by H. Y. Hanna
“Don’t be ridiculous—of course she’s not a witch!” James snapped. He looked around the crowd, taking in all the villagers in his gaze. “You should be ashamed of yourselves for the way you’re acting! Are we in mediaeval England? This is the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake! People do not believe in witchcraft anymore—we know it doesn’t exist!”
Caitlyn squirmed. Part of her was filled with warmth at the way James was speaking up for her, but another part of her cringed at his continued denial of magic. And wasn’t she adding to the deception too, by remaining silent? Was it right of her to let him defend her this way when she knew that what he was saying wasn’t actually true? How could she hope to ever convince him to believe the truth about herself, when she let him perpetuate the lie to others?
All around her, the villagers were dropping their eyes, looking shamefaced, and giving each other sheepish looks. All except for Mrs Gibbs, who pursed her lips angrily. But she didn’t dare say anything else. Giving Caitlyn and Evie a furious look, she turned and stormed away. Slowly, the rest of the villagers began dispersing as well.
“Thank you,” said Caitlyn awkwardly, looking up at James.
“If anyone says anything else to you or the Widow Mags—or to you and your mother…” James added to Evie, “I want you to let me know. I will not allow bigotry and paranoia to rule this village.” His normally warm grey eyes were hard and angry.
Caitlyn swallowed, feeling like a terrible hypocrite, but she murmured a reply, along with Evie. A few minutes later, James left them and Caitlyn trudged back to the chocolate shop alone.
She arrived at Bewitched by Chocolate to find the shop empty, as usual, and the Widow Mags in the kitchen at the back, busily making a new batch of ganache fillings for her chocolate truffles.
She went up to the old witch and said without preamble: “One of the boys in the village said he saw you conjuring something last night… is it true?”
“What do you mean?”
“He said he saw you chanting and waving your arms—and there was a dark animal shape on the table in front of you.”
The Widow Mags scowled. “That little sneak! I knew he was spying on me through the window, no doubt, so he could go back and tell that meddling mother of his…”
“So… you were conjuring something?” asked Caitlyn hesitantly. “What was it he saw?”
The Widow Mags gave her a long look, then got up and crossed over to the old-fashioned walk-in pantry. She swung the door open and gestured inside. Nervously, Caitlyn approached and peered in, then bit back a yelp of surprise as an enormous black shape loomed in front of her. She clutched a hand to her chest, calming her breathing as she realised that it was just a chocolate sculpture—a dark chocolate sculpture of a big, black bull.
“It’s Ferdinand,” said the Widow Mags. “Jeremy Bottom asked me to make a chocolate sculpture of him for the farm’s Open Day next week. When Bertha dropped me back after the doctor last night, I didn’t feel like sleeping, so I decided to tackle the sculpture. Took me till past midnight but it came out fairly well.”
She spoke casually, but Caitlyn could hear the pride in her grandmother’s voice as the old witch ran an assessing hand over the head of the chocolate bull. It was certainly something to be proud of. Although not quite life-size, it was wonderfully life-like, from the fine detail of the curled tufts of fur between the bull’s ears to the smooth lines of muscle on the thick neck and powerful shoulders… and most of all, those big, liquid eyes, so like the real Ferdinand. Caitlyn had a soft spot for the gentle bovine giant who loved pats and cuddles, and who, until recently, had been lonely for company.
“It’s beautiful,” said Caitlyn, eyeing it admiringly. “I can’t believe that silly boy mistook a chocolate sculpture for a phantom monster!”
“Well…” The old witch gave a raspy chuckle. “He wanted to see witchcraft so I gave him some witchcraft! I cast a little Animation spell to bring it to life for a bit. Didn’t need to do all that arm-waving and chanting, of course, but I thought I might as well put on a good show.”
“Grandma!” said Caitlyn in exasperation. “You know the villagers are terrified of you already. Why do you have to stir them up even more?”
The Widow Mags looked defiant. “He shouldn’t have been spying on me. Why shouldn’t I have a little fun?”
“Because now the whole village thinks that you called up the Black Shuck and set it on Sir Henry—they’re accusing you of murder.”
“What nonsense!” scoffed the Widow Mags, waving a dismissive hand.
“You might think it’s nonsense but a lot of the villagers believe it. They’re scared by the recent deaths and by all this talk of a ghostly demon hound—so they’re looking for someone to blame. And it doesn’t help when you go around provoking them on purpose! You know they’re already prejudiced against you; you don’t want to give them any more reason to think ill of you.”
“They can think what they like,” snapped the Widow Mags. “I don’t care.”
“You should care! You live in Tillyhenge too—they’re your neighbours, your customers… and some of them could even become your friends. Can’t you at least try to meet them halfway?”
“You sound just like Bertha,” said the old witch irritably. “Now, are you helping me with a new batch of caramel or not? And you’d better not let it burn this time!”
Caitlyn gave the chocolate sculpture one last look, then sighed and followed her grandmother back to the kitchen table.
CHAPTER TWELVE
That night, as she got ready for bed, Caitlyn paused in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection. In particular, her eyes were drawn to the runestone around her neck. Slowly, she reached up and untied the ribbon, then lowered the oblong piece of stone into her hands and tilted it this way and that, watching the light trace the strange symbols carved onto the surface.
What do they mean? Ever since she was a little girl, she had sat like this, turning the runestone over in her hands and wondering about the significance of those engraved marks. It was one of the mysteries from her past which had always tormented her—one of the reasons she had come to England. Now, she thought of what Pomona had said earlier that day and felt ashamed of how easily she had given up. Her cousin was right—no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t just hide in this “cocoon of complacency” forever.
But where was she going to find answers? What she had told Pomona was true: she had tried time and time again to ask the Widow Mags and Bertha about her mother and had got nowhere. Then it hit her. Of course! Caitlyn sat bolt upright. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She could ask Viktor! Surely, he must know something?
It seemed unbelievable now that she had never thought of turning to the old vampire—although maybe it was because she had never really looked at Viktor in a serious light. He had become an integral part of her new life, yes, but he had remained a surreal, fantastical, even comical figure—like the invisible friend you had as a child, who you talked to and shared a private world with, but who didn’t belong in the “real” world, with your real friends and family. Viktor was always there, in the background, flitting about in his fruit bat form, and yet most people in Tillyhenge and at Huntingdon Manor didn’t even know of his existence. And even though he and the Widow Mags seemed to be old acquaintances, Caitlyn rarely saw them together and neither spoke much about the other.
In fact, now that she thought about it, she wasn’t even sure if Viktor was really her uncle. He had introduced himself as such and called himself her “guardian uncle”—but now she wondered what that title really meant. That was another thing she was going to ask him… She glanced at her watch on the bedside table. It was nearly midnight but, on an impulse, she grabbed a cardigan, slipped it over the oversized T-shirt that she wore for sleeping, then shoved her feet into a pair of soft-soled shoes and left the room.
She tiptoed down the spiral staircase and past the Widow Mags’s closed bedroom door, through the kitch
en, and out into the rear garden behind the cottage. This was a traditional cottage garden, with a stone path between two overgrown beds stuffed with herbs, flowers, and other cottage garden plants. At the other end, the garden opened out onto the edge of the forest. She knew that Viktor often hung around there (often literally, in his fruit bat form) and she hoped that she might catch him tonight.
Caitlyn paused as she stepped out of the garden, letting her eyes acclimatise. The moon was still full and bright, letting her see a fair distance, despite not having a torch. The forest spread out in front of her, a sea of trees merging together as they flowed up the slope, like a dark green blanket draped across half of the bare hillside. She strained to see, looking for a familiar shape or a movement—anything that might be a sign of the old vampire—but she saw nothing. Then, as her gaze travelled upwards to the top of the hill, where she could see the faint outline of the ancient stone circle, she saw something that made her catch her breath.
A dark, wolf-like shape appeared briefly next to the stones… No, not a wolf—a dog, she realised. A huge black dog. It was lit sharply by the light of the moon, then it turned and disappeared over the crest of the hill. A moment later, Caitlyn heard that familiar chilling howl.
The Black Shuck?
She had to find out. Without pausing to think, Caitlyn rushed up the hill. It was steep and she was panting hard by the time she reached the crest. To her right, the forest hugged the side of the hill, the trees becoming thinner and more sparse as they neared the top. Straight in front of her, on the exposed ridge, stood the misshapen boulders which made up the Tillyhenge stone circle. And beyond them, the hill sloped down the other side, levelling off into the open land which formed the parklands around Huntingdon Manor. The manor house was faintly visible, outlined by the moonlight, with a few windows still lit and glowing.
But there was no sign of that dark canine shape. Caitlyn hesitated, then walked forwards, stepping into the stone circle and weaving between the boulders, peering around and behind them. In the pale moonlight, with the shadows lending shape and feature to their craggy surfaces, the stones looked even more like the frozen warriors that they were said to be. And it’s almost midnight… the “witching hour”… the time when they are meant to come to life, thought Caitlyn with a smile. After all the things she had seen since arriving in Tillyhenge, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the boulders really did rise up stiffly and assumed the form of ancient English knights.
A noise behind her made her stiffen. Slowly, she peered over her shoulder. Was there something there, behind that boulder? Gathering her courage, she whirled around. A dark blur moved between the boulders… around her… behind her. Caitlyn whirled again, but she couldn’t see where it had gone. She swallowed, suddenly feeling terribly vulnerable. She realised how stupid it had been of her to come up here alone…
Then something emerged from behind a boulder.
Caitlyn’s heart thudded in her chest. A huge black dog stood before her. It was the size of a small pony, with shaggy black fur and eyes that glowed red above its pointed muzzle. It opened its mouth in a lazy pant and Caitlyn saw the gleam of long, white fangs. The Black Shuck might have been a phantom hound, but there was nothing ghostly about its teeth! It stared at her with keen interest, then slowly began to advance.
Caitlyn felt a surge of panic. She wanted to run but her feet refused to move. Anyway, don’t they say you shouldn’t run from dogs? It only excites them and makes them chase you more, she thought frantically, as the hazy memory of a Dog Safety pamphlet from some pet welfare society came back to her mind. What else had it said?
“Stand still, cross your arms, and ignore the animal until it goes away”…
Oh wonderful. Perfect advice when you’re facing a demon dog: cross your arms, ignore it, and hope it goes away.
Caitlyn swallowed as the Black Shuck came even closer. She stood rigid as she saw it stretch its neck towards her, then something brushed her body and she heard the sound of loud sniffing.
Gulp. She hoped she didn’t smell tasty.
Shifting her weight, she began to take a step backwards. The Black Shuck emitted a low growl. Caitlyn froze, then placed her foot back where it had been.
“N-n-nice doggie…” she croaked. What was she going to do? She couldn’t stand here all night… Then she thought of what Nathan Lewis had said at dinner. It was ridiculous, but what did she have to lose? She took a deep breath and said in a firmer voice: “Er… n-nice doggie… SIT!”
The huge black dog cocked its head, looking at her quizzically. Then it lowered its haunches and sat down.
Caitlyn stared in disbelief. Then, on a hunch, she reached down and picked up a fallen twig. Waving it above her head, she threw it as far as she could. The Black Shuck sprang up and bounded after the twig. Well, whaddya know? Even monsters like to play Fetch.
Caitlyn turned to run in the opposite direction, but faltered to a stop as she found the Black Shuck in front of her again, holding the twig in its mouth. How did it get back here so fast?
The big black dog dropped the stick and looked at her expectantly. Caitlyn snatched the twig up and flung it over her shoulder as hard as she could, but she had barely taken a few steps when the Black Shuck was in front of her once more, with the stick in its mouth and its tail wagging eagerly.
I don’t believe this. It’s the middle of the night and I’m stuck on a hill playing a game of Fetch with a demon dog.
Caitlyn wondered what to do. She couldn’t hope to win on speed—obviously, the Black Shuck could move with supernatural momentum—no matter how far she threw the stick, it always retrieved it and returned to her before she could run away. So she had to slow it down some other way. This time, she picked up the stick and, instead of just tossing it as far as she could, she aimed for the narrow space between two of the boulders. The black dog sprang after the flying stick and disappeared between the stones.
Caitlyn turned and started to race down the hill but, in her panic, she tripped and stumbled. The next moment, she was flat on her face, on the ground. There was a rustling behind her and she jerked around, rolling quickly to her feet. But instead of a black phantom hound, she found herself staring at an older man with enormous side-burns.
“Professor Thrope!” Caitlyn cried in surprise.
“Did you see it?” he asked eagerly. “The Black Shuck—it’s up here somewhere!”
“Um… yes …” Caitlyn stammered. “It was… it was over there…” She pointed to the circle of stone boulders.
The professor rushed over and looked around the stones, then returned a moment later, his face creased with disappointment. “It’s gone! Oh, I can’t believe I missed it. What did it look like?”
“Like… um… like how the legends describe it. You know… a big black dog with red eyes.”
“And what was it doing?”
“Um…” It was weird standing here, calmly discussing a mythical creature. She was used to people being disbelieving or contemptuous of magic and the paranormal—not treating it like a perfectly normal daily occurrence. They might have been discussing a friend’s spaniel! Caitlyn wondered how much to tell him. She decided that even a cryptozoologist probably wouldn’t believe her if she said the Black Shuck had been playing Fetch.
“It was just… er… sniffing around.” Then something compelled her to add, “It… it wasn’t really as scary as I’d expected. I mean, it did look pretty fierce at first but then—”
“You see?” said Professor Thrope triumphantly. “That’s what I was saying at dinner last night: I think the legends have grossly distorted the truth. The Black Shuck isn’t an evil monster preying on the unwary—it is more likely a guardian hound who appears to escort lone travellers safely to their destinations.”
“But… what about the recent deaths?” asked Caitlyn.
“The deaths have nothing to do with the Black Shuck!” Professor Thrope snapped. He caught himself and added in a calmer voice. “I’m sorry. Forgive
me… It’s just that I get so frustrated when people seem intent on demonising these poor beasts, when humans have done far worse!” He scowled and waved a fist. “Violent gangs and serial killers have hurt far more people than any basilisk or manticore… and yet people still jump to assume the worst as soon as they think of any mythical creature. But just because something is ugly doesn’t mean that it’s monstrous!”
Wow. I wonder what he’s like when he’s giving his student lectures. Talk about being passionate about your subject! Caitlyn thought as she eyed the other man curiously. She noticed that he was dressed in old-fashioned striped pyjamas and a faded dressing gown. The clothes were worn and torn in places, and his hair was unkempt. He looked like he had been dragged not just out of bed but through a hedge backwards as well.
“What happened to you?” she asked, indicating his appearance.
“Eh? Oh…” He looked down at himself and gave a sheepish laugh. “I couldn’t sleep—I suffer from insomnia, you know—so I went downstairs to get a book. Well, I was in the Library when I heard it—this wonderful, eerie howling. I just knew it wasn’t from an ordinary creature! I rushed outside and saw it—a great, big, black dog—standing at the edge of the formal gardens. By the time I got there, it had already started to climb the hill. I tried to follow as fast as I could, but I guess my haste was my undoing. I tripped and rolled part of the way down the hill again before I could stop myself…” He sighed. “By the time I’d picked myself up and climbed up here, I’d lost it. Then I saw you lying there…” He looked curiously at her in his turn. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh… er… I have insomnia like you so I was out… um… getting some fresh air,” said Caitlyn lamely. She turned and pointed down to where a thatched-roof cottage was faintly visible, nestled at the base of the hill. “I live down there—it’s the Widow Mags’s cottage.”
“Ah yes… the eccentric old lady with the fabulous chocolates,” said Professor Thrope with a smile.