Spinetinglers Anthology 2008 Read online

  “I’m Sally Hunter, please come in.” As he stepped inside, he glanced up at the holly suspended over the threshold and grinned.

  “I see you’ve found our local shop already then,” he said. “Mrs McCleod always ensures everyone has their share of holly each year.”

  “She was rather insistent,” grinned Sally.

  Pouring him a coffee, she took Tom into the sitting room, where Katy looked up to offer a friendly hello before returning to her book.

  “I come with the pleasant duty of inviting you to the Gathering tonight,” said Tom taking a seat. Katy looked up with sudden interest.

  “What’s that?” asked Sally.

  “It’s an old local tradition,” said Katy eagerly. Tom looked at her in surprise and she bashfully held up the book of local folklore she had been reading by way of explanation. “It says in here that every year on the winter solstice, the Wild Hunt ride out made up of the dead, the damned, and all manner of evil creatures. Anyone unlucky enough to fall in their path would meet with a horrible death or be forced to join the Hunt for eternity. Since their prey is human souls, the local villagers all used to congregate on sacred ground for safety, and this eventually turned into regular celebration as the true meaning was lost in folklore.” Sally looked at Tom, who flushed slightly.

  “Of course,” he hastily added, “As a man of God, I don’t believe in such things, but there’s no denying it brings out the festive cheer in everyone, so I don’t raise too much of a fuss. So, will you be coming then?” There was an uncalled-for earnestness in his voice.

  “We’d be delighted to,” said Sally and Tom, visibly relaxed. “If outsiders are allowed, of course,” she added teasingly. Tom’s reply was cut off by a monstrous knocking at the door.

  When Sally opened the door a second time, it was to a far less pleasant man, who glared at her from under thick eyebrows, his strong jaw set in displeasure. His skin was like cracked leather and he slouched over a thick walking stick, which had evidently been used to create the din. Sally’s welcome died on her lips, leaving them to regard each other in uncomfortable silence for a moment, before Tom appeared at her shoulder.

  “Ah, I do believe your landlord has come to call, Ms Hunter. How are you Gordon?” Gordon glowered at Tom, before turning his attention back to Sally.

  “The wife sent me to see you’d got settled in, like,” he said with a thick Scottish accent. “And that if you want fruit, veg, or herbs, you’re to come down to our outhouse and help yourself, no cost.” From the way he spat out the last two words bitterly, Sally surmised it wasn’t a statement he was used to making.

  “I was just telling Ms Hunter about the Gathering tonight,” said Tom, eager to lighten the mood, “and how we’d be delighted to see here there.” Terrence suddenly looked unaccountably nervous.

  “They won’t be wantin’ all that fuss and noise, come for a quiet time, ’aven’t you, lass?” he said, his voice suddenly softer, almost beseeching.

  “I think it sounds fun,” Sally said, regarding Gordon quizzically, as his scowl returned.

  “Your holly has gone,” Tom said suddenly, pointing to where Sally had strung it just a few moments before.

  “That’ll be my doing,” said Gordon quickly, an uneasiness in his voice. “Caught it with me stick when I knocked. I’ll bring you a new one up shortly,” and with a swift nod, he shambled off.

  “Make sure he does,” whispered Tom, as they watched him leave. Sally smiled, wondering at all the fuss over a Christmas decoration. Then Tom put a reassuring hand on her shoulder with a grin.

  “Don’t worry,” he added cheerfully, “we’re not all like that.” Sally liked the way his smile reached all the way to his eyes. She could feel a blush rising in her cheeks, and she caught a glimpse of Katy hiding in the background, giving her a grinning thumbs-up.

  “Thank you for coming, Reverend,” she said.

  “It’s Tom,” he reminded her. Sally smiled shyly.

  “Sally. Well, goodbye now. We shall see you tonight.”

  That afternoon Katy insisted on a walk in the woods to blow away the cobwebs. Sally was reluctant – the darkness and total isolation that lurked beneath the branches made her feel nervous, but Katy was determined.

  “This is a corpse road,” Katy explained, as they wandered through the wood. “The coffins would be carried along it from all the surrounding hamlets to the local church. This is supposed to be the course the Hunt would follow.” Katy was thoroughly engrossed with her surroundings, but Sally had been feeling anxious ever since they had stepped beyond the tree line. She had felt like she was stepping into the grinning jaws of a carnivorous beast. It was so suffocating, with the trees pressing in on all sides, and it was so quiet. Where was all the birdsong? Or all the birds? It was eerie. Sally saw her daughter’s eyes gleam in the gloom – she loved all things macabre, while the whole idea made Sally feel decidedly uneasy.

  “And over here,” said Katy, pushing aside some of the overhanging branches, “is the spot where the coffin carriers would rest. See – it’s a circle surrounded by holly bushes and hawthorn, protection just in case the dead took a walk while they rested.”

  “Charming,” said Sally nervously. A skittering behind her made her jump, her skin prickling in uncharacteristic fear. Katy didn’t notice a thing. “We’d better get back or there won’t be time to get ready for the Gathering.”

  As they walked down into the village that evening, there was no doubt as to where all the inhabitants were: the houses stood dark and vacant while the church hall spilled forth light music and voices from every window. Holly, mistletoe, and Christmas roses bedecked the walls both inside and out, virtually encompassing the building in greenery. Inside, baubles and tinsel had been squeezed in wherever there was room, and a great fire burned in the enormous hearth. Most of the villagers themselves were dressed in bright colours but Sally’s eyes were instantly drawn to those dressed in browns and black, who wore an assortment of masks. There were devils, ghouls, hounds, skeletons, horses – all mingling with the throng, laughing and chattering away. It was somewhat surreal.

  “Glad you could make it, Sally,” said Tom, as he approached with three glasses of punch. He held one out to Katy, who accepted it before politely excusing herself.

  “Did Gordon bring you up another sprig of holly?” he asked innocently.

  “Not yet,” Sally replied. Tom’s smile dimmed alarmingly and trying to avoid offending a local tradition, Sally continued: “But I’m sure he just forgot. We’ll pick another one up from the shop tomorrow.”

  “No!” said Tom with unexpected urgency. “You must take some with you when you leave tonight.” She looked at him in surprise, and his face softened with an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “It’s just that tradition is very important to these people, and it’s important to me that you feel a part of our community while you are here. So, promise me you will take some – I’ll even walk you home and hang it up for you, if you like.” Sally liked very much.

  “Thank you,” she said coyly.

  The blare of a hunting horn made her jump. With this signal, the masked villagers ran howling and whooping through the crowd, chasing children and adults, eliciting squeals of delight from all. The Hunt had begun. Sally laughed heartily at the look on Tom’s face, when a huge brute of a hell hound grabbed him from behind and whisked him away into the throng.

  The evening was better than anticipated, everyone being friendly and eager to talk to her. Sally found the festivities infectious, and she wasn’t the only one. She even saw Gordon break character and awkwardly offer Katy a mince-pie, which she accepted with a gracious smile. Every so often, the horn would sound, and the Hunt would be on the rampage again; it was a great game.

  Sally got so swept up in the revels that it was a full fifteen minutes before she realised she had lost sight of Katy. Having scanned the hall, Sally went into the abandoned kitchen to find Gordon standing in the corner, smoking a crumpled cigaret
te.

  “If you’re lookin’ for the lass, she’s gone home,” he offered with a sly smile. “Said she felt sick, left five minutes ago. Bet you can catch her, if you run.”

  Sally picked up her coat, keeping one suspicious eye on Gordon, then stepped out into the night. It was like nothing she had ever experienced – so icy that her fingers went numb within seconds, and she walked briskly to stave off the overwhelming cold.

  Gordon saw her catch up with her daughter at the edge of the village, and he cackled, a nasty, rasping sound. “Don’t forget yer holly,” he sneered, then a voice behind him made him jump guiltily.

  “Gordon?” asked Tom quizzically, coming to stand next to him. He caught sight of the two receding figures, as they climbed the exposed hill to their cottage. His expression turned to one of horror. “What have you done?” he whispered.

  “I really would have been fine on my own, Mum,” Katy said reproachfully.

  “I know, honey,” replied Sally, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “I just didn’t like the idea of you being ill alone.” Katy sighed.

  “I feel much better now,” she muttered. “Bit of fresh air. Must have been something I ate.” Katy glanced behind them, then stopped in puzzlement. “Isn’t that Reverend McAllister running toward us?” she asked, pointing back at the village. Sally turned and saw that Tom was indeed hurtling toward them. He didn’t stop, just grabbed their hands and started pulling them onward.

  “Quick,” he panted, “we have to get to the cottage, we’re too far away from the hall.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sally asked, but he just kept tugging them along, so she wrenched her hand out of his grip. Tom turned in anger, but then his eyes glazed over. Both Sally and Katy followed his stare.

  Under the nearly full moon of the longest December night came raging the real Wild Hunt. Hounds of all shapes, sizes, and disfigurements bayed in anticipation and behind them came the dead, the damned, and the riders carrying torches, which blazed blood red and orange. Screams of pleasure mingled with those of pain, as the tumbling mass of darkness forged its way through the village and up the hill toward them, the hounds speeding ahead. Even from this distance, their misshapen, bloated, and deformed bodies were appallingly evident. They moved with frightening speed, and Sally felt the breath catch in her throat.

  “Is that...?” she began, but Tom cut her off.

  “Yes,” he said grimly, “and they’re going to reach the house before us.”

  “Then, why are we standing here?” yelled Sally, as the noise of the approaching horde escalated, but Tom was silently mesmerised by the sight.

  “This way, come on!” called Katy, speeding off toward the wood, and Sally dragged Tom after them. Sally’s heart was pounding in her chest, the cold air stinging her face. As she reached the edge of the forest, something made her turn round, and with horror, Sally saw one hound outpacing the others and bearing down on them. Frozen in shock, Sally could only throw her hands up in defence, but Tom came to her rescue, swinging a hefty fallen branch in the face of the hound as it launched its attack. With a shocked squeal and blood pouring from its face, it tumbled backward in a shower of pine needles. Its brethren fell on it, even as it struggled to its feet, and incensed by the smell of blood, they tore it to bloody pieces. Sally thought she was going to vomit and ran headlong into the trees to escape its dying screams.

  The dark of the forest was almost pitch, but then red lights danced into view as the Hunt surrounded and stalked its prey, the darkness seething with black shapes. Yet, they didn’t attack and Sally wondered what they were waiting for. Katy stifled a sob, and Sally put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, while Tom began to mutter a protective psalm under his breath, which earned them a chorus of snarls and obscenities from their pursuers in reply.

  “Look!” whispered Katy, as their destination came into sight, the resting circle of holly and hawthorn. They picked up their pace toward it, and the hounds around them became more agitated, running around and across their path, their howls now a frenzied yapping in their desperation to prevent their quarry reaching sanctuary.

  As she stepped with relief into the safety of the circle, Sally’s arm was suddenly yanked painfully backward, as Tom was wrenched to the ground by a hound that had his ankle in his jaw. Tom howled in pain, as a dark gush of blood spilled from between its teeth, and Sally found herself in a grim tug of war.

  “Mind out!” yelled Katy behind them, and a small boulder went flying over their heads. There was a sickening hollow crack as it impacted against the hound’s ribcage. Its eyes rolled, as the blood seeping out of its mouth became its own and as its jaw slackened in its death-throes. Tom wrenched his ankle free, and they dragged him into the safety of the circle. He was shaking and sweating, gasping for breath, and the wound was already inflamed and bruised, as if flooded with poison. Sally was doing her best to make his scarf into a tourniquet, when she felt that familiar pricking of hair on the back of her neck. Someone was not only watching her, they were approaching.

  As the footsteps came closer Sally stood up and turned to face the leader of the Hunt. He was dressed all in black and inhumanly tall. His eyes were wholly black, and looking into them was like looking down into a deep, crumbling well, that sensation of being pulled over the edge with dizziness. His skin was an unnatural white and hung heavily on his bones like wet silk. He wore an unerring smile and Sally briefly thought he might have been handsome once, but now he was emaciated.

  She realised that the Hunt around them had grown silent, not even the sound of breathing, just their dead eyes watching her, glistening dully in the torchlight. Sally felt faint, but she forced herself to be still, as the leader regarded her with interest.

  “What do you want?” she asked defiantly. He answered with one word, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

  “Quarry.” The Hunt broke their silence in a cacophony of agreement. The leader looked over her shoulder. “I see your friend there will not last the night out, but then more fool, him, for thinking his petty words to an impotent god would save him crossing my path.”

  “And who are you?” asked Sally.

  “I have had many names over the years,” he replied, “Pick one.”

  “Gwynn ap Nudd,” whispered Katy behind them. The horde around them echoed her whisper and Gwynn’s smile broadened.

  “So you know me,” he said.

  “And I also know that holly will protect us,” said Katy, coming to stand by her mother, and the Hunt leader turned his gaze on her. Sally saw her daughter meet his gaze with her jaw set, and a surge of pride welled up to revitalise her own spirit. “This circle has protected people from the dead for centuries, and it will protect us now.”

  “You are, of course, correct,” he said, and a glint passed across his soulless eyes.” We cannot cross the circle...” and at a silent command, his hounds launched themselves at the edge of the circle, burrowing beneath the holly bushes to the rapturous caterwauls of the Hunt.

  “They’re not going to cross the circle,” Katy said in a horrified whisper to her mother. “They’re going to rip it to pieces instead.”

  “These holly trees are almost as old as me,” said Gwynn, his relish at their predicament evident in his tone. “Their roots go deep and no doubt it will take some time to undermine your protection.”

  “Is this some kind of game to you?” spat Sally, holding her daughter close. His eyes gleamed in a flash of moonlight.

  “Absolutely,” he answered. Tom moaned behind them, and Katy went to tend him.

  “But I do like to give my quarry a sporting chance,” he mused. “It’s not much of a hunt otherwise. I am willing to exchange – if you can find a gift for me before midnight, one worthy of the Lord of the Dead, I will exchange it for your lives.”

  “Your beasts will tear me to shreds the moment I step out of here,” Sally said, crossing her arms resolutely.

  “I can assure you they won’t,” he said, but Sally was unconvinced. His eyes narrowe
d. “Isn’t the word of a god enough for you?” he asked in a low menacing tone. Sally looked round as Katy tugged on her sleeve.

  “It’s the only chance we’ve got, Mum,” she said nervously. “Don’t antagonise him, it’ll waste time and make it worse if you fail.” Katy’s eyes began to well with tears.

  “But I know you won’t.” Sally looked at her daughter for a long moment, in cruel irony, the very image of Ophelia, surrounded by darkness and madness.

  “Done,” she said, and Gwynn held his hand up so that a path cleared through the throng in front of her. Sally took a deep breath, then stepped out of the circle, waiting for a heartbeat, expecting the horde to descend upon her, but although they pawed and yowled and snapped at her, they did not attack. She felt dizzy as she walked straight ahead, trying to ignore the fiends who pressed close on every side, leering and snarling at her. Sally’s pace quickened until she was running full speed out of the wood, eyes dead ahead. The hounds kept pace with her until the edge of the forest, where they waited and watched silently.

  Sally started to sob in desperation as she stumbled toward the Christmas lights twinkling below her, intermittently gulping down the cold air, to prevent herself from fainting.

  Think! She told herself. I must think, there’s not much time. But the puzzle of what the Lord of the Dead would want in return for his prey was so hopelessly insolvable that she almost wept again, and time felt like a weight on her shoulders. The hounds were following her still, slipping stealthily between the shadows of the village. Sally ran to the church hall, thundering her fists against the door, but all was silent within.

  “You must help me!” she cried, tears turning to ice on her cheeks, but the door remained bolted.

  As she staggered back through the village, her mind was a blank. If only Katy was here, she knew all about this stuff, a fanatic when it came to ghosts and deadly riddles. The last image of her daughter swam before her eyes, pale, waif-like, and completely lost in the encroaching darkness.

  Wait! thought Sally. A thought, a possibility – hovering just beyond recollection, something about Ophelia and the play – the play’s the thing, but what was it? After so many nights when they’d rehearsed, Sally knew every line, if she could just remember...