by Neil Mach
Moondog and the Reed Leopard
Moondog and the Reed Leopard
Neil Mach
© Copyright November 2017
The right of Neil Mach to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All Rights Reserved
No reproduction copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, coped or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended.)
Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental
First Published in 2017
Cover Artwork by @merrybookround 2019
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http://www.neilmach.me/author
Beginning
‘God, I wanted to vomit and defecate at the same time…’ He seemed weakened by the experience. ‘It was the most horrible and painful encounter of my life. I swear it. And here’s the thing… I came face-to-face with a nightmarish firecat that night. I don’t expect you to believe the story, but hear me out…’ The man had already explained how he’d pulled his car off a country road in a hurry. And he told her that this was the second time within a week that he’d experienced unbearable stomach-pains. He gave a stark expression when he whispered the next part: ‘I am sorry to be sensational,’ he took a deep breath. ‘But that night, I know it sounds crazy, but that night I saw a creature from hell. We were face to face... me and it. That’s why I can’t tell another living soul about the incident. You are the only person I can trust.’
She nodded, in deference to his age and experience — but she remained puzzled. Why did he choose to tell her? Why not tell one of his attendants? She prepared to ask why he chose to vent this to her of all people. But the boss cleared his throat, ready to resume the testimony. She never had another chance to query him.
The man told her that once he’d parked his car, he travelled on foot — a reasonable distance from the road — to find a place behind a bush where he would not be observed. She gave a vinegary frown when he told her that he needed to pull his trousers down. He clarified that he had started to feel ill and found he had difficulty breathing. He said the pain in his guts persisted. He told her that when he tried to vomit, he grabbed his knees, but could not bring any bile up. She thought this was gross, but she nodded anyway.
The man said he felt dizzy and his skin grew cold. His first thought was that he should call someone. He decided he was not ill enough to call for an ambulance. But he considered calling friend. But who? He did not know anyone he could trust. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. At that moment a very bad contraction crumpled his body and it made him convulse.
The girl interrupted to ask him what had caused all these spasms? The man told her it might have been nuts. She gave a cynical smirk. He explained that he’d gobbled a big bag of peanuts during the day and thought they might be to blame… although he admitted that he’d never experienced an allergic reaction to nuts before.
The man returned to his story: he said he felt remarkably hot, then exceptionally cold and found that he couldn’t swallow. He started to huff-and-puff as the abdominal pain increased. He decided enough-was-enough and that he’d better dial 999. He told her he took a final deep breath then he saw the hell-creature.
He said he saw a giant golden leopard. Was it a phantasm? Was it a portent of death? He said he thought it was a magical thing, and the creature had perhaps risen from an unseen, ghostly realm. The girl gazed into his eyes and dropped her jaw when the man told her this.
He continued with his account: He told her that the huge cat-like beast was bigger than any tiger he’d ever seen. He described the beast’s fawn-grey coat as slightly mottled. He said the animal had large padded feet and a long ginger tail. He said the hellcat prowled twenty feet from his hiding place and was at least four feet tall and perhaps fifteen feet long, nose-to-tail. The man said he waited, like a pilgrim on his knees — in prayerful stillness. The man told her he forgot all about his discomfort when he saw the fabulous creature — especially when it skulked across the vista, directly in front of his hiding place, to bathe in some mysterious golden light. The man suggested that the fabulous animal was a natural phenomenon. Though he felt convinced the creature was a harbinger of some terrible future event.
She interjected again: ‘What did you do?’
The man said he had his iPhone in his right hand, so he gathered his strength to operate the camera. He said he wanted to take a snap of the beast before it disappeared. But as soon as he stabilized his hand to take the first shot, the animal stood in its tracks and looked him straight in the eye. The beast seemed curious, and its eyeballs were alive with supernatural fire. At that moment he realized how utterly vulnerable he was. He told her the beast’s eyes grew acid-gold and they intoxicated and bewitched him. He said he didn’t know, at that stage, if he was dead or alive.
The man said he must have pressed the shutter-release on his camera-phone because he later found the picture he’d taken of the fire-leopard. He passed the phone to her so she could check-out his photo evidence. She squeezed her eyelids to view his screen. She could see a large silhouette-shape that possibly resembled a massive cat. Once she’d examined the photo, the man continued. He explained that — as he took the snap — his head became encircled by an arc of fire. He told her he had to look away from the creature because he wanted to view his temples —and because it felt as if his head was ablaze. He explained he could see a halo above his eyes, and then he saw an aura that floated around his hair. He said the crown above his head extended like the rings of Saturn. He told her he gazed at the circle of light until he buckled. He said that he collapsed, headlong, into the dirt.
She shook her head because she didn’t know what to say next.
The man completed his tale by explaining that he regained consciousness some time later. He guessed ten minutes had passed since he’d seen the ghostly hellcat, perhaps twenty. He felt stronger than before and found he was well-enough to get onto his feet and get back to the car.
By then the dream-leopard had departed.
So had his halo.
All Kinds of Evil
‘This town is like Charmed, Scooby-Doo, and Ghostbusters rolled into one.’
‘Ghostbusters?’
‘You know, evil spirits, apparitions, strange phenomena,’ Hopie clunked a set of freshly painted fingernails onto the keyboard as she yakked to the girl opposite. ‘There have been monsters sighted; cats cut to pieces… all kinds of weird crap.’
The civilian administrative officer, Miss Hope Sopgood, known across the constabulary as ‘Hopie’ had only lived in the mysterious town of Hugh-Lupus for two months. She’d already gone slightly loopy with boredom. She found that the place was dull as ditch water. Originally, when she first arrived, she felt a delicious wave of fresh spirit,
especially on her first day of work at the little police station. When she started, she found herself buzzing with energy; to be in a new place — a new job, with a new home, new challenges, new horizons — and even a new set of people. She’d even treated herself to a new set of clothes to wear in the office. But now, just a few weeks later, everything seemed lackluster. The Chief had been kind to her, understandably, and had paid her first month’s rent on the cottage — and she had to admit it was a far better place than her studio flat in the City. But, otherwise, all the brightness had gone out of her existence. Even her brilliant new outfit, the one she’d indulged in on her arrival, had become creased. She found her fab cottage grew desolate in the evenings, the town had no nightlife, the job bored her bits off, and she badly missed her Mum and her friends.
Now, to add to the sense of discontentment, the town of Hugh-Lupus had itself become not-so-nice — the place had started to feel riddled with creepiness. Hopie felt more alone and more disconnected than ever before. She tried not to be pessimistic, but she knew she had become dejected. Hugh-Lupus was a crappy place for a girl of nineteen. She hated every yawn-filled minute in the god-forsaken poo-hole.
Her middle-aged boss, the Sergeant who shared the office with the two girls, looked on: ‘I don’t know about any of that...’ he mumbled. ‘Much too hectic.’ He swigged a mouthful of stale coffee from a chipped mug then passed his eye over the back page of the Mail.
‘You must know about the dog mutilations...’ Hopie suggested.
‘Yeah, I know about those…’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve got to see the Chief this lunchtime about that topic. I don’t know what he expects me to do. I’m much too busy to take on more work.’
‘Do you think sorcery is to blame?’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit uncanny?’
‘Not really,’ muttered the Sergeant as he flicked through his paper. He paid no real attention to the half-witted girls who shared his office. And this new one was away with the fairies.
‘A friend of mine swears he saw an apparition…’ Hopie continued.
‘It seems improbable,’ offered the Sarge. ‘Your friend was probably high.’
Hopie made a frown. ‘My point is: what the holy fudge-nuts is going on? This town is overflowing with evil.’
‘Overflowing? Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic, love. Take a chill pill. Smoke a toke.’
*
‘What’s he like?’ enquired Hopie’s co-worker, Sarah-Jane. She had finally completed a mountain of reports, so felt ready for a break. She leant back into her seat to study a perfect set of fingernails.
‘Who? The telly guy? The guy who investigates things that didn’t happen?’ Hopie said. She slammed a large ledger onto her desk, then rose for the kettle. ‘He’s like...’
‘What? Who is like what?’ interrupted Sergeant Moyes, folding his paper in half.
They girls looked at each other and snickered. ‘We were talking about an investigator on telly…’ Sarah-Jane explained. ‘he’s the guy that Hopie has kinda connected with…’
‘Yes, the guy I’m telling her about is a paranormal researcher,’ added Hopie. ‘He does cryptic animals, vampires, pagan beliefs, witches… all that sort of thing. He investigates into things that didn’t actually happen.’
‘Did you say he investigates things that didn’t happen?’ mumbled the Sarge. ‘Isn’t that kind of nonsensical? What’s the point? Why investigate things that didn’t happen?’
‘Actually, I think it makes a lot of sense,’ replied Hopie. ‘Us, we the police, we investigate things that did happen, or we guess are about to happen. In other words, we investigate things that get reported to us by sane folk. But nobody looks into the other things — the things that did not happen — the things that couldn’t happen because they’re impossible. There are things out there, aren’t there, that are quite incredible. But we don’t look into those, do we? It’s unfeasible things that this telly detective investigates.’
‘My point entirely.’
‘Anyway, I told Sarah-Jane about this guy. I watch his show on YouTube — his show’s called Hocus Focus. This guy, the investigator, he checks rumors and delves into myths and folklore and discovers whole truths about stuff. He gets to the bottom of the weirdness — and he kind of explains what’s behind any mysteries. I think he’s the guy we need right now here in Hugh-Lupus. That’s why I mentioned his name to the Chief. I think we’re dealing with stuff that’s outside our normal experience. We need a fella like this Hocus Focus guy. We need his field of specialism. He’s a psychic detective.’
‘Woo-woo,’ Sarah-Jane said. She made hands and pulled an ugly face to accentuate her point. ‘Is this Hocus Focus show like ‘Most Haunted’ with Yvette Fielding? I love that show.’
‘He doesn’t do psychic stuff…’ Hopie explained, with a pout. ‘This guy that I’m talking about doesn’t do ghosts or dead stuff. He doesn’t do mumbo jumbo. He’s a paranormal investigator, I think. In fact, paranormal is the best way to describe him.’
‘He’s not a psychic?’
‘Maybe I got the wording wrong —my bad? I will tell you this though; he’s a big deal on YouTube, thousands of views. He’s good at what he does.’
‘My God girlie — you’re rubbish! Why waste your time on bunkum and baloney when you could be eyeing hunks on Hollyoaks?’
Hopie gave Sarah-Jane an insolent expression. ‘Just trying to explain that he’s big on the internet, that’s all.’
‘Is he? Well, so are squirrels wearing water-skis. But we don’t ask them to come and help us with police work,’ remarked the Sarge. He crashed his weight into his chair. ‘I hope the Chief told you to eff off with your big ideas about telly show blokes. Anyway, what’s he like, this psychic? They’re all the same, aren’t they? Psychics are old blokes with white hair, National Health glasses, and smelly feet. I bet his feet pong. He’ll be no showboat, that’s for sure. I bet he’s seventy-four with white hair… That’s what psychics are like.’
‘I’ve never seen him; no one has. He’s not a psychic by the way. I already made that clear…’
‘You’ve never seen him?’
‘That’s his trademark. His face gets pixilated for the camera, and he stands alone in the shade or acts like a silhouette when he gives an opinion. He’s never been seen…’
‘Never been seen. Oh, how very convenient. You’ve been had, young lady. Never been seen. My God, what a joke. That’s his trademark, is it? You spend too much time watching rubbish. You and your fantasies, young lady. It’s absolute madness.’
‘Yeah, it’s probably hogwash,’ Hopie admitted.
*
At lunchtime Hopie wanted to get some air, so she put her outer jacket over her shoulders to go to Nan Pantan’s Health Food Shop for a refreshing Hawaiian smoothie. She also had to get the Chief his regular nutritious vegetarian wrap.
Of course — first, she had to go through what she called ‘the procedure.’ The procedure went like this:
1: she tiptoed down the back stairs
2: she waited in the lobby by the fire doors
3: If all-clear, she crossed the car park but remained hidden by the gutter
4: she waited by the containers opposite the smoking shelter until the traffic barrier lifted
5: When a vehicle approached, she nipped under the rising arm and rushed down the road
Hopie only managed to get to #4 ‘by the containers’ when she heard a maddening yet familiar voice.
‘Oi. Where are you going?’
‘Huh?’
‘Where you off to? I can give you a lift...’
‘Nowhere, just outside,’ she tried not to make eye contact.
‘Nowhere?’ said a high-pitched male voice ‘Why are you in such a hurry? Especially if you’re not going anywhere. Maybe we can have lunch together — we can go for a walk...’
She turned to look at the voice. But she already knew it ca
me from constable Jimmie Lavery. He’d concealed himself behind the main bin in the car park. He emerged from the shade and right away, her heart sank. These days she felt sick when she saw his infuriatingly stupid watery-eyes and that vague, pale hair that glistened on his manky, skinny neck. Some girls suggested he looked like Ryan Gosling, but she couldn’t see it herself. Jimmie’s stupid bleating voice didn’t help either. He was plain and dreary. He’d become a pest.
And today, when she looked at him, she realized that Jimmie was kind of disagreeable in lots of other ways too. His feet were too big for his shins, his fingers were too yellow for his palms, his nose was too small for his face, his knees were too far down his legs, and his wrists were too thin for his pointy elbows. She expressly disliked his flippy-flappy mouth. And the way his irritating lower lip protruded beyond the top one… she loathed that particular feature. His laughable sticky-out lip made him look like a total div. Frankly, he was. These days he really got on her goat.
‘Can’t you just leave me alone?’ she moaned. ‘Just for one lousy lunchtime? It’s all I ask.’
‘Can I give you a lift? Where are you going? Pantan’s? Why don’t you jump in my Panda?’
‘How do you know I’m going to Nan Pantan’s?’
‘You go there every day. I wait for you, here. You go and get the Chief’s lunchtime wrap. And bits for yourself. I know you’re a health food nut. I know everything about you. Don’t overlook the fact that I’m an officer. I have an aptitude for detective work. Do you want to get in my patrol car? ‘
‘I just want fresh air...’
She turned, but Jimmie grabbed her arm and pulled her back, ‘Maybe later?’ he said in his stupid whiny voice. ‘We could catch up. We can go for a drive to Swithland? We can have a cozy drink at the Griffin.’
‘Get off,’ she twisted her elbow to release his grip. The struggle caused Jimmie to pull a thread from her knitted cardigan. He held the thread to the light to admire it.