“It had horns?” I asked. “Doesn’t that sound like a stag?” A few people nodded.
“Exactly!” Trevor said. “Nothing sinister about it at all.”
“It was angry!” Sarah Corby reiterated.
“Did it really have red eyes?” The woman in front of me asked. “Because deer don’t have red eyes.”
“Maybe it was a trick of the light,” Trevor suggested.
Pockets of people started to discuss what had been said and the noise levels in the hall rose again. “Order! Order!” called Talbot-Lloyd. “I think the facts are clear—”
“They definitely aren’t.” I folded my arms in defiance, but he ignored me.
“There is something out there in Whittle Forest. I am proposing that we need a search party to go out and hunt it down.” There were murmurs of agreement and groans of disagreement. “What I’m suggesting is that we form a hunting party and head out into the forest in small groups.”
“A hunting party?” I called out, trying to make myself heard above the general hubbub. “You’re going to shoot it? With guns?”
“Well they’re not going to shoot it with cameras, are they?” The woman in front of me retorted.
I stared open-mouthed as Talbot-Lloyd called for order again. “If we have any farmers or anyone with a gun license who would care to join us, make yourself known. We’ll get started this evening.”
“This is preposterous,” Millicent said.
“That can’t be legal, surely?” I asked her. “They can’t just go into the forest and shoot at anything that moves. There must be laws against that. This is England, not the Wild West.”
The meeting was beginning to break up. Most people were shaking their heads and leaving Talbot-Lloyd and his gung-ho band of brothers—because there were no female volunteers—to it. I made my way to the front of the hall and tried to break through the group of men surrounding him, but he studiously avoided all my attempts to speak with him.
I marched back to Millicent, hovering at the rear of the hall. Her forehead had creased in consternation and she regarded me with concern. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Well first things first I’m going to give George a ring. I’m pretty sure he still has officers in the woods searching for evidence. I haven’t heard that they’ve withdrawn yet.” I fished my mobile from my coat pocket. “But in any case, he needs to know that there will be armed idiots on the loose in Whittlecombe tonight.” I thumbed the screen and quickly located George’s number. “It may be December and it may be freezing out there, but anyone could be in the forest and someone could be seriously hurt. We can’t have that on our consciences.”
“It’s always nice to have a little company,” Finbarr announced cheerfully as I told him I’d be joining him on his foray into Speckled Wood that evening.
“It’s not for a chinwag and bonfire jamboree,” I said, pulling on my walking boots and struggling with the laces.
“Ah, now. I didn’t for a minute imagine it would be that simple.” He winked.
“I’m not sure it’s going to be simple at all.” I cursed at my laces. They were mud encrusted and my fingers were cold. I seemed to have lost the dexterity I needed to secure my boots.
Finbarr pulled out his wand. “Ligare!” he said.
The shoelaces slipped through my fingers and tied themselves in neat bows. “You’ll need to wrap up warm there, Alf. It’s colder than—”
“I know. I’ve only just come back from the village.” I wished heartily for Florence’s presence. She would have filled up a thermos with hot chocolate or tea and we could have taken that with us. I didn’t really want to stop and make a flask myself. Time was of the essence.
“I’ve leggings on underneath my trousers,” I said. “And a vest, a t-shirt and two jumpers. Do you think that will be enough?”
“Thermal vest?” Finbarr looked at me with incredulity and I nodded. I’d learned my lesson about proper outdoor clothes last Christmas when I’d been entirely unprepared for the winter conditions in the forest. This year I’d invested in proper clothing. I now had a warm, windproof coat to wear. I shrugged it on, zipped it up and buttoned down the flaps. For his part, Finbarr didn’t seem to feel the cold, but then given that he was out in it overnight, every night, come rain or snow, I expected he’d acclimatised.
I patted my pockets. Torch, wand and mobile phone. Not that I’d be likely to have much of a signal once we ventured into the woods proper, but you could never know when a phone might come in handy. If I’d had one the night I’d found Linda’s body, I wouldn’t have had to run back to the inn to summon assistance. Fortunately—or unfortunately—depending on your take on such things, she had been well beyond help.
I pulled my hat down over my ears. “Let’s go,” I said and waddled out of the back door, the weight of all the excess clothing constraining my movements.
Finbarr followed me. “Would you be telling me what we’re about this fine evening?”
“Talbot-Lloyd is searching for the Beast of Whittle Forest,” I told him as he fell in beside me and started to match my stride.
“There’s a Beast?” Finbarr asked. “That’s news to me.”
I sniffed. “I think the whole thing is made up. But whatever it is, it has all the local landowners and farmers out with their guns tonight. They’re searching for this ‘creature’ whatever it may be, and no doubt they will shoot on sight if they find it or anything even remotely resembling it.”
“I’m certain that if there was anything in the forest that shouldn’t be, we would know about it,” Finbarr said. “I’d have seen some evidence of it, or the pixies would have, and they would have told me.”
“That’s my thinking too. And George’s. I phoned him to let him know what Talbot-Lloyd is up to.”
“Ah that’s grand, then. There’ll be no unsuspecting boys-in-blue caught unawares.”
“Or girls. Except there probably will be at some stage. George is sending a party to apprehend Talbot-Lloyd’s hunters. They have no license to be out here at this time of night looking to shoot things. The police will warn them off.”
“If they don’t go?”
“I suppose there will be a few arrests.”
We’d made it to the edge of Speckled Wood. Above us, the branches on the trees, skeletal and stark against the sky, shone with frost.
“So, it’s going to be busy out here tonight. To be sure the sheer levels of noise will frighten anything off that’s trying to hide out or even just get a decent night’s kip.” He paused and looked at me. “Remind me. Just what are we going to be doing out here ourselves, might I ask?”
From overhead came the rhythmic beating of large wings. Mr Hoo settled into a tree nearby and stared down at me with bright orange eyes. I saluted him. “We’re going to locate the Beast of Whittle Forest before anyone else does.”
“Right.” Finbarr considered this. “And if we do find this Beastie, what are we going to do then?”
“We’re going to ask him what he wants, of course.”
Finbarr knew Speckled Wood inside out. He could probably have circumnavigated it with his eyes closed. The earth itself had frozen; hard and unyielding. Although the floor of the forest had been coated in fallen leaves, pinecones and chestnut cases. If we did have any trips or stumbles, they would make for a softer landing. By following my little Irish friend, I avoided all the pitfalls I might have stumbled across in the dark had I been alone; the badger holes, the mini ravines, the trees that had been felled by storms.
We made our way slowly and carefully towards the boundary of my land. If you knew where to look you would easily spot the forcefield that burned like a wall of electric ribbon thanks to its bright glow. It appeared healthy to me, uninterrupted, and Finbarr only gave it a cursory glance as we approached it.
Above us, Mr Hoo continued to circle the canopy. That he could do this so silently seemed wondrous to me. No field mouse or shrew would have stood a chance had the owl been
hunting. For now however, he searched for any sign of the Beast of Whittle Forest.
We paused at the forcefield and Mr Hoo settled high in the branches above us, his head turned to the south, towards Whittlecombe.
“What do you reckon?” Finbarr asked, keeping his voice low.
“I think we should go on, as though we were heading for the village,” I whispered. “If we continue in this general direction it will take us towards Whittle Folly, right?”
“Eventually. More or less.” Finbarr nodded. “I don’t know the area beyond here so well, and we have strayed from the main paths.”
“One of the villagers claimed to have been almost at the scout hut when she spotted this creature.”
In the far distance the sound of a rifle shot made us both jump. “Bejesus.” Finbarr said. “Thank the good Grandfather-of-Leprechauns that they’re a way away.”
“Mmm.” I tilted my head, listening but we there were no more shots. “Sounds like they’re still in Whittlecombe. Let’s hope they stay there.”
“Hooooo.”
My owl called to me and I peered up, barely able to make him out in the mute light. “See anything?” I called softly.
“Hooo. Hooooooo. Hooo-oooo.”
“What’s he saying?” Finbarr frowned. “Has he seen something?”
“Not seen but heard. Movement coming from the south. Heading this way.”
“That would make sense if Talbot-Lloyd’s men have scared something off.”
My heart beat a little faster in my chest and we remained quiet; our ears, eyes and witch-senses straining, until Finbarr articulated what we were both thinking. “It could be the Beast.”
“Yes.” I considered our options. “We could… what is it that cowboys do? With horses and things when they round them up and one gets loose?”
“Corral?”
“Yes!” I smacked his arm. “We could corral him against the forcefield here.”
“That’s assuming he’s going to head straight for us.” Finbarr looked around. “He could always break off. Go left or right maybe.”
“True.” We’d need more than the two of us. Perhaps the pixies? I hurriedly discounted this idea and considered a few magickal options instead. Off the top of my head I wasn’t sure I had any ensnare-an-angry-forest-beast spells handy. I supposed in a worst-case scenario I could use a stun or an immobilise spell. I walked to my left, scouring the darkness but hearing nothing.
“You know, talking about corralling, back in the old country we’re very laid back about horses and ponies.” Finbarr’s lyrical accent drifted after me. His accent always became broader, more lyrical, when he spoke about the land he loved.
“This isn’t a horse though,” I reminded him.
“But I’ll wager the technique would be the same for whatever it is.” Finbarr caught me up. “No animal can run forever. The hunting party are a way behind him. He’ll come this way and not be able to make it through the forcefield. He’ll have been running for a while. He’ll slow down.”
I stared at my little Irish friend; doubt gnawing away at my innards. “It’s a theory.”
“What do we have to lose?” Finbarr grinned at me, and without waiting for a response popped through the forcefield. After a moment, I followed suit.
“You’d better not be getting me killed,” I said. “I’ve big plans for next year.”
Finbarr gasped. “You’re never in the world getting married there now, are you Alfhild?”
I reared back in shock. “By all that’s green… No!” I gave Finbarr the evil eye. “I meant big plans for the inn.”
“Oh. And there I was making the assumption you and Silvan would be jumping the broomstick.”
“Certainly not,” I replied, my tone prim. “We hardly know each other.”
“You rub along very well for two people who don’t know each other.” Finbarr let out a guffaw that probably woke every non-nocturnal animal within a five-mile radius.
“Shhh!” I hissed.
We stood stock still and lapsed into silence; our ears straining to make out the slightest sound from anywhere. The cold seeped into my marrow and the sting of the icy air on my cheeks made my skin tingle.
“Hoooo.” Mr Hoo alerted us to something coming closer. I hardly dared to breathe. I had to force myself to release the tension I’d been holding onto.
Then, “Hooooo,” once more and the owl lifted from the tree, soaring gracefully up into the sky, sailing away from us.
“Where’s he going?” Finbarr whispered.
I watched his direction of flight. “I don’t know but I think we should go after him, slowly and quietly.”
Finbarr nodded and set off. I followed the Irish witch closely, knowing that stealth and silence were our watch words for now. We walked a little way until we re-joined a path. A bit further than that, I had a realisation. Police tape had been tied to a tree here, and although the scene had now been dismantled, several metres of it fluttered forlornly on the bitter breeze.
I reached out to tap Finbarr lightly on the back. He stopped. “We’re near to where I found the woman last week,” I whispered.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded and opened my mouth to say something else, when we heard the rapid clumping of cantering hooves on hard earth heading our way. Instantly my heart was in my mouth and my wand in my hand. Finbarr’s too. We edged backwards, quietly, each of us taking shelter behind a tree. I jammed my back against the trunk and slunk to my knees, hugging the ground, as the sound of hooves grew louder.
The running slowed down to a trot and then a walk. There was a kind of snuffling noise, some snorting. ‘It’ had entered the little clearing. Clop clop. The sound of hooves on rock. Then duller steps. Retreating.
I dared to twist my head to steal a look. Wand stretched ahead of me, I peered out from behind the tree expecting to see the Beast of Whittle Forest taking a breather.
Mist rose from the ground, catching the beams of moonlight that filtered down through the forest canopy. But of the beast?
There was no sign.
I gestured at Finbarr and he peeped out from behind his tree too. His head swivelled as he checked all around us, pointing his wand into the undergrowth, then looking back at me and shaking his head.
“Where did it go?” I pushed myself upright and walked towards the little clearing.
“Careful, Alf,” Finbarr warned me.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of here,” I said. I glanced down at where I’d discovered the body of Linda Creary. No ghost light. She’d passed over. That was something.
The ground had been well trodden round here, the foliage cut down or beaten down by the police when they’d searched the area. I glanced back at where I’d seen the eyes watching me, Grizzle’s eyes as it had turned out. Behind what had been a large holly bush was a rocky outcrop. Nothing unusual about that, here on the Jurassic coast where the forest eventually meets the sea, but unless my eyes were deceiving me there was a narrow gap in the rocks.
“Finbarr?” I pointed the rocks out to him, and we crept towards them. I extracted the torch from my pocket and pointed it towards the shadowy space.
“It’s a cave of sorts,” Finbarr said, edging up close to the entrance. I shone the torch inside the gap. The narrow entrance went on for some way and I experienced a sudden wave of claustrophobic terror.
“I’m not going in there. No way.”
“I will.” Finbarr reached out to take the torch from me.
I pulled it away from his hand. “Are you crazy? The Beast might be in there.”
“Well we either sit here all night, freezing to death and hoping it will come out, or we go inside and make his acquaintance.”
Or we could leave him to his own devices and hope he doesn’t get himself shot by Talbot-Lloyd the trophy hunter, I thought.
None of these seemed to be appealing options. I sighed and held the torch out to Finbarr.
He gave me the thumbs up and accepted the
torch from me. Holding it in one hand, and his wand in the other, he turned sideways and edged into the gap.
“Be careful,” I said. “Don’t make me come in there after you.”
“Never fear. It’ll all be fine,” he said and disappeared.
He hadn’t been gone more than a few seconds when I heard him cry out in surprise. I leaned my head into the gap to listen, my heart thumping like a jack hammer. I could see the faint trace of light where the passage turned a corner.
“Are you alright?” I called in alarm, and my voice reverberated along the narrow space.
“Pipe down, Alf. You’re scaring him,” came the response, his voice echoing crazily.
“I’m scaring him? Who is ‘him’?”
“Easy, easy,” I heard Finbarr say, and when I recognised the stomping of hooves once more, I could only assume he wasn’t speaking to me. “Are you hungry?” Finbarr asked whatever it was. “What do you even eat? Not witches I hope?”
I hoped not too. Waiting for Finbarr to make an appearance, I hopped around. Partly from agitation and partly because the cold had started to get to me and I needed to warm up.
“Here we go, big fella. Come out now and meet your new stepmother.”
I crinkled my nose. Stepmother? Had Finbarr been on the whisky before we ventured out this evening? I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Alf? Would you do me a huge favour and just take hold of this lad’s reins as he comes your way?”
Reins? Hooves? It was a horse then after all? I relaxed a little. I could handle a horse.
“Alright,” I called back, and stood poised to make a grab as the animal headed out into the open.
But when the Beast emerged, I was so surprised, I forgot what I was doing and made no attempt to grab the reins at all, because this wasn’t a horse at all. The horns kind of gave that away.
No, not a horse, but a reindeer.
And I do declare… He had a very shiny nose.
Witching in a Winter Wonkyland: A Wonky Inn Christmas Cozy Mystery Page 8