Retirement hit hard.  For the first three months I don’t think I moved far beyond my flat.  I wasn’t completely cut off.  I would do my little bit of shopping, speak to my daughter, speak to my daughter-in-law and sometimes I would call in at the local community centre coffee mornings, but mostly I stayed in. 

Thank goodness, after three months of slowly settling into place, I decided I was not going to come to a stop.  I started with a morning walk.  I would wait until the school run had finished and then I would walk the five minutes to my local park, half an hour around the paths, and then sit and overlook the small lake while I drank a flask of coffee.  And that’s when I met her.

She looked the same age as me and had the same air of striving to find a purpose.  I saw her every morning, and after a week or so I smiled in recognition, and she smiled back.  We were two old ladies sitting in the park, and we recognised the fight against drifting slowly into the sunset. 

A smile grew into a timid, ‘Good morning,’ and then a comment on the weather, and a little chat about the day, and suddenly we were friends. 

It was only ever that half an hour, between 9.45am and 10.15am, that we met.  I brought enough coffee for two and she brought biscuits.  We talked about our children, and their partners.  Her son was finding being a parent hard.  I talked about my worries over my daughter-in-law’s job.  She told me about her volunteer work at the library and I shared jokes about my time helping in a charity shop.  Then we would dust the crumbs off and set off in different directions to go back to our lives, a little energised and encouraged by that touch of contact with someone who understood. 

We managed to meet up in all sorts of weather.  If it was raining she brought a huge golf umbrella that we wedged between us and I had an old picnic blanket to put on the damp bench.  We used the umbrella for shade if it was too hot and I brought iced coffee.  I brought back sweets from my holiday to pass on to her grandson and she gave me cuttings from her scented geranium that flourished on my windowsill. 

But we never exchanged names.  That would have been ‘odd’.  We had talked about the weather and stray chitchat for so long without names that it would almost be bad manners to ask about names now.  I knew her son-in-law’s name, and the place where her daughter worked, but not her name.  And she knew where my daughter lived and my grandson’s school, but no name.  It was an unspoken taboo.  After so long, how could we bring it up now?

Then she stopped coming.  I was worried, of course, but what could I do?  I didn’t have a name or a telephone number.  It would be intrusive to try call her son-in-law or ask those regular dog walkers that greeted her every morning as we sat and talked.  One week turned into two weeks, and then it was a month.  I started bringing my own biscuits to have with my coffee.  But I didn’t dare miss a day in case my friend, my dear friend, suddenly was able to make it one more time. 

Then, after too many weeks, one of the dog walkers stopped as she walked passed.  “It’s so sad about Gwen, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?” I said.

“Gwen,” he said, gesturing at the empty space beside me on the bench.  “It was so sudden, and the family are devastated.  I didn’t see you at the funeral?”

I withdrew a little at the small but definite hook for gossip. “I’m afraid I didn’t know.” A cold wave ran through me.  “What happened?”

“A heart attack in her sleep, they said.  It was very peaceful.” The dog walker leaned over me. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just a shock.” I said.  “I’m glad it was peaceful.”

“Would you like me to take you home?” The dog walker said, tugging her dog back to her.

“No, I’m fine.” I said, lying, my hands trembling as I clutched my plastic cup of coffee.

“It’s no trouble at all.” The dog walker said firmly.  “Come on, let’s get moving.  I’m Rachel, by the way, and this mutt is Bruno.”

I managed a smile at the beautiful dog.  “He’s very handsome.” I said, as Rachel helped me to my feet.  “I’m Sarah.”

“He’s a bit of a mix.” Rachel said, and chatted about nothing as she guided me home and made sure I was safe in a chair with a fresh coffee.  “And I hope I see you tomorrow on that bench.  And if you bring the coffee, I’ll bring the biscuits.”

Rachel is a good friend now, and I have her name, and her phone number and I am always glad to dog sit, but I still miss Gwen.  Gwen understood.  Funnily enough, I didn’t know her name, but I knew her birthday, after all our conversations.  So today, after Rachel has left with Bruno, I can leave some flowers for my friend, with a name on the card, before I go home to the quiet. 

The pub was quiet, even for a Wednesday. Evan leaned back in his seat and looked around. Apart from him, Kyle and Adam, there was an old man in a corner nursing his half-pint of stout and an elderly barman with a sudoku. It wasn’t helping Kyle’s mood.

“She wasn’t worth it,” Adam said. “You were always too good for her, mate.”

Kyle slumped lower. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“You need to forget about her,” Evan said. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea.”

“Yeah,” Kyle mumbled and took a mouthful of his beer.

“Perhaps we should go out next Saturday night,” Adam persisted. “We could go into Leeds. There’s bound to be someone better for you there.”

Kyle set down his pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, bound to be someone better,” he said defiantly.

Evan frowned at him. “I thought you were busy on Saturday,” he said.

The defiance slipped out of Kyle. “I was supposed to be going to her brother’s wedding.” He looked down at his half-drunk pint, too dispirited to take another mouthful.

“She dumped you just before her brother’s wedding?” Adam exclaimed. “What was she thinking?”

Evan kicked Adam under the table. “She was thinking that Kyle forgot her birthday, called her mother a stupid bitch and that her dad threatened to beat him to a paste,” he hissed.

Adam blinked for a moment and tried a different tack. “We could go and watch Leeds United,” he said. “They’re playing Sheffield Wednesday in the Cup so it should be a good game.” Kyle didn’t bother to reply.

“Maybe we could go hiking,” Evan said. “You know, up on the moors. A bit of exercise and some fresh air will do you the world of good.”

“We could take some beers,” Adam added.

“We don’t want to take too many,” Evan said. “Not at this time of year. But it won’t harm to have a hike. And if you come back to my place, we could get pizza.” He met Adam’s eyes. “And I’ve got more games since last time.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Adam said. He glanced at Kyle. “What do you think, mate?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” Kyle said, forcing a faint smile. “It’s better than sitting around and moping.”

“And maybe we’ll see one of those big cats,” Adam said.

Evan shook his head. It was an old argument. “They’re not real,” he said. “You couldn’t have a tiger in the English countryside. What would they eat?”

“Well, maybe not tigers,” Adam conceded. “But there’s loads on the internet about the Beast of Bodmin. Even coppers have seen it.”

“Yeah, well my nan’s old tom cat was big enough to chase a Doberman and that was just a normal cat,” Evan said. “All the stuff out there is probably just pictures of tom cats taken by drunk people. If there were big cats then they’d have to hunt things like antelope. You don’t get many antelope on the Yorkshire Moors.”

“There’s sheep,” Adam argued. “There must be thousands of them up on the moors and I bet the farmers don’t know each one by name. One or two could go missing and no-one would know.”

“How much would they eat?” Evan asked. “Don’t they have to have, like, a sheep a night?”

“I suppose it depends on the size of the cat,” Adam said. “I mean, a normal cat just wants a mouse or two.”

“My nan’s cat used to have two big tins of food every day and crunchies,” Evan said.

“And big cats don’t mean just lions and tigers,” Adam said. “It could be lynx or ocelot crosses, you know, that escaped from zoos and went wild. I bet they wouldn’t need a sheep a night.”

“I want to know why there aren’t any big dogs out there,” Kyle said suddenly. “A Great Dane or Irish Wolfhound would be bigger than a big cat.”

“Yeah, but they don’t hunt, do they?” Adam said reasonably. “They get fed or scrounge out of rubbish.”

“Next door’s terrier is always catching rats,” Kyle said. “They must be able to hunt something.”

“But I bet he doesn’t eat the rats,” Adam said. “I bet he has a tin of dog food or something. Maybe half a tin because it’s a small dog.”

Evan shook his head. “How do you know that there aren’t any big dogs out there?” he said. “I’m not saying that there are, just that there could be. There was that thing in North Leeds, near Horsforth.”

Adam nodded. “Yeah, I remember that. A big, black dog. It appeared out of nowhere and scared a van driver to pieces.”

“One of my dad’s mates knew him,” Kyle said. “Dad said that the driver was in a right state for ages afterwards. He wouldn’t get into the van for months.”

“I don’t think it was anything special,” Evan said. “It was probably an overgrown Rottweiler, but that’s how the stories start.”

Kyle frowned. “You don’t get big dog stories because there aren’t real big dogs. You have normal cats like your nan’s cat and then you have tigers which are way bigger.” He took a mouthful of beer. “But there aren’t any big dogs, not like tigers. I mean, a wolf isn’t going to be much bigger than a German Shepherd, is it?”

“Wolves are big bastards,” Adam said, digging out his phone. “Let me find a picture.”

“That dog in Horsforth was supposed to be like a ghost,” Evan said. “It’s not supposed to be a real creature.”

Adam changed the search on his phone. “Yeah, they’re supposed to be omens of death,” he said. “No wonder that van driver was in a bad way.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts either,” Evan said.

Adam ignored him. “It says here that they guard graveyards and are omens of death,” he said, scrolling rapidly. “There’s all sorts of names, but they say that in Leeds they’re called Padfoot.”

“We won’t see any up on the moors,” Evan said. “There are no graveyards up there. It’s just grass, heather and sheep.”

“And us with some beers,” Adam added.

“But not too many,” Evan said.

“Yeah, it’ll be good to get out,” Kyle said quietly.

***

Evan knocked on Kyle’s front door. “Come on, mate. We’re waiting.”

Kyle pushed the sash of his window up and stuck his head out. “What?”

“We’re going to the moors, remember?” Evan shouted up. “Adam’s in the car and he’s got the beers.”

Kyle scowled, then groaned. “I’ll be down in two minutes.”

“I’ll be in the car,” Evan said, knowing that the two minutes would be nearer fifteen and the wind was whipping down the narrow side street and he’d left his coat in the car. “We’re leaving in ten minutes whether you’re there or not.”

It was warmer back in the car. “I told him that we’d leave in ten minutes,” Evan said.

Adam chuckled. “He knows you mean twenty minutes at least,” he said. “I hope he’s alright.”

“I think he’s taking it hard,” Evan said. “He adored Vicky.”

“I thought she was like that about him,” Adam said. “I never thought that she’d dump him.”

“He swore at her mother, embarrassed her at her work, forgot her birthday and got so drunk on his birthday that the taxi driver had to help her carry him indoors – again.” Evan said. “Still, a hike on the moors won’t hurt and he’ll find someone else.”

Adam looked thoughtfully down the street at Kyle’s house. “Yeah,” he muttered without much conviction. “I’ve got my good camera with me,” he said in a sudden change of subject. “Just in case we see any of those big cats.”

Evan shook his head. “You’re more likely to get pictures of sheep,” he grumbled. He watched Kyle stumble out of his house. “But it won’t hurt Kyle if he’s busy looking for them.”

***

November pressed hard on the moors. The sky was a uniform gray, and the wind whistled as it sliced across the rolling landscape. Evan took a deep breath of the clean air as he shrugged into his coat. “I’ve got the sandwiches and the compass,” he said.

“I’ve got the beers,” Adam said with a grin. “And don’t forget my camera.”

Kyle held up a bag from their brief stop on the way. “I’ve got some water and snacks,” he said. “Which way?”

Evan checked his phone. “According to Google Maps, we could head towards Lippersley Pike over that way.” He waved generally over to the west. “Or there’s the Tree of Life Stone over that way, towards Stainburn.” He nodded over to the east.

“What do you want to do?” Adam asked, looking at Kyle.

Kyle shrugged. “It looks like a better walk over that way,” he said pointing west.

“Lippersley Pike it is,” Evan said and set off down the track.

***

The track was hard, beaten earth with the short grass slick with the damp. The tufts of grass and brown heather that spread around them was lifeless, but the quiet was welcome. It wasn’t cheerful, but it was peaceful, with only the sound of their breathing, distant sheep and the ever present wind as they hiked. As always, Evan wondered why he didn’t come out here more often. There was a freedom in the wide horizon and a tang in the air. He felt his worries sliding away as he strode out. They made good time, pressing on through the dank air and up a rise.

“Hang on,” Adam called. “Wait for us.”

Evan looked back. “Sorry,” he called. He looked around at the stones scattered on the ridge. “Do you want to stop here?”

Adam puffed up next to him, followed closely by Kyle. “Yeah, that would be a good idea,” he grumbled. “How come you’re so fit, office boy?”

Evan grinned as he sank onto the stones. “I may spend my days in an office chair, but I go to the gym,” he said. “And that’s more than you two bother with.”

“I’m knackered after my shift,” Kyle said.

“You’re stocking shelves in a supermarket,” Adam said. “How hard can it be?” He sat next to Evan and opened his rucksack. “Beer?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Kyle said, sinking onto the stone next to him. “You’re not much better. I thought mechanics were all about the fitness.”

“Like I have time,” Adam scoffed. “You said there were sandwiches.”

Evan pulled the sandwiches out of his own rucksack. “You could make time,” he said as he handed the sandwiches around. “But you’re too busy gaming.” He took a beer from Adam and cracked it open. “It’s all about priorities.”

“I’m going to prove the big cats are out here,” Adam said. “There must have been sightings here.”

“Why?” Kyle asked thickly around a mouthful of sandwich. “Why must there have been sightings?”

“Because it’s prime big cat country,” Adam said. “There are sheep, no people and no cameras. There’s got to be loads of them.”

“Not if there aren’t any big cats,” Kyle said. “It’s not like America. We have normal cats and those tiny wild cats in the UK and that’s it.” He took another mouthful of sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “There could be wildcats.”

“They’re smaller than my nana’s cat,” Evan said. He put down his unopened beer and picked up a bottle of water. The walk had made him thirsty and he was driving them home. He took a long drink of water and tuned out the bickering next to him.

There was something haunting about the moors. No wonder people told ghost stories about it. The bleak landscape seemed pitiless in the gray weather with no hint of warmth or shelter. It felt old in a way that the old houses and streets couldn’t match, with a weight of time that settled around his shoulders and allowed unease to trickle down his back. He shivered and it was nothing to do with the temperature. As he ate his sandwich, his mind wandered away, wondering how a place that was merely nature had such an ancient feeling to it. As the wind dropped and the air grew hazy, it felt like a place of myths and legends and not entirely safe to have a few beers and a sandwich.

***

“Is that mist?”

Kyle’s question broke into Evan’s thoughts. He looked down towards Ilkley and groaned. Soft, white tendrils were already creeping towards them up the slope of the ridge. How had he missed them? “Did anyone see the weather forecast?”

“Didn’t you?” Adam asked. “And that looks like mist.”

“We’d better get moving,” Evan said. He pushed himself stiffly to his feet. “Besides, it’s getting dark.”

“How can it be getting dark already?” Adam grumbled.

“Because it’s November, it’s nearly winter and it gets dark early at this time of year,” Evan said, stuffing the sandwich wrappings and empty water bottles into his rucksack.

“Did anyone see the weather forecast?” Kyle repeated. “Because it looks like it’s going to be bad.”

“We’ll know better next time,” Evan said, checking his compass. “Come on.”

“Hang on, I’m going to see if I can check on my phone,” Adam said, stumbling after him, his rucksack full of empty beer cans.

“You won’t get a signal up here,” Evan said, setting a brisk pace.

“You never know,” Adam said. “There are masts all over the moor nowadays.” He swore. “I can’t get nothing. Kyle, have you got anything?” He turned around. “Kyle?”

Kyle was silhouetted against the dim gray sky, fumbling with his phone. “Hang on, hang on…”

“Come on, mate,” Evan yelled. “I don’t want to be driving in this.”

“Bloody hell!” Kyle screamed, stumbling backwards and falling, rolling down the slope towards them and landing in a heap.

Adam and Evan ran back. “What the hell happened, man?” Adam asked as he hauled Kyle to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Evan ran his eyes over his friend. “Anything broken?”

Kyle stared at them, his face pale and drawn. “It was a big dog.” A shiver wracked his body. “A fucking great black dog.”

Adam scrabbled for his camera. “I’ve got to get a picture of this,” he said.

Evan grabbed his arm. “Not if you want a lift back to town,” he said. “We need to get Kyle home.”

Adam hesitated for a second, then put an arm around Kyle. “Come on, mate. Let’s get back to the car.”

***

Evan walked ahead, his compass in hand as they followed the track back to the road. The mist had come down hard and, as the light faded, he slowed to a careful, slow pace. Adam was using his phone as a torch, but it was pitifully inadequate. The biggest worry, however, was Kyle.

“Can you hear that?” Kyle said.

“Hear what?” Adam said as he guided his trembling friend behind Evan.

“You know, that?” Kyle said, his head swiveling to the sides of the track. “It’s like it’s walking next to us.”

Adam hesitated. “You can hear the dog?” he asked.

“Don’t even think about it,” Evan ordered. “If you get off the path now, you’ll be stranded until morning. Keep moving.”

“You don’t want to look at it, mate,” Kyle muttered. “It’s huge, like a beast, but a dog, and it’s eyes…”

“It’s just a stray,” Evan said. “A dog that got lost from its owner. Keep moving. We can’t be far from the car now.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Kyle hunched over, shivering. “It was huge, but like a dog, with hair all over like a goat or something, and it was weird.”

“So it was a goat,” Evan said, fighting back his worry. “They could live on the moors no problem.”

“And they could be the food of the big cats,” Adam added. His heart wasn’t in it, though, and he kept looking back.

“You do not need a picture of a bloody goat,” Evan said. “Keep moving, Kyle. We’ll get you home and a nice cup of tea and an early night will see you alright.”

“Its eyes were…” Kyle searched for words. “They were too big and bright, and they seemed to look at me, like they saw my soul. Like they could see inside my head.” Another violent shudder rattled through him. “It was like a ghost, but solid.”

Evan squinted through the mist. “You’re letting the weather get to you,” he said. “We’re nearly there. I think I can see the road.”

“I could hang back and see if I could get just one picture,” Adam said.

“I’m not hanging around in this weather,” Evan said. “And Kyle needs to get into the warm. He must have got shaken up when he fell.”

“You don’t get it,” Kyle said. “You don’t want to see it. I wish I’d never seen it. It’s like a hell dog, like a horror story.”

The mist was getting thicker but, to Evan’s huge relief, he could see the road a few yards ahead. Kyle’s words were digging into his imagination and he almost believed that he, too, could hear the padding of great paws to his left, just out of sight. “You’ll have your own story to tell your dad,” Evan said. “Maybe you could sell it to the papers. There’s bound to be some place that would print it.”

“If only I’d got a picture,” Adam grumbled as they reached the road.

“It’s there!” Kyle yelled suddenly. “Can you see it?”

For a moment, Evan thought he saw a trace of a dark shape in the shadows, then it was nothing but the mist and the feeble light from Adam’s phone. “Just get in the car.”

Adam settled Kyle on the back seat as Evan warmed up his battered Ford’s engine. “Do you want a bottle of water?” Adam asked as he settled the bags next to Kyle.

Kyle shook his head. “Let’s just get out of here,” he murmured.

Evan turned around and got a clear look at Kyle in the light in the car. He was dirty and smeared from his fall, though he seemed unhurt. His face, however, was pale and drawn and his eyes were wide. He didn’t seem able to stop shivering. “I’ll crank the heating up,” he said as Adam climbed into the passenger seat. “We’ll be back in Leeds before you know it.”

***

The drive back was tortuous and stressful. The road was narrow and twisted through the moors and then down through farmland and Evan found himself slowing down further and further as the settling mist hid all but the nearest few yards. It was a little better when they reached Otley and got the benefit of the streetlights, though it was still slow going. It was only when they reached the edge of Leeds that the mist started to thin and Evan could relax a little as he drove.

“How are you feeling, Kyle?” he asked, glancing in the rear view mirror. “Do you want us to drop you off at a doctor or something? We could come in with you.”

“I’m okay,” Kyle said. “But I’m not kidding. It wasn’t just some stray. It was like a ghost you could touch, like a demon.” He hunched down in the back seat. “Just take me home.”

They dropped Kyle off at his house, then Adam looked at Evan. “Do you think it was some sort of big cat?”

“It was probably just a big sheep, or a stray, or even a goat,” Evan said. “And it startled Kyle, he fell, and the shock of it all made into something weird. You know, made him think that he’d seen something that he hadn’t.”

“That makes sense,” Adam said with a grimace. “I suppose it could have been a big cat, but a cat would have pounced. I wish I could have stayed to get a picture.” He looked thoughtful and turned to Evan.

“No, I am not taking you back to the moor,” Evan said, easily guessing Adam’s intention. “It’s a bitch of a night and I want to be around in case Kyle calls. He wasn’t looking well.”

“Maybe next weekend,” Adam said.

“Yeah, maybe,” Evan said. “And this time we’ll check the weather forecast.

***

Evan called in to see Kyle on Monday evening on the way back from work, knocking sharply on the door and looking up at the darkened windows. He’d been feeling uneasy all through Sunday and while Adam had visited, his report hadn’t helped. That sense of unease grew as Evan waited at Kyle’s door. He knocked again. Straining his ears above the background noise of cars and people, he could hear a slow shuffle towards the door.

“Who is it?” Kyle’s voice sounded strained through the door.

“It’s me.” Evan stared at the shabby door. “Are you okay? I brought some dinner.”

“Evan?” Kyle opened the door cautiously as he checked before stepping aside. “Come in. You brought food?”

“Best Chinese takeout in Leeds,” Evan said, holding up the bag. “Enough for both of us. Get the plates out.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Kyle mumbled and then swayed, slumping against the passage wall. “I’m not feeling well at all.”

Evan dropped the food and grabbed his friend. Kyle was pale and sweating, trembling and twitching and barely holding himself up. “What the hell? We need to get you to hospital.

Kyle shook his head and pulled his dressing gown around him. “It’s no good, Evan,” he said. “It’s Padfoot. That’s what I saw on the moors.” A violent shudder ran through him. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Fuck that!” Evan said, guiding his friend into the sitting room. “Sit there. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“I can hear him,” Kyle said. “I can hear him walking outside the window. I can hear him panting.”

“There’s no such thing,” Evan said desperately as he dragged out his phone. “You hit your head when you feel. They’ll be able to sort it out in hospital. Just hang on.”

“You don’t understand,” Kyle whispered. “It’s like all the stories. It’s as big as a pony, with shaggy hair and eyes like saucers. I never thought about how big a saucer was, but they’re the size of Padfoot’s eyes. They’re huge, Evan, and they shine, like a moon, but not a normal moon.” Kyle coughed, helplessly convulsing as he hunched on his couch. “It’s like a scary, spooky moon from a video or a horror movie. It’s not natural.”

Evan ignored him but concentrated on the emergency operator. “He’s pale, trembling, coughing, and I think he’s hallucinating,” he told them. “He hit his head on Saturday and he’s been poorly since.” He listened, his phone wedged between shoulder and chin as he grabbed some basics.

Kyle rocked slowly back and forth. “I know it’s coming for me,” he mumbled. “I know it. I haven’t got much time.” He looked up at Evan. “What am I going to do?”

Evan leaned into Kyle’s kitchenette. “I don’t think he’s eaten,” he told the operator. “He was ready to collapse when I found him.”

“I’ve said my prayers,” Kyle whispered. His head whipped around. “He’s outside. I can hear him.”

Evan rushed over to the window. There was no sign of life outside on the damp street. It was already dark and not even a cat disturbed the gloom. “There’s nothing there,” he told Kyle before returning his attention to the operator. “I think he’s hearing things… I suppose that’s auditory hallucinations… I’m not sure about bringing him in as I think he might pass out while I’m driving.”

“You need to call my dad,” Kyle said. “You need to tell him everything. You know his number.”

“Don’t worry,” Evan said. “I’ll let him know once we’ve got you settled. The ambulance is on its way and we’ll soon get you sorted out.”

“I’m really cold,” Kyle murmured, his eyes dropping shut.

***

“They’ve taken him to St James Hospital?” Adam asked. He was perched uncomfortably on his bed. Privacy in his shared house was hard to come by so they’d retreated to his room.

Evan nodded. “I’ve been in touch with his family, but you know what they’re like.”

Adam nodded. “They’ll turn up to every wedding and funeral for a drink and a fight, but they’ll never visit a hospital. I’ll be able to call in tomorrow lunchtime.” He shivered. “I’ve been looking online.”

Evan tried to get comfortable on the ancient office chair. “You can’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

Adam shook his head. “It’s all documented,” he said.

“It’s all documented according to the internet,” Evan replied. “What’s documented?”

“The rest of the country, they’re called barghests and they guard graveyards.” Adam opened his phone and scrolled quickly around. “But in Leeds they call them Padfoot, and they’re an omen of death.”

“Kyle saw something, then he had a fall and it got messed up in his mind.” Evan looked over Adam’s shoulder. “See, they’re talking about that driver who saw the dog near Horsforth. Horsforth is miles from the moors.” Evan leaned back and the chair creaked ominously. “And there aren’t any graveyards on the moors. It’s just sheep.”

Adam shook his head, his face set. “They’re not modern graveyards,” he said. “But look at this.” He passed his phone over.

Evan scrolled through the article. “That’s just a coincidence,” he said.

“We sat and drank our beers on an ancient cairn,” Adam said. “All the landmarks are there. We were messing around on a Bronze Age grave.”

“It’s not like we meant to,” Evan said. “And it’s coincidence. Kyle had that fall. You can’t argue with it. That’s what’s making him ill.”

There was a tense pause. “What do the doctors think?” Adam asked.

Evan shrugged. “They’re doing tests. At least they allowed him to make some decisions. He was pretty out of it in the ambulance, but he let them put me in as a contact and decision maker. They’ll tell me what they find.” He shivered as a draft slid through the room. I’m worried that it’s some weird sheep disease that he caught when he got scraped up in that fall.”

“I’m worried that it’s a demon,” Adam said.

***

Evan got the call as he was leaving for his lunch break. He ducked into an empty meeting room and took the call. “Hi, Adam, is everything okay?”

“I just called in to see him,” Adam said. “I’m on an early break and it’s not far from work.”

Evan struggled to hear him over the traffic. “Where are you? There’s a lot of background noise.”

“You know I can’t stand hospitals, and it’s bedlam on the street.” There was some rustling and the sound of jogging feet. “Hang on.”

Evan waited patiently as the background noise subsided a little. “So you saw Kyle. How was he?”

“Just a sec,” Adam said. “I’m in the old graveyard opposite the hospital. There are some benches here.” There were more rustles as the noise of the traffic ebbed away. “That’s better. Yeah, I saw Kyle.”

“Was he still talking about the Padfoot?” Evan asked.

“He wasn’t talking about anything,” Adam said soberly. “He was out of it. The doctors said it was a coma. They couldn’t give me too many details, but it looks like he’s just shutting down and they don’t know why.”

“I’ll call them this afternoon,” Evan said. “I don’t understand. He was fine on Saturday, right up to when he fell. Even then it was just a few bumps and scrapes. How could he get so sick so fast?”

“I swear it’s Padfoot,” Adam said. “Check it out. I’m not talking about the usual weird stuff on Facebook. If you look at the old newspapers and books online, there’s loads.”

“I am sick of this bullshit,” Evan said, trying to keep his voice low as the receptionist walked past the door. “We don’t even know if there was an actual animal. Kyle was the only one who saw it. He yelled and fell down. It could be something like a weird brain thing.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Adam said, his voice eerily calm.

Evan felt a chill at his tone. “What do you mean?”

“I’m in a graveyard, right?” Adam said. “And Padfoot goes around graveyards. And I just saw…”

“Don’t say it,” Evan whispered.

“It’s huge, like a donkey, but it’s a dog.” Adam swallowed audibly. “And its eyes are not normal. They’re too big and shiny.” There was a pause. “It’s looking at me.”

The lack of emotion in Adam’s voice chilled Evan to the bone. “You’re in the middle of fucking Leeds,” he said. “You can’t see a big dog. That graveyard’s surrounded by traffic. It never bloody stops.”

“It’s gone behind the gravestones,” Adam said. “There are some weird tombs here so maybe it’s gone into one of them.”

“Is there anyone else around?” Evan asked. “Anyone who could have seen it?”

“It’s a cold November lunchtime and it’s about to start raining,” Adam had an edge to his voice. “I’m the only one stupid enough to be sitting here.”

“It may be an optical illusion,” Evan said finally. “It may be just a big dog, and the light is never the best at this time of year. Come round to my place this evening and have a few drinks. Perhaps we’ll have some good news about Kyle.”

“I can hear it padding,” Adam said. “It sounds like great paws passing behind me.”

“You’re surrounded by traffic and the graveyard’s probably full of rats,” Evan tried to stay pragmatic. “Get out of there, keep busy at work and I’ll see you tonight.” He forced himself to take a breath. “I’d better tell Vicky. I know that she dumped him, but they dated for years and she’ll want to know.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Adam said quietly. “I’ll see you tonight.

***

Evan answered the door and ushered Adam in. “You got the news?”

Adam nodded. “I can’t believe that Kyle’s dead.” He held up a large bottle of vodka. “This time last week he was fine and now…”

“Take a seat,” Evan ushered Adam into the tiny living room. “I called Vicky. She’s a bit of a mess.”

“I suppose she is.” Adam took his seat on the sofa and tipped his head back. “He’s doing fine, she dumps him, now he’s dead. It could affect a girl.”

“It could affect anyone.” Evan poured a generous measure of vodka into the waiting glasses and added a splash of cola. “His family are going crazy.”

“They always do,” Adam said. He shivered and hunched down. “Is it cold in here?”

“I suppose so,” Evan said, flicking on the electric fire. “I hadn’t noticed, but it is November.”

Adam forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s the wrong time of year for a heatwave.” He took a long drink. “Perhaps this will warm me up.”

“You’ll get cold sitting around in graveyards,” Evan said. He took a sip of his own drink. “His family can’t agree on who’s supposed to organize a funeral and who’s supposed to pay for that funeral, and who’s supposed to get the drink in for the wake.”

“You should warn the cops,” Adam said. “They had four arrested at the last family funeral.”

“Wasn’t that his cousin’s wedding?” Evan asked.

Adam shrugged. “It’s hard to keep up.” He took a deep breath. “I swear I saw it, Evan, I swear!”

“You can’t let it prey on your mind,” Evan said. “Don’t let it get inside your head. You could go crazy.”

“Like Kyle went crazy?” Adam asked. “He saw Padfoot.” He shuddered. “It’s a good name for it. All I can hear outside is the padding of feet. Just step after step of paws hitting the ground right behind me.”

“Maybe you should see someone,” Evan said slowly. “Whatever it is – and I’m not saying that it’s a dog, or a Padfoot or anything – but whatever it is, perhaps a doctor could do something before it gets out of hand.”

“Like it got out of hand for Kyle,” Adam said. He drained his glass and poured another large measure.

Evan didn’t know how to break the heavy silence that followed. He sipped at his drink and watched Adam getting paler and more haunted. “Vicky wants to organize a memorial,” he said eventually. “She knows what his family’s like and that the funeral probably won’t be for months, but she thinks a prayer service might be nice. I said that I’d go.”

“That’s good of her,” Adam said. “With all things considered. When is it?”

“She said that the minister had a gap on Thursday night at the church near her.” Evan stared down at his drink and wished it had answers. “I’ll give you a call and let you know the time.”

“I wish I’d got a picture,” Adam said. He tossed back the last of his drink. “You know, on the moor. I wish I’d got a picture then. I didn’t think in the graveyard, but if I’d got a picture on the moor then at least we could show what killed Kyle.”

“Nobody knows what killed Kyle.” Evan forced his voice to stay even. “The doctors have no idea. They’re having an autopsy.”

Adam stood and a shudder ran through him. “I’m too tired for this shit,” he said, waving away his bottle of vodka. “Save that for later. I’m going to get an early night.” He laid a brief hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Give me a call about the service when you know something.”

Evan waited until the door shut and then drained his own glass. What the hell was going on?

***

Evan didn’t know if he was doing the right thing but driving over to Adam’s work was better than moping around at home. His boss had taken one look at Evan and ordered him to get out, so now he was at a loose end with nothing to do but avoid internet searches for Padfoot. The drive was a nightmare, with an ambulance and fire truck racing past and police all over the road. As he crawled another three yards, he could feel a chill running through him and he clutched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. This slow traffic was giving him too much time to think. He could see Adam’s garage from where he was stuck in traffic, but it could take him an hour to reach it. On an impulse, he turned into the nearby side street, parked and started walking.

Evan’s pace slowed as he neared the garage. It was normally busy, but today it was swarming with people and the fire truck and ambulance were on the forecourt. He swallowed and fought his instinct to flee with everything in him. It could be anything. The garage dealt with all sorts of crashes and rebuilds as well as the usual oil changes and tune ups, and ambulances could be called as a precaution. It took true willpower for him to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to take another step and then another. Evan fought the cold feeling in his chest and the icy certainty sitting on the back of his neck. Maybe Adam had been hurt after rolling into work with a hangover, but it wouldn’t be serious. Adam was bloody good at his job and wouldn’t take risks.

He was at the entrance to the forecourt now. Police were directing traffic around the site as another fire truck pulled in, sirens blaring. Mechanics were standing outside the office, quiet and oddly still. Evan strained his eyes, searching among the people as he crossed the wide forecourt, but he couldn’t see Adam anywhere. As he got closer to the mechanics, Adam’s manager noticed him and the last of the color drained from his face. Evan didn’t want to know, but he had to ask.

“Is Adam okay?”

The manager put a trembling hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Nobody knows what happened.” The manager looked back at the rest of the stunned workers. “We had that piece of machinery serviced last week. There was no hint that there was anything wrong. Everyone’s used it over the last few days…”

“Adam got hurt?” Evan asked.

The manager briefly closed his eyes and took a breath. “A car lift holding a SUV collapsed on top of him. We called it in straight away, and the fire crew are trying to get him free…”

Evan looked over at the ambulance crew at the entrance to the workshop. They stood looking sadly resigned without any urgency. The second fire crew weren’t rushing in. “Adam’s gone, isn’t he?”

The manager grimaced. “I wish I could say differently, but I don’t think he could have survived. I’m sorry.”

Evan clasped the manager’s hand. “Thank you.” He looked at the swarm of first responders and the shaken crew. “I’ll get out of your way. Thank you for telling me.”

***

Evan was early for Kyle’s memorial. He sat near the back at the far end of a pew, hiding in the shadows and trying to make sense of it all. Kyle had something happen to his system when he fell down the ridge. There were YouTube channels full of weird biology and it must have been something like that. Adam worked with heavy machinery all the time and accidents happened. If he’d been hungover then he may have missed a safety check. There was always a rational explanation.

This was one of the old churches. Evan hadn’t bothered with church since the mandatory school visits, and while it had a sort of comfort, it was unfamiliar. The notice board was full of church socials and lists for church suppers. The minister seemed more concerned with the church council than Kyle’s friends who were awkwardly filling up the pews. The books handed to him and the service sheet felt awkward and clumsy. It felt far more alien than the moors.

Vicky had sensibly kept the invitations to Kyle’s friends and those of his family without a police record, and the service was comforting. A few stood at the front to share good memories of Kyle, but Evan didn’t feel able to join them. If he hadn’t suggested a hike… if he hadn’t driven them to the moors… He wondered if Adam would have been able to stand up and share memories of their friendship. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew. As Vicky rose to speak, guilt pressed down hard. Evan found his breath catching in his throat and a pressure on his chest and he had to get out of that dim, emotion-filled space. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of the pew and through the huge door to the fresh air outside. He staggered to one side and fought for air, collapsing on a bench at the corner of the building.

It seemed like an eternity before Evan gained back control and felt his breathing return to something close to normal. He sat back and looked around, his hand resting on the arm of the bench which was damp and rough grained to his touch. The damp air of a late November evening hung still, filled with the scent of newly fallen leaves, and a faint haze was rising, dimming the nearby streetlights into a faint glow. It would be misty again before morning. For a moment, Evan felt utterly still. There was no movement around him and the faint hiss of distant cars and the subdued singing in the church behind him seemed only to buttress the silence around him in the damp, motionless air. The motionless air in the graveyard. The place that Adam said Padfoot roamed. The place that Evan wanted to avoid at all costs.

Enough light filtered past the heavy yews to show Evan the headstones, ancient, tilted and slick with damp. Behind them was a shape, a creature that should be too big to hide in a graveyard. A huge, shaggy, black dog, with overbright eyes and sharp, gleaming teeth in its gaping mouth. And as it approached, all Evan could hear was the pad…pad…pad… of its great feet.

Hilary paused. There was a presence in the room. She felt for a sense of what it could be, but there was nothing obvious and nothing malevolent. She returned to peeling her carrot. “They say you should just scrub carrots, but these are old and robust and I think I’ll take the time to peel them,” she said and felt that presence take notice.

There was a lull with the hiss of the peeler over the fresh, vivid carrot mingling with the quiet chuckle of the wood stove. Hilary finished peeling the handful of carrots. “The farm shop had some good veggies today,” she said. There was no response from the presence. “But I wondered how many were genuinely home-grown and how many were brought in and put in rustic baskets to look right.” She kept her knives sharp and the carrot sliced easily. “But these are lovely and fresh. They feel like they came out of the ground this morning.” She took her time, trying to get a sense of what was present and where it was hiding, but it was distressingly vague. “So I guess the carrots might be local.” She slid the chopped carrots into a bowl, popping one last chunk into her mouth for the sweet crunch before reaching for the sweet potato. “But they must have flown this in. They don’t grow sweet potatoes in Yorkshire.” Hilary reached for the peeler. “I don’t usually bother with sweet potatoes, but this looked so fresh.”

There was a rattle of rain on the window. “It’s a wonderful vegetable for soup,” Hilary said, dropping the parings into the scraps bucket. “It’s sweet, but not too sweet, with a full flavor that will absorb the other flavors and amplify them, and it has just the right amount of starch.” The sweet potato crunched as she diced it up. “I don’t have to cut it up fancy,” she added. “It’s just for soup so I need it small rather than neat.” She could feel the presence edging closer. “I’d share a taste, but you can’t eat it raw.” She added the softer orange chunks to the brightness of the carrot. “Now for the parsnips.”

The wind moaned through the chimney and Hilary could feel the presence slowly getting closer as she worked. “I’ve got the soda bread I made at lunchtime on the counter. That will be perfect with a nice bowl of soup. Practically anything can go into soup.” She made short work of peeling the parsnips. “But not everything should go into a soup. At least, not all piled in together. You have to balance the ingredients for a good soup.” The parsnips were thick and sturdy and crisp under the knife. “These must be local and I think they’ve had the frost on them. That makes parsnips sweeter. They used to make them into cakes during the war.” Hilary added the diced parsnips to the bowl.

The presence was definitely intrigued and as its interest grew, the presence was stronger and behind Hilary and to the left, near the cellar door. Hilary pulled over two large onions. “These are country onions if ever I saw them,” she said. “The carrots, sweet potato and parsnips are all sweet. You need to balance that. I don’t think onions are sour or bitter, but they’re sort of anti-sweet.” She could feel the amusement from the presence. “They have a flavor all of their own.” She wrinkled her nose as she started peeling them. “I shall be crying by the end of it, I can tell. These are massive.”

The presence was drawing nearer, still invisible, but stronger than ever as it watched Hilary struggle with the onions. “I should have worn goggles,” she said, wiping her watering eyes with the back of her hand. “Or held a bit of bread in my mouth.” She tipped the first chopped onion into the bowl with the other vegetables. “I’m going to be a wreck by the time I finish this. But the stronger they are, the better the flavor. I’m not going for a delicate soup here. I want something to stick to my ribs.” Blinking through the tears, Hilary roughly chopped the second onion and added the final vegetable to the bowl. “Right, that’s the veggies done.”

She stood gracefully and filled a kettle at the deep, porcelain sink, carefully not turning around towards the presence. “If I was any sort of cook, I’d have home-made stock, but I’m not so it’s stock cubes and hot water.” She placed the kettle on the stove and set a large pan next to it. “People say you can make great stock from peelings, but what with storing and straining and messing around, I’d rather buy something from the supermarket.” She felt the question coming from beside her. “I’ll let the kettle boil and add the stock cubes later. Let’s get the vegetables cooking first.”

A generous splash of canola oil was added to the pan. “People think that a soup can be made with dumping ingredients in water, but you get a better result if you take a few moments to soften the veggies first.” Hilary eyed the oil and, as it was flowing freely, tipped the bowl of chopped vegetables into the pan. The hissing sizzle made the presence jump back for a moment and then lean forward. “Besides, a decent oil will make the flavorings stick.” Hilary grabbed a wooden spoon and gave the pan a quick stir. “You need a little oil to bring the taste out.” She carefully didn’t look at the presence. “How do you feel about garlic?”

“I likes it,” a small soft voice said. “I likes it plenty.”

Hilary reached for the garlic powder. “Then I’ll add plenty. It’ll add a nice contrast to the parsnips and sweet potato.” She stirred the pan again and added generous shakes of garlic powder. “I like chopped or crushed garlic for a stir fry or a stew, but garlic powder sticks better and flavors more in a soup or a dressing.” She stirred the garlic through, enjoying the scented steam from the pan as the vegetables and garlic mingled. “And spices. Do you like spices?”

“That’s rich and rare, mistress,” the voice said softly.

Hilary risked a quick glance. Standing next to her at the stove was a small human-like creature, about the size of an eight year old child, with lumpy features smeared with dirt and a torn, sack like dress. Her hair was tangled and her feet were bare but she peered, intrigued, at the pan. “What should I call you?” Hilary asked.

“I is Bracken, in general,” she said. “Are you going to use pepper?”

“I’m going to add pepper, of course,” Hilary said. “And there’s salt in the stock cubes. But it needs a little more. Parsnips always drink up the warmer spices so I’m adding cumin and turmeric, and plenty of them.” She pulled the jars from spice rack. “The farm shop didn’t sell these, and they’re not from Yorkshire.” She strewed the spices thickly over the vegetables and stirred again before putting the spices back. “And a dash of chili powder.” Hilary added the spice sparingly. “I’m not so keen on chili, but it adds a little spark.” The heat of the pan and the juices of the vegetables released the fragrance of the spices and the aroma drifted around the room. Hilary breathed in deeply, enjoying the exotic scents now filling her plain Yorkshire kitchen before adding a final grind of warm black pepper. She glanced quickly at Bracken before looking back at the pan. “You don’t see many brownies around.”

Bracken shifted nervously. “I isn’t happy in my position,” she said primly. “I seeking a different place.”

“I don’t know if I could pay you enough,” Hilary said. She crossed the kitchen to the row of cupboards. “Or I’d be happy to take you in.”

“You has a pleasant establishment,” Bracken said. “I is not looking for top wages as I is learning to cook.”

Hilary pulled out the jar of lentils. “Well, there’s no rush for you to leave,” she said, dumping a large scoop of red lentils into the pan and stirring vigorously. “Most people say that you should add the lentils after the stock, but I think it helps get the flavors into the lentils if you stir them in the oil. It helps the spices and garlic powder to stick.”

“My wages is a safe place to sleep, my foods and drink and a glass of milk every day,” Bracken said. She took a deep breath at her own daring. “And a coin at Christmas.”

“Hmmm.” Hilary kept stirring, turning the lentils through the softening vegetables and spice filled oil. “I could pay that,” she said. “And clothes for your back, just to be decent, and time off on Sunday.”

“That is a big wage and hard to earn,” Bracken said nervously.

“I’ll want you to keep the cottage clean,” Hilary said. “And some help with the baking.”

“I does learn to cook well, mistress,” Bracken said earnestly.

“Now it’s time for the water and stock cubes,” Hilary said. The kettle on the top of the stove was steaming and hissed and spat wildly as Hilary added it to the pan followed by two stock cubes. “And some herbs.” She smiled at Bracken. “These are from Yorkshire and I know that because I grew them myself.” She added a good sprinkling of dried parsley, oregano and coriander. “Spices go in with oil but dried herbs go in with water.” She gave a final stir, scraping across the bottom of the pan to dislodge the stuck lentils and then slid a lid on top. “Now it needs to simmer for a while.” She pulled the pan to the edge of the hotplate. “Would you like a cup of tea? Or would you prefer milk?” she asked.

Before Bracken could answer, there was a loud banging, a heavy fist thumping hard into the door. Bracken started. “That may be my former position,” she whispered.

Hilary looked down at the creature. Unlovely as she was, there was a sweetness about her and it seemed wrong that she should be flinching. “Stay there, Bracken,” she said and unlocked the door. “Who’s there?”

“You have something of mine!” an imperious voice rang out.

Hilary opened the door. Standing outside, tousled by the evening breeze, was something that looked like a man. He was tall and lean, looming over her, and his shoulder length dark hair was blowing around his thin face. Bright blue eyes bored into her. “You have something of mine,” he snapped.

“I have a guest,” Hilary said, “With all that entails.”

“You are new to this cottage and this domain,” the stranger said. “You don’t understand the ways of this place. Return my property or face consequences.”

“I is seeking a new situation,” Bracken squeaked from behind Hilary. “There is cooking in this place.”

“That’s enough!” He strode forward and there was a flash as he hit something invisible but entirely solid and collapsed.

“This is Rowan Cottage and it’s always been a witch’s cottage,” Hilary said, leaning forward. “Do you think anyone else could live here? And I do not tolerate any of the Fair Folk striding in without invitation.” She turned to Bracken. “What should I call him.”

“He is called Lord Peregrine by the Shadow Folk,” Bracken said nervously. “That is how I addresses him.”

Lord Peregrine staggered shakily to his feet. “You are a hag?”

“That’s rather a personal question,” Hilary said absently as she concentrated. A glowing light slid around the door frame and encircled Lord Peregrine. “I prefer the term Wise Woman. And Bracken stays with me now.” She could feel the tension leave Bracken but didn’t look around as she held the enchantment.

Lord Peregrine glowered. “You compel me,” he snarled.

“Just a little,” Hilary said. “I want to be clear. You do not come after me, not now in my own place or at any other time.”

“But you have something of mine,” Lord Peregrine grumbled.

“I has taken a new situation,” Bracken said, her voice trembling a little at her audacity in speaking. “As there is cooking here.”

Lord Peregrine looked over to the stove. “I can tell,” he said. “I still want compensation.”

“Compensation for a choice that wasn’t yours to make?” Hilary asked, raising an eyebrow. “Enter this night and be welcome this night.” The light around the door faded. “Come in and we can discuss terms.”

Lord Peregrine stepped warily into the shabby kitchen. “This has changed since I was last here.”

Hilary carefully grabbed the kettle with a potholder and refilled it. “When was that?” she asked. She set the kettle back on the center of the stove and then lifted the lid on the soup. The warm aroma that was already filling the room intensified. “You have to keep stirring this,” Hilary told Bracken. “Or the lentils stick to the bottom. Would you please help?”

“Yes, mistress,” Bracken said shyly and took the wooden spoon. It was a stretch for her until Hilary brought over a stool for Bracken to stand on. “Thank you, mistress.” She shot a scared, defiant look at Lord Peregrine. “I is cooking.”

“Those spices from distant lands and roots from the local fields make an unexpected blend,” Lord Peregrine murmured.

“Please take a seat,” Hilary said, waving a hand towards the long kitchen table. “You know that you cannot ask much. Bracken has her own mind.”

Lord Peregrine sank into a kitchen chair, his eyes fixed on the pan of soup. “If I can eat a bowl of soup, fresh and hot at this table, then I will be satisfied,” he said.

Hilary thought for a moment. “That’s agreeable,” she said. “Please keep stirring the soup, Bracken, and I’ll set the table.” She pulled bowls and plates from the cupboards. “I didn’t realize that there were the Fair Ones so local,” she said. She rinsed the earthenware teapot with hot water at the sink and set it on the counter next to the stove. “I knew that there were strong currents of power here, but it’s unexpected to have two guests, especially so soon after I moved here.”

“There are not many of us,” Lord Peregrine said, licking his lips as he kept his gaze on the soup. “And we struggle on with so many mortals.”

Hilary placed the bread on the table with the bread knife and pulled the butter from the fridge. She glanced at Lord Peregrine. Underneath his haughty bravado there was a weariness in him. She had felt the twisting of the currents when she first moved in, and now she could see that there was more work than she had expected. “I’m blessed by your presence,” she said.

Lord Peregrine’s thin lips twisted briefly in amusement. “These spices are costly. I have never scented such richness.”

“They’re not so expensive now,” Hilary said, pouring water from the boiling kettle over the black tea in the teapot. Are the vegetables soft, Bracken?”

“Yes, mistress,” Bracken said eagerly.

“Good, that means that it’s ready to eat.” Hilary smiled at the small creature. “Please sit at the table while I finish the meal.”

It took a few minutes to blend the soup and ladle generous helpings into the bowls, sprinkling with a little fresh parsley. The inexpensive, quick meal that Hilary had planned was obviously a feast for her guests and it felt humbling. She cut half a dozen slices from the loaf and sat down with her own bowl of soup. “Please eat,” she said. “There are more helpings in the pan if you’re hungry enough.” She poured tea into the mugs. “Help yourself to sugar.”

 The guests fell hungrily on the food, and all was quiet apart from the scrap of spoons, the murmur of the wood stove and the howl of the rising wind outside the cottage. Hilary found herself relaxing as the warmth from the spices filled her with each savory mouthful. The kitchen filled with contentment.

Lord Peregrine sighed, pushing away the faint remnants of his third bowl of soup and thickly buttering another slice of bread. “You are indeed a Wise Woman,” he said. “And I could use your aid with the currents of power that are so tangled at the moment.” He took a large bite of bread and butter. “But first I must ask you, now that you have Bracken here. Do you have room for a paying lodger?”

Hilary thought for a moment. It would be madness to invite one of the Fair Folk to live with her, especially as there was so much work to be done, and that was on top of her mundane work that paid the bills. But as the contentment in the kitchen wrapped around her with the scent of the soup, she sighed. The cottage was filled with empty rooms and the loneliness since she moved here was starting to bite. She watched Lord Peregrine carefully wiping the bread around his bowl to pick up the last traces of the soup. And it was such a pleasure to cook for appreciative appetites. “I will happily accept you as a paying lodger for now,” she said. “We can work out the details in the morning.” She stood and started collecting the bowls. “Tonight we have apple cake and cream for desert.” And the warmth of the kitchen seemed almost overflowing.

Also submitted to Royal Road

“My mum says that you’re the god of thunder.”

Taranis looked up from his game of dominoes at the skinny lad staring at him. Across the table, Cerne, god of the hunt, grinned. Taranis ignored the grin. “I was, lad, I was. I’m retired now, though, and don’t really get involved. You must be Dawn’s youngest.”

“She sends a pork joint to regular, but I think you’re a con artist and a fake,” the lad continued. “And I think you should stop taking advantage.”

Cerne placed his domino down. “Your move.”

Taranis looked at the lad. “It’s Owen, isn’t it? You drive that weird yellow Corsa and your mum told me that you were working with a plumber.”

“You see, that’s it!” Owen said. “Mum gets stuff like that wrong all the time. I’m apprenticed. It’s all legal and properly set out. Mr Barker looks after me and I try and do him proud. I work hard for my money, and so does my mum, and I don’t see why elderly scammers like you should have any of it.” He glared at Taranis. “And it isn’t a weird yellow. It’s a custom wrap. That car is better than anything you’ve ever had or ever will have!”

Taranis grunted, laid down his domino and took a drink from his pint. There weren’t many people in the old-fashioned pub, and they were all carefully ignoring the lad and his demands. “Are you sure that I’m a scammer. I got rid of that problem Josie had.”

“I think it would have gone on its own,” Owen said angrily. He turned to the distant rumble of thunder outside the door. “And don’t try and fake that was you. I saw the weather forecast. Just leave us alone.” Owen turned on his heel and stalked over to his friends waiting at the bar.

Cerne looked thoughtfully down at the dominoes, ignoring the sharp crack of thunder outside. “Of course, a lightning strike on the electrics would just be coincidence,” he remarked. “But it’s obvious that the car is his pride and joy. I’m going to have to knock.”

Taranis nodded as he perused the dominoes. “There’s one thing about lightning that everyone forgets,” he said. “It’s hot.” He lay down a double six.

Cerne narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to have to pass again. So, lightning’s hot. I thought it just started fires.”

“I’ve got a good view of the car park from here,” Taranis nodded at the angled mirror behind the bar that, to the right seat, showed the half dozen cars spaced out in front of the pub. “And I’ve still got decent aim.” He put down another domino with a smug grin.

Cerne pursed his lips and then managed to lay down a tile before standing and peering out of the window. “There’s a lot of smoke out there.”

Taranis nodded thoughtfully as he lay down his last piece. “I’m out. And it’s hard to explain all four tyres spot welded to the tarmac as coincidence, especially with nothing else touched.” Taranis drained his beer glass. “That’s three games all and it’s your round.”

Cerne watched the shocked murmur run through the few patrons before they all rushed out to see for themselves. “I bet you get an extra offering next time,” he grinned. “Same again?”

Taranis nodded contentedly as he watched the confusion outside. “Yep, same again.”

You can read a collection of stories starring Taranis and Cerne here

“The flowers are late!” I rushed into the kitchen, my wedding dress bunched around my waist and my veil askew. I looked at my husband-to-be. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted that florist.” I took a deep breath. “And I knew we shouldn’t have got ready together. It’s supposed to be unlucky.”

Tim sighed. “It’s just nothing. It’s probably meant to allow the bride a little peace to get ready without the groom asking a lot of questions and causing fuss. We aren’t doing all the fuss.”

It made a sort of sense, but I was still frantic. “What about the flowers?”

“Can’t your little friends help out with that?” Tim asked.

“You know I don’t like you calling them that,” I said. I manouevred my skirt over a stool and sank down. “They’re the fair folk – if you have to talk about them at all.”

Tim walked over to me, put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me gently on the forehead. “Well, whoever they are took a lot of getting used to. I’m still not sure they approve of me. But I love you, friends and all, and don’t worry.” Tim grinned, that crooked grin that I loved so much. “Besides, they’re more like family, really, and we all have awkward family. I mean, you’ve met my Auntie Violet. She is far worse than misplaced car keys and iffy reception for the radio.”

I smiled back for a moment. “Lots of people call this house haunted, but it isn’t really. I just have friends.” My face fell. “But no flowers – and you know that the minister said he wouldn’t go ahead if we were late. We can’t wait around for the dratted florist. What are we going to do?”

Tim took my hands and gently squeezed them. “My darling, we agreed that this is about the marriage that we are going to have for the rest of our lives, not one day. We agreed that we would remember the things that went wrong as fun stories and not as awful events.” He grew serious. “I wish my mum was able to come, but we lost her last year. I wish your family was still here. I wish that your bridesmaid hadn’t eloped with my best man a week before it was all due to happen. I wish all sorts of things. The flowers, well, it’s just another story. As long as we get married, that’s all that matters. I love you.”

I smiled back. “I love you too.” I sighed. “I hope the fair ones are happy. They haven’t interfered so far, which is a good sign.” I disentangled my voluminous skirt from the stool and stood up. “They mean a lot to me.” I pulled myself up and settled my veil. “They’re the last of my family. Come on, we can’t be late. We can do without the flowers. Let’s go and get married.”

Tim led me outside ready to drive to the church, then stopped. I almost fell over as I bumped into him and then stared. A small bundle of wild flowers lay across the boot of the rental car.

Tim picked them up tenderly and looked around. “Thank you for this,” he said to the empty air. “An amazing gift on our wedding day.” He turned to me. “Your family have given their blessing. Let’s go and get married.” He looked around again. “And I’ll save you some cake!”

They got Jenkins just as dawn broke and the mist was sidling away from the valley. It was elfshot, straight in the chest above the heart. We carried him back as he raved, our legs dampened and cooled with the morning dew and the light spilling golden through the mist and down the valley. Into the farmhouse we took him and put him near the roof with a Bible next to his bed and a rosary over the bedstead. The priest was slow to come but prayed hard when he came and someone was always watching as Jenkins told us about the sky kingdoms sailing through the skies like swans and cooed at pictures on the walls that only he could see.

The hen keeper could hear his shouts as she collected her eggs and topped up the water trough. The cows being milked in the cool dairy with rowan twigs hung above the stalls could hear his cries. Neither the doctor not the priest could pull the elfshot as Jenkins sang wildly as if under a mackerel sky.

He died at sunset, not well, and we did not bless the day the Shining Ones, the Fair Folk, the Faerie returned.

Everyone knew that Violet was fragile. She would happily and completely believe the last thing she saw on Facebook or YouTube and fall in love with whatever trend was rattling around the internet, before being completely crushed when it all ended badly. She was a sweet woman, with a heart of gold and a genius touch at the upscale salon she worked at, but she was vulnerable.

Then she discovered Instagram.

‘Hang on, I need to take a picture here,’ became her catchphrase. It even came out at a fast food place.

I looked down at my unremarkable burger. “It’s nothing special. Besides, you took one five minutes ago.”

“But now you’ve taken a bite,” Violet said. “It’s more of a statement.”

“Is it?” I looked down at the soggy bread and meat. “Well, you know best.”

“It’s all about the composition,” Violet said. She frowned for a moment. “Hang on…”

I stared in disbelief as she pulled a fake twig from the plastic pot next to us and laid it across my burger, before taking another picture. “I’m not so hungry after all,” I said. “I mean, that twig has seen some stuff.”

“Excuse me,” a manager had appeared. She had probably been watching for a while and half expected this. “I have to ask you to leave.”

“Why?” Violet said. “It’s just for my followers. You know that lots of people choose where they eat from what they see on social media…” She was still protesting as I hustled her out.

The trouble with Violet was that while she was the sweetest, kindest, loveliest friend anyone could ever ask for, she had the resilience and depth of a petal. There were times when I felt I could shake her. Not that it would have done any good. I had known Violet for years, and watched teachers and classmates try. Everyone liked her, when they noticed her, and she was cherished at her salon, but she was as substantial as a sunbeam. And I think that she felt it.

After some fairly traumatic attempts at making her mark, Violet finally settled on something. She was going to be an influencer. We couldn’t keep her away from TikTok any longer. She also registered on Pinterest, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and half a dozen other sites as well as setting up her own website on a free platform.

“Your site looks lovely,” I said, sincerely. Violet really did have an eye for design. “Perhaps you could share hairstyling tips.”

Violet shook her head. “The salon would have a fit if I did that, and I want to keep working there. I love my job. Besides, it’s quite a crowded niche. I’ve got a better idea.”

“It’s not cleaning, is it?” I asked. Violet’s flat was so clean that you could use any surface for open heart surgery, but it was quite soulless.

Violet shook her head then shrugged. “Sort of. Cleaning is a very full niche, but I think I can make my mark – old cleaning.”

“What?” I stared at her.

“Look at this,” she said, digging a book out of her bag. “This book is nearly a hundred years old, and it has a section on how to use a mangle.”

“What’s a mangle?” I asked, looking at the tattered book in front of me.

“It presses water out of clothes,” Violet said. “It’s a sort of early spin dryer, except that it doesn’t spin.”

“I don’t even know what one looks like,” I said, an uneasy feeling growing in my stomach.

“And it tells you how to make indelible ink – look!” she said, waving the book at me. “Take 20 grains of sugar and dissolve in 30 grains of water…”

“Water doesn’t have grains,” I said as she frowned over the old print.

“No, grain is a type of old measurement. It’s tiny, like a tenth of a gram or something. But it’s all in proportion. It’s two parts sugar to three parts water. Then you add sulphuric acid.”

“What!” I craned to see over her shoulder but the tiny, cramped printing defied me. “You can get Sharpies from the supermarket.”

“But that’s no fun.” Violet said. “Lots of people want to go back to homemade, natural treatments.”

“Sulphuric acid isn’t natural,” I said, “Or it shouldn’t be. Where could you get it from?”

“I can get hold of sulphur,” Violet said uncertainly. “How hard can it be?”

“Perhaps you should start with something easier that won’t terrify any followers,” I suggested.

“Hmm, perhaps,” Violet said. “But there are loads of old housekeeping books around that are going for pennies, and I can share them with my followers.”

I thought about it for a moment and I couldn’t see any pitfalls. “It sounds great,” I said. “Don’t forget to send me the links so I can follow.”

I kept an eye on things for a while. Violet was one of my oldest friends and a sort of distant cousin as well. She didn’t have much family, or at least family that was of use, so me and her other friends tried to keep her safe. And the influencer stuff was working for her. She was working hard, having fun and enjoying herself as her followers grew. To be honest, I was having a lot of fun as well. I went with her to flea markets and book fairs to scour the place for the old cookbooks and housekeeping manuals that she loved and we poured over them together in whatever cramped coffee shop we found afterwards. Violet was thriving.

Then she got the book. The slim, tattered volume was tucked in the back of a box of a trader at a collector’s fair, along with some random 1980s cookbooks, bought from a house clearance company. I ignored it, but it caught Violet’s attention. It was a small volume with old recipes and it seemed to call to her.

“Look at this,” she said, waving the book past my face. “It’s got little sayings around the edges of the text. Look – ‘Wilful Waste Makes Woeful Want’. It’s true, though, isn’t it? You always end up down if you waste stuff.”

I nodded hesitantly.

“And there’s a recipe for Wharfedale Pudding here. I’d never heard of that before,” Violet continued. “I can’t wait to try it.”

Work got busy for me, so I wasn’t meeting up with Violet so much. I followed her social media, of course. Every morning I dutifully logged in on all the different sites and liked and shared everything. I even skimmed the text over my morning coffee. I started noticing things, however. I remembered us chuckling over a facsimile copy of Mrs Putnam’s Receipt Book, which must have dated to the early nineteenth century. There wasn’t a mention of it in any post. There was hardly a mention of Soyer or Acton or Glasse or any of her staples. Instead it was all about that little book. She started every day with a tweet of one of the trite sayings printed at the edge of the page. There were dissections of the recipes and videos of her trying them out. There was even some quite deep research on the book’s background, which I didn’t think that Violet could manage.

But the articles seemed flatter and lifeless. There seemed nothing of the inner joy that Violet took in life. Even the language seemed different. Violet didn’t usually worry about spelling and grammar, but the over-correct text next to each picture was jarring. Finally I got a call from Violet’s boss at the salon.

“I haven’t heard from her all week,” Kylie said. “It’s not like her, and I’m more worried than anything else. Have you heard from her?”

“I’ve not heard a thing,” I said. “She’s still posting, though, so she must still be sort of okay.” Inside I was terrified. Violet lived for her job, and it was unheard of for her to risk it.

“I don’t think that means much,” Kylie said. “Violet was telling me how she sets posts up to go live weeks in advance, just in case.”

I felt a chill run through me. “I’ll call in at her place tonight,” I said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I wasn’t reassured when Violet opened the door. She had always been slim, but now she was barely skin and bones. Her eyes were sunken and her smile was strained. I stepped in before she had a chance to make an excuse. “Are you okay? What’s happened?” I almost stumbled when I went into the living room. Normally it was minimalist and sparse. Right now it was a mess. Plastic flowers and bits of twigs were heaped everywhere. Black coffee mouldered in half a dozen mugs scattered around. The curtains were closed even though it was bright outside.

“I’ve been a bit tired,” Violet said. “And I haven’t had much appetite. But I’ve had some meals from The Book.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I looked around. “Where is it?”

“Hmm?” Violet’s eyes were losing focus and she was swaying.

I swore and grabbed her. “When did you last have something to eat?” I snapped as I guided her down on her chair.

“I made baked tomatoes for breakfast,” Violet murmured.

I stared at her for a moment. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a month. “Hang on,” I said, and strode into the kitchen. It was full. Packets were stacked haphazard on the usually empty counters, and the bin was overflowing. Someone had been eating plenty here. I opened the fridge. It was full. Something weird was going on. I returned to the living room. “You need to see a doctor,” I said firmly. “You’re nothing but skin and bone.”

Violet shook her head. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’m just a bit run down.”

“Kylie is worried about you, you know,” I said. “Why didn’t you at least call her?”

“What day is it?” Violet asked. She checked the calendar on her phone. “What’s happened? I think I’ve lost three days.”

“You can come and stay with me,” I said. “I’ve got a sofa bed in the living room, and it will give you a chance to relax. Come on, I’ll grab your toothbrush.”

“I have to bring The Book as well,” Violet said.

“Which one?” I asked as I rummaged in her bathroom.

“You know, The Book. The one called ‘Good Things’. It’s been an absolute life saver. And it was written in 1896, you know.” Violet looked wildly around and then relaxed as she picked up her book. “Here it is.”

I frowned as I came back in. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“Yes, look – it says ‘Good Things’ on the front.” Violet said. “And I’ll need my camera as well.”

I didn’t feel better about things when I got Violet back to my flat. I settled her down and made her some cocoa. “Are you sure you won’t see a doctor?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” Violet said. “I’ve just been overdoing it. I’ll have a look through The Book and see if there are any recipes for invalids. That will make a good blog post.”

I dragged out spare blankets and pillows and then looked hard at the book. I was sure that it wasn’t the book I had thought. It was plump and sleek and it seemed to gleam a little under the living room light. “I’m just nipping to the shop for some bits,” I said. “And I’ll call in at the pharmacy as well.”

“Ask if they have any quinine wine,” Violet said. “The Book recommends it.”

I stumped off down the road and, when I was sure I was out of sight of my windows, rang Kylie. “I’m really worried,” I said. “But I can’t get her to see a doctor.”

“Perhaps some time with you will sort it out,” Kylie said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “And she’s owed some holiday time. She never takes time off.”

“It’s that damn book, I’m sure of it,” I said. “She’s following health advice from a time when they gave opium to babies and put arsenic on the wallpaper. I’ll pick up something more modern at the pharmacy in the supermarket.”

“Let me know how it goes,” Kylie said. “But I’m sure that you’ll work it out.”

Violet had fallen asleep when I got in, with the book tucked in close to her. I looked closer. It had ‘Good Things’ embossed on the cover, but I was sure that I remembered it differently. I went into the kitchen, pulled out my phone and started checking Instagram. And it was there! No-one would believe me if I just came out with the words, but the book changed. Over the weeks the thin, threadbare copy seemed to swell and the cover grew sleeker at every image. At the same time, the images showing Violet’s hands holding the book grew thinner and paler until they were almost skeletal. I couldn’t hear Violet moving, but I didn’t want to take a risk. I carefully shut down my phone and poked my head back into the living room. The book hadn’t moved, but I had seen far too many horror stories. I went back to the kitchen and texted Kylie. <Check the book in Violet’s Instagram. It’s the same, even though it changes.>

Kylie texted back. <Are you sure it’s the same book?>

<According to Violet, it’s the same book and the same printing is on the cover.>

<You need to burn it!> Kylie texted. <It’s possessed.>

<How am I supposed to burn it?> I texted back. <I’m in a second floor flat with no fireplace. Besides, Violet would never permit it. She’s even sleeping with it right now. The hard part is going to be getting hold of it. We can worry about what to do with it after that.>

<I have an idea.> Kylie texted back. <I’ll be there in an hour.>

I had doubts when Kylie arrived. “Are you sure about this? I’m not sure it’s ethical. I’m not sure that it’s even legal.”

“Desperate measures,” Kylie said breezily. “And do you have a better idea?” She pushed past me into the room and stopped suddenly. “What the hell is the matter with you, Violet? You should be in a hospital!”

Violet managed a tired smile. “I’m okay, really. I’m just a little run down.”

“We had burgers for dinner,” I said. “Proper meaty ones from the butchers, with chocolate pudding afterwards.”

Kylie looked at Violet in disbelief. Violet looked like she could be blown away like a dead leaf. “Well, I’ve got something that will pick you up,” Kylie said, recovering. “I’ve got a bottle of tonic wine for you and a bottle of prosecco for us.”

I still had reservations as I brought out three wine glasses. The tonic wine was strong stuff and though Violet had wolfed down three huge burgers and two helpings of pudding, she didn’t look like there was anything to mop up the alcohol. Then I caught sight of the gleaming book nestled in Violet’s lap. I didn’t like the idea of getting Violet drunk. But if that is what it took, then that is what I would do. “Tonic wine,” I said. “It’s like the quinine wine that the book recommends. It will be just what you need.” I watched as Kylie poured a generous glass for Violet and then two more reasonable measures for her and I.

“The Book is never wrong,” Voilet said, and took a mouthful. She blinked. “What is in this stuff?”

I picked up the bottle and looked at the label. “It says it has added iron.”

“That won’t hurt,” Violet said and took another large mouthful.

“You’re looking a little peaky,” Kylie said, ruthlessly topping up Violet’s glass. “Iron has to be good for you.”

It took two and a half glasses before Violet fell asleep. I exchanged an uneasy look with Kylie. It seemed more about exhaustion and lack of resources than a couple of glasses of wine. “Let’s get a blanket on you,” I said cheerily as I stretched Violet out along the sofa. “What you need is a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s absolutely right,” Kylie said, shaking out a throw and slipping it over Violet. The book fell out of Violet’s hands and onto the floor. Violet murmured and shuffled in her sleep, but the tonic wine was too much for her. Kylie automatically bent to pick up the book, but I stopped her. I nipped quickly into the kitchen and came out with a tea towel, which I used as a barrier as I picked up the book.

“I’m going to take a walk,” I said, marching briskly to the door. “Keep an eye on Violet, will you?”

Kylie nodded, her eyes wide and fixed on the book as I marched out of the door, phone in one hand and a book wrapped in a tea towel in the other. “Be careful!”

I moved with purpose, down one street, then another, then I cut across a park, past an arcade of shops and then down the back of the industrial estate until I got to the canal. I hesitated. I had seen Jumanji. Things could come back from a watery grave. Then I pulled myself together. That had been a wooden box, not a paper book. Besides, there were things in the canal that would clean brass. An old cookbook didn’t stand a chance. I found the footbridge, got to the centre and shook out the tea towel, sending the book into the water with a splash.

I stood there, almost transfixed by the reflection of the setting sun bouncing off the murky water. I expected something to show for it, like lights or explosions or steam. Then I got a text alert. It was Kylie.

<Violet is looking better. She has some colour in her cheeks. Have you done it?>

Yes, I thought, as I turned back to the flat. I’ve done it.