“You’re making that up!” I snapped angrily.
It was late August now, and yes, she was right about the date of my birthday. How could she know that? She really had been spying and digging for information.
“Why should I make things up?” she asked. “I like strange things, and the truth is often stranger than fiction. That’s what my mam once told me, anyway. Don’t you agree?”
I turned again and headed for the house, and didn’t look back this time. She was really starting to annoy me.
The boggart had cooked the bacon to perfection that morning, and my fried eggs were exactly the way I liked them—just slightly runny. I cut thick pieces of warm bread and buttered them before smearing them with yolk. I managed to eat about half the meal. My appetite was improving a little, though it was still nothing like it had been; previously I’d have polished off that breakfast and still been hungry.
“My compliments to the cook!” I announced, and in response I heard a purring from underneath the table. Kratch always liked to be thanked. For a couple of seconds it flickered into view; it was licking its ginger tail.
The movement suddenly reminded me of what the dead girl, Miriam, had told me about the creature that had killed her.
“It wore a long coat like a man’s, but it was definitely some kind of animal, because its arms were hairy and it had a long tail.”
Did it walk upright? It had clambered up onto her chest—so not necessarily. But it was unlike any creature I’d read about in my master’s once-extensive library. I suddenly realized that it might well have left some unusual tracks. It was certainly worth taking a look.
So after breakfast I collected my bag and staff and set off over the fells toward Caster. I could have visited Broughton or Penwortham, where I’d managed to send the other two murdered girls to the light, but it seemed best to go where the trail would be freshest. My destination lay northeast of Caster. I was going back to Kirkby Lonsdale, where the spirit of the dead girl had actually seen and remembered her killer. Now I was going to have another look at the surrounding area.
I would hunt for the beast that wore clothes.
4
Where the Beastie Lives
IT was pleasant walking high across the fells, looking down upon the County. To the west, in the far distance, the sea sparkled in the sunlight. The air was still chilly for the time of year, but the sun had some warmth, and it felt good to be alive.
I found a sheltered hollow about five miles south of Kirkby Lonsdale, trapped a couple of rabbits, and cooked them slowly. The walk had improved my appetite; it was the first food I’d had since breakfast, and I savored every mouthful before settling down for the night. I fell asleep quickly despite the temperature, which dropped quickly once the sun had set.
I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night and sat up, my heart racing. I had a strong feeling that I was being watched, that something was out there in the darkness, gazing at me.
I held my breath and listened carefully. I could hear nothing but the wind sighing through the grass. There was no coldness warning me that something from the dark was out there. It was probably nothing, I told myself—maybe just a fox hoping to scavenge something from the leftovers of my supper.
However, it left me feeling uneasy, and it was a long time before I got to sleep again.
In the morning, clouds had raced in from the west, threatening rain. I nibbled a piece of cheese for my breakfast. My master had taught me to eat sparingly when about to deal with the dark. You needed to maintain your physical strength, but the odd nibble of cheese sufficed for that. Not that my stomach agreed! It was rumbling with hunger, but I couldn’t afford to listen to it. I might soon come face-to-face with the murderous creature.
Three girls had died. The first had been bad enough, but with each successive death my anger and sense of failure had increased. As a spook, I was supposed to protect the County. I was failing badly and was desperate to do something about it.
I headed northeast as fast as I could. I didn’t go into the village of Kirby Lonsdale itself but circled it slowly, looking for tracks. My master had taught me to be patient when tracking and to pay attention to the slightest thing. I spent most of the day searching the main approaches to the village from the northwest and southwest. I was thorough and circled it twice.
Then, late in the afternoon, my perseverance was rewarded. I found tracks beside a path. Something had left the path to approach a nearby stream, and the small prints could be clearly seen in the mud. At first I dismissed them as being of no significance. The size told me that they belonged to a child no older that seven or eight, but there were no adult-sized prints nearby. Then I noticed that the prints were unusual—too long and thin for a human foot. And I saw something else that told me I had found the tracks I’d been looking for.
In places, the small prints had been partly obliterated. It was almost as if some kind of snake had slithered over them. It might well be a tail.
Soon afterward I found fresh tracks. This new set of prints was heading roughly in the direction of Caster. At first I was elated and began to walk faster. But within an hour, my optimism began to fade.
The tracks had disappeared. I’d lost the trail completely.
I have certain gifts, courtesy of being a seventh son of a seventh son. However, I have inherited abilities from my mam, too. She was a good wife and mother, and loved my dad and all her sons, but she was also a lamia—the first that ever existed—and she passed some of her powers on to me.
One was the ability to track someone without physical evidence of their movements. I just knew where the people I sought were to be found. That gift had helped me in the past, but it could not be relied on, and now, no matter how hard I tried, I could sense no trace of the creature I was pursuing.
Disappointed, I turned and headed for home.
I arrived back at Chipenden about an hour before sunset. I was hungry and exhausted. To my annoyance, I found the girl there again; this time she was waiting on the edge of the garden.
“You look texhausted!” she exclaimed. “Have you had a difficult day?”
I walked straight past her, not bothering to reply. I’d almost reached the edge of the trees when she shouted something at my back.
“I know what’s been killing those girls! I know where the beastie lives!”
“How do you know about the dead girls? You’re lying!” I shouted angrily, turning back to confront her.