hideously big? She tugged surreptitiously at her T-shirt, wishing that it was even bigger and extended down farther… all the way to the floor would have been good!
“Um… so how come you guys were out hunting the Black Shuck?” she asked, hoping to distract James from his observation.
“We were in the Library and I heard something outside the window,” said Nathan. “I looked out and—bugger me!—there was this huge black dog with red eyes slinking past. It was heading for the back of the property, towards the forest, and it was moving fairly fast, as if it knew exactly where it was going.”
