

### Who Killed the Bears?

### A Ghost Story

### Inspired by true events

### Part One - The Legacy

### By Andrew M Stafford

Text Copyright © 2019 Andy Stafford

All Rights Reserved

Who Killed the Bears? Is inspired by true events which took place in the nineteenth century.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Thank you to

Robert Pepler

Jayne Davies

Penny Rowe for proofreading

For Kerry, Olivia, Sam and Mum.

Especially for my sister Sharon, Dad and Ivan.

Please note: This is the first book in a two-part series. The story begins with Who Killed the Bears? (Book One) – The Legacy. It continues seamlessly and concludes with Who Killed the Bears? (Book Two) – Fighting the Past.

Table of Contents

Memory Lane

Please note: This is the first book in a two-part series. The story begins with Who Killed the Bears? (Book One) – The Legacy. It continues seamlessly and concludes with Who Killed the Bears? (Book Two) – Fighting the Past.

Alternatively, you have the option to purchase the Omnibus Edition containing both Book One and Book two, which readers are recommended to purchase.

## Memory Lane

### Memory Lane

### Forest of Dean

### Gloucestershire

Memory Lane is an old, narrow road on the outskirts of Cinderford in the Forest of Dean. It is just shy of two miles long. A disused railway bridge marks the halfway point. The road is surrounded by thick vegetation beyond which are tall and ancient forest trees. Wild boar and other forest animals roam freely.

Nearby, are the beautiful Cannop Ponds. Alongside the ponds is a picnic area. It is a beauty spot, which attracts thousands of people each year.

By contrast, Memory Lane is a bleak and deserted place. Very few people are brave enough to go there.

Initially, it was called Memorial Lane, to observe a tragedy which happened in eighteen thirty-eight. Over the years the name changed and became known as Memory Lane.

Memory Lane is the most haunted road in England.

## 1

### Tuesday fourteenth February Nineteen eighty-nine

### Late afternoon

### Five Ways Secondary School

### Coleford

### Forest of Dean

### Gloucestershire.

Sometimes the day did not pan out the way you supposed and things happened faster than you expected

It was late afternoon, and there was a promise of snow in the air. Yvette shivered and clung to Mae. The chilly huff of their breath lingered before disappearing. Mae Jones' yellow woollen scarf did little to keep the biting sting of winter at bay. But despite the cold, she was glad she was there. Yvette stamped her feet to keep warm.

A subdued cheer rose up as the ball passed over the goal line, just under the crossbar and out of reach of Five Ways' goalkeeper Max Thomas. The lanky six-footer was too slow to stop Bradley Webb, St Anne's School's best striker, from scoring his second goal of the match. The bitter cold no longer bothered Mae and Yvette and they leapt and hugged like over excited ten-year-olds. Mae was proud of her boyfriend. Two goals in less than fifteen minutes. But to be fair, it wasn't Webb's finest moment, and he knew it. It was a clumsy punt. It was a knee jerk reaction to Five Ways' defender Mark Barrett's attempt at clearing the ball from the penalty box. Had the ball been three inches higher it would have sailed over the crossbar and Max Thomas would have let out a sigh of relief, instead of the sigh of humiliation which did not go unnoticed at Five Ways' end of the pitch. Max was beginning to dislike Bradley Webb immensely.

St Anne's School in Cinderford was less than six miles from Five Ways in Coleford. The schools had an age-old reputation for being enemies. But despite the hostility between them, the players from Five Ways took disappointment on the chin. Seven minutes later the referee blew his whistle announcing the match was over. Five Ways trudged despondently off the pitch, while St Anne's hugged and ran around like fools, as if they were giant killers in an FA Cup quarter final. Four-nil. They had a good reason to be happy.

Mae let go of Yvette and ran to the pitch. Bradley saw her coming from the corner of his eye. She planted a kiss hard on his cheek, and he gave her a disinterested peck on her forehead. Yvette watched from the touchline, but her eyes were not on Mae and Bradley. Instead, she watched Lewis Reynard, the team's coach and sports teacher at St Anne's. Yvette Morgan was just fifteen and unhealthily besotted with the new teacher who was three years shy of being twice her age. Yvette had unkempt fair hair, and despite her parents spending money on nice clothes, she appeared as if she came from a family of paupers. Despite her frowzy appearance, she was a pretty thing with stunning blue eyes.

Reynard joined the school in September and made an immediate impact. He was a tall, youthful man with dark eyes and a warm smile. The teacher was not scared of getting his hands dirty and often sported a millimetre of stubble which added to his charm. He turned a few heads in the schoolyard. And not just the heads of the mums and teachers. Several of Yvette's friends also found themselves attracted to him and he was the subject of many hormonally charged conversations in the cloakroom.

In the team's changing room, an argument was heating up.

"You ladies need to pull your weight. I can't carry you forever," snapped Bradley. The rest of the team weren't in the mood to argue. Despite winning the match, they were cold, hungry and looking forward to getting home to Cinderford. The euphoria of victory did not last long. Even James, Bradley's brother, could not be bothered to join in, despite scoring one of St Anne's four goals.

Bradley Webb stopped lecturing his teammates when the door of the changing room creaked open.

"Okay lads, good result. You should be pleased with yourselves today, but don't let things go to your heads just yet. Hurry up and get changed. It's starting to snow, and I want everyone home before it settles. We can discuss the match tomorrow," barked Lewis Reynard from the doorway of the changing room.

Tony Ranson pulled back the curtain and wiped condensation from the windowpane. He watched large flakes of snow floating on the breeze. A car turned in the carpark, and its headlights revealed that the snow was falling heavily.

"This wasn't forecast sir," said Ranson.

Reynard merely nodded while referring to his clipboard. He turned when he heard a knock at the door.

"It's me, Paul Webb," said a muffled voice from behind the door.

"Dad!" called Bradley, before scurrying to let him in. James followed and welcomed the sight of their father. Reynard nodded to Paul. He recognised Webb who regularly turned up in support of St Anne's.

Although Bradley and James were twins, they bore little resemblance. Bradley was five-ten, with dark hair. His jaw was strong, and his nose was dead straight. James, who was roughly the same height, was a redhead with a pronounced forehead and pale skin. His eyes were brown, and his squat nose would not look out of place on a pug dog. The one thing they had in common was a talent for sports, especially football, which came from their late mother's side of the family. Despite being a big sports fan, their father did not have the flair the twins had.

"Mr Reynard, may I have a word please?"

Reynard put down his clipboard and nodded.

"I'm in a bit of a pickle. My car won't start. Flat battery. I wondered if there was any chance of a lift?"

"How many?"

"Me, my sons and the two girls."

Lewis Reynard drove a long-wheelbase Volkswagen Caravelle. It had room for a driver, and at a squeeze, seven passengers. Reynard sighed, and his arms dropped to his sides. He opened the door and saw the snow coming down harder. It was starting to settle.

"I've already got a van full of kids. Have you called the AA?"

"I'm not a member," replied Paul, shaking his head.

"RAC?"

"Nope."

Reynard sighed again. "Okay, let me see what I can do." He headed through the door and left Paul with his sons and the rest of the team.

"Great match you guys," said Paul, breaking the awkward silence that had clouded the room since Reynard left. The boys murmured 'thank you', and Paul smiled. The team was intimidated by the Webb twins, and their father had a reputation of being pushy. The atmosphere in the changing room became as frosty as outside.

Paul Webb was a stocky man with rugged features. His face reflected that of a lifelong smoker, despite not having a cigarette in twenty years. His sons were taller than him by a couple of inches. But what Webb lacked in height, he made up for in attitude. He was a businessman in his late forties, who over the years had learned to suffer fools lightly. Webb had a thick mop of dark hair, which greyed at the temples. Because of his line of business, he often left a faint smell of engine oil in his wake. He rarely smiled, and people found him intimidating. A tragic event which happened years earlier had turned him into an alcoholic. He had managed to pull himself out of the void his life had been at that time, but was scarred by the damage of drink, and by the tragedy which had turned his life inside out. He had struggled to bring his boys up, but with determination and bloody-mindedness, he had done a pretty good job. He was an assertive father who made sure his kids knew how to look after themselves and look out for one another. But, without trying to make it obvious, he favoured Bradley over James. He tried not to, but since discovering the truth about the twins, it was difficult to love them equally. James sensed his father's preference to Bradley and tried to shrug it off. Bradley was the tougher of the two, and this was because of his father's difference in attitude towards his kids.

Lewis Reynard returned with snowflakes clinging to his hair.

"Okay, Mr Webb, there are a few parents who are willing to help. I've secured lifts for five of the team, which means I can give you and your boys a lift, along with the girls. I can drop you at the school, but from there you will have to make your own way home. Tony Ranson and Scott Eves will be with me too; I was driving them back to the school anyway."

Tony's and Scott's hearts sank when they realised they would be sharing a lift with the Webb family.

"Thank you, Mr Reynard," replied Paul, shaking the teacher's hand.

"No problem, and by the way, don't call me Mr Reynard. Please, call me Lewis."

"Thank you, Lewis. You've got me out of a sticky situation. I owe you."

Reynard smiled, but his face changed when he heard the kids giggling when they discovered his first name was Lewis.

"Would you like to share the joke boys?"

Their faces dropped, and they scooped up their sports bags.

"I thought as much," muttered Reynard. "Come on; it's time to go home."

Paul Webb opened the rear door of his car. In the back were Mae and Yvette. Both were shivering.

"I've sorted us a lift. Mr Reynard's taking us back."

Yvette's face lit up.

"Really? Is he taking us to our homes?"

"No, he's taking us to the school. From there we'll make our own way back."

The girl's houses were less than a five-minute walk from the school and Webb's home was quarter of a mile.

The girls stepped out of Paul's car. Both pulled their coats in tightly to ward off the cold. Flakes of snow contrasted against Yvette's blue coat. The temperature had dropped since the match had finished. Reynard was speaking with the parents who had agreed to drive those back to Cinderford who needed a lift.

"My God, I can't believe I'm getting a lift from Mr Reynard," whispered Yvette. Mae did not speak. Instead, she headed towards Reynard and the group of parents. All she wanted was the warmth of a vehicle with its heating turned up full.

The boys of St Anne's formed a group of their own and huddled together, apart from Tony Ranson, who scooped at the fine layer of snow to make a snowball. The snow melted in his hand before he had a chance to do anything with it. Bradley became bored of waiting and was playfighting with Scott Eves, although Bradley's idea of playfighting was a little more aggressive than Scott's. He had Scott in a 'playful' attempt at a Half Nelson. Scott was more concerned about getting his trousers wet than the pain the bully was inflicting. Bradley spotted Mae alongside Yvette. He let go of Scott.

"I'm freezing, and I just wanna get home," shivered Mae. Her teeth chattered, and the snow landed on her eyebrows. "Dad's arranged a lift," said Bradley. "I know, he told me. But I've had enough now. I'm fed up of this bloody cold." Bradley tried to pull her close to warm her up, but she backed off. She was in a sulk and not in the mood for hugs.

"Okay, everyone, listen up. Let's all head home, and I'll see you kids tomorrow," bellowed Reynard.

"Not if it's a snow day," said a voice from the small crowd. Reynard had to agree. Unless the snow stopped soon, there would be a fair chance that the school would close for the next day or so.

"Safe journeys, everyone," said Reynard walking to his Caravelle with his small entourage trudging behind. Scott Eves jumped up and waved his hand through the snowflakes which danced on the breeze. A breeze which was picking up and turning into a strong northerly gust.

The carpark was almost empty by the time everyone had strapped in. Paul Webb sat next to Reynard, and the school kids were squeezed uncomfortably in the rear along with their sports bags and backpacks. Reynard fiddled with the heater and cranked it up to full. It usually took a good five minutes until it started to warm up, and with the temperature outside being so cold, it would probably take longer until anyone would benefit from it. Reynard gingerly steered towards the exit and slowed to let the last car before him leave. He saluted the caretaker who proceeded to close the gates. The snow was falling heavier than it had been a few minutes earlier and condensation formed on the windows. Bradley drew a smiley face with his finger. His brother leaned over and attempted to turn it into a childish picture of a cock. Bradley sniggered and wiped it away.

Reynard drove away from Coleford in the direction of Speech House Road, the most direct route back to Cinderford. The road was eerily empty, except for the tail lights of the vehicle which had left the carpark before Reynard. The tail lights became harder to see as the snow fell heavier. Reynard switched the windscreen wipers to double speed, wiped condensation from the window and drove at a steady twenty miles per hour. Subconsciously he leaned forward and squinted his eyes as he turned onto Speech House Road.

"I can hardly see a thing."

Mae was claustrophobic. It was dark in the vehicle, and the lack of view from the side window made her uncomfortable. She kept her feelings to herself, but Bradley sensed Mae was unhappy. She was behind him. He turned around and reached out his hand. She smiled awkwardly and pushed it away. Yvette looked at the back of Reynard's head. She admired his thick neck. The schoolgirl was falling even further for him. She wished it was just the two of them. Her mind wandered, and she pictured them being alone and stuck in the snow in his VW. She imagined snuggling under his big coat with him, waiting for rescue. She would be quite content if the rescue took hours to happen.

The heater began to make a difference, and Paul Webb fiddled with the vents to allow warmth to circulate. The atmosphere was sombre, and no one spoke. Yvette's thoughts of her and Reynard stranded alone soon subsided, and instead, she thought of being safe at home with her family. The Volkswagen's headlights lit the snow, which was beginning to ease, but it was still tricky for Reynard to see very far ahead. Thick forest, in which wild boar ran free, surrounded either side of the road. The snow was still falling hard enough to stop the trees from being seen. Although the blizzard obliterated the forest from view, its foreboding presence could be felt by all. A signpost loomed in the darkness announcing the upcoming crossroads at Cannop Ponds. Reynard eased off the accelerator and dropped a gear. Looking left and right, he was sure the coast was clear. The wheels span before picking up traction and engaging with the tarmac. The VW jerked uphill along Speech House Road towards home. The snow continued to recede, and Reynard was more confident than he was a few minutes earlier. Reynard was Australian, and his experience of driving in the snow was non-existent. It was the first time since he arrived in the United Kingdom the previous summer that he had seen a substantial amount of the white stuff. His confidence climbed, and he pushed the VW to thirty.

"Watch it, it's slippery out there," muttered Paul, not wanting to cause alarm and frighten the kids.

"I know..., I've got this."

"I'll drive, if you prefer."

"You're not insured. Don't worry; I'm in control."

"WATCH OUT!" yelled Paul as the road veered to the left. Reynard hit the brakes too hard, and the VW skidded.

Reynard retained control as soon as the VW started to slide. He stopped just feet away from an overturned transit van. The girls screamed, and the boys swore. The event only lasted a few seconds, but from the back of Reynard's vehicle, time felt like it had slowed down, and the brief incident seemed to last a lot longer.

"Is everyone okay?" asked Reynard in a calm voice. The response was a mixture of moaning and muttering from the kids. "I'll take that as a yes." Reynard cut the engine and looked at Paul.

"Let's check the driver of that thing's okay."

## 2

"I guess you're not from around here, are you sir?"

Reynard checked the handbrake, put on the hazards and grabbed a torch before getting out.

"You kids stay here."

Paul followed him to the transit van which lay on its passenger side at a forty-five-degree angle.

Reynard peered through the windscreen. The torch did little to light up inside, but it was enough to see the vehicle lay abandoned.

"It's empty. There's no one inside."

"It can't be, there're no footprints in the snow. Perhaps the driver's slumped inside and out of view," said Paul.

"Or perhaps the accident happened before the snow started?"

"No, look at the tyre tracks in the snow. It must have slid and upturned. The driver must still be inside. Perhaps he's crumpled in the footwell?"

"Okay, give me a leg up, and I'll climb onto the door and look inside."

Paul crouched and linked the fingers on each hand to form a foothold. Reynard stepped onto Paul's hands and pulled himself up to the driver's door and shone the torch through the window.

"It's empty. No driver. But the keys are in the ignition."

"How can that be?"

Reynard did not answer. He struggled to open the door. It was difficult, due to the van being on its side. He positioned himself on the side of the vehicle and pulled at the handle.

"Give me a hand here."

Reynard was able to open the door about an inch. Paul managed to hoik the door, giving Reynard enough room to slide headfirst into the van. He reached for the hazard switch and set the lights flashing.

"Hopefully this will prevent other vehicles from slamming into it."

He hauled himself out and clambered down to the slippery tarmac.

"That's a bit of a mystery," said Paul.

"Yeah, but we haven't time to worry about that now. We need to find a phone and report this."

"You'll be lucky. I know this road, there isn't a phone box for miles."

"There must be a house or a pub."

"Not within a twenty-minute walk. Anyway, our priority is getting the kids back. We'll have to find another way home. There's not enough room to get past that van."

"I don't fancy doing a three-point turn on this road. It's pretty narrow and slippery," said Reynard.

"Reverse towards the crossroads. It's only a couple of hundred yards. I'll walk behind and guide you if that'll make it easier."

Reynard nodded, handed Paul the torch and got back in the VW.

"Is everything okay sir?" asked Yvette.

"I think so. No one seems to be hurt, but the van's empty. No driver."

Reynard crunched the VW into reverse and backed down the hill. He could see Paul in the wing mirror waving him back. The torchlight was weak and hardly cut through the snowflakes.

"How are we going to get to Cinderford?" asked Mae.

"There'll be another route, although it's going to take longer."

More groans came from the back.

After a few minutes, Reynard had safely reversed to the Cannop Ponds crossroads. Paul quickly got in and buckled up.

"Which way are we heading?" asked Reynard.

"We're going up that hill," he replied, pointing to his right. "That'll take us up towards Ruardean, and from there we can pick up the main road back to Cinderford. It's a long way around, but we have no choice."

Reynard nodded and headed up the hill.

"The snow's starting to come down bad again," said Reynard.

"And it's getting colder," added Paul.

"Is everything okay sir?"

"Everything's fine Scott. Mr Webb's worked out another route home. It's gonna add a bit of time to the journey, but everything's 'A' okay."

Hearing Reynard saying 'A' okay', made Yvette's heart race. His Australian accent stood out amid the familiar drawl of those who lived in the Forest of Dean. Mae looked at her friend and knew what she was thinking. She smiled to herself as Reynard's Caravelle continued up the hill.

The snow was falling heavier than before and settling fast. Other than the last car to leave the carpark and the overturned transit van, there were no other vehicles on the road, which made the late afternoon eerie. It was five thirty-five and as dark as midnight. The headlights cut through the falling snow. There were no streetlights along the country road to light the way, and Reynard felt edgy, although he tried not to let it show.

"How far to Rualdean?" asked Reynard

"It's Ruardean, not Rualdean," said Paul, correcting Reynard's mispronunciation. "Oh, I don't know. Five or six miles, I guess. Not too far."

"That's far enough in this snow."

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive? I'm used to it when it snows. I've lived in Cinderford all my life and know the area well."

"No, I'm good thanks. It's good practice for when it snows next time. How come you've always lived in the Forest? Have you never wanted to spread your wings?"

"No, I like it here. My family go back to at least the eighteenth century."

"So, your folks have been here since the seventeen-hundreds?"

"Yup, and probably before."

"Wow, that's some heritage. What do you do? For a living, I mean."

"I run a garage. Repairing and selling cars."

"That's rather ironic. You run a garage, and you're not a member of the AA or the RAC."

Paul ignored Reynard and concentrated on the snow, which was gusting harder. It was like looking into a moving fog. Visibility was less than twenty feet. The headlights barely cut through the blizzard.

"Dad, do you think we should pull over?" asked Bradley, sounding concerned.

"I just want to get home," whimpered Mae.

"We'll keep going. Providing Mr Reynard takes it steady; I'm sure we'll be fine."

No one spoke for the next few minutes, until Reynard saw blue flashing lights cutting through the snowstorm.

"What now?"

"Must be an accident," said Paul.

Reynard brought the VW to a halt. Silhouetted figures were trudging in the snow, which was at least an inch and a half deep. A figure with a torch walked over to Reynard's side of the vehicle. Reynard wound down the window, and an icy blast hit him square in the face. A concerned looking policeman knelt face to face with Reynard.

"Are you heading to Ruardean, sir?" asked PC Thomas Gregg.

"No, we're going to Cinderford, but the road back there is blocked by an overturned transit van. This is the next best route."

"Not now it isn't. There's been a collision. Two cars are blocking the road ahead. What's happening with the transit? Anyone injured?"

"Don't think so. It's abandoned. I guess the driver's gone to call for help," said Reynard. "It's at the crossroads at Cannop Ponds."

"Okay, thanks for letting me know. I'll get someone down there. But I'm afraid you've got a long wait ahead of you. It's going to be a while until we clear the road."

"Isn't there another way around? I've got a van full of school kids, and I need to get them back to St Anne's in Cinderford. You see they're my responsibility; I'm the school sports coach."

"I'm afraid not sir."

Reynard leaned across to the glove compartment and pulled out a map. "There must be an alternative route. I saw two or three smaller roads leading off to the right. One of them must lead to Cinderford." He turned on the interior light.

Paul said nothing while Reynard flipped through the road map. His finger followed the road to Ruardean, searching for another route to get them home. "Look, there're two roads which avoid Ruardean and get us to Cinderford." He looked up at the policeman, but he had gone.

"Those roads are narrow, not much more than country lanes," said Paul.

Reynard ignored Paul and continued checking the map.

"What about this road? According to the map, it's more than just a country lane. We should try this one."

Paul took the map and squinted his eyes. He hardly looked at it before handing it back. "No, I don't think we should take that road."

"Why ever not, it bypasses Ruardean and hooks us up with the road back to Cinderford. See for yourself," said Reynard, passing the map back to Paul. Paul reluctantly retook it and shook his head. Reynard snatched it back. He could not understand what the problem was. He opened the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Paul.

"I'm going to check with that policeman exactly where we are."

He pulled his coat in tightly, narrowed his eyes against the stinging snowflakes and made his way to the flashing lights of the police car. Ahead of the police car were the two cars which had collided head-on. They were interlocked at the bonnets and sprawled across the road. Nothing could get past them. Both drivers sat in the back of the police car while the policeman and his colleague waited for an ambulance. Reynard looked at the two men in the rear, the accident visibly shook them, and one had a gash on his forehead. Reynard tapped on the window of the driver's side, and PC Gregg lowered it halfway.

"Would you mind showing me on my map exactly where we are?" asked Reynard. "I've found a road which takes us to where we need to go."

Reynard looked twice when he saw the officer without his policeman's cap. The man was completely bald. It wasn't just his head that was bald. He had no eyebrows or eyelashes, and his skin had the look of a baby's. Reynard had not noticed it earlier. He did his best not to stare.

"Not in these conditions sir, I'm not sure where we are," replied PC Gregg unhelpfully. Reynard thought it strange that the policeman wasn't sure where they were. He cast his mind back and was sure they had passed a road a few hundred yards earlier. Reynard nodded at the policeman and turned back to the vehicle. Paul saw Reynard's darkened figure fight against the blizzard as he made his way back to the VW. But instead of getting in, Reynard carried on without stopping.

"What's he doing?" asked James. His father did not answer.

Reynard fought against the howling wind and snow. He had not witnessed weather like it. He put his head down and battled onward, searching for the road he saw earlier.

'It can't be that far away', he thought to himself.

The snow was sticking to his coat and trousers as he continued along the road. Brambles and twigs brushed his face as he walked as close as he could to the side of the road, which had no pavement. Ahead of him, he could see a road sign. He wondered why he had not noticed it before. The sign was covered in snow, which obscured what was written on it. Reynard reached up and wiped away the snow. The sign pointed to the right and displayed the word he wanted to see.

"Cinderford", he read out loud to himself. There was a symbol depicting a low bridge with a twelve and a half foot headroom. He could not understand why the policeman had not mentioned it. He turned around and walked back. He picked up pace to get to the VW. He was about to get in but decided to speak with the policeman again. There was something he needed to know.

With his head still facing the ground, Reynard pushed onwards to the police car. The policeman wound down the window again, and his face reflected a look of irritability. Reynard knelt to the open window and was eye level with him. Again, he tried not to make it evident that the policeman had a strange look about him. He looked him in the eyes and attempted not to let his gaze deviate elsewhere. PC Gregg was used to it. He had been as bald as a baby since he was ten years old. People who did not know him assumed the boy had been undergoing chemotherapy. Even when he was a kid, he attracted looks of sympathy from those who thought he had cancer.

"It's alopecia, don't worry, it's not contagious," said PC Gregg.

Reynard did not know where to put himself. He nodded, smiled and did his best to brush away PC Gregg's comment.

"There is a road back there which goes to Cinderford. I'm going to take it."

"That's not a g-g-g-good idea sir," said PC Gregg, with a slight stutter.

"Why ever not?"

"Low bridge, your people carrier would probably get jammed sir," said the other policeman, leaning across from the front passenger seat. It was the first time he had spoken.

"It's a twelve-and-a-half-foot bridge. I can fit under that, it's not as if I'm driving a bloody bus," said Reynard angrily.

"Mind your language, sir; my c-c-colleague is only trying to be helpful."

As PC Gregg spoke, Reynard noticed a twitch in his eye.

"I need to get these kids home. It's getting late and their parents will be worried sick."

"Their parents will be fine. I'm sure they'll understand. Just go b-b-back to your vehicle and wait it out. I can get a message to the parents about the situation."

"No, I'll try the road. I'll drive steady."

PC Gregg stepped out of the car. Reynard was a tall man and Gregg, who was shorter and stocky, struggled to look at him face to face. Although he was not as tall and suffered from a stammer, his absolute authority made Reynard feel small.

"Sir, I strongly advise you not t-t-to take that road. As I said, wait here. Help will arrive soon to tow the cars, and then you can make your way back through Ruardean."

"But that could take hours."

"Please, if you want to be safe, just wait here."

"No, I'm turning around. That road is two miles long, give or take. If I take it steady, it'll take me ten minutes tops."

The policeman's face turned gravely serious.

"I guess you're not from around here, are you sir?"

"You know that by my accent."

"That's not what I mean. If you knew this area, you wouldn't be planning on driving along that r-r-road at night, even on a night when the conditions are good."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Gregg did not reply. He sat back in the car, closed the door and wound up the window.

"What's that supposed to mean?" repeated Reynard, with his face up against the window and his breath clouding the glass.

The policeman ignored him. He stared straight ahead as if Reynard was not there. Reynard knocked on the window, but the policeman continued to snub him. Reynard noticed the twitch in the police officer's eye. He glanced at the two men in the back of the car. The man with the gash on his head looked at him solemnly and shook his head as if he agreed with the policemen. Reynard swore under his breath and trudged back to the VW. He kicked the snow off his shoes and clambered back in. He had left the engine running to keep the vehicle's heater pumping out warm air. It felt like a sauna compared to the sub-zero temperature outside. He shuddered and blew on his hands, which were red with cold.

"What's going on?" asked Paul.

"I've found a road, just back there. It heads to Cinderford. We're going home."

Paul stared at the side of Reynard's face as he put the VW into reverse.

"Would you mind seeing me back? I need to reverse a few hundred yards like before."

Paul looked at Reynard with his mouth just a little bit open.

"Mr Webb, please could you get out and help me reverse. I can hardly see a thing."

At last Paul spoke.

"Lewis, I don't think that's such a clever idea."

"Why not?"

"I just don't. Memory Lane is not a good road, and there's less light than there is here. Also, there's a low bridge about a mile along."

"Memory Lane?"

"That's what it's called."

"A low bridge, my God, it's twelve and a half feet high. I drive a people carrier, not a bloody double-decker bus. You sound like those two in the police car."

"I guess the police think we should stay here. All I'm saying is that I don't think it's wise. If we wait long enough, the road will be clear, and we can head up through Ruardean as planned."

Reynard turned to Paul and spoke in a low but commanding voice.

"Mr Webb, it's okay for you. You know where your sons are. You know they're safe, but as for Scott, Tony, and the girls, their parents must be climbing the walls with worry, which is why we need to go now before the snow settles for the night."

"And that's exactly the reason we should remain here. The police are nearby, and they know where we are. We are safe here. I vote we should stay."

"Sir, I would like to go home," said Yvette in a quiet voice.

"Me too," piped up Mae.

Paul turned around and looked at the girls huddling together.

"You know which road he's talking about don't you!"

Mae shook her head. Yvette said nothing.

"You do," said Bradley. "We've spoken about Memory Lane before."

Mae's eyes revealed a look of concern.

"I know, but I didn't think you believed in all that. You said it was just an urban myth. Just stuff made up to scare people."

Bradley turned away and faced the side window

"What's he talking about?" demanded Reynard.

"Nothing..., just stuff."

Reynard began to understand that there was something bothering the local people. Something they wanted to keep to themselves.

"Okay, if no one is prepared to tell me what all this is about, then I'm heading down that road. Mr Webb, I would appreciate it if you could guide me, but if you don't, then I'll back this thing up without your help."

Paul stared ahead. His eyes fixed on the middle distance beyond the rhythmic movement of the windscreen wipers. He lazily watched the flashing lights of the police car, which was the only thing to look at other than the snow. Reynard waited no longer and engaged reverse. The diesel engine revved, the heater stepped up a notch, and warm air blasted against Paul's face.

"Okay, okay. Just wait a second. Where's your torch?"

Reynard reached into his pocket and handed it to Paul.

"Check the glove compartment; there's a pack of double A's. The batteries in that thing are as good as dead."

Paul did as Reynard said, and the torch released an intense beam of light. He stepped out and guided Reynard back. The wheels stuttered and took a few seconds to grip.

"Not so heavy on the accelerator. Let the clutch up slow," shouted Paul.

Reynard carefully reversed. Scott and Tony strained their necks from the back to see Paul waving the torch. The whining of the reverse gears was heard over the wind bending the trees. Reynard found it hard to back up without scuffing against the bracken and twigs along the side of the road. He popped it back into first gear, straightened up, then carried on back towards Paul. Memory Lane seemed a long way back. A lot longer than Reynard had judged it to be. It had only taken him a few minutes to find it on foot, but the VW took an age to get there. Eventually, he heard Paul yell 'STOP'. Reynard looked to his right and saw the road. It was dark down there, and for a couple of seconds, he had doubts about driving along it. He pushed the thought to one side and shouted to Paul to get in.

"My God it's cold out there. I can't feel my face," said Paul. "It's well below zero even without the windchill."

Reynard smiled weakly and waited for him to buckle up. He flicked the headlights to full beam and steered onto Memory Lane.

Despite the cold, Reynard wound the window down. There was something about hearing the wind whipping the snow, the sound of the wheels on the road and the trees gusting which gave him an added sense of perspective. It allowed him a mental attitude to help appreciate what was around him. His confidence grew, and he moved out of first gear and up to second.

"Try driving in third, you'll have more control," suggested Paul.

Reynard did as Paul advised, and although the VW felt sluggish, he had to agree it was easier to stay on top of things. He drove at a cautionary fifteen miles per hour. His body hunched forward as he leaned on the steering wheel and glared through the wipers which were on double speed. His mind began to stray.

'Two miles at fifteen miles an hour, That's.... ten minutes, no, no it's eight. In eight minutes, we'll be on the main road to Cinderford,' thought Reynard.

## 3

'What is it about Memory Lane that spooks you guys so much?'

"Don't worry kids, we'll be through this in no time," said Reynard with an air of confidence, which in Paul's mind sounded more like 'I told you so, so go fuck yourself, Webb.'

But Paul Webb had good reasons for not wanting to take the road as did his sons and the other two boys.

Reynard was pushing twenty when the headlights picked out the sign which warned of the low bridge. The bridge marked the halfway point along the road.

"Okay, we're doin' well, here's the bridge."

The VW trundled beneath it, but in the atrocious weather, the bridge was barely visible despite its size. As they passed underneath, the snow temporarily stopped settling between the swish of the wiper blades. The tone of the howling wind sounded different as they passed under the cold stone. It had an unearthly quality which even made Reynard shudder. They came out of the other side of the short tunnel, and the snow blew harder than before. Through Reynard's open window, the air felt colder. He wound it up and dropped his speed to just under fifteen. The VW began to grumble, so he dropped to second gear.

Despite dropping gear, the vehicle continued to complain. The engine juddered and sputtered. Reynard ploughed on but struggled to maintain forward motion. He checked the fuel gauge, which told him he had half a tank of diesel. The oil light was not flickering, nor was the engine overheating. Reynard was not a mechanic and did not know what was wrong.

"Come on, come on you piece of shit..."

"Pull over to the left, your engine's dying," said Paul.

"No shit Sherlock," sighed Reynard with a heavy frown. "I've just had this thing serviced; it should be fine."

"It's not the engine; it's the diesel."

"What?"

"The cold weather's causing soft solids to form in the fuel; they're clogging the filter. It must be absolutely freezing for this to happen."

Reynard tutted and did what Paul told him. He bought the VW to a standstill on the soft verge. The engine continued to misfire and judder. It coughed and then stopped. The headlights dimmed, and the windscreen wipers slowed. The only sounds in the vehicle were the whirr of the heater and the breathing of the schoolchildren in the back.

"Turn off the ignition and cut the headlights. You'll need to conserve the battery for when you start the engine again."

Reynard took out the keys, put them in his pocket and turned out the lights. Everything was black, pitch black. It was too dark to even see the snow on the ground or the flakes which were the size of eiderdown feathers swarming like an infestation of insects. No one spoke. Reynard was beginning to think they should have stayed back on the main road. Perhaps Paul was right? Back there, the police were waiting in their car for the ambulance. The main road seemed like a haven compared to where they were now. How was Reynard to know the VW would die on them? Had the diesel not frozen, it would have taken a few more minutes, and they would be on the road back to Cinderford. He pulled the map from between the seats and turned on the torch. The map showed that the bridge was exactly halfway along the road.

"Perhaps we should get out and walk back to the main road. You know, wait for the ambulance to arrive?" said Reynard, in a voice sounding like his tail hung between his legs.

"I told you, I fucking told you didn't I! I said we should stay with the police. Why didn't you listen?" snapped Paul. He folded his arms tightly to show his indignance.

"Because I didn't expect to breakdown, and neither did you."

"We're stuck here now. We'll just have to sit it out."

"We can walk back to the police. At least we'll be safe there. Look at the map; it's only about a mile."

"And stand around in this weather? It's got to be minus ten in this wind; the kids will get hypothermia."

"Not if we huddle together. Look, I'm sorry. I should have listened; I was wrong."

"Okay, yeah, you were wrong. But we're not getting out; not on this road."

Reynard gave up the fight to argue. He slammed the map down on his lap and turned off the torch. Something about the road was scaring Paul Webb. He sensed that whatever it was also scared the boys. They sat in silence, and the temperature continued to drop.

"Please can you put the heater back on, I'm freezing," said Yvette.

"The heater works off the engine, and the engine won't start. The fuel's too cold," said Paul in a despondent voice.

"Can't you at least try?" whined Mae.

Reynard put the key back in the ignition, the dashboard lights came on, and the heater motor whirred again. He turned the key one more notch, and the starter motor turned. The turning of the starter sounded encouraging. He tried again, but it did not start. He turned the key for the third time.

"Stop. You're wasting the battery," said Paul.

Reynard sighed and did as Paul said. He looked in the rear-view mirror and made out the heads of the kids behind him. They nervously bobbed from side to side. The silence was awkward and unsettling. No one was in the mood for small talk. Frustration was abundant, and Reynard could sense anger charging through every fibre of Paul Webb's body. Reynard thought about Australia. There were a hundred and one other places where he would rather be right now. His mind wandered, and he thought about the chain of events that brought him to England. Reynard's appraisal of his life was halted by Paul, who let out a loud and uncalled for huff. He turned to face away from Reynard and snuggled his coat around him to keep warm. They were all cold. It was absolutely freezing. Reynard's toes were burning after trudging in the snow. The damp had worked through the uppers of his shoes, and his socks were wet. He stamped his feet to keep them warm. Then he became struck by a thought.

'Coffee, I have coffee!'

Reynard swung open the door and jumped out. With his head down he battled against the blizzard and made his way to the rear of the VW. He opened the back and fumbled under the dim glow of the courtesy light. Snowflakes flew around the vehicle.

"Lewis, what the hell are you doing, shut the door," shouted Paul.

Reynard ignored him and continued to search around the boot. He slammed it shut and climbed back in with a bundle of blankets and a flask. He threw the blankets to the kids and turned to Paul with a smile.

"Coffee, I made this before we left Cinderford at lunchtime. It should still be hot," he said, waving the flask at Paul. He twisted the lid, and the smell of coffee hit the air. It was wonderful. Reynard poured some into a cup and breathed in the heat from the steaming drink. He took a sip and passed the cup to Paul.

"Black, no sugar I'm afraid, but it's better than nothing."

It was the peace offering that Reynard needed to suppress the frosty atmosphere. Paul took a sip and handed it to the kids.

"Share it among you, but make it last," he said, passing the cup to Bradley.

"I've got plenty more," said Reynard.

"Yeah, but we don't know how long we'll be waiting here. We could be here for hours."

The sound of slurping was a welcome change to the bickering adults. Mae searched her bag and pulled out a large bar of chocolate. She snapped it into eight pieces and handed it out. The coffee and chocolate did wonders for lifting spirits.

Tony was the last to finish the dregs, and after the chocolate had gone, the short-lived euphoria subsided. Yvette's attitude towards Mr Reynard had taken a turn. He was no longer the handsome hero she had thought him to be. Now he was nothing other than a misguided mistake maker who had got her into a position she did not want to be in.

'What was I thinking? I'm fifteen, and he's an old man. He's a teacher for Christ's sake,' she thought.

She shared the tartan blanket with Mae and pulled it closer to keep warm. The chill was deadly out there. She felt Mae shivering next to her.

"What are we supposed to do?" begged Scott. "My mum's gonna be fuming." He sounded like he had other things on his mind.

"I guess we do what Mr Webb said. We wait," said Reynard in a faint voice. Paul shook his head. Reynard did not need to look at Paul; he felt his eyes drill into the side of his head.

"Would someone mind telling me the story about this road. What is it about Memory Lane that spooks you guys so much?" asked Reynard. The kids shuffled nervously, and Paul stared through the window into darkness.

"Would someone care to answer?"

Again, no one spoke.

"If what I've done is so bad, then at least I'm owed an explanation."

"The bloody vehicle's packed up, is that not a good enough explanation for you?" said Paul.

"No, it's not. You didn't want to come this way in the first place. So, whatever is bothering you has nothing to do with the diesel freezing. And what was it the police officer said to me? 'I guess you're not from around here, are you?' What the hell was that supposed to mean?"

"He meant that if you knew this place, you would know not to come here. Especially when it's dark," said James. His brother jabbed him in the side angrily.

"Are you guys actually scared of this place? Do you think it's haunted or something?"

"Not now Lewis, let's change the subject please," grumbled Paul in a whining voice.

"There're plenty of reasons not to come here, even during the day, let alone on a night like this," said James.

"NO!" snapped Paul.

"Go on, humour me. Give me an example," said Reynard.

"I said, no! I mean it, not with the girls in the car."

Reynard ignored Paul and faced James in the darkness.

"People have gone missing along this road and never found sir. People have died out here too. There have been at least three suicides that I can recall. Cars have started at one end and not made it to the other," said James in a timid voice.

"What do you mean, not made it to the other end?"

"Cars have driven along this road, but were never seen again, nor the people in them. This place has a history. It goes back hundreds of years. It's kinda like the Bermuda Triangle of the Forest."

"Bollocks, if you excuse my French. Bermuda Triangle? History? What kind of history?"

"They used to dunk witches in the lake behind the trees. If they were innocent and weren't witches, they sank to the bottom and drowned. If they floated, they were found guilty and burnt alive."

"Well, I admit that's horrible, but as you say, that was hundreds of years ago. It doesn't happen anymore, thank God.

"STOP IT, JUST STOP IT!" shouted Yvette.

"Yes, James, stop it. You're scaring the girls. And Lewis, you can stop asking questions too," said Paul, trying to remain calm.

There was another awkward silence which was punctuated by sobbing. Yvette was crying to herself. Mae reached for her hand to comfort her. She too was scared and knew about the myths of the place.

"Does your car have a radio, sir?" asked Mae.

"Yes, but I can't turn it on, I need to save the battery for later."

"It'll be okay; the radio draws very little power. Put it on," said Paul, in a defeatist tone.

Reynard reached for the radio in the dark. The sound of BBC Radio Gloucestershire crackled over the speakers. Stevie Wonder's voice filled the airwaves singing Superstition.

"This is rather apt", said Reynard, reaching to find another station.

"No, leave it," said Paul, "this is local radio, they'll have updates about the weather."

Reynard pulled his hand away and listened. More songs continued after Stevie Wonder, and at six o' clock the local news and weather came on. The eight of them listened in silence. The news reporter had a lengthy feature about the African National Congress opening an office in Amsterdam, and there was talk about UK politics. Margaret Thatcher's voice bleated in her patronising tone. No one paid any attention to what she said. Then the weather forecast came on.

"Shh!" said Reynard, turning up the volume.

There was mention of light snow flurries in the far west of Wales, but no mention of snow in the Forest.

"How can they not mention this blizzard?" said Tony. He had hardly said a word until now. Reynard almost forgot he was in the vehicle.

"I presume the storm's localised," said Reynard.

"Very bloody localised," muttered Paul.

More music followed the weather, and Reynard subconsciously tapped his fingers when Crowded House came on.

"Isn't this band from Australia, sir?" asked Mae.

"Yeah, Melbourne."

"Is that where you're from?"

"No, I'm from Perth. It's miles away from Melbourne."

"I bet you wish you were there now."

Reynard nodded. The darkness began to pen him in. Paul Webb was rubbing him up the wrong way, and he felt he was losing control. He took in a big breath, gripped the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

'Come on, get a grip man,' he thought to himself.

Despite being too dark to see, Paul Webb knew what Reynard was doing. He knew what he was thinking. Reynard's anger and body language oozed out. His frustration was electric, and for a few seconds, Webb felt sorry for the man. How was he to know what really happened along Memory Lane? How would a man from the other side of the world even begin to understand the fear and trepidation this place cast upon those who knew its secret? The quietness was eerie. The music on the radio did nothing to help the situation. It made things worse. Night Fever by the Bee Gees came on.

The happy, upbeat tune was at odds with their predicament. Paul could hear one of the kids tapping their fingers to the song. He bit his lip and resisted the urge to tell whoever it was to stop. Webb was scared. Really scared. He knew his kids were aware of just how frightened he was. For fun, when they were younger, Paul used to tell the twins stories about the road. He had embellished a few, just a bit here and there to make them scarier. But sitting here in the dark, in the snow, with the wind howling around him, nothing needed exaggerating. Memory Lane was not a good place to be; it was scary, even for an adult. He stared into the blackness and thought of Kate. The woman he once loved. The mother of his children. The woman who had died eight years earlier. He shuddered at the thought of her and how she died. The memory ripped through him. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.

"What's the time?" asked Tony.

Paul jerked when he heard the voice from behind. It snapped him back to reality and he pressed the button on the side of his watch.

"It's quarter past."

"Quarter past what?"

"Six."

"It feels like we've been stuck here for hours and hours," added Scott.

"How about more coffee?" said Paul to Reynard. "We could do with warming up again." He tried to sound as upbeat as he could, but his voice was flat. Reynard switched on the torch and reached for the flask.

"Here, hold this," said Reynard, passing the torch to Paul. He put his head down and poured coffee.

Suddenly, a light appeared on the road ahead. The diffused glare from a single headlight cut through the snow-covered windscreen.

"Someone's coming," said Paul. "He's on our fuckin' side of the road. Quick, put the lights on, or he'll never see us."

Reynard shoved the flask between his legs and reached for the headlights. He fumbled in the dark. The oncoming light loomed, and the vehicle was approaching at one hell of a rate. Try as he might, Reynard couldn't get to the switch in time. He began to panic.

"My God, he's going too fast," cried Paul. "He's coming straight for us."

The oncoming vehicle made no noise as it raced towards them.

A split second later there was a huge bang, the VW shunted backwards, and Reynard yelled as he spilt steaming coffee over his trousers. The sound of the motorcycle crashing into the hood was thunderous. The driver yelped as he slid over the roof and fell to the ground. Inside the VW was pandemonium. The girls screamed, and the boys swore. Reynard jumped out with the torch, ignoring the scolding coffee which burned his legs. He ran around to the back of the VW and almost slid as he struggled to move fast enough. He stopped in his tracks. Paul joined him. A look of bewilderment spanned their faces. Reynard frantically shone the torch in search of the motorcyclist. Paul crossed to the other side of the road and struggled to fathom out what just took place.

"What the fuck happened?" snapped Paul. Reynard didn't answer. He held on to the side of the VW to keep his balance and made his way to the front of the vehicle. The hood was crumpled, and steam hissed from the radiator. The VW had shifted back almost half a metre due to the impact. Reynard stood silently and tried to understand.

"Is he hurt?" called Mae through the open door.

Reynard did not know what to say. He made his way over to Paul, who was kicking around in the snow on the other side of the road. Bradley joined them, closely followed by James. Both boys looked with astonishment.

The wind blew so hard that the four of them were bent forward and the snow was so cold it burned their faces. Shouting was the only way to be heard.

"Where did he go?" screamed James.

"He must have run away?" shouted his brother.

It was a situation none of them could comprehend. The motorcycle, which everyone had witnessed crashing, was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the driver. Although it was dark, and the snow was still falling heavily, the torch cast enough light to allow them to see that there was no evidence of there ever being a motorcycle.

"There's nothing here," said Bradley.

"There must be," screamed James.

James looked at the damaged hood.

"Well, something hit us."

He ran his fingers over the dent. The heat of the escaping steam caused him to withdraw his hand quickly. He got to his haunches and could see by the marks in the snow that the VW had moved back a fair distance. But there were no other tracks. The snow in front of the vehicle was untouched.

"Mr Reynard, come over here with the torch please."

Reynard shuffled to Bradley and handed him the torch. Bradley shone it on the ground and walked a few feet ahead of the vehicle. His feet crunched the soft, newly fallen snow. He turned around and quickly returned.

"There're no tyre tracks. There's nothing at all."

Reynard snatched the torch back from Bradley and checked for tracks.

"What the hell was that thing?" shouted Bradley.

At first, Reynard was sure it had been a motorcycle, but now he was not convinced. There was no wrecked bike, no driver and no tracks in the snow. But there was a big dent in the hood. Something had slammed into them, and that was the only thing he knew for sure.

"I didn't hear it coming," shouted Bradley.

"What?"

"I said I didn't hear it coming. I didn't hear an engine or anything. I heard the crash, and I heard the voice of the poor sod flying over the roof, but I didn't hear the motorbike."

"It's because of the wind. It's howling a hooley. We can't hear a thing. I can hardly hear what you're saying."

"But I heard the voice. I heard it as the motorcyclist crashed into us. Where is he? Where's his bike gone?"

Reynard knew the boy was right. But right now, everything was at odds with reality.

"The bike has to be somewhere around here, it's probably skidded into the woods," suggested Reynard.

"But where's the tracks? Look at the snow. Other than our footprints there's nothing," bellowed Bradley, struggling to make himself heard.

Fresh snow had almost covered the tyre tracks from the VW, but they remained visible. Footprints were the only new marks in the snow. Reynard rummaged through the foliage alongside the VW in search of anything. He wondered whether the motorcycle could have cleared the roof of his vehicle and catapulted into the edge of the forest. He fought his way through the undergrowth, onto the perimeter of the wooded area and searched for the bike. The scrub and vegetation were dense, and it was hard to move. It was more slippery than it was on the road. He made his way through the vegetation to an open clearing. He shone the torch but could see nothing other than the trees, plants, and leaves. Something grunted and brushed past his leg, and Reynard yelped, lost his footing and fell. A pair of white eyes stared at him from the dark. He was face to face with something. The leaves rustled, and the creature disappeared into the forest. Reynard jumped up and battled back through the vegetation to the road. He was panting and relieved to see the others.

"Did you find anything?" asked Paul.

"No, but there's something in the forest. It touched my leg as it went past me."

"Probably a wild boar, the forest is teeming with them."

"I don't think so; it was something else."

"Like what?" asked Paul, his voice sounding gravely serious.

"I've no idea, but it scared the shit out of me."

"Yeah, probably a boar," added Paul, his voice becoming more relaxed. "I wouldn't worry about it. Anyway, so what's the score on this phantom motorbike?"

Reynard shook his head. "I don't understand; I just don't get it." He made his way back to the driver's door and reached for the headlights. This time he found the switch and flicked it on, but only one light worked. The other was damaged in the impact. The yellow glow of the single beam hit the falling snow which showed no sign of easing off. Reynard stood in front of the VW. He cast a stumpy shadow ahead of him. Despite only one headlight working, it was bright enough to confirm that there were no tyre tracks. He leaned against the bonnet and tried to think what else could have happened. He began to feel tired and was confused. He could not think straight.

"We're getting back in," called Paul.

Reynard felt the VW rock as Bradley, James and their father climbed in. There was nothing more to see or do. He huffed and got back in, slammed the door and turned off the headlight.

"What's going on?" whispered Yvette to James.

"Dunno. No bike, no driver... nothing."

A conversation followed about what happened. Everyone discussed what they saw, or thought they saw. The scared girls whimpered. The atmosphere in the VW was charged with anxiety.

The only one who did not speak was Scott. He had said nothing since the crash. Scott had something on his mind. Something that had been hanging around his neck for almost a year. An enormous amount of guilt and grief plagued him. It was something that only he and one other person knew about. He sat alongside Tony, who was his best friend. The fourteen-year-old boys had known each other since they were six. But Tony had no idea of what happened to his friend, but he had noticed a marked change in his character since Easter. He had become withdrawn and taken time off school. No one knew what had been wrong with him. His mother had been so worried about his change in personality she had taken him to the doctor. The doctor was next to useless and said that whatever was happening to Scott was hormonal. Scott knew what was wrong, and there was no way he was going to tell a soul. But as time passed, he had got better. Day by day, Scott improved. He started playing sports again and was almost back to his old self. Almost, but not entirely.

Scott wiped condensation off the window and looked back in the direction of the bridge. It was too dark to see a thing. But he knew. He knew where to find the wreck of the motorcycle and the driver.

Tony felt Scott shaking alongside him. He heard his jaw rattle as he breathed heavily.

"You okay mate?"

Scott did not answer. The conversation in the vehicle died down, and the sound of Scott sobbing broke through.

Reynard looked in Scott's direction.

"Bradley, can you turn on the interior light above your head please."

Bradley flicked the switch, and as the dull light came on, all eyes fell on Scott. He looked pathetic; curled to one side with his face to the glass. Scott looked at his dim reflection in the side window through teary eyes.

"Don't worry lad; we'll be out of here soon. One way or the other we'll be home before you know it," said Reynard. He had no plans to back up what he said. Scott shook his head and continued to stare at his reflection.

"Hold on mate, Mr Reynard's right. This snow can't last forever," said Tony, putting his hand on Scott's shoulder.

Scott mumbled something beneath his breath.

"Pardon?" said James.

Scott mumbled again, but the others could not hear what he said.

"I can't hear you mate," said Tony.

This time Scott turned his head and looked at everyone. The dim light picked out the tears streaming down his cheeks. He spoke again, and this time his voice was loud and clear, albeit with a quiver.

"I know where the motorcycle is. I know exactly where it is. And the driver too."

## 4

'Does this place scare you kiddo? Good, because it ought to.'

What are you saying?" asked Reynard.

Scott spoke through laboured breath; he sounded ill. The teenager continued to stare at his reflection. Reynard asked again.

"He's out there," muttered Scott. His voice was flat and monosyllabic. "He's been alone in the forest all this time."

Reynard and Paul looked at each other with a frown.

"You're scaring us," said Mae.

"He's freaking out," snapped Yvette.

"I know what happened. I know where the bike is, and I know where the driver is."

"Why do you keep saying that? We all looked for it, and the driver. There's nothing out there," said Bradley.

"But he is out there. He's alone in the snow."

"Shut up, Scott, you're making things worse," screamed Mae. She started to cry. Yvette joined in, and the two girls sobbed uncontrollably. James lashed out and punched the ceiling three times. He released his frustration and fear differently to the girls. Bradley ducked away from his brother.

"This place is affecting us, I'll admit to that. There must be an explanation for what happened, but right now, I don't know what it is," said Reynard. "Please, everyone stay calm. Let's work through this and not make matters worse."

"Make matters worse? You really don't get this place, do you sir?" said Bradley.

"No, I don't. Because no one's told me! All I know is there is local mumbo jumbo about Memory Lane that no one has the balls to talk about."

"It's not about having balls," grunted Paul.

"Then what the hell is it about? Help me understand."

Paul shook his head. He was not letting on, nor were the others.

A commotion started in the back of the vehicle. Scott was struggling. He forced himself over the seat in front of him and was pushing past Mae, who was closest to the sliding side door.

"What're you doing? Stop it!"

Scott ignored Mae and continued to act erratically.

"Scott, sit down," demanded Reynard. Tony reached for his friend and tried to pull him back.

"Get off me!" snapped Scott. "I'm getting out."

"Scott, I mean it. Stop being stupid. Stay in the car," insisted Reynard. He leaned over and tried to reach for the boy. Scott's elbow met with Mae's cheek, and she screamed. Panic set in and everyone in the car became agitated apart from Paul Webb who stared into the blackness beyond the windscreen. Paul did not know what was happening, but he understood why. It was because of the road. The VW rocked from side to side as Scott grappled with the sliding door. It slid open, and an icy blast filled the vehicle. Scott fell out and landed face first. He quickly stood up and subconsciously brushed the snow from his clothes. Reynard jumped out and crouched alongside him. Scott looked in the direction of where the motorcycle had come from.

"Come on, Scott, get back in. There's a good lad." Reynard stood up and put his hand on Scott's shoulder to guide him back into the VW, but Scott took a step back. "Scott, get back in, it's not safe out here, you'll catch your death."

"I'll catch my death," muttered Scott with half a grin.

Then suddenly, he ran. He darted through the blizzard in the direction of where the phantom motorcycle had appeared. Reynard reached into the VW and flicked the single headlight back on. Scott had disappeared.

"Paul, help me. He's run off."

Paul shook his head, grabbed the torch and insisted that everyone stay in the vehicle. He stood alongside Reynard and shone the light ahead.

"Where did he go?"

"In that direction. The kid just took off."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, he just ran."

They put their heads down and followed Scott's footprints.

Scott was a hundred yards from the VW and still running. The snow began to ease, but he did not notice. Scott put his head down and kept going. Then he stopped. He stood on the verge of the road and reached for the vegetation.

"He's here," he said to himself.

He felt the cold leaves tickle his fingers and then, as if transformed to a different world, his memories cast him back to the day which changed his life forever.

* * *

Scott was thirteen and sitting alongside his uncle Robert in Robert's fourth-hand rusting Ford Escort. It was early evening, and the clocks had sprung forward an hour the previous night, and it was now officially the season of springtime. They were parked at the end of that road. The road looked different without the snow; it smelt different too. It was a pleasant smell. Forest aromas wafted through the window and the late afternoon sun broke through the trees casting dancing shadows on the dirty windscreen. Few cars travelled down the road. The tarmac was covered with grass and moss, with the faint outline of tracks left by the vehicles of drivers who were either brave, or stupid enough to venture along it. Robert was more dumb than brave.

Robert Eves was Scott's uncle on his father's side. Scott's father, Derry, was in his mid-thirties, but Robert was a lot younger. He was twenty-six but acted like an irresponsible teenager. Robert had moved away from the Forest years ago, but from time to time, he returned unannounced. And whenever he returned, there was often an incident or two. An argument in a pub, or a brawl in the town centre. And it was usually Robert who was the cause of the skirmishes. But Scott looked up to Robert. He added an air of excitement to the quiet town of Cinderford.

Robert had spent time in Leyhill Open Prison for fraud and was now a free man. A free man who drifted from job to job, and right now, he was unemployed. He lived in the back of the Escort and had two hundred pounds in his pocket. That was his net worth. A car with no MOT, no tax or insurance, and two hundred pounds in cash. He had turned up on his brother's doorstep the week before and had charmed himself into the family home. Derry had reluctantly wined him and dined him and put him to bed. Derry had given his brother a wad of cash and told him it was time to move on. Robert agreed, but needed a day or two to 'sort things out'. He loved his brother and his sister-in-law dearly and knew how much of a nuisance he could be. He loved Scott too, but he also worried about him. Robert was concerned that Scott was not tough enough to face the world, and Robert knew from personal experience just how harsh the world could be. In Robert's mind, you had to be a fighter. You must face your fears. Scott was just a teenager but needed his eyes opening. He needed to stand up for himself and get brave from time to time. Despite loving his brother, Robert thought Derry to be a weak person, and he did not want his nephew ending up like Derry.

It was Robert's last night in Cinderford. He agreed to leave the Eves' family home the next day. But Derry knew that Robert would be back. He always came back. It was something Derry had learned to tolerate. But this time, Derry was wrong. It would be the last time he ever saw his brother.

Robert had taken Scott for a spin in the Escort. They had headed away from Cinderford and along Speech House Road in the direction of Coleford. He had taken a right turn at the Cannop Ponds crossroad and was driving in the direction of Ruardean. Scott became nervous. He realised where Robert was taking him. The signpost showing the alternative route back to Cinderford loomed ahead, and it warned of the low twelve-and-a-half-foot bridge. Someone had drawn a crude skull and crossbones on the sign. Robert did not indicate; instead, he put his foot down, sped across the middle of the road, steered erratically and stopped abruptly on the soft verge at the start of the road with the low bridge.

Scott was scared, but at the same time, excited. He was aware of the myths of Memory Lane, but sitting next to his fearless uncle made him feel a little braver.

"Does this place scare you kiddo?" asked Robert.

"A bit... I guess," replied Scott quietly.

"Good, because it ought to."

"Are you scared too?"

"Nah, not me. Scott, tell me, what scares you the most?"

"All of it."

"But what's the worse thing about being here?"

"I don't know... the bears, I guess."

"The bears. Everyone's scared of the bears. But no one wants to talk about them. Even after all this time, no one talks about the bears."

"My dad says we shouldn't."

"He's embarrassed, isn't he?"

"I guess so."

"Well, you don't need to be. It's got nothing to do with you. Anyway, it's not bears you should be worried about, it's the axemen and murderers that lurk in the forest," said Robert with a smirk. "Do you fancy something to give you some courage?"

Robert pulled a couple of warm cans of lager from the back of the car and handed one to Scott.

"I shouldn't."

"Go on, just one. I won't tell if you don't."

Scott smiled nervously and took the can. He had tasted beer before and was not sure whether he liked it. It was an acquired taste which he was yet to attain. He yanked on the ring pull and warm froth spilt out. Robert glugged his beer quickly, but Scott sipped his slowly. He did not know what being drunk was like and wanted to take things steady. They did not speak as they drank. Scott looked out of the window and began to feel more relaxed. The beer was making him feel good.

"Want another one?"

"Not yet, I'm still drinking this one."

Robert smiled and cracked open another.

"Still scared?"

"A little bit," said Scott before belching. The lager was gassy. He hiccupped.

"Christ Scott, you're not pissed already are you?"

"No, not at all. I'm fine."

Robert grinned and started on his second tin.

"Fancy driving?"

"What me? Drive your car? I'd better not."

"Why not? It's easy. I'll show you."

"I don't think so."

"Come on Scott. Grow a pair. Show me what you're made of."

"But I've not driven before, what if I crash?"

"You've driven a dodgem, haven't you?"

"Sure."

"It's no different to driving a dodgem. In fact, on this road, it will be easier because no one ever comes down here. There's no traffic."

"But what about gears, I don't know how to do them."

"This car's automatic. That's what I meant when I said it's like a dodgem. You just put your foot down, and you go forward. Take your foot off, you slow down. Easy."

"I don't think so."

"Sure you can. Come on, swap seats."

Robert jumped out, strolled to the passenger side and opened Scott's door. Scott's big brown eyes looked up at Robert. The beer made him feel a little reckless. He had almost finished the tin. He grinned up at his uncle and nodded.

"That's the spirit kiddo," smiled Robert, ruffling Scott's hair as he got out of the car. Scott finished the beer and threw the tin into the forest. A bird took off as the tin littered the ground.

Scott sat behind the steering wheel and stared at the dashboard. He recognised a few of the dials. He reached out his hands and gripped the wheel. His legs were too short for his feet to reach the pedals. Robert showed him how to pull the seat forward. It clunked a notch into place, and Scott could feel the pedals beneath the soles of his shoes.

"The one on the right is the accelerator, yeah?" asked Scott, extending his right foot as far as he could.

"And the other one's the brake. Use your right foot to do all the work. Tuck your left foot under the seat out of the way."

Excitement surged through Scott's veins. Suddenly his fears of the road subsided. Robert told him to turn the key, and the Escort's engine fired up. He showed him how to slide the selector out of neutral and into drive. Scott felt the car judder.

"Okay, let off the handbrake and put a bit of pressure on the pedal."

Scott struggled with the handbrake, but eventually, without any help from his uncle, he worked it out. He cautiously put his foot down and listened to the tone of the engine change.

"Okay, you got this," said Robert.

The Escort began to creep forward.

"Move off the verge, you're heading for the forest. Turn the steering wheel a tad to the right."

The car sidled on to the road and picked up speed.

"Not too hard, straighten up."

Scott backed off the accelerator, and the car lumbered slowly and in a straight line along the road.

"Okay, that's good. Now try going a little faster."

Scott did not want to; he needed to get a feel for things. He leaned forward and stared ahead. The road was dead straight, and there was nothing Scott had to do other than keep his foot on the pedal and stay aligned. He pushed a little harder, and the car sped up. He felt a jerk, and the engine sounded different.

"What's that noise?"

"It's the gears. They change automatically."

"How do they do that?"

"The car knows when to change. It's the revolution of the engine that makes it happen."

Scott was surprised at how easy it was. Robert was right, it was like a dodgem, but simpler. There were no other drivers to bump into and no distracting fairground sounds. Just the rumble of the engine and the sound of the wheels on the ground.

"Having fun?" asked Robert.

Scott nodded. His confidence grew, and the car picked up speed. Scott heard the gears shift up, and the tone of the engine changed again. He pressed harder on the pedal and watched the speedometer rise. He was doing twenty-five.

"You're a natural Scott. You're better than your dad."

Scott smiled as the bridge appeared. He instinctively took his foot off the gas when he saw the narrow tunnel. The car quickly decelerated.

"It's okay, just keep to the middle. You'll be fine."

Scott gingerly put his foot down, and the car sped up. He sat rigidly and aimed for the centre of the road. The car passed under the bridge and out the other side. He looked up at the clear blue sky and to the forest either side of the road. The sound of a stream passing beneath the road caught his attention. He had a newly discovered sense of freedom. He left the tunnel behind and continued forward. The road veered to the left and Scott took his foot off the pedal and adjusted the steering wheel.

"I'm impressed. The end of the road is around the corner so when you see it start slowing down."

The end of the road came into view, and Scott could see cars speeding along the road at the junction ahead.

"Okay kiddo, foot off the pedal and steer to the left. Pull over onto the verge."

Scott executed the task perfectly. Robert pulled on the handbrake and slipped the car into neutral. Scott had not noticed how hard his heart was beating and how heavy he was breathing.

"That was amazing. Can I do it again?"

"Sure, but you're gonna have to turn the car around. Even I wouldn't want you to try driving on the main road over there. But you can go up and down this one all night if you want."

"You mean a three-point turn? I couldn't do that."

"Sure you can kiddo, I can help. You do the pedals, and I'll lean over and steer."

Between the two of them, they managed to face the Escort back towards the tunnel ready for Scott's second attempt. Robert reached to the back of the car and pulled out another couple of beers. He handed one to Scott and opened the other for himself. This time, Scott made no objections; Scott was having fun. He tried not to think about what his parents would say if they knew what he was doing. They sat and drank and spoke and laughed. Robert was like the best friend Scott never had.

"Do you really have to leave tomorrow?"

"'Fraid so. I'm a bit of a liability to the family. I always have been."

"I wish my dad was more like you."

"Your dad's a good guy. He just needs a little adventure in his life."

Scott nodded and took a sip of beer.

"Feeling alright?"

Scott nodded. He felt a little gassy but did not like to admit it.

"Okay, whenever you're ready kiddo."

Scott placed the can in the drinks holder between the seats and slipped the car into drive. He released the handbrake and like before, he felt the car surge forward. His confidence grew, and he quickly moved forward and aligned with the middle of the road.

"The good thing about this road is that everyone is so shit scared to come here that you have the whole place to yourself. I bet we could stay here until midnight and we'd be the only ones here," said Robert.

The thought of being the only two on the road unnerved Scott. He pushed the idea to one side and headed towards the tunnel beneath the bridge. The sun was setting, and dusk quickly crept up on them. It was that funny half-light when the eye could not quite see everything as clearly as it should, but at the same time, it was not dark enough to make either Scott or Robert realise it was time to turn on the headlights. Scott continued and passed beneath the bridge. Robert wound down his window and shouted a long drawn out 'heelloo' when they were in the tunnel. His voice echoed off the mottled moss stonework. Water dripped from above and splattered on the windscreen. They emerged from the other side and continued back towards the road to Ruardean. They reached the end, and Scott pulled over and smiled. He looked at his watch and had not realised how late it was.

"Can I have one more go, and after that, I'd better get home. I've got school tomorrow."

"Sure thing kiddo, finish your beer and give it one last crack. This time really put your foot down. Show me what you're made of."

Scott crumpled the empty can and threw it from the window. Robert was impressed when his nephew performed a near-perfect three-point turn. The Escort faced back towards the bridge and Scott put his foot down hard, and the car lunged forward.

"Way... Hay," shouted Robert. "Go for it kiddo."

Scott quickly reached thirty, and the gears shifted up to fourth.

"This is more like it kiddo, you're caning it."

The tunnel was right ahead, and Scott did not slow up. He put his foot down and tickled forty-miles-per-hour. He veered a little to the left, and Robert instinctively leaned over and straightened the steering wheel. For a second, Robert felt a tad nervous, but the feeling quickly passed as they emerged safely out of the tunnel. Scott pressed harder on the accelerator.

"Okay, ease back on the gas kiddo, you're gonna run out of road soon."

Scott took his foot off the pedal, and the car began to slow. They passed the stream where the road swung to the left.... and then they saw it.

A vehicle headed their way. It took them by surprise. It was the last thing either of them expected.

"SHIT!" shouted Robert as it raced towards them. "Move to your left, hit the brakes."

Scott panicked. Had he been an experienced driver, who had not drunk alcohol, then perhaps he would have reacted in time. He desperately fumbled with his foot in search of the brake, but it just did not seem to be there. Instead of applying the brakes, he awkwardly smashed his foot hard on the accelerator. Within a split second, the single yellow glow of a headlight was upon them. Robert reached over and yanked hard on the steering wheel and the Escort swerved into the verge and rumbled along the rough stony bank of the road. But Robert's reaction was not fast enough. The oncoming motorcycle clipped the front of the Escort. The motorcyclist flew over the roof of Robert's car and landed on the road. The bike careered along the tarmac and crashed into bushes on the verge. Its engine briefly roared, then spluttered and stopped. Scott and Robert stared ahead in silence. No breeze blew, and no birds sang. The only noticeable thing was the thumping of their hearts in their heads.

"Drive, just get out of here," shouted Robert. "Go, go, go!"

But Scott could not move, at least not straight away. Slowly, he turned his head and looked in the side mirror. Scott could see the dark outline of a person on the road behind them. He looked strange, in the same way as a child's soft toy looks when it had been thrown from a pushchair.

"Kiddo, just start the car and go!"

"But what about him?"

"Don't worry about him, it's us we need to worry about. He should never have been here. No one comes along this road."

"We're here."

"We have to leave NOW!"

Scott slowly opened the door and got out. Darkness fell fast, and it was difficult to see. He cautiously walked over to the crumpled man and saw that his right leg was bent outwards. He had a full-faced crash helmet, and Scott did not know whether he was dead or alive. He turned around and saw Robert next to him.

"There's nothing we can do. The man's probably dead."

"Probably dead? But what if he's not? We need to get to a phone and call an ambulance."

Robert bent down to Scott's height and put his hands on the scared boy's shoulders. He spoke in a quiet, controlled and commanding voice.

"Listen to me kiddo, if we get caught up in this thing, then we've both had it. I've just got out of prison, and I'm not going back. If you're found to be part of this, then your future's fucked too. Other than you and me, no one ever knew we were here."

"Except for him," said Scott, pointing to the man. What if he recognised your car and tells the police? If we walk away now, we'll end up in even deeper trouble later."

Robert stood over the motorcyclist and ran his finger over his stubbly chin while he considered the options. He looked at the lifeless body and grotesquely distorted leg.

"Come on, help me," said Robert, grabbing the man's limp arms. "We need to get him off the road."

"But where should we take him?"

"Out of sight, and then we hide his bike."

Scott's body shook. He wanted nothing to do with Robert's plan but was stuck in the middle with no way out. Unwisely, he agreed with Robert. He took one arm and Robert grabbed the other. The man was a dead weight, literally, a dead weight. He made no sound as his broken leg bent further out of place as the two of them hauled him across the road.

"Take him into the forest, as far as we can," whispered Robert.

Fifteen minutes later, the motorcyclist was off the road. He was slumped at the base of a tall, dark tree and covered in leaves and branches. Robert returned to the road and wrestled with the motorcycle.

"Kiddo, help me with this thing."

Reluctantly, Scott helped Robert lift the heavy motorcycle. The keys were in the ignition. Robert sat on and started the engine. He was surprised that the thing fired up after the accident. Carefully Robert drove the bike off the road and towards the broken man. He cocked his leg off the bike, with the thing still in gear. He twisted the throttle and let off the clutch. The bike roared and raced into the forest but was thwarted seconds later when it crashed into a tree.

"It'll be months before he's found. Let's get out of here, there's nothing more we can do."

Robert drove and minutes later they were heading back to Cinderford.

"This never happened. Understand? If anyone asks, then we deny everything," said Robert with one hand on the steering wheel.

Scott was crying.

"Man up, do you hear me? It was his fault, he was driving too fast, and he should never have been there. People know not to use that road."

Robert pulled over and cut the engine.

"Listen carefully, I'll take you back to your place. I've told your dad I'm leaving tomorrow, but I'll leave tonight. Your dad will surely be pleased to see the back of me. Don't let your parents smell your breath. Have a mint and make a coffee. Tell them you have a headache and need an early night. Just tell them you're not well."

Scott felt awful. Bile rose to his throat from the pit of his stomach. The horrific event played over and over, and he thought of the poor man alone in the forest. If he were not dead now, it would not be long until he was. Although it was spring and the weather was getting warmer, the temperature at night was close to freezing.

"We can't leave him there, we must go back."

"No, we're in too deep already. If we go back, and if the man is alive, which I'm certain he's not, then we'll have a lot of explaining to do."

"But we could make up another story, something people would believe."

"Nope, kiddo. Let's just get out of here. Pretend this never happened."

Scott was beaten down, weak and exhausted. The bitter taste of beer added to the increasing sense of sickness. He flung open the door and threw up. Robert turned the other way. He covered his nose with his hand because he hated the smell of vomit. Scott threw up three times and crouched forward with his head in his hands. His body jerked as if he was going to be sick again, but there was nothing else coming up. He stepped out of the car and rested on his haunches.

"Kiddo, get in now, we gotta go."

Scott got back in, and Robert pulled away before Scott had shut the door and put his belt on. Robert did not drive erratically; instead, he kept within the speed limit and headed back to Cinderford.

"Don't worry kiddo. This will soon be a memory. It'll fade. Do your best to move on. Don't let it haunt you."

## 5

'This road has enough secrets, you don't want to add any more'

Scott flinched when he found himself dragged back to the here and now.

"What's up, son?" asked Reynard. He had traced the boy's footprints and found him where the tarmac met the verge of the road. Scott stared into the dark forest. The blizzard had subsided, and Reynard found it easier to see the landscape around him.

Although it was almost a year since the incident, Scott knew precisely where the motorcyclist was.

"Scott, speak to me."

Paul Webb was behind Reynard and was as nervous as hell.

"He's there, in the trees," said Scott.

"Who?"

"He's talking about the ghost motorcyclist," said Paul.

"Shut up, Paul, just shut up," whispered Reynard. "Scott, tell me what's on your mind."

The schoolboy didn't answer. He took a couple of steps forward and paused for a second. He turned sideways towards the foliage and used his shoulder to push his way through, casting icy particles illuminated by the glow of Reynard's torch. Scott disappeared into the undergrowth. Paul and Reynard heard him struggling in the darkness. Reynard called to him and began to trail him, following the sounds of Scott disturbing the vegetation. Paul reluctantly kept up the rear. Branches and leaves struck Reynard's face and scratched his skin. It was an effort to keep up with the boy who knew exactly where he was going.

"Scott, wait up, I'm right behind you."

Reynard had the impression that Scott wanted to be alone. It was as though he was on a personal mission of discovery. The forest was pitch black, and the torch did little to push away the dark. Instead, the feeble light added to the confusion of the surreal situation. Reynard picked out the sound of Scott's footsteps and the occasional huff of breath. He estimated that the boy was twenty feet ahead.

"SCOTT," shouted Reynard. His voice sounded dull and lifeless amongst the deep snow and forest. There was no reply.

Then everything was silent. No footsteps, no heavy breathing. Nothing. Reynard stood on tiptoe and shone the torch down and around. It was as if the boy had vanished. Slowly, he advanced, sweeping the light from left to right. He shivered, his wet toes stung against his freezing shoes, and he could barely grip the torch. But he was too engrossed in what was happening to realise how cold he was. He heard Paul close behind scrabbling through the bushes. Then he saw Scott, crouching just ahead of him in a small clearing. Reynard's eyes adjusted to the dark and he saw something substantial at the base of a tree. Reynard stepped closer and stood over Scott, who was down on his haunches. The boy reached out and touched the tyre of a motorcycle which was partially enveloped by undergrowth and snow.

Reynard sensed something significant was happening, and he knew it was connected to the earlier incident but struggled to join up the dots. But for the first time, Reynard was beginning to understand why there was such fear of this place. He could sense it in the swaying of the branches and hear it in the icy wind which had begun to blow again.

Scott quietly sobbed. Reynard knelt and touched the boy's shoulder. Scott flicked his hand away as if he was swiping an irritating insect. The young boy picked at dead leaves and the accumulation of forest detritus which covered the motorcycle. He stood up, bent forward and frantically started to clear the undergrowth from the machine. He huffed as he pulled at tendrils which had coiled around the chassis. Reynard rested the torch on a tree stump and joined in. Scott did not notice Reynard was helping. Reynard turned to Paul and called him over. Paul half-heartedly pulled at vines which snapped between his fingers. Scott cleared the forest debris which covered the motorcycle's fuel tank and wiped his hand over the metal which was covered in light rust. Reynard grabbed the torch from the stump and shone it on the tank. If not for the rust, the three of them would be seeing the pristine tank of a vintage BSA Bantam. The logo of the bantam bird stood out against a white background.

"So, what's the story with this thing?" asked Reynard.

Scott shook his head and continued to clear soil from the tank. Paul placed his hand on Reynard's shoulder and gently tugged him back.

"Don't you get it?" said Paul.

"No, not really. Do you?"

Paul nodded. "Give him a few minutes. He's taking in a lot of stuff."

Scott stood up and straightened his back. Reynard's torchlight shone on Scott's face. He looked sullen and broken. The fourteen-year-old looked like an old man. He stepped back from the Bantam and turned to his right. Reynard shone the torch in the direction that Scott faced. Slowly, Scott moved away from the motorcycle and slouched towards a mound of snow which had built up against the base of a majestic oak. The pile looked natural, as it if was a small tump in the ground, but there was something about the shape which told Reynard that perhaps it was not just an old pile of soil, shrubs and grass. Scott's nervousness screamed to Reynard that they were about to see something horrible. Scott knelt by the pile of snow and Reynard swallowed hard.

Paul took a step closer to Scott and quietly spoke.

"Are you sure about this?"

Scott nodded. Reynard watched in silence as Paul began to clear snow which covered the mound.

"Lewis, I need more light."

Reynard stepped closer and shone the torch where Paul was digging with his hands. Scott knelt in the snow and joined in. The two of them spent half a minute clearing the soft snow to reveal rotten leaves and branches. Scott stopped and placed his head in his hands. He thought about the accident and the day he and Robert pulled the motorcyclist into the forest. He remembered how the man lay crumpled and broken before the two of them had crudely covered him with undergrowth. Scott and Robert had left him slumped on his side with his gloved hands between his crotch. In Scott's mind's eye, he could see his grotesquely misshapen leg which stuck out at an angle that just did not seem possible for a human limb.

What had played on Scott's mind over the past eleven months was whether the man died there and then or survived the accident. Scott should have stood up to Robert and insisted that they check whether he was alive. In his heart, he knew what he should have done, but Robert had been insistent. He had selfishly bullied Scott into doing as he demanded. That night Scott had tossed and turned in his bed and thought about what he had done. He had considered getting his bicycle out of the shed and making his own way back to the man. But he did not dare to return alone. Robert had left Cinderford that night, and Scott carried the secret alone. He dismissed the thought of going to that road on his own under cover of night. He was far too afraid.

Not a day had passed that Scott had not thought of the man. If he had been alive and left abandoned in the forest, then what would he have gone through? He would have been alone, scared and in pain. The accident made Scott a different person. Memories and nightmares of that evening in March nineteen-eighty-eight haunted him repeatedly.

He reached out and touched a branch which protruded from the mound and slowly pulled it towards him. The branch moved easily. He threw it to one side and tugged at another. Paul took a step back and gave Scott the space he needed. Reynard could not believe what he was seeing. The teacher understood what was unfolding before him but could not compute the inexplicable scenario. He thought about the phantom motorcycle, and suddenly, things began to add up. But he quickly dismissed the outlandish idea which was at odds with common sense. He wished he could turn back time and stay on the main road in the blizzard with the police. He should have listened to the officers, and he should have listened to Paul.

Scott removed more twigs and branches. Reynard handed the torch to Paul and helped Scott clear away snow and leaves. Nobody spoke as the teacher, and the schoolboy laboured to clear the mound. Then the torchlight picked out something black. It appeared to be made of leather. Scott stopped and hovered his hand over the dark material, casting a dull eerie shadow from the torch. Gradually, with outstretched fingers, he moved his hand down towards it. Scott touched the material and shuddered. He closed his eyes tightly, held his breath and pushed his palm against a leather jacket. Scott felt it flex beneath his hand. With both hands, he moved more snow and leaves, which quickly revealed more of the corpse. Reynard helped while Paul held the torch.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," muttered Reynard as the intensity of the situation sank in further. "Scott, what the hell have you been involved in?"

"It's not my fault. He never should have been on this road. No one should ever be on this road."

The branches and leaves came away quickly, despite covering the body for almost a year. They took a step back, and Paul cast the torch over the body. Suddenly, Scott let out a gasp and turned away.

"No, no. This can't be true."

He turned around and looked again. He grabbed the torch from Paul and shone it on the body. It was the man's hands that caused Scott's heart to beat faster. The right one was between his crotch, but the other extended outwards and upwards as if he was pleading. It was proof of what had been perturbing Scott more than anything else. The man had survived the crash. Scott and Robert had dragged the man while he was still alive and had left him to die. Scott's worst fear had been confirmed. He ran to the trunk of the oak and punched it.

"Fuck..., fuck..., fu...,"

Scott collapsed in a heap and wailed. He became swallowed by an enormous sense of guilt, more so than ever before since that fateful evening last year. The adults watched the schoolboy as he curled himself into a bundle in the snow and cried.

"We need to get back to the others," said Reynard to Paul in a low voice. "There's nothing we can do about this right now. I'll contact the police as soon as we're off this bloody road."

"No," snapped Paul. "It'll only make things worse. This road has enough secrets, you don't want to add any more."

"But Paul, we're talking about a dead man. Someone's husband, father or son."

"No, just leave it. Eventually, you will come to understand."

Reynard was about to respond but was interrupted by Scott, who hauled himself up. He grabbed the overhanging branches to steady himself.

"It's time to go," said Reynard.

Scott stood over the body, which was partially lit by the torch resting beside it. He picked it up and shone it on the outstretched hand. He knelt and reached out to it.

"Scott, you don't have to do this," said Reynard.

Scott touched the black glove and felt the skeletal fingers beneath. He slowly stroked the dead man's hand. The weather-beaten glove began to break apart, and Scott touched the withered fingers of the corpse. Instantly, he withdrew and shuddered. He swallowed hard and touched the hand again.

"Scott, let's go."

The boy held the lifeless hand. He ran his forefinger along each digit one by one, and the brittle plastic glove crumbled. He felt something hard and lumpy on the ring finger. He picked at the plastic glove and the torch revealed something shiny, which contrasted against the darkness of the forest. The glint caught the eyes of the adults. Paul took a step closer and squinted. Scott removed more of the glove and revealed a diamond engagement ring. Reynard gasped when he saw it.

"It's a woman," he said, with his hand over his mouth.

Scott fell back. He always assumed that the person on the bike was a man, and so did Robert. The thought that Scott had killed a woman instantly made a difference. He had spent the past year fretting over the death of an innocent man, but now the realisation sank in that he had left a woman alone to die in the forest made the horrendous situation far worse than before.

Reynard knelt to Scott's level.

"Come on, it's time to go. There's nothing you can do."

They trudged back to the road. Paul led the way, and Scott was in the middle. Reynard held out the torch to guide them. He looked at Scott with his head drooped forward, and his shoulders slumped. There was nothing that could have prepared Reynard for the events that had unfolded. His mind was swimming with confusion, but he had to remain calm. There were children in his charge, and he sensed Paul Webb was becoming too unstable to depend upon for help.

'Hold it together,' he thought to himself.

They pushed past the vegetation and onto the road. Despite the gravity of the situation, standing on the road made Reynard feel as if he was a step closer to home. He let out a sigh and stared up at the sky. The snow had stopped falling, and the wind had died down, but it was still as cold as hell. They trudged back to the VW in silence. The torch picked out Reynard's vehicle on the side of the road. Their wet clothes stuck to their skin. Walking along the flat road felt as if they were clambering uphill. It was the worse night of Reynard's life, and he could not begin to think what Scott was going through. He needed to speak with the boy and get to the bottom of what had happened. He knew that he was involved in the woman's death but was not sure to what degree.

Reynard weighed up the situation when a bright light from behind cast long shadows ahead of him. The road became brightly lit and the light intensified. Reynard swung around on his heels and saw a headlight approaching.

"Someone's coming," he shouted. Reynard waved his hands to flag down the vehicle. The vehicle approached and showed no sign of slowing down. Reynard continued to wave his arms above his head. Alongside him stood Scott. Paul stepped to the side of the road.

"It's not stopping," shouted Reynard. "Surely he can see us, why doesn't he slow down?"

Scott stared at the oncoming light and stood in the middle of the road.

"MOVE!" shouted Reynard, pulling Scott's arm. But the boy would not budge. Reynard was a strong man, but try as he might, he could not drag him from the road. Scott raised his arms as if he was Jesus Christ on the cross and stood in the path of the light. Reynard saw that Scott's eyes were closed, and a look of relief spanned the boy's face. He tugged at him again, but Scott still did not move. The headlight grew bigger and brighter, and Reynard instinctively jumped clear. He fell on his back and saw Scott bathed in light. He waited for the sound of the vehicle impacting with the boy but heard nothing. Instead, there was absolute silence. The last thing Reynard saw of Scott was his outstretched arms and a face reflecting a look of atonement. The light had gone, and so had Scott. There was a faint smell of petrol in the air.

Reynard scrambled to his feet and shone the torch. In his peripheral vision, he thought he saw two pairs of white eyes from the other side of the road. He turned the light on them, but there was nothing there.

## 6

'Okay, whoever you are, you better leave us alone'

Reynard sat in the VW shrouded by a fog of confusion. He stared numbly ahead. His eyes fixated on the point in the road where Scott had disappeared. Slowly, he turned the headlights on and off, on and off, on and off without knowing he was doing it.

"Stop," said Paul, pulling Reynard's hand from the headlight toggle. Then something dawned on him. Paul flicked the toggle. He looked at the light cast by the vehicle's headlights, and he realised what it was.

"Both lights are working," said Paul, pointing ahead. "That can't be right, the offside lamp was completely smashed in the crash." He got out and hurried to the front of the vehicle. There was not a scratch on the bonnet, not even a dent and both headlights were intact. It was as if the damage had never happened. Paul knew not to question the things that took place on Memory Lane. He got back and told Reynard about the headlights. Paul did his best to play down what he discovered. Reynard was about to speak, but James got there before him.

"Dad, what happened to Scott?"

"He's gone," replied his father, after a lengthy pause.

The schoolchildren saw the light as it had approached the vehicle, but because of the snow on the windscreen, none of them witnessed what happened to Scott.

"Is he dead?" asked Mae in a shattered voice.

Reynard did not know how to answer. He had no idea what happened to the boy. Scott was there one minute, and then he had disappeared before Reynard's eyes. He thought about the phantom motorcycle and questioned whether it could have been a natural thing, and if it was, where did it come from and where did it go? And now, Paul had told him that there was no damage to the VW. After deliberating what happened, he slowly turned to the frightened girl. "He's gone. That's all I can say."

After Scott disappeared, Reynard scoured the road for a clue of what happened. Just as before, the motorcycle had left no tyre tracks in the snow. All that was left were Scott's footprints, which marked the last place he stood. Reynard was losing his grip on reality. After frantically searching for Scott, Reynard gave up. Paul, with his arm on Reynard's shoulder, had guided him back to the vehicle. Paul heard Reynard weeping quietly as they made their way.

"Stay strong, Lewis, stay strong," whispered Paul as he walked alongside him.

Tony sat in the back of the VW and next to him was the empty seat where Scott had been. He reached out and touched the last place he had seen his friend. In the condensation on the window, Scott had scrawled his last words.

'Scott was here'.

Tony read the words beneath his breath.

Reynard gripped the steering wheel, closed his eyes and took in a lungful of air.

'Stay strong, stay strong, stay strong,' he chanted in his mind.

He questioned whether this was really happening. Did Scott really disappear without a trace? Had they really found the body of the woman in the forest? He turned to Paul. "This is real, isn't it." He was making a statement of fact and not asking a question.

"It is really happening. I tried to tell you. The police warned you too."

"What happens next?"

Paul shook his head without answering. His sons were rigid with fear as was Tony. They knew the capabilities of Memory Lane. Yvette and Mae were also scared, but for different reasons to the boys. Although the girls were aware of the numerous myths and stories of the road, they were not sure of the real events that had happened there. Over the years they had been fed snippets of stories, which, like Chinese whispers, had evolved into outlandish tales of ghosts and goblins that lurked along the road. The girls feared what might happen, while the boys were terrified of what they were sure would happen. Tony, James and Bradley had their own genuine reasons to be terrified.

"Sir, is there any coffee left?" asked Bradley.

"No, I spilt it in the crash...," his voice trailed off. He touched the coffee stain on his trousers. It was the only tangible proof that the inexplicable had happened.

Each of the seven disparate characters sat silently lost in thought. The only common ground they had was fear. Then Tony broke the silence with a more down to earth issue.

"I need to pee."

"What?" snapped Reynard.

"I need to pee sir."

"Can't you hold it in?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, you're not doing it in here," huffed Yvette.

"He can use the coffee flask," suggested Paul.

"Ughh, he's not doing that in here. That's gross," said Mae, teaming up with Yvette.

"I agree with Paul. It's not wise for anyone to get out, not right now," said Reynard.

"But we could be here for hours," pleaded Tony, "I'll piss my pants."

"TONY! There are ladies present," snapped Reynard.

Silence resumed, punctuated by groans from Tony.

"Pissy pants, Pissy pants," taunted Bradley, partially out of fear and partially because of his spiteful nature.

"STOP IT! I MEAN IT," shouted Tony.

"Drip, drip, drop little April shower, beating a tune as you fall all around," sang James, in a childlike voice. He was cut from a similar cloth to his brother and could be equally vindictive.

"I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the rain," added Bradley with a nervous smirk.

"Okay, knock it off you two," said Reynard. Paul glanced at him from the side. He objected to Reynard reprimanding his sons, even if he was their teacher.

"Sir, I'm desperate. I need to go now."

Reynard huffed air through his cheeks and closed his eyes.

"Ladies, I appreciate we're not in an ideal situation, but I would be grateful if you could let him pee in the flask. Hold your noses and cover your ears."

"If he pees in here, then I'm getting out. It's him or me," said Yvette, her nerves were clearly frayed. Mae piped up in agreement.

"Okay, okay," said Reynard in a despondent tone. "I'm not letting you two young ladies out of this car. I'll get out with Tony. I'll put the headlights on to full beam so everyone can see where we are."

"Ughh, we have to watch him..., gross," said Yvette.

"No, you don't have to watch. Mr Webb can make sure we're safe. You girls can look the other way."

"I'm not sure about this," said Paul.

"It'll take two minutes tops, we'll be fine. I'll take the torch too... I'm sure it'll be okay," said Reynard in an unconvincing tone. "But if there's any trouble, I'll flash the torch and wave my arms."

Reynard reluctantly clambered out and pulled open the sliding door. Tony slid out, holding his hands between his legs.

"Bitches," muttered Tony, referring to the girls.

"Come on son, quick steps," said Reynard.

Paul flicked the headlights on to the full beam setting. Reynard was relieved to see that the snow had stopped. The wind had died down too, but the cold air still took his breath away. They walked twenty yards and stopped by the edge of the road. Despite the cold, a stream flowed nearby. Tony's face reflected the relief of emptying his bladder. He felt at one with the trickling stream beyond the bushes. Reynard felt compelled to face the other way to give the boy privacy, but due to the circumstances, he thought it wise to keep an eye on him. He shone the torch on the back of Tony's head while the VW's headlights illuminated the road ahead. Tony was like a garden hose. He went on, and on, and on.

"Come on son, speed it up."

"I'm trying."

Then Tony took a step back and squealed.

"What?" asked Reynard, with mild panic in his voice.

Tony yelped again. He looked in surprise at two small holes which appeared in the otherwise untouched snow at his feet. Reynard shone the torch on the ground. Tony zipped himself up and stooped forward. He knelt and pulled a pound coin from one of the holes. He reached into the other and pulled out a second coin.

"Did they fall from your pocket?" asked Reynard.

Tony was about to answer when a third coin landed in the snow. Reynard turned on his heels and shone the torch. There was no one else on the road. He looked back and saw the VW's lights glaring at him. Another coin landed in the snow, and this time Reynard's torch caught it as it appeared from behind the bushes. Tony picked it up and added it to his small but increasing collection.

"Who's there?" called Reynard, shining the torch in the direction from where the coin had appeared. No one answered. Another coin was flung from the undergrowth, and Reynard was fast enough to catch it before it landed. The coin was warm in his hand.

"Hello," called Reynard again, nervously.

He turned to the VW and flashed the torch to Paul. He waved his arms to indicate the urgency of the situation. The glare of the headlights made it impossible to see what was happening in the vehicle. It was like staring into floodlights which obliterated all that was behind. He waved and flashed again, but there was no sign of Paul.

"PAUL!" cried Reynard.

'What the fuck is wrong with that man? Where is he?' thought Reynard.

"Tony, it's time to go. NOW!"

Tony did not respond. He stood stock still and looked intensely at his clenched fist in which were the coins.

"TONY. GET BACK TO THE CAR. NOW!"

There was no response. Reynard shuddered. After what happened to Scott, he knew he had to get the kid out of there. There was clearly someone lurking in the bushes who was playing tricks, and Reynard was keen to get away. Reynard was sure that whoever was behind this had malicious intentions. It was time to get off the road and as far away as possible. He wondered whether the VW's diesel had warmed up enough for the engine to start. He waved again at Paul and shouted for him to turn the ignition. Then he remembered the keys. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled them out.

"Shit."

He pulled hard on Tony's arm, but like Scott earlier, the boy did not budge. He tried again, and this time he pulled so hard that he was worried he had dislocated Tony's shoulder. He slapped him across the face, but the kid was in a stupor. Tony continued to stare at his clenched fist. Reynard was frantic. His gut told him to run, but he knew he had to stay for Tony's sake.

"Okay, whoever you are, you better leave us alone, or you'll face the consequences." Reynard summoned his best attempt at a commanding voice, but his tone wavered, reflecting his fear.

Reynard was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Should he run to the VW to get Paul, or should he stay with Tony?

Then, the decision was made for him.

Tony opened his fist and turned his palm upwards. In his hand were the three coins. Reynard shone the torch at the boy's hand and then to his face. Tony's face reflected a look of penance. Reynard had seen the same look in Scott's face in the last seconds before he had disappeared.

"Oh, shit...no!"

Reynard called to Tony again but was interrupted by a faint voice coming from the forest. The sound of a girl gently singing a soft and pretty tune. The voice came from the direction of the running water.

"Okay, I can hear you. Come out of there."

The pretty voice was hypnotic, and the tune was familiar. Tony joined in. Together, their voices blended perfectly. Reynard was rooted to the spot. Their beautiful voices enticed him into a dreamlike daze. He recognised the tune and muttered its name beneath his breath.

"Clair De Lune."

## 7

### Eight Months Earlier

### The Rachmaninoff Incident

Tony Ranson crouched by the narrow manmade tunnel through which a small brook trickled beneath the footpath at Cannop Ponds. Although the tunnel was small, it was large enough for a couple of schoolkids or small adults to hide in or scurry through. With agility and care, it was possible to pass through the tunnel without getting one's feet wet, especially after a dry spell when the brook was nothing more than a dribbling stream of shallow water. Lush green vegetation shrouded either side of the tunnel. The vegetation was punctuated by the last of a late spray of bluebells and some early foxglove flowers, which attracted bees and hoverflies. The vegetation made it almost impossible to know the brook flowed through the tunnel. The only clue was the faint trickle as it ran beneath the footpath.

It was just after midday and the summer sun glistened through the tall trees of the Forest of Dean. Families made the most of the fine weather in the nearby picnic area. A lady sold ice-cream from a booth and children laughed as a dog splashed in the pond chasing a flock of ducks. Faint music could be heard coming from a radio in a parked car and the smell of barbeques wafted through the trees. A baby was crying.

Tony rocked back and forth on his haunches with his head in his hands. His situation contrasted markedly with the fun being had less than two-hundred yards away on the other side of the copse which surrounded the picnic area.

* * *

The school summer holiday had been shaping up to be a good one. Predictions foretold it to be the hottest in over twenty years. School broke up two weeks earlier and Tony had spent most of his time with his friends playing football, building dens and lighting campfires in the forest and generally doing what teenage boys do. But there was something else occupying his time, which was music. Tony was a talented pianist who had achieved grade seven. Every Saturday morning, he attended Miss Grace's piano lessons. He endured ridicule from his mates who would playfully taunt him, but secretly they were jealous of his talent and impressed by his skills as a musician. When Tony was eleven, and already an accomplished pianist, he had come across an old wrecked piano which had been dumped in a skip in the town centre. A pub was being renovated and fixtures and fittings had been flung in the skip. Tony had clambered into the skip and knocked out a medley of tunes from the beaten-up instrument. The piano was out of tune, but this added a nice touch to the circumstance. A small crowd quickly built up and watched the boy hammer out tunes. The one which went down the best was The Entertainer by Scott Joplin. The classic film, The Sting, had been on television the night before and the music resonated with Tony's audience. The crowd threw coins. At first, just a few here and there. But by the time he had finished playing The Entertainer, Tony had amassed over ten pounds, which was a fortune for the young boy. It was twice what he earned in a week delivering newspapers.

* * *

Tony hid in the undergrowth in the forest at Cannop Ponds not knowing what to do as he contemplated the outcome of his actions. He peered into the tunnel then closed his eyes and quickly turned his head the other way. He started to weep quietly as he cast his mind back to the start of the day and thought about the chain of events which could have been so easily avoided.

Tony had left home at ten-fifteen and took the short walk to Miss Grace's for his ten-thirty piano lesson. After the lesson was over, he had planned to head over to Coleford and meet up with a few friends from the youth club. But the twist in the events that day meant that he never made it to the small Gloucestershire market town.

Tony had arrived at Miss Grace's on time. It was a sweltering morning and the elderly piano teacher took a while to open the door. When the door eventually opened, he was surprised not to see Miss Grace. Instead, he was greeted by Linda. Linda was twenty-two-years-old and cruelly referred by many in the town as the village idiot. She was a tall bespectacled, wiry girl with flyaway strawberry blonde hair. Tony was not the only one Miss Grace taught piano, but these days there weren't very many others on her books. Linda did not have many friends and spent a lot of her time at Miss Grace's piano school.

Tony was Miss Grace's favourite pupil. He had been taught by her since he was seven and in all the years she had been his teacher he had never known her first name. He only knew her as Miss Grace. She was a short lady, who had developed a slight stoop. Arthritis in her knee caused her to limp and she relied on an ornately carved stick to help her walk. Miss Grace was almost eighty, but her mind was as sharp as a tack. Luckily for her, the arthritis was only in her knee. She prayed that it would not affect her hands, because playing the piano was her life, and if she ever had a reason to stop, she would not know what else to do with her time. Miss Grace did not need the money for teaching. She did it out of love. She loved Tony too. To her, he was like the grandson she never had. She had no children. Her husband died in a coal mining accident in nineteen-forty-one before they had an opportunity to start a family. Miss Grace never remarried. Despite never removing her wedding ring, she was always referred to as 'Miss Grace'. Over the years, neighbours had come and gone and fewer and fewer people knew of her past and assumed her to be a spinster. It was only the glimpse of the gold band on her ring finger that gave away her marital status. Today, Miss Grace would never see Tony, and Linda would be the last person she would speak to before the stroke she would suffer from later that day took her life.

Tony knew Linda quite well, she was one of the few remaining students taught by Miss Grace. Despite being older than him, she came across as being less mature and sometimes he felt awkward in her presence.

"Hello Linda, where's Miss Grace?" asked Tony.

"She's having a lie-down. It's too hot for her. She tried calling you to cancel your lesson, but you didn't answer."

"Oh, I must have already left the house when she called. Okay, I'll head back home."

"No, come on in. Miss Grace said you can come in for a bit and we could play the piano together. She said if she felt better, she'd come down later."

"No, that's okay Linda, I'll come back next weekend. Tell her I hope she feels better soon."

Linda looked sad and Tony felt a pang of guilt.

"It's hot out there and you're all sweaty. I'll get us some nice cold lemonade and I'll put a big blob of ice cream in it. Miss Grace won't mind," said Linda, in an upbeat chirpy voice.

Tony was hot. He was roasting. It was midmorning and pushing twenty-five degrees. He felt under his armpits. Linda was correct in her assumption. He sweated like a pig. The idea of a cold drink appealed to him. He timidly smiled and she opened the door further, which over the years had scraped a semi-circular groove into the parquet floor.

Entering Miss Grace's house was like walking back in time. It reminded him of what a French house would have been like in the early twentieth century. Tony had never been to France, nor had he seen many pictures of French residences, but nevertheless, to Tony her house was French. The large room in which the lessons were held was dark with a heavy carpeted floor. Scarlet drapes were always pulled over the windows. Miss Grace said it helped with the acoustics, but Tony found it messed with his senses. It always seemed like night-time and when he left the house, which was normally before midday, he found it hard to acclimatise to the daylight. On the walls were small lamps in the style of candles with forty-watt bulbs, which cast a dim glow. Between the two pianos was a standard lamp which provided just enough light for Miss Grace's pupils to read the music manuscripts. The music room always smelt musty, which Tony assumed was because of the two old pianos, boxes and boxes of manuscript papers and a bookshelf straining under the weight of a hundred dusty tomes. When he finished his lessons and returned home, he always changed his clothes. After spending an hour or so with Miss Grace, what he wore smelt like her house. On one of the pianos was a black and white photograph of Miss Grace and her late husband William. When he had been alive, he used to joke that he was related to the great cricketer W.C. Grace, but few believed him.

Tony sat on the teal chaise lounge and waited for Linda to bring the drinks. He heard her scurry along the hall with the drinks on a tray. She had a funny skip in her step as she walked. She reminded him of a schoolgirl. She placed two coasters on the top of one of the pianos and then added the tall glasses of ice-cold lemonade, each with a scoop of Cornish vanilla ice-cream.

"Don't tell Miss Grace I've put the drinks on her piano, she'll probably go crazy," giggled Linda, with her hand over her mouth.

Despite having a mental age of just over half her actual years, Linda was a phenomenal pianist. She could play anything that was thrown at her. She had been a pupil of Miss Grace's for almost ten years, but to be fair, there was nothing Miss Grace could teach Linda. Not that Linda knew everything, it was because she could not read music. But what she could do was play perfectly by ear. When Linda was fourteen, Miss Grace had sat her down and played her Piano Concerto number two by Rachmaninoff. Linda had watched mesmerised as her teacher played. After Miss Grace finished, Linda sat at the other piano and played it perfectly note for note. Miss Grace called her a savant, but the town folk called her an idiot savant.

Miss Grace was amazed by the girl's abilities. She could barely write her name and had few social skills, but when it came to music, she was a genius. It was as though what she lacked for in some areas, she made up in others.

After the Rachmaninoff incident, Miss Grace devised a test. She had written a piece of music which was just for Linda. It was a devilishly hard piece to play. Miss Grace purposely put a quirky chord which was followed by a brief change in time signature before returning to a standard waltz. She sat down and played it to Linda, who did not appear to pay much attention. While Miss Grace played it, Linda pulled open the curtains a little and peered at the flowers in the garden. When Miss Grace finished, she was annoyed that Linda had not been paying enough attention.

"You should have been listening. I wrote this just for you," Miss Grace had said in a snappy tone.

Linda said nothing. She pulled the curtain closed, skipped over to the other piano and lifted the lid. On top of the piano was a reel to reel tape recorder. Miss Grace turned it on, and it started to record. Linda briefly paused at the piano, with her fingers hovering above the keys and her eyes closed. And then she began to play.

When Linda finished, Miss Grace stared at the spools spinning on the recorder until the tape ran out. She spooled back the tape and played back the recital. It was not only note perfect, but Linda also picked up on the little trick that Miss Grace included with the intention of catching her out.

"What on earth goes on in that beautiful mind of yours Linda?" It was the only thing Miss Grace could think of saying.

This was why Miss Grace could not teach Linda how to play in a conventional way. All she could do was to introduce her to new pieces and enjoy the talent locked in the mind of the awkward gangly young lady.

Tony quietly sipped his lemonade, whilst Linda noisily slurped hers. She smiled at him with ice-cream smeared across her top lip. Her blouse was not fully buttoned, and Tony tried not to stare at her breast which was showing. He politely turned the other way.

"Shall we play?" asked Linda, when she finished her drink. Tony nodded and put down the glass. Linda sat at the piano which all Miss Grace's pupils played whilst Tony was perched on Miss Grace's piano stool.

"No, you're not allowed to play hers. She doesn't let anyone touch her piano," said Linda. She was right. Only Miss Grace was allowed to play the Steinway. It had been bought for her by William the year he died. She was paranoid that it would become scratched or damaged in the wrong hands.

"She'll never know," said Tony.

"She will if she hears us. Sit next to me, we can play together on this one."

Tony sat next to her on the piano stool which was just about big enough for two. Their arms touched.

"What shall we play?" asked Linda.

"Chopsticks?" he replied jokingly

"I don't know that one."

"You're kidding, right? You've never heard of Chopsticks? Anyway, I was joking. It's what babies play."

"Play it for me," asked Linda.

Tony proceeded to play the tune and Linda listened with a smile. He finished, and she clapped her hands.

"It's written as a duet," said Tony.

"A duet?" asked Linda, with a frown.

"Yeah, you know. A duet, when two people play at the same piano.

"Is that what they're called. I play duets with Miss Grace all the time."

Linda closed her eyes and played Chopsticks in the same style as Tony had, even pausing for a millisecond as Tony had done when he had briefly made a mistake. Miss Grace had told him about Linda's ability, but this was the first time he witnessed it.

"You're amazing," said Tony. Linda giggled.

"Let's play a do it," said Linda.

"A what?"

"A do it, let's play Chopsticks together."

Tony smirked. "It's not a 'do it', it's a duet."

Linda's smiley-faced dropped. "I'm sorry, I'm so stupid."

"No you're not, you're amazing," said Tony, and he found himself touching her hand as he reassured her. Linda blushed and smiled again.

Together they played Chopsticks. Linda bobbed up and down on the piano stool with glee. Tony found it hard not to peak at her breast which was almost out of her blouse. The hormonally charged teenager felt something stir within.

Concentrate on the music, he told himself. Their hands touched, and he became hot under the collar. He took another sneaky peek at her breast and caught a glimpse of her nipple. Linda followed his eyes with hers. She stopped playing and quickly buttoned her blouse.

"You were looking at my booby," she said with a silly smile and the innocence of a child. Tony blushed. He stood up, turned around and faced the curtains. He had an erection. He did not know what to do or say.

"I saw your willy sticking up through your trousers."

Tony did not want to be there. He was embarrassed, but at the same time intrigued. Had this been happening with one of the pretty girls from school it would be a different thing. He spent most nights dreaming of girls when getting to sleep. But with Linda, things just did not seem right. She was much older than he, and the other thing which bothered him was her backwardness. He was aware of what the townsfolk thought of her and it felt so wrong when she spoke to him like that. She jumped up from the stool and tried to grab him between the legs. He pushed her aside and she looked offended.

"Why don't we have another lemonade," said Tony, trying to divert her attention elsewhere.

"Okay," she replied. She let go of him, grabbed the two glasses and skipped along the hall to the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Tony let out a sigh and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Beads of perspiration ran down his face, and it was not because it was a hot morning. He could not deny it. The socially awkward, gawky girl had got him excited. The thought of her breast stayed with him and his erection returned.

"Stop it, stop it," he said, scorning himself.

"Who are you talking to?" said Linda, returning with two more ice-cream loaded glasses of lemonade.

"No one."

"Okay, I just wondered if Miss Grace had come down."

"Why don't you check on her? See if she's okay."

"Okay," said Linda, before playfully skipping out of the room. He heard her footsteps as she ascended the stairs. She called to Miss Grace only once and then he heard the clunk of her feet dashing back down.

"She's sleeping like a teeny-weeny baby. She's snoring."

Tony should have been more concerned about Miss Grace, but the boy did not deploy enough common sense to understand that Miss Grace was very unwell. He looked at Linda as she drank. He wished her blouse was still undone, and then tried to put his arcane thought to one side. He was in a dilemma. Part of him wanted to explore how far he could take the girl who was oblivious to the thoughts running riot through his head, but at the same time, he knew what he was doing was wrong. He decided to do the right thing and get back to talking about music.

"What's your favourite piece?"

"Easy," she replied. "It's Claire the Looney."

Tony almost spat his lemonade.

"What?"

"Claire the Looney," she repeated, in a matter of fact voice.

"I've never heard of that one."

"Sure you have."

"Claire the Looney?" he repeated slowly, making sure he had heard her correctly.

"That's right."

"Play it,"

She sat back at the piano and started to play Clair De Lune, by Debussy. Tony smiled inwardly when he realised to what she was referring.

"Claire the Looney," he said under his breath with a grin. Linda did not hear him.

It was as though she had transformed into a different person. He watched in awe from behind as she played the piece like a virtuoso. The girl was a prodigy. He became mesmerised. She was perfect. The music transformed her from the childlike and graceless young lady she was, into an elegant and beautiful woman. The way she held her head, the way her shoulders flexed and the way she arched her back and pushed her bosom forward as she played turned her into an object of desire to him. It was the power of the music and the way she played. He closed his eyes and let the wonderful sounds enfold him.

The clock on the wall chimed eleven as Linda finished playing. The moment Linda stopped and closed the piano lid she returned to the person Tony knew her to be. He was amazed that music could turn the girl into someone else. He looked up at the clock on the wall.

"It's eleven, my lesson's over," he said. "You play so well. How do you do it?"

Linda merely shrugged and smiled.

"It's time for me to go, I'm heading to Coleford," said Tony.

"Don't go, we can play some more."

"Sorry, I can't. I have plans."

"How are you getting to Coleford?"

"Walking."

"Wow, that's a long walk. I'll come with you and keep you company if you like."

"No, that's okay, you don't need to."

He saw the sad look; the same one she'd given him earlier when he told her he was not coming into Miss Grace's house.

"Let's walk, we can cut through the forest," she said, in what was a borderline pleading voice. She seemed determined to be with him. He looked at her blouse and thought about her breasts again. He wondered whether she was coming on to him. He smiled wryly and nodded.

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure," she said, before skipping away with the empty glasses. He heard her from the kitchen as she rinsed them out and put them back in the cupboard. She returned minutes later, and he picked up his rucksack.

They left Miss Grace's and the sun hurt their eyes. The musty old room was like a fridge compared to the heat outside. Tony looked up and down the road. He did not want to be seen with Linda. If any of his friends saw them together, he would never hear the end of it. There was no one there. They strolled along the narrow road in which Miss Grace lived and turned right onto the main road to Coleford. It was quiet and hardly a car drove past on what was normally a busy thoroughfare. They crossed over and took a footpath into the forest. Every now and again their hands touched as they walked. Immoral thoughts lingered in Tony's mind. She skipped ahead of him and he stared at her bottom. They seldom spoke as they took the footpath towards Cannop Ponds. Linda remained a few steps ahead, stopping every few minutes to allow Tony to keep up with her. It was as if she was luring him. They walked towards the busy picnic area.

"Let's buy an ice-cream," said Linda.

Tony shook his head. He did not want to be seen with her.

"No, thanks. I'm still full of the lemonade and ice-cream I just had."

"Okay," said Linda cheerfully. They continued along the footpath away from the picnic area. Their hands touched again, and Tony reached out his fingers. She took his hand, but seemingly unknowing.

"We're like husband and wife," she giggled innocently. Tony said nothing. He squeezed her hand a little, and she squeezed his back in return. His erection came back. He tried his best to weigh up the situation. Was she coming on to him? He thought about the two of them playing a game of 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' in the bushes. He purposely walked closer to her and their thighs touched. Linda stopped and turned to him. He hoped she would make the first move. There was no one around and the footpath was shrouded by tall trees. He was disappointed when she eventually spoke.

"I can hear a stream."

Tony nodded. Beneath the footpath ran a brook. It was normally a surge of water, but because of the recent dry spell, it was reduced to a trickle. Tony peered down and saw an area out of view from the path. His wicked side took over and he began to scheme. He faced her and touched her bottom. Linda did not react. He pulled her a little closer and she giggled but did not seem to object.

"Your willy's sticking out again," she said perkily. This time he was not embarrassed. He took her hand and placed it on his zip. "You're being naughty," she giggled.

"Let's go down by the stream," said Tony. He was desperate to get off the footpath and out of view.

"Why?"

He did not answer. He made his way through the greenery and down to the stream. He crouched near the tunnel and waited for Linda to follow. But she remained where she was.

"Come here," he called in a whisper.

"Why?"

It was clear to Tony she was not putting out so easily as he had hoped. He needed a plan, something to lure her from the path and down to where he lurked waiting for her with malevolent intentions.

"Let's play a game," he said.

Linda peered down to the stream in the direction of his voice.

"What kind of game?"

Tony reached for his rucksack and unzipped it. Inside was an envelope in which was cash to pay Miss Grace for the piano lesson he never had. He tore open the envelope and emptied pound coins into his hand.

"See if you can catch this," he said, and then threw a pound coin up and onto the footpath. He heard Linda giggle. He looked through the tall grass and saw her crouch down and pick up the coin.

"Throw me another one."

Tony tossed another into the air. He heard her scamper as she lunged for the coin.

"I missed it, try again."

He looked in his hand, he had three coins left. He also had a twenty-pound note, but there was no way he was going to throw it in the air.

"Step closer," he called. "Ready, steady, go," he said quietly as he threw a third coin. She giggled. He was running out of coins and his plan was failing. He threw another and watched her scurry to pick it up.

"This is my last one, you'd better catch it and then you need to bring them back to me. One, two, three." On the count of three, he flung the last coin.

"Yay, I caught it."

Tony clapped.

"Okay, bring them back and we'll play again."

Linda peered from the path and looked down to the clearing where he waited for her. The sun reflected in her spectacles and he could not see her eyes.

"It's nice and cool down here."

Then in a gentle voice, he began to sing. 'Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

From above he could hear her joining in. Together, with him below and her on the path, they sang the tune of Clair De Lune. She stepped off the path and made her way down to the stream. Still singing, she pushed her way through the foliage to where Tony crouched. A butterfly flew past as she tiptoed down the slope to the stream. Tony stood up and took a step forward. He reached out his hand to guide her. The lanky girl was not good on her feet and negotiating the slope was difficult. She turned sideways and shuffled her way down, continuing to sing the Claude Debussy masterpiece.

Suddenly, her foot caught on a root and she lost her footing. She fell forward and yelped. Tony instinctively lunged forward to catch her, but he was not fast enough. She toppled forward, catching the side of her head on the concrete tunnel. She landed face down in the stream.

"LINDA!"

Tony jumped down into the stream and tugged her shoulders. She did not react. Her glasses had fallen off and were beside her. One of the lenses had smashed and was covered in specks of blood.

"Shit, no," he cried beneath his breath. The stream in which she lay began to turn red.

"Oh my God, oh my God." Tony knelt in the stream with his hand over his mouth and panic set in.

"Linda, can you hear me?"

He groaned loudly as he tried to heave her onto her back. The tall girl was awkward to manoeuvre. With both of his hands on her right shoulder, he pulled as hard as he could. Slowly, he rolled her over. Her face was covered in blood and her eyes were closed. He shook her and called her name again. He looked up at the sky and screwed his face into a grimace.

"What have I done?"

He bobbed on his haunches from left to right as he contemplated what to do.

'Okay, stay calm, stay calm,' he told himself. But he could not. Fear gripped him, and panic quickly set in. Then, for a second, clarity hit him. He picked up her limp wrist to feel for her pulse. He was not sure exactly where to search for it. He let go of her hand which plopped back into the stream and searched for his own pulse. He found it immediately. His heart beat hard and it was impossible to miss. He measured down from the fleshy part of his palm below his thumb to work out exactly where he would find Linda's pulse. He lifted her hand out of the stream and searched again for hers. He spent a minute feeling for it, but there was nothing. The girl was dead. The blow on her head as she fell against the tunnel had killed her instantly.

Tony stood up and backed away into the long grass. A booming sound filled his head and he felt faint. He lost his balance and fell to his knees. He could not think clearly, and his mind spun out of control. Then he heard voices of children and adults. A young family made their way along the footpath.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," he repeated over and over beneath his breath. He had to think quickly. He could not let himself be found with the dead girl. He jumped to his feet, grabbed both her arms and hauled her towards the tunnel. Her back scraped over the sharp stones on the bed of the brook as he pulled her along. Fresh blood oozed from the deep cut in her head and mingled in her hair. The approaching voices became louder and Tony pulled as hard as he could. He heaved and tugged at the lifeless girl and pulled her to the entrance of the tunnel. He crouched down and backed into it, dragging her through the brook. He heard the footsteps of a child running along the path. He pulled harder on her arms and bit by bit, he inched her under the footpath. She was half in and half out of the tunnel and he gave a final haul. With all his might, he yanked her in one fell swoop and dragged her out of view. He shook with fear as the family passed overhead. His breathing echoed against the concrete tunnel. He clutched a hand over his mouth and held his breath whilst he waited for the family to move on.

"Mummy, mummy. Come and see," said a small boy.

Tony crouched stock still but could not stop shaking with fear of being caught.

"What is it darling?"

"A river mummy, there's a river down there."

"That's not a river, it's a little stream. Pretty isn't it?"

"Can we go down and see?"

"No, it's too steep and you'll get your feet wet."

"Please mummy...,"

"No darling, perhaps later after we've had our picnic."

Tony let out a big breath when he heard the family walk away from the stream. He sat with his back against the wall of the tunnel and his feet in the stream. Linda's body lay face up. Her feet were a few inches into the tunnel. He hauled himself up and pulled her in further. He was numb with shock, and what had happened was yet to properly sink in. He crawled on all fours out of the tunnel and into the sunlight. He picked up his rucksack and was about to run, but a glimpse of something bright caught his attention. It was one of the coins which had fallen from Linda's hand. He picked it up and searched for the others. He knew he could not leave any clues which could lead to him. He found the other coins, shoved them into his pocket, scrambled up to the footpath and ran faster than he had ever run before.

He sprinted around a bend and ran headfirst into Scott Eves, who was bouncing a football.

"Woah, where's the fire mate?" asked Scott.

Tony pulled Scott off the path and into the forest. They stopped under a silver birch and Scott saw a look in his friends face he had never seen before. But he recognised it in himself from the day he and his uncle had killed the motorcyclist. Tony bent forward and pressed his hand against the stitch in the side of his stomach.

"I've just killed someone," he panted.

"WHAT!?"

"It was an accident. Linda's dead, it's my fault. But I promise, I didn't do it on purpose."

"Linda? Not lanky Linda. What the hell were you doing with her?"

Tony did not answer, and Scott asked no more questions. Instead, he pulled his best friend close and hugged him. Tony knew nothing of the accident Scott had caused. Together, they bore a terrible secret and Scott felt that just by knowing that his best friend was in the same predicament as he, made him feel better.

"Don't worry mate, your secret's safe with me. I'll take it to the grave."

## 8

'It's everyone's privilege to bear secrets'

Lewis Reynard listened with intrigue, as Tony sang along with the mysterious voice from the forest. Reynard closed his eyes and swayed from side to side. Their voices were beautiful, almost angelic. He became charmed by the entwined voices and began to join in. Tony stopped singing and glared at Reynard.

"No, you mustn't. This is our song, not yours," he snapped.

The girl's voice continued, and Tony sang along with the haunting female tone.

"Who's song? What do you mean?" asked Reynard as he returned to his senses. Tony did not answer. He closed his eyes and sang.

"Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

"Who is she? What does this all mean?" asked Reynard in a raised voice.

"Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

Tony stopped and slowly turned to Reynard.

"Her name is Linda, but you'd never understand."

"Understand what? What the hell is this about?"

"Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

"Tony, talk to me..., please."

"Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

The girl's soft voice began to change. It split into two distinct and different tones which both sang the same tune.

"Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

The two voices slowly changed from the single sound of a girl, into something more guttural. They were more animal than human. Reynard shone his torch and Tony continued to sing, but the other voices no longer sang along. They growled. Reynard heard two different animal voices. One growled, and the other groaned.

"Tony, we need to get out of here."

Tony ignored him.

"Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

Reynard's heart pounded. He shone the torch in the direction of where the animal sounds came. And then he saw them. Two pairs of white eyes shone from the bushes. The vegetation rustled. The growls became louder, and Reynard took two steps back. Tony continued to sing Clair De Lune alone.

Then two shadowy beasts pounced from the forest and Reynard instinctively darted to the other side of the road. They were huge. Reynard was rooted to the spot with fear. The headlights of the VW shone, but the vehicle was too far back to cast enough light to see what kind of animals the creatures were. Their fur was dark. Some of it was long with messy tufts which reminded him of short dreadlocks. In other places it was charred, revealing painful-looking sores which seeped pus, like weeping, blistering abscesses. He turned his torch off. Whatever the creatures were, he did not want them to see him. The coward within him was stepping forward. He strained his eyes to work out what they were. Trembling, he watched from the other side of the road. He was too scared to move, even though he should be trying to save Tony.

Suddenly, from within, Reynard found strength. He stood tall, turned the torch back on and approached Tony and the creatures. With urgency in his voice, he shouted to Tony.

"Tony, run..., RUN NOW!!"

One of the beasts turned to Reynard and crouched on all fours. He and the creature were less than ten feet apart, but Reynard still could not identify the animal. Even though it was crouched, Reynard could tell it was big. Its eyes met with Reynard's. Reynard ran at it, waving the torch and shouting.

"Get out of here, go..., piss off. Go!"

The creature did not flinch. It sat on its haunches and looked up at Reynard. The other circled Tony who continued to sing.

"Dah, duh, dah..., dah, duh, dah, dah. Dah, duh, dah, dah, duh..., dah, duh, dah, duh."

It menacingly lumbered around Tony and pawed at him inquisitively.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" shouted Reynard again. And then he charged at the beast nearest to him, yelling as he ran."

"ARGGHH!"

The creature did not even wince. Its soulless white eyes stared into Reynard's. Eyes so bright, they cut through the darkness. The creature's eyes did not reflect the light of Reynard's torch; instead, they projected their own luminosity. Reynard stopped in his tracks. The animal showed no fear. It opened its mouth, and in the torchlight, Reynard caught site of a jaw full of sharp and dirty blood-stained teeth.

'What the fuck are these animals?' thought Reynard. The animals snorted and grunted, blowing condensation from their nostrils. Then one stood on its hind legs and towered over the boy, casting a long shadow from the lights of the VW. Huge claws protruded from the end of its paws and brushed against overhanging branches. Tony did not pay a scrap of attention. It was if the animals were not there. Tony sang. His voice did not falter. Reynard took a step back. Despite overcoming his moment of cowardness and charging at the creatures, he knew he was no match for them. The one on its haunches continued to stare at him and formed a barrier between Reynard and Tony. He could tell by its stance that it was ready to pounce. There was nothing Reynard could do to protect the boy.

"TONY...!

And then it happened. It was over in less than a minute. Reynard was paralysed with fright as both animals leapt at the boy. Tony hit the ground hard, and the animals dragged him from the road and into the bushes. Their savage growls turned into roars, and the foliage shuddered as they tore him apart in the undergrowth. Tony made no noise.

Then there was silence. An absolute haunting stillness fell over Memory Lane. Reynard blinked and came to his senses. He took a few tentative steps to where Tony and the animals had been, then made a sharp about-face turn to the VW and ran through the snow. The vehicle's headlights were still glaring full beam but were beginning to lose their lustre as the battery was running out of juice. Reynard skidded when he reached the VW and yanked the door open.

"They've got Tony," he shouted, "We've lost him."

Paul slowly turned his head. "And then there were six," he said, in a hushed voice.

"Why didn't you help me? Didn't you hear me calling?"

Paul shook his head.

"I was waving the torch at you; you must have seen me."

"Nope. I didn't see a thing."

Reynard did not believe Paul. There was no way he could have missed him trying to get his attention. His hands shook violently as Reynard fumbled for his keys. He pulled them from his pocket and tried to put the key in the ignition. But his hands trembled so badly he could not do it. He stopped, counted to ten and tried again. He turned the key and hoped that the diesel had warmed up. The starter motor clicked, the headlights dimmed, but the battery was too flat to turn the engine over.

"Shit, shit, shit," he shouted as he thumped the steering wheel.

"You really should have listened to us, we tried to warn you," said Paul shaking his head slowly. He spoke with a calmness not befitting the situation.

Reynard ignored him and sat rigidly still. "This place is fucked beyond belief. Tony was out there in the snow; he was singing with a girl and then it all happened."

"A girl? What girl?" asked James.

"How the fuck should I know? I didn't even see her; she was in the forest. But he said her name was Linda."

"Lanky Linda," said Bradley quietly, with a hint of a sneer. Reynard spun around and stared at him. "Lanky Linda?"

"Yeah, Lanky Linda. She died last summer. They found her body by Cannop Ponds. Animals mauled her remains. They identified her by her dental records."

"I remember her," added Paul. "She was a stupid girl. No one misses her," he smirked.

Reynard struggled to understand. His mind swam with confusion.

"The kid was torn apart by fucking wild animals," said Reynard, as he stared ahead with tears running down his cheeks.

"Boar?" asked James.

"No James, Tony was not torn apart by wild boar."

"It was bears, wasn't it, sir?" said Bradley.

Reynard shuddered before speaking. "Bears Bradley? No, these things were not bears." He panted as he spoke. "Why would there be bears here anyway? We're in the Forest of fucking Dean, not the bloody Rocky Mountains of America." He faced Bradley. "These things are like a pair of Sasquatches."

"What?" asked Bradley.

"Sasquatch. You know, Big Foot. Huge bastards."

"Probably a couple of jokers in ape suits," said Paul matter-of-factly.

"I saw their eyes; I saw their teeth. I heard them. They're not human."

"It was the bears," whispered Bradley again.

His father threw him a glance and Bradley lowered his head.

"What is it? What are you not telling me?"

"You'd never understand. You're not from around here."

"Yeah. Too fucking right I'm not from around here. This place is un-fucking-believable."

"STOP IT..., STOP IT..., STOP IT...," screamed Yvette. "This is all your fault, Mr Reynard. It's you who got us stuck here. It's not their fault."

"We don't talk about the bears. Nobody speaks of the bears," said Paul.

Reynard's breathing settled, and he tried to think of a rational explanation for what happened. As he thought about how the evening had unfolded, a memory bullied its way to the forefront of his mind.

He recalled going to watch a friend's band last October, shortly after he arrived in the Forest of Dean. His friend was called Mark, and he and his fellow musicians had come across the Severn Bridge from Swindon. They played in a pub in Cinderford. People from all around the area had been in the pub. Cinderford, Coleford, Ruardean and Mitcheldean. He recalled something that happened that night.

Before the show began, Mark told him that the manager of the pub had made it very clear that he was not to mention anything about bears. Specifically, he should not ask anything about who killed the bears. Mark had no idea what the manager meant, and when he asked what it was all about, the manager refused to elaborate. But he reiterated in no uncertain terms that he must not mention the bears. It was the worst thing the manager could have said. Mark was determined to find out what it was all about. The band started playing a medley of cover songs, and everything was going well. Until Mark asked about the bears. Reynard remembered with clarity as Mark limbered up to the microphone with his cocky, devil may care attitude and said, 'Come on then, tell me about the bears. Who killed the bears?' A fight immediately broke out. The crowd went crazy. They did not aim their anger at Mark, or the band. They fought amongst themselves. The crowd turned tables and smashed chairs. It was like a saloon bar fight in a cowboy movie. Reynard fled the building as the police arrived.

He turned to Paul. "So, tell me Mr Webb, who killed the bears?"

Without warning, Paul launched himself at Reynard and grappled for his throat. It was the last thing Reynard expected, although considering what happened in the pub, he should have been more prepared.

"Stop it, dad," yelled James. The girls shouted too. Bradley said nothing as his father's hands tightened around Reynard's neck. Reynard's eyes were wide open with shock. He was a strong man but struggled to pull Paul's hands from around his neck. After a few seconds, Paul released his grip and Reynard held Paul's shaking wrists tightly and waited for him to calm down. Paul's eyes bulged, he looked as though he was going to blow a blood vessel. It was a night of total madness.

Two children under Reynard's charge had disappeared and now the only other responsible adult that he thought he could rely upon had proved to be unstable. He was desperate to learn more about the bears but knew that now was not the right time to ask.

Paul's heavy breathing began to calm, and Reynard felt his wrists had stopped shaking.

"Okay fella take it steady," said Reynard, before relaxing his grip.

Paul's arms dropped limply, and he slumped back in the passenger seat. He turned to Reynard and spoke in a calm, controlled and authoritative voice.

"Don't you ever say that again, do you understand? Never ask about the bears."

Reynard sighed. He was at a loss about what he should do. He weighed up the situation. The VW was useless, and it was unsafe to go outside. He was stuck with a mad person and four vulnerable children. Although he did wonder how innocent the Webb twins were. Something about them did not add up. He had seen a vindictive side them when they taunted Tony, and he had witnessed Bradley's bullyish behaviour in the school changing room and on the football pitch earlier in the season. Reynard locked the VW's doors. The safest thing to do was remain in the vehicle until help arrived, even if that meant waiting until sunrise.

"Sir, I'm so scared," said Yvette.

"I'm so cold, I can't feel my hands anymore," added Mae. "Are there any more blankets in the back?"

"You're cold? You're telling me that you're bloody cold. Well, that's the least of our worries. Do you not understand what's happened? Tony and Scott are dead, and you're worried about being a bit chilly."

The girls cried. Reynard instantly regretted his outburst. Yvette was right. It was his fault. Paul Webb and the police tried to warn him. He took a breath and tried to calm down.

"I've got an old coat in the back. I keep it for emergencies, but there's no way I'm going out there, not with those creatures lurking in the forest."

Reynard was too frightened to leave the vehicle. The memory of what happened to Tony was fresh in his mind. The two animals could be anywhere and liable to pounce again. He turned on the internal light and saw the two girls shaking and huddled under his blanket. Mae was as pale as a bedsheet and looked ill. Her jaw chattered with the cold. Reynard was freezing too. His clothes were damp, and his feet were wet. He wanted to put his warm, dry emergency coat on instead of the wet one he wore. He glanced back at the girls. Mae did not look well at all. Her eyes were half closed.

"How do you feel?" asked Reynard.

"Like shit, sir."

He could not leave her like this. He could not face the thought of something else going wrong. Reynard considered his options, reluctantly opened the door and looked up and down the road. The headlights were still pumping out a fair deal of light but were becoming dim. They were draining the battery. He looked and listened. The road was empty and silent, other than the sound of splotches of slush falling from snow-laden branches. The wind had died away, and the snow had stopped falling. Cautiously he got out and opened the boot, looking all around as he did so. He tiptoed, as so not to make any noise. Behind the vehicle, the snow glowed red from the rear lights of the VW. Ice crystals twinkled like tiny fairy lights. He searched for the coat as quietly as he could and found it folded up in the corner near an empty fuel container. He had barely worn the thing since he arrived in Gloucestershire last autumn. He put it under his arm and closed the back door which clicked shut. He heard a rustle in the undergrowth and a grunt.

"Oh, fuck," he said beneath his breath.

He scurried back to the driver's door, jumped in and slammed it tight. He was panting. Reynard flicked the central locking and heard the doors click. He unfolded his old trench coat and passed it to the girls who wrapped it around them.

"Thank you, sir," said Yvette.

"Don't mention it," he said, trying to sound in control.

Whatever Reynard heard rustling in the bushes did not seem interested in him. He assumed it was only a wild boar, and not one of the animals who took Tony.

"Okay, we need to talk," said Reynard, making his announcement to all in the vehicle. "I appreciate that taking this route was a bad thing. I can't begin to understand what has happened this evening. I know what I saw, but I can't explain it." He paused before continuing and blew air from his cheeks. "I know it's a sensitive subject, but I need to understand what this bloody road is all about."

He shone his torch in their faces, but no one answered. Bradley covered his eyes from the beam. "Get that thing out of my face."

"Don't speak to me like that. I'm your teacher for Christ's sake."

"He's my son. So I'll decide what he can and cannot say," said Paul, who became more engaged than he was a minute earlier.

"It's my fault," said Yvette, holding back tears.

"What is?" said Reynard

"Tony, it's my fault he's dead."

Reynard thought it strange that no one seemed shocked by how Tony died. He made it quite clear that he had been ripped apart in the forest by two beasts, and yet nobody seemed particularly ruffled by Reynard's account of the incident.

"Why is it your fault?"

"Because he needed to take a pee and I made him go outside. He could have done it in here, in your coffee flask. If I had not been so selfish, he would still be alive."

"It's my fault too," added Mae solemnly. Her voice was weak, and she spoke slowly. "I didn't want him to pee in here either."

The girls inched closer to one another and Mae squeezed Yvette's hand.

"The kid probably would have died anyway," said Paul.

Reynard turned the torch on him,

"How come?"

"Payback."

"What're you talking about."

"It's payback, the same as it was for Scott."

Reynard could not deny Paul's suggestion. Scott must have had something to do with the death of the woman on the motorcycle. What happened to him was something not of this world. Reynard did not believe in ghosts or the paranormal, but now the seemingly level-headed sports teacher was changing his opinion on such things.

"So, perhaps Scott was taken by the spirit, or the ghost or whatever the fuck it was, of the person you believed he killed," said Reynard to Paul.

"Oh, I believe he killed her. There's no doubt about that. Yes, and I'm certain that she mowed him down in revenge."

"But if you're right, and if ghosts exist, then why didn't we see her. We only saw the lights of the motorcycle. How can a vehicle haunt a place?"

"Don't ask me, ask a bloody expert. But if you want my opinion, this road records the events that have happened here, and when it's ready, it plays them back. Like a video recording. When that thing crashed into us and shunted us back and smashed up the hood of your car, it was replaying the accident that killed the woman."

In the confusion of the events that had taken place, Reynard somehow overlooked the damage to the VW, which was now no longer there. He let out another long sigh.

"But surely the girls are right. If Tony hadn't got out of the vehicle, he would still be alive."

"Maybe, if he hadn't got out when he did. But something would have happened to him before the sun comes up. I can assure you of that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because we're in this predicament for a reason. We've all done something for which we must pay."

"Don't say that," snapped Yvette. "I've done nothing wrong."

"We all have secrets, young lady. Secrets which we keep close. It's everyone's privilege to bear secrets. Stuff that only we know. Secrets we hope will remain that way. Skeletons in the cupboard, so to speak," said Paul in a lecturing tone.

"I swear I've done nothing," reiterated Yvette. Paul ignored her and turned to his sons. "And some of us have secrets which we have to share, isn't that right boys?" Bradley and James looked at their father with the same stony-faced expression.

"What secrets do you hold close to you, Lewis?"

Reynard swallowed dryly before answering. "I guess we all have something to hide, but if I told you, it would no longer be a secret." Reynard considered firing the same question back to Paul but preferred not to engage further with the conversation.

Suddenly, and without warning, the radio came on. It was at full blast and distorted. Everyone jumped in their seats and Yvette screamed.

"For God's sake," said Reynard, reaching for the volume. He turned the knob, but the thing would not turn down. It was between stations and blasting out white noise which crackled over the airwaves.

"Looks like you need that thing sorting. Drop it round to my garage, and I'll check it for you. Mate's rates, yeah?"

Reynard ignored Paul and prodded the switch, but the radio refused to switch off.

"Turn it off," whined Mae. "My head hurts enough as it is sir."

"I'm trying."

"If you can't turn it off, then just turn it down please."

Then, Reynard heard something snuggled within the white noise.

He made a 'shushing' sound and put his finger over his lips as he tried to make out something hidden in the interference.

"Can anyone else hear that?"

"Hear what?" said Paul.

Reynard shushed everyone again, then closed his eyes and concentrated.

"There, can't you guys hear it?"

"I can," said James quietly.

"I can't hear a thing," said his brother.

The colour drained further from Reynard's face; it was whiter than white. He recognised the piece, which was being played on a lone musical instrument

"I can hear a piano," whispered James.

Reynard rubbed his tired eyes and a chill ran down his back when he realised what the soft and almost inaudible music was.

"Clair De 'bloody' Lune," he said to himself before turning to Paul.

"It's Clair De Lune. It's what Tony was singing in the forest with the girl."

"Lanky Linda," said Bradley, reminding Reynard of her name. "They both played the piano. They went to an old dear in the town for music lessons." He turned and looked through the window. "I can't hear it, all I can hear is fuzzy shit."

Then as soon as the radio had turned on, it cut out. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Thank God for that," muttered Mae.

Silence prevailed, and Reynard turned off the internal light and the headlights to save the battery. It was so dark, even too dark to see each other. Everyone concentrated on their own thoughts.

Where once Yvette had a crush on Lewis Reynard and honestly thought that she was in love with him, now, she loathed him with a passion. The short, pretty, tousled-haired teenager with piercing blue eyes hated his 'out of place' Australian accent. She disliked that he swore as much as he did, especially considering his role as a teacher. And where once his ruggedly good looks appealed to her hormonally charged desires, now, she viewed him as a stupid lothario. She had heard rumours of the romantic encounters he had had with members of staff. At the end of the last term, Justin Taylor, who was in the year below her, had been playing hooky. He had sneaked unnoticed out of school one Friday lunchtime and did not return until Monday. On his way home Taylor had kept off the main road and had used a series of back lanes so not to be caught playing truant. He had snuck out of a lane, turned a corner and almost run into the side of Reynard's VW, which was parked at the end of a cul-de-sac and partially hidden by the low hanging branches of a tree. Inside was Reynard, but he was not alone. With him in the back was Jennifer, one of the pretty young secretaries from St Anne's. According to Taylor's account, Lewis Reynard and Jennifer were 'all over each other'. Reynard spotted the boy staring at him and Jennifer through the side window with his eyes agog. The philandering teacher knew that Taylor should have been in school but decided not to report his absence because the boy had something on him. Taylor had a bargaining tool, so Reynard had no choice but to let it go.

The following Monday Taylor had told his mates, who were eager to hear of Reynard's conquest, that he had been 'snogging the secretary while squeezing her tits'. The school kids found it hilarious.

Yvette stared ahead in the darkness at the space occupied by Reynard. She thought of Justin Taylor's description of how Reynard had his paws all over the young and recently married secretary. The two had been as bad as each other, but she was sure it was Reynard who had instigated the fling. A few hours ago, the thought of Mr Reynard being the school Casanova fired her hunger for him, but now it fed her hatred.

Yvette shivered and pulled herself closer to Mae, who snored quietly. She thought about home and her lovely warm cosy bedroom and Smudge, her big black cuddly cat. Yvette imagined Smudge sleeping on her bed, waiting for her to come home. She counted the daft old cat as being one of her best friends. She loved to smother him with hugs, and he would purr so noisily that she was sure he was about to burst.

She wondered what her parents were thinking right now. She should have been home hours ago. They must be out of their minds with worry. She hoped the policeman who Reynard had spoken to earlier would have got a message to someone about the car full of school kids who were trying to get back to Cinderford. Yvette tried to put the thought out of her mind. After all, it was out of her control, and there was nothing she could do about it.

But the most significant thing swamping her mind as she sat in the dark, cold vehicle was just how terrified she was. She was aware of the stories about the road. The boys in her class would dare one another to go there at dark, but as far as she knew, none of them ever had. They were just too scared. Since she was a young girl she had heard of monsters and ghosts that lurked in the forest, but she had never known of the real tragedy that had taken place there in the nineteenth century. It was something that the townsfolk did not like to talk about, and her parents had endeavoured to keep the truth away from their daughter. But now she had witnessed first-hand that the rumours of the road were real. With her own eyes, she had seen the headlight of the ghostly motorcycle and felt it smash into Reynard's VW. And she had heard Reynard's description of the beasts he saw in the forest. Creatures who had taken Tony into the undergrowth and torn him to shreds. She was numb with fear and numb with sadness over the loss of the two boys, whom she barely knew.

She was never keen that her best friend was dating Bradley Webb. She disliked both the Webb twins. Bradley had hardly spoken to Mae all night. If Yvette had a boyfriend, she would like to think that he would be comforting her at a time like this. Someone to reassure her that everything would be alright, even if he too were as scared as her.

And then there was their father. He was as bad as the twins, perhaps worse. She saw him as a sneering nasty little man. She thought about what he said about Lanky Linda. He said that she was a stupid girl, who no one missed now she was dead. Yvette thought Linda had been a sweet person. She was an innocent thing without many friends, and Yvette had always smiled at her when she passed her in the street. But despite her dislike for Bradley, the two of them shared a secret. A secret which they had to keep from Mae.

Her hands were freezing. They were so cold the chill in her fingertips burnt. She thrust a hand into the pocket of Reynard's trench coat to keep it warm. In the pocket, she felt something and wondered what it was. Her ice-cold hands grappled with two small booklets. She pulled one out and thumbed through it, but it was too dark, and she was too weary to find out what it was. She wondered whether Reynard knew he had left them in the coat. Yvette put it back in the pocket with the other one. She was too cold, too tired and far too scared of what was going on to care about it.

Next to her, Mae snored quietly. Yvette wished that she too was asleep like her friend, then perhaps she could block out the thoughts of the terrible, terrible things that were happening around her.

## 9

'You're telling me you didn't stop them? You let them drive down there?'

The queue on the road to Ruardean trailed back to the junction at Cannop Ponds. The earlier accident caused tailbacks in both directions. An ambulance had fought its way through the blizzard, and the paramedics were taking care of the drivers of the crashed cars.

The snow had stopped and PC Gregg, who was chilled through to his bones, walked along the queue of stationary cars making sure that everyone was okay. As each window wound down, he saw faces of cold, disgruntled and impatient drivers. Most cars had single occupants, but some had a few elderly passengers and kids, and one had a crying baby. But as far as PC Gregg was concerned, no one was in any immediate danger. Like him, they would have to wait for the rescue vehicle to clear the intertwined cars off the road. The overturned Ford Transit van still blocked Speech House Road, so drivers had no choice other than to stay where they were and tolerate the situation.

Gregg continued to make his way along the queue, stopping at each car to make sure that no one was in any urgent danger. He walked past the sign which warned of the low bridge. He quickly spoke to drivers of two more cars and moved to the next in line. He recognised the next car immediately. He let out a sigh and shone his torch through the driver's side window and saw Thiago, his next-door neighbour, peering up at him from the car. Thiago and Thomas Gregg tolerated each other and by no stretch of the imagination were friends. Thiago found it hard to believe his neighbour was a policeman, considering what a self-centred and petty man he was.

"Evening Thomas," said Thiago, in his strong Barcelona accent. "It's PC Gregg to you Thiago; I'm on duty right now." Thiago sighed. He expected nothing less from the constable who was ten years younger than him.

"What's happened up there?" asked Thiago, pointing in the direction of the queuing traffic.

"Two cars had a disagreement. They skidded and crashed head-on."

"I saw the ambulance go past, anyone hurt?"

"Nothing for you to worry about Thiago, it's all in hand."

"How much longer do you think we'll be here?"

Gregg shrugged his shoulders and did not answer. He walked away and made his way towards the car behind Thiago's. Thiago heard Gregg chatting to the next driver. His tone was completely different compared to when he had spoken to Thiago. He sounded authoritative and reassuring. When he had talked to Thiago, he spoke like an asshole. Thiago was about to wind his window up when he noticed something in the snow on the other side of the road. He strained his head out of the window and looked at the tyre tracks left in the wake of the ambulance. Headlamps of the queuing cars lit the road. Thiago frowned, reached for the torch he kept in his glove compartment and stepped out of the vehicle.

"Get back in your car, sir, it's safer in there," called PC Gregg. Thiago ignored him. Thiago shone his torch on the ground and lit up the fresh tyre tracks which had been left by the ambulance. But it was not the ambulance's tracks that caught his attention. He walked ahead in the direction of Ruardean and then stopped just ahead of the car in front of his. He looked up at the sign pointing to the upcoming road on the right which warned of the low bridge. The signpost which was for Cinderford and had the skull and crossbones drawn on it. He walked further along the road.

"Thiago, please return to your car. It's not safe in these conditions," bellowed Thomas Gregg from behind. Thiago continued, sweeping the ground with the light of his torch. The ambulance's tracks continued up the road and out of sight, but Thiago had noticed another set of tracks. Tyre tracks which were so faint, they were hardly there at all. The heavy snowfall had almost covered them over, but a ghostly impression of them remained as they veered to the right.

Thiago ambled as he followed the ambulance tracks, and then moved to the right, following the other set of faint tyre marks. The tracks carried along and onto the dark road to his right. It was Memory Lane, the road with the twelve-foot-six bridge tunnel. Thiago crossed over and stood at the end of the road and shone his torch into the darkness beyond.

"Thiago, get back from there," called PC Gregg. The policeman's voice had a sense of urgency about it. Thiago noticed concern in his neighbour's tone, which sounded sincere, and Thiago knew why. Gregg strode through the snow and caught up with his neighbour.

"Thiago, what are you thinking? Get b-b-back from there."

"A car has driven down Memory Lane tonight, look at the tracks, you can still see them," said Thiago, shining his torch on the road.

"Yeah, yeah, there was a car here earlier. I advised them not to go that way, but you know what some people can be like."

"You're telling me you didn't stop them? You let them drive down there?"

"I did t-t-t-try, but what was I to do? I had to stay here at the scene of the accident."

Thiago noticed the stammer and twitch that bothered PC Gregg from time to time had returned.

"Who was in the car?"

"It wasn't a car; it was one of those p-p-people carriers."

"Did you know who was in it?"

"No, not by name. There was a teacher, a parent and a b-b-bunch of schoolkids."

Thiago huffed air through his cheeks and condensation bellowed from his downturned mouth.

"Thomas, you've let a car full of kids go down that road, what were you thinking? Which school were they from?" Thiago's hands gesticulated wildly.

"St Anne's."

"My niece goes to that school, and my wife's friend works there too. What the hell was the teacher thinking?"

"He wasn't local, and as I said, I t-t-tried to warn him."

"Did you tell him about the bears?"

"Of course I bloody didn't. The man's Australian, he has no idea about that r-r-road. He knows nothing. Now, do you understand?"

"Australian? Dark haired was he? Sporty type?"

"Sounds like him. Why, do you know him?"

"I know of him. Jinny told me he's a bit of a prick. She said he's shagged himself through a fair few women from that school. Mums and teachers too."

"Well, then I guess he's got what's c-c-coming then hasn't he."

"It's the kids though; he's blindly driven along there with a car full of children. Fucking hell Thomas, someone has to do something."

"N-n-not me, I'm n-n-not setting one foot along that road. You can, but I'm staying here."

Gregg turned around and continued to check that the drivers and their passengers were okay.

Thiago returned to his car and thought about what he should do. Like Reynard, Thiago was not from the Forest, but he had lived there long enough to learn the history of the place. At first, Thiago dismissed the stories he had heard as nothing more than urban myths, that was until people had begun to disappear. In the fifteen years that he and Jinny had lived there, twenty-seven people had gone missing, and only seven bodies had been found, including Linda, who was the most recent. Linda Hindmarch was known to many as being a sandwich short of a picnic. Her body was found last year near to Cannop Pond, less than a quarter of a mile from that road.

He had lived in Cinderford long enough to know the ancient story of the bears. He first heard it when two drunken locals were arguing over the tale in a pub. Archie, the landlord, had told them to stop, but they continued to bicker in raised voices. Thiago and Jinny listened to the conversation, which ended when the two men were thrown out of the pub by Archie, with the help of a handful of disgruntled patrons. Archie returned to the bar, turned to Thiago and his wife and told them that he was sorry that they had to hear their argument. He also said to them that it was in their best interests, not to mention what they had heard. Not to anyone. Archie told them that what happened was something of great embarrassment to the townsfolk and something they try their hardest to forget.

Despite the story being so horrific, Thiago and Jinny could not understand why the people of Cinderford were still so affected. What happened took place in the last century. There was no one alive today who was involved in the incident. But what grieved the local people so much was not the fear they shared of the road, it was the taunting of the neighbouring townsfolk, especially the vindictive bastards from Ruardean.

Thiago sat in his car and weighed up the situation. He prayed for the teacher and the kids to come to no harm and safely make it home, but knowing what he did, Thiago had a gut feeling that something terrible was happening.

He knew Thomas Gregg was right. The fear instilled in the local people was so overbearing, no one would go down there tonight. If the kids did not return home safely, then perhaps in the morning when the conditions were better, a few brave souls might venture along Memory Lane. But the chances were that it would be notched up to another inexplicable disappearance which would only reinforce the legends of the haunted road.

A chill ran down Thiago's spine as he looked in the direction of the road. He did not consider himself a coward, but he was not a brave enough man to attempt to go alone. The God-fearing Catholic locked the car doors and again, he began to pray.

## 10

### Germany

### Nineteenth Century

### Berdy and Boris

Ernst and Horst Werner defected from Circus Spektakulär in the winter of eighteen-thirty-five. After continuous disagreements with Helmut Jung, the circus owner, they left Jung's circus and vowed never to work for anyone other than themselves again.

Brothers, Ernst and Horst, were born and raised in the village of Achkarren near Vogtsburg im Kaiserstuhl in the Kaiserstuhl region of Germany. When he was seven, Ernst had broken his leg when he fell in the path of a horse and cart which had veered off the road. The handler of the carriage was known to be notoriously bad at driving and spent most of his days drunk. The fracture in Ernst's leg left him disabled. Local bone setter and village barber, Dieter Klein, had attempted to fix the young boy's injury but had not done a good job. Klein was a very under-qualified practitioner and had taken up the practice of healing with no formal training. Ernst grew up with the cruel moniker of 'Krüppel'. The children of Achkarren were unkind to Ernst, so krüppel, or cripple seemed the apt name for him to be known.

Where Horst flourished, Ernst was often left behind. But Horst was a good brother and vowed to support Ernst as best he could. Their parents died when the boys were teenagers, and Horst took it upon himself to encourage his brother to make the best of his circumstances. Despite his disability, Ernst was a deft young man, who was quick on his feet and strong in body.

When in their twenties, Horst had trained as a shoemaker and made a decent wage, while Ernst struggled to make ends meet as a farmhand in the village. But Horst became disinterested in his work, and in eighteen-thirty-one became fascinated when Jung's Circus Spektakulär arrived at Vogtsburg im Kaiserstuhl. The circus stayed in town for five days, and Horst had attended every performance. Ernst joined him for the final three shows.

Horst became obsessed by the acrobats, ropedancers, and jugglers who interspersed their acts between equestrian displays. While Ernst was fascinated by the skills of these dexterous men and women and the abilities of the horses and their handlers, he was more interested in a bizarre little character called Lustiges Gesicht. Lustiges Gesicht was the circus clown, who filled the pauses between acts with burlesques of juggling, tumbling, rope-dancing, and trick-riding. Ernst liked the idea that no one saw Lustiges Gesicht's face. No one knew what he looked like beneath a mask of thick makeup. Ernst also liked it that the strange little man made people laugh. He was a nimble little fellow, who like Ernst, walked with a limp.

By the end of the week, Horst and Ernst spoke of nothing else but the circus. The reaction of the audience enthralled them, and for many, it was the first time they experienced such a happening. The smell of the tent, the sight of animals interacting with humans, the hustle and the excitement was like nothing most had witnessed before.

The final show was on Sunday evening, and afterwards, the brothers hung around and watched the circus being disassembled and packed away, ready for when the entourage moved on the following morning.

Horst and Ernst had no experience, but both wanted to become involved with the circus. Early the next day the brothers turned up to offer their services before the extravaganza packed down and moved to the next engagement, which was in the city of Freiburg im Breisgau, just over thirty kilometres away. They approached the owner of the circus, Helmut Jung, and introduced themselves and asked whether Jung was hiring. Jung, who was a hard-nosed entrepreneur and enterpriser needed more workers. The week before Jung's circus had arrived at Vogtsburg im Kaiserstuhl, three of his team had left after a young carpenter died when hit by a stampeding horse. Jung did not explain why he was in such urgent need and the brothers joined Circus Spektakulär that morning.

Horst and Ernst were charged with the menial tasks of loading and unloading equipment, repairing damaged tent panels, cooking, cleaning and pretty much anything Jung and his team found for them to do.

The money was poor, and the conditions in which they lived were substandard compared to their home in Achkarren, but the brothers were happy. They loved being involved and enjoyed the nomadic lifestyle of the circus. And the bonus of a free seat to watch each show was the icing on the cake.

Ernst became friends with the clown Lustiges Gesicht, whose real name was Walter Fischer. Fischer was in his early sixties when Ernst and Walter met. Because Walter suffered from a limp, Ernst felt he had something in common with the clown. Ernst was surprised when Walter told him that he was sixty-one. When Ernst had first seen him dressed in his clown costume, caked in makeup and watched him leaping, rolling around, juggling and joking like a madman, Ernst assumed that a much younger man performed Lustiges Gesicht's character. During the upcoming months, while Circus Spektakulär toured Germany, Walter was keen to teach Ernst the skills of being a clown. When Walter performed, he was deadpan faced, which made the audience laugh. His clown makeup reflected a sad face. In real life Ernst found him to be more serious than his Lustiges Gesicht character. Ironically, Lustiges Gesicht means 'funny face', which is something Walter did not have. At the end of each performance, the two enjoyed a glass of wine and would while away the hours until they were too tired to talk.

Walter knew his time as a clown was ending. His age was against him and his body reminded him of it daily. Walter saw Ernst as his protégé. Someone to pass on the baton. Ernst could not believe it when Helmut Jung and Walter proposed that he should train as Walter's understudy and slowly become part of the show.

Horst was delighted for his brother, but also a little jealous. After all, Horst had always encouraged his brother to make the best of his circumstances, which was what Ernst was doing. But despite Horst's lifetime of encouragement, he secretly wished the opportunity had been offered to him instead.

Within a year and a half, Ernst became an integral part of the circus, and his name was in the billing of the shows. He had adopted the performing name of Herr Kurzes Bein, or Mr Short-Leg, referring to the limp which plagued him for most of his life.

The romance of circus life had started to wane for Horst. The daily routine was biting hard. Despite loving his time on the road, he wanted a more significant role with Circus Spektakulär. Watching his brother's success soar gave him the ambition to better his position. Horst's goal was to become a performer like Ernst.

In eighteen-thirty-three, Horst had the opportunity to purchase two Russian bears from a rival travelling circus. Horst had approached Jung with the proposal that Circus Spektakulär should buy the bears, who had been trained to dance and perform. Horst said that Jung should utilise them in the show. Despite being keen to include the bears in the circus, Jung was not willing to put up the capital to pay for the animals. Eventually, Horst and Jung struck up an agreement that Jung would loan Horst the money to purchase and own the bears, in return Jung docked Horst's wages so Jung would eventually get his money back. Horst's meagre wages increased when he and the two bears became part of the performance, but the upkeep of the animals ate into the rise in income. Horst and his bears became part of Ernst's and Walter's clown act. Together Horst, Ernst, Walter and the two bears became a big attraction. But in the upcoming months, Walter continued to perform less frequently, and by the autumn of thirty-three, he retired from the life of a travelling performer. Jung allowed Walter to remain with the circus as Walter did not have a home to return to. Walter died seven years later.

The brothers became a good investment for Jung, but he refused to increase their wages. Arguments between Jung and the brothers over money and conditions became routine. The brothers regularly threatened to walk out and put pressure on Jung by telling him that they would defect to a rival Dutch circus, who had offered them a substantial deal. But Jung refused to budge. Things came to a head in January eighteen-thirty-five, and the brothers threatened to quit for the last time. They were calling Jung's bluff by lying about the offer which was supposedly still on the table from the Dutch circus. But Jung had been making investigations and had found out that even though a proposal to the brothers had once been made; the Dutch circus was no longer interested in the clown and the bears' routine. The brothers thought they had the upper hand over Jung, but they had underestimated him. Tensions grew, and on the thirty-first of January, they left, taking the bears with them.

Ernst and Horst travelled on foot with the shackled bears lagging and struggling to deal with their new life. The weakened animals were broken and submissive after years of living in the awful conditions to which they had become accustomed. The brothers and the bears slept under the stars and winter almost killed them. By spring the weather began to improve, and the nomads travelled from village to village and town to town with their act. Townsfolk threw coins to show their appreciation and the children loved the clown and the dancing bears. By the time summer arrived Ernst and Horst were earning three times more than Jung had paid them. They had made enough to buy a cage for the bears which was on a cart drawn by two horses. They spent most of their nights sleeping in a small tent, but occasionally if money was right, they would stay in a cheap hotel and sometimes they were offered the night in the houses of kind members of the audience who had been fascinated by the brothers' show.

Despite being tame, the bears always remained shackled. Ernst and Horst were mindful that despite their willingness and obedience, at heart, they were powerful and deadly wild animals and could not be trusted. Although the conditions endured by the bears was unbelievably cruel, the animals appeared to love their masters. This was because the brothers provided them with food and a lot of affection. Horst more so than Ernst, became very close to the animals which he had named Berdy and Boris.

In January eighteen-thirty-eight, after three years of travelling around Europe, they made the brave decision to invest their savings in a bold plan and bring their act to England, where there was more money to be earnt than in Europe. The long and arduous journey from Amsterdam to Newcastle left them almost penniless, but the brothers were confident the risk would be worth taking.

The decision would not only change the lives of the brothers but would drastically impact the lives of many others over the coming years.

## 11

### The gates of St Anne's School

### Cinderford

### Seven thirty-six pm

'I thought I was paranoid'

David Morgan tried not to show his concern, but inside his nerves were ragged, and he was frantic with worry. His daughter, Yvette, had been expected home over an hour ago and he had heard nothing from her. Paul Webb agreed to drop Yvette and Mae at David's after the football match at Coleford. David had been calling both St Anne's and Five Ways School, but no one had answered. He had called Paul Webb's business and home numbers, but like the two schools, no one picked up. He decided to trudge the short trek from his home to the school to see whether any other parents were waiting for their children. The journey on foot which would typically take him five minutes ended up taking twice as long due to the treacherous conditions.

He paced up and down outside the locked gates of St Anne's and checked his watch every other minute. Then, a silhouetted figure backlit by the streetlight's low, slanting yellow glow, turned the corner and walked towards him. The figure's long dark shadow contrasted against the snow. David stamped his feet to keep warm and watched the person approach. A man wearing a tartan deer stalker hat, his face partially obscured by a scarf tightly wrapped around his mouth walked up to David. He peered at him through high prescription aviator glasses which magnified his eyes.

"Are you waiting for your kid?" asked the man wearing the deer stalker as he took the scarf away from his mouth, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"Yeah," replied David.

"Was your son at the football match this afternoon?"

"No, my daughter and her friend were. I expected Yvette home over an hour ago. They're getting a lift from the Webb twin's father."

The man nodded, pulled his hand from his pocket and offered it to David, while he heavily drew on the cigarette with the other.

"Hi, I'm Derry Eves, Scott's father."

David shook his hand. Just by having someone to share his concern made things a little easier to bear.

"I didn't expect this. It wasn't in the forecast," said David, pointing to the snow-laden clouds.

"I know. But if I knew it was going to snow as bad as this, I would have kept the kid at home."

"Me too. My daughter only went to keep her best friend company. Her friend is dating one of the Webb twins."

"I've never liked those two. From what I've heard, the boys are a couple of bullies."

Derry's comment about the twins did not make the situation any easier for David.

"How's Scott getting back after the match?" asked David.

"He had a lift from Mr Reynard, the sports teacher. He was supposed to be bringing back half the team and dropping them off here. I've been back and forth from my house to here half a dozen times along with some of the other parents. A few of them have headed over to Five Ways to see what's going on. That was over half an hour ago, and I've not heard a thing."

David blew on his hands and shivered.

"Perhaps we should call the police," said David.

"I had considered that earlier, but I thought I was paranoid."

"Paranoid? Not when we're talking about our kids you're not. There's a phone box by the bus stop. I'll head over and make a call."

David left Derry and made his way to the phone box. There were no footprints in the snow other than his. It seemed that everyone had locked themselves in the warm. He turned the corner and saw the phone box on the other side of the road from the bus stop. His pace quickened as he approached it. Thick snow had drifted around the base of the door, and David scuffed it away with his shoe before yanking it open. The phone box smelt of stale urine which burnt the back of his throat. He tutted, picked up the handset and held it to his ear. He was about to dial 999 when he noticed there was no dialling tone. He put the handset back on the cradle, lifted it up and tried again. There was still no tone. He tapped the cradle several times before giving up.

"Shit."

He stood in the booth and considered his options, while half looking at the graffiti scrawled in marker pen on the window panels. He stepped out, and an icy gust hit him so hard, it cut him in two. He returned to the school gates where Derry lit another cigarette and waited with a concerned looking parent who had just arrived.

"Phone's dead. Must be the weather," shouted David, trying to make himself heard over another bitter squall. He did not bother asking who the other parent was. He did not care. All he cared about was knowing where Yvette was and that she was safe.

"I'm heading to the police station," said David. "Perhaps they'll know something there."

"That's a mile away, it'll take you ages," said Derry.

"You're probably right, but it's better than standing here waiting and not knowing."

"I'm staying here," said Derry. "I reckon Mr Reynard will be here sooner or later."

"Yeah, but my Yvette isn't with Reynard. Stay here if you want, but I'm off to speak with the police."

David did not wait for a reply. He pulled his coat in tight and headed away from the school.

David trudged through the thick snow, which at times had drifted to just below his knees. He wondered how so much could have fallen in such a short space of time. He listened to the eerie sound of nothingness. Other than the sound of his footsteps, there was nothing to hear. He tried to divert the thoughts of his daughter by concentrating on insignificant things, like why does everything sound so different in the snow. He stopped walking, clapped his hands and listened as nothing echoed. The curtains of the houses he passed were all drawn. Light seeped from the gaps in the drapes. He longed to be in his own home with his family. He wished he was there right now with Yvette upstairs in her bedroom, where she spent most of her time these days, and he and his wife Susan in the lounge with the heating turned up and enjoying an early evening beer. His feet were frozen, and his legs were wet up to his knees. But David traipsed onwards as fast as he could.

The snow made the journey difficult. It was like trudging up a dune. David passed another phone box, stepped inside and lifted the handset. But like the other phone, it was dead. He slammed the handset down in frustration and continued his trek. He turned a corner and headed towards the town centre. A loan car struggled towards him up the hill. The sound of the car's wheels labouring in the snow and the engine overrevving had broken the unnerving silence. He should have offered to help the stricken female driver, but he had demons of his own to deal with and slogged on past without giving the car a second glance. Walking downhill was more difficult than on the flat, and David held on to the wall of a building to steady himself. He approached a house he recognised. It belonged to a friend of his wife. He struggled to recall the woman's name. Liz? Lorna? Lola? Lydia? He gave up trying to remember and knocked on the door. A man holding a mug of hot tea opened it.

"Hello, can I help you?" asked the man, eyeing David with suspicion.

"Sorry to bother you. My wife, Susan Eves, is friends with your wife."

The man looked at David, took a sip of tea and said nothing.

"I wondered if I could use your phone to call for help. Our daughter Yvette is missing in the snow. The phone boxes are out of action, and I wondered if yours is working?"

"Who is it?" called the voice of a woman from within the house.

"It's a man whose wife is a friend of yours, Susan Eves," said the man without taking his eyes off David.

"Let him in, don't leave him out in the snow," snapped the man's wife. He pulled the door open further and asked David to take his shoes off before coming in.

The woman stepped into the hallway and looked at David. His face was red with cold. She recognised him. It was the first time she had met him but knew his face from the wedding photographs she had seen when having coffee mornings at Susan's house.

"My god, you must be freezing, is everything alright?"

"We don't know where Yvette is. She should have been home by now. I'm heading to the police station to see if they know anything, but I wondered if I could borrow your phone to make a call to the emergency services. The phones on the street don't work; it must be the snow."

"Oh my God, how horrible. Of course you can. Come on into the lounge. I'm Sandra by the way."

"Yes, I know," lied David. He wondered why names like Liz, Lorna, Lola and Lydia had stuck in his head. None of them sounded like Sandra.

David stepped into the lounge, and the warmth hit him like a sauna. Sandra pointed to the phone which was on a small table by the settee. David picked it up expectantly, but his shoulders drooped when it was as dead as the ones in the phone boxes. He put it down, and the look on his face told Sandra that her phone was also out of action.

"Okay, thank you for helping. I'd better head off."

"No, wait, have a warm drink before you go. You looked perished."

"Thanks, but no. I need to go."

"Gary will drive you to the police station, won't you Gary?" she said, turning to her husband.

"I don't think that's.....," said her husband, but was cut short by David.

"No, it's too dangerous out there for cars tonight. Thanks for the offer, but I'll walk."

"Look at your shoes; they're soaking. Gary, let him borrow your wellington boots and get him a dry pair of trousers. He'll catch his death of cold."

Her husband nodded and duly did as Sandra said. Five minutes later David wore Gary's dry trousers and boots, and he hurriedly sipped hot chocolate that Sandra insisted he must drink before leaving her house. He thanked them and continued to the police station.

Twenty minutes later, he was there. Exhausted, cold and fraught with worry; he pushed open the door of the small station. A lone officer sat at a desk and dealt with a small crowd of people. The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, the smell of which mingled with strong coffee and homecooked food. The bald and flustered police officer dealt with the cluster of visitors one by one.

David waited at the back of the queue and 'hmphed' as each enquiry seemed so trivial compared to the urgency of his missing daughter. The woman at the front of the line was worried because her Jack Russell dog had escaped, and she was sure that Benjy was going to freeze to death. She told the police officer that she had been calling his name for an hour and he had not come back.

"The snow is deeper than he is tall," said the woman frantically.

The police officer took her details and promised to get back to her. Time seemed to slow down for David as he lingered impatiently at the back of the room. But he could wait no longer.

"Sorry to interrupt," said David, with desperation in his voice, "but my daughter is missing in the snow."

The police officer put down his pen and looked up.

"I understand sir, but please wait your turn. There are others here who are equally worried about the conditions tonight."

"Sorry sir, but my situation is more pressing than a missing dog."

"I'm working as fast as I can. I'll be with you soon. Please sit down. Pour yourself a coffee from the machine in the hall if you want one."

"No, I don't want coffee, I need to know where my daughter is."

There were three people in front of David, and they appreciated how his problem towered over theirs. Another woman, whose turn it was after the lady with the missing Jack Russel was now at the front of the queue. She had been trying to get a message to her elderly mother. She was supposed to bring her an evening meal but could not because of the weather. She could not call her as the phones were down. She hoped a friendly police officer would help by delivering a beef stew that she had made for her. The stew was on the desk between her and the officer and was the reason why the room smelt of home cooking. The other two had equally trifling reasons for taking up the police officer's time.

"It's okay, let him go before me," said the woman with the stew.

"And me," said the other two in unison after hearing of David's missing daughter.

The officer sighed. David thanked everyone and stepped up to the desk.

"Your daughter is missing?" asked the officer.

"Yes."

The officer took Yvette's details and asked about the circumstances of her disappearance.

"She's not disappeared, but she's not returned home yet. She was due back from Five Ways School, it's getting so late, and I've no way of knowing where she is."

"Five Ways School? Does she go to school in Coleford? That's a long way to go every day."

"No, she attends St Anne's here, but she was at Coleford because the schools had a football match and she was supporting St Anne's. She was supposed to get a lift back with one of the parents."

The officer huffed and took a drag from his cigarette before stubbing it in the ashtray.

"Okay, okay bear with me please."

The officer fumbled through notes on the desk and searched for a message he had taken earlier. His memory was not so good these days, and a vague recollection of a conversation he had had over the police radio with PC Gregg bumbled around in the back of his overworked mind.

"I'm sorry sir, but tonight has been rather busy. My colleagues are out dealing with emergencies, and I'm here alone."

He searched through notes written on scrappy pieces of paper. David sighed with frustration over the haphazard way the officer worked.

"What are you looking for?" asked David.

"Something, maybe nothing," muttered the officer, while reaching for another cigarette.

"Has someone called about my daughter?"

The officer ignored him and continued to read through handwritten notes which accumulated in front of him. He discarded some in the wastepaper basket and put important ones in a new pile.

"Here it is," he said, holding a page torn out of a notepad. He lit the cigarette, put on a pair of reading glasses and squinted at his bad handwriting. David waited impatiently.

"What is it?" asked David irritably.

The officer held his hand up to silence David and continued to read. Then he looked up and saw the concern on David's face.

"I think I might have something," said the officer, before finishing the message he had taken from PC Gregg earlier.

"There have been a couple of accidents in the snow...,"

"Accidents? What kind of accidents?" snapped David.

"Sir, please don't interrupt me. As I was about to say, there have been a couple of accidents in the snow involving vehicles. No one is seriously hurt, but there is an overturned vehicle blocking Speech House Road, just up from Cannop Ponds. The road is unpassable, and drivers have been forced to take the long way around by diverting to the road through Ruardean instead. But, the road to Ruardean is also blocked. There has been a head-on collision and the vehicles are causing tailbacks both ways. So, what this means is that anyone wishing to travel between Coleford and Cinderford will be held up in lengthy traffic jams."

"But that doesn't confirm the whereabouts of my daughter."

The officer raised his hand to silence David again and scoured his desk for another message.

"Yes, here it is," he said, holding an even scrappier piece of torn off notepaper than before.

"PC Gregg radioed in about an hour ago and mentioned that a blue VW people carrier was in the queue. The vehicle included school children from St Anne's. The driver is one of the school's teachers."

"My daughter wasn't being driven by the teacher. I'm aware Mr Reynard gave some kids a lift this afternoon, but my daughter and her friend were getting a lift from one of the parents."

"I wouldn't worry sir."

"Wouldn't worry?! She was due home over an hour ago, why the hell wouldn't I be worried?"

"Please, take a breath sir and let me explain. If you think about it logically, the cars leaving Five Ways for St Anne's would probably have been in convoy. I'd bet you a week's wages that all of them would have left one after another and are now stuck in the same queue along with the teacher and his passengers. They're probably cold, tired and fed up, but other than that I'm sure everyone's fine."

"Can you radio PC Gregg, ask him to check for me. My daughter is with Paul Webb and his sons."

"Paul Webb, you say?" said the officer. His face grimaced when David mentioned his name. David did not notice the look on the policeman's face.

"I'm afraid PC Gregg has his hands full right now. I understand he's waiting for the recovery vehicle to clear the road and there is an ambulance dealing with...,"

"An ambulance? I thought you said there were no injuries," interrupted David.

"One of the drivers in the collision received a minor injury. An ambulance was called to make sure he wasn't suffering anything more serious. I can assure you that no one else is hurt."

David's shoulders relaxed. The officer made sense. David knew if Speech House Road was unpassable at Cannop Ponds, then the obvious route was to back up and head the long way around through Ruardean and then to Cinderford. David was aware of a quicker and more direct route, but he was sure that no one who knew the area and who was in their right mind would go that way. Especially on an evening like this. Although he did not know Paul Webb, he was sure that he would not have been stupid enough to drive along that Godforsaken road.

## 12

'Hello, boys. Remember me?'

Reynard still trembled but had managed to calm down a little. He tried to fathom out whether there was a way out of the horrific situation. But despite the strange circumstances he and the others were facing, his thoughts began to drift away as he considered the twists and turns his life had taken, which brought him to where he was today.

He hoped that restarting his life in the sleepy Gloucestershire town would make everything better. But what was taking place this evening was a hundred times worse than what happened when he first arrived in England. He cursed himself as he thought about the stupid man he was. Wherever he went, he left trouble in his wake. He genuinely thought that starting anew would be a good thing for everyone. Back in Australia, he studied Exercise Science at University. That was when things started to go wrong. After graduating, he trained as a teacher. Now the things he had done to mess his life up were behind him, or so he hoped. Picking up where he had left off as a teacher seemed the obvious way forward. Reynard subconsciously rubbed his hands together to keep warm while his mind worked overtime weighing up his past.

He had already started to mess up his future in the short space of time since he arrived in Cinderford. Initially, he was surprised at how he had managed to pick up from where he had left off as a teacher. He found it easy to interact with the kids and slip into the curriculum, which was not too different from his former school in Australia. Most of the children he taught thought he was a breath of fresh air, compared to the stuffy old sports teacher who had retired at the end of the last school year. The job was a temporary one. The National Supply Agency listed Lewis Reynard's name. His credentials matched what St Anne's were looking for, and he was happy to move to the peaceful Forest town for a change in pace and scenery. But the moment he set foot in the school and even before his feet were under the table; his eye started to wander. Being blessed with good looks and the charm of making a stranger feel like a guest is most men's dream, but to Reynard, it was a curse. Women became an addiction. To him, they were a game. In a vast city like Perth, the capital of Western Australia, it was easy to keep on the move. It was easy to escape the wrath of the men whose wives and girlfriends he had bedded. The virtual notches on his bedpost had worn it away like hungry termites working their way through a fallen tree. But in Cinderford, which boasted a population of just over eight thousand, it was not so easy to hide. Reynard had learnt to be more cunning and smarter than the person he had been in Australia. But still, he had to be careful.

He sat in the darkness and made a mental list of the women he had wooed during the five short months since he had started at St Anne's. Three teachers, two were full-time permanent members of staff and one, like him, was a supply teacher. There were also two mothers of year six students and the aunt of a six former. And this was just the women associated with St Anne's. There were more. He thought of the women and girls he had met in pubs in the town and who he eventually lured to his room. The cold numbed his brain, and he had trouble remembering. Their names were indeed a blur. They always had been, but sitting in the vehicle, shuddering with cold and terror, the faces of the women, which generally embedded themselves in his memory started to fade.

He stretched his legs and yawned. He was far from tired, and the yawn was to inhale a lungful of well-needed air. The images of Tony and Scott were fresh in his mind. Their absence weighed him down like an anchor. Were they both gone? Were they really dead? He could not accept what happened to them, unlike Paul Webb and his sons, who seemed almost to take what happened on the chin. To Reynard, it was as if the Webbs were bowing down to the inevitable. Reynard was aware of folklore in Australia of supposed monsters like The Bunyip, which was reputed to lurk in billabongs, creaks and riverbeds in places beyond the back o' Bourke. He had heard stories of the Yara-Ma-Yha-Who. Another legendary creature found in Australian Aboriginal mythology. The Yara-Ma-Yha-Who was supposed to resemble a red skinned, large-headed froglike man who was said to live in fig trees and wait for unsuspecting travellers to rest beneath the tree. Folklore said that the Yara-Ma-Yha-Who would drop from the tree and use its suckers to drain its victim's blood. Reynard had always laughed at such ridiculous stories, but now, after what he had witnessed, he wondered whether such creatures could exist.

The girls were sleeping. Reynard wondered how on earth they could rest and snore so gently after such an ordeal. He knew Paul Webb was awake. Webb had not uttered a word in the last ten minutes, but despite not being able to see his face, Reynard knew by the charged atmosphere in the vehicle that Webb was not sleeping. And why would he be? Two boys were missing and presumed to be very, very dead indeed. He was not so sure about Bradley and James. If they were not asleep, then they were keeping very quiet. The boys had not spoken a word since they discussed Lanky Linda. Reynard felt alone and vulnerable, despite having Paul Webb alongside him.

He thought about what Webb said earlier. He said that they were all in this predicament for a reason. Everyone stuck in the broken-down VW had done something for which they must pay. And something else Webb said made the hairs on Reynard's neck stand on end. He recalled the exact words Webb had said.

'It's everyone's privilege to bear secrets. Stuff that only we know. Secrets we hope will remain that way. Skeletons in the cupboard so to speak.'

Reynard was in a cold sweat. It was true that he had done things that were not right, and yes, he held secrets of things he was not proud. But the wrongs he had done were by no means punishable in the same way the two boys had suffered. But the more he thought about it; the more Reynard started to consider whether Paul Webb was right. He thought about the scared girls sleeping behind him. Their soft snoring punctuated the eerie silence. What on earth could they have done in their short lives to be thrust into this supernatural mess? It seemed that Tony and Scott had committed the ultimate sin, either knowingly or unwittingly. But surely not the girls?

Reynard hated the quietness. He needed to talk to someone to take away the hideous thoughts spinning in his head. But he did not want to engage in conversation with those around him. Bradley abruptly broke the silence.

"Shut the fuck up, stop snoring," he moaned, jabbing his girlfriend in her ribs.

Mae squealed as she was yanked abruptly from a vivid nightmare based upon the evening's events. Part of her was relieved to be awake, as the dream she endured was worse than what was happening in real life. But the other part of her was angry with her boyfriend for waking her up unexpectedly.

"If you snore like that, then I'm never spending the night with you?" he snapped angrily.

"You mean you've been with her all this time, and you've not shafted her yet?" loomed his father's menacing voice from the darkness.

Mae gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Reynard stared in Paul's direction, despite not being able to see him. He reached for the internal light and fixed his eyes upon Webb, who gazed indifferently at the ice-covered windscreen.

"Mr Webb, please be careful about what you say," snapped Reynard.

"That's great coming from you," retaliated Paul, striking back with venom in his tone. "Pot, kettle, black and all that," he added.

Reynard slunk back into the seat. He knew what Paul was referring to and kept quiet.

"What a horrible thing to say, tell your father to take that back," insisted Mae.

"Don't tell my son what to say. I can't believe you've been with Bradley for what, six months? And still, you're yet to put out."

Mae cried uncontrollably, and Yvette began to wake up.

"What's going on?" said Yvette, after taking a few seconds to remember where she was. Her eyes darted from left to right, and her spine tingled when reality kicked in and pushed sleep into touch.

"Get me away from here, get me home..., PLEASE!" begged Mae.

The courtesy light picked out the smirk on Bradley's face.

"Don't worry; we're over. I knew we wouldn't last," said Bradley. He sounded relieved that he was ending their relationship.

Mae burrowed her face into Yvette's shoulder and sobbed loudly. Her sobs mixed with high pitched whines of sorrow.

"You bastard, you fucking, fucking bastard," screamed Mae. She leaned forward and hit Bradley around the back of his head. He pushed her away and laughed. James sneered menacingly at her. "My brother always said you're a wimp, a real let down," he whined in a patronising tone.

"Okay, everyone calm down," said Reynard. But Mae ignored him and continued to lash out at Bradley. Her manicured fingernails cut into his cheek.

"Stop it you bitch," shrieked Bradley, pushing her back to her seat.

The tension in the vehicle had come to a head and was spilling over into rage. Mae wailed, and Yvette joined in with tears of her own. Paul Webb and Bradley laughed. James remained silent after his uncalled for and spiteful comment about Mae, but the look on his face made up for not joining in with the uproar. He was enjoying the mayhem.

Reynard put his head down and rammed his hands over his ears.

'Somehow they managed to get every creep from Cinderford into my car, and then somehow managed to stick me right smack in the middle," thought Reynard, as the tears and the malicious laughter continued.

Reynard could stand it no more. He drew in the deepest breath he could and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"SHUT UP, WILL YOU ALL JUST PLEASE SHUT UP!"

His commanding voice instantly brought silence crashing down around them. He turned in his seat and eyed everyone with the same authoritative look. For a few seconds, no one made a sound. Other than Mae's heavy breathing, there was silence. Paul Webb broke the temporary hush with a slow handclap.

"Well done teacher, well done my son," said Paul, still clapping slowly. "Don't forget sunshine; it's you who've got us into this mess."

"Mr Webb, I think you've already established that. But in the meantime, until this ordeal is over, perhaps you could exercise a modicum of maturity, considering what we are going through this evening."

"Before this ordeal is over? BEFORE WE ARE RESCUED!?" reacted Paul, with wide open eyes. "Do you really think someone will rescue us? Do you really think this will be over? Well, sunshine, let me tell you, this will never be over. Not for any of us." Paul continued to stare wildly into Reynard's eyes. His head was motionless, and his mouth hung open.

"Dad, tell him we're all fucked," said James, under his breath.

"As my son has said, we're all fucked. Every one of us. The sooner you take that on board, the better."

Reynard did not know what to say. He was stuck in the middle of a madman and his family. The girls continued to cry, and Paul Webb turned away from Reynard and carried on gazing through the windscreen.

Suddenly, James let out a yelp.

"Oh, shit," he said, backing away from the side window. The smug smirk on his face was replaced by a look of fear.

"Oh no!" added his brother when he saw a pair of eyes peering through the condensation and ice on the nearside window. The eyes glowed with pure white light and were diffused by the blur of the damp glass. The eyes scanned from left to right. The sheer black pupils were like tiny islands in a sea of glimmering opal. The hazy view through the side window made it difficult to see to whom the eyes belonged. But it was apparent that whatever was outside was not human.

Reynard's stomach turned, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the beady eyes. The first thing he assumed was that they belonged to one of the beasts who had taken Tony. James bravely cleared the condensation with his sleeve, and the horrible black pupils followed his movements. A white snout pushed against the window and a hollow snort rattled the glass. The girls screamed, and the muzzle grunted again. James sidled closer to Bradley, who edged to the other side of the vehicle. The boys wanted to be as far from the creature as possible. A second later, it vanished. Bradley and James stared with wide eyes at the window where the beast had been. Instantly, the evil creature reappeared on the other side of the VW and stared at the twins through the adjacent window. It grunted again, and the creepy eyes switched between James and Bradley. The strange beast studied the brothers' every move. Instinctively, the twins backed away and edged to the other side, but the creature anticipated their move and had flitted back to the nearside window.

Paul Webb watched in silence. He was seemingly unperturbed by what he saw. The snout edged away, and in its place, an indistinct form rose up and obscured the entire window. A pair of white hoofed limbs thudded against the glass. The girls whimpered uncontrollably.

"What the hell?" muttered Reynard. He was about to speak, but the hooves pummelled against the window stopping him mid-sentence. The sound was loud. The girls screamed, and the twins cowered. Their father said nothing.

The hammering of the hooves against the glass was relentless, and the creature screeched as it thrashed and pounded. The screeches mixed with grunts and ear-piercing squeals

"Right, I've had enough of this shit," muttered Reynard as he reached beneath the driver's seat and pulled a metal crook lock from the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" snapped Paul.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm going to split the bastard's head wide open."

"No! You mustn't. Don't interfere. Stay in the car."

Reynard ignored him. He reached to open the door, but before he did so, he pushed down hard on the horn. The loud blast stopped the creature, but only for an instant. It continued from where it briefly left off. Reynard blasted the horn again, but the creature still thrashed at the window. Reynard gripped the crook lock in one hand and slowly opened the door with the other.

"Don't go out there," barked Paul, but Reynard had already stepped out and was crouching in the snow. The pummelling of the beast broke the silence of the forest. Reynard composed himself but could not stop from shaking as he edged around to the front of the VW. He ducked down to the level of the headlights and felt his way to the passenger side. It was too dark to see anything, and Reynard wanted it to remain that way so he could creep up on the beast. He could not see it but could hear the creature as it continued to smash against the window. Reynard was down on his haunches, with the crook lock firmly gripped in both hands. Suddenly, he leapt up, jolted forward and smashed the clamp over the creature's head. But he did not engage the lock with the beast as he hoped. Instead, the crook lock came crashing down against the glass, almost smashing it. The creature had gone. Reynard put his hand out in the dark to search for the animal, but there was nothing. Then the pounding started again. It was not coming from the other side of the vehicle; it was against the same pane of glass next to where Reynard stood. The same window the beast pounded before. It was louder than when Reynard had been inside the vehicle.

"Kill it, sir, please kill it," came Mae's muffled voice from within the VW.

The courtesy light was on, and Reynard saw the girls inside; and they were backing away from the window. They covered their eyes so not to see the beast. The Webb twins looked equally terrified by what was at the window. Paul Webb stared ahead as if nothing was happening. But as far as Reynard could tell, the beast was nowhere to be seen. Although he could not see it, he could hear it in front of him, pounding against the window and grunting.

"Where are you, you little bastard?" he yelled, wielding the crook lock over his head. The sound of the beast pummelling the glass and the screams of the girls continued. Reynard's mind was drowning in a sea of confusion. He could only hear the creature, despite it being less than six inches away from him, but it was clear to Reynard that those in the vehicle could see it, except Paul, who looked almost relaxed as he lounged in the passenger seat looking ahead aimlessly. Reynard darted around the front of the vehicle and to the driver's door. He yanked it open, peered inside and fixed his eyes upon the window pounded by the beast. He could see it as clearly as the others could.

"What the fuck?" he muttered, as he tried to comprehend why the creature could only be seen from inside the vehicle.

He scurried back to the window, again wielding the crook lock, but the beast was invisible to him. He could hear it snorting as it pounded relentlessly against the glass. He stood stock still and tried to fathom out what was happening. Reynard crept forward on tiptoe and then in one fell swoop thrashed down with the lock where the beast should be. The pounding stopped, and Reynard could hear heavy intermittent breathing, punctuated by grunts and snuffles. The sounds came from a few feet to his right, he swung around, but the light from inside the vehicle was too dim to illuminate the area from where the sounds came. Reynard grappled in his pocket and pulled out the torch. He shone it in front of him, and the light caused the splutters of animal sounds to subside. He shone the light in the snow around the passenger side of the VW.

The snow had been disturbed by hundreds of holes and scuff marks. He heard a grunt ahead of him. He dropped the torch, gripped the crook lock with both hands, raised it above his head and slammed it down exactly where he heard the beast. He let out a primordial roar as the lock engaged with the ground. He listened to another grunt, and the scurry of footsteps scuttling in the snow. He watched with his mouth open as the light from the torch which lay on the ground picked up fresh prints appearing in the snow. The strange little footprints, which were like hoof marks, could be seen scurrying towards the back of the VW. Reynard scooped the torch from the ground and followed the tracks to the end of the vehicle. He lashed out again, sweeping the crook lock left and right and up and down as the prints appeared in the snow. Each time the lock smashed onto the ground; he heard the creature grunt. Reynard followed the hoofprints as they manifested in the snow in front of him. The prints veered to the left and appeared in the snow on the driver's side.

"Shit," gasped Reynard when he saw he had left the driver's door ajar.

The hoofprints scurried faster as if the ghostly beast had seen a way into the vehicle. Reynard dropped the crook lock and dashed to the door, racing against the hoofprints with the hope of getting to the door before the creature did. The girls screamed, and the twins made even more noise.

"Don't let it in," screamed Yvette, who could see what Reynard could not.

Reynard slipped in the snow just before he made it to the door. He fell forward and lay on his chest before desperately scrabbling to get back to his feet. The hoofprints fleetingly stopped advancing towards the open door. Reynard reached forward to grab what he could not see. His hands past through fresh air and lunged into the snow. He looked up from the icy ground and saw something equally unbelievable as he had witnessed with Tony and Scott. The form of a wild boar appeared on the driver's seat. It was whiter than the snow and Reynard estimated it to be four feet long. He got to his feet and instinctively lunged at the boar. Reynard did not question what was happening, he only knew he had to pull it from the vehicle. He leapt and reached for the boar and grabbed its rear leg. The animal rolled onto its back, and Reynard saw that it only had one hind leg. There was a stubby nub where the other leg should be.

Inside the vehicle was mad panic. The girls had clambered over their seats and were cowering in the back where Tony and Scott had been. The twins backed up as far as they could against the near side window. Their father stayed perfectly calm. He turned his head and casually glanced at the boar and then continued to gaze ahead through the windscreen with no expression upon his craggy face.

Reynard yanked the boar's leg, and the creature squealed as it twisted on its back trying to break free from Reynard's grip. Behind its snout were short, sharp tusks. The animal kicked its hind foot, and Reynard lost his grip. The boar turned onto its front and ripped the back of the driver's seat with its tusks. It fidgeted and squirmed as it tried to make its way through the gap between the two front seats. Paul remained motionless as if he was patiently waiting at a set of traffic lights for them to change to green. He paid no attention to the enraged creature. The twins howled with panic, and the girls edged as far to the back of the vehicle as they could. Reynard lunged forward again and threw his arms around the boar's torso, but he could not get enough traction to pull it backwards. The animal writhed as Reynard did his best to hold on.

Bradley backed into his brother and looked into the creatures white and black eyes. For a second, the animal stopped struggling as its eyes engaged with Bradley's. The beast flitted between Bradley and James, as if deciding which was first on its list to attack. Reynard yanked again at the creature's midriff.

"Paul, help me get this thing out of here," shouted Reynard. But Paul did not respond. "Help me; it's after the kids." The boar began twisting again, fighting to free itself from Reynard's grip. "Paul, do something, this thing's gonna kill someone," screeched Reynard.

Paul turned his head and spoke gently.

"The boar will do what it has to do."

"What?" snapped Reynard, his grip loosening on the squirming beast, which squealed loudly.

"It wants revenge," added Paul.

"Well if that's the case help me kill it before it kills one of the kids."

"You can't kill what's already dead."

The boar squeezed itself further through the gap between the front seats but had become wedged. It writhed furiously as it tried to free itself and get to the back of the vehicle. Reynard could not hold on any longer and let go. He grappled for the boar's single hind leg, but it kicked and twitched too much for Reynard to grip. Reynard bounded out of the vehicle and searched for the crook lock which lay in the dark. The squealing of the bore and the crying of the children was awful. It was too dark to see where the lock was, so Reynard searched with his hands while kneeling in the snow. The cold was intense, but Reynard was hot with adrenaline racing through his veins. He found the lock, spun around on his knees, got up and charged back to the car, where the boar had managed to squeeze itself a little further between the seats. Its snapping snout was inches from Bradley, who was trying to push the beast away with the soul of his shoe. Reynard hit the boar with the lock. The boar being in the vehicle, somehow made a difference. Inside the VW, the creature seemed real and palpable, unlike outside where it was a ghost. Reynard smashed the lock against the spine of the boar. Its squeals and grunts became shriller, and the girl's cries were louder than the animal's.

Then something occurred to Reynard. Outside, in the snow, the beast was untouchable, but it also seemed not to be able to harm him. It suddenly struck him that he had to get everyone out of the vehicle. He smashed the lock hard between the boar's ears and then yelled at the children to get out. The kids were frozen with fear and would not move.

"Get out, all of you. MOVE, MOVE, MOVE..., NOW!"

The quickest way out was through the sliding door. The same door which Tony had used when he left the vehicle to take a pee. The boar's front half was between the twins and the door. Reynard got out and pulled the side door open. The creature stared at Reynard, and he struck it hard on the snout with the lock. It screeched and then briefly retracted its head.

"Bradley, get out, James, you're next."

But Bradley was too scared to move. The boar wriggled forward, and Reynard struck it again. And again, the boar slunk back, leaving a small gap for Bradley to escape through the sliding door.

"Now Bradley. It's time to get out!"

The boy came to his senses, slid along the seat and jumped out into the snow.

"Your turn," shouted Reynard to James. The boar had not yet moved forward, and the gap was still there for James to get past. Reynard leaned in and clouted the boar again for good measure. He held his hand out to James, grabbed his elbow and pulled him along the seat, past the boar and out onto the snow alongside his brother.

"Stay there; I'm getting the girls."

Reynard yanked down the back of the seats on which the twins had been sitting, giving Yvette and Mae a more accessible means of escape. He barked at the girls to get out. They were more responsive than the twins and quickly did as Reynard said. Mae stared in Bradley's direction with a toxic look. It was too dark for him to see the expression of hatred towards him, but he knew it was there. The girls huddled together and shuffled to the front of the vehicle, while the boys stayed close to the back.

Reynard ran to Paul's door and jerked it open.

"GET OUT!" he shouted, but Paul ignored him and remained motionless as the boar writhed and squealed beside him.

"Suit your fuckin' self," he said, before slamming the door. He ran back to the driver's side.

"Okay kids, stay close to me. Just forget your petty differences and keep together.

"But sir, what about the other things?" asked Mae.

Reynard turned his torch on and shone it at the girls. They were huddled together and cowering. Their scared faces loomed up at him from the torchlight. Mae put her hands in front of her face to stop the light from hurting her eyes.

"What other things?" said Reynard.

"The things that killed Tony?"

"Shit," muttered Reynard. The situation with the boar had caused him to temporarily overlook the fact that the two gigantic beasts that tore Tony to shreds were somewhere in the forest. But they could not get back into the vehicle. As soon as the boar had freed itself from between the seats, it would go apeshit and attack everyone inside the VW. He thought about his reasoning as to why he insisted that everyone get out. It was because when he was outside with the boar and the others were in the VW; the thing was a spectre. It seemed to be a chillingly terrifying, but otherwise harmless apparition that could not hurt Reynard, and in return, Reynard could not harm it. Reynard had to somehow lure the thing out and then get the children back into the vehicle.

He ordered the four scared children to stay close. The girls did not want to be anywhere near the spiteful, malicious boys and Reynard knew it.

"Okay, you two stay close to me," he said to the girls, "and you two stick together," he yelled to the boys.

Reynard opened the driver's door and leant across the seat. There was not much room for manoeuvre, and the steering wheel stuck into his side. He got behind the back end of the boar and pushed with all his strength. The creature felt unreal. It was like touching cold, dead meat covered in thousands of tiny harsh, tough, hard bristles. The courtesy light revealed the damage that had been inflicted upon the boar's flesh by the crook lock. Deep abrasions covered the boar's body. The wounds should be seeping with blood. But the cuts and gashes revealed that no blood ran through the boar. Reynard did not have time to think about what made the hideous creature tick and pushed against it as hard as he could.

"Move you bastard," he shouted as he heaved the beast through the gap.

The boar squealed with anger, and Reynard shouted as he pushed it between the seats. The creature was jammed and going nowhere, but Reynard had to get it out of the vehicle. Then he was struck with an idea. He jumped out and reached for the knob, which adjusted the angle of the backrest of the driver's seat. He frantically turned the knob anticlockwise and slowly the back of the seat lowered. The boar struggled as the backrest moved. Reynard turned the knob as fast as he could, and the boar writhed. Throughout the whole thing, Paul did nothing. He did not even turn his head to see what Reynard was doing. The backrest was almost as flat as it was designed to go when the boar rolled onto its left side and freed itself. Reynard jumped out, pulled the sliding door as wide open as it would go and enticed the hideous creature out of the vehicle. The dead eyes of the boar stared at Reynard as it stood poised to jump. Reynard saw its hideous eyes generate white light.

"Come on you little shit, get the fuck out of there," yelled Reynard. The boar's lifeless and evil eyes locked with Reynard's.

Reynard screamed at the top of his lungs and the boar retaliated by lunging at him. Reynard took a step back, and the boar jumped through the side door and vanished into thin air. Reynard grabbed his torch and shone it in the snow where hoof prints appeared as the invisible beast scurried in circles.

"Get back in, all of you!"

Yvette and Mae wasted no time getting back in, but the boys remained where they were. Their eyes transfixed on the hoof prints disturbing the thick snow.

"Get in," yelled Reynard again, but the boys did not move.

The hoof prints scurried in the direction of the forest, and Reynard felt his shoulders relax as the creature scampered away. But the easing of his tension lasted no time at all. Reynard saw a glowing yellow form within the foliage, in the direction of where the boar's prints headed. Reynard followed the hoofprints with his torchlight as they disappeared into the forest. Reynard's hand, which held the torch, dropped to his side as he concentrated on the pale-yellow radiance from the undergrowth.

"Who's there?" he called, in a shaky voice. Reynard hoped that whatever was lurking at the forest edge had nothing to do with the beasts that had slain Tony.

There was no reply. The yellow glow came closer. Reynard watched it glide to his right and it was partially obscured by foliage. The girls watched from within the vehicle and the boys stared transfixed.

Slowly, a figure floated from the forest and onto the road. The figure's yellow glow lit the snow as it glided towards Reynard and the boys. The nearer it came, the more distinct it was. Reynard squinted and saw a face looming out. As it became closer, Reynard saw the outline of a man. The figure stopped and hovered ten feet from Reynard. It was not interested in him; instead, it turned its attention to the twins. The glow radiating from the ethereal shape lit the boy's faces. Reynard saw a knowing look, mixed with expressions of fear in the boy's eyes. Reynard was transfixed by what he saw. He scrutinised the face, which was old, sad and weathered. From within the yellow glow, Reynard saw a hint of clothing. He concentrated on what he saw and made out a long, ripped coat. It was like his old trench coat that he lent to Yvette. It wore wellington boots with stained trousers tucked in. From the right sleeve of the trench coat, Reynard saw a frail hand gripping a walking stick fashioned from a thick branch. From behind the ghostly form trotted the boar. It seemed impervious to the wounds inflicted upon it by Reynard. It hobbled as it walked, but not because it was in pain, it limped because it had three legs. It pushed against the yellow figure's shins, in the same way an affectionate cat does. The figure bent forward and stroked the boar between its ears. The boar reacted happily like a young piglet leaping in a muddy sty.

The ghostly figure stood tall and took a few steps closer to the twins, who cowered as it approached. Reynard watched with trepidation. He held his breath as the figure raised its right arm and lifted the gnarly walking stick menacingly above his head. The boys took a step backwards. Bradley shuddered as the figure aligned the walking stick with the boy's head. Then a voice from within the yellow glow spoke in a tone which was hollow and lifeless.

"Hello, boys. Remember me?"

## 13

### Newcastle

### England

### January Eighteen-thirty-eight

'What magnificent animals. Beautiful and strong. Watching them sleeping makes it hard to believe that they could kill a man'

Horst and Ernst disembarked the ship at the Port of Tyne in Newcastle England, on which they had travelled for the past four days. The bears, Berdy and Boris, were cramped and huddled in their cage perched on the back of the cart which had ferried them across Europe for the past eleven months. The animals were understandably grumpy after being penned up in the dark hold of the ship. The faeces littered cage needed cleaning. They had become excited the moment their cage rolled off the vessel and onto dry land.

Horst, Ernst and the bears caused quite a commotion as they made their way through the streets of Newcastle. None of those who saw the two men, and their menagerie weaving their way across the town had seen such creatures before in their lives. Despite seeing pictures of bears, few associated the images they had seen in books and paintings hanging on the walls of museums, with the two scared and agitated animals paraded through the busy streets and backroads of the town.

Adults and children gathered around and jostled to see the animals. The children pushed past each other for a better view, and adults stood on tiptoes and gawped at the caged bears. Ernst spotted an exceptionally tall man who loomed over the rest of the adults. The tall man eyed the brothers with intense interest. Horst and Ernst were nervous by the commotion they caused. They were strangers in a strange land but knew they had to put on a brave face. After all, those around them bustling to get a view of Berdy and Boris could be the patrons responsible for paying for the brother's next meal. They were down to their final reserves of money after paying the fare to England. Ernst and Horst put on their best feigned happy faces. The brothers smiled and waved merrily at the curious crowd as they slowly made their way towards the centre of town. The brothers were in awe of their new surroundings.

There were huge buildings, hundreds of carts packed with crates pulled by horses and thousands of people on foot. Shops swollen with customers lined the streets, and the strange new town had odours they had not come across before. They barely understood a word of English but could tell the differences in reception they received by the tones of the raised voices as they continued their journey. Many of the locals were excited to see the foreigners and their animals, while others were more cautious and not sure of what to make of the spectacle. On each side of the cart was a painted sign which depicted Ernst in his Herr Kurzes Bein clown getup, and two bears dancing merrily with musical quavers and crotchets twirling around their heads. Beneath the picture were the words 'Berdy and Boris - Die Tanzenden Bären'. Not many of the crowd could translate German, but the images of the dancing bears made it clear why the animals were there, and what their purpose was.

It was early evening; the sun had set, and the brothers were hungry and tired. The bears were exhausted too. Horst spotted an area of open land in the distance and turned the cart to head away from the town. They picked up speed and left the crowd of excited Geordies behind them. The horses needed rest too, so the brothers decided to camp for the night.

They pitched their tent and lit a fire in Jesmond Dene Woods. It was a cold January night and the brothers had a lot to do. The cage needed cleaning, and the animals had to be fed. Ernst threw the bears the last of the meat they had brought from Europe, while the horses grazed on grass. The brothers ate fish caught from a nearby lake which they fried over the campfire.

After they had eaten, Horst opened the cage and carefully guided Berdy and Boris to their temporary freedom. He tethered them to a venerable oak tree and proceeded to clean the cage which smelt rancid. Despite being tied, the bears where ecstatic to be out of the cramped enclosure. The brothers and the bears had become close, and Berdy and Boris trusted Horst and Ernst. Horst continued to muck out their cage and Ernst giggled when he heard his brother resisting the urge to vomit due to the pungent mess he had to clear. Ernst strolled over to Berdy and held out his hand with his palm facing downward. Berdy lolloped onto his back and rolled over before snuffling his wet snout into the back of Ernst's hand. Ernst resisted the urge to rub his hand into the fur on the bear's midriff. He needed to remind himself that despite how friendly the animals appeared; they were potential killers. He had discussed the bears' demeanour with Horst, and both agreed that it was almost incomprehensible to believe that either Berdy or Boris had a bad bone in their bodies.

Ernst strolled over to the horses to check on their wellbeing and saw that Berdy was on his hind legs, with his paws reaching out to him as he tended to the horses. The bear was jealous. Ernst returned to Berdy who rolled onto his back. Ernst knelt by the bear, and despite the risk, he cautiously reached out to Berdy's middle. He ruffled the bear's fur, and Berdy enjoyed the attentiveness. Boris sauntered over, pushed Berdy out of the way and vied for Ernst's attention. Ernst felt relaxed amongst the bears and shared his affection towards them equally. He swiftly retreated when Boris let out a roar. But Ernst quickly realised the bear was expressing happiness and was not a threat.

By the time Horst had cleaned the cage, and all had been fed and watered it was getting late. The bears bedded down for the night, and the brothers put out the fire and retreated to their tent. They were sleeping as soon as their heads hit their pillows. A good night's sleep was had, interrupted by the occasional grunt from the bears and whinnies from the horses.

The following morning, Horst was rudely stirred from his dreams by the sound of a crackling fire. It took him a few minutes to come to his senses after remembering their campfire had been extinguished the night before. Shadows, backlit by an orange glow, flickered on the inside wall of the tent. A faint smell of tobacco filled the air. Horst poked his brother in the ribs to wake him. Ernst quickly opened his eyes and was immediately wide awake. In the dark tent, he could not see his brother's face, but Horst's body language revealed that something was bothering him. Horst put his finger over his lips and shushed his brother to remain silent. Ernst frowned when he heard the fire crackling and popping just beyond the tent. Horst shuffled on his knees to the opening of the tent, pulled it back and peered outside. He swallowed hard when he saw the broad frame of a man sitting by the fire, silhouetted against the pale morning sky. His face reflected the glow of the flames and Horst could see that he smoked a clay pipe. The man threw a damp log onto the fire and orange embers twirled like fireflies and new flames hissed. He stoked the fire with a branch and then put out his hands to soak up the heat of the dancing flames. Horst's first thought was of the safety of the animals. He strained his eyes in the dim morning light and saw the bears were sleeping beneath the oak tree to which they were chained. The horses grazed peacefully and paid no attention to the stranger. Horst turned to his brother, and without speaking, he gestured that there was someone outside. Even though the stranger was sitting, Horst could tell that the man was a giant. He had substantial broad shoulders and a thick neck. The stranger wore a woollen cap which covered his bald head. The brothers hurriedly put on their boots and crawled out as quietly as they could. One of the horses neighed when it saw the brothers clambering from the tent. The stranger ignored the horse and continued to smoke his pipe. Horst and Ernst knew barely any English, other than 'hello, goodbye, thank you and please'. Horst stood tall and strolled over to the man, and Ernst followed behind, trying not to limp. Horst spoke first.

"Hello," he said in English, his voice was shaky, and his strong German twang made the single word he said difficult to understand.

"Guten morgen meine herren," said the stranger, in a heavy French accent. The man stood up and faced the brothers. He towered over them. Ernst recognised him from the day before. He remembered how tall he was. Upon his face was a smile which spanned from ear to ear and exposed a mouth missing several teeth. The light from the fire revealed his right eye was disfigured and would not open properly. He offered his hand to the brothers.

"Hallo ich heisse André."

Ernst and Horst kept their hands firmly by their sides. In the short time they had travelled with the bears they had learnt to trust no one. The brothers stared at him without speaking. The man, who had introduced himself in German as André, continued to speak in their mother tongue.

"I can assure you I mean you no harm. Would you gentleman like coffee?"

He proceeded to take a pan from a sack by his feet, which he filled with water from a flask. The brothers watched as André placed it on the fire.

"So, you know my name. Would you mind telling me yours?"

The brothers watched him suspiciously. Neither spoke. André stepped back from the fire and turned to the bears.

"What magnificent animals. Beautiful and strong. Watching them sleeping makes it hard to believe that they could kill a man."

His grasp of German was impeccable. He strolled to the cart and inspected the painted sign which hung from the side.

He read the words out loud in German.

"Berdy and Boris – The Dancing Bears."

With his arms behind his back, he leaned forward and inspected the picture of the clown. He turned to Ernst.

"This clown, this is you..., yes?"

Ernst did not answer. The man nodded and muttered in German that he knew that Ernst was the clown in the picture.

"You are a funny little man who walks badly. You must be the clown."

Ernst felt his hackles rise, but he was no match for the gigantic stranger. Horst put out his hand and gently nudged his brother, so he took a step back. He cleared his throat and spoke to André.

"What do you want from us?"

"Let's talk about it over hot coffee," said André, lifting the pan of water from the fire. Ernst saw how he did not flinch when he picked it up by its scalding metal handle.

"I'm afraid I only have two cups; you'll have to share one between you."

The brothers watched as he inhaled smoke from his pipe and brewed coffee. The smell of the beverage, which they rarely had the opportunity to drink, hit them square on and provoked their senses. It was a cold morning, and the thought of a hot drink appealed to them.

"Gentleman, don't be shy. It's not poisonous, other than a small sprig of hemlock I've added for flavour...., I'm only kidding. It's just coffee." He tipped back his head and laughed at his joke. He proved that the coffee was safe to drink by taking a sip from both cups.

"It's delicious," he said, before handing a cup to Horst.

Horst cautiously looked at his brother, who nodded. He took the cup from the stranger and sipped a mouthful. It tasted wonderful. He passed the cup to Ernst who did the same. The brothers passed the cup back and forth between them while keeping a close eye on André. The silence was awkward. André sat back down by the fire and held his cup with both hands. He watched the flames as he drank.

"Why are you here?" asked Horst.

André lowered his cup and looked up at him.

"To offer my services. It's a cold morning. Come, sit by the fire and we can talk."

It was the last thing the brothers wanted or expected. They had worked alone for a long time, and that was just how they liked it. They did not need anyone else. It was only the brothers, the horses and the bears. But the man was foreboding, so they decided to hear him out because they were concerned about what he might do otherwise.

They huddled next to each other with the fire between them and André.

"So, André. What is it you can do for us?" asked Ernst.

"Lots of things. I could be a great asset to you." André lingered, smiled and stared into the flames. The silence of his pause added tension to the moment.

"Gentlemen, how well do you know England? How well do you speak the language here? Do you know the customs, the people or even the lie of the land?"

"No, but we'll work it out, we always do," replied Horst.

"I'm sure you will. But I can make things easier for you. I speak English better than an Englishman. Do you know how many languages I fluently speak?"

The brothers shook their heads. André placed his cup on the grass, put out his hands and began to count on his fingers as he named each language.

"I speak French, English, German, Dutch, Spanish, Polish..., and many more." He paused as if looking for their approval of his ability to speak in so many foreign tongues. "I can be your spokesperson. I can negotiate for you."

"We've done okay in the past. We've travelled through many countries without speaking their language, and we've always got by," said Ernst.

"Yes, but England is different. You're in a land where bears are seldom seen in real life. Things could be dangerous for you here. I can help you. There is a lot of trouble you could find yourselves in."

"We don't have money. We can't afford to pay anyone," said Ernst.

"I can assure you; you can't afford not to use my services."

André spoke with a commanding tone. He did not come across as threatening, but his stature and confidence made it hard for the brothers to ignore his offer. Ernst and Horst read each other's thoughts. And despite André's impressive size and imposing authority, they knew not to accept his offer. He was a stranger. The brothers knew nothing about him whatsoever. They were not keen on trusting a man who, without any warning, had walked into their lives and demanded to be part of their team.

Horst stood up, strolled over to André and returned the empty coffee cup.

"Thank you for the coffee and thank you for your offer, but we'll decline."

"Very well gentlemen," said André, throwing the dregs of coffee onto the flames. He placed the pan, flask and cups back into his bag and stood up. André offered his hand again, and this time, Horst took it. He expected André's huge hand to crush his, but was surprised how gentle and warm his handshake was. Ernst stood up and shook his hand too.

André threw the bag over his shoulder and started to walk away. He paused and turned.

"If you change your mind, ask anyone for André the Frenchman. Everyone in Newcastle knows where to find me."

He smiled and casually walked away.

The brothers glanced at each other and watched until André disappeared.

"What a strange man," said Ernst.

"I would not want to be on the wrong side of him. He's almost as big as Berdy," added Horst.

There was plenty to do. Horst had placed rabbit snares in the woods and headed off to find breakfast. Ernst packed away the tent and checked on the animals. The sun had risen, and he took in the beauty of his surroundings. A cockerel crowed somewhere in the distance, and a deer poked its head from behind the oak tree. It saw the bears and scurried back into the woods. Ernst added more logs to the fire and waited for his brother to return. He was starving and hoped to God that Horst had snared some breakfast. The bears were awake and pacing up and down. They too were hungry, and just one of the bears alone had a bigger appetite than Ernst and his brother put together. The horses seemed content to graze on the short grass. He patted the horses between their ears and put his nose to theirs. They neighed and whinnied in return. Horst was taking an age to come back, and Ernst was becoming restless.

At last, Horst approached in the distance. Ernst strained his eyes to see whether his brother came bearing gifts from nature's pantry. A few minutes later, Ernst let out a sigh of relief when he saw several rabbits swinging from a rope in Horst's hand, and a full muslin sack in his other. Ernst stoked the fire and threw on another log.

Horst returned with a broad smile and dropped six rabbits at his brother's feet. In the muslin sack were four large carp. Ernst made quick work of skinning two of the rabbits while Horst threw the other four, and the fish, to the bears. Berdy and Boris did not take long to demolish their breakfast.

"Oh, I have these too. I almost forgot," said Horst, emptying his pockets of a dozen wild mushrooms. "I didn't expect to find these so early in the year."

Ernst cooked the rabbits and mushrooms. The brother's stomachs ached with hunger as the smell wafted beneath their noses. After they had eaten, they packed everything onto the cart and guided the bears reluctantly back to their cage. The sun poked above the treetops and Horst estimated the time to be around ten o'clock.

Horst waited while his brother pulled on his oversized clown's costume. He wore baggy harlequin patterned trousers, a harlequin shirt, a blue long-sleeved cotton jacket and a white ruffle collar. Ernst took his time applying makeup. He wanted to get it right and make an impression upon the people of Newcastle. Horst smiled when Ernst popped up from behind the cart. He was always amazed by the difference in his brother's appearance, which was made by a few layers of makeup and the ludicrous clothes. Ernst's ridiculous outfit was complete with a silly little blue hat perched at a precarious angle on his head.

"It's time to make some money. Let's see what England has to offer," said Ernst, climbing aboard the cart. The horses trotted, and the cart creaked as its wheels objected to the ruts and furrows in the uneven ground. The brothers bobbed from side to side, and the bears lay huddled in their cage. Despite the sun against their faces, it was a bitterly cold morning, and the brothers shivered as they headed to Newcastle.

They passed a man entering the woods as they were leaving. The look upon his face was priceless. He stared open jawed as the cart, complete with clown and bears, trundled past. Ernst smiled and doffed his hat. The man's expression did not change. He had never seen anything like it. They continued their journey and happened upon more and more people as they went. The reactions they received ranged from disbelief to hysterical laughter. Ernst stood upon the cart, bowed and performed a silly little dance as Horst negotiated the horses and wagon through the streets which became busier as they made their way towards the town. Soon, the brothers and the bears had attracted an entourage which was much larger than the day before. Yesterday, the local's reactions were mixed with hostility, but today the people of Newcastle seemed less threatening, and the brothers began to enjoy themselves. Ernst threw streamers and confetti into the crowd and children leapt and jostled to catch it as it fell.

The children and adults shouted to the brothers, who had no idea what they were saying. But the tones of their voices sounded friendly, except for one or two burly men and a group of overweight, ugly women. The brothers ignored them and concentrated on the happier faces of those who ran alongside the cart. They turned a corner and Horst spotted André at the back of the crowd. Horst saw how huge the man was compared to others around him. He was indeed a gigantic person, and his size reiterated to Horst he was as big as Berdy the bear. The men glanced at each other and Horst was surprised how warm André's smile was, considering they had turned down his offer of help less than a couple of hours earlier.

Ahead was an area of open grassland which was an ideal place to pull up, unload the bears and put on their first show in England. Horst brought the cart to a halt, and Ernst jumped down and performed a series of forward rolls on the damp grass. The children cheered when Ernst stood up and delivered a curtsy like a lady, scratched his head as if he remembered what gender he was, and then bowed like a subject in the company of a king. He pulled three coloured balls from his pocket and juggled them while twirling like a dervish. The limp in his injured leg added to the sense of hilarity to the situation. The crowd grew larger and rowdier as Ernst continued to perform.

There was one word which was called out repeatedly which the brothers did recognise.

"Bears!"

'Bears' was called over and over as the children pointed to the cage. Boris and Berdy pushed their snouts through the gaps between the bars and stared at the crowd. Berdy let out a roar, and the crowd was briefly hushed. Ernst saw the worried look upon their faces. He was keen not to lose any potential custom and jumped up on the back of the cart, pushed his face into Berdy's snout, which was still protruding through the cage and kissed him on the nose. He reached into the cage and ruffled the fur on the bear's head, then turned around and smiled at his audience who cheered with delight when they saw how harmless Berdy appeared to be.

Ernst raised his hands and in his best English shouted 'Berdy, the Bear.' The audience cheered again. Ernst bowed graciously.

The crowd had doubled as word got around. Horst stepped forward with eight metal posts and proceeded to stake them into the ground and formed a semi-circular shape in front of the cart. He politely nudged the audience back and respectfully nodded as they retreated and allowed him to place each post into the ground. Horst pulled a length of rope from a box in the rear of the cart and proceeded to ringfence an area for Ernst and the bears to perform. He unlocked the cage and guided Boris down. Ernst shackled Boris by a long bulky chain to the cart. Boris stood on his hind legs and pawed at the air in front of him. Berdy followed and was shackled next to Boris. Ernst stood between them and shouted their names.

"Berdy and Boris.... the bears!"

The crowd cheered again. Ernst put his arms around the animals who responded affectionally.

Horst removed two boxes from the cart. One was made from varnished wood and had 'THANK YOU' painted in black on it. The other was larger and decorated in coloured marquetry. Horst and Ernst glanced at each other and Ernst nodded. Horst took a key from his pocket, placed it in a small hole in the back of the patterned marquetry box, wound it up and opened the lid. He flicked a small lever and music came from the box. As soon as they heard the plink plonky tune emanating from the musical box, the bears began to dance. The audience, who by now were over a hundred strong, cheered in appreciation.

Ernst jigged and skipped along with the bears, and the crowd went crazy. Horst made sure that no one crossed beyond the ropes, which separated the audience from the bears. A young girl ducked under the line and ran towards Boris but was stopped by Horst who was quick enough to prevent her from getting too close. He scooped her up and passed the girl to her mother, who welcome her back with open arms and a slight look of concern for her daughter's safety. The tune from the musical box finished. Horst wound it again, and the box played a different song. The bears danced again. The children who could not push their way to the front were on their parent's shoulders. The musical box wound down, and Horst set it playing for a third and final time. Ernst and the bears continued to dance while Horst picked up the 'Thank You' box and walked among the crowd waving it under the noses of the adults. The audience dug deep, and soon the box was awash with coins. Horst spotted André in the group of people and tried not to look at him. He did not want him to know how much money he and his brother were making.

The musical box wound down and Ernst felt something sting against his forehead. It took him by surprise, and he almost fell forward. He felt something damp running down the bridge of his nose. At first, he thought it was blood. The music stopped, and the bears stood stock still as if waiting for the next tune. Ernst ran his finger over his nose and inspected what was on his face. It was an egg yolk. Someone in the crowd had thrown an egg. The audience was stunned into silence, and Horst stopped asking for money. Another egg flew from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, and again, hit Ernst square in the face. A few of the audience laughed. Another egg flew, and this time it hit Berdy under his left eye. Berdy roared unhappily. Horst forced his way back through the crowd, ducked under the rope, placed the money box on the ground and stood alongside Ernst and the bears. More eggs flew hitting the bears, Ernst and Horst. A small section of the crowd had turned nasty. It was only four men, but it was enough to put an end to the show. The bears became agitated, and the audience was nervous. The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving less than twenty curious onlookers and four menacing men. One of the men handed more eggs to his colleagues from a box under his arm. One man pelted the bears while another ran towards the box of coins collected by Horst. Horst spotted the man to his right and ran to the box. But he was not fast enough. The man from the crowd got to the box first and grappled with it, shovelling the coins into his pocket. Horst tried to wrestle the box from the man but was face to face with a second mean looking villain.

"Nein, das ist meins," shouted Horst, but the men ignored his plea.

The second man kicked Horst to the ground and eggs continued to hit the bears, who growled and cowered with fear. Ernst ran towards the man who was stealing their money and launched himself at him. The man spun around, threw him to the floor and continued to fill his pockets. A third man appeared and joined in stealing the money. He glanced at his colleague with a sneering grin. The bears were upset and scared. They were trying to get away from the commotion. As they tried to escape, the cart to which they were shackled, was dragged sideways. The horses, who were also scared, jostled back and forth. Horst was back on his feet and was not giving up without a fight, despite being outnumbered. He punched one of the men in the jaw, who merely grimaced and continued to take the money. Horst hit him again and cut the man's lip. The man spat blood but otherwise did not react to Horst's punches. The fourth man, who had been supplying the eggs, appeared on the scene and helped the others steal the money. Berdy roared, and the fourth man stood face to face with the bear and roared angrily back into Berdy's face. Berdy shied away. The poor bears were scared. All the years they had been in captivity had meant they had lost their sense of self-preservation. Boris was so afraid he tried to run again. He may have been an easily frightened bear, but he weighed over three-hundred pounds. He pulled at the cart as he tried to escape and tipped it over on its side. The cart dragged the horses as it went down. All hell broke loose, and the brothers were at risk of losing everything. The bears and the horses and the cart... everything.

The men had filled their pockets and were about to get away when a shadow loomed over them. They looked up and saw the impressive bulk of André staring down at them with a stern expression?

"I hope you're not going anywhere in a hurry," he said, in perfect English with a French accent.

He picked two of the men up by their necks. Their feet kicked as they dangled above the ground, and their fists punched at the air around them. André banged their heads together with such force that Horst was sure he heard them crack. André dropped them, and they hit the ground like two sacks of coal. He strolled over to the other two, who slowly backed away when they saw what André had done to their friends. One of the men made a dash for André, hurled himself and crashed into him intending to knock him to the ground. But André was like a rock and did not move an inch. The man bounded off him but was quickly back to his feet to try again. André felt a sharp pain in his back. He turned around to see the fourth man holding one of the metal stakes that Horst had impelled into the ground. He brandished it menacingly and taunted André. André made a grab for the stake, but the man quickly swiped it back before André could reach it. One of the two men, who André had cracked heads with, had recovered, jumped onto André's back and pulled him by his neck. André hurled him to the ground, and he landed just feet away from Boris and Berdy, who paced from side to side.

From the corner of his eye, André saw one of the men wielding a chain partially wrapped around his knuckles. André's large coat restricted him, so he quickly took it off, along with the shirt and jumper he wore beneath. He stood bare-chested. His front and back were pitted with scars and marks from age-old wounds. Seeing him in the flesh brought home what an impressive mountain of a man he was. The man with the chain stepped forward, swinging it over his head and then lashed out at André's face. André stepped back, and the chain missed his face but struck him hard on his chest. André did not flinch. He grabbed the chain, before the man had the chance to recoil it, and yanked it hard. The man jerked towards André who punched him on the jaw. He fell and was unconscious before he hit the ground. Only two men were left standing, and they were not giving up the fight. Both gripped metal stakes and taunted André who showed no fear. One growled as he lunged at the Frenchman with the sharp end of the stake aimed at his neck. André stepped to his right, and the stake missed his neck but instead struck him on his shoulder. Despite the force with which the man had used to impale it into André's flesh, it did not even break his skin. André snatched the stake and grinned as he bent it in half. The look on the man's face was priceless, but it did not last long. André struck him on the head with the bent stake and the man fell unconsciously with a thud. One man was left to fight André. He was one of the few who did not fill his pockets with coins. He knew he was no match for the giant but was desperate to get his share of the money that the others had stolen from Horst's box. He felt a tap on his shoulder, turned around and saw the face of the odd little clown staring up at him. The man stood still and frowned as he took a second to take in the strange spectacle. Ernst smiled, doffed his funny hat and then punched him as hard as he could. Ernst's reach was so short that it only just made it to the man's face. But Ernst's pent up rage and adrenaline had fuelled him, and he had delivered a strike which was so hard that the man fell backwards and landed by the overturned cart. Ernst jumped forward and kicked him in the side of his head, and he too, like his three villainous colleagues, lay lifeless on the wet grass. André grinned from ear to ear when he saw what Ernst had done. He strolled over to the first man that he had cracked the head of and checked that he was still out for the count. His grin continued to span his face as he looked at the other three who were lifeless, but far from dead. The bears were cowering and still shackled to the overturned cart. Horst ran to Boris and Berdy to comfort them. Then he saw something he would never forget. André strolled to the cart, and with his large hands gripped the chassis which was level with his face. The carriage and cage, which weighed fourteen hundred pounds, rolled smoothly back onto its four wheels as André pulled at the chassis.

The only sign that André was struggling were two bulging veins on his forehead. Other than a broken wheel, the cart and the cage were undamaged. A gasp rose from what remained of the crowd as André stepped back from the cart. He wiped his hands on his bare chest, casually strolled over to the discarded money box and then one by one emptied the coins from the pockets of the thieves and put them back in the box. He walked up to Horst and Ernst, who was rubbing his aching fist after punching the thief and handed the brothers the coin laden box. Horst looked up at André and smiled. The three men grasped hands, and this time, their handshakes were warm and genuine.

"Thank you, sir, perhaps we should have that talk after all?" said Horst, as he held the money box under his arm.

## 14

'She was my best friend. My only friend'

"Hello, boys. Remember me?" said the lifeless and monosyllabic voice emanating from the form within the yellow glow. The voice had a distinct Welsh accent.

Bradley and James were overwhelmed with fear as they gawped into the dead eyes of the figure. Its face was craggy and weathered with dark, sunken eyes.

The twins remembered him. It was the fragment of a man who they last saw in November.

* * *

Four months earlier

Seven thirteen pm

Memory Lane

The twins succumbed to a dare laid down by John Ford and Robert Hill from their class. The boys boasted they visited Memory Lane the previous weekend. Neither had anything to prove that they had been there other than their word.

Ford had spun tales of ghosts, witches and strange things lurking in the forest. The truth was that Ford and Hill had visited Memory Lane early in the evening on Saturday, but their accounts of what happened skirted around the realms of fantasy. They had cycled there and pedalled no more than fifty yards along the unlit road, before becoming spooked by the shadows created by the lights on their bikes. They had turned around and cycled like fury to get back to the main road to Ruardean. But they were pleased with themselves just to have made it to the start of the road, and it did not take much to fire Ford's and Hill's imagination to concoct a story to bring to school on Monday morning.

Ford and Hill accused the twins of being 'wusses'. Hill told them they were too scared to go to Memory Lane like he and Ford had done.

The following weekend James and Bradley, like Ford and Hill, had nervously made the trek to Memory Lane.

It was just after seven o'clock when they pulled up on their bicycles, and it was as dark as hell. The twins stared down the long and creepy road, which was shrouded by forestry. It was deathly quiet too. There was nothing to hear, other than sounds of trees creaking in the gentle autumn breeze and the scurry of a forest creature, which was probably a wild boar or a deer. It was so dark that they could not see each other's faces, despite being only feet apart.

Bradley pedalled a few feet further along the road but yanked his brakes when he thought he heard something ahead of him. The squeak of his brakes scared James, and his instinct was to do the same as Ford and Hill had done, which was to turn around and pedal home as fast as he could.

"Okay, I've seen enough, let's go," said James.

His brother was more fearless and not going to let cowardliness get the better of him. The dare had been to go to Memory Lane after dark and bring back something to prove they had been there. Bradley was intent on returning with something to show their classmates they had been brave enough to have gone alone.

"Come on, wuss, we've only just got here," said Bradley. He saw the red light of his brother's bike as James headed back to the main road. Bradley chased James and caught up with him.

"Are you really going to let Ford and Hill get the better of us? I reckon what they told us was bullshit. They probably didn't even come here. All we have to do is to search around for ten minutes, find something which proves we've been here, and then get the fuck out of here."

"But we have been here. Can't we grab a branch, or a handful of leaves and then go?"

"No, that won't prove a thing. We need to bring back something else. Something that proves without a doubt that we've definitely been to Memory Lane."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, but we'll know when we find it."

"We should have brought a camera. I've got a throwaway one with a flash. I could have taken a picture of us here with the forest behind us."

"You should have thought about that before we left, shouldn't you."

"Why don't we go back, get the camera and come back another time?"

Bradley shook his head. His face looked ghostly in the light of James' bicycle lamp. It made him keener to get away than before. James huffed a long, drawn-out sigh.

"I know you're scared. I'm a little bit too, but not as much as you are. Come on, it's time to man up and follow me," said Bradley.

James turned his bike around and followed his brother as they slowly cycled along the road, looking left and right as they went. They were on tenterhooks. Every creak of a branch, every rustling leaf and even the sound of the wheels of their bikes on the tarmac filled them with fear. But still, they intrepidly carried along the road. The further they travelled, the darker it got. There were no streetlights. The only thing that shone were the cat's eyes in the centre of the road, which reflected their bicycle lights. Even the cat's eyes looked creepy. They were like a hundred evil creatures lying in wait for them in the distance. Every couple of minutes, they stopped to survey the forest with the lights of their bicycles. The lights were not very strong and did little to show what was around them. They had been cycling for three or four minutes when Bradley stopped. Again, the screech of his brakes frightened the hell out of James. James watched his brother inch to the verge of the road and towards the foliage which bordered the forest. James quickly caught up with Bradley. He wanted to stay as close to him as possible. He was so scared he was shaking.

"What're you doing?" asked James.

"Dunno. Just looking. Seeing what's around. Come on, help me find something to bring back."

"But what like? It's all trees, leaves and gravel. There's nothing to prove we ever came here."

"There must be something. Let's keep looking."

The brothers continued. They cycled so slowly that it was hard to keep their balance.

"The myths of this place are a pile of crap. If something is lurking in the trees it would have got us by now," said Bradley, sounding more confident. But James was not so sure.

Considering the boys were twins, they did not have a lot in common. Not only did they look different, but their characters were different too. Bradley was a boy who would not be pushed around or taken advantage of, where James was somewhat of a pushover. Bradley had inherited this from his father's side. But they did share a nasty streak and an aptitude for sports. Their meanness was from their mother who had also excelled at sport. To look at the brothers, they appeared to be cut from a different cloth. They became used to the reactions of those who learnt that they were twins. Had they not shared the same birthday, many who knew them would have questioned their parentage.

They cycled onward, scouring the darkness ahead for a trophy to bring home. James cycled past a dead squirrel.

"How about this?" he called out, pointing to the partially decomposed animal.

Bradley pulled up and inspected the squirrel.

"It's a possibility, but I'm sure there's something better."

He got off his bike, pulled a large branch from the side of the road and dropped it next to the squirrel.

"What're you doing?" asked James.

"It's a marker. If we need to find little Tufty the Squirrel again, then this will make it easier."

They had travelled further along the road than many over the last six months, and indeed a lot farther than Ford and Hill had ventured.

James' light revealed something huge ahead of them.

"What the hell is that?" said James, squinting in the darkness. His shaky voice was barely above a whisper.

"Dunno, it's too dark to tell. Let's get closer. "

"Do we have to?"

"Yes, we do, you bloody wusser. Keep your eyes on the prize and stick with me."

James sighed again and followed Bradley, staying as close to his brother as he could without the wheels of his bike knocking into the rear of his brother's. His stomach churned, and he wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere would be preferable. A lone pigeon fluttered in a tree; its wings disturbed the branches above. James yelped. His voice shot up a register, and he sounded like a girl.

"You baby," laughed his brother. "Did you shit your pants? I can smell it from here."

"Leave it; just leave it okay." James sounded like he was going to cry.

"Stay here if you like, but I'm carrying on," said Bradley.

"No, wait up, I'm coming." There was no way James was waiting alone. If there was something horrible in the forest, he would rather be with Bradley when it appeared.

As they ventured further, it soon became clear what James had seen.

"It's a railway bridge. That's all it is," said Bradley. He removed the light from his bike and shone it on the stonework. "You're scared of a bridge? You bloody loser."

Fifty yards back, it was hard to make out the looming massive stone structure. It was not until they were almost alongside it could they work out what it was.

Bradley got off his bike and walked to the bridge. James dropped his bike to the ground, removed his light and scurried behind his brother. His eyes tensely darted left to right. It was the most frightened he had ever been in his life. Slowly, one step at a time, they walked beneath the bridge.

It was Bradley's turn to shriek like a young girl when something cold touched the back of his neck. Hearing his brother yell made James do the same thing. Bradley spun around and shone the light into the dark. There was nothing.

"What is it?" asked James, his body trembled. "What the fuck is it?" he bellowed for a second time. Bradley placed his fingers on the back of his neck and felt that it was wet. He shone the light onto his fingers.

"It's water," he said, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Where did it come from?"

Bradley shone his light above and saw the tunnel had hundreds of spikes facing downwards. Each bore a tiny drop of water waiting to surrender to the force of gravity.

"Stalactites," said Bradley, after working out what they were. "They're just stalactites, nothing to worry about."

"I can't believe you shit yourself over a drop of water," said James, trying to get one over on his brother.

Bradley shone the light into his brother's face and told him to shut up.

James' light picked out a group of pipistrelle bats fluttering erratically overhead. The thought of the bats made him shudder. He did not know how many more nasty surprises he could take.

"Please let's go back now. We can take the squirrel home with us. That'll prove we were here."

"Now listen. Just take a second and hear me out," said Bradley, shining the light on his own face. In the gloominess of the tunnel, his brother reminded James of Edvard Munch's painting 'The Scream'.

"Everything that has scared you have been natural things — birds in trees, animals in the bushes, drops of water and the wind blowing the branches. We've not seen a ghost or anything to make us afraid. It's just a road, and that's all it is. This place is fucking with your mind. Let's walk to the other side of the bridge and look for something to bring back. If we find nothing, then we'll head off, get the dead squirrel and go home."

James nodded solemnly. He had to agree. There was no way he was going to cycle home alone. Bradley heard his brother panting rapidly. Little wheezing sounds emanated from the back of his throat.

"Take a breath and calm down. Tomorrow we'll look back at this and laugh. We'll tell everyone at school what an adventure we had. We can make up lies about ghosts and bears and all sorts of shit."

"Don't mention the bears; you know you're not supposed to talk about them."

"Oh, just fucking grow up, you baby."

As Bradley finished lambasting his brother, a loud rustling was heard in the bushes behind them by the arch of the bridge.

"Oh shit," said James, forgetting what his brother just said.

They heard the sound again, and this time, it was louder.

"Who is it?" shouted Bradley, shining his light in the direction of the noise.

Then they heard fast footsteps followed by the scuffing sound of one of their bikes pushed along the ground. The bell on James' handlebar pinged. Bradley spun around and aimed his light at the bikes, but there was nothing to see other than the two BMXs lying sideways on the ground.

"Fuck! There really is someone there this time," whispered James.

Bradley slowly walked in the direction of where they left their bikes. He swept the ground with the beam from the bicycle light.

They heard one of the bikes scuffing along the gravel again. Bradley's light picked up the rear wheel of James' bike which was slowly spinning. They could hear more fast footsteps and shuffling nearby.

"Fuck this, let's just go," demanded James.

Bradley ignored him. Curiosity got the better of him, and the adrenaline was pumping blood to his head. His heart was beating so brashly he wondered whether his brother could hear it too. He pushed fear to one side and bravely walked towards the bikes. He stood over the wheel which slowly spun before grinding to a halt. Someone or something had made the wheel move. He turned around when he heard another rustle in the bushes. He aimed the light in the direction of the sound and saw a black shape disappear into the foliage. Bradley walked to the verge and called out. He heard heavy and fitful breathing from within the bushes.

"I can hear you, come out and show yourself."

"Leave it, Brad, let's just get the hell out of here."

Bradley ignored him again and concentrated on the sound from the bushes. Then he heard a grunt.

"It's an animal," he whispered. "It's just a forest animal."

"I don't care what it is; I just want to go."

Bradley got to his haunches and made a chirping noise.

"Come on, you little bastard, come out where we can see you."

He continued to make little chirping noises as someone would do to their pet budgie.

He shone his light towards the verge and saw the leaves rustling. Whatever was there was just beyond the edge of the road.

"Come on, out you come."

The foliage moved again, and Bradley saw something leering at him through the leaves. He held his hand out, in the same way a child would when attracting the attention of a harmless rabbit in a pet's corner.

"Come on; I won't hurt you."

He pulled a handful of grass from the verge and held it out.

"I've got something nice for you to eat."

"Brad, can we go now," pleaded James.

The leaves rustled again, and Bradley's light picked out the face of an animal.

"Come on big fella."

"What is it, Brad?"

"Just an animal."

Suddenly, the animal rushed out from the bushes, grabbed the grass from Bradley's hand and snuffled on it on the side of the road. James stood with his mouth open and shone his light on the creature.

"What the hell is it? Is that some kind of warthog or something?" said James.

"A warthog? You stupid bloody idiot; it's a wild boar. You've lived here for how long? And you've never seen a wild boar before?"

The animal scurried and pushed past Bradley and made its way to the bikes and pushed the back wheel of Bradley's with its snout. It playfully scurried away as the wheel spun.

"There's the explanation why the bike moved," said Bradley.

The boar scampered to James and mischievously rubbed itself against the side of his leg. James took a step back.

"It likes you," laughed Bradley.

James took a couple of steps back, and the boar followed him.

"It seems bloody tame for something that's supposed to be wild," said James. He cautiously bent forward and ruffled the bristly hair on the animal's head. The boar liked the attention.

Bradley nodded. "They're normally shy."

James warily continued to pet the boar while his brother zipped open the pannier on the back of his bike.

"This thing's friendly," said James. His fear of Memory Lane temporarily subsided as he watched the boar sniff and snort the ground with its snout. James was captivated by the animal.

"Perhaps we should get one," he added, his voice suddenly sounded quite chipper.

James jumped back when he heard a dull thud, and the boar dropped to the ground. It squirmed and grunted in pain. James shone his light on the animal and saw blood seeping from a gash in its head.

"What the...," but before he could finish, he heard another thud, and the animal stopped squirming and lay twitching on its side.

He shone his light at Bradley who stood a few feet away brandishing a catapult. He loaded it with a ball bearing and aimed it at the boar's head. He released the ball bearing which struck it in the eye. The animal stopped twitching, and blood oozed from the wounds inflicted by Bradley.

"Why did you do that?" shouted James.

"It's our trophy."

"But you killed it. Why? It was not harming us."

"Get over it you wuss. It proves we've been here."

James stood over the dead animal and stared at it with sadness. A tear welled in his eye.

"You didn't need to do that. It wasn't hurting you."

"Forget about it. It's dead now. Right, how are we going to get it home?"

"We can't take it home; it's fucking huge," said James, his voice quivered, and he tried not to cry.

"You're right. Let's bring back the head."

Bradley searched his pannier and pulled out a jagged knife.

"NO!" shouted James.

Bradley stood over the animal's warm body and scratched his chin as he pondered.

"You're right. The head's too big to carry on your bike too."

"My bike? I'm not taking anything like that on my bike."

Bradley ignored him, bent down and started hacking the blade into the boar's hind leg.

"This'll do," he said, sawing at the leg. He could feel the serrations of the knife scrape at the bone in the animal's sagging limb.

James watched with shock. He could not believe what his brother was doing. He knew he could be a heartless bastard, but he would never have expected him to do something as cruel as this.

"Come on you bastard," swore Bradley at the leg, which was harder to cut than he expected. His hands were soaked in warm blood, which splattered on his sleeve. He was three-quarters of the way through the bone when he put down the knife. He bent forward, took the partially severed leg with both hands and snapped it. The only thing which kept it attached to the boar was flesh and sinew. He grabbed the knife and hacked through the scraggy muscle and yanked the leg away from the boar.

"We can go now, we've got what we came for, let's get out of here," said Bradley, wrapping the leg in a plastic bag he pulled from his bike pannier.

James stood over the boar and looked at the bloody and butchered corpse.

"You nasty, nasty bastard," he said, beneath his breath.

"Come on, forget about it. Get on your bike," said Bradley, who was already astride his bicycle. He clipped the light back on the handlebar and glanced at James, who was mourning the boar.

"Move it, let's go," he snapped again.

Bradley did not wait for his brother. He pushed off on his bike and was about to head home when he saw a man in front of him. His heart jumped to his mouth, and he let out a wail.

"Whoa!"

A tall gaunt man stood over him. He wore a coat which reached to his knees. It was old and ripped. Even in the dark of the forest, the light on Bradley's bike picked out the stains on his trousers which were tucked into dirty wellington boots. The man stank of body odour. In his hand was a walking stick, made from a rugged branch. James backed away from the man.

"You killed Blodwyn," said the man. His voice was weak and broken.

"Blodwyn?" said Bradley, trembling. His earlier bravado had all but evaporated.

"Blodwyn, my little girl," reiterated the man.

"It's not yours; it's a wild boar."

"She was my boar."

Bradley dropped his bike to the ground and stepped back from the man. James watched with terror as he stood next to the dead animal.

"Who are you?" asked Bradley, his voice muted with fear.

"It doesn't matter who I am; what matters is that you have taken a life. You have taken the life of my best friend."

"But it was just a boar from the forest. There are thousands out there."

"Her mother abandoned her. I rescued her. She was a runt, and I nursed her. Because of me, she survived. She lived in the forest with me. She was my best friend. My only friend."

"You live in the forest? Here, on this road?"

"She was my best friend, and you killed her."

"You're a fuckin' nutter," said Bradley, taking another step back.

The light on the handlebars of his bike aimed upwards and lit the man's face from below. It accentuated his gaunt and hollow face. He looked like a dead man.

The man took a pace forward, and Bradley took another step back. He tripped over his bike and fell over. Bradley lay on his back and looked up at the creepy old man as he loomed over him in the darkness.

"You killed my friend," said the man, raising the heavy stick above his head.

Bradley shuffled away with his arm over his face.

"Leave me alone, you fuckin' nutcase."

The man menacingly stepped closer as the petrified boy backed away, scraping against the grit of the road. The man stood directly over the quivering teenager with the stick firmly gripped in both hands. It was dark, but the man knew where Bradley was. Rage thundered through him, and his mindset was intent on revenge. He was about to bring the stick down hard on Bradley's head but was distracted by a light which dazzled him. He lowered the stick and instinctively covered his face with the back of his hand. The glare hurt his eyes.

"Put down the stick," said James, in a voice which was muffled and distorted. it was difficult to make out what he said.

The man ignored James and raised the stick again.

"Put it down," repeated James. As before, his words were indistinguishable, as if he had something in his mouth.

"Fuck off," shouted the man, wielding the stick over Bradley.

The old man was about to bring the stick down hard on the boy when something smashed into his jaw. His bone cracked, and he fell to the ground. Six feet away, James stood with the light from his bike jammed in his mouth. The beam shone on the man who lay on the ground. He held his painful jaw. Bradley's catapult dangled from James' hand. He had picked it up, loaded the ball bearing which ended Blodwyn's life and launched it at the man's face. It had been a direct hit.

Bradley immediately jumped up, grappled with his bike and cycled away like fury. His brother wasted no time and raced behind him trying to catch up. It was fight or flight, and the decision to fly took no time to make. James followed the red light on the rear of his brother's bike. It was his only point of reference in the dark. The brothers had never cycled so fast in their lives. The fear factor exceeded even Bradley's limits, and all he wanted to do was get to the main road and head to Cinderford.

In less than five minutes they reached the main road and freewheeled down the hill to the crossroads at Cannop Ponds. The brightness of the streetlights seemed foreign to them. They stopped at the junction and looked back. There was no one; the strange man was not there. James was worried that somehow, he could have followed them, despite the brothers leaving him for dead by the railway bridge.

"Did I kill him?" said James, gasping for breath.

"I don't think so, but you made good work of wrecking his face."

"Should we call the police?"

"Don't be so stupid. Let's get home and keep this to ourselves."

* * *

Memory Lane

The present time

Bradley's eyes flitted between the figure and the boar who had one hind leg. He shuddered when he remembered how he killed Blodwyn, hacked off her leg and how James had floored the man with a ball bearing.

"But we didn't kill you," said Bradley, staring into the eyes of the figure, Bradley's voice had a begging tone about it.

"Not directly," replied the figure in a hollow flat tone. Bradley recognised the voice as being the same as the man from four months ago. It was the same person, but he looked so different. Bradley knew not to question that the man was a ghost.

"When we left you, you were alive."

"I know. I survived for months, and every day was spent plotting my revenge. Every day I planned to get my hands around your little neck and squeeze the life out of you. Vengeance consumed me. You killed my companion. She was my only friend. In the end, I gave up. I stopped looking for food, and I stopped eating. There was no reason to live. I had a broken jaw, and the pain was intense. Finally, infection set in, and starvation and illness ended me. Do you know the last thing on my mind before I died?"

Bradley shook his head.

"You two," he said, signalling to Bradley and James with the stick. "And I knew that at some time I would get revenge, but I had no idea it would be as soon as this."

"But we didn't mean to," said Bradley.

"Shush," said the ghost gently. "This won't take long."

"But please," pleaded Bradley.

"I didn't kill your pig," said James.

"She was not a pig," hissed the ghost.

Blodwyn circled the ghost's feet and stared up at James with her eerie black and white eyes.

Suddenly, the ghost of the animal launched herself at Bradley and brought him to the ground with a thud. He tried to push her away but could not grip the spirit of the boar. But the boar could grip Bradley. She bit into his neck and ripped his flesh.

Reynard, who had been stunned into silence, came to his senses and ran at the animal, but like Bradley, he could not grasp her. The boar rolled from side to side in a frenzy, tearing through the boy's neck. Blood seeped from Bradley's nose and he fought for his life. Reynard yelled at the creature to scare it away, but it was to no avail.

Yvette and Mae screamed from within the vehicle and covered their eyes. Paul remained silent in the front seat. He was impervious to what was happening outside.

Reynard watched the snow turn scarlet around Bradley's writhing body as the boy fought his losing battle with death. The ghost of the boar rubbed her snout in the blood oozing from the boy's neck. Reynard had seen enough incomprehensible things in such a short space of time for him to accept what was happening around him. He knew the apparition with the stick was a ghost, and from what he heard, the reason it was dead was because of the brothers. And like the others who had died tonight, revenge was being sought. Reynard could not bear the thought of another death on his watch. He knelt alongside Bradley and watched the light of life go out in his eyes. He lay motionless with wide open eyes staring vacantly up to the sky. Steam rose from the blood seeping from the deep gash in his neck. Reynard turned to the vehicle, pulled open the side door and tugged the blanket away from Mae. The girls had stopped screaming and were gawping at Bradley's corpse. Reynard covered Bradley with the blanket and then turned to the ghost. He looked down at the spirit's feet and saw the ghost of the boar nestling against the spirit's boots. The ghost of the man knelt and stroked the boar. James cowered by the VW. He edged along the vehicle to the driver's door, which Reynard had left ajar. He looked at his father and pleaded to him in a weak voice.

"Dad, help me."

Paul looked at James and shook his head.

"This is your mess, and now you're paying for it."

"But dad, please..."

"There is a reason why Mr Reynard has brought us here tonight. It's no coincidence. We're here to pay for what we've done. It's time to atone for our sins."

"Dad..."

"Shut up you little shit and face what's coming to you."

Reynard listened to the conversation between James and his father. He could not accept that James was next to die. Reynard faced the ghost. He found strength from within to challenge his fears, and then confronted the spirit.

"Does it have to be this way? You've taken one life; can you not find it in you to spare the other boy?"

The ghost was motionless and looked through Reynard as if he was not there. James pleaded again with his father, who ignored him. James backed away from the car and cringed behind Reynard, who stood between him and the ghost. He knew his time was ending. His voice trembled as he tried to bargain with the spirit from over Reynard's shoulder.

"Please, sir, I'm just a boy. I'm sorry for what I did..., please let me live."

The ghost said nothing.

"He's right; he's just a kid. He's got his life ahead of him. You've killed his brother, isn't that enough?" begged Reynard.

Reynard felt he was talking into emptiness. The ghost did not acknowledge he was there, and again, he looked through him. Reynard stood nose to nose with the spirit and looked at his craggy and gnarled face. The face truly reflected a soulless entity. Reynard waved his hand in front of the ghost's eyes, and as he anticipated, there was no reaction. The ghost stepped forward and passed through Reynard. Reynard felt a chill far colder than the winter night sting his bones. Reynard spun around and saw the ghost walking away from him and towards James. He would never forget the look of terror in James' eyes as the boy backed away from the spirit. The spirit lifted the stick and poked James twice in the face. James whimpered. Despite passing through Reynard as if he was not there, the ghost was able to connect with James physically. He poked James in the chest with the stick, and the boy tripped over his feet as he tried to back away. He bounced back up and shuddered as the ghost advanced towards him.

There was nothing Reynard could do but watch. James backed away from the ghost, who slowly prowled him like a predatory beast.

"Please don't," whined James, but the ghost took no notice of his plea.

The ghost followed James as he tried to retreat. The boy and the spirit looked like they performed an ethereal ballet. The yellow glow from the ghost reflected in James' terrified eyes. He continued to back away from the ghost, and Reynard saw a macabre grin span the spirit's face.

"I have you right where I want you," said the ghost.

The ghost looked at James curiously, with his head tilted to one side. Then the ghost lunged at James, and he tripped over his brother's body. He could smell death emanating from Bradley's corpse. He stared up at the ghost with begging eyes and was about to plead again but knew it would do no good. The ghost raised the stick above its head and held the pose for a few seconds as if it was savouring the moment.

Suddenly, it brought the stick down on James but stopped just before smashing it into his face. James screamed. The ghost was toying with him. It was having fun. Reynard covered his eyes; he could not dare to watch.

The ghost continued to taunt James with the end of the stick, and Reynard could hear the boy's teeth chattering with fear. The ghost became bored of playing, and in one fell swoop, brought the stick down so hard on James that his head split wide open. Reynard heard the crack of James' skull splitting and opened his eyes. He gasped and put his hand over his mouth.

Blood flooded from the boy's shattered head, and Reynard had never seen so much of it flowing before in his life. He yelled so loud he thought his throat would rip apart. He dropped to his knees and wept.

Slowly, he lifted his head and through tear-soaked eyes, he saw that the yellow glow had gone. The ghost of the man and the boar were no longer there. The courtesy light from the vehicle cast enough glow for Reynard to see James' corpse lying across Bradley's.

His mind was in turmoil. Four children under his charge were dead, and there were two more in the car. He wondered what Yvette's and Mae's stories were. What had they done to have ended up here tonight? He recalled the words that Paul Webb had said to James minutes before the boy had died.

'There is a reason why Mr Reynard's brought us here tonight. It's no coincidence. We're here to pay for what we've done. It's time to atone for our sins.'

Reynard thought about the life he had led and wondered whether he too was stranded on Memory Lane for a reason. He tried to assure himself that what he was guilty of was nowhere near as bad as the four boys had done — the four boys whose lives had ended far too soon.

## 15

'He doesn't know whether it's Christmas or Tuesday'

David Morgan's legs ached like he had the flu. He had trudged through the snow for what seemed like hours. But the journey had only taken thirty-five minutes each way. He was returning to the gates of St Anne's School after plodding back from the police station where he made enquiries about his daughter Yvette. The lone officer in charge at the station had no direct information about her, but he did say a blue VW had been in a queue of traffic which built up because of the snow. The VW was driven by a teacher of St Anne's and in the back were school kids. The police officer said that Yvette, who was coming home with the Webb twins, must be in the queue along with the teacher's vehicle.

The school was less than five hundred yards away, but it seemed like miles. Abandoned cars were strewn in the road. Since David had headed to the police station, drivers had risked taking their cars out, perhaps to drive to Five Ways School in search of their children, but the snow was no match for them, and the deep drifts forced drivers to leave their vehicles ditched at precarious angles against the kerb. Flashing amber hazard lights which illuminated the snow made the evening seem surreal.

The school came into view, and David saw that there was a sizable crowd stamping their feet to keep warm outside the gates. He was relieved the trek from the police station was over, but David was out of his mind with worry about Yvette. Derry Eves, Scott's father, was still waiting at the gates, and David counted how many other parents were with him as he made the final tramp to the gates. He kicked snow off the boots loaned to him by his wife's friend and turned to Derry who had an expectant look upon his cold face. Before David spoke, he noticed everyone drank coffee from mugs. Derry watched David's eyes hone in on his half-finished cup and Derry called to a man in a green snorkel jacket standing alongside the wall.

"This man needs a hot drink," he shouted. "He's returned from the police station."

Giles Rudd, the headteacher, quickly poured steaming coffee from a flask and brought it to David. David took the mug without thanking him and put it to his lips. The warmth of the drink felt wonderful against his numb face. He took a couple of sips, tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

"Thank you," said David. He swashed the coffee around his mouth before swallowing. He recognised Rudd from the 'Friends of St Anne's School' group, which David occasionally attended with his wife.

Rudd and Derry stared at David impatiently. They were desperate to hear what David had to say.

"It's chaos at that police station. One officer is dealing with everything. He knows nothing about my daughter or the other kids, but he said there is a hell of a queue on the road to Ruardean and it's trailing back to the crossroads at Cannop Ponds."

"But what has the road to Ruardean have to do with our kids? Ruardean's in the wrong direction."

"Because Speech House Road is blocked by an overturned vehicle at Cannop Ponds. Everyone's heading the long way around through Ruardean."

"Is that where my Scott is?" asked Derry.

"Possibly, the police officer received a message to say that there's a blue VW people carrier in the queue, and it has some of the kids from St Anne's in it. A teacher is driving it."

"Thank God for that," said Rudd, letting out a long sigh. "He's talking about Lewis Reynard, the sports coach. Lewis drove half of the football team to Five Ways."

A smile lit Derry's face the moment he knew his son was safe. He threw his arms around David and hugged him. David understood how relieved Derry felt, but David was still concerned about Yvette. What the police officer reported did not necessarily mean that Yvette was safe.

"Did the officer know about the other children?" asked Rudd.

"No, but he's assumed they're also stuck in the queue on the Ruardean road. I hope he's right. My daughter went to Five Ways to watch the match this afternoon. She's with Mae Jones. They're both in a car with James and Bradley Webb. The boy's father is driving them."

David saw a look in Rudd's eye when he mentioned the Webb twins. He did not like what he saw.

"Is something wrong?" asked David.

"No, not at all," replied Rudd, in a borderline convincing tone. He clapped his hands and asked everyone to gather round, in the same way he commanded the attention of a crowd of school children. Teachers and parents grouped alongside David and Rudd. Before making his announcement, Rudd turned to David and asked who he was.

"This is David, Yvette Morgan's father. David has gallantly made the journey on foot to the police station to see if there is any news about the children. As you are probably aware, the phone lines are down, so what David did this evening was rather noble, and I for one would like to show my gratitude for what he has selflessly done."

The small crowd nodded at David and muttered 'thank you' to show their appreciation.

"David can confirm that the children are all safe."

A sigh of relief rose up.

"Lewis Reynard is currently in a queue of traffic. He has some of the school football team with him. There have been several accidents in tonight's atrocious weather, and there is a diversion through Ruardean. Are there any parents here who have children travelling with Mr Reynard?"

There was a show of hands. Smiling and relieved faces beamed from the crowd.

"We know that David's daughter is safe, along with her friend and a couple of other boys from the team, because the police officer told David that they're also stuck in traffic."

David threw Rudd an annoyed glance. What Rudd told the parents and teachers was not what the police officer had said. But he was cold, tired and not in the mood to correct the headmaster, despite the importance of the information.

"What do you suggest we do?" asked a parent in the crowd.

"You can stay and wait, or you can return home. I'll make sure that when your children arrive with Mr Reynard, they are returned safely to you. I for one will stay until each of the children are safe."

"I'm staying too," said the voice from the crowd.

"Me too," piped up another.

"In that case, we'll need more coffee," said Rudd.

David turned to Derry.

"He's twisted it around," said David, referring to what Rudd said. "I don't know for sure that the Webb twins are in the queue, it's just conjecture by the policeman. I tell you, it's chaos in that police station. The poor guy is on his own. He's so busy he doesn't know whether it's Christmas or Tuesday."

Derry's face reflected an insincere look of concern. Providing his son Scott was safe, which Derry now knew for sure he was, then he did not care much about what the other parents were going through. Other than David, all the other parents waiting at the school had consented that Reynard would take their children to Five Ways and bring them back. The only parents not at the school were Mae Jones'. David wondered why her mother and father had not turned up at the school and were not pacing up and down with worry like the others. Then he remembered. Yvette had invited Mae around after football. David's wife had agreed with Mae's mother that Mae could stay for something to eat and would be with Yvette until around nine o'clock. He knew he ought to walk over to the Jones' house and let them know what was happening. But his body ached, he was too cold and miserable to be bothered to trek the arduous journey through the snow to let them know what was happening with their daughter.

He was envious of Derry and the other parents. He so wished his daughter was in the safe hands of Lewis Reynard.

## 16

'If anything's happened to those kids, it'll be on your conscience forever'

Finally, the recovery vehicle arrived at the scene of the accident.

"You took your bloody time," said PC Gregg, tapping the face of his watch.

"It's okay for you to say that," snapped Julian, his brother, after struggling to drive through the snow and contend with the standstill traffic.

"You were radioed over an hour and a half ago. You should have been here long before things got as bad as they are."

"I couldn't start the truck. It's so cold the bloody diesel froze. Do you want to know what I had to do to get the thing started?"

"Nope!"

"Well hard luck, 'cause I'm gonna tell you anyway," said Julian, removing one of his gloves so he could count on his fingers. "First, I had to remove the fuel filters, then second, I had to re-liquify the diesel, and I can assure you that it takes forever to do that. Then thirdly, I had to put the filters back, and fourth, I had to wait ages idling the engine while it warmed up."

"You've always got something to complain about. Well now you're here, get your ass in gear and start clearing the two vehicles. I need to get this traffic moving."

Julian huffed and got back in the cab of his Mercedes flatbed recovery truck, and carefully edged forward beyond his brother's police car. He had a compelling urge to ram into the back of it and push it off the road onto the verge. Julian resisted, and instead concentrated on the job in hand. Sometimes he hated his brother. He could be such an asshole.

A cheer rose up from the drivers on the Ruardean side of the accident. Julian Gregg stepped down from the cab and wondered where to start. Although it was no longer snowing, the conditions remained just as treacherous as when it was. His truck had room on the back for one car, and he could tow another. It was just as well the accident only involved the two vehicles, as all the other recovery trucks in the area were called out to deal with other incidents.

Julian could have quite easily refused to respond to the call out. After all, he was not on duty, but he needed the extra money, and as he would be charging by the hour, tonight could end up being a nice little earner.

"How long will it take you to clear those?" asked his brother, referring to the entangled cars.

"Not sure, but I'd say at least an hour."

"An hour!? That will never do. Vehicles have been waiting here for over an hour already. People are freezing, and kids are crying."

Julian shrugged in an 'it's not my problem' way.

"But why an hour?" demanded his brother.

"Those two cars are tangled at the front. It'll take me a while to unpick that mess for starters. It's gonna take longer to back up my recovery vehicle in the snow. My wheels have been slippin' and slidin' all over the place. It's gonna take longer than usual to drag that Skoda out of the snow onto the bed of my Mercedes, and it's gonna take a while to attach that 'heap of shit' Vauxhall Astra to my tow bar."

"But an hour? Seriously?"

"I'm not rushing for anyone — especially you. What are you gonna do? Arrest me?"

Thomas Gregg backed down; he could have offered to help but did not want to make life easier for his brother. They had been at loggerheads for most of their lives and were intent on winding each other up. They were as bad as one another and did themselves no favours at all.

Julian began the task of separating the entwined cars.

"Need any help?" said a man with a Spanish accent. Julian looked up and saw Thiago, his brother's next-door neighbour.

"Well isn't this turning into quite a party," said Julian with a smile. They both had a history for winding up Thomas Gregg.

Thomas sighed and got back into his police car.

"Well as my useless brother's not bothering to help, then I'd be grateful for your assistance."

"No problem, what do you want me to do?"

Julian turned on the blinding halogen lamp on his Mercedes and shone it at the two entangled cars. He grabbed a crowbar and started to separate the Skoda from the Vauxhall. Thiago helped by yanking at the bent-up bumper of the Skoda. Julian wedged a crowbar between the two vehicles and manhandled the twisted metal work.

"At least I'm not expected to go down that road tonight," said Julian as he picked a smashed headlight from the snow."

"Say again," said Thiago.

"I said I'm glad I'm not rescuing anyone from that God-forsaken haunted road back there, especially on a night like this."

"Memory Lane? It's funny you should say that."

"Why?" said Julian, dropping the crowbar in the snow.

"A vehicle headed down there, about half an hour ago."

"Didn't my brother try to stop it?"

"Kind of, but he didn't try hard enough."

"For fuck's sake, why did my idiot brother let that happen?"

"There're school kids in the car too."

"Jesus. I need to speak to him."

Julian stormed over to his brother's police car with purposeful strides and hammered on the window. Thomas Gregg did not respond. He sat alongside his fellow officer and made small talk, which Julian could not hear. He banged on the window again. Still, his brother ignored him. Julian had no time for his brother's attitude. He pulled the door open, grabbed Thomas by the lapels and dragged him from the car. Julian was a big man, and Thomas was no match for his brother's strength. Julian dumped him on the ground.

"You've assaulted a police officer," shouted Thomas,

"Shut up and get up."

"I can prosecute you for this," said Thomas, cowering in the snow.

Julian pulled his brother up by his shoulders and slammed him against the side of the police car.

"You're witnessing this, aren't you," shouted Thomas to his fellow officer through the driver's door.

Julian was not intimidated by his brother's threats. He pushed him hard against the back door of the police car and pressed his face up to his brother's.

"You've allowed a car full of kids to drive down Memory Lane?"

"I t-t-t-tried to stop them," stuttered Thomas

"How long ago?"

"D-d-d-dunno, forty-five minutes, p-p-p-p-perhaps an-n-n hour," Thomas' face twitched as he spoke.

"Have you seen them since?"

"No. Listen to me. The d-d-d-driver, an Australian g-g-guy, he's a teacher at St Anne's. I t-t-t-t-t-tried to warn him. I t-t-t-tried to stop him, but he wouldn't l-l-l-listen. He's not from around here, and he doesn't understand. He has no idea about that f-f-f-fuckin' road."

"You didn't think to drive after him? After all, there're schoolkids involved. You stupid, stuttering fool."

Thomas' face dropped. His body language answered Julian's question.

"We have to do something. Christ only knows what's goin' on down there."

"W-W-W-W-WE HAVE TO DO S-S-SOMETHING?" questioned Thomas, in a raised voice with a look of anger. "you said w-w-w-we? I'm not setting one foot down that b-b-b-bloody road, and I don't care what you or anyone else says, I'm not r-r-r-risking it."

"I know you're scared, and I know you've seen things there. I know what happened to you when you were a kid, but you must overcome your fears. Fuck the teacher, he should have listened to you, but think of the kids, they need our help."

Julian let go, and Thomas slunk against the side of the police car.

"S-s-s-sorry, I can't do it. I can't go there. You've no idea what happened to me. You d-d-d-didn't see the things I saw. You didn't hear the things I heard. I swear to you, Julian; I can't do it. It's hard enough for me just being this close to M-M-M-Memory Lane, let alone setting f-f-foot there."

"If anything's happened to those kids, it'll be on your conscience forever."

Thomas shivered, and not because of the cold. He dropped to his knees and began to weep.

"I'm scared, I'm so, so s-s-s-scared."

"Come on, sort yourself out..., take a breath. We'll go together. We'll go in the Mercedes. The halogen lamps on that thing are as bright as the sun. If there's anything out there, we'll see it before it sees us."

"You just don't get it, do you? Unless you'd seen the things that I did, you'd never un-un-understand."

Thomas sat in the snow with his back against the rear door. He sucked the end of his fingers and slowly rocked.

Julian stormed over to the passenger door and looked through the window at the other officer. The expression on his face told him he was as frightened as Thomas.

"Perfect, just perfect," muttered Julian, angrily beneath his breath.

He stomped back to his brother, who was up and rummaging through the boot of the car.

"What're you doing?" demanded Julian.

Thomas spun around and in his hands was a shotgun. Julian stopped in his tracks.

"Okay, okay Thomas, think about what you're doing and put that thing down."

Thiago had been watching the commotion, and his heart raced when he saw his neighbour brandishing a shotgun and pointing it at Julian's face. He ducked down behind Julian's recovery vehicle and watched with trepidation.

Thomas aimed the shotgun between Julian's eyes. The bright light of the recovery vehicle back-lit Thomas and all Julian could see was his silhouette. Condensation huffed from Thomas' mouth erratically, which reflected his fitful breathing. Julian heard him panting.

"Please, put the gun down, let's talk about this," said Julian, with the palms of his hands facing outwards, gesturing to Thomas to lower the shotgun. But Thomas stood his ground and continued to aim the gun at his brother's forehead. The barrel of the weapon shook in his trembling hands.

"You've spent your life ridiculing me; you and the others. You've made my life hell. I didn't ask for what happened to me to happen, but it did. It fucked my life up; you'll never understand how badly." Thomas' stuttering and twitching stopped. His voice was in control.

Julian listened. His brother was right. What Thomas experienced as a kid on Memory Lane had messed him up good and proper, and no one other than Thomas would know of the night terrors and horrors that lurked within his dreams. Terrors that stayed with him during every waking hour.

"Please Thomas, lower the gun. I'm sorry I've mistreated you over the years. I promise I'll change; I promise I'll be a better brother to you."

"It's too late for that now. You had years to be a better person. You've had your whole life to treat me better. It's only now you've got a gun in your face that you're saying sorry. Why did it have to come to this?"

Thiago listened from where he was crouching out of harm's way. He had to do something. He could not let Thomas kill Julian. Slowly, he got up and crept to the police car. Thomas had his back to him and was unaware that Thiago was sidling up from behind. Thiago stepped as light-footed as possible, but as gently as he placed one foot in front of the other, it was hard not to crunch the snow.

Thomas stared intently into his brother's eyes. The shotgun was aimed directly at Julian's forehead. Then Julian saw Thiago's silhouetted figure from the corner of his eye. Like Thomas, Thiago was backlit by the lamp on Julian's recovery vehicle. Thomas saw his brother's eyes briefly flicker as Julian caught sight of Thiago approaching. Thomas knew someone was behind him and spun around and aimed the shotgun at Thiago. Thiago stopped in his tracks and raised his hands over his head.

"Stay where you are," demanded Thomas.

The other police officer, who until now, had stayed out of the argument, jumped out of the car.

"Gregg put it down. Now!"

Even with a shotgun in his hands, Thomas was outnumbered. The gun had only one cartridge. He could only kill one person, and then he would be outnumbered two to one. He flitted between Thiago, his brother and the other officer. Each time he aimed the shotgun, those in Thomas' sight flinched.

Thomas dropped to the ground with his back against the police car. He looked up at his brother with red tear-sodden eyes and spoke in a weak and defeated voice.

"Why couldn't you have been a better brother? Why did you treat me like shit? I hope this will lie heavily on your conscience for the rest of your life."

He turned the shotgun on himself, put the barrel in his mouth, pulled the trigger and blasted the back of his head over the rear of the police car.

### THE END OF BOOK ONE

Thank you for downloading and reading Who Killed the Bears? (Book One) – The Legacy. I hope you've enjoyed it.

What will happen to those stranded on Memory Lane? Find out by reading Who Killed the Bears? (Book Two) – Fighting the Past.

Who Killed the Bears? (Book Two) – Fighting the Past can be sourced by searching the Internet

