| Billy Part 11 - Diminishing Light |
2008
Of the many shades of black, Elizabeth had no doubt that it was the deepest black of all that formed the coat of the approaching barguest. Its blood-red eyes glowed like smouldering coals and appeared to be fixed in their direction. She hastily unwrapped the parcel she was holding.
“Think you could buy us a little time here, Gemma?” she asked calmly.
Gemma touched Paul and reached towards Elizabeth, she halted midway. “Something’s wrong -– I can’t get near you. What are you holding?”
Elizabeth raised one of the horseshoes in her hand, “Just a few of these -– Tashriel said they would come in handy if we happened to come across our friend there.” She nodded towards the beast, which was now about 60 yards away.
“That explains why I couldn’t sense it!” Gemma hissed. “Those things are made of iron -– they work against Fae too!”
Elizabeth looked down at the objects in her hands; they offered the only defence she had against the approaching creature.
“What are we supposed to do with them?" Paul asked, reaching out and taking one.
“According to Tashriel, we need to place them on the ground at our feet and stand in a circle with our backs together,” Elizabeth stated calmly whilst looking in Gemma's direction. “Is that going to cause a problem for you?”
“Not as much as the one I’m going to create for you when we get out of here!" Gemma snarled. "I'll be fine as long as they don’t touch me,” she added almost as an afterthought.
Paul placed the one he was holding on the ground beside Gemma and reached over for another one. Elizabeth mischievously considered using her own to whack Gemma with before reluctantly placing it at her own feet.
The barguest howled as if to summon the devil himself, its foul smelling breath hurled the leaves nearest to them in the direction of the surrounding gravestones. Elizabeth clasped Paul’s hand and offered her other hand to the contrary Gemma. Baring its drool-coated fangs and gums, the hell hound rushed towards them with razor sharp claws unsheathed.
Elizabeth, aware of the magical connotations associated with iron and horseshoes, was curious to discover how they would offer protection against the barguest. Within seconds of placing all three on the ground, a thin, almost crystal-like veil had appeared and formed a protective layer around them. It was immediately obvious to all that the horseshoes had created a sort of Celtic trinity knot around them and Gemma was clearly uncomfortable.
The air was acrid and tainted with sulphur. The barguest, frustrated at being unable to break through their defences, sliced the surrounding graves with its razor sharp claws and intermittently threw itself against the protective shield, testing it.
Elizabeth’s concentration was momentarily taken by a hearse and its procession winding along the snaking road to the cemetery chapels, and then returned to the impassioned creature.
“I wonder why it’s so riled,” Elizabeth commented. “Aren’t these things supposed to be guardians or something similar?”
“Technically, yes,” replied Paul. “I’ve never heard of one making an appearance in daylight either. What about you, Gemma?”
“I’m beginning to think we're mistaken. I don’t think it’s trying to harm anyone. It’s trying to tell us something.”
“WHAT?!” Exclaimed Elizabeth and Paul in unison.
“No, seriously. Think about it for a moment. There’s only been one so-called victim and he never even heard it coming and only actually saw it after the event. Why the big show for us? I’ve no doubt if it wanted to, it could have picked us off quietly at any time.”
“I hate to admit it but I think you may be on to something there, Tinks. What do you think, Paul?”
“It makes sense, but couldn’t it just have rolled over or something?”
“Probably would have done if Lizzie Schwarzenegger here hadn’t turned up all heavy handed and brandishing the hardware.”
Elizabeth muttered something undecipherable under her breath.
“Look, ladies, whatever the hell’s going on between you two let’s leave it to another time and place, shall we?” Paul tilted his head towards Gemma. “Do you have any idea as to how we can test your little theory?”
“Yeah. Move this poison from in front of me and whiz it over there.” Gemma nodded in Elizabeth’s direction. “I’ll happily approach the barguest and see what happens next. If it tries to attack me, I should be able to muster up enough magic to save myself and get some help. You two can remain here for now.”
It sounded like a good plan. Piqued, Elizabeth conjured up a mental image of Gemma as a bone with the barguest happily munching on the marrow. Paul prepared to remove one of the horseshoes but hesitated when the beast threw itself against the part of the shield directly facing Elizabeth.
“I’m not moving it until the barguest moves away,” Paul announced firmly.
The barguest fell back then, and made a move towards Paul. Paul threw the horseshoe and Gemma broke free.
Paul and Elizabeth tensed as Gemma dashed away at lightning speed and put a great deal of distance between herself and the barguest which, much to everyone's surprise, did not follow after Gemma, but moved away from Paul and took up a firm position some five yards distant.
“She’s not all that bad, you know,” Paul said almost apologetically.
“Says the man who likes to make a quick exit!” Elizabeth snapped.
They both watched in silence as Gemma leisurely made her way back to their location, her auburn hair bouncing jauntily on the late afternoon wind. Time was working against them; though only just after 3 pm, it was already beginning to grow dark.
The barguest howled as Gemma approached, but then he crouched close to the ground and permitted Gemma to touch him. Elizabeth noticed a subtle change in her appearance and watched in amazement as she appeared to glow.
“Come out and throw the horseshoes as far away as possible,” Gemma ordered after what seemed like ages. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.”
Paul was the first to move and did as requested. A reluctant Elizabeth noted where they fell just in case they should have a need for them later. They both moved closer to Gemma and the dog-like creature. The mourners began emerging from the chapel below, totally unaware of their presence.
“He’s searching for something that's been stolen by the Living. Something which is his duty to guard," Gemma told them while putting a little more distance between herself and the barguest. Her voice sounded feebler than before, and her footsteps looked slightly unsteady. "He needs our help to find whatever it is and return it to its rightful place. I'm sorry, I wasn't strong enough to sense more.” Gemma appeared to physically crumble and Paul rushed towards her.
Elizabeth, although barely able to make out her features in the diminishing light, was convinced that the earlier glow had been replaced by one of a much darker shade.
"Of course, you’re correct,” stated Gemma, leaning heavily on Paul and making eye contact. "Every time I use what little magic I possess there’s a price to pay. There's always a price to pay, isn't there, Elizabeth?”
For the first time in a long time, Elizabeth felt something other than pure dislike towards Gemma. Paul studied them closely and then looked in the direction of the watching barguest.
“Perhaps you could try and see what you can find out, Lizzie? I suspect there’s going to be a lot of bloodshed if we don’t get to the bottom of this soon.”
PrevLabels: 2008, Billy, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
posted by Miladysa @ 00:13  |
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| Billy Part 10 - Encounter |
2008
The scent of decay clung to the air. Elizabeth sensed the decomposing leaf debris and grey slush borders of the cemetery access road were not the only source of the smell. She hurried towards the outlying boundary wall that winked at her through an avenue of skeletal trees. Behind her were the cemetery offices and two identical chapels of honey-coloured stone and differing denominations. The inhabitants of the community, divided even in death.
Despite the gloomy sunlight and chill of winter, the morning held no fear for her. At least a third of the crumbling gravestones stood guard over the remains of distant relatives. This knowledge and the sense of comfort it conveyed helped to enforce a feeling of strength and belonging.
Stepping off the road and across several scattered graves, Elizabeth caught sight of Paul and Gemma waiting up ahead. She was beginning to suspect they were joined at the hip. Tashriel was nowhere to be seen, despite his assurance that he would be joining them.
Elizabeth smiled a greeting to the gruesome twosome and continued in their direction, avoiding eye contact as much as possible by focussing on the expanding moorland beyond. Paul was the first to speak.
“Hi, Lizzie! How’s it going?” He enquired as sweetly as poisoned candyfloss and positioned his not-quite-corporeal self between her and Gemma like some attempt at a token barricade.
About as useful as a chocolate fireguard
“Me? I’m fine... No thanks to you and Tinker Bell here, though,” Elizabeth replied sarcastically.
“Tinker Bell?” Gemma asked, her curiosity seemingly piqued.
“This is the spot where the barguest attacked,” chirped Paul, pointing to his right and attempting to change the subject.
Elizabeth was distracted by a presence on the horizon. It was moving fast, low to the ground and heading in their direction.
“There’s some kind of beast in the distance behind you," she informed the others. "It seems to be running along the boundary wall.”
“I don’t sense anything,” Gemma commented, turning to observe the line of the wall.
“Are you sure?” asked Paul.
“I think it’s our barguest,” Elizabeth said, reaching into her shoulder bag and retrieving a weighty package. She felt the moving presence stop. The sense of urgency emanating from it appeared to be moving away from them.
“It’s stalking us,” she informed them tentatively.
Gemma frowned, “Are you sure you’re not just imagining it? I’m not picking up anything at all. I would if there was anything out there.”
Elizabeth glared and restrained herself from rolling her eyes. She had been hoping for the opportunity to clear the air between herself and Gemma before she did anything else, but that was looking less likely with each passing second.
Paul made another effort to divert them. “The police seem to be pretty certain that it was a shooting accident. The bloke just tripped and blew his own head off. He probably imagined anything else in his last dying seconds, Lizzie.”
“There’s something out here and I’m pretty certain it’s an animal of some kind.” Elizabeth stated emphatically, gripping the package ever tighter. “I’ve no idea why Tinks can’t pick up on it, and frankly I think that’s the last of our worries. What’s more, if you call me Lizzie again I’ll make Grispheran seem friendlier and more innocent than Sponge Bob!”
The presence started to move. This time Elizabeth noticed Paul had felt it too. It was still heading in their direction, only slower.
“Either of you two had an encounter with a barguest before?” Elizabeth asked calmly.
They both shook their heads, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“We don’t know it is one yet,” Gemma commented, though sounding a little less sure of herself than earlier.
“What would you call that, then?” Elizabeth quipped, inclining her head towards an enormous black-coated beast bounding across the graves before them. “Lassie?”
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Location photographLabels: 2008, Billy, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 09:30 |
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| Billy Part 9 - Choices |
January 1946
Billy fiddled with the card in his overcoat pocket. He turned it over and over, his eyes never leaving the building opposite. He had no idea why he was waiting. The stranger had said he had a choice. The fact was, there was no choice at all, not if they were to keep their heads above water anyway. Anne had been insistent. Today was the day. He couldn’t delay any longer.
Billy didn’t know what to expect. He could prepare for most things, anything life could throw at him in fact, but not this. He knew that any minute he would flick into autopilot mode. Instinct would kick in and he would go with the flow. He surmised that dealing with the dead was just that little bit edgier than dealing with the Living. On second thoughts, perhaps not.
He hardly hesitated when he reached the main entrance and searched for the doorbell or knocker. When there were none to be found, he knocked firmly on the solid oak door with the heel of his hand, the hackles on the back of his neck raised and ready. It was opened immediately by a small, slightly balding man who reminded him vaguely of the barber who had made a poor job of cutting his hair whilst he was in prison.
“Good afternoon, Mr Lawrence. My name is Wilfred. Welcome to RoYds.”
So, they were expecting him. He laughed nervously; he’d suspected they would be. It would have been naive of him to have underestimated them in any way.
“May I take your coat, sir?”
Why not? He may as well be as comfortable as possible. He unbuttoned his overcoat while making a note of the number of doorways, staircases and windows. Observing at the same time that there were no locks or bolts on the door he had just entered, he looked at Wilfred.
Your move, pal
“Mr Birch is waiting for you in the red reception room, Mr Lawrence. Down the corridor and first door on the right.”
Billy made his way to the red reception room counting each step along the way as he did so, and as expected the door was open. Stanley Birch walked towards him, right arm extended and hand ready to greet. “Ah Billy, nice to see you again! Much pleasanter circumstances than last time. Please do come in.”
As they shook hands Billy took in the details of the room itself. One doorway to his left and no other visible exits.
The barber entered carrying a tray containing a tea pot, crockery, cutlery and what appeared to be a plate of rich tea biscuits.
“Please do take a seat and join me in a brew of tea.”
Not likely
“I appreciate your caution; it would not be in your nature to be anything but. There is no need, however. No harm can or will come to you here. We are on the same side,” Stanley said reassuringly.
I’m on the side of me
Billy was a good judge of character, at least when it came to the Living. If the same set of rules applied to the dead then he had the impression that Stanley was actually a decent sort and that they would get along just fine. Relaxing his hackles a bit, he reached for the cup of tea poured for him and took a good mouthful. It was lovely and sweet, just the way he liked it.
No rationing here then
“How are Anne and the children?” Stanley asked. “Settling into their new surroundings?”
“They're the reason why I am here.”
Stanley nodded.
“What's the score?” Billy asked before taking a further mouthful of tea.
“It's a long story,” Stanley replied, offering Billy a cigarette before lighting it and then his own.
“I have all the time in the world.” Billy smiled.
“Come to that, so do I,” laughed Stanley.
***
Billy relaxed further into the leather armchair; it was warm and comforting like the crimson eiderdown his mother would wrap him in when he was a child. He had always enjoyed a coal fire and Stanley’s voice was quite hypnotic.
“The living have a lot of bizarre ideas concerning death,” Stanley remarked. “It's assumed that after death we have no choice at all as to what happens to us. Why should that be? Throughout our lives we have choices, so why not in death?”
“I've never given it much thought, to be honest,” said Billy, helping himself to a biscuit.
“Well, I can tell you this,” continued Stanley. “Although we may have no choice about how or when we die, we do have a choice about what happens to us after the fact.”
“Go on,” said a preoccupied Billy, now suspiciously trying to figure out why his mug or Stanley’s glass never emptied. He’d definitely drunk as much as a normal mug this size would hold. He peered into the steaming mug of tea and Stanley continued.
“What I am trying to tell you is that some souls choose to remain close to the Living and each of us will have our own reasons for delaying.”
"Why did you...delay, Mr Birch?”
Stanley paused briefly, “It was love that delayed me at first,” Stanley said, seeming to struggle to find a beginning to his tale. “I was always an adventurous child; I loved playing on the moors, swimming in the reservoirs and exploring the quarries. It was a wonder I did not meet an even earlier death!” He started to chuckle, a loud contagious joy of laughter, and Billy found it hard to resist smiling and laughing with him.
“I met my wife when we were children. She was such a fey creature I fell in love at first sight, there was never anyone else for me. We were married in April 1914, five months before war broke out.
“I was one of the first to volunteer. Edwardina was furious with me and seemed to think that I had chosen the war over our life together. I remember she declared that I would be killed and lost to her forever. I thought she was just being hysterical, that the pregnancy was making her behave so, as she was carrying our son at the time.”
Stanley put his glass down for a moment and ran a hand through his thick wavy brown hair. He lifted his head and his glass before turning again to face Billy.
"What happened?" asked Billy with genuine concern.
"There was nothing I could do to reassure her. In my letters home I told her how much I loved her and how wonderful our life would be once the war was over. I was certain that this world would be a better place because of the war we were fighting. Isn’t that why all men go to war, Billy? To make their world a better place?”
Billy shrugged, uncertain how to answer.
“I was such a bloody fool! Our son was born on Christmas Eve 1914 while I was in France huddled in a trench and surrounded by death. It wasn't until weeks later that I received Edwardina’s letter informing me of his birth. I was overjoyed at becoming a father and even managed a celebratory drink with my dear friend Archie.
“On 1st July 1916 Archie and I faced a blood bath. Forty thousand men died that day. Four days later, the two of us were still fighting in what later became known as the Battle of the Somme. And then on the evening of the fifth day, Archie was declared insane by his commanding officer.”
“Damn,” Billy commiserated. “It must have been a bloody nightmare!”
“It certainly was,” answered Stanley solemnly. “I think it was far worse for him, though, because he was as sane as you or I at the time.”
Curiosity got the better of Billy, “Why did they think he was mad then?” he asked.
“I think the clincher was when he recommended me for the Victoria Cross due to the part I had played in that day's actions,” proclaimed Stanley.
Billy frowned, “What was so strange about that? I’m sure you must have deserved the recommendation,” he declared.
“Perhaps,” whispered Stanley. “The problem was I had been one of the ones killed in the massacre on the afternoon of July 1st, four days earlier!
***
Billy took a drag on his cigar and held the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds before exhaling. The quality was superb, he could get used to this. He suspected that being dead could hold some previously unforeseen advantages. This Stanley bloke was growing on him.
Stanley followed Billy’s leave and took a drag of his own cigar before continuing their conversation, his words darting in between the clouds of cigar smoke.
“Your mother-in-law, Peg, had the ability to see the very best of a person -– alive or dead.” Stanley paused, giving the information time to gel in Billy’s mind.
Billy took another sip of tea and pondered what Peg had seen in him. If in fact, she had ever seen any good in him. He found himself again questioning how Anne could still love him knowing that he had killed her own mother. He eventually regained eye contact with Stanley, “Go on.”
“Peg loved you, Billy, and I know that she will never stop loving you. Peg thought you were worth saving; do you?”
Billy fought with his thoughts again on this statement. “Depends what you mean by ‘saving.’”
PrevLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 16:20 |
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| Billy Part 8 - Collector of Souls |
2008
Elizabeth took comfort in her surroundings and absently watched the priest as he went about his business preparing the church for Mass. Her gaze did not linger on the pastel yellow walls with their damp lace decoration but moved quickly on to the sparkling ruby reds and sapphire blues of the stained glass window above the font. The sunlight streaming through the colours caused a shimmery dance of lights across the pale white marble of the altar.
She saw an altar boy out of the corner of her eye as he entered the church from a room to the side of the chancel and commenced to make his way around the outer walls lighting candles. The past was so close in this place, only a hymn or a chant away.
Here I am Lord
Can you hear me calling in the dark
Elizabeth’s concentration was broken when she felt a priest sit down on the wooden pew next to her. She fought down a wave of panic and closed her eyes. She opened them again when he knelt down and started to pray softly and the feeling of panic was replaced by one of comfort.
A heavy oak door to the rear of the church opened with the squeak of old hinges and a series of footfalls made their way down the aisle. The priest rose to greet them and Elizabeth sighed with relief. She wasn’t quite ready for a heart-to-heart yet, perhaps another day.
Tashriel was waiting when she stepped outside, the decision she had made to return to RoYds requiring no spoken acknowledgement between the fallen angel and herself.
They made their way through the narrow back streets towards RoYds, the afternoon calm and the two of them chatting about nothing while in the distance, car tyres splashed their way through puddles and a terrier yapped intermittently. Tashriel was the first to steer their light-hearted conversation down a more serious route.
“Have you ever heard of a barguest,” he asked, raising an eyebrow in anticipation.
“A bar guest?” Elizabeth repeated. “What’s that? A pub customer?” She laughed even though she knew how lame her joke was. Tashriel was kind enough to join her.
“Not quite,” he smiled before continuing. “There are those amongst the Living who believe that such creatures are collectors of souls and that anyone with the misfortune to see one will be dead within a year.”
“Do they?”
“Collect souls? Not exactly.”
They came to a standstill at the corner of the RoYds building. Elizabeth was keen to learn more before they entered.
“Do they really exist?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.
“There are a few of them about.”
Tashriel continued forward and Elizabeth followed him. “So why bring them up now?” she asked as they reached the entrance.
“Well, we're just about to meet a man named Edward Lord. He claims a barguest ripped his throat out last week.”
PrevLabels: 2008, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 23:58 |
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| Billy Part 7 - Old Things |
1971
Elizabeth ventured along the stone flags and peered down into the gaping hole, definitely man-made! It must have been the cellar of some cottage at one time, probably hundreds of years ago now.
The walls were formed of thick slices of stone which had been expertly stacked. There was no mortar to speak off. It appeared as though the stones were fastened together by a network of plants that clung possessively to them in places.
Along one wall, Elizabeth could clearly see a storage place where the stones have been carefully arranged to form a box shaped insert. From where she stood, she could not make out the floor surface beneath a carpet of ferns.
Pity, there was no way she could safely climb down and explore further. Who knew what she might find underneath? There could be some object that she could read and learn about the people who had once lived there.
There was a sudden movement behind her, Elizabeth automatically swivelled her head and just managed to glimpse a shock of black fur diving into the foliage. Whatever the creature was, hot on its tail was a small Jack Russell terrier, with one red ear, yapping excitedly. A young soldier, leaning against one of the lime trees, grinned at her.
“Is that your dog, Sir? You might want to call him back – you never know what kind of creatures could be lurking around down here.”
The solider stood up straight and took his hands out of his pockets. Elizabeth thought he looked quite shocked. He probably thought she should know better than to talk to strangers. He was probably right.
“Yer can see me?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes. Do you know what kind of building used to stand here?” Elizabeth nodded to the foundations behind her.
“Aye, it’s Annwn’s cottage. You’ve surprised me there, I thought you were from around these parts, you looked at home like.”
“I am. Just not lived here all my life that’s all.”
The soldier walked over to where she was standing and they both peered down into the hole together.
Annwn
Elizabeth scanned the stones as hard as she could but the picture before her remained the same. If she wanted to see the building that had been here previously she would need to find an object to do so.
“You like old things then?”
“Don’t you?”
“Sometimes. I’d rather have one of those new fangled colour televisions you have today though,” he said before whistling for the dog. “There’s lots of old things in Amelia Nuttall’s shop on Market Street. Lots of very interesting things, some of them are what they call antiques.”
“Nutters? My dad said she is as mad as a badger and only sells tat. There is never anything interesting in the window.”
“That’s because she keeps all the interesting things in the back so as not to attract thieves.”
“Really? How do you know that then?”
“Millie’s my little sister. I hang around there a lot. I’ve been a bit worried about her lately to tell you the truth.”
The Jack Russell returned and placed a seriously chewed blue rubber ball at Elizabeth’s feet, she bent down to pick it up and the little dog frantically wagged its tail and darted from side to side in anticipation.
“What’s your dog called?”
“Don’t know. She answers to Peg though.”
Elizabeth raised her arm and threw the ball along the cinder path, “Fetch, Peg!”
Peg bolted like the clappers.
“Do you want me to pass a message on to your sister for you?”
“Eh? You’d do that for me lass would you?”
Elizabeth nodded.
***
The scarf on the counter whispered to Elizabeth.
“That’s twenty new pence then, lass.”
It looked interesting – she was sure it had a tale or two to tell.
“You all right, love?”
“Where did you get this scarf?”
“It’s an antique, that scarf. Bought it from a fella over in Baydale, I did. Seen one like it before, have you? Something you play dress up with?”
Elizabeth drew the scarf to her face and breathed deeply, gathering a scent of cigarette smoke and 4711 perfume amongst speckles of dust and hints of damp. The shopkeeper moved closer and held out her hand.
“Can’t play dress up with that one though, lass. Here, give it me now, I’ll put it back where it belongs.”
Charged with previously forgotten memories, Elizabeth held tight to the silk treasure and with it the newly unearthed threads that she had begun to sew into life.
“I’m ten. I stopped playing dress up when I was nine. How much is the scarf?”
“I’ve got other scarves. Nicer colours too!” The shopkeeper smiled merrily. “Suit you better than that one. Come and have a gander at these here?” She tried to coax her over to the jumble box by the door.
Elizabeth tightened her grip on the sombre navy one, “It’s not an antique you know,” she answered boldly. “It’s from just after the war, the one with the Germans.”
Elizabeth studied the shopkeeper; Amelia Nuttall, who in turn studied Elizabeth. In the end, it was Amelia who stood down.
“Twenty pence all you got, lass?”
“I’ve fifty pence all together... don’t want the buttons now... if that’s all right?”
“What yer want it for anyway if you’re too old to play dress up?” Amelia enquired, lowering her head and putting on a comical grimace.
Elizabeth laughed at the novelty of seeing a grown-up acting silly. She cast her eyes down and ran her fingers lovingly over the loose stitches holding the hem of the scarf in place. She began to drift and then remembered where she was and pulled herself up and towards the shopkeeper who had appeared nowty earlier and now looked kind.
“It’s for my grandma,” she lied. “It’s her birthday tomorrow.”
God would forgive her for sparing the woman the truth. Anyway, if she did tell Amelia the truth, she would just tell Elizabeth to stop messing about.
“Fifty pence, then! Tell your granny its worth a lot more than that!”
Elizabeth handed over the shiny fifty pence piece without giving back the scarf. The lady smiled without revealing her teeth and nodded several times. Elizabeth liked her.
“Your name’s Millie isn’t it?”
“Why it is! How did you know that, love? Well, it’s Amelia officially, but my family, God bless ‘em, all dead now, used to call me Millie.” Teeth flashed as she smiled this time.
Elizabeth reached the sanctuary of the door and pulled the handle forcibly towards her, the old -fashioned bell tinkled. She closed her eyes for a moment and then turned to face Millie and the young soldier standing next to her.
“Your brother Hughie says you always had a soft heart.” Elizabeth watched nervously as the blood drained and the face crumpled before her. Should she have kept her mouth shut? No, it was all right to speak.
“Also said you need to get out more and that bus driver’s after your money, but the bookie’s worth a shot.”
She stepped out the door and ran hell for leather holding the scarf firmly as the butterflies swarmed in her stomach. There was so much waiting for her to feel; she couldn’t wait to be alone with it.
PrevLabels: Elizabeth, Hughie, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 15:00 |
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| Billy Part 6 - Black Fox |
2008
The night was growing darker. It wouldn’t be long before it would be as dark as the coal which lay a hundred or so feet beneath his own, yet nowhere near as black as the creature he had just witnessed.
Ed Lord’s heart raced, rushed in his ears and crashed against the walls of his chest. He quickened his pace and stumbled over his own feet, the simple act of walking no longer automatic when accompanied by haste.
He knew what he had seen but who would believe him without proof? He increased the grip on his rifle and kept his eyes trained on the horizon beyond the dry stone wall he was approaching. Only the wall was between him and it, only the wall to his proof. He couldn’t fail, there was nowhere for it to go to ground!
Badgers! You could stick your badgers; he had something special, something no other bugger alive had seen and lived to tell!
How fortunate that he had exchanged his latest metal-detector finds for that scope from Howell! Once he reached the wall he would be able to take his shots leisurely. There was no chance that he would miss, no bloody chance at all! Only the wall and a couple of feet between them now!
He could clearly picture the events that were about to unfold, the events that were only a minute or two away. He had no doubt that it would bolt when it heard him reach the wall. It had no other option but to leg it across the moor hoping to make the ridge. He would have it before it got half way, probably only need one shot, two if he was unlucky.
He hit the wall running and quickly took aim a few feet to his right where he had visualised the creature would reappear -– nothing there! He scanned the breadth of the moor slowly and felt his body relaxing slightly as he did so; he could take his time, there was no rush.
How lucky was it that he had been the one to spot it? Fate! He was meant to get this kill! He still couldn’t believe what he had seen though. A good job he didn’t give a stuff for the old wives’ tale about how a black fox could live in a man’s shadow and never be seen. A load of bollocks, as far as he was concerned! And what tripe about it being bad luck; this was his lucky day! He’d seen it all right and now he would kill it, stone dead!
There it was! The adrenalin rushed throughout his body and tingled in the tips of his fingers. He would just line it up nicely, wait for it...
"What the bloody hell?!"
He dragged his eyes away from the sights for a split second and then back again in disbelief. It was just sitting there watching him! Well, he’d be the one to have the last laugh! “Prepare to meet your maker, sucker!” he whispered under his last breath and applied pressure to the trigger.
He never heard the shot. Only felt the intense pain as teeth sliced through his jugular. The black fox in the distance howled a greeting to his saviour and then made a dash towards the ridge of moor ahead.
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Video: Black FoxLabels: 2008, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 12:00 |
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