Black Hare Valley: Chapter Thirteen “The Break-In”

July 24, 2025July 21, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

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Willow hovers anxiously around the cafe door, peering out, left then right, checking the time and panicking that she has somehow missed him. Her mouth is dry and her knees feel watery as she stares out at the fading light. Maybe he went by already, waved at the cafe and just assumed she saw? Maybe she was looking at her watch and missed him?

‘Can I get you anything, dear?’ the owner, Milly, asks from behind the counter.

Willow looks over her shoulder to see Milly frowning at her, her arms crossed over her apron. Willow is about to say no, when the door opens beside her and Alexa and Bryony barge in. They stop when they see her, their eyes doing that thing they always do so often now it’s becoming boring, scanning her up and then down, before looking at each other and giggling.

‘I’ll have a white coffee please,’ Willow calls to Milly.

She steps towards one of the window seats but Alexa beats her to it, stepping right in front of her to claim the chair, while Bryony slips unapologetically into the one on the other side of the circular table. Willow resists the urge to scream and backs up, her eyes on the street outside.

‘Hi Willow, where’s your boyfriend?’ Alexa asks in a sing-song voice. She’s twisted the front of her hair into little rows, each secured with a sparkly grip. Willow wants to pull one out and jab her in the eye with it.

‘What?’

‘Your loser boyfriend, Jesse Archer,’ Alexa repeats, twirling a length of hair around one finger while Bryony giggles beside her.

Milly storms over with Willow’s coffee and places it on a nearby table. ‘Sit down, will you? You’re making the place look untidy.’ She fixes her perpetual glare on the other girls. ‘And what do you two want? I’m closing in ten minutes!’

‘Strawberry milkshakes,’ Bryony responds. ‘Please.’

Milly skulks away and Willow is forced to take a seat at the table where her coffee was placed. Milly was not gentle placing it and half of it has been chucked across the tabletop.

‘You got to admit he’s the hottest one though,’ Bryony is saying to Alexa, who responds with a grimace. ‘Oh, come on, he is! He’s hotter than Steven and Dominic, anyway. He’s like a young River Phoenix!’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Willow retorts, her eyes on the window. She picks up the coffee and gulps it, burning her throat. She needs to be ready when Ralph walks by, but with Bryony and Alexa watching, she knows she can’t make it look too obvious. She doesn’t even want them to see Ralph. She swivels in the chair, allowing her cloak to drape to the floor and smiling as both girls eye her warily. ‘And why the hell are you two hanging around with Steven and Dominic anyway? They’re so braindead they make you two look half alive.’

The girls’ mouths fall open and Willow smirks at their reaction to the insult. Her eyes flick to the window. Come on, Ralph!

‘They’ve got a lot going on for them actually, Witchy Willow,’ Alexa spits, leaning over her table to further impress the point. ‘Steven works for his dad, so he always has money! They’re taking us to the cinema later!’

‘Picking us up from here,’ adds Bryony. They both look like they’ve modelled themselves on the girls from All Saints, with khaki coloured combat trousers and tiny cropped tops.

Willow glances at her watch and starts to panic. If she’s not out of here before Steven and Dominic arrive, this could get out of hand. Four people who have always hated her and two of them used to pal around with Jesse – it could get ugly.

Every time she feels a surge of bright fear, she thinks of Paddy, pictures his face and feels her resolve harden. Paddy had kept that book a secret for a reason – if they can get their hands on it then maybe it will lead them to him.

She gasps suddenly as Ralph comes into her line of vision. He has a book under one arm and she can tell that he’s trying very hard to walk as casually as possible, but there is something stiff and robotic about his movements as if he is having to think extra hard about each step and breath. She knows how he feels. He walks past and lifts his hand in a wave.

She waits a few more agonising minutes, forcing the coffee down her throat before leaving some coins on the table. Then she gets up and walks out before Alexa and Bryony can say another word.

Jaime, keeping her eye on the time, tries to picture in her head where Ralph could be by now. He should have waved to Willow and moved on. He could be on Taylor Drive by now if he’s walking fast. On the stage, the band are playing – some gentle melodic guitar music and lyrics about coming home. The pub is full. People are packed in to enjoy their Saturday night.

Jaime watches them and finds it hard to believe she has only been in Black Hare Valley a week. In that time she believes she has made some awesome friends, but only because she’s inadvertently discovered that the town has some dark secrets.

She watches Sergeant Mayfield now – out of uniform in a cable knit jumper and dark trousers, he looks a bit like a cheerful sea captain with his white hair and beard. He’s leaning on the bar between Mr Bishop and Mayor Sumner. Eugenie Spires and Sylvia Gordon are huddled together at a nearby table deep in conversation, and Mr Hewlett is standing with Vicar Roberts a little closer to the stage, Mr Hewlett with his arm loosely around Tahlia’s waist. Jaime can’t help thinking they make an odd couple. Thalia is round and loud with brassy blonde hair and a nose-ring. In her company, Mr Hewlett looks anxious.

Just then she is disturbed from her thoughts by her mother’s large belly. ‘Shift over, love,’ she says, smiling down.

Jaime budges along the bench and her mother squeezes in and holds an open bag of crisps between them. ‘I’m starving, I am. They’re pretty good, aren’t they?’ She gestures to the band.

‘Yeah. They’re awesome.’

‘Kind of thing you like?’

Jaime smiles and looks away. She imagines this is her mother’s way of checking in with her, making sure she hasn’t strayed too far into uncommunicative teenager territory.

‘Yeah, they’re really good, Mum.’

‘Did Ralph go home?’

‘I think so. He only dropped in to get a book.’

‘Oh, did he tell you his mum’s good news?’

Jaime looks at her mum. ‘What good news?’

‘Margaret has helped his mother rent a cottage in town,’ Catherine explains. ‘They don’t come up very often and his mum has been saving and working hard for years to move out of the caravan park. Well, one of Margaret’s came up and she’s waived the deposit so they can move in now and not miss out.’

‘Wow.’ Jaime isn’t quite sure what to think or say. Again, her gaze drifts towards the mayor, who is laughing gaily with her head thrown back at something Mayfield has said. They certainly seem close, she thinks. But maybe Margaret Sumner has no idea what sort of man Mayfield really is. Maybe the mayor truly is the wonderful woman everyone says.

‘I know,’ Catherine nods. ‘So generous. She really does have everyone’s best interests at heart.’

‘Wasn’t her mother a mayor too?’

Her mother nods. ‘Yes, she was. It seems to sort of run in the family. They do own a lot of land, I suppose. They’ve been here for a long time.’

‘Have you met whoever owns the farm on the other side of the valley, Mum? Mr Rowan, isn’t it?’

‘No, not yet, love.’ She reaches for more crisps. ‘He used to be on the committee until quite recently. I think his leaving is why they asked me to join.’

‘Oh, do you know why he left?’

‘I’m not sure, to be honest. Someone did mention something about ill health, so perhaps it was that.’

Jaime opens her mouth to ask if Iris Cotton was ever on the committee but something stops her. She’s not sure what. Too many questions, too much interest now, could come back to haunt her later. She keeps her eyes on Mayfield and sees Billy Archer doing the same.

Ralph walks briskly through the trees; a strange mixture of wet, claggy mulch and crisp dry leaves crackle underfoot. He is as quiet as possible but it doesn’t feel enough. He moves fast, anxious to get his part done so that he can breathe again. His heartbeat hammers in his chest and his skin feels tight and cold. He reaches for the lowest branch, grabs it, and hauls himself up.

Jesse keeps to the shadows. The alley behind the row of shops is narrow and dark but night has not quite fallen yet and the windows glow above him. He keeps to the dark patches, close to the damp walls while the school looms over him from beyond the fading light of the playing fields. Almost two weeks ago he was planning to blow up this school. He, Steven and Dominic had the whole thing figured out – or so he had thought. But the entire time they had been laughing at him behind his back, knowing they were never going to show up.

He can barely believe they were ever friends – it feels so fake now, like lifetimes ago. While waiting for Willow, he thinks of Paddy. For some reason, thinking of Paddy always calms him down. It shouldn’t do, not really. It should rile him up, make him flustered and angry and reckless. But it doesn’t.

He thinks of Paddy and his careful fingers as he arranged the bandana over the butterfly to pick it up. He thinks of Paddy gesturing for Jesse to look through the telescope in his treehouse. The look of excitement and wonder on his face and the husky awe in his voice when he told Jesse he was looking right at Jupiter.

He thinks about Paddy and his glasses and his deep frown and the way he scrutinised just about everything he saw and read and heard, as if everything interested and inspired him. Everything. At school. At home. In town. It had fascinated Jesse; that thirst for knowledge.

He had never cared about school himself; never wanted to know more about anything or anyone. He had never understood those geeks at school trying so hard to get good grades, trying so hard to impress the teachers and parents. Jesse had never had to impress anyone and he’d never had a reason to try hard at anything. He’d never wanted to know how things worked, or what stars were made of, or how gravity worked or what a black hole was… But Paddy had known all those things, and more.

And not in a bragging, big-headed show-off way either. Paddy Finnis had wanted to know things because it excited him. Because he had this genuine thirst for knowledge. Something Jesse had begun to find interesting.

And more than that; Paddy had seen him. Not Jesse Archer the thug or bully, or Jesse Archer the victim, or Jesse Archer the bad boy people pitied. He had seen him. He had seen something else. Somehow, Paddy had been able to push away Jesse’s reputation. He had been able to wipe the slate clean and ask, who are you now? Who are you really? Who do you want to be?

And Paddy had liked him. Jesse is sure of that.

Jesse tries to see that version of himself now in the claustrophobic darkness of the alley way. If Paddy could see him now, what would he see? Bravery, determination, selflessness… Maybe.

He thinks about Paddy as he presses his back into the wall and keeps his eyes trained on the mouth of the alley where Willow should appear. He thinks about that curiosity – how he had to know everything and research everything and figure everything out and he wonders, is that what got Paddy in trouble? Something he found in that book that he kept secret even from Willow? Why hadn’t he shared it with her? Had he sensed some sort of danger or had he been warned? Of what, and by who?

One way or another Jesse needs answers. He has to do this, though the fear of being caught in Mayfield’s house makes his bladder feel weak and his stomach sick, he knows he has to do it. For Paddy.

He hears a noise and freezes, his spine pressed into the bricks. But it’s just Willow with her hood up, scurrying towards him. He breathes out slowly. It’s on.

Ralph straddles the bough, lowers the goggles over his eyes and positions the chainsaw. He is sweating despite the cool evening. His hair is greased to his forehead and he flicks it away from his eyes with one hand. His thighs cling to the bough, pressing into it, clenching together tightly as if holding it in place. His knees ache, his muscles are locked. He looks at the branch and the power line below it and hopes it will be enough.

Then he takes a breath, leans forward and gets to work. The noise is deafening but he works quickly, terrified that someone will hear him and come to investigate.

The lead singer has his eyes closed and his face is upturned, one hand clutching the microphone and the other balled in a fist against his chest. When the lights go out, the instruments fall silent and the mike whines and cuts out and he takes a moment to realise he is singing alone.

The pub is consumed by darkness, except for the flow of the fire which lights up the crowd like silhouettes. There are oohs and ahhs and a few, ‘what the hell’s?’

Jaime remains seated, stiff with fear.

‘You okay?’ Willow hisses as she moves swiftly down to meet Jesse. It feels like there is electricity in the air around them, some sort of energy crackling and whipping. Jesse looks haunted, she thinks, his brown eyes swimming in a pale face as he emerges stiffly from the shadows. He is wearing the Green Day t-shirt again and Willow almost smiles at the sight of it. She had never pegged Jesse for a music fan, and Green Day are one of her favourite bands.

He nods once. They walk down to the other end of the alley and the lights go out above and around them. Willow’s breath draws in sharply. Her eyes swivel to meet Jesse’s. He’s gazing around at the sudden darkness and she can hear his fast, shallow breathing, Instinctively, she reaches for his hand and holds it.

‘It’s okay.’

His eyes are wide but he nods back. ‘Come on.’

She points to Black Hare Road and they walk out from the alley as casually as possible; just two teenagers strolling around town on a Saturday night during a power cut. Nothing to see here. Yet every hair on Willow’s body is standing on end.

‘Everyone keep calm!’ Mark’s gruff voice rises above the murmuring crowd.

Jaime’s mum lights a candle and places it on the table for her.

‘We’ve got a few torches,’ Mark says, passing by their table.

People are moving about cautiously. There was a small moment of panic and now its subdued to annoyance and acceptance. The flames in the large hearth provide enough light to make out shapes of bodies and faces, whilst throwing strange shadows on the walls.

‘Might as well go home then…’ Jaime hears people muttering.

‘It’s the whole town,’ someone else confirms peering out of the window.

He did it, Jaime thinks in triumph, then her eyes shift to check on Mayfield. He seems to be downing his pint in a hurry.

The band are laughing as they start to pack up. ‘Hope we still get paid!’ the drummer jokes.

Jaime looks back at Mayfield and is horrified to see he is shrugging on his coat. Mayor Sumner is shaking her head and gestures to her full glass of wine. He nods and waves. Shit, shit, shit.

But Jaime doesn’t have to worry for long. Billy has not taken his eyes from Mayfield and chooses that moment to grab his unsuspecting brother by the front of his denim shirt before sending him sprawling backwards into a table of people. People scream and yell and leap to their feet; drinks are spilled and glasses smash. Chaos follows, and Mayfield rolls his eyes in despair.

Ralph stares around at the deep black shroud that has fallen over the town and he can’t quite believe that he created it. Ralph, who has never broken a rule in his life, let alone any laws. Ralph, who always does his best to please everyone. He feels awed by the completeness of it, proud even. There is not a light to be seen. Even the skies above are an impenetrable black.

Black Hare Valley is gone. All he can make out are vague shapes and forms. Nothing tangible. It’s like some kind of magic trick, he thinks as he bags up the chainsaw and scrambles back down to the ground.

Jesse is barely breathing as he and Willow walk quickly down Station Road. He wants to break into a run but he knows it would be foolish to draw attention to themselves. The dark surrounds them – it seems to grow and swell, becoming so thick he can barely see the ground beneath his feet.

They pass the station and then Mayfield’s house, rounding the corner quickly so that they are finally out of sight. They don’t speak and Jesse is relieved. His throat is so tight and dry he thinks a croak would be the best he could manage. He pulls a crowbar out of his jeans as they flatten themselves against the house. They both scan the area, ensuring they are alone and then Jesse turns and expertly rams the flat end of the crowbar into the front door jamb. Willow, her lips pressed together and her brow knitted into a frown, watches over her shoulder.

‘Not your first time?’ she whispers, a hint of amusement to her tone.

He shakes his head then presses his weight into prising the door away from the frame. Wood cracks and splinters and in less than a minute, it gives and springs open.

He stares into the kitchen, arms hanging at his sides.

‘I’ll keep watch,’ Willow hisses from behind. ‘I’ll whistle if I see anyone.’

He nods grimly and steps inside with the crowbar dangling from one hand. There is no point hanging around and he doesn’t want to be here a second longer than he has to. So, he finds the stairs and runs up two at a time. A peek around two doors reveals Mayfield’s bedroom and a small, neat bathroom. The third door reveals something far more interesting.

His mouth drops open in awe. He wishes he had Willow’s camera because he’s quite sure no one would ever believe this if he told them.

The crowd move back as the two Archer boys grapple on the floor. Jaime is on her feet watching the fight but keeping Mayfield in sight. He wastes no time running over and makes short work of separating the brothers. It’s Billy who is currently on top, smashing his fists into Wyatt’s face and body. Although bigger, Wyatt appears slow and confused and its clear who has the upper hand in this duo.

Mayfield seizes Billy Archer and throws him away from his brother. He flies towards the bar where people leap out of the way as he rolls to a stop against two stools. Mayfield nods in thanks as Mr Hewlett and Mr Bishop wade in to grab hold of Wyatt, grabbing one arm each. He’s bloody and confused and obviously no threat to anyone.

Mayfield focuses on Billy. He grabs the back of his shirt, hauls him to his feet and pins him to the bar. The crowd looks on, amused and impressed as Mayfield wrenches Billy’s arms behind him, and produces a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket.

Jaime only has time to wonder what sort of policeman carries cuffs with him when he’s off duty, before she realises that Willow and Jesse are almost out of time. He’s going to arrest Billy and take him to the station.

The room is small but packed tight with electrical equipment. None of it is working because of the power cut but Jesse steps forward and runs his fingers over screens and keyboards. He guesses this is the control room for Mayfield’s extensive spying operation. This is what the cameras feed to.

They’re all set up on an L-shaped desk and under the desk are several small metal filing cabinets. Jesse shines the torch on them, kneels and starts yanking the drawers open. Each one contains ring-binders full of files, papers and photos.

You creepy bastard, he thinks in shock, easing each one shut when the drawers reveal yet more binders. There is nothing else and as far as he can tell, nowhere to hide a book the size of the one Paddy had spread out on his lap.

Then he looks up. He sees a square on the ceiling – a loft hatch. Jesse puts the torch between his teeth and climbs on to the desk, taking care not to step on any keyboards. He reaches out and pushes up with one hand. The hatch opens and he is able to slide it to one side. He leans out a little further, one hand planted against the nearest wall to steady himself and the other reaching around inside the hatch. His fingers graze something – some thick cloth and when he tugs it, he realises it is wrapped around something heavy. Jesse smiles in relief. The book. It has to be.

Willow paces silently outside. She scurries back and forth, checking behind the station and creeping out onto Station Road to check for company. But the town seems still and quiet, like the darkness has made everyone fall asleep.

It feels like hours but it is only a few minutes before Jesse returns – hair damp with nervous sweat as he strides towards her, holding a bundle in his arms. Shocked, Willow receives it when he pushes it into her chest.

‘Take it to the treehouse for the photos then get it back. Quick as you can.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll wait here. Go.’

There’s no time to argue. Willow holds the heavy bundle to her chest like a sleeping baby then takes off like the wind. She crosses over Station Road, driven forward by fear. Immediately she sees the open back gate to the Finnis garden and she squeezes through allowing one last glance over her shoulder to check no one is following.

The back garden appears tunnel-like in the darkness, narrowed further by tall, overhanging trees. She reaches the treehouse and hauls herself up the rope, only feeling safe once she has scrambled to the far side. She pulls out her torch and places the bundle before her.

Crouched on her knees, Willow unfolds the cloth and runs the torchlight over the book. It must be the one Paddy was poring over in secret, the one he found in the shop, the one he kept secret even from her. Her fingers are trembling as she runs them over the leather bound cover. The leather is a deep reddish-brown and its scarred by cracks and creases. There is no title and no author, just some strange black marks, almost making a pattern around the edges.

She pulls out the camera and takes a photo, her fingers reaching up to catch it before it drops. Knowing she might not have much time, Willow opens the book and focuses the camera on the first few pages. They are thin, fragile and yellowed by age. The writing is tiny and illegible and the symbols make no sense. She feels a swell of disappointment and frustration but then she remembers Jesse waiting in the dark and starts taking photos as fast as she can.

Sergeant Mayfield leaves Wyatt Archer for the landlord to admonish and steers the cuffed Billy Archer out of The Hare and Hound. Over his shoulder he sees Catherine Aster opening a First Aid kit up on the bar as Wyatt slumps groggily in a chair. Half of the pub have left and gone home.

Mayfield lets the door bang shut behind him and propels Billy Archer forwards, marching him across High Street towards Alfred Lane. He doesn’t give much thought to Wyatt still in the pub; he’s never interested Mayfield very much – too slow and dim, incapable of independent thought. But the elder Archer has always been as much of a hooligan as the youngest one. He’s a thieving, poaching, fighting, dishonest piece of shit and again Mayfield wonders at the unfairness of it all. A good boy like Paddy Finnis versus reprobates like the Archers.

He supposes he can see Margaret’s point of view to some extent. You can control criminality; it’s not difficult at all but Mayfield would rather eliminate it and would have a lot of fun doing so.

‘On my night off, you irritating piece of scum!’ he hisses over Billy’s shoulder. ‘Thanks a lot. Your family are nothing but trouble around here. Always been the same.’

Billy Archer just chuckles. ‘Our pleasure, Sergeant. You’d be bored without us and you know it.’

Mayfield considers this could be true… Although there are obviously other unsavoury and untrustworthy characters in town, the Archers are renowned for causing trouble wherever they go. He decides to shut Billy up. He doesn’t like the smugness of his tone.

‘Useless boys,’ he purrs, pushing his face next to Billy’s. ‘Dirty drunken father, no good to anyone and what about your poor old mum, eh? That really was a tragedy watching her unravel over the years.’

Billy falls silent, his movements stiff as Mayfield directs him onto Station Road.

‘It was such a slow process,’ he goes on. ‘I remember when she was such a sweet and lovely young girl. Christ, your old man was obsessed with her back in the day. Followed her around like a lovesick puppy he did. She should have run a mile but for some reason she fell for the piece of shit and then it all started falling apart after she had you lot, didn’t it? Motherhood really wasn’t for her, that’s for sure.’

‘Shut up,’ Billy says through clenched teeth.

‘I mean, she got worse with each one, didn’t she? The depression. Not going out. And by the time Jesse arrived she could barely care for herself let alone a new baby. Everyone tried to help her though. Do you remember that, Billy? Neighbours doing your washing, townsfolk dropping off food. But everyone knew at some point she would crack.’

They cross the road and approach the station. Billy drags his feet. ‘Shut up,’ he growls again. ‘You’ve got no right to talk about her.’

Mayfield lets out a hungry growl and pushes Billy into the wall. He turns his face just in time but gasps as the brickwork scrapes into his forehead and cheek. Mayfield places his forearm against the side of his head and holds him in place.

‘I can talk about whatever I like,’ he snarls. ‘For instance, I’d quite like to talk about your youngest brother and how all I have to do is snap my fingers.’ He clicks his fingers in front of Billy’s face, making him jump. ‘And he’ll be taken into care. Into our care. Mine and the towns.’

‘You can’t do that…’ pants Billy.

‘Yes, I can. We can. The mayor is particularly keen to help him, you know. She’d quite like to get him away from your grubby criminal clutches and give him a chance. Maybe he has a chance of a new start, eh Billy? A rebirth?’

Billy doesn’t answer, which is wise as far as Mayfield is concerned. His ribs are being crushed against the wall so he screws up his eyes and waits for him to finish.

‘I don’t agree myself. Don’t see the point. It’s too late for him – he’s a cancerous stain like you, Billy. But the mayor thinks it’s worth a shot. Just one click of my fingers, Billy, just one!’

Jesse hovers outside the back door. He’s pulled it shut behind him just in case he has to suddenly take off. His senses are in overdrive; every tiny sound or possible movement is amplified by a million. He can hear his own ragged wheezy breath and his heart is pounding in his ears like a drum. His eyes feel too wide, the eyeballs aching in their sockets. His nostrils are working, his mouth hanging open, but no amount of oxygen seems capable of easing his panic. His body wants to run. His feet are arching up and down as he lingers at the door and tries to picture Willow on her way back.

The soles of his feet bounce up and down and his knees bend, urging him to run. Suddenly, he hears a noise around the other side. Does he risk a look? What if it’s not Willow yet? He figures it’ll take her at least ten minutes, if not fifteen, maybe even twenty. She needs to get to the treehouse, take as many photos of possible in the relative safety it affords her, then get back. Plus, the book was big, heavy.

He swallows, grabbing his head momentarily, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to calm the hell down. If it’s not Willow, he will need to know anyway. He’ll need to run or hide or stay put but either way he needs to know. He listens again and thinks he can hear voices.

Slowly, Jesse moves around to the side of the house, inching along with his back pressed into the bricks, stopping and starting and listening for clues. He pauses at the next corner, barely breathing, straining his ears to listen. He hears another noise. Footsteps maybe. A grunt or a gasp.

He can’t bear not knowing so he closes his eyes again briefly, counts to three in his head then opens them and peers around the corner and into the street. What he sees makes his blood run cold. It’s Mayfield with Billy in handcuffs.

Jesse ducks back and runs to the back door. He presses his hands to his mouth, swallowing screams, he’s here, he’s here, oh fucking fuck, he’s here! Then he drops his hands, forcing himself to focus. He still has time. Mayfield has obviously arrested Billy – he can’t just sling him in a cell. He’ll have to process him, won’t he? Fill in forms? That takes time. He still has time.

Calm down, he tells himself, calm down and think of Paddy. You can do this. There’s still time. And suddenly, there are footsteps again – fast, then slow, then fast again until Willow comes reeling through the darkness clutching the wrapped up book.

‘He’s in the station!’ she hisses, practically throwing it at him.

‘I know. I’ve got time. Did you get enough?’

‘Think so. Go!’

Jesse opens the door. ‘Get out of here,’ he says, flicking his head towards the darkness. ‘Go another way home and don’t let anyone see you.’

‘But what about you-’

He slips inside. ‘I’ll be fine, ten seconds tops. Go!’

She starts to move then stops. ‘Remember to meet at the ruins tomorrow? Ten?’

He nods then watches her turn and run in the opposite direction before closing the door gently behind him. As he takes the stairs, Jesse imagines Mayfield next door; unlocking the cells, uncuffing Billy, doing the paperwork and he knows he has time. It’s seconds. Three on the stairs, two getting the hatch open, one shoving the book back in, two more closing the hatch and getting down, two more on the stairs…

He’s nearly there; nothing went wrong, he didn’t trip or stumble or drop the book or break the desk or anything like that. He’s done it and he’s nearly there. He runs for the back door and can’t stop his feet from continuing to move forward even when he sees the monstrous form filling the space in front of it. He can’t even see the door, Mayfield is so big, so wide, so impossible.

Jesse’s eyes widen in horror, his mouth stretches into a silent scream and everything seems to happen in slow motion. He tries to stop but he can’t. He slides along the floor in a skid, arms flailing helplessly.

As he looks up into Mayfield’s rage-filled face he sees the monster within, and somehow he knows, somehow it all makes sense. He was the one stalking him that night, he was the one who left the footprint…

He stands there, a man, blue eyes demented with fury, mouth a red-lipped snarl standing out like a bloody kiss between his moustache and beard. He clutches his police baton in one hand and suddenly he swings it and it crashes into Jesse’s legs, stealing them from under him. He hits the floor, his spine tingling with shock and his head bouncing against the hard tiles.

And above him, the man roars.

It is not a human sound. Something else escapes alongside Mayfield’s ordinary voice. Something dark and guttural, something cold, hungry and primal. Something inhuman.

The roar causes Jesse to press his hands over his ears and screw up his eyes. It echoes inside his brain, ricocheting around inside his ear canals. It is so loud his ears are ringing with it. He can’t think, can’t move, can’t process what he heard.

Then, the atmosphere shifts and Sergeant Mayfield is standing over him, breathing fast, his head low on his shoulders. His top lip lifts in a parody of a grin. He shakes his head slowly, feigning disappointment.

‘You’ve done it now, boy.’

Jesse scrambles backwards, keeping his eyes on Mayfield but the sergeant moves fast, swinging at him again, this time the baton catching his shoulder. He grunts in pain and tries to roll away but Mayfield grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him to his feet before slamming him into the kitchen wall behind. He gasps, but barely has time to recover before Mayfield flicks his wrist again, striking his ribs with the baton. He crumples.

Mayfield keeps hold of him but lets him sink to the floor. ‘What’re you doing in my house, you filthy little shit?’ he growls into his face.

Jesse breathes through the pain. ‘Nothing! Sorry! Just mucking about, please…’

He can already feel the pain before the next blow makes contact. The baton again, a short sharp smash of the same ribs. He thinks, he’ll kill me, he’s going to kill me.

‘You’re done,’ says Mayfield, then, letting go and standing over him. ‘You are done.’

He raises the baton and Jesse curls up, tries to cover his face, then changes his mind and wraps his arms over his ribs instead. The baton comes and he sees too late that it’s coming straight for his skull.

Mayfield leans over the silent body, watching. He kicks a leg. Nothing. There is a smear of tacky blood on the end of his baton. He steps back and walks around the kitchen slowly, inspecting his belongings. Nothing appears to have been touched, moved or broken. Satisfied for a moment, he moves into the lounge and checks there. Everything is as it should be.

He thinks about his surveillance room. But of course Jesse already knows about the cameras. Perhaps he was hoping to sabotage them… maybe he caused the power cut?

Mayfield goes back into the kitchen, kneels beside him and checks he is breathing. He then pulls his wrists in front of him and cuffs them together. Just in case.

He leaves the room again and plods upstairs. He checks the bedroom and bathroom but they appear undisturbed. He is more concerned about the surveillance room and he opens the door cautiously, almost expecting another rogue teenager to come barrelling out on him. When nothing happens, he shines a torch over every inch of the room and can’t find anything amiss. What the hell was that boy doing? Maybe he didn’t even come up here. Mayfield shines the torch on the carpet looking for telltale footprints but he finds nothing.

His eyes swivel upwards. The hatch. The book.

Shit.

Maybe the Finnis boy told him…

But no… that’s not possible. It doesn’t make sense. Then another thought: maybe the other boys told him, caved in to pressure and blabbed? Mayfield reaches up, slides the door to one side and feels around for the book. When his fingers touch the soft cloth its wrapped in, he sighs in relief and closes the door on it again. It’s still there.

So, what the hell was Archer up to?

He thinks about the power cut, followed by the fight in the pub – coincidences or events set in motion to distract him? He exhales slowly through his nose, mouth pursed, then he hurries back downstairs and decides to call Hewlett.

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Fourteen “The Black Hare.”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twelve “The Plan”

July 17, 2025July 14, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

Ralph wakes up in a daze. He feels overtired, jittery and on edge. He goes through the motions of getting dressed and making breakfast but his hands won’t stop shaking the entire time, and he slops half of his cereal down his t-shirt.

He tries not to think about what’s ahead. He tries to focus on the here and now. Breakfast. Homework. Chores. Then getting the chainsaw, collecting some logs to take home to his mother, before hiding the saw out by the tree Willow showed them. He pictures the tree in his head – the footholds he will need to scale it, the low branches he can climb to. And he pictures the thick power line between two branches. He hopes if he saws through half of the biggest bough, it will crack and drop, making it look like more of a natural break if anyone investigates it. Otherwise he is going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to his mother at some point.

Ralph’s stomach twists and knots, and his breathing won’t slow down. He closes his eyes for a moment and runs his hands through his unruly curls, trying to figure out what Mulder and Scully would do.

They wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf, that’s for sure. They’d probably be excited, he thinks. Mulder would already be convinced it was some sort of mystical beast and Scully would be giving him that look and trying to prove it isn’t. They’d be gearing up, he thinks, opening his eyes, they wouldn’t hesitate. They wouldn’t freak out. Not ever.

Ralph breathes out, nodding, palms flat on the table. He’ll be like Mulder and Scully. He’ll be cool. He doesn’t even have the most dangerous bit. He won’t be breaking into Sergent Mayfield’s house.

He’s finally feeling a bit calmer when the caravan door is wrenched open making him jump and scream out loud. He turns around to see his mother’s quizzical face. ‘Ralph?’

‘Oh god, sorry Mum. I was daydreaming.’

‘Watching too many horror movies,’ she sighs. ‘Hey, do you want to earn a few quid?’

‘I guess. How?’

‘Mayor Sumner needs an extra pair of hands right now. I came back to get you. Come on!’

Ralph pushes the remnants of his soggy cereal away, his stomach suddenly queasy again. ‘Yeah, okay Mum.’

He grabs his coat, follows Charlotte outside and slips on his wellington boots. She is already cycling away so he locks up the caravan and grabs his own bike. He hangs back for a while. She’s always so fast, and he suddenly has no energy or desire to catch up with her. He can’t quite bear the idea of her looking at him too closely; fearful that his mother will be able to see right away that something is very wrong.

When they reach Hill Fort Farm, Mayor Sumner greets them on the driveway. She’s wearing a dark green wax jacket, a navy-blue silk scarf, mustard coloured jodhpurs and brown leather riding boots. A helmet swings from one hand and her faithful but overweight Labrador Horatio stands dopily at her feet, slobbering over a tennis ball.

‘Ah, Ralph! I can’t thank you enough.’

Ralph smiles and lets his mother take his bike with hers. ‘That’s okay, Mayor Sumner,’ he says, his mouth suddenly impossibly dry. ‘I’m happy to help. What can I do?’

‘It’s the pheasant pen again,’ she says, slipping a stiff arm around his shoulders and leading him towards the large house. ‘You’ve done it before when the gamekeeper was away on holiday. They just need a thorough cleaning out.’

He nods, smiling, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. ‘No problem.’

They walk around the back of the house until they have reached the immaculate rose garden Mayor Sumner keeps beyond her lounge and the open French doors. They keep walking down the gentle slope of the vast green lawn beyond towards the woods that make up a large section of her land.

‘How is everything, Ralph?’ she asks him as the pheasant woods come into view. ‘I hear you’re enjoying school so far this year and you’ve made friends with the new girl in town, Jaime?’

‘Yeah, I have, she’s really nice.’

‘Oh yes, I know. Her mother is an absolute dear. We’re lucky to have them both, aren’t we?’

‘Definitely.’

Mayor Sumner lets her arm drop from his shoulder and stops walking. ‘Well Ralph, I’ll let you go from here. I’m about to take my new mare Cassie for a quick ride. Come up to the house when you’re done though. I’ll make sure you get something to eat and drink.’

‘Thank you.’

She smiles and turns away. Ralph watches her for a moment, noting her straight back and swift, purposeful strides. The chubby Labrador struggles to keep up and Ralph imagines he won’t be joining her for the horse ride.

Ralph glances down the hill and starts walking towards the woods. It’s a fairly large area, at least a few acres of Douglas Firs, Scots Pines and spindly Silver Birch. The pheasant pen sits in the middle. A large wooden shed surrounded by a wire mesh pen. As Ralph approaches, the birds inside strut about, making a lot of nervous noises. He ignores them and opens the shed from the side.

He quietly closes the other door so that the pheasants are shut in the pen and he gets to work, feeling a little calmer now that the mayor has gone. As he rakes out the mucky straw and wood shavings, Ralph talks himself into a calmer state. She might not have anything to do with what Mayfield is up to, or with Paddy going missing. She could even be a victim herself. Ralph nods to himself as he cleans out the pen. Mayor Sumner has always been good to him and his mother. She’s always done the best thing for the town. Just because they know Mayfield is up to something sinister, it doesn’t mean all the committee members are too.

When Ralph finishes, he’s hot and sweaty and coughing from the dust of the fresh bedding. He ties up the bags of muck and carries them slowly back up to the house.

‘Would you leave them outside the vegetable garden, please Ralph?’ Mayor Sumner is at the French doors, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. ‘My gardener does wonders with it all. Good boy.’

Ralph does as she’s asked, then returns sheepishly to the house. She’s still waiting at the doors and smiles at him fondly. ‘You’ll be wanting to wash those hands, young man.’

‘Yes, please.’

He follows her from the lounge into the big wood-panelled hallway and then left into the kitchen. It’s a large, airy room with a stone floor and a huge old oak table taking up the centre space. An array of old fashioned dressers and sideboards and shelves provide storage.

Ralph is always surprised to see the modest way the mayor lives. Yes, the house is large and grand on the outside and she has various staff at her beck and call, yet she never seems to update or refurbish the interior.

There is a large range oven roasting logs, and Horatio is spread out in front of it on a tattered green rug. He opens one eye when Ralph walks in, thumps his tail twice then returns to his gentle snoring.

Ralph washes his hands thoroughly in the sink then uses a tea towel with Labradors on it to dry them.

‘Here, Ralph. Have a break.’

He turns around to see the mayor has laid out two tall glasses of cloudy lemonade on the table next to a plate of sliced fruit cake and a selection of expensive looking chocolate biscuits. He sits down, smiling gratefully.

‘Brilliant! Thank you.’

‘No, thank you, Ralph.’ The mayor does not sit down. She leans against the nearest counter, sipping her lemonade with her eyes on Ralph. ‘Coming up here unexpectedly on a Saturday morning. Most teenagers would rather be in bed or hanging out with their friends.’

He looks up, hastily swallowing the guilty lump stuck in his throat. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

She’s still smiling although he wonders if he can detect a level of scrutiny he had not noticed in her eyes before. She sips her drink and he picks up a biscuit.

‘Your mum says you’ve been hanging around with the Archer boy, Ralph.’

He pauses mid-chew, looks away and nods. There’s no point denying it. He wonders why anyone cares, but of course they do in a small town like this. Everyone cares about everyone else’s business. It’s just the way it is.

‘Well,’ says the mayor, ‘you’ll no doubt get some people telling you to avoid that boy but personally I agree with your mother.’

Ralph swallows again. ‘You do?’

‘Yes. I think it’s very good of you, very kind. Your mother has brought you up to be a kind and considerate young man, Ralph. It’s admirable to give people second chances.’

His head bobs up and down in obvious relief and he takes another biscuit from the plate.

‘And,’ she continues, watching him, ‘if anyone needs a second chance, it’s that boy. He hasn’t had an easy life. It’s no wonder he’s become such a troublemaker really. What example did anyone set him?’

Ralph nods in agreement with her. He can’t say what he’s really thinking, which is that Jesse Archer, to him at least, is possibly the bravest and most selfless person he has ever met. He truly hopes that even after all of this, they will always be friends.

Mayor Sumner changes the subject then. She lowers her head a little, scans the room and even checks the hallway. Then she pulls out a chair and sits next to Ralph, hands cupped around her glass.

‘Ralph, quickly, while your mother is not close by. I need to ask your advice about something.’

Ralph tries his best to hide it, but feels instantly cautious. He’s never been asked for advice before from an adult, and she suddenly seems very intense, frown lines on her forehead, her teeth pulling at her lower lip as if she is nervous. Mayor Sumner is never nervous, not about anything.

‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘What is it?’

‘Well, I had a thought you see.’ She shakes back her neat hair and straightens out her posture as if getting down to business. ‘About your mother and how I could repay her for how utterly wonderful and reliable she is. And I know she’s been saving for a bigger place for a long time now. A cottage.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Ralph thinks of his mum’s early starts and late finishes, her cut and calloused hands and the dirt under her nails. No one works harder than his mother but there is only one her – one wage to cover everything.

‘Well now.’ Mayor Sumner leans close to him. ‘One of my cottages is coming up, you see. The old lady that rented it has recently passed away and once we’ve given it a spring clean and a lick of paint, it will be available again.’

Ralph blinks at her. ‘Oh. But I don’t think she has enough saved yet.’

‘Well no, but that’s where my thought came in. My idea. How do you think she would feel if I waived the deposit usually required and just let her move right in? I can lower the rent a bit too. Just don’t tell her that bit, please. I don’t want to offend her.’

‘Oh!’ Ralph sees what she means now. He’s surprised, overwhelmed and slightly baffled. And she wants to know how his mother will feel? He knows she will feel at least a little bit ashamed if someone helps her. He knows she will feel like she cheated. But he also knows that she won’t turn it down – because of him.

‘What do you think?’ the mayor presses him. ‘I don’t want to offend her. That’s the last thing I’d want. I know she is a proud woman and I admire it. But I don’t know when another cottage will come up, you see. She’ll miss out, Ralph.’

‘Oh…’ And now he sees the dilemma Mayor Sumner has. He thinks for a second and then decides to be truthful with her. It has always worked in the past. ‘I think that’s really kind and generous of you, Mayor Sumner and I think my mum will definitely say yes, and she’ll be ever so happy and excited and grateful but I know she will feel a bit awkward about it. Like she’s had a favour.’

‘I’ll talk to her then,’ Mayor Sumner says with a smile. ‘I’ll just bring it up and mention it and see where it goes. I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an agreement. Thank you, Ralph, for your honesty. You’re such a mature young man and the man of the house, of course, which is why I wanted to run it by you first.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re very welcome, my dear.’ She gives his arm a little pat and pushes back her chair. ‘I’m happy to help. That’s how this town works, you see. That’s what makes us special. We reward people, Ralph. We look out for the good ones like your mother. It’s always been that way and I think that’s why people very rarely leave this place… Now, you must excuse me while I go and check on Hilda. She wants to sit outside today now it’s getting warm enough. Summer will soon be here, Ralph.’

‘Oh yes,’ he agrees. ‘Do you need me for anything else?’

‘No, no. You go on home, dear. Oh. Hold on, I almost forgot.’ She slides her hand into her pocket and pulls out a flat brown wallet. Ralph stands awkwardly while she counts out two £5 notes and hands them to him. It seems far too generous but he takes them anyway.

‘Thank you, Mayor Sumner!’

‘You earned it, young man. Now, off you go.’ She smiles as he heads to the hallway. ‘Enjoy the rest of the day and don’t get up to any mischief!’

His own smile feels more like a grimace as he turns to leave. Next on the agenda, cutting down some wood so he isn’t lying to his mother about needing the chainsaw, and then hiding it out at the targeted tree as arranged. He swallows his guilt, holds his head up and leaves.

Jaime lies on her bed, a shaft of sunlight illuminating the books and notes she has spread out around her. Her door is locked as it almost always is lately and her mother and Mark have accepted her explanation of simply needing more privacy now that she is a teenager.

Because Jaime has never given her mother a reason to distrust her, it has been reluctantly accepted. She feels guilty but she also feels undeniably heroic. Risking family harmony to help save a boy she has only met once. Paddy was kind to her though, welcoming, and she can’t help feeling that they would be friends if he was still around.

At night, it eats away at her and keeps her restless. What has happened to him, where he is, if he is lost, scared or hurt. Like the others, Jaime feels strongly that he is still alive. She likes to believe she can feel his presence everywhere and in everything they do.

She has made several notes on local folklore. There is a lot of familiar stuff: witches, fairies and the like. The May Day celebration she missed out on, for example, involved marking the first day of summer with dancing, singing and eating. The town park still has a traditional May-Pole erected in the centre of the green and according to Mark, the children still dress up and dance around it once a year. She can’t help feeling he is a little disappointed with her for not joining in.

Within the books, Jaime finds reference to hares being caught prior to May Day only to be released as part of the festivities. Jaime thinks of her brief sighting of what must have been an extremely rare wild animal and marvels at how the same incredible creature could appear so nonchalantly and casually to Jesse.

She finds a solitary black and white photograph dated May 1903 in which three brown hares can be seen tearing free from a small wire cage. A crowd surrounds them and the May Pole can be seen towering behind them.

There is also an old photograph of the fire-jumping custom – where townsfolk would line up to take turns jumping over a line of fire across one of the local fields. The narrative explains that the custom was thought to protect the towns livestock from fairies.

She reads with fascination, about the ancient tradition of giving a ‘May basket’, something the book claims still continues in modern times. Small, handwoven baskets are left anonymously on neighbour’s doorsteps, containing small gifts to eat, or spring flowers.

In the more recent photos, Jaime pores over photos of the May Queen being crowned in the park before dancing joyfully around the Maypole in swirling ribbons. The folklore mostly seems to revolve around hares, witches and fairies. Jaime reads about myths and legends dating back centuries. Depending on who is writing, it seems that hares have been deemed as both good and bad luck.

She is just about to start reading ‘The Witch of The Valley’ when a knock at the door startles her.

Her head snaps up. ‘Who is it?’

‘Willow! Your mum let me up.’

‘Oh!’ Jaime leaps off the bed and rushes to let her in.

Willow slips inside and tugs a book free from under her arm as Jaime closes and locks the door again.

‘I brought this one from our shop.’ She hands it to Jaime. ‘Thought you might find it interesting.’

Jaime sits back on the bed, examining the book. Its cover is beautiful – navy-blue with golden typography and silhouettes of hares running around the edges. ‘Mystic and Magic – Animal Folklore Through The Ages. Sounds good!’

Willow sits beside her, nodding. ‘I remembered it when you and Jesse said about the white hare. There’s loads in there – a whole section about hares.’

‘There’s stuff in here too,’ says Jaime, passing her the local traditions book. ‘They used to release hares in the park on May Day.’

‘Oh, they still do. I think it’s cruel. One of the reasons I don’t go.’

‘I’m starting to feel sorry I missed it. It might have been interesting. I was just about to start this one.’ She passes her The Witch of The Valley. ‘Ever heard stories about witches here?’

Willow wrinkles her nose. ‘Nah, not really. Though, of course, kids joke about Iris Cotton being one. But that’s horribly predictable, isn’t it? Any old woman living alone who’s a bit of a recluse is obviously a witch, right? And you haven’t been here long enough to hear what they say about me.’

Jaime sighs. ‘There must have be a bigger story once. Do you recognise the author?’

Willow peers at the book. ‘J. Simmons, nope. Not a name in town I recognise. Miss Spires is the one to ask. She’s so nosy about people’s families and ancestors, she knows everything. I’ll start reading it if you want to look at that one.’

‘Yeah, good plan. Hey, I’m glad you dropped by.’

Willow drops back on the bed, lying on her back with the book held over her face. ‘No problem. I was going crazy on my own, thinking about… you know.’

‘Yeah. Me too.’

Jaime opens the book to the section on hares and reads quietly for a while. Every now and then she makes a note in her notepad.

‘Similar to the other stuff I found,’ she reports. ‘Hares are associated with spring, with fertility, birth and resurrection and in some cultures, with madness.’

‘The Mad March Hare,’ grins Willow. ‘Though really it’s just the females fighting off the males in breeding season.’

‘Do you see a lot of hares here, Willow? Brown ones, I mean?’

‘Not often, no,’ Willow replies. ‘They’re elusive. Shy. And super-fast. I did see some boxing once though. I was with Paddy actually, about a year ago.’

Jaime smiles at her warmly, encouraging her to go on. ‘Where was this?’

‘It was up near the ruins. I’ll never forget how big they were. They really are much bigger than rabbits, I mean, there’s no way you could mistake them. We watched them for ages and for some reason, we started making funny stories up about them.’

‘Really?’

Willow looks away shyly. ‘Paddy has great ideas, that’s something I really like about him, because you’re never bored when he’s around. He’ll always think of something to do and I guess it was like that with the hares. He couldn’t just watch them, he had to make up lives and adventures for them. We carried it on, we wrote it down and everything.’

‘That’s so nice, and so cool. I’ve never had a friend like that. You must miss him so much, Willow.’

‘I do.’ Willow’s smile falls away. ‘That’s why we have to do this. We can’t give up on him. He would not give up on any of us, I promise you.’

Jaime nods and looks back at the book. ‘Some cultures see hares as bad luck, it says. And associate them with witches and witchcraft. There’s mention of a witch trial in Somerset in 1663, where a local woman is believed to have been chased by dogs as a hare, then shocked everyone by turning into a woman.’

‘Burned at the stake after that, I bet!’ says Willow grimly, sitting back up. ‘So, it says here there were witch trials in Black Hare Valley in the 1600s. They suspected a lot of women, by the sounds of it…’

Jaime makes a quick note of this. ‘Any names?’

‘Nothing familiar,’ Willow replies. ‘But it does say a woman named Agnes Salter was stoned to death and her house was burned down. Oh. Wow.’

Jaime sits forward. ‘What?’

Willow lowers the book and points to the words, Black Hare Cottage.

Jaime gapes. ‘Iris Cotton’s house!’

‘Well, a much older version of it maybe.’ Willow gently places the book on the bed between them. Her hands dangle between her knees.

Jaime sits, open-mouthed. Then she shakes herself. ‘Willow, let’s not get spooked or carried away. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything. This is folklore we’re talking about.’ She lays her hands on her knees and turns up her palms. ‘We have to focus on the facts. The stuff we do know.’ Willow turns her head slowly to look at her. Jaime pulls down a finger. ‘One, Paddy vanished without a trace. No forensic evidence, no clues, no note. But!’ She holds up a finger. ‘We can’t rule out that he left the house of his own accord. His fingerprints were everywhere anyway, so they can’t say for sure.’ She pulls another finger down. ‘Two, Sergeant Mayfield is definitely crooked. We know he’s been blackmailing Jesse to help him spy on people, but we don’t know why.’ A third finger goes down. ‘Three, we know Paddy found a strange book in the treehouse and looked at it alone. It’s missing and Sergeant Mayfield knew it was there because of his camera, and because he sent those boys to get it for him, so either he or Paddy must have it. That’s everything.’

She clasps her hands together and stares away. ‘We’ll know more after tonight. Then we can talk again about all this stuff. What do you think?’

She stares at Willow, hoping she will agree. She doesn’t want to think about anything but the known, hard facts. She wants to cling desperately to there being a sound and rational explanation and if they just look long enough and hard enough, they will find it. Jaime suddenly wants to collect up all the books and throw them out of the window. She doesn’t want them in her head.

Willow exhales slowly. ‘Okay,’ she shrugs but the look she gives Jaime suggests biting her lip is costing her dearly.

Jaime smiles in thanks. ‘Let’s go over the plan again.’

Jesse is woken mid-morning by the sound of his father crashing through the front door. He jerks awake, then freezes, listening to the door slamming followed by shaky footsteps moving sluggishly through to the lounge. The creak of springs followed by a loud burp lets Jesse know that his father has passed out on the sofa. Still, Jesse stays in bed just in case.

Wyatt is not in bed but Billy is. One eye is open as he lies on his side on the bottom bunk where the walls are covered in pictures of women he has torn out of magazines. A seductive shot of Pamela Anderson from Baywatch stands above the female cast of Friends, while Cindy Crawford fights for wall space with Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell.

‘Billy?’

‘What?’

‘Can I ask you a favour?’

Billy opens the other eye, sighs, then props himself up on one elbow. ‘Depends what it is.’

Jesse sits up, ruffles his hair and lowers his feet to the floor. ‘Are you going to the pub tonight?’

Billy frowns. ‘Wasn’t planning to, why?’

‘They have a band playing.’

‘So?’

Jesse shrugs. ‘Can I ask you to go? At 8 o’clock? As a favour?’

Now Billy’s eyes light up in interest. ‘What’s this about, Jesse?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nah, I can’t say. Will you do it?’

‘Go to the pub at 8 o’clock. For how long?’

‘For as long as Sergeant Mayfield is there too.’

Now Billy’s face darkens and his eyes narrow. ‘What’s this got to do with Mayfield? What are you up to?’

‘Told you, I can’t say. All you have to do is go to the pub with Wyatt, have a good time, watch the band…’

‘And keep an eye on Mayfield?’

Jesse nods reluctantly. ‘If he seems like he’s leaving I need you and Wyatt to start a fight.’

Billy drops his head into his hands and rakes his fingers back through his short dark hair. ‘I mean, sounds like fun, but…’

‘Thanks, Billy. I’ll owe you.’

‘Yeah. You will,’ he looks up, nodding. ‘Soon as I think of something.’

‘There’s something else.’

Billy mutters under his breath. ‘What?’

‘I need a favour from Hairy Dave again – any chance you have another dirty tape I can bribe him with?’

Billy rolls his eyes before reaching under the bed and tugging out a grubby backpack. ‘Few in here. I guess you can help yourself, little brother.’

‘Thanks Billy. I mean it.’

Jesse feels his brother watching him for a while. He can feel his questions hanging in the air between them and as usual his own questions begin to fill his head and he wonders if there will ever be a right time to ask them.

Billy and Wyatt are still angry with their mother. They tend to view mental illness as some sort of deliberate weakness, some clever ploy that lazy, needy people use to get others to look after them. They’ve said before that they’re all better off without their mother and they’ve consistently refused to talk about her.

But Jesse wonders now… She disappeared too. She ran away. Like Paddy, but not like Paddy – she packed a bag and left a note. Jesse sees the words in his head. ‘This town is bad for me. I won’t be back.’

Selfish, they called her, crazy, depressed, unhinged. Better off without her. Jesse feels his stomach clenching and his scalp crawling with fear as the reality of tonight’s break-in hits him. There’s no turning back now.

Willow walks home after sharing a quiet lunch of pub-cooked chips with Jaime. Jaime’s mother, blooming with pregnancy, seemed exceptionally pleased that her daughter and Willow are friends and insisted on bringing up bowls of freshly cooked chips doused in salt and vinegar. Willow tried her best but picked at them listlessly; her mind on the mission and her stomach tight with the fear of what failure could mean.

When she returns to the shop, it’s busy with Saturday afternoon gift-buyers and her mother is at the till carefully wrapping a photo frame in lilac tissue paper. Her slim fingers work deftly and carefully as the customer, a middle-aged lady in denim dungarees, waits patiently. ‘Missing’ by Everything But The Girl is playing on the radio.

‘Need any help?’ Willow asks, slipping behind the counter. It’s then that she notices the polaroid camera sat next to the till. Her eyes light up. This would be much quicker than asking Hairy Dave to photocopy pages for them…

‘There’s some new stock in the back room needs unpacking,’ her mother replies and Willow nods, backing away with her eyes still on the camera.

It would be safer too, she thinks; they wouldn’t have to rely on Dave again, and photos would be easier to hide. Sure, Jaime has a whole notebook full of notes now hidden in her room but the book is different. Far more dangerous. But if they can take photos of the pages of the book they could sneak the whole thing back… Sergeant Mayfield might never know they were there.

Ralph has told his mother more lies in one day than he has in his entire life. He hates it. He hates the secrecy and sneakiness and wishes more than anything that he could just open up to her, just tell her the truth about everything.

He imagines it for a moment; telling her that the town policeman is a blackmailing spy, who probably has something to do with Paddy vanishing…and, oh by the way, Mum, don’t you feel like they gave up searching for Paddy pretty quickly? Don’t you think it feels like people are forgetting him already?

Would she agree? Or is she too much a part of it all? Ralph isn’t even sure what he means – he just knows somehow that he can’t tell her anything, not yet. They have very little evidence. Jesse Archer is a known troublemaker and Charlotte Maxwell loves this town.

He pictures her face earlier when she came back from work. She was grubby and flushed with bits of hay clinging to her hair but she couldn’t control or hide the excitement in her voice or face.

‘Margaret has made me an amazing offer, Ralphie. I just can’t believe it!’

He pretended he didn’t already know. He faked excitement and gratitude at Mayor Sumner’s generosity – yet more lies between he and his mother.

‘We can go and see it next weekend,’ she told him, biting her nails with nervous excitement. ‘They’re clearing it out at the moment. A few things need updating and so on. Ralph, can you believe it? Finally, a proper house! You’ll have a proper bricks and mortar bedroom! And a garden!’

He didn’t tell her that he likes the caravan just fine – that he has always liked it. It was his home. He remembers his mother telling him that it was his dad, Frankie, who bought them the caravan when he found out she was expecting Ralph. He’d used his savings and got out a loan to cover the rest of it. Ralph wonders if it is insulting his father’s memory to move out now, but he doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t know much about his father, or who he was, what he liked or didn’t like, because his mother has never liked talking about it.

As he arrives at The Hound and Hare he thinks about that word, home. Will a new house, one owned by the mayor, feel like home? Will Black Hare Valley still feel like home if they turn on it?

He goes through the front entrance and is met by the thick warmth of fire, noise and people, and it envelopes him tightly as he makes his way towards the bar. He spots Jesse’s older brothers lurking in the corner, the younger one looking bored and tired while the oldest one looks sharp and awake. The band are setting up their equipment and Jaime is sitting next to one of the front windows on a cosy cushion-covered bench with a book open on the table in front of her.

Ralph smiles in relief and makes his way over to her. The pub is full. People gather around tables and benches, drinks in hands. Jaime smiles weakly as he sits down opposite her. She pushes the book towards him and he glances down at him.

‘The Witch of The Valley? Our valley?’

‘Yep.’ Her gaze skirts quickly over the crowd. ‘It’s about witch trials here in the 1600s and a woman they killed called Agnes Salter.’

He frowns. ‘Don’t think I’ve heard that name.’

‘They burned her house down too,’ Jaime leans forward. ‘It was Black Hare Cottage.’

‘What? Really?’ Ralph feels a shiver twist down his spine.

‘Not the same one obviously. Someone must have rebuilt it and kept the name. I’d love to ask Iris Cotton about it, wouldn’t you?’

Ralph nods silently. He takes a nervous look around and swallows. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this, can you?’

‘No. Did you hide the saw?’

‘Yeah, it’s there. Ready.’ His gaze shifts to the older Archer boys in the corner. ‘Looks like Jesse arranged the back-up distraction.’

Suddenly, Jaime straightens up. ‘Take the book, Ralph.’

‘Huh? Why?’ She is staring over his head. He doesn’t have to look to know that Sergeant Mayfield has just walked into the pub. He can tell by the barely contained horror on Jaime’s face.

‘Do I go now?’

‘No, not yet. Take the book and look at it for a bit. Act casual. Chat to me a bit, then go.’

Ralph nods rather stiffly and starts flicking through the book. ‘Shit, Jaime.’

‘I know, I know. It’s okay, you can do it.’

‘But the rest of it…’ He’s feeling genuine fear now; thinking ahead to the walk to the tree and the sound of the chainsaw. He feels sick and shaky and wants to ask Jaime to come with him but he knows he can’t because that’s not part of the plan. It will look too suspicious.

He turns the pages of the book slowly, nodding his head and raising his eyebrows in mock interest.

‘I feel bad you know,’ whispers Jaime. ‘It’s Willow and Jesse who have got the worst bit.’

Ralph was just having the exact same thought. If he gets caught cutting the branches, he can explain it away. It’ll look odd, for sure, and he might get in trouble but he doesn’t think anyone will connect it to Paddy. Jaime gives him a firm nod. He rises, taking the book with him. He tucks it under one arm and tries to give a natural nod of thanks to Jaime.

‘How will we know?’ Jaime asks, staring up at him, her eyes just a little too wide. ‘If they’ve found it?’

‘I don’t know,’ he exhales hoarsely. ‘Maybe they’ll give a signal.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. But we’re all meeting at the ruins in the morning anyway. We’ll hear everything then.’

Her gaze darts away then she nods firmly. The band are all set up and Mayfield has his back to them, pint glass in hand.

Ralph mutters, ‘Wish me luck.’

‘You won’t need it. Night, Ralph.’

‘Night, Jaime.’

Ralph inhales, turns away and walks briskly with eyes fixed ahead to the doors, and out of the pub.

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Thirteen “The Break-In”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Eleven “The Book”

July 10, 2025July 7, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 1 Comment

A silver moon shimmer behind the black clouds hanging lifelessly over the valley. Margaret Sumner ushes Aaron Mayfield out onto the patio and away from Hilda’s girlish giggling. As she bumps shut the Victorian French doors, Hilda’s nonsense is muted and contained within the lounge.

Mayfield glances back at her through the glass. She is sitting in her wheelchair clutching a ragdoll and chanting along to some rubbish on TV. The reflection of moving images dance across Mayor Sumner’s face as she lights a cigarette on the patio and draws on it hungrily, as if she has been craving it for a long time.

Mayfield is relieved to be on the other side of the door. He knows it’s silly but Hilda has always made him feel uncomfortable. Most of the time he simply finds her embarrassing to be around – a middle-aged woman who drools and wets herself, but sometimes she simply puts him on edge. Sometimes she stops her nonsense and stares at him so intently and sharply that he would swear the whole mentally handicapped thing is one big con.

Not tonight though. Tonight she’s babbling away like a confused and overtired two-year-old and he can tell that Margaret has had just about enough of it.

‘You should get some proper help,’ he comments then, lighting his own cigarette. ‘It’s not like you can’t afford it. Or put her somewhere.’

Margaret side-eyes him, her mouth a straight line. ‘I do have help. There’s plenty of folk I call on. Like Charlotte Maxwell for instance.’

Mayfield’s interest increases. He has always had a soft spot for the hard-working Maxwell girl. ‘I knew she worked for you, but I imagined it was on the farm.’

‘Oh yes, mostly, but she’s been so wonderful I’ve actually just elevated her to more of a general position.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, someone I can call on for a multitude of things. She’s so good with Hilda, for example, and Charlotte seems to appreciate a change of scenery every now and then. She’s perfectly capable with the sheep and the horses, for example, and perfectly able to fix fences, drive tractors, you name it. And I can call on her for Hilda if I need to.’

‘I see.’ Mayfield feels mildly jealous. ‘I assume you’ve increased her wages then?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Margaret sits with one arm folded over her trim middle. ‘I certainly have. And I’ve set in motion a plan to help her and Ralph get out of that caravan at last.’

‘All sounds wonderful.’

‘It will be. Our town rewards people like Charlotte Maxwell. Which brings me to the topic of the day. I hear Mr Archer is sleeping off his latest bender in one of your cells?’

Mayfield rolls his eyes and makes a sound of disgust. ‘You heard right. Useless scumbag has always had a problem with drink. Remember when he was a teenager? Jesus Christ, it was always him, wasn’t it? Any time there was any trouble, he was at the centre of it.’

‘I remember. Well, I think it’s time we took more of a hands on approach with his wayward son, don’t you agree?’

Mayfield perks up, turning to her, his eyes intense. ‘In what way?’

‘Well, we won’t be too hasty but you certainly have another reason to question him. Our source confirms that he was with Ralph Maxwell, the new girl, Jaime, and Willow Harrison at the ruins last Saturday.’ Margaret holds up a hand before he can explode. ‘And Charlotte asked Ralph directly if he and Jesse are hanging out these days and the boy was honest and said yes.’ She smiles a little at this. ‘Such an honest boy. Charlotte is worried, of course. On the one hand, she’s proud of his honesty and finds it sweet that he wants to give a bad apple a second chance, but quite rightly she’s also nervous of the Archer boy leading hers astray. He’s also two years above Ralph and one year above Willow and Jaime. It worries me that they’ll start looking up to him.’

Mayfield breaths in through his flared nostrils, puffing out his thick chest. ‘I’ll speak to him first thing. Lying little shit…’

‘Keep his father for leverage,’ shrugs Margaret.

‘I’ll suggest foster care with me or Hewlett again. That’ll shit him up.’

‘Or me,’ says Margaret, looking at him. ‘That’s another option, if it comes to it. Perhaps I could make use of him here.’

Mayfield sneers, genuinely appalled. ‘Why would you want to? He’s no good to anyone.’

‘Well now, that’s not true. He’s been very useful to you over the years, Aaron. You have to admit that whether you like it or not. He helped solve our little Finnis problem.’

Mayfield looks at the sky, shaking his head. ‘It should have been him. It should have been the bad apple, Margaret, I’m telling you. We missed an opportunity.’

‘Oh Aaron, will you let it go?’

‘No one ever listens to me,’ he seethes.

‘Well anyway. I suggest you speak to him but don’t be too heavy-handed just yet, Aaron. You catch more flies with honey, and all that.’

‘And what about them all being friends?’

She screws up her mouth, frowning. ‘We’ll watch them for now. Let them be, but watch them. Anything threatening and we’ll shut them down. Take Archer out of the equation.’

Mayfield nods but he’s rigid with anger. He’s still disappointed that the Archer scumbag walks free while the Finnis boy is gone. And to imagine Jesse Archer here, lounging around at Hill Fort Farm is galling. He says nothing, but sits simmering, smoking his cigarette.

Friday morning, Jesse leaves early again and makes his way quickly and stealthily around the back of the town. He wants it done. He doesn’t even care if he makes a mess of it or gets caught. He just wants it done and he wants the awful weight of it out of his pocket and out of his mind.

He creeps closer this time and when Iris Cotton has emerged to shuffle her way down to the lake, Jesse crawls on his belly through the trees and then crouches behind the back of the holly hedging at the side of her garden.

With her back turned, Jesse can see the back door to the kitchen is open a crack and the smell of baking bread wafts towards him. A fat black cat is curled up on the stone doorstep. Jesse moves instinctively, barely a thought in his head, except get it done, get it done. He leaps over the hedge, and it claws at him viciously, piercing and scratching the skin on his legs, backside and arms. Without even checking the coast is clear, Jesse legs it to the back door, steps over the cat who sits up, arching its back and hissing, and scans the kitchen wildly.

It’s a small room, with exposed grey bricks and thick wooden beams on the ceiling. The smell of bread dominates but under that he detects herbs and spices and something like charcoal. He spots a thick wooden shelf above the old Aga and crosses the room, reaching up to it. He pushes jars and pots aside and sets the camera up behind them. He arranges the dusty items in front of it, then steps back, almost stomping on the creature that has entered the kitchen via the hallway. He slaps a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming.

A slim white hare sits in the middle of the kitchen, one forepaw raised and quivering. It stares at him through huge red eyes, its whiskers twitching at the end of its elongated nose and flared nostrils.

Jesse thinks he must be dreaming, he must be seeing things. He has never seen a white hare before; didn’t even know they existed. He has never seen a live hare inside a house before. An image flashes through his head of the hare hanging over the bathtub at home and he backs out of the kitchen, hands held up as if to ward it off.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles then turns to run.

Jesse trips over the cat on the doorstep and sprawls face first into wet grass. His uniform is an absolute mess. He can’t go to school looking like this; Bishop will kill him. He doesn’t look back to see if the hare is watching. He just jumps up and throws himself at the hedge. Somehow, he battles his way through to the other side, battered and bloodied and panicked, then takes off through the trees. He’s messed up and he knows it. The whole thing was a complete disaster and all because he was too impatient and desperate to get it done so that he can focus on Paddy and the book.

Now, he emerges from the woods beside the church and is not surprised at all to see Sergeant Mayfield’s police car parked on the road there, waiting for him.

‘Get in, Archer,’ the familiar gravelly voice commands through the open window.

Jesse hesitates. He looks up and down the High Street which is already bustling with people going about their lives. He feels a stab of anger. Why can’t his life ever be peaceful? Why does it have to be such a constant horror show?

Mayfield leans over the passenger seat. ‘Get in yourself or I come over there, throw you to the ground and handcuff you in front of everyone. Is that what you want?’

Jesse sags. He pulls his backpack from his shoulders, opens the door and gets in. Instantly, the windows roll up and the doors lock. Mayfield taps his fingers across the top of his baton which is lying on his lap.

‘State of you,’ he sneers, looking Jesse up and down.

Jesse turns up his palms and examines the holly bush scratches. His whole body stings and itches from them and his trousers are covered in mud.

‘I did it,’ he sighs raggedly. ‘Black Hare Cottage. That’s why I’m such a mess. If I go to school like this, Mr Bishop will kill me.’

‘Well, what a dilemma,’ says Mayfield with a small smile. ‘Go to school like that and get in trouble or skip school and get in trouble.’ He leans towards Jesse and winks. ‘Tell you what, I’ll drop you off myself and put in a good word for you. I’ll tell Mr Bishop a feral dog chased you into the trees and you fell down in the mud.’

He grins widely and Jesse freezes, growing cold from his scalp to his toes. There is something wolfish and hungry about that sneering grin and there’s an undeniable stench too. Something earthy and meaty. Jesse presses himself into the locked passenger door.

Mayfield’s smile dims. ‘I thought I warned you about lying to me.’

Jesse frowns. ‘I didn’t-’

‘Shut up.’ His voice is cold and hard, his eyes dead. ‘You said you weren’t friends with those kids and that was a lie. Ralph Maxwell told his mother that you are indeed, friends.’ He says the word as if it offends him.

‘They just follow me around. I can’t help it.’

‘Is that so? And were you friends with Paddy Finnis too?’

Jesse stares at him. He feels a rare stirring of anger, of protest.

‘Yes, I was,’ he says, lifting his chin slightly. ‘I am. Why? What does any of it matter to you?’

Mayfield sits back, his large hands linked over the baton lying across his wide thighs. He sniffs. ‘Well, Jesse, a lot of people in this town are concerned about you. They see you very clearly going down the same road as your brothers and father and they wonder what they can do to help you.’

Jesse shakes his head. ‘No one wants to help me.’

‘Oh, come on, that’s not true. And with your father banged up yet again, tongues of concern have started to wag.’

Jesse looks down, his cheeks flushed with growing anger. ‘Back to this again. Look, I said I did the cottage! It’s done!’

‘Good. I’m glad,’ says Mayfield. ‘But that’s not what I want to talk about right now. I want to talk about your father being unavailable and all the kindly committee folk lining up willing to take you in.’

Jesse swallows and shakes his head in horror. ‘I don’t need anyone to take me in.’

‘But just think how it could change your life, Archer. Think about a warm home, real food, a clean school uniform.’

He keeps shaking his head. ‘No thanks.’

Mayfield leans forward again, lifting up the baton and tapping the thick end into the palm of his hand. It makes a satisfying thwack sound and Jesse flinches, closing his eyes, and helplessly imagining the blind pain of it striking his kneecaps.

‘Well, you better not let me find you in any more trouble then. No break-ins, no trespassing. No vandalism or underage drinking. Because this is your last chance. It’s about time you learned your lesson.’ He runs a fat tongue over his lower lip. ‘And this town wants to teach you, Jesse. It really does.’ He grins and slips the baton away. ‘Seatbelt on,’ he commands as he ignites the engine. ‘I’ll drop you off and vouch for you like I said. You see, Jesse. It pays to keep on my good side.’

Willow takes the long way round to school. She leaves through the back, crossing through the field behind her home, her cloak fastened, her hood up and her headphones on. She’s listening to her favourite band, Sleater-Kinney sing ‘The Day I Went Away’ and as she walks down Taylor Drive, she keeps an eye out for Jesse Archer, but she doesn’t see him. Just past his block there is a cluster of old oak trees between the final stretch of Taylor Drive and the vast expanse of fields and hills behind it. She walks among them, staring up at the power lines connecting the flats to the houses via various poles.

She feels defeated before it’s even begun. The town is full of trees but what chance do they have of finding one close to a power line? One ready to topple? Willow has also considered that a straight neat cut through with the chainsaw will look very suspicious indeed when people come to investigate the power outage. She wishes for a storm, a genuine power cut but knows she is being childish. Nothing is going to land in their laps. They have to make this happen.

A trio of magpies jump from branch to branch, their black and white feathers standing out against a bruised blue sky. The weather has not made its mind up yet. It’s hanging there, waiting for a mood to develop. She drifts between the trees, not expecting anything good to happen.

Her mood has been flagging all week. She misses Paddy more than she thought possible. She feels lost without him, like someone has cut off one of her limbs. Everywhere she goes she sees a memory of him, of them. Even these old oaks. She remember Paddy trying to make a treehouse in one before his dad let him make one in the back garden at home. He always had loved a treehouse – a bird’s eye view, a way to be closer to the sky and the stars.

Willow stops – her heart feels too heavy to move – and leans against a tree. Where are you Paddy? Where did you go? Are you okay? Are you ever coming back? Last night she attempted to feel close to him by trying to write more of their story, but the words just wouldn’t come. It’s usually her that writes while Paddy sits and throws ideas around verbally. He can never get the wording quite right, she thinks now, yet his ideas were always good. They worked well together like that. Sometimes she had even entertained the thought of finishing the story and getting it published one day. Now, that all feels very far away. Impossible almost.

As the singer in her ears begs to be remembered, Willow almost crumbles. She can’t bear the thought that he’s gone. She has to hold onto the mystery as something that they can solve, if they just work together. Everyone else might have given up, but she hasn’t. She won’t. Not ever.

She thinks the others feel the same. None of them knew Paddy like she did but they all seem so connected somehow – to him, to each other, to something. Willow has to admit she’s been enjoying their company and she’s impressed with their collective skills and determination but how long can it last? Won’t they get bored eventually?

Willow feels like the town is already moving away from the fate of Paddy Finnis. There are no more talks of searches, just the vigil at the church this Sunday and the murmurings she keeps hearing that kids do run off from time to time…

Even her parents seem keen to put it behind them, she thinks. It happens, she heard her father say earlier, it’s not that unusual. They’re still worried about her, still checking on her and sighing sadly whenever she mentions him, but they never bring Paddy up themselves, she’s noticed. It’s almost as if they want to avoid the conversation if they can.

It’s not right, she thinks angrily, none of this is right. She starts to leave, stomping through the wet leaves towards Walkers Road, intent on skirting around the edge of town until she can pick up High Street and head to school. She stops suddenly, just as she steps away from the cluster of oaks. There is one a little way out from the others. It’s smaller than the rest, less of a hulking beast, more of a shy adolescent. She can see power lines running through two of the biggest boughs. Her mouth drops open. They won’t even have to cut the whole tree down, which is something she knows Paddy would hate.

She can barely believe it and probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t exited the trees on that particular side. She raises her fist in triumph. It’s a win and she’ll take it.

She then remember that this takes them one step closer to breaking into Sergeant Mayfield’s house and her breath hitches in her chest as a shudder wrings through her. Correction – Jesse is one step closer.

No, she corrects herself again – I won’t let him do it alone.

Jaime scurries along High Street with the ‘Brief History Of Black Hare Valley’ tucked under one arm. She read it in one sitting and was not terribly impressed. In her opinion, it’s rather badly written, self-congratulatory and a bit boring. She has made notes, of course – anything is worth adding to the on-going investigation – but it was mostly a letdown. One thing that stuck out was the familiar names who helped to build the town. Spires, Mayfield, and Sumner, for example, are names that go back thousands of years. Jaime finds that both fascinating and disturbing in equal measures.

She plans to hand it back in and then head to school. She knows Miss Spires will be watching like a hawk again. Just then, she sees the library doors open and Miss Spires strides out, pulling on a coat. She doesn’t see Jaime, but heads up the High Street, perhaps towards the Post Office with a stack of letters under one arm.

Jaime does not hesitate. She dashes into the library, adds the book to the Returns pile on the front desk where a weary looking girl in her late teens nods and smiles, then heads back over to the local history and folklore section.

Jaime takes her time, checking every book that appears old with yellowed pages, or has an aged leather cover. She finds one called ‘Local Folklore’, and another called ‘The Witch of The Valley’ and tucks them both under her arm. Finally, she finds one about the traditions of the area. None of them are like the book Mr Finnis described but they’ll do for now. She knows Spires will see that she checked them out, but what can she do? It’s innocent enough and after all, Miss Spires was the one who pointed her towards the Local History section. She checks them out, stuffs them into her backpack and leaves the library in a hurry.

Jaime feels exhilarated as she dashes down the High Street, and crosses over to take the left onto School Lane. She’s thinking about the school library and how there might be a book like Paddy’s there, or how maybe she can find out what his lending history is… Her heart is pounding and she’s breathless as she hurries down to the school and through the open gates. She runs over to the bike sheds and bumps straight into Willow. For once, Willow appears animated and excited, happy even. She plants her hands on Jaime’s shoulders just as Jaime seizes hold of her forearms.

‘I found a tree!’

‘I got more books!’

‘What? Like Paddy’s?’

‘No, but close maybe, I don’t know. What tree? Will it work?’ They huddle together, shoulder to shoulder.

‘Yes, I think so,’ says Willow, catching her breath. ‘It’s close to Jesse’s place. A young oak with power lines going between two branches.’

Jaime stares, open-mouthed. ‘We might not need to cut one down? I was getting worried about that.’

‘No, we probably just need to cut through one branch, maybe two.’

Jaime nods, grinning. ‘Ralph can do it. We need to find them and plan it all out properly. Have you seen either of them?’

Willow shakes her head and walks to the end of the shed. ‘Oh shit,’ she says.

‘What?’ Jaime rushes to join her, peering over her shoulder just in time to see a mud-splattered Jesse Archer getting out of a police car in the staff car park.

‘Oh God, what the hell?’ hisses Jaime

‘What’s he done now? He’s covered in mud!’

‘Why’s he with Mayfield? Oh! Black Hare Cottage! D’you think he did it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Willow shakes her head. ‘They’ve gone inside. We’ll have to find him later and arrange somewhere to talk. Any ideas?’

‘The tree?’

‘Yes! If you see Ralph or Jesse, tell them it’s the cluster of oaks closest to the end of Taylor Drive. We’ll meet there after dark, okay? Go over the plan and get it tight.’

They nod at each other, give each other a sudden, brief hug and then quickly go their separate ways.

‘It’s nice of you to vouch for him, Sergeant Mayfield.’ Mr Bishop shoots a hard look at a sullen-faced Jesse before arranging a pleasant smile for the sergeant. ‘And to give him a lift in as well. You’re too good to us, really. Far too good.’

Sergeant Mayfield keeps his narrowed blue eyes on Jesse as if expecting to have to race after him at any second, but he returns the easy smile to Mr Bishop.

‘Just doing my job, Mr Bishop. Like yourself, I happen to care deeply about this town and everyone in it.’

‘Indeed.’ Mr Bishop stands behind his desk and plants his hands down on it. ‘Now, I suppose the real question is what do we do with you, Jesse Archer?’

Jesse keeps his eyes on the floor. He can’t bear to look at either of these men. They have both made his life a misery for as long as he can remember. They both make his skin crawl. They both feature in his nightmares. He feels their intense, questioning glares and responds with a half-hearted shrug.

Sergeant Mayfield clears his throat. ‘Well, it’s not all the boy’s fault, of course. There is a lot of neglect at home.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Mr Bishop bows his head gravely but there is a twinkle in his eye. ‘I had caught wind of that. Perhaps you’d like to talk through any difficulties you’re having with Mr Hewlett, Jesse? That is what he’s here for.’

Jesse stares longingly at the door and shakes his head. ‘No thanks. I’m not having difficulties.’

‘Well, I’d have to disagree,’ says Mayfield with authority. He looks to Bishop. ‘His father is in one of my cells again and the general consensus is someone really ought to step in and provide this boy with some guidance.’

‘Yes,’ agrees Bishop, his head bobbing as he stares at Jesse. His voice has taken on a dreamy tone. ‘Someone should. So he doesn’t get tempted into any more trouble.’

‘We’d like to see a future for him, wouldn’t we, Mr Bishop?’

‘Oh, yes. Yes, we really would like to turn him around.’

Jesse knows he cannot stand this a second longer. The room feels too hot and too small, like the walls are closing in. He feels something intense rising in the air around him. He can’t look at either man, yet he feels terribly and horribly sure that they both want to eat him alive. In his mind’s eye he pictures their jaws yawning open, revealing pointed teeth and stringy drool as they start to laugh.

He leans over his knees and groans in pain. ‘I think I’m gonna be sick!’

Ralph is almost knocked off his feet when the door to the boys’ toilets is shoved open with great urgency. He staggers backwards, bumping into the row of sinks as the desperate boy charges in. When he sees who it is, Ralph steps forward then instinctively stands in front of the door as it swings shut again.

‘Jesse!’ he hisses.

Jesse spins around, then leans over, clutching his knees. ‘Shit, Ralph!’ He shakes his hair from his eyes and despite his obvious fear, he grins. ‘I think Bishop and Mayfield wanted to eat me!’

Horrified, Ralph stares at him, his back pressed into the door. ‘What?’

Jesse laughs. He straightens up, still catching his breath as he runs both hands through his hair until it stands up in spikes. ‘Jesus fucking Christ…’

Ralph looks him up and down. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

Jesse’s grin drops away. He goes to each cubicle in turn, kicking the doors open until he is satisfied that they are alone. Then he steps closer to Ralph and lowers his voice.

‘I did the job for Mayfield and fell over. Then he picked me up and brought me here, right to Mr fucking Bishop! Can you believe that shit?’

Ralph stares, eyes wide. ‘What did they say?’

Jesse starts to pace, one hand in his hair again. ‘That they wanted to help me, straighten me out… Fuck, I don’t want them to help me. I don’t want anyone in this town to help me. I just want to find Paddy and then…’

‘Then what?’

Jesse frowns, his eyes darkening. ‘Then just go… get the hell out and never come back. That’s what I want to do.’

Ralph nods slowly. ‘It’s okay.’ He doesn’t know what else to say. Can’t think of the right words. Can’t imagine at all what words Jesse would want to hear right now. He fumbles desperately for something, anything, and then finally, stumbles on just saying out loud what he has been thinking this entire time, what he has been unable to stop thinking, what keeps him awake at night. ‘I think there’s something wrong with this town.’

Jesse stops pacing and watches him, waiting for more.

‘I don’t know what,’ Ralph goes on. ‘I can’t explain it. But I feel it. I think… It’s not just Paddy… It’s bigger than that but him going missing is part of it, and that book he had. It has to be important.’

Ralph steps forward, closing the gap between he and Jesse until they are almost chest to chest. He feels the urge to scan the room carefully, checking for cameras, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Jesse’s face.

‘I think Paddy discovered something,’ Ralph whispers. ‘I think maybe he found something important in that book and they, whoever they are, they found out and they took him because he knew something. I know it sounds crazy, Jesse, but I can’t stop thinking it.’

Jesse stares at him for a long moment, his arms at his sides, his fists balled. Then he passes Ralph and reaches for the door handle.

‘We’ve got to get that book back,’ he says grimly, lips pressed together. ‘We have to do whatever it takes. I think you’re right, Ralph.’

They make their way separately to the meeting place and arrive one by one to stand, solemn and heavy, under the boughs of the oaks. The ground under their feet is flat and boggy; the floor a mush of wet leaves and mud. Above them, the oak leaves are a deep dark green, almost startling in their vibrancy.

All around them is the smell of both rebirth and decay. Through the trees they can see the lights of the town, flicking on as dark descends. The flats on Taylor Drive and the more upmarket detached homes on Lupin Lane. The four of them feel undeniably shut out.

Willow speaks first, her cloak clutched to her chest with thin pale fingers, her hood pulled up over her loose black hair and her headphones visible around her neck.

‘I’ll show you the tree in a minute,’ she begins. ‘But first, we have to decide who does what and at what times exactly.’

‘We need a distraction in town first,’ Jesse speaks up. ‘I’ll ask my brothers to start a fight in the pub.’

Jaime nods. ‘Mayfield is in almost every night with Hewlett and Bishop and there’s a band playing tomorrow night.’

‘What time?’

‘They’re booked to start playing at 8pm and Mayfield is usually in just before that.’ Jaime exhales, eyes darting away for a moment. ‘Usually, anyway. I can keep an eye on them. If Ralph is arriving at mine, he can leave then and get to the tree. Your brothers only need to fight if it looks like Mayfield is about to leave early, or if he doesn’t show up.’

‘You better hide the chainsaw out here beforehand,’ Willow tells Ralph, ‘otherwise you’ll look suspicious walking over to Jaime’s with it.’

‘Okay. No problem. I’ll do it in the morning.’

They all nod and look back at Willow. ‘Ralph leaves the pub as soon as Mayfield arrives. I’ll be waiting in the café. Walk past and give me a wave, okay Ralph?’

‘Okay,’ he nods. ‘Then carry on to the tree?’

‘Yes.’ She turns to Jesse. ‘You and me meet in the alley behind the chemist. We go around to the back of the station house and break in once the power has gone out.’

‘What do the rest of us do then?’ Ralph asks, nervously.

‘Just head home and act innocent,’ shrugs Jesse.

Jaime turns to Willow. ‘If you get the book and get out without being seen or anything, what then? Where do we take it?’

‘Good questions,’ says Ralph. ‘They’ll know. Mayfield will know it’s gone and they’ll be looking for it.’

‘The committee, you mean?’ frowns Jaime. ‘We really do think they’re all involved?’

‘Well, not your mum, obviously,’ smiles Ralph. He looks at Jesse for support.

‘We better assume they are, for now,’ agrees Jesse. ‘Maybe only because that bastard Mayfield has something on them or maybe because they’re just like him.’

‘Okay.’ Willow brings them back on track. ‘So, where do we take it? Where can we hide it?’

‘Are there any cameras at mine?’ Ralph asks Jesse with a grimace.

He shakes his head. ‘No, but your mum works for the mayor.’

‘What about mine?’ asks Willow.

Jesse appears to think it over. ‘I’ve never put one there but he might have, I don’t know.’

‘The treehouse?’ says Jaime, eyebrows raised in hope.

‘Won’t he look there first?’ Ralph asks.

Jesse looks unsettled. ‘If the book is as important as we think it is, he’ll tear the whole town apart to find it.’

‘Your flat?’ suggests Willow.

He snorts. ‘No chance.’

They stare at each other in frustration. For a moment, no one speaks. They are all frowning, trying and failing to think of a safe place to stash the book.

‘Maybe we don’t need to keep it,’ Jaime says slowly, as if feeling her way for the answer as she speaks. ‘Maybe we just need to copy it. A bit like with that camera, Jesse. We don’t need to keep the book, we just need to see what’s in it.’

Willow’s eyes fly open and she seizes Jaime’s shoulders. ‘You are an utter genius!’

Jaime blushes. ‘Thanks!’

Willow turns to Jesse. ‘Where can we photocopy all the pages as fast as possible?’

He already knows the answer. ‘Hairy Dave can do that.’

Now they all fall quiet again; locked in a hushed silence as their thrashed out plans hang in the air around them. They look at each other curiously. It feels certain now. They really are going to break into a policeman’s house and try to steal back a mysterious book that may or may not help them find Paddy…

Jesse steps back, hands deep in pockets. ‘I’ll speak to Dave and see if I can do another trade with him.’ He looks over his shoulder. ‘We need to be realistic though. This could go horribly wrong.’ His eyes dart to Ralph’s. ‘Ralph has a bad feeling about this town and so do I. I have for a long time.’

Willow knows what he means. ‘I liked it okay when Paddy was here,’ she says in a low voice. ‘But now I think that was just because of him and all the fun we had growing up together.’

‘My step-dad is in love with this place, he constantly says what a great place this is to grow up,’ says Jaime.

‘It is,’ Jesse grins at her, ‘if you don’t break the rules.’

‘I always liked it too,’ admits Ralph. ‘It felt safe because everywhere you go, someone knows you. Sure, there are idiots and bullies and grumpy adults, but that’s no different to anywhere else. It is a beautiful place though. It is. I just started to feel different when I found the footprint.’

‘Do you think its related?’ wonders Jaime.

Ralph nods instantly, but reluctantly. ‘Yeah, I do. I know it sounds crazy but I do. When Jesse said he felt something chasing him, and that night at the ruins, I swear I felt something too. I don’t know what.’

‘You think some sort of beast could be out there?’ Jaime looks nervously over her shoulder before huddling closer to the others. ‘And maybe Paddy found out about it?’

‘Maybe.’ Ralph shrugs unhappily.

‘And there was a weird hare this morning,’ Jesse exclaims suddenly, yanking his hands out of his pockets and folding his arms.

Jaime grabs his arm, gasping. ‘A hare? What hare?’

‘A white one,’ he replies, frowning as her eyes grow wider. ‘When I was in the cottage putting in Mayfield’s camera, it appeared behind me. Right in the kitchen! I’ve never seen a white hare before in my life. I didn’t know they even existed, but there it was, just staring at me! No fear whatsoever. I mean, if anything it seemed pissed off.’

‘Oh my god,’ whispers Willow.

Jaime squeezes Jesse’s arm, dragging his attention back to her. ‘I saw a white one too! After the ruins, after Ralph said goodbye. I looked up and it was on the corner of the High Street just looking at me.’

Jesse’s jaw drops. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes! I ran towards it and it ran down the High Street and I saw it disappear into those woods near the church. It was… I don’t know…. Sort of magical…’

Jesse is watching her carefully. ‘Did you feel afraid?’

She thinks back then shakes her head. ‘No. I don’t think so. Did you?’

He nods. ‘Yeah. The way it looked at me. And I was in the old woman’s house…’

They all look at each other, shaking their heads, blinking, expressions dazed, then solemn again as the darkness thickens around them.

‘We just have to get that book,’ Willow sighs after a while. She doesn’t even want to imagine what they’ll do if it’s not in Mayfield’s house.

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Twelve “The Plan”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Ten “The Search”

July 3, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

Chapter Ten : The Search

They are spread out in a line from behind Black Hare Close to Walkers Road, just in front of the old Catholic church. Children in wellington boots and anoraks, teachers and volunteer parents are dotted along the line to give instruction. There are some important rules to remember. Anxious to find something, anything that will mean he doesn’t have to help cause a power cut and break into Sergeant Mayfield’s house, Ralph listens to them earnestly.

Walk slowly, one step at a time, eyes down.

Put your hand up in the air and stop walking if you find anything at all, even if it doesn’t seem significant.

Stay in line, don’t press ahead or lag behind.

Don’t touch anything you find, wait for an adult.

Mr Bishop blows a whistle and they are off – participants in the slowest race in the world.

There is a solemn atmosphere. A hushed silence. It reminds Ralph of church, where you are expected to be silent and the pressure becomes too much so that eventually just breathing seems too noisy.

His own breathing already sounds louder than everyone else’s. Ralph is a few kids down from Jaime and can’t see Willow or Jesse. He feels a connection to them though – oh yes, like an invisible thread reaching between them as they plod forward in a straggly line with everyone else.

No one talks or mucks about; perhaps each child is imagining how it feels to be so lost. How it feels to be potentially scattered across such a long and sorrowful line. The mood has shifted in town, Ralph has noticed. Just this morning his mother spoke about Paddy in the past tense. ‘He was such a nice boy.’

And he overhears two of the parents in the line.

‘His poor dad must be devastated.’

‘You never get over losing a child.’

‘He’s so alone now.’

Do people think that Paddy is dead? Shocked, Ralph cannot bear the thought of it. He glares at the earth as he makes his steps, examining each grid of earth as ferociously as he can. And as he walks, he imagines Willow, Jaime and Jesse doing the same thing. Walking painfully slowly with heads bowed so low their necks ache, staring at each patch of grass and mud, looking for any trace, looking for Paddy.

Arms go up three times in the first twenty minutes.

It’s agony – everyone frozen with breath held.

A dog poo bag with footprint on it. Its catalogued but quickly determined to be a much larger shoe size than Paddy’s. Still, it’s something.

A curl of foil from a packet of Refreshers. Ralph fidgets, wondering if Paddy liked Refreshers. It is photographed and bagged up.

A cigarette butt. Bagged up.

They move on. Ralph’s side have now met the church. It’s empty – abandoned for years, Vicar Roberts now the only holy man in Black Hare Valley, but several adults have a key for the heavy locked door and they enter it, even though they make it clear that it has already been officially searched.

Ralph thinks it would have made a good hideout for a boy like Paddy – maybe even a good place to hide that mysterious book. But the adults emerge again, shaking their heads and Ralph has to trust that they are right, that there are no clues inside.

They walk under a vast grey sky until children start to complain that they are tired. A meeting is held between a few parents and Mr Bishop, then he blows his whistle again and everyone turns around and heads back.

Ralph feels agitated. Was it far enough? Was it long enough? What if a vital clue is just beyond the next field or over the next hill? Will there be another search? Will they keep doing this until they find something? No one speaks as they walk slowly back into town.

Willow resists the urge to catch up with Paddy’s father. She can see him ahead of her, walking along Black Hare Road with his head bent low. She would like to skip ahead, and take his hand into hers. She would like to pass something, some warmth or some hope onto him because despite the solemn, fruitless search, Willow knows that Paddy is still alive. She feels it in her bones.

Instead, she gives Mr Finnis a few moments of privacy and watches him shuffle sadly into the bookshop. As Willow approaches the doors she sees Mr Finnis still stood there, the sign switched to ‘closed’ as he stares out at the street.

He doesn’t seem to see her so she raps gently on the door. He blinks, looks vaguely surprised and then lets her in.

‘Willow, hi. I saw you at the search. Thank you.’

‘I’m sure there’ll be another one,’ she says quickly as the door clicks shut behind her. ‘In the other direction maybe?’

‘Maybe,’ he nods, turning away. ‘But they can’t find anything, Willow. Not a trace. Not a fingerprint or a hair, or anything.’ He wanders over to the till and sits down behind it with his hands in his lap. ‘I think they’ve given up.’

‘No, they can’t!’ Willow comes over to him, placing her hands on the counter. ‘They need more people, more police, or something. They’ll bring more in, won’t they?’

‘They did send a forensic team,’ Mr Finnis fills her in. ‘They came from out of town. They did a thorough search, Willow, a full sweep of the house and the shop but they didn’t find anything either. There are fingerprints all over the place, of course, his and mine, but nothing to suggest he left that night. It’s like he went to bed, closed his eyes and then just vanished into thin air.’

Mr Finnis sniffs and blinks.

‘Mr Finnis, can I ask you something?’

Mr Finnis sighs and nods. His eyes are wet and bloodshot and seem unable to focus on anything.

‘Paddy told me about a book and I just wondered if you knew where it was.’

‘What book?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ she squirms. ‘Just a big old book he was excited about? One he kept secret, maybe? You know, to protect it because it was so old and valuable, maybe. He mentioned it to me but I never thought anything of it. It’s not in the treehouse, because I checked.’

‘Well, feel free to search upstairs,’ Mr Finnis shrugs. ‘But unless I know what book…’

Willow nods and glances towards the stairs. She supposes she will have to do a fake search because they already know how the book vanished from the treehouse.

‘Oh, hang on, might you mean the book we found in here?’ Mr Finnis says suddenly, pressing two fingers to his temple as if he has a headache. ‘I don’t know what it was called though. I didn’t pay much attention, to be honest. But Paddy found a big old book one day when we were closing up. I don’t think it had a title…’

‘Sounds like the one!’ Willow enthuses. ‘Did you look at it at all?’

‘No, just a glance. I was tired that day. Had a migraine brewing. I remember Paddy talking about it, getting a bit excited, you know how he is… But no, I didn’t look at it.’

‘Anything you could say about it?’ she presses, trying hard to contain her impatience, She stands as stiff as a board staring right at Mr Finnis.

‘Well.’ He scratches vigorously at the back of his head. He scrunches his face up in thought. ‘It was big, very big, I remember that. Big chunky old looking thing. Tattered. It had a thick leather cover. Other than that…’ He trails off, still scratching.

‘Was it one you ordered in? One you wanted to sell?’

‘No, no definitely not. It wouldn’t have fit on the shelves. Someone must have donated it. I can’t think who. I’d have remembered handling it.’

Willow finds herself backing off. Her mind whirling with possibilities. Mr Finnis slumps on his stool, his hands dangling over his knees.

‘If I find it, I’ll let you know.’

‘Thanks Mr Finnis, I was just curious. I better go now.’

He just nods and lifts one hand in a small wave that seems to zap the rest of his energy. Willow leaves in a hurry.

Jesse gets to the ruins early. Billy and Wyatt were not at home and he’s hoping they’re not here either. He’s desperately thinking of ways to make them leave as he follows Walkers Road until the dusty fork leads him away and into the dark hills.

It’s vast up here, open. The sky feels low, touching you, coating you in mist. The ruins are in the centre of the hills, looking down on the town. Halfway between the old catholic church and the Rowan Farm. A property as vast as its direct opposite Mayor Sumner’s Hill Fort Farm. The two colossal estates mark the entrance to Black Hare Valley, standing like beacons on either side.

When Jesse reaches the ruins, he scrambles over to the first low wall and past broken hunks of ancient brick. He stops at the furthest wall, the one with a small rectangular window still intact. Through the crack, you can see the first trees on the border of Rowan Farm. The first break in an endlessly grassy landscape.

It looks darker over there – with something more knowing and patient than Black Wood on the other side. Jesse stares for a while, his eyes scanning the line of trees as they follow the curve of a steep hill towards the Holloway. He recalls a school trip there when he was eight or nine – holding hands with his classmates as they entered the darkness of the ancient track, their teacher pausing to point out the scratchings and faces on the clay walls. He knows there are no school trips there these days because Bob Rowan won’t let anyone on his land for any reason.

Jesse remembers an outcry at the time; the local newspaper lamenting the loss of access to an important town landmark and a local historian being interviewed, expressing his dismay that the Holloway should become neglected, and eventually lost altogether. Jesse knows it is still accessible because he and his brothers have trespassed and poached there many times. He watches the land, narrows his eyes at the distant trees and thinks about the deeply trodden track they are hiding. He’s never followed it all the way; it’s never been allowed, but the rumour is it keeps going out of the valley.

He looks away finally, then reaches up, crawling his fingers along a mossy ledge of stone until they meet with a small tin box. He grins in triumph and pulls his brother’s weed down from its hiding place.

He shuffles down, back to the wall and tugs off the lid. A small soft bud of green stares back at him. Papers and loose tobacco pushed in at the sides. Jesse breathes out, anticipating the high and sets to work rolling himself a smoke. He feels like he deserves it more than ever before.

He has it lit when the group arrive, Willow first, grim-faced and restless, frowning at his choice of relaxation but saying nothing, only, ‘The book just turned up in the shop. Someone put it there.’

Already drifting peacefully out of the moment, Jesse absorbs this as a dreamy possibility. Someone left it there. It troubles him that Paddy is gone, that he was quite possibly targeted. He can’t help agreeing with Mayfield on that one; it should have been him. He exhales sweet smoke and waits as Jaime and Ralph come trudging across the dark to join them.

Jaime is as flush-faced as ever, snapping away with her camera. ‘This place is amazing! How old is it?’

‘Think it dates back to the 12^th century,’ shrugs Ralph. ‘The hill forts are even older though.’

‘1200 BC my dad says,’ nods Willow.

‘Wow.’ Jaime is in awe as she turns in a circle to survey her new world. Jesse watches her, wondering if she will ever come to loathe and fear it as much as him, or whether she will always see it as an enticing mystery to be untangled. ‘So, there are hill forts on both sides of the valley?’

‘Yes.’ Ralph points to the other side. ‘Basically all the hills you can see are hill forts. They used to guard the town below. They could see enemies coming from miles away up here.’

Jaime snaps more pictures. ‘Wow. This place has so much history…’

‘Oh and there’s a Holloway down there,’ Ralph enthuses, dragging her by the elbow to point out the land beyond. ‘You can’t see it and we’re not allowed there anymore because it’s on Rowan’s land.’

She snaps a picture and lowers the camera. ‘Oh wow, my step-dad was telling me about the Holloway. It’s a path, right?’

‘An ancient path,’ Willow snaps with a roll of her eyes. ‘Just a path connecting towns to market places and other towns, that kind of thing.’

‘It’s like a path,’ Ralph explains, ‘but its deeper and lower because so many feet and wagons have pressed it down so when you’re walking it, you’re looking up like this,’ Ralph raises his eyes and his hands upwards, ‘and you can see tree roots and there are walls next to you.’

‘I need to see it!’ claims Jaime. ‘And what about Paddy? Would they have searched there?’

‘Who knows?’ Jesse shrugs.

Ralph is still staring at the landscape. He’s grinning at it almost proudly and every now and then he shoots a coy look at Jaime that makes Jesse suspect he would like to impress her.

‘Have you heard about the legend of the black hare?’ he’s asking her now.

She pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘Sort of. Mark mentioned the town was named after an actual hare. That people thought black ones were good luck.’

‘They don’t exist,’ Willow grumbles, her hands on her hips.

‘Probably not,’ agrees Ralph, ‘but the legend goes that a group of people were led here by a black hare, that it led them from famine and disease and war and brought them here. They passed the story down through the generations, and even wrote about it at one point, because that’s how the town got its name, because they thought the hare would be good luck.’

‘Load of shit peddled by the mayor and her ancestors,’ Jesse says scathingly, his gaze shooting to Willow who looks about ready to burst.

‘We need to talk about the book.’ She beckons to Ralph and Jaime and they huddle closer against the wall, where Jesse crouches with his smoke.

Ralph looks down at him, wrinkling his nose. ‘Is that…?’

Jesse just smiles and rests his head back on the old ruined walls.

‘Ignore him,’ snaps Willow. ‘Unless he’s got anything important to add, he seems to have checked out.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ says Jesse. ‘I’m right here, Willow. Tell us about the book.’

Hands in pockets, Willow grimaces as she stretches out her neck and stares up at the darkening sky.

‘I checked with Paddy’s dad,’ she tells them. ‘He knew what book we meant but didn’t get a good look at it so we still have no idea what it was or what was in it. But he remembered Paddy finding it in the shop and asking to borrow it. He remembers it was big and old with a brown cover.’

‘Any idea where it came from?’ wonders Jaime, pulling her notepad and pen out of her coat pocket. ‘He must keep track of his orders or any donations?’

Willow shakes her head. ‘Mr Finnis said he definitely didn’t order it and he’d remember if it had been handed in. So, someone left it there. Just put it on a shelf and walked out, I guess.’

Jaime’s eyes are as wide as saucers. ‘The mystery deepens!’

Willow slips down beside Jesse, her head in her hands as if it hurts her. ‘This is driving me crazy!’

Ralph and Jaime glance at each other in concern. Jaime kneels down beside Willow and tentatively puts an arm around her but Willow quickly shakes it off. She throws her hands up at the sky.

‘How can a kid just disappear? Vanish!’ She lowers her arms and folds them over her knees, shaking her head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. No clues, they said. No trace. Nothing.’

‘No evidence,’ murmurs Jaime, looking away.

‘And what I can’t stop thinking,’ Willow adds with a hitch in her voice, ‘is that it must be bad for Paddy not to tell me, for Paddy not to get in touch with me. If he’s not letting me know he’s all right, then…’ She trails off, blinking furiously.

Jesse finishes his smoke and grinds the butt out on a rock. He runs his hands back through his hair. He knows what he should say now, what he should bring up and he knows if he doesn’t, then one of them will. And soon. But he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to put the plan in motion, set the wheels turning so that they can’t be stopped. There is a clawing fear gripping his flesh and he is frozen in terror at the thought of breaking into Sergeant Mayfield’s house. A big part of him just wants to walk away from the whole thing while he still can. These kids are not his friends, never were, never will be. Why is he helping them? Why does he care?

Ralph shifts his weight nervously. ‘Do you think it could have anything to do with the footprint I found?’ He shakes his head solemnly. ‘I tell you guys, they were not from a domestic animal. They were giant!’

‘There’d be evidence,’ Jaime tells him gently. ‘An animal attack would have left a lot of evidence. They haven’t found anything. Willow is right. He just vanished and we need to think about how that could happen.’

Jesse suddenly really wants to go home. The dark mould-stained flat that reeks of alcohol and sweat feels like the safest refuge in the world right now. He can’t stand the cold a moment longer and pushes himself up, rubbing at his arms.

‘We need to find the book,’ he mumbles, as they all look at him. ‘That’s the next thing. We need to get it back. So, we break into Mayfield’s house like we said.’

‘Okay,’ Willow says softly, her eyes on him. ‘A power cut. A distraction. In and out.’

His mouth feels dry as he nods back at her. ‘Just tell me when.’

Willow gets up then and links her arm through his. He’s so surprised by the gesture, he actually gasps.

‘We should get you home,’ she says and starts to walk. ‘You don’t look too well all of a sudden. Maybe you shouldn’t have smoked that.’

‘I don’t feel too well,’ he admits, staring at her.

Ralph and Jaime catch them up. ‘Are we going to decide when?’ asks Jaime. ‘I mean, I hate to bring it up but we should probably decide now while we’re all together.’

‘I agree,’ nods Ralph on her other side. ‘The sooner the better. For Paddy.’

Jesse agrees. For Paddy.

He shivers, hurrying along, the landscape now dark and full of shadows. He thinks he can hear something else under the chatter of the group as they head home. Something low and rumbling, something hungry but patient.

Jesse walks faster, making his strides longer, his arm still looped with Willow’s, which is still bothering him somehow, how she made that move, made him feel safe. He drags her along and she ups her pace to match his. Sweat breaks out across his frozen shoulder blades and he feels like if that noise, that vibration comes any closer, he will choke on his own screams and piss his pants all at once.

‘Come on,’ he urges, side-eyeing them. ‘I’m getting nervous.’

Wide-eyed, Jaime hisses back, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just nervous,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘Like we’re being watched. Just hurry. Please hurry.’

They don’t argue. As a line of four linked arms, they break into a cautious yet determined run all along Walkers Road until they turn safely into Taylor’s Drive.

Only then does Jesse give himself permission to slow down and breathe. His face is grey, his lips trembling. The noise has gone. The absence of it is somehow more shocking.

He heads for his block in a hurry, dragging the others with him. He wants them all to come in and be safe too – but he knows he can’t let them see his rancid home, let alone allow them to sleep in it.

He turns to them, slipping out of the line. ‘Next Saturday evening? 8pm?’ His heart is in his throat beating limply. They all look at each other then back at him with a nod.

‘Are you all right?’ Willow asks him.

Jesse shakes his head. ‘Something chased me the other night and I felt it again then. It was watching us. I know that sounds crazy.’

They look at each other again. ‘Not really crazy,’ Willow says after a while. She sinks her hands into her pockets with a heavy sigh. ‘Not after spying policeman and vanishing kids. Do you want to tell us about it?’

‘Not really,’ he bites his lip. ‘I better go.’

‘Okay,’ she nods. ‘See you on Monday then.’

Jesse lets the doors close on them then hurries two at a time up the stairs. He doesn’t feel truly safe until he has closed and locked the flat door behind him.

The three of them cut through to High Street and say goodbye to Willow first. She lingers for a moment outside the shop, shivering as she frowns up and down the road.

‘It got dark again quick.’

‘I was just thinking that,’ Jaime agrees in a low voice. ‘Almost like the town wants us home.’

Ralph laughs nervously and when they both look at him he shuts up and stares at his feet. Willow tugs open the shop door and a bright warmth escapes and touches their faces. They breathe.

‘We better find him at school on Monday,’ Willow says of Jesse. ‘Make sure he’s okay.’

Jaime nods. ‘Of course. We’re gonna get to the bottom of all of this, Willow.’ She adds in the same low voice, ‘We’re not going to stop until we do.’

Willow manages a small smile then slips inside and closes the door. Jaime and Ralph fall in step together and walk down to the end of High Street. Ralph pauses at the doors to the pub but Jaime shakes her head.

‘I’ll go in the back way.’

Ralph nods as if he understands why. Through one of the windows, Mayor Sumner and Mr Bishop can be seen sitting at the bar chatting to Jaime’s step-dad.

‘They’re in a lot,’ Jaime confirms as they walk on. ‘Not always all of them but at least one or two, most days. Mark seems to think the world of them.’

‘Everyone does,’ replies Ralph.

‘Plus apparently the bar-maid Tahlia is dating Mr Hewlett.’

Ralph raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh. Didn’t know that.’

They move on in silence, crossing over the entrance to Lupin Lane beside the library. Jaime nudges Ralph as they pass by.

‘I’ll pop in there Monday after school. Just to check whether there are any similar books.’

Ralph winces slightly. ‘Don’t ask Miss Spires though. She’s on the committee.’

‘Okay.’ Jaime thinks for a second and then asks, ‘Are we really going to suspect all of them? The whole committee?’

Ralph looks uncertain. ‘About Paddy? I don’t know. But it’s probably best, don’t you think? I mean, it might not just be Mayfield spying and blackmailing. The committee are pretty tight.’

Jaime nods, thinking about her mother, but she keeps quiet. At the other end of Lupin Lane, Ralph gives her a little cheery wave though he looks as grey-faced and jittery as Jesse did.

‘Well, I’ll say goodbye here then.’

‘Will you be okay? Sure you don’t want me to walk a bit further with you?’

‘Nah.’ He shakes his head with a grin. ‘It’s not far. I’ll be fine. The town’s still busy.’

She looks around and agrees. Although almost dark, there are plenty of people and cars moving around.

‘All right then. Call for me in Monday morning?’

‘Yeah, definitely!’

Jaime stands on the corner and watches until he is out of sight, then she trots quickly down Lupin Lane to the pub garden gates. She’s just about to push the way in when something catches her eye. Back on the corner, a white shape – something and hesitant and about the size of a cat or small dog…. She stares right at it, at first thinking the rising moon is reflecting something else, throwing up a bright shape.

And then it moves.

It raises up on two haunches and Jaime can see a definitive shape now. A long body and long, erect ears. She steps towards it, mesmerised, her hands reaching for her camera. A rabbit? A hare? Then it turns and runs.

Jaime dashes back to the street corner and stares. At first she thinks it’s gone. She can’t see anything moving. But then she spots it again, a white shape loping along the High Street before vanishing into the woods beside Saint Marks church.

Jaime stares after it, transfixed. She has her camera clutched in her hands and wants to chase after it. But somehow she can’t move, can’t force herself forward. Maybe it’s the dense darkness of those woods, or maybe it’s the infectious fear Jesse felt up at the ruins. Maybe she imagined the whole thing. A white rabbit or hare running through town?

She laughs a little. No way. Her excitable mind is playing tricks on her. She laughs again, a little more nervously, then turns and heads back to the pub.

Ralph hears his mother moving around the caravan before his alarm goes off. It’s always the same routine on weekdays. She gets up at six, makes herself a cup of tea and a bowl of porridge and curls up in the lounge with a blanket over her. She likes to have her ‘me time’ at either end of the day. She says it gets her ready to face the world. A cup of tea, warm oats and just thirty minutes to herself.

At 6.30am Ralph hears her shower and dress. She always tries to be as careful and quiet as possible but the walls are like paper and he can hear every movement of her daily routine. He hears her pyjamas hitting the floor before she steps into the shower. He hears the hiss of steam. The window being cracked open to let it escape. He hears her dash to her room, shivering in a towel. He hears her brushing her long hair, zipping up her coat. At 7am, she peeks in on him.

‘You awake? I’m off now. Don’t lie in.’

‘I won’t. Mum?’

He face reappears. ‘Yeah?’

‘Can I borrow the chainsaw at the weekend? There are loads of trees down and I thought I could cut some up and sell them.’

‘Oh, did you now?’ She looks at him quizzically. ‘What do you need the money for?’

‘No for you, I mean,’ he says quickly, propping himself up on one elbow. ‘To help out.’

She breaks into a smile. ‘Oh okay, I see. Well in that case, sure, but be careful and take the goggles, okay?’

‘Of course.’

She ducks out then quickly returns, ‘Ralph?’

He props up again. ‘Yeah?’

‘I don’t mean to sound nosy but I did hear a rumour that you’ve been hanging out with Jesse Archer a bit lately. Is that true?’

Ralph freezes. He can’t quite see her expression in the shadows but he can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s been worrying about this, wondering when and how to bring it up. He panics. Should he lie? Didn’t they agree to keep it secret? God, he hates keeping secrets from his mum. She’s always been really hot on honesty. She’s always been completely open with him about everything. And also, why should they lie? They’re not doing anything wrong but spending time together. He enjoys seeing Jesse, feels a bond with him after everything that has happened. And if people are already gossiping…

He exhales slowly and makes a decision. ‘A little bit, yeah, Mum. He’s really not as bad as they say. I think people should give him a second chance.’

She’s quiet for a moment and he can hear her fiddling with her zip. Then she lowers her head slightly and sighs. ‘I think so too, honey. And I trust you. You wouldn’t let anyone lead you astray.’

Depends what astray means, thinks Ralph, but I am one hundred percent sure I am not being led by anyone…

‘Course not, Mum. You can trust me.’

‘I know I can. You’re a good kid. The best.’ She backs out, pulling the door to. ‘Make sure you eat a decent breakfast. See you later.’

‘Seeya, Mum.’

After a restless night haunted by dark, fragmented dreams, Jesse gets up to face a new day with grim determination. His father didn’t come home in the night and his brothers are vaguely grateful when he raids the room for dirty washing to cram into a plastic bag. He finds some loose coins on the kitchen windowsill and has a brief dilemma about whether to wash or wear his school uniform.

If he washes it, he can’t wear it to school and although skipping school is obviously appealing, he also doesn’t want to give Mr Bishop or anyone else the satisfaction of gloating over poor attendance so soon into the new term. He decides to wear it – slips his backpack on, grabs the washing and leaves the flat half an hour earlier than usual.

The town is already awake as Jesse slips around the back of it to reach the launderette at the end of the High Street. He wades through long wet grass, crosses Rowan Road and cuts through the community centre and Rowan Woods. By the time he gets there, his trousers are damp and his shoes are muddy but he doesn’t care. Often, Jesse prefers the shortcuts, the alleys, cut throughs and back ways to get around the valley. As much as possible, he prefers not to be seen.

The launderette is open. A face peers at him from the office at the back but they don’t come out. Jesse pours the filthy clothes into a machine, buys a small box of powder, adds it and slams the door before turning it on.

‘I’ll be back for it later,’ he calls to the face in the office and he sees a hand rise and wave in reply.

He considers the next part of his schedule and his stomach rolls over. Out on the High Street, Jesse jams his hands into the pockets of his school trousers and takes a minute to look around. There is gentle movement everywhere. In the hairdresser’s next door, Alexa Duggan’s mum is turning on the lights and flipping the sign on the door to ‘open’. She gives him a glare through the window but he ignores her and crosses the road. The Fish and Chip shop, the grocers, the butchers, are all coming to life with yellow lights and yawning staff and hungry cash registers. Jesse walks past the small woods beside St Marks and continues down to the very end of High Street until he can see Black Hare Cottage in the distance.

It’s small thatched roof looks desolate and neglected. It’s surrounded by trees and through them a small wooden walkway is visible stretching out over the shimmering lake. Jesse can see a spiral of smoke belching from one squat chimney. He walks over the bridge, keeps to the left and slips through the trees.

At this time in the morning Iris Cotton must be at home. The fire is obviously burning. He creeps closer, straining his eyes to glimpse a small window lit up with internal light. The camera sits heavy like a guilty secret in the back pocket of his trousers.

Jesse moves on full alert, barely breathing until Black Hare Cottage is fully revealed. Through the trees he can see the holly hedging that surrounds her plot. The cottage faces away from town, looking over the lake. The back garden is a huge straggly field stretching out behind the house. Jesse can see two small ponies, heads down grazing, a wooden shed, a greenhouse and a line of fruit trees.

Iris has a reputation for being a recluse – someone who only goes to town when she needs something she can’t produce herself. Jesse hopes that Sergeant Mayfield is going to be patient – because unless he ropes in someone to help, this could be a very long job.

He crouches in the undergrowth, watching. While he’s waiting, he thinks about Iris Cotton and what she could have done to end up on Mayfield’s radar. She’s just an old lady, he muses; tiny, birdlike and slightly hunched. Her only relatives are her great-granddaughter, Sarah-Jane Cotton, an English teacher at Jesse’s school, and her son, Nathan Cotton, the nervous and almost definitely gay employee at Martins’ Chemist. They live together on Maze Lane, Jesse remembers, but do they visit Iris much? Or is she usually alone?

Wondering what she did to upset Mayfield, leads Jesse to wondering what Paddy and his father did. He wonders if he could ever summon the courage to ask Mayfield. The man is smug and arrogant – maybe Jesse can entice him into a brag?

Just as he’s about to give up his stakeout for the day and get to school, he spots movement at the cottage. A shuffling figure wearing a dark coat emerges from the front door and starts to make slow progress towards the lake.

Jesse watches from the shadows. It’s Iris Cotton, with a red woollen hat crammed over her tufts of flyaway white hair. It looks like candy floss floating around her head. She uses a cane and her back is crooked and she moves at a slow pace until she reaches the lake. She starts across the wooden walkway and he can just about see her fiddling with something at the edge. A net, or something. Is she fishing? Washing? Jesse cannot tell but all of a sudden, the old woman freezes.

She’s completely still, like a statue. Jesse feels the hairs flick up on the back of his neck. He feels the urge to back away. He feels seen. Exposed. Suddenly, her head turns and she seems to be staring right at him. He falls backwards in alarm, scrambling away through the trees and bushes.

Jaime sits nervously on the bench outside Mr Hewlett’s office which is next to Mr Bishop’s. Pupils are moving between classes but most seem to instinctively avoid this corridor. It is eerily quiet. She chews her nails, tries to breathe normally and wonders whether she is being watched.

Five minutes after the appointment was supposed to commence, the door to Mr Hewlett’s office creaks open and his pale, smooth face peeks out at her. She straightens up with a start.

‘Jaime. Come on in.’

She rises on weak legs and forces a cheery smile as she enters the office. It is cramped, dark and far too warm. A small, square sun-filled square window looks down on her as she takes a seat in the plastic chair opposite Mr Hewlett’s cluttered desk.

He sits down and examines her across the desk. His chubby cheeks and strangely smooth skin disarm her for a moment. His hair is pale and thinning but when she imagines a full head of it, she realises he really could be any age at all.

‘Thank you for coming, Jaime. This won’t take long. I just really wanted to check in with you.’

Her smile is frozen on her face. His voice is soft and low, almost a hypnotic whisper. Jaime nods in reply. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

His lips twitch with a little smile. ‘Good. With everything going on Jaime, this is a very worrying and stressful situation we are all in and we’re trying to make sure the students know we are there for them.’ He pauses, frowning. His head lowers slightly on his neck. ‘You can come to us.’

Jaime inhales. Breathes out. Tries another smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Hewlett. I’ll remember that.’

‘Good. Because you are very new to town and that can be stressful in itself, so I really just wanted to check in with you and make sure you know you can come to us any time. If you’re struggling in any way, I mean.’

Jaime shifts in the chair and eyes the door. ‘Thank you. I’m okay though, really. But I’ll remember that.’

‘Good. Good. And if there is anything on your mind, anything at all you’re concerned about, do feel free to find me here in my office any time. Or at weekends at the community centre.’

Jaime grips the arm rests of the chair and prepares to push herself up. ‘Thank you,’ she says again.

He leans forward then. ‘And what about friends? You’ve made friends, I see.’

Her mouth runs dry. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m making friends.’

‘Willow Harrison and Ralph Maxwell, is that right?’

Jaime can’t answer for a moment. She is too shocked, too confused by the line of questioning. He stares at her, into her, no smile now, just an intense frown carving up his smooth forehead.

‘Uh, yes,’ she shrugs. ‘I suppose so. Sort of.’

‘Anyone else?’

A flash of anger causes her to narrow her eyes at him. She stares at him for a beat and then looks to the door again, desperate for this to be over.

‘Jesse Archer?’ he prompts, leaning closer. She stares back at him, refusing to nod or shake her head. Instead, she wants to see where silence will get her. Mr Hewlett’s face cracks with a sudden smile. He shows his teeth and tilts his head. ‘Perhaps I heard wrong. Still, I hope you don’t mind me warning you about him. It’s just his reputation is not good. My girlfriend, Tahlia, lives in the same block as him.’

‘Oh, I love Tahlia,’ smiles Jaime. ‘She works in the pub.’

He nods. ‘She does. And you see that’s how I know about that family…’ He winces and then shudders. ‘Well, anyway. As long as you’re okay, Jaime? And you’ve settled in and made friends and everything is okay?’

Jaime nods and inches forward, her knees flexing, her feet planted and ready to move. She forces another smile, the fakest one yet. ‘Yes, all good thank you.’

He stays silent so she pushes herself up and edges towards the door.

‘Thank you then, sir.’

‘You’re very welcome. Good, good.’

Jaime slips out closes the door behind her and hurries down the corridor as fast as she can without breaking into a run.

School drags. There is Maths, which Jaime hates but is good at. English, which she loves but today she finds it impossible to focus and twice Miss Cotton berates her for daydreaming. There is a special assembly during which Vicar Roberts comes in to lead them in prayer for Paddy and afterwards, Mr Hewlett is on hand to offer support and guidance.

There is talk of another search taking place. There is Music, with the vicar’s second in command, Sylvia Gordon teaching piano. She does not smile once and seems to constantly examine the students with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Jaime finds her fascinating to look at though – a strange mix of severe and old-fashioned with her below knee pencil skirt, and overtly sexual, with her high shiny heels and tailored blouses. Her platinum blonde hair is styled in the image of old Hollywood film stars like Marylin Monroe.

Jaime does not see Jesse at all. She speaks briefly to Willow, who shares some of her classes but does not seem in the mood to talk today. Perhaps her mind is occupied with Saturday night. Jaime feels physically sick every time she thinks about it.

‘I can borrow the chainsaw,’ Ralph tells her at the end of the day when they walk along the High Street together towards the library. His voice is low, his eyes restless. Jaime doesn’t blame him. She’s been on edge since their meeting at the ruins. She couldn’t hear or see what frightened Jesse but his fear was impossible to disregard. It had infected them all and when he’d told them about being chased or stalked by something, she’d found it surprisingly easy to believe.

For now, Jaime tries to focus on something she can do to help, such as checking the library for books like the one they saw on the film.

‘If we cut down a tree to knock out the power lines,’ Jaime whispers back to Ralph. ‘Won’t someone be able to tell it was deliberate?’

Ralph pauses, his face paling. ‘Yeah,’ he croaks. ‘Probably.’

‘We need to try and find a half-rotten one if we can. When are we going to look? It has to be close to the lines. There might not even be any we can cut down without being seen.’

Ralph swallows thickly. ‘Better add that to the list of things to do.’

Jaime sighs and then pushes open one of the heavy doors into the library. It groans on its old hinges and they’re greeted by a rush of warm stale air and the unmistakable odour of books.

Despite everything, Jaime can’t help smiling and relaxing as the library reveals itself to her. It’s an old red-brick building; an entrance hall provides notice boards and male and female toilets. Through an arched doorway lies the rest of the library.

Straight ahead, the librarian desk – a thick counter top made of dark, shining wood and behind it, quiet activity – two assistants placing returned books onto a trolley and chatting softly, while the librarian, Eugenie Spires, holds court at the front, eyes bright and focused behind thick lensed glasses.

The frames are blue, and the eyes behind them sharp and dark. Her mouth is small and pursed and she smooths a strand of grey hair away from her face as Ralph and Jaime come inside.

Jaime doesn’t pay much attention to her at first. She is too entranced and excited by the size of the library. The desk sits directly in front, to the left the sign says ‘adult books’ and ‘computers’. Jaime glances that way, her mouth open, her breath held. The adult side contains huge wall to ceiling bookshelves, small round tables surrounded by plastic chair and an L-shaped array of desks and computers. She turns right and sees signs for ‘children’ and ‘young adult’. She steps forward.

‘Look like you’ve never seen a library before, girl.’

Jaime jumps in surprise. The woman at the desk had seemed so small and still, Jaime had almost forgotten she was there. She grins and plods up to the counter,

‘Never one so big! It’s amazing in here!’

‘You must be Jaime,’ the librarian says, her voice dry with a slightly sarcastic tone to it. ‘I’ve met your mum a few times now. I’m Miss Spires, the librarian.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ Jaime extends a hand and Eugenie Spires looks at her as if she finds her a little odd, then cautiously takes the hand. Jaime glances at Ralph, wondering if she has maybe gone a little too far, and Ralph shrugs back.

‘Suppose you’ll be needing a library card?’ Miss Spires says, rifling through some forms. ‘Why don’t you fill that out for me? I can’t let you borrow any books until I’ve got your card.’

‘Thank you.’ Jaime picks up the pen pushed her way and begins to fill in the form.

‘Looking for anything particular today?’ Miss Spires asks, her eyes fixing for a moment on Ralph.

‘Me?’ He points to himself. ‘No. Not me. Just showing Jaime around.’

‘Nice to see you’ve made friends already.’ Miss Spires takes the form when Jaime has finished and passes her a small rectangular card. ‘That’s your temporary one. I’ll get you a plastic one made up. Go on then. Have a look around. We’re very proud of our library.’

‘I can see why.’ Jaime smiles and slips the card into her blazer pocket. ‘I’ll have a look around. Thank you.’

Miss Spires nods and does not take her eyes off them as they head to the right side of the building. The children’s side has a separate area cordoned off with brightly coloured low units packed tight with toddler picture books, and several beanbags in primary colours are scattered across striped rugs.

Moving along, the shelves get a little taller and are filled with stories for early readers, followed by middle-grade, then young adult. They line the walls, leading the way back to the desk and the staff room behind it. After young adult come local history and folklore. Jaime’s eyes light up and she raises her eyebrows at Ralph.

He’s pretending to flick through a graphic novel but catches her eye and nods back discreetly. Jaime walks alongside the shelves, pulling out the occasional book, perusing the back cover blurbs with raised eyebrows and then putting it back and the whole time she can feel the librarian’s eyes on her. She looks at Ralph, who is staring at the graphic novel with his eyes a little too wide and a shimmer of sweat on his forehead.

Jaime clears her throat, pulls out a chair and slips into it with a book on her lap. Taking her lead, Ralph plops onto a beanbag and makes a show of trying to decide between the graphic novel and two comic books he has swiped from a shelf.

This is crazy, thinks Jaime, crazy! We should be able to look at whatever books we like and not be judged for it. She feels the pull of the local history and folklore section but cannot bring herself to even look that way. We have to be cautious, she tells herself, we have to assume the book Paddy was hiding was important and we have to assume the committee members are all watching us, like Mayfield is.

‘You might like to read about local history,’ Miss Spires says then, making Jaime jump so hard so drops the book on the floor. She grabs it and looks over her shoulder. Miss Spires is suddenly right behind her, dressed neatly in a knee length pencil skirt of a dark grey material, thick tan tights and flat black shoes with laces. Her blouse is cream and she wears a long, navy-blue cardigan over the top. She is staring intently at Jaime and blinking rapidly. She nods at the local history shelves.

‘If you want to get to know the place,’ she shrugs at Jaime and seems rather disappointed in her.

‘Oh.’ Jaime stands. ‘That’s really good advice, thank you. I didn’t notice. Okay, why not? Could be interesting.’

Miss Spires remains still, hands clasped behind her back. ‘There are some very good ones on the town history – how and when it was founded and so on. There are one or two on local stories, local people, that sort of thing. I know I’m biased having lived here all my life, but our town is a fascinating little place and I think those books are all very good.’

Jaime, nodding and smiling, wanders over to the shelf. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll take a look.’

She scans the shelves, running her index finger along book spines of various thicknesses and heights. She plucks one out –‘‘A Brief History of Black Hare Valley’,’ she reads out loud. ‘Oh, it’s by an L.T Spires. Any relation to you, Miss Spires?’

The librarian is already back at her desk though. Jaime is sure she did not see or hear the woman move.

‘Yes, actually. He was my grandfather. That’s a good place to start.’

Jaime looks down at the book. It’s quite short… She skim reads the introduction, something about the original hill fort being established in the iron age and there being evidence of dwellings going back to Anglo-Saxon times. There is a chapter about Viking invasions and more about the land and dwellings being mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086.

There is further mention of the first buildings and the on-going growth until it was officially founded as the town it is today. Jaime flicks back to the first page to check the publication date, 1878.

‘He started this library,’ Miss Spires announces then. Jaime turns to her but her head remains down, as her pen scratches across a page in front of her. ‘It was just a shed to start with. A small shack for storing and exchanging books, right in this very spot on the high street. I believe there are some early photographs in there.’

Jaime nods then sighs into the pages. She knows they’ve hit a dead end today, plus, it looks like they won’t be getting any peace. She does a final sweep of the shelves in search of any large, old, leather bound books, but there is nothing remotely similar. She tucks the history book under her arm and gestures to Ralph that it’s time to go.

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Eleven “The Book”

The Glorious Outsiders

Chantelle Atkins, Author

Writing

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Thirteen “The Break-In”

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Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twelve “The Plan”

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Black Hare Valley: Chapter Eleven “The Book”

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Black Hare Valley: Chapter Ten “The Search”

Chapter Ten : The Search

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Chapter Ten : The Search

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