Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Four “The White Hare”

October 2, 2025September 29, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

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Jesse lunges for the hare but his fingers close on thin air as Billy whisks it out of his way. ‘Hey, get out of it! What the hell is wrong with you?’ Billy is glaring at him angrily.

Wyatt arrives on the scene, breathless and red-cheeked. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, look at that thing!’

Jesse lunges again and this time, catching Billy unaware, he is able to close his hand around the other ear and tug it free. Billy makes a grab for it but Jesse holds it behind him and uses his free hand to shove his brother away.

‘You can’t have it! It’s not yours!’

He can see they don’t understand and he can tell their confusion is morphing into anger but he can’t explain it to them. He can’t let them take the hare either… If it is her… He holds Billy back while Wyatt cracks his knuckles. He can’t let them take her. He reacts to a fresh surge of frustration and shoves Billy harder.

‘I’m taking it!’ he yells, eyes blazing. ‘So back the fuck off!’

Wyatt looks him up and down. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

‘Oh, he’s just protecting Lady Snot’s precious stock,’ snarls Billy, stepping closer. ‘Jesus, Jesse, didn’t take you long to get your feet under the table!’

‘It’s not like that. You just shouldn’t have killed it!’ Jesse takes a step back, keeping his eyes on his brothers. ‘I’m sorry Billy but I can’t let you take it.’

‘Why the hell not?’ Wyatt demands.

‘Because he wants to keep on Lady Snot’s good side obviously,’ says Billy, spitting at the ground by Jesse’s feet. ‘He’s enjoying the good life now see? Doesn’t want the likes of us messing it up for him!’

‘I had no choice,’ Jesse tries to tell him. ‘There’s loads you don’t understand, Billy. I’m trying to find out what happened to Paddy.’

‘Bullshit,’ laughs Billy. ‘You handed yourself in, mate. You did it to yourself! I reckon you think you’re better than the rest of us.’

‘Think what you like,’ Jesse sighs and turns away, gathering the hare into his arms and pressing her still warm corpse against his heaving chest. ‘Just don’t get caught poaching here, okay?’

‘Jesse?’ Billy calls. ‘I’m warning you. Give back that hare or you’re forgotten, understand?’

Jesse looks back at his oldest brother and can see that he means it. He is angry and hurt and confused and is lashing out like he always does. If you’re not one hundred percent on Billy’s side, then you’re against him. It’s as simple as that and always has been.

‘I mean it,’ he tells him softly. ‘Turn your back on us now and it’s for good, little brother. You’ve chosen.’

‘God’s sake…’ Jesse mutters and walks away.

He heads back to the pheasant wood then keeps going, clutching the bloodied hare against him. He can’t stop thinking about the others and how devastated they’re going to be. He feels heavy with useless regret and sorrow; for them, for Paddy, for Iris.

Margaret is sat out on the patio smoking a cigarette in that cool and considered way she has. It’s nearly dark now but the house is lit up behind her. He can see Hilda sat in her chair in the lounge with the TV on. Horatio is lying at Margaret’s feet and thumps his tail as Jesse approaches.

‘My God boy, what on earth have you got there?’

‘Poachers…’ he says softly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He stares solemnly at the dead hare before lowering it gently to the ground. ‘They killed her.’

Margaret stubs her cigarette out in a hurry and rushes over. To Jesse’s surprise, she drops to her knees and covers her mouth with both hands. Jesse watches curiously then asks, ‘It’s Iris, isn’t it?’

She looks up at him sharply, eyes shocked and angry. He knows he isn’t supposed to ask questions but it’s too late. He has to know. She swallows a sob and sits back on her heels before turning back to gaze at the hare’s limp body.

‘Yes,’ she says in a ragged whisper. ‘It is. We must bury her.’

She stands abruptly, shaking her head in what Jesse can only perceive to be grief. He watches as she strides away quickly, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ll get a spade.’

Jesse is left alone with the body and Horatio who is whining miserably behind him. Jesse rubs his face with both hands. This is a disaster and he’s drenched in confusion. Iris was helping them and now she is dead. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly. How is he going to tell the others?

Suddenly, a raven swoops down, making him jump and stagger backwards. ‘What the …?’ Jesse looks at the house but there is no sign of Margaret returning yet.

The raven glares at him for the longest moment. To Jesse, there is no denying the human look in those eerie white eyes. There is a harsh intensity, a look of reproach and of restless frustration. The bird seems to toss its head angrily before stretching out its wings and bouncing over to the hare.

It makes a series of aggressive clicking noises deep in its throat then arches its neck tucks in its wings and powers its razor sharp beak into the flesh of the hare. Jesse gasps and steps forward but something stops him crying out. The bird watches him as it pulls and plucks at the soft white fur and stringy pink flesh.

Just then, Margaret appears running. She has the spade and is lifting it up over her head. ‘Get away from her! Get the hell away from her! You beast! You fiend!’ She aims the spade at the bird but it lifts off casually on its huge wings and seems to hover in the air just out of reach. She shoves the spade at Jesse, then kneels and lifts the white hare into her arms.

‘Jesse,’ she says sharply. ‘Dig a hole for her in the rose garden. Now.’

He takes the spade in trembling hands. Margaret is still locked in a death stare with the obstinate raven. Jesse walks away, looking back over his shoulder. He walks until he has reached the rose garden and when he looks back all he can see is darkness. He shoves the spade into wet earth and begins to dig.

It doesn’t take long to dig a hare-sized grave and when Jesse straightens up and stretches out his aching back, he hears Margaret approaching through the darkness. She says nothing as she gently lowers the limp white creature into the hole he has prepared. It is only when she lifts her face slightly, that the moonlight catches both her tears and the blood around her mouth.

Sergeant Aaron Mayfield watches the town from his observation room. Black Hare Valley and all its secrets play out on multiple screens in front of him. He sees Nathan Cotton meeting Neville Hewlett for a woodland walk – Nathan looks distressed, no doubt over the missing Iris. He sees Vicar Roberts meeting Sylvia Gordon in the graveyard behind the abandoned Catholic church. Hand in hand, they sit together to watch the sun go down, perched neatly, side by side on ancient graves. He knows how much the vicar longs to be with Sylvia – he’s heard them talking about what his wife, Meredith, could come back as.

He sees Eugenie Spires examining her illicit hoard of stolen items. None of it makes sense, he notes. Everything is random and snatched in opportune moments. A packet of tissues. A tube of mints. A set of earrings. A collar for a cat. A pair of fluffy pink socks. A pack of babies dummies. She picks them up in turn and caresses them gently.

Next door, Charlotte washes up after dinner – slim and young and impossibly attractive in blue jeans and a red checked shirt. She was always far too good for that know-it-all Frank Maxwell. Mayfield bided his time, waited years to pay those God forsaken kids back for what they tried and failed to do. He smiles now, remembering the look of surprise on Frankie’s face when their bodies collided; one human, one not. A freak accident, they called it when his body was pulled from the lake. Must have slipped, hit his head and drowned.

Ralph Maxwell sits in front of the TV with a troubled look upon his face. You know nothing, Mayfield wants to snarl at him, you are nothing!

At the Hare and Hound, the pub is busy and Mark Aster moves from punter to punter swiftly, ever friendly and gregarious while his wife rests on the bed upstairs and his step-daughter Jaime gets up to God knows what behind her locked bedroom door.

At Willow’s the shop is closed and dark and the parents are holding each other in front of the TV. They look tired and drawn. Mayfield takes pleasure in this. Lizzie Harrison has a haunted look in her eyes and he knows how hard she is trying not to tumble into the darkness of her past, while her husband holds her, helpless. Meanwhile, their daughter sits on the floor of her locked bedroom with the investigation rolled out in front of her.

Mayfield can’t see much of it but what he can see doesn’t bother him. He still feels the rage and injustice of a boy like Paddy Finnis being picked over a boy like Jesse Archer, but he’ll be patient. He knows there is no real future for Jesse Archer in Black Hare Valley, despite what the mayor believes.

He knows the boy will lie and manipulate his way towards the truth and that eventually Margaret will see this and will act accordingly. Mayfield licks his lips. He just hopes he has a say in the transformation. Something to chase, hunt, catch and torture slowly would be preferable.

He views them now and sees they are troubled. Margaret sits in the lounge by the fire, eyes dull, sipping red wine. Jesse is cleaning up the kitchen and Mayfield is glad to see him being put to work. Hilda is in her chair with several bowls of mostly untouched food before her on the table. Every now and then she picks something up with her fingers and throws it at Jesse. Mayfield laughs.

A short while later his phone rings.

Mayfield knows its Margaret even before he hears her voice. His instincts are whispering; his hackles are up.

‘It’s Iris,’ she says in a thin, shocked voice. ‘She’s dead.’

Edward Bishop feels cat-like as he prowls the corridors, classrooms and dark corners of his school. He knows every inch of it – from when he was a student himself, to the early awkward days of his fledgling teaching career, to his many as the Head. And now he knows he will stalk it and control it forever, he feels reborn and brand new.

Margaret Sumner may own most of the valley and Aaron Mayfield may control the lives of most of the residents, while Gregory Roberts controls the souls who attend his church, but here, in this place, Edward Bishop is King and Master. He stalks the corridors with narrowed, glinting eyes glaring down his hooked nose.

His limbs feel loose and fluid and as he passes the hard court and sees a class of Year 9’s playing football, he feels like he could spring up onto the top of the wire fence, strut along it with ease and leap nimbly from there to the roof of the science block.

He smiles to himself knowingly and moves on. The lunch bell rings and Bishop continues to prowl. He finds it hard to sit still these days – almost impossible to remain hidden away in his stuffy office. He needs to stretch out, limb by limb, he needs to arch his back and flex his claws.

Children pour out of classrooms – released like puffs of pure energy – but he sees the energy weaken and dissipate when he passes by. He sees their faces drop, hears their voices lower, feels the energy drift away with hunched shoulders. Edward Bishop sifts through them, his eyes gleaming as a pair of heads moving along with the crowd catch his attention.

The Harrison girl and that vile stain, Jesse Archer…

He looks tall and fresh-faced. Margaret has evidently been taking good care of him. The girl is of a similar height – both of them gangly and still growing – her teenage frame willowy and fluid. She shakes back her dark hair and he watches it settle on sharp shoulder blades. He thinks of her as a dark bat – flitting around at dusk.

Bishop follows them as they divert from the crowd and head down another corridor. Their heads are close together and they are whispering back and forth. Bishop gains on them and pounces when they have turned left towards the library. He assumes the other two are already there, waiting.

‘Archer,’ he says – the sharp tone bringing the boy to an abrupt halt as he turns and looks at Bishop in dismay. The pair swap a look – then Jesse stands tall, unafraid. He has no right to look or feel so brazen or so confident. Bishop bristles and points to his shoes. ‘They are not regulation. They are trainers.’

‘What?’ Jesse frowns at his feet. ‘They’re not trainers, they’re school shoes.’

‘School shoes, sir,’ Bishop scowls at him. ‘And they most certainly are trainers. I wasn’t born yesterday, young man and I know a pair of black trainers when I see them. You know the uniform rules, Archer. That’s a detention.’ Before Jesse can reply, Bishop stares at the Harrison girl, pushing himself up on his toes. ‘You can go, young lady. I’d like a private word with Mr Archer, if you don’t mind.’

The girl looks troubled, glancing at Jesse before looking rather sharply back at Mr Bishop. He holds her gaze and finally she lowers her eyes and reaches warily for the library door. Edward Bishop folds his arms and continues to glare, while Willow Harrison who has always got on his nerves, opens the door, slips inside, and clicks it shut behind her.

He turns his gleaming eyes on Jesse Archer and his nostrils twitch restlessly, picking up grass and earth, boiled eggs, milk and cigarette smoke: Jesse’s day so far.

‘You better take it up with my foster mum, Mr Bishop,’ Archer says then. He nods at his shoes. ‘Because she bought these for me.’

‘Oh, I will, I will,’ Bishop replies. ‘I’ll be taking quite a few things up with her actually. It’s time the committee had a meeting, I think, and maybe, as she seems so keen to make you one of us, you should be there too.’

The boy looks momentarily wary and slips his hands into his pockets. ‘But I’m not on the committee. I’m just a kid.’

‘Oh yes, yes you are indeed, just a kid. Obviously, you’re too young to properly join us but that is what she has in store for you, right?’ When the boy does not reply, Bishop gives an exaggerated sigh. ‘Ah dear and there was me thinking I had the perfect opportunity for you right here at this school.’

‘I never said I’d join any committee…’ the boy murmurs, still looking at his shoes.

Bishop smiles. ‘I’m sure you didn’t, but you will in time. Now obviously, if I had my way, the likes of you would never be involved in the running and protecting of this town. If I had my way you’d have been taken care of by now.’ He smiles at him and a low catlike sound emerges from between his teeth. He snaps his mouth shut, grinning. ‘Excuse me.’

‘I’ve got to go, sir.’

‘No, you don’t. Not yet. You were there with Iris. It was your brothers that killed her, I hear.’

The boy stiffens. His eyes widen but remain fixed on his feet. He says nothing.

‘These things happen,’ Bishop continues. ‘Hares are faster than anything but at the end of the day they are still a prey animal, and one with countless enemies.’ Bishop sniffs and links his hands in the small of his back as the boy remains silent. He leans a little closer and sniffs again. ‘Poor Iris. She will be greatly missed. But it shows you, doesn’t it. How vulnerable some creatures are. As for your brothers, I assume you know there will be consequences.’

‘I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t see whose dogs they were.’

‘Liar.’

Jesse meets his eye, shrinking back slightly as he shakes his head. ‘I didn’t see anyone, I swear. I saw the dogs and found the hare. That’s it.’

Edward Bishop rocks back on his heels, his eyes narrowed to slits as a feline smile spreads up each side of his acne-scarred face. ‘Margaret is confiding in you, Jesse,’ he whispers. ‘You ought to be relieved by that. Grateful to know things you really shouldn’t.’

The boy shakes his head again. ‘I don’t know anything.’

‘You know the hare was Iris. You know Paddy Finnis is not really missing. You know that it’s very dangerous for badly-behaved boys to roam the streets of Black Hare Valley.’ His smiles stretches even further. ‘Or, at least, I hope you do.’

Jesse Archer stares back at him, lips pressed together, breath short yet his fear held in check. He doesn’t say a word and Bishop knows why; what he does or doesn’t know is his business and his alone.

‘I suppose you can always test the theory,’ Bishop goes on. ‘Leave Hill Fort Farm tonight and see how far you get again.’ He leans closer. ‘I for one, would quite like to see that. Are you still a badly behaved boy, Jesse Archer? Sergeant Mayfield thinks you are and so do I. Margaret, well, she likes a challenge. It’s in her genes. But don’t think for a moment that you’re special to her. Don’t for a moment assume she won’t snap her fingers and see you gone if you let her down. Do you get it now, Archer? She likes to collect waifs and strays, you see. She has always liked her pets. You’re her pet, for now. Nothing but a pet. Like a pathetic little prey creature scurrying around for survival. Well, let me tell you, Jesse Archer, don’t get caught out at night. Little prey creature. You never know what predators you might run into.’

Edward Bishop chuckles at his own threat, winks, and turns away.

When Jesse comes into the library, Willow can see he is rattled. He pushes both hands nervously through his hair then exhales his frustration through clenched teeth.

She’s hovering in the history section while Jaime and Ralph are opening and closing books in the poetry section. All of them separate, yet together. Willow checks the desk and sees the librarian is still at the photocopier with her back turned.

‘What did he want?’ Willow hisses as she arrives at his side. ‘And why did he smell so bad?’

Jesse looks at her sharply. ‘You got that too?’

‘Yeah.’ She wrinkles her nose at the memory. ‘It was disgusting….sort of musty, like…’

‘Like an animal,’ Jesse finishes for her. They nod at each other. ‘He’s one of them.’

‘We know that,’ says Jaime. ‘He’s on the committee.’

Jesse shakes his head. ‘I’m starting to think there’s two layers or something. They’re not all the same, but he is, he’s the same as Margaret and Mayfield and Iris. And that’s the weird thing too. If Iris was working against them, if she tried to warn Paddy, then why was Margaret so upset?’ Jesse looks at them each in turn. ‘She cried, guys, I swear. She was shocked and upset, especially when this raven flew down and tried to peck at the body.’

‘A raven?’ whispers Ralph, shuffling closer with books in his arms. ‘Last Saturday when Jaime and I spoke to Nathan at the library, there was this raven following us the whole time.’

‘One of them?’ wonders Willow, her heart beating faster.

Jesse looks unsure. ‘Maybe, but Margaret was furious with it. Doesn’t make sense.’

‘Nothing does,’ Ralph agrees gloomily. ‘How’s it been since then?’

‘With Margaret? Weird. Weirder than usual, I mean. Tense. She’s not saying much. It’s like she’s grieving. And she had blood on her mouth, I noticed it before we buried the hare. Like she’d been kissing it or something.’

‘Gross.’ Jaime shakes her head and nibbles at her thumbnail.

‘What did Bishop say to you just now?’ Willow brings them back on track.

Jesse shoves his hands into his pockets and glances at the school librarian again, just to be sure. He sighs and lowers his voice. ‘It was a threat, I think. He was going on about prey and predators and he said, poor Iris, going like that. He said there would be consequences for my brothers.’

Ralph is wide-eyed. ‘Shit!’

‘They’re not even denying it now,’ Willow muses.

‘Nah, he knows what I know, I guess.’ Jesse lifts and drops his shoulders. ‘Then he tried to encourage me to leave the farm tonight and see how far I get. He was weird guys, like really intense. I feel like if he can turn into something too it’d be like Mayfield, you know, it’d be something awful.’ He pauses, staring at the carpet and licking his lips. ‘I felt like he wanted to hunt me.’

‘Shit,’ Ralph says again, his voice coming out as a squeak as he hugs the books tighter to his chest.

‘It’s like Mayfield and Bishop are pissed at Margaret for taking me in,’ says Jesse. ‘She’s barely told me anything yet they seem to think she wants me to join them. Be like them, whatever the hell that means.’ He pauses again and shudders. ‘He called me her pet.’

Willow rubs his arm then instantly freezes as she feels Jaime and Ralph’s eyes upon her. She withdraws her hand and doesn’t know where to look, but it shouldn’t matter, should it? If she touches him or comforts him? But still, her cheeks feel hot as she folds her arms tightly and tosses back her hair.

‘I translated some more before I hit a wall with it,’ she mutters. ‘To be honest, it’s mostly the same words coming up again and again.’

‘Anything useful?’ wonders Jaime.

Willow nods. ‘A lot of words and phrases that basically mean eternal life. Aeterum vitam, aeternus vitan, immortalis and so on. But there were others, custodia, for example, which basically means guard or protect, and tenere which translates to hold. Oh, and laqueum which I think translates to trap, or snare.’

Jesse is frowning. ‘So, we’ve got missing people, and rebirth into animals?’ He throws up his hands. ‘Something about eternal life and a spell book possibly left for Paddy to find. He’s taken because of that?’ Another throw of the hands.

‘We assume so,’ says Willow. ‘Iris is punished by them burning down her house and then your brothers kill her hare form.’

‘Then we’ve got Margaret upset about it while Mayfield and Bishop seem to resent her having me and both seem to want to eat me. Is that everything? Oh yeah and a fucking raven.’ Jesse links his hands behind his neck and looks at the ceiling.

‘Bob Rowan,’ Jaime shrugs at them.

‘What?’

‘We saw the raven after we saw Bob Rowan up on his hill. I dunno, I just kind of connected it, didn’t any of you?’

‘Okay.’ Jesse holds his hands up again. ‘Assuming that’s correct, a raven was pissing Margaret off and pecking at the dead hare. So, what the hell? Bob Rowan hates them all? Enjoyed seeing Iris dead?’

There is silence while they all try to take it in. Ralph chews his lips and Jaime bites another nail. Jesse looks suddenly weary, pocketing his hands again as he leans on a nearby table. It is Willow who speaks first.

‘We need to speak to Bob Rowan.’

‘How far do you think we’ll get?’ Ralph asks Jaime as they walk slowly down Lupin Lane. ‘You know,’ he adds, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. ‘Before something stops us?’

Jaime walks on, head low and backpack heavy on her shoulders. Willow has passed it back to her but she’s wondering whether Ralph would mind taking his turn. It feels impossibly heavy, she thinks solemnly, the weight of their investigation so far.

‘I don’t know,’ she replies quietly. ‘I guess we’ll find out.’

Ralph nods grimly and she can tell that he is as nervous as she is. She would feel safer with Willow and Jesse as she considers them stronger and braver, but it was mutually agreed that all four of them turning up together would be far too dangerous, not to mention obvious.

Lupin Lane ends and Rowan Road begins. Jaime looks at the neat terraced homes on either side of the road and finds it hard to believe that so many people in Black Hare Valley don’t realise what is going on. It’s what troubles her the most. Do they know? Do any of them know? Or do they just choose to turn and look the other way?

They pass the leisure centre on the right – a small, one-storey building that could do with a fresh lick of paint. There are kids playing tennis on the court at the front and a football game is just visible on the muddy pitch behind. Jaime has not had a chance to check out the swimming pool yet, or the cinema on Lupin Lane, but it occurs to her now that Black Hare Valley really does have everything.

‘It’s like she thought of everything…’ she murmurs, gazing over at the playground to the left of the road. It’s a large park, twice the size of the one next to the caravan site.

‘Huh?’

She looks at Ralph. ‘If Mayor Sumner or her relatives, I suppose, created the town, they thought of everything, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees instantly. ‘People are happy here too. My mum is always saying it.’

‘Everyone says it,’ nods Jaime. ‘And it’s more than happy, isn’t it? It’s almost… dreamy.’

They’ve reached Rowan Lane now and a metal gate stretches across it, barring their way. A large yellow sign reads, PRIVATE – KEEP OUT and a smaller red one warns, GUARD DOGS LOOSE.

‘Shit,’ complains Ralph. ‘This suddenly feels a little bit dangerous.’

Jaime looks at the barbed wire rolled across the gate and walks to the left side, where the fence post is connected.

‘I reckon we can squeeze through there.’ She points to a small gap. ‘See?’

‘What about the guard dogs?’ Ralph looks panicked.

‘Do you think he really has guard dogs?’

‘I don’t know, Jaime.’ Ralph winces as he peers through the gate. ‘He might have.’

‘Have you ever heard any? Have you ever heard anyone say he has them?’

He shakes his head, frowning unhappily. ‘No.’

‘It’s just a sign then,’ Jaime tells him, though she sounds far from convinced herself. ‘A warning to put people off.’

‘I am put off, Jaime.’

But she is already pushing herself through the gap. ‘Stay there then.’

‘What? Oh, come on,’ Ralph groans, then follows her.

What happens next happens quickly.

A huge black bird swoops down, squawking aggressively. It flaps around Ralph’s head, causing him to flap back with his hands raised over his head.

‘Hey! Get out of it!’

Jaime looks around and realises right away that there is nowhere to run. Not on this side of the gate anyway. The track that winds up to the hill is dirt and gravel, so she picks up a stone and throws it at the bird.

‘It’s the raven again!’ she yells at Ralph, but he is too occupied fighting it off to respond.

The bird’s claws have gripped him – razor sharp talons raking over his scalp and curling into his hair. He swipes and bats at the bird as hard as he can but it doesn’t seem to care.

‘Get off him!’ Jaime grabs the bird by one wing and succeeds in yanking it away from Ralph, though tufts of his fluffy hair go drifting off in the breeze. ‘Run!’ she yells and shoves him through the gap.

The bird isn’t finished though. It escapes her hold, swoops back around and dives again, wings propelled backwards, feet forward, talons stretching towards Jaime’s face.

‘Go!’ she screams, shoving Ralph from behind. ‘Go!’

She feels Ralph drop through to the other side and shoves her body into the same space, but it’s too late because the raven moves faster, wings pumping as its talons strike her face. She screams and Ralph screams too, grabbing her arm so hard she’ll find bright bruises on it later, and suddenly she is through and the bird finally retreats, flapping lazily upwards. It glares down at them as they lay on their backs on the other side of the gate, bloodied and breathless.

Ralph sits up, pulling Jaime with him. He pats his head and checks his fingers for blood. Then he reaches for Jaime and she lets him pull her to her knees. She leans on him to get to her feet, staggers slightly, blinded and alarmed by the blood in her eyes.

‘Shit, Jaime,’ he hisses, pulling her to face him. ‘I’ve got to get you home. Wait, let me see.’ He steadies her by holding her shoulders, and uses one gentle hand to lift her hair from her face. He gasps but only slightly, then he gives a firm nod. ‘You’re okay. It’s not too bad.’

But Jaime does not believe him. She is trying not to panic but her whole face feels like it’s on fire. She wipes her eyes with her fingers and they come away bloody.

‘Oh Ralph, it hurts…’

Ralph slings an arm around her middle. ‘Come on, quick. Let’s go.’

They only make it as far as Lupin Lane before a car screeches to a stop beside them. Jaime is mildly shocked to see that it’s Mark’s silver Ford Escort. He throws open a door and his face is like thunder.

‘What the bleeding hell is this about?’

‘A bird,’ whimpers Jaime, then hates herself for how pathetic she sounds.

‘I know it sounds crazy,’ adds Ralph, his cheeks reddening. ‘But it’s true, a bird attacked us. A really big one.’

Jaime only has a moment to wonder what Mark is doing driving up Lupin Lane before he takes her arm and marches her towards the car.

‘Come on, get in. That needs looking at. What the hell is going on with you bloody kids?’

Jaime’s not sure what he means but he seems angry more than concerned. She waves at Ralph and he waves back rather miserably and Mark slams the door and climbs in behind the wheel. He’s breathless and flushed and his top lip remains settled in a disturbing snarl that bothers her terribly.

The car roars off and Mark snatches a pack of tissues from the door and chucks it at her.

‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I don’t think it’s too bad.’

‘Well, it looks bloody awful. Mop it up before it gets all over the car.’

‘Sorry.’ Jaime tries not to cry as she unfolds a tissue and lifts her shaking hands to press it to her face.

‘You will be.’

Jaime blinks at him. ‘What?’ She must not have heard him correctly.

‘I said, you will be.’ For one moment, he takes his eyes off the road and stares right at her. He licks his lips very quickly and swallows. Jaime watches his flushed Adam’s apple bob up and down and notices he’s cut himself shaving in three places this morning. ‘If you don’t stop messing around with stuff you don’t understand.’ His eyes swivel back to the road.

‘What?’ her voice is thin and fragile, shocked by his cruelty.

‘This is a good place,’ he says. ‘A nice place. A special place. Now, you either appreciate that and stop meddling or you wind up regretting it, my girl.’

Jaime sits in stunned silence, barely breathing. Mark drives her home.

The lights are low in Hill Fort Farmhouse. Jesse doesn’t know if Margaret is trying to save electricity or if it is just another part of her grieving process, for she is certainly gloomy and has been since the white hare was killed.

Jesse has kept his nose to the ground all week and the word in town is gentle and discreet. Iris Cotton was always a little eccentric, perhaps even suffered from dementia. She liked to wander off and immerse herself in nature, alone. But this time she just didn’t come back. Despite sniffles and red eyes, her family seem to have accepted this and there has been no attempt to declare her missing, or to search for a body. She is simply assumed dead; almost as if she chose it herself. The town is sombre but life goes on.

Tonight they occupy the drawing room together. Margaret, Hilda and Jesse. It’s the room she likes to hold the committee meetings in and Jesse wonders if this is the start of her warming him up to attend them

Either way, the mood is grim.

Only Horatio seems content, sprawled on his back beside a roaring fire, all four legs in the air. Hilda fidgets in her wheelchair and refuses to eat the supper of cheese and crackers and sliced apple that site untouched on a plate on her knees. Instead, she throws a piece of cheese or a bit of cracker at Jesse every so often. As usual, she says nothing and refuses to look at him.

He’s sitting in a rigid red chair beside Margaret with his empty plate at his feet. A piece of cheese slaps him on the cheek and sticks there. He glares at Hilda.

‘Why the hell do you keep doing that?’ He peels the cheese away and throws it to the dog.

Hilda does not reply but Margaret does. She’s been making notes in a notebook all evening, and now she snaps it shut and growls under her breath.

‘It’s because she doesn’t trust you. She only throws things at people she doesn’t trust.’

‘Well, that’s not my fault. I didn’t ask to be here. Let me go home if it’s annoying her so much.’

They’re childish, surly words but Jesse has had enough. He wants the truth but how much longer must he wait, and what will he have to do to get it? Jesse has never been a patient boy and time seems to be stretching out agonisingly slowly before his very eyes.

‘There will be consequences you know.’

He stares at Margaret. ‘What?’

‘For your brothers. For killing Iris.’ She stands up suddenly, glaring down at him. ‘I’m putting my faith and trust in you, Jesse, despite them but you need to understand. There will be dire consequence for them if you don’t do what you’re told.’

He opens his mouth to ask what the hell that is supposed to mean, but Margaret turns abruptly, and wheels Hilda out of the room.

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 Twenty-Five “Secrets and Lies”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Three “Bob Rowan”

September 25, 2025September 24, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

Rolling down the hill has unleashed a childishness in all of them. Jesse doesn’t have time to think about it, as an impromptu and undeclared game of tag quickly ensues and he’s suddenly racing at top speed along the riverbank with Willow in hot pursuit.

He’s running fast but not as fast as normal because he is laughing so much, and the more he hears the sound of his own laughter, the funnier it becomes and the harder it is to run. He can feel Willow almost at his elbow and only has a moment to be impressed by her speed, when his foot strikes a clump of thick grass and he flies sprawling onto his front.

He rolls over, slightly winded but still laughing, and suddenly they have surrounded him and he’s being pelted mercilessly with lumps of grass and soil. Roaring with laughter, Jesse rolls away, grabbing at debris and flinging it back at them.

‘You’re it!’ Willow yells and takes off again, streaking along the riverside until she is almost out of sight.

Jesse sprints after her but without much conviction – his feet and legs feel like lead and he can’t catch his breath from laughing too much. Jaime and Ralph overtake him easily, yelling at Willow and giggling at the absurdity of it. Jesse follows, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand as he spots Willow haring alongside the river. They have moved quite some distance from the ruins, he notices when he looks back over one shoulder.

A huge buzzard circles overhead mewing as it glides and Jesse looks up at its cream underbelly and feels a shudder wring through him. The drink, the weed, the fear, the friendship – they have all wound up tight inside of him and now he feels like he is exploding from the inside. A reckless streak pushes him forward, glaring at the bird until it disappears from view and he hurries after the others and wonders how far they could get as a group if they just kept going.

He glances at the river. He got further than this when he tried to leave town. He made it to the Holloway. Now he stares at the shining water and thinks that if they could just somehow cross the river they would be out of Black Hare Valley. His stomach lurches at the thought but as much as it is terrifying, the thought is also delicious.

Jesse finds the others at the base of the hill. Ralph has been tackled by the girls and is rolling around like a stocky toddler, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. Jesse watches for a moment, hands on hips as he grins at their antics. He has never seen them like this – utterly carefree and silly. He feels sorrow pooling inside of him because he wishes it could always be like this and he feels regret because he should have spent years with kids like this, not kids like Steven.

He thinks about all he has missed out on and sighs. A mewing overhead catches his attention and he sees the buzzard again, gliding in huge smooth circles as it cries out its melancholy song. Jesse walks over to them and they fall apart breathlessly, red-faced, muddied and happy.

He looks up at the hill behind and knows they are on the edge of Rowan Farm. Somewhere further along they’ll find the barbed wire fence with the gap under it. But he turns his attention back to the river. It doesn’t look too deep. Maybe waist high at the most. He licks his lips and edges closer.

Suddenly, Willow is at his side. She’s rubbing her arms and frowning. ‘It feels weird here.’

‘Hey?’

She’s looking around and then up, as the cream-bellied bird of prey continues to circle. Jaime and Ralph plod over and all four of them stare at the river.

‘It feels weird,’ Willow repeats. ‘Cold.’

Jesse pauses and realises that she is right. There is a notable change in the atmosphere – in the air around them – it feels cold and thin and their voices sound strangely small and muffled, yet there is that same fizzing sensation like the one in Margaret’s cellar.

He’s silent for a few moments while he tries to absorb and understand it. Above them the buzzard is still circling and crying out like an injured kitten.

Ralph sighs beside him. ‘Are you thinking about trying to cross it?’ he asks softly, nodding at the river.

Jesse snaps out of his thoughts and looks down at Ralph. ‘Yeah, maybe. What do you guys think? Then we’d be out of here.’

‘It looks freezing,’ say Jaime, anxiously looking between the river and the buzzard. ‘Is that really a border?’

‘Yeah,’ nods Willow. ‘Cross that river on this side and you’re not in Black Hare Valley anymore.’

‘What do you think will happen?’ Now Jaime is looking at Jesse. ‘What do you think they’d do?’

Jesse steps forward, pauses, then steps again. He’s standing on the very edge of the bank – his toes poking out over the mud and just one push or one lean would see him falling in. He breathes slowly, thinking it over and at the same time noticing how cold it suddenly feels around his ankles. He looks down and sees the white mist twisting around his feet. He looks sharply at the others.

‘Do you guys see that?’

They don’t answer and when he looks back, all three of them move back slowly. But they are not staring at him. They’re all staring, frozen, at the hill.

‘There’s someone up there,’ hisses Willow.

Jesse turns sharply and steps away from the river. There is a figure up on the hill, watching them. They’re too far away for Jesse to make out any detail except they seem to be holding onto a walking stick.

‘Bob Rowan,’ he whispers to the others.

They don’t answer but suddenly the buzzard swoops lower and it’s haunting cry seems to fill their skulls. Jesse swears he feels the beat of wings above his head and his instincts tell him to run.

‘Go,’ he says and starts to run.

The others follow close behind and they start fearfully back up the hill towards the safety of the ruins.

Bob Rowan stands at the edge of his land and watches the small figures scattering. They look like ants scaling a hill, one slightly in front and the other three close behind. There is a low, pale mist circling above the grass down there and a cream-bellied buzzard, a female, he notes, hovering in the sky. She hangs in the air above the running figures for a moment longer, then swoops upwards, her cries echoing through the hills before she flies off to the right and is gone.

Satisfied, Bob Rowan turns slowly and limps back towards his woods. Bob Rowan grows many things on Rowan Farm; everything he needs to survive up there alone; but mostly he grows trees.

There are circles of trees surrounding his old house: silver birch, ash, beech, hazel, sycamore and oak. Beyond the circles lay arable fields and a small amount of livestock. Unlike Mayor Sumner, Bob Rowan is not interested in making money or owning people. He only grows what he needs.

A dense forest of evergreens provides the final circle: Scots Pine and Douglas Firs, creating a dark thicket, a barrier between his world and the rest. The trees envelope Bob Rowan and a moment later, a large black raven emerges from the treetops and flaps lazily towards the house.

From the ruins, they agree to scatter further. Jaime and Ralph decide to track down Nathan Cotton and see what else they can find out about Iris and her family. Willow is going home with the investigation rolled up inside her cloak. It’s her turn to look after it, she says before she leaves, and it’s her turn to try and translate what they have from the book.

Before she scurries off she grabs them each in turn, hugs them tightly and kisses each one of them on the cheek. Then she takes off with grass in her long dark hair. Jesse takes a moment to stash his brother’s tin back in its hiding place, then he leans over to shake the grass and dirt from his hair. He straightens up and grins at Jaime and Ralph.

‘Well, seeing how we can’t get out of here, we better just get on with it, right? I’m gonna go and see my brothers a for a bit, maybe show these pictures to my dad if he’s in. Might see how long I can stay out until the mayor starts hunting me down. Good luck with the Cottons.’

‘You too.’ Jaime manages a weary smile. Then she adds, ‘Let’s do this again some time.’

She means the togetherness and the rolling, and the running and the laughing. She doesn’t mean the strange energy at the riverbank, the thin cold mist or the person watching them from the hill top. She hopes he knows what she means. He fist bumps them both and leaves, hands in pockets as he slouches down the hill towards Taylor Drive.

Ralph dusts himself off and grabs his bike. ‘Okay. Where to first?’

‘The library,’ she replies with certainty. ‘Nathan might be there. I heard him say something the other day about volunteering there a lot.’

‘Miss Spires doesn’t work on Saturdays,’ shrugs Ralph. ‘That’s one thing I learned from living next door to her.’

‘She gives me the creeps,’ Jaime murmurs as they start off down the hill together, veering left towards what they can see of Lupin Lane.

‘Me too. They all do.’ He looks at her. ‘Not your mum though.’

Jaime chuckles, her eyes averted to the ground. ‘Not yet.’

‘Does it bother you? Her being on their committee?’

She releases a short puff of air. ‘I don’t know, I guess that depends. I mean, let’s assume there really is a proper neighbourhood watch committee. I mean, there is one because Mum’s been to a few meetings now and gets on really well with Sylvia Gordon.’

Ralph wrinkles his nose. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, they seem to be friends,’ Jaime replies. ‘So, I wonder, they might not all be involved. The mayor and Mayfield, Mr Hewlett and Mr Bishop, I’d say yeah. Miss Spires and Miss Gordon, I’m not so sure we have any evidence to suggest they’re on the same level if you know what I mean.’

Ralph nods grimly. ‘Yeah, like maybe some of them are just on a boring old neighbourhood committee and have no clue about the rest of this.’

‘Yeah, exactly. Well, hopefully.’

‘And Iris Cotton and Bob Rowan used to be on it,’ he continues. ‘I never paid attention to any of it until Paddy went missing but you can ask anyone. It’s common knowledge that they used to be once.’

‘Any idea how recently they left?’

‘I think it was a few years ago that Iris left. Bob Rowan, it must be longer. I mostly know of him through rumours. He’s a total recluse these days.’

‘A bit like Iris…’ muses Jaime, swapping a look with Ralph.

‘Yeah, kind of. You think that means something?’

Jaime gives a firm nod. ‘It must do, Ralph. She left that book for Paddy. Maybe because she used to be one of them she knew what was going to happen. She remembered Carol-Anne Radley and the other people from out of town. Maybe she left the committee because of what they do. Then when she tried to warn us, they burned her house down just like they did to Agnes Salter all those centuries ago.’

‘So what do you think that says about Bob Rowan and Iris Cotton then?’

Jaime sighs heavily and flips up her hood as it starts to rain. ‘I think it means they’re both on our side.’

Luckily, there is no sign of Steven or Dominic around the blocks on Taylor Drive. Jesse feels a bit like a thief creeping back to the crime scene as he approaches his old home. Or is it still his home? He has no idea, but it gives him a strange and disorientating feeling to be there again. It’s his life, home and everything he knows, yet somehow it isn’t. He feels like a trespasser as he opens the entrance doors and this makes him feel sad.

The smell has not changed in his absence. He sniffs hungrily and finds himself smiling at the ingrained stench of curry, beer, sweat and smoke. There is a broken bag outside the front door – spewing its greasy guts all over the floor and he has to step over it to reach the door.

He wonders who is home; if anyone is; if they miss him; if he’ll ever be able to come back. It all hurts, he notices then – physically, like a heavy punch to the gut that winds you – regret and loss and anger and loneliness.

Jesse opens the door and steps inside.

He can’t smell or hear his father and that is something of a relief. Part of him wants to confront him, have it out, demand to know more about his mother and Carol-Anne, but part of him can’t bear the thought. He’s never been shown love by his father but he doesn’t think he could stand any more outright rejection. Not yet.

Billy and Wyatt are home and they are pleased to see him. They appear in the hallway, slipping arms into coats and slinging bags onto shoulders. Jesse catches sight of their lamping torch inside one of the bags.

‘Hey look, it’s lord of the manor,’ jokes Wyatt, giving him a shove that’s half-friendly and half-not.

Billy’s eyes are gleaming. ‘Hey, so what’s it like up on the hill looking down on us peasants?’

Jesse shrugs and grins. ‘It’s all right. Thought I’d drop by and say hi. Is Dad in?’

The both nod. ‘In his room,’ says Billy. ‘You won’t get any sense out of him. You sure you’re okay with the mayor? I don’t know about her but I don’t trust Mayfield an inch. That guy’s a twisted psycho. Always has been.’

‘Yep,’ Jesse nods. ‘Thanks for the warning but I figured that out myself.’

‘Well, you seem okay.’ Billy’s eyes narrow as he looks him over. ‘You want to join us lamping? I’m putting a hundred on Si’s dog Lunar. That hound can run!’

‘Nah, better not. Just wanted to say hi, and you know, I’m okay.’

‘Okay,’ nods Wyatt, opening the door. ‘We’re meeting in the pub first for a few rounds. Better go.’

Billy slaps Jesse on the shoulder as he passes him. ‘You and your friends, are you still looking for that Paddy kid?’

‘Yeah, we are,’ replies Jesse. ‘But, you know, discreetly.’

His brother looks at him for a long moment and Jesse wonders if he ought to enlighten him – tell him about Mayfield and the mayor and the cellar under the house. He and his brothers have never been close but they’ve tried to look out for each other in their own haphazard way and he knows that when it comes down to it, they would help him if he needed it. But it would be dangerous to let them in, he thinks, dangerous for them all.

‘Don’t lamp near the mayor’s place,’ Jesse calls after them as they leave. They laugh in reply and promise nothing.

He closes the door, takes a deep breath and heads to his father’s room. The door is shut and it sticks when he turns the handle. Jesse puts his shoulder against it and exerts pressure until it pops open and the distinct smell that is his father, wafts out and wrinkles his nose. He taps his knuckles against the wood.

‘Dad?’

There is no reply from the lump under the grubby duvet. Jesse can see his feet hanging out from the bottom. He’s still wearing his boots, the laces trailing against the threadbare carpet. Jesse steps inside. The thin curtains are drawn. They barely keep out the daylight and he can see his father’s dark hair against the pillow as he snores into his arms.

‘Dad?’ he says again, drawing nearer to the bed. He sees how it sags in the middle, how the mattress is bare and stained with vomit and sweat. He sees the debris of his father’s miserable life all around him: broken glass, spilled drinks, crushed cans and overflowing ashtrays. The only decent thing in that desolate room is the photograph of his parents wedding day that still stands on the bedside table.

He goes to it now, crouching beside his father’s sleeping form and gazing into their young happy faces. His mother is pregnant with Billy and holding a bouquet of flowers over her bump in an attempt to disguise it. She’s wearing a cream shift dress and a pretty lace cardigan. Her dark hair is swept up and pinned back at the sides and she wears a dainty tiara on her head. Jesse stares into their faces searching for clues.

His father emits a fart followed by a burp and then lifts his head to cough violently. Jesse sits back, fearing an explosion of vomit, or worse.

‘Dad? You okay? It’s me.’

Nick Archer turns his head slowly. His eyes come into focus and one shaking hand lifts to search his lank hair before gripping his forehead and holding on.

‘Water,’ he rasps. ‘Get me a water, Jess.’

Jesse dashes out of the room, finds a vaguely clean cup and fills it with tap water. He leaps over bundles of rubbish and dirty clothes and makes his way back to his father, who is up on both elbows now, frowning miserably. He mutters a thank you and takes the water, sipping gingerly at first, before gulping it down greedily.

Jesse slips the photos from his pocket and holds them up. He shows them to his dad, one by one, giving him time to run his confused gaze over each one in turn, before moving to the next one.

‘Remember?’

Nick Archer reaches out. He takes the photos and holds them closer to his face. ‘Where’d you get these?’

‘Willow’s mum found them. That’s her in every one, see? She really looks like Willow.’

‘Me.’ Nick Archer squints and pokes a finger. ‘Jesus Christ. So young.’

‘Ralph’s dad,’ nods Jesse. ‘I can’t believe you all hung out together.’

‘Not really,’ Nick mutters, wiping one eye with his thumb. ‘I ran in a different crowd back then.’

‘Troublemakers?’ asks Jesse with a smile.

His dad snorts. ‘Yeah.’

‘Like who?’

Nick scratches the back of his neck. ‘Old Chrissy Burns, you know him. Works at the school now. And Mark Aster. Bit of a prick he was.’

Jesse pauses. This is news to him and he wants to unpick it more, but the mystery of what happened to Carol-Anne is more pressing right now.

‘You all look close in these pictures,’ says Jesse. ‘And look at Mum and her sister, Carol-Anne, she’s the May Queen there. Why didn’t you ever tell me about her, Dad?’

Nick stares at the pictures for a long moment before roughly shoving them back at his son. He drops his head on the pillow and turns onto his side.

‘I forgot.’

‘You forgot about Carol-Anne? You forgot she went missing just like Paddy?’ Jesse tries to keep his voice soft and reasonable. He does not want to accuse his dad of anything. He does not want to anger him.

‘Get me a beer, son.’

Jesse licks his lips. ‘I will in a minute. Did you guys try and look for her, Dad? Back then, when these were taken? Did you try and find her?’

Nick closes his eyes. His face is lined and tired. He has missing teeth and scars. A hard look in his eye one moment and a pathetic one the next. Jesse vaguely remembers him being different, being better. But he doesn’t remember him without the booze.

‘I don’t remember, son. Get me a beer, eh?’

‘So you’ll forget?’ sighs Jesse, standing up. ‘I reckon that’s why you do it, you know. Mum ran away and so did you, only you ran into a bottle. I suppose I should be grateful you at least hung around.’

Defeated, Jesse leaves the room, pulls a can of beer free from the six pack in the fridge and returns to his father with it. Nick sits slowly up, crossing his legs like a child and leaning against the headboard. He opens the beer and sips it with his eyes closed. Jesse takes a moment to look him up and down. He supposes they look alike. The same eyes and hair, the same tall thin build, only Nick has a beer belly and saggy jowls and bloodshot eyes. Jesse resolves then and there never to end up like him.

‘It’s all right, Dad,’ he says then. ‘Maybe you didn’t have a choice. I know about Mayfield and the others. You’ve probably blocked it out and I don’t blame you. But it’s all right. Me and my friends, we won’t give up until we get Paddy back.’

‘You stay away from Mayfield!’ his father barks as Jesse turns away. ‘And the others! That bloody vicar, fuckin kiddy fiddling creep and that bloody sadistic teacher if that’s what he is now! You stay away from them all, you hear me, Jesse?’

Jesse faces him. ‘I need to know what happened to Paddy, Dad. Do you know anything? Anything that can help me? You remember them from back then, don’t you? The committee?’ Jesse steps forward, his hands clasped together, pleading for his dad to give him something. Anything. ‘Did they stop you looking for Carol-Anne?’

Nick lowers his head slowly and covers his face with both hands. Jesse stands and watches his father’s shoulders jerking with each silent sob. He goes to him, cautious but drawn to him all the same. He can feel something in the air between them, a spark of energy, a rising emotion coming off his father that alerts Jesse to danger; to knowledge that he could go either way at any moment, that maybe Jesse has already pushed him too far.

‘Did they stop you?’ he asks again, his hand reaching for Nick’s shoulder slowly.

‘My old man…’ Nick sniffs, dragging his hands down his face, and that’s when his gaze jerks to Jesse and the change happens. ‘Fuckin old bastard, it’s about time I went and danced on his fuckin grave!’ He stands, shakily at first, unfolding his form upon wobbly legs, but Jesse backs off anyway. He’s heard bits and pieces about his late grandfather over the years, none of it good.

Jesse glances at the door and starts to make his retreat. He can feel which way this is about to go and it’s best to get out of the firing line. True to form, Nick lashes out at the nearest thing, which happens to be the rickety bedside table which has been screwed back together so many times, it collapses easily, spilling odd socks and ragged underpants onto the carpet.

Nick roars and sobs and swears and then swipes everything from the dresser. Ashtray, beer cans, takeaway rubbish, it all flies across the room.

‘Fuckin old bastard!’

Jesse slips out and closes the door behind him. He knows there is no reaching his father in that state. Since his mother vanished five years ago, it has been the same thing over and over. Drink, sleep, vomit, scream and rage at his dead father, his missing wife or his useless sons, eventually pass out, and then do it all again tomorrow.

Defeated, he slips the photos into his pocket, and gives the grimy flat a final look before opening the front door. He walks out, straight into the hard, unyielding chest of Sergeant Aaron Mayfield. Instantly, his body heat diminishes; all the warmth seeping out of him to be replaced by the feeling of being drenched in icy water. There is barely any time to react before those forceful, weather-beaten hands have turned him around and wrenched his arms behind his back.

He grunts in pain. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

Mayfield spins him around and stares at him with cold dead eyes. ‘Little bird told me you tried to skip town again.’

He shakes his head angrily. ‘No I never! You can’t do this!’

Mayfield leans over his shoulder and inhales sharply. ‘Breaking the rules. Trying to leave. And you reek of booze and weed. The mayor is going to be very disappointed in you, Archer.’

Jesse stares at him in dismay. He shakes his hair from his eyes and feels a surge of frustration. ‘Fucks sake,’ he growls, struggling, but it’s no use.

Mayfield opens the door, grabbing his arm. He releases a heavy sigh.

‘What made you come back to this shithole? Look at it. Nothing good can come from a place like this.’ He shifts his gaze and narrows his sharp blue eyes as he drags them up and down Jesse. ‘It doesn’t matter how much she pretties you up, Archer, you’ll never escape the stain of this place.’

With that, Mayfield slams the flat door and marches him down the stairs and outside, towards the waiting patrol car.

‘You break more laws than I do every day,’ Jesse grumbles as Mayfield pushes him into the passenger seat. ‘Where are we going?’

And inside, Jesse is thinking, next time you try this, I’ll be ready and I’m going to get away from you and make you sorry.

Mayfield gets in the other side, slams the door and removes the radio from his top pocket. ‘Let’s ask the boss lady, shall we?’

Willow stretches out on her bed with the investigation spread out in front of her. Her parents are both busy in the shop but she has locked her door just in case. She feels a heady mixture of happiness, hope, despair and fear. As always, it’s hard to concentrate with such a cocktail of emotions inside her.

She pictures them from earlier, rolling down that monstrous hill, the earth slamming into them every other second while the sky bore down. Pain and fear and rocketing adrenalin and then the landing, the amazement, the laughing. Willow smiles, remembering them rolling around, clutching their bellies in laughter. She felt a slither of guilt at the time but not now. If Paddy had been watching, he would have been smiling too.

The despair and fear take over whenever she thinks of Paddy. The black hare. It chills her to the bone – takes her breath away, turns her body to solid ice. She sees Jaime’s panicked face and understands it. It’s a horrific thought yet they can’t deny it or hide from it. That’s what they want, she thinks, they want us to give up and every time we get closer to the truth, they put something in our way: a bird, Bob Rowan, a burning house.

Fuck them, she thinks and goes back to translating, fuck you all.

Half an hour later she thinks she has something. Fragments of spells or incantations, maybe, things maybe Iris Cotton was trying to tell Paddy. There is a protective circle spell and another one that stands out. Willow is not sure she has translated it accurately but the gist of it seems to be rebirth and more than that; eternal life.

Shit, she thinks in both fear and triumph, they’re trying to live forever.

Ralph and Jaime enter the library attempting to look as innocent as possible. It’s hard to act innocent when you’re as paranoid as they’ve now become. They walk in, heads high, swallowing nervously, both utterly convinced that a black raven has stalked them from the ruins back into town. Even as they lock up Ralph’s bike outside and push through the heavy doors and into the warmth, the raven swoops by on silent dark wings.

Ralph doesn’t voice his suspicions because he can tell that Jaime is having a hard time digesting all this. He supposes he feels the same. He keeps asking himself, what is the evidence? That’s what Scully would be demanding in The X-Files. She never let Mulder get away with suspicions or hunches. Where is the hard evidence? He’s not sure they have anything truly concrete yet and even if they did, what would they do next? Ralph shudders when he considers this – supposing they did get proof, a recorded confession of the mayor or Mayfield admitting they turned Paddy into a hare, what then? Who could they take it to? Who would listen?

Even if they are right and even if they can prove it, what then? What can any of them actually do about it?

It’s warm inside the library and Ralph gestures to the front desk where Nathan Cotton can be seen sorting a pile of books onto a trolley. As they approach side by side, Nathan wheels the trolley out from behind the desk and heads left to the adult section. Jaime leads the way after him and Ralph follows. He’s glad she seems to be taking charge of this particular mission because he really doesn’t have a clue what to say.

‘Hi, Nathan,’ smiles Jaime and he looks over his shoulder, smiling back.

‘Oh hi guys, can I help you with anything?’

‘Just covering for Miss Spires?’ asks Jaime, picking a book up from the trolley and turning it over in her hands.

‘Yeah, just until lunch then I’ve got an afternoon shift at the chemist.’

‘Doesn’t sound like much of a fun Saturday.’

He rests his hands on his hips, nodding and smiling. ‘Ah, it’s okay. I’ve got plans for the evening. You know, pub, friends…’ He shrugs as his face grows red.

‘We just wondered how Iris is,’ Jaime says then, giving a smile of sympathy. ‘It must have been such a shock for her.’

‘Yes, it was.’ Nathan nods grimly. ‘And she’s taken it very hard. Actually,’ he looks around awkwardly. ‘She is sort of missing at the moment.’

Jaime and Ralph swap a wide-eyed look. ‘What?’ breathes Jaime, her voice little more than a croak.

‘Oh, it’s okay,’ Nathan says hurriedly. ‘She does this a lot. My mum says she’s wild at heart, whatever that means. But anyway, she likes to take off sometimes and be on her own. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She always is.’

‘Okay,’ Jaime nods slowly, glancing at Ralph, who raises his eyebrows. ‘Where does she go?’

‘Ah, I dunno, to be honest.’ Nathan starts picking up books from the trolley. ‘Just into the woods or whatever. She’s a real nature lover, you know. Likes to sleep under the stars, that kind of thing. Personally, I think she’s more than just eccentric these days.’ He glances briefly at the ceiling in a ‘what can you do’ kind of gesture. ‘I think it might be dementia.’

‘Well, if we see her, we’ll let you know,’ Jaime says as they turn to leave.

‘Thanks!’ he calls after them cheerily.

Outside, Jaime turns to Ralph. ‘Do you think he could be lying?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ralph shakes his head then looks anxiously across the street. ‘Jaime, it looks like we still have company.’

The huge raven is perched on a litter bin on the other side of the road.

Once back at Hill Fort Farm, Sergeant Mayfield quickens his pace. He takes nothing slowly; not the hurtle up the driveway, or the screeching parking of his car.

‘No police station?’ Jesse mutters as he is pulled out of the car and propelled towards the kitchen door.

‘You heard the mayor,’ is the grumbled reply. ‘She isn’t too happy with you.’

‘No one said I couldn’t see my friends or my brothers.’

‘It’s more the trying to escape and consuming illegal substances she’s bothered about actually,’ Mayfield sneers.

‘Bullshit,’ Jesse seethes as he is bundled roughly into the kitchen. There is no sign of the mayor but Hilda is sat blankly at the kitchen table with Horatio beside her. As Jesse stares at her, she picks up a Jaffa cake and throws it at him. It bounces off of his shoulder then Mayfield drags him through to the pantry.

‘Oh no, no way! Not this again!’ Jesse protests, digging his heels into the floor. He’s no match for Mayfield though, who merely encourages him on by jabbing the end of his baton into his spine. ‘Ow! Fuck you! You can’t do this!’

Mayfield ignores him because of course he can, unlocks the cellar door and forces Jesse down into the darkness. At once his anger and frustration switches to fear – it envelopes him entirely from his head to this toes. He is rigid and frozen as Mayfield lights the lantern and forces him into the centre of the darkened space.

Heavy hands push him to his knees and Jesse feels the ground under them is slightly higher than the rest of the floor. It reminds him of the gentle but grim slope of a freshly dug grave and he panics and tries to move but he finds he can’t. Mayfield is not holding on to him anymore but something else is. Something cold and solid and gleeful is holding him in place.

‘What?’ he shouts, staring around. ‘What is it? What is it? I can’t move!’

Mayfield leans over him with a sneering smile. ‘Some time down here will give you an opportunity to think.’

‘Think about what? What is this? I can’t move! What the fuck?’

‘Power, energy, ghosts, magic. You choose,’ Mayfield replies sarcastically. Grimacing down at him. He walks behind him and removes the cuffs. But Jesse still can’t move. It’s like his brain is disconnected from his body. The messages, the signals to move are just not getting through.

Mayfield appears in front of him again, hands on broad hips. Jesse stares back at him, shaking violently, he can hear his own teeth clattering against each other. He wants to scream but he can’t. He wants to beg but he can’t. The energy, the power, whatever it is, it’s inside now as well as out. He’s a prisoner in his own body. Jesse has never spent time thinking about the possibility of Hell existing but now he imagines it must be very much like this.

‘She wants to keep you,’ Mayfield tells him in a slow, almost drowsy voice. ‘She wants to lure you in, train you up, make you one of them – one of us.’ His brow sits heavily over his piercing blue eyes. ‘She does that sometimes, you know. Collects strays. Ask Horatio.’ His top lip rises into a parody of a smile. ‘But me.’ He sniffs. ‘I say she’s wasting her time. It should have been you, not Paddy and I’d have seen you dead by now. I’d have hunted you down. If it was up to me, you’d be just like that one.’ He turns very slowly and jabs a finger towards the pile of bones in the corner of the first cell.

Mayfield leaves suddenly with no word or warning. Jesse has no idea how long he is left alone in the freezing darkness. He is only aware of something cold clutching him in place. He can barely breathe, barely think. And the smell… Like boiled guts and old vomit.

It’s Margaret who comes for him – bizarrely, sighing and rolling her eyes like an inconvenienced mother. She merely grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet and that’s it – the spell, or whatever it was, is broken. Jesse can breathe again. He moves after her, pounding up the steps then dashing across the pantry floor to escape.

‘Excuse me, I’d like a word with you,’ Margaret says in a sulky voice as she closes the pantry door and turns to face him, arms folded.

Jesse stares around the kitchen. It’s like nothing has changed. Hilda and Horatio are still in exactly the same place and position and as he stares, open-mouthed, Hilda picks up another Jaffa cake and lobs it at him again. This time it smacks him on the nose and he utters a bewildered ‘ow!’ before Margaret takes his arm again with an irritated sigh.

‘Hilda! Behave! Come on young man. We need to keep you occupied.’ She marches him outside and around to the other side where the patio lays. There is a shotgun propped against the wall there and she picks it up and cradles it. ‘Pheasant run,’ she snaps. ‘Follow me.’

He stumbles after her because he has no choice and she marches in a severe and frustrated fashion down the slope and into the pheasant copse.

She stops outside the shed and Jesse peers in at the enclosure. A number of birds are strutting about curiously. ‘I didn’t try and escape,’ he says, not looking at her. ‘I was curious about the river but I wasn’t gonna do it.’

‘Liar,’ she replies disdainfully. ‘Go in the shed please. There are a number of birds I’ve cornered in there and they all need dispatching.’

‘Why?’

She shrugs. ‘Old. Frail. Injured. Take a look.’

Jesse opens the door and peers into the dusty darkness. Margaret is at his side and points out a hen lying on her side in the straw. ‘That one, for instance. Do you know how to wring a neck, Jesse?’

He shakes his head miserably. He can’t get over how the bird is looking at him; right at him. There is a pleading look in those eyes. An almost human look.

‘Pick her up,’ commands Margaret.

He obeys, scooping up the brown pheasant hen and resting her tired body in his arms.

‘Well, get on with it then,’ Margaret snaps. ‘We’ve got plenty to keep us busy.’ She looks to her right and spots a huge raven watching them from a tree nearby. ‘Oh, and you can piss off as well!’ she says and raises the rifle.

The raven lifts up instantly, its keen shiny eyes fixed on her as it flaps up onto the pheasant shed.

‘Don’t think I can’t get you up there you miserable bastard!’ Margaret lines up the shot and closes one eye. ‘Jesse Archer, dispatch that bird right now or I’ll have to start considering Aaron is right about you.’

Jesse swallows tightly, grabs the hen by the head, closes his eyes and pulls until he hears a loud crack. She fires a shot but the raven takes off.

‘I couldn’t move in there,’ Jesse tells her desperately. ‘What was it?’

‘No questions.’ She moves away, gun lowered. ‘I’ll decide what you’re ready to know and when. Now get rid of that lot then clean the shed out for me. Should keep you out of trouble for a while.’

He looks on helplessly as Margaret stomps away through the trees and back towards the house. The pheasant suddenly feels like a guilty secret in his arms, so he drops it in disgust, wipes his murderous hands off on his jeans and examines the rest of them.

There are ten females in total. All old, or limping or with obviously damaged wings. No good for egg production; no good for churning out more pheasants for Margaret and her shoots to enjoy killing. Jesse stares at them all in dawning horror that spreads like a chill across his body. If Paddy is a hare and Mayfield could be something else, then what about these birds? His mind spins and his stomach feels queasy as he thinks of the missing people. Did they meet the same strange fate? How is any of it possible?

As if reading his mind or sensing his hesitance, the pheasants turn to look at him one by one. They blink at him slowly and solemnly.

‘I have to do it,’ he croaks. ‘I have to kill you all.’

Jesse realises that there is no way out. Whatever he does or doesn’t do will soon be seen or heard and reported in some way. So he does it. One by one, as quickly as he can, refusing to look into their eyes, he picks each bird up and pulls their necks.

When he emerges from the shed after cleaning it out, he is covered in dust and straw and feathers and he feels like a criminal, like the trees are judging him, like the very landscape itself is staring back at him in horror and pain.

The sky has darkened – low clouds are slung across the horizon and he’s about to head back to the house when he hears the distant bark of a dog. He would recognise that kind of bark anywhere. The bark of an adrenalin-filled sighthound in full flight pursuing its prey.

‘Paddy…’ he whispers, then starts running.

He races through the trees, bursts out of the other side of the copse then charges down a hill towards the thicker woods at the edge of Margaret’s land. He hears the dogs now, more than one, thundering on swift feet, carrying athletic bodies born to run – tearing after their prey.

He shouts and waves his hands at the glimpses of young men he sees between the trees further back. ‘Billy, no! Call them off! Call them off!’

But even Jesse knows hounds like that cannot be called off anything when in full flight. It’s pointless and useless and all the shouting and waving in the world won’t make a difference. Jesse keeps running, crashing and sliding through wet leaves and clawing brambles. He follows the dogs but he can hear Billy gaining on him.

‘What’s your problem?’ he yells from behind.

It’s too much to explain so Jesse doesn’t even try. He just runs faster. He can see the dogs now – three of them, two sandy coloured and one brindle, racing at top speed after a madly zig-zagging creature. Please don’t be Paddy, he begs, please, please, please.

Finally, he hears it. The dogs catching up with the creature. Barking, yipping, snarling, tearing and amidst it all, screaming.

‘No!’ Jesse surges forward.

‘Christ sake, Jesse!’ Billy is thundering up behind him.

Jesse gets there first. He runs up to find the three dogs standing back, panting heavily as their deep chests rise and fall, proud of the chase and the kill but not interested in eating it.

Billy shoulders past Jesse and whoops in delight as he picks the mangled creature up by one long ear and examines it in utter delight.

‘Oh my fucking god, a white one! Wyatt! Look at this! Jesse, can you believe this shit?’

Jesse stares in horror at the white hare’s bloodstained fur and its empty staring eyes. ‘Billy, what have you done?’

Thanks for reading!

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

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Twenty-Four “The White Hare”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Two “The Ruins”

September 24, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

NOTE: I don’t know what’s wrong with me this week but I send the Substack chapter out today instead of tomorrow and I sent the WordPress chapter out on the wrong site!! Anyway, to make up for it I am posting two chapters this week. There will be another one tomorrow!

Willow writes three identical notes on Wednesday morning before leaving for school. Each one reads simply: The Ruins, Saturday, from 12pm. She decides to write ‘from’ 12pm because after that she has all day. If the others can’t make it until 1pm, 2pm or 3pm, she will just wait.

At school she passes Jaime her note as they cross paths in the playground. She slides Ralph’s into his hand at first break after lingering briefly outside his English class. She doesn’t expect to see Jesse in school but keeps her hand curled around his note just in case. She has to fight hard to hide her amazement when she spots him in the canteen at lunchtime. He looks okay too, which is even more amazing. She wants to rush up and throw a million questions at him but she forces herself to hold back. She knows they are being watched. She agrees with Jaime that pretending to lose interest in finding Paddy is their best bet right now.

She keeps an eye on Jesse until she sees him leave and then she gets up, follows and just as he joins the throng of students in the corridor outside, she slips the note into his back pocket, turns and walks quickly away.

By the end of the day, Willow has received three notes of her own.

From Jaime: I’ll be there. Got lots to tell but Mum and Mark not letting me anywhere!

From Ralph: I’ll be there!

From Jesse: I’ll try. It’s OK here. Weird but OK.

Willow is relieved to read that last bit. She had a sleepless night tossing and turning, unable to stop imagining what awful things might be happening to him. But he’s okay, and back at school which is odd, but at least Mayor Sumner is letting him out.

It’s all odd, Willow thinks on her way home, it’s all very, very odd. Her own parents are not exactly keeping her under lock and key but she has sensed a change in them. They seem nervy and on edge. On Wednesday evening though, her mother finally caves in to her constant badgering and thrusts a handful of old photographs at her.

‘Here,’ she says, something dark and unhappy dancing in her eyes. ‘I finally found them. You can stop going on about it now, and before you ask, no, I don’t remember anything about Carol-Anne Radley.’

‘You must remember she went missing?’ Willow frowns at her as she takes the photos. ‘It must have been in the paper or something?’

Her mother shakes her head, twirling a length of black hair nervously around one index finger. ‘I always thought she just got packed off to a relative or something.’

‘What about Angie? What about Jesse’s mum?’

Lizzie lifts and drops her shoulders and a look of something close to revulsion crosses over her features as she steps away from her daughter. ‘Angie always was a strange one. They were a strange family, and her and Nicky Archer, it didn’t end well. It was never going to end well with those two.’

Willow looks down at the photos and when she looks up to ask another question, her mother has left her room and closed the door behind her. Mystified, Willow shakes her head and examines the photos. There are three.

The first shows a group of young girls all wearing long white dresses and clutching posies of wild flowers. Willow wonders if they are flower girls or bridesmaids and then her eye is drawn to the girl in the middle. She is also wearing a white dress but upon her head of loose fair curls is a crown of flowers, and she is perched demurely on a chair that has been decorated to look like a thrown.

‘May Day,’ Willow whispers, placing her finger gently on the May Queen.

The May Queen looks about twelve or thirteen and she is smiling so widely and brightly, Willow can feel the pure joy in her heart. Her hands are clutching her own posy of flowers and her bare feet are tucked just under the chair. Willow stares at her long and hard, before allowing her gaze to drift to the other girls. She thinks they are aged roughly between four and twelve, and the smallest ones are sat cross-legged on the grass in front of the grinning May Queen.

Her eyes are drawn to one who is undoubtedly her mother. She holds a striking resemblance to Willow, with the same long black hair, though hers has a wide flowered headband holding it back from her slim face. She’s one of the taller girls standing at the back of the group and she has a somewhat haughty and slightly unimpressed air about her, her smile forced and sardonic.

Willow has no idea what Angie and Carol-Anne Radley looked like so she scans the rest of the faces fiercely, looking for Jesse. She runs her finger across the bottom row first, staring intently at each sweet cherubic face. She can’t see Jesse’s scowling eyes in any of them. The next row are a bit older, four girls clustered around the throne, and the back row is made up of her mother and two other girls. She discounts these immediately. She recognises one as Alexa’s mother. Her teenage face is an exact replica of her smug-faced daughters, and she thinks the other girl might be Paddy’s mother.

She focuses on the middle row, the girls surrounding the May Queen. Willow peers into each face and finally makes a connection. The May Queen, although fair-haired, has the exact same face shape, smile and nose as the girl leaning towards her from the right. They both look like they are suppressing an outburst of giggles and their lips, cheeks and eyes are all set exactly the same.

Bingo, she thinks. Carol-Anne must be the May Queen and Angie is the darker haired one leaning next to her. And now that she really scrutinises them, she thinks she can see Jesse in their faces too. She pictures his face when he smiles, how his mouth stretches up more on one side than the other and how his dark eyes almost vanish into his face and she sees it as clear as day. His mother and aunt in the photo with her mother.

Willow slips the photo to the bottom of the pile and examines the next. It only takes a second for Willow to place the location – Milly’s Café. Her mother stands centre stage, one elbow leaning on the countertop while her other hand clutches her narrow waist. She has one leg kicked out behind her, making her pose both dramatic and amusing. Willow smiles as she takes in the younger version of her mother. Long black hair, this time with a heavy fringe skirting dark eyes heavily made up with mascara and eye-liner. Her eyes are narrowed slightly and Willow almost laughs. She’s seen that cool, unimpressed look enough times from her mother. In this photo Lizzie is smiling with her mouth wide open, laughing maybe.

‘So cool,’ Willow murmurs admiringly.

She takes in the rest of the photo and immediately picks out Jesse’s father, Nick Archer.

‘Wow,’ she says, blinking.

It looks almost like Jesse has gone back in time. There he is with his dark hair cut into a fringe, Beatles style, the back and sides looking in need of a trim, curling under his ears and from behind his neck. His eyes are familiar too, dark and scowling, his top lip lifting in a slight sneer while his lips betray him with a smile. He’s wearing a black donkey jacket over dark blue jeans with a white t-shirt. He’s stood beside Willow’s mother, in the centre of the group, a cigarette in one hand and a mug of something in the other.

‘Unbelievable,’ says Willow, turning her attention to the next teenager, another boy, this time perched on a stool and looking back over one shoulder. ‘Oh my God, Ralph!’ Willow blurts out before slapping a hand over her mouth.

She can see where he gets his build and his curls from. The young man who must undoubtedly be Frankie Maxwell, is stocky, his face wide, his gaze firm and unamused. His hair is a tangle of brown curls and he too, is smoking a cigarette.

On the other side of him, her back to the counter, her hands linked in front of her, is a girl who must be Angie, Jesse’s mother. She looks different than the May Queen photo, her dark hair is shorter, a feathered bob style that accentuates her elfin features. She is smiling for the camera but there is no mistaking the haunted, anxious look in her eyes. Willow wonders if Carol-Anne was the one who took the photo, or whether she had already gone missing by the time it was taken.

Sighing, she turns to the final photo. She can’t work out where it was taken, but taking centre stage once again is Nick Archer. This time he is straddling a motorbike, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. He’s not looking at the camera, but appears to be saying something to someone out of shot. His hair looks longer and messier and if Willow really stares, she thinks she can see a cut on his lower lip.

Frankie Maxwell is there again, this time sitting in the grass in front of the motorbike, his knees bent, and his arms around a shaggy lurcher dog. He’s smiling in this one but it looks somewhat forced. Sat beside him is Willow’s mother. She has her own cigarette on the go, hanging loosely from her fingers over one bent knee. She’s dressed casually in bell-bottomed jeans and a flowery top. Her hair is in a ponytail pulled over one shoulder.

She looks sadder too, Willow thinks. There is a trace of a smile on her lips but it’s lost and whimsical and she appears to be gazing at something off camera too. Willow examines the background. She can see fields, and it looks like summer going by the colour of the grass. There is a fence in the distance, she can just make it out stretching between two far off trees. A building beyond that, possibly a house, she’s not sure.

Fascinated, greedy with the hunger for more, Willow slips the photos under her pillow and cannot wait to show the others tomorrow.

That night is another sleepless one for Willow as the anticipation for Saturday grows inside her alongside the excitement of sharing the photos. Her stomach is a mess as she lies on the bed, pressing her hands against it. Her chest too – it feels tight and weird like she can’t catch a breath properly. She thinks of the ruins and her friends and everything Jesse will be able to tell them about Hill Fort Farm. She thinks of Jaime’s words, ‘got lots to tell’ and wonders what on earth it can be. How can she have dug anything else up with her mum and stepdad keeping such a close eye on her?

She has to wait. And waiting is torture.

When sleep refuses to come anywhere close, Willow gives up and goes to the window. The back garden is a dark rectangle, narrow and long just like the one behind Paddy’s shop. The sides are lined with thick clusters of trees and shrubs and a small shed sits at the end beside the gate – the plastic window glinting in a streak of silver moonlight.

It’s here that Willow sees the movement. Although after, when she tries to see it and reimagine it in her head, she can’t quite get it right and it feels more like an impossible dream than anything else. In the moment, she thinks she sees a creature moving slowly in a cautious, loping manner. Her eyes strain to pick out form and shape; a sloping back and long ears. She knows what she’s hoping to see and she doesn’t hesitate. She tears from her room and races downstairs. She wrenches open the back door and whispers, ‘Paddy?’

But the shape has gone. The garden is still. The only sound is a far off howl that makes her jump in fright and slam the door.

On Saturday, Jesse is the first to arrive at the ruins. He checks his watch while still climbing the final slope of the hill. It’s 11.50am. He’s breathless and red-cheeked and physically feels better than he has in a long time. Margaret Sumner is a good cook – serving no-nonsense meals that fill him up. She doesn’t believe in snacks or fast food. He’s never consumed so many vegetables in his life.

It’s been a strange week – almost dreamlike, he reflects as he pushes on up the hill. The biggest relief came with his return to school and the biggest surprise in him making it to Friday without a detention. He can tell Bishop is appalled to have him back but fuck him and fuck Mayfield too; for some reason, the mayor seems to like Jesse.

She still won’t let him ask too many questions and she likes to keep him busy. There are always chores to be done around the farm but she isn’t keeping him imprisoned, which is what he feared. Does that mean she trusts him? He thinks probably not but what can he do but try to be patient?

Coming here now is a risk. She thinks he is visiting his brothers but instead he’s clambering up the hill to the ruins to meet the unlikely group of people who he now considers his friends. Despite the risks, Jesse is excited.

He reaches the top and turns around. Black Hare Valley lies below and he feels it watching him. At the moment, it naps with one eye open. It knows he can’t and won’t get far so he can stand on the edge if he likes. The High Street looks like a fat black snake coiling through the centre, winding through the hills, spewing out houses and shops and lives. The rest of the scenery is breathtaking. There is no denying its stark and majestical breed of beauty. The sky is a cold pale blue and the white clouds are stretched thin like the boundaries of town are pulling them taught.

The rolling hills seem to go on forever – layered in different shades of green, decorated with clutches of woods, and sparkling with the drift of a river or stream. A song thrush calls out in the trees behind. A flock of pigeons rear up from the grass lower down and as Jesse peers over he can see a figure in dark clothes making her way up. Black hair billows out behind her. Willow.

Jesse turns and strolls into the ruins and straight into Steven and Dominic. ‘Fuck,’ he mutters as he steps back from Steven’s chest. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Just passing the time,’ smirks Steven, narrowing his eyes. ‘Was once a time you used to hang out here with us.’

Jesse remembers those times. Smoking weed and stolen booze and smashing bottles. Spraying graffiti on the ancient stones, plotting revenge on teachers, parents and nosy neighbours. He feels faintly sick thinking about it now.

He shrugs. ‘Yeah well, times change. Thanks a lot for setting me up the other night by the way.’

Steven just grins but Dominic shrugs apologetically. ‘Sorry. Mayfield caught us smashing up the Cotton house. You know what he’s like.’

‘Yeah, I do.’ He looks at Dominic. ‘Be careful or he’ll be blackmailing you to do all sorts. Been there.’

‘Yeah, and where are you now exactly?’ ponders Steven, stepping forward. ‘I heard you’re living at the mayor’s place? I mean, shit, what the hell is that about?’

Jesse glances away to make sure Willow has not arrived yet. ‘Long story,’ he sighs.

He bites his lip and thinks the old him would have punched Steven by now. But something – everything – has changed him and he doesn’t feel the urge. He also doesn’t feel it’s right, after all, Steven and Dominic were blackmailed just how he used to be. He considers asking them to tell him what they’d been caught doing for Mayfield to blackmail them into stealing the book from Paddy’s treehouse, but he’s not sure it’s wise and besides that, he doesn’t have the energy to converse with them for much longer. He has a moment to consider how much his life has changed, when Steven shoves him in the chest.

He moves away and lifts his hands. ‘Hey, Steven.’

‘Think you’re better than us, don’t you?’ Steven sneers, pushing him again. ‘First, you’re hanging around with a bunch of losers and now you’re living the high life over there with the mayor?’ He drags his gaze up and down Jesse in slow disgust. ‘You’ve changed, Jesse.’

‘Yeah, I have,’ agrees Jesse. ‘I was a knob before. A bully, like you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Steven shoves him harder.

‘Stop it, man.’

‘Make me!’ Steven growls and reaches for him. Jesse side steps then sticks out a foot. Steven sprawls face first into the wet grass then leaps up screaming, ‘You dirty fighter! You shitting bastard!’

‘Someone’s coming,’ Dominic mumbles from behind them.

Jesse is bored of this shit. He wants them both gone before Willow and the others arrive. He shoulders Steven roughly – enough to knock him off balance, then he shoves him again, this time sending him onto his backside.

‘Get out of here,’ he tells Dominic who does not need to be told twice. He slouches away, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Jesse stands back, allowing Steven the space to pick himself up and dust himself off. He does, just before shouldering his way aggressively past Jesse.

‘This isn’t over. You’re a dead man, Archer.’

Jesse raises his eyebrows and watches him go. When he’s sure they have both gone and have not crossed paths with Willow, he races over to Billy’s hiding place and finds what he hoped would be there: a new stash of weed and papers in a small metal tin. Nice one Billy, he thinks with a grin.

He crouches with his back to the wall and is busy perfecting the perfect joint when Willow finally appears. At first he thinks she will judge him or scold him, but when she sees what he’s doing, she just sighs and drags a bottle out from under her cloak.

‘Vodka? Jesus Christ.’

‘My parents have had it in the cupboard for years. I figured they wouldn’t miss it and we might need it.’

Jesse is genuinely shocked. She leans on the wall beside him and stares at the bottle as if in a dream.

‘It’ll be pretty potent then,’ he comments.

She glances at him. ‘Yeah. Probably a dumb idea.’

‘Nah. Hey, I’ll definitely try some.’ He grins at her and she grins back. ‘Is this the kind of thing you and Paddy used to get up to then?’ He’s still grinning, waiting for her answer while she stares at him as if scrutinising his features.

‘No, not exactly.’

Jesse looks back at his joint and finishes it off. ‘Shame.’

‘What did they want?’ Willow asks.

He assumes she means Steven and Dominic and he is glad she doesn’t call them his friends, his gang or even his ‘old’ friends.’

He sighs and slips the roach into one end. ‘Nothing. You don’t worry about them.’

She nods and he can tell she probably wants to call them pricks or something, but she doesn’t. She sits next to him and hugs her legs.

‘Do you feel safe here? Like the treehouse?’

Jesse looks around and he supposes that he does. Not quite in the same way but there is something about it. He shrugs and nods at the same time.

‘Yeah, sort of, I think so. You?’

‘Same. I wonder if Paddy did something here too, like at the treehouse.’ Willow dangles the bottle of vodka between her knees and gazes at it. ‘God, I miss him.’

‘What would he be doing if he were here, do you think?’ asks Jesse. ‘I mean, if you’d gone missing, or someone else?’

‘Would he be trying to solve it like us, you mean?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah, I think he would. He’d be doing exactly what we’re doing. He’d probably be better at it too.’

Jesse twists the other end of the joint, sticks it between his teeth and lights up. ‘Exactly why we should keep it up,’ he says as he exhales.

‘How’s your back?’

‘It’s better. Margaret put some stuff on it and I dunno, it’s healed pretty quick.’

Willow frowns. ‘Christ Jesse, I have so many questions. And I’ve got something to show you too.’

‘We better wait for the others.’

‘I know. Is this risky for you though?’

‘I don’t think so,’ he replies. ‘She sent me back to school.’ He takes another pull on the joint and holds it for a few moments before exhaling slowly. ‘She hasn’t said I can’t see any of you either. She doesn’t have a ton of rules or anything.’

Willow looks surprised. ‘No?’

‘Nope, just chores. Lots of chores, but I don’t mind them. I’d be bored otherwise.’

Willow lowers her head. ‘We were all so worried about you.’

He nods. ‘Mayfield is the one to worry about. As far as I can tell, Margaret has some sort of hold over him. Over all of them maybe.’

‘She must have had something to do with it though,’ Willow states angrily. ‘Paddy. She did something to him. Our own fucking mayor.’

‘She’s more than a mayor,’ Jesse says as the drug seeps thickly through his body, loosening his joints and unwinding the tension. He rests his head on the mossy rocks behind. ‘She’s the town. She’s the whole goddamn town, Willow.’

‘How do we fight her then? How do we get Paddy back?’

He glances at her and sees her pale face and wide eyes. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t think they can. At least not the Paddy she knew. He’s about to try to explain what he thinks Mayfield is when Willow starts again.

‘I think I saw him last night. Paddy. I saw something moving in my back garden from my window so I ran down and I swear I saw a black hare, just like you did. And I just felt, I don’t know, like it was him. Watching over me or something.’

‘Then what happened?’ Jesse asks.

She swallows. ‘There was this piercing howl from nearby and the hare, or whatever it was, it ran off.’

Jaime is glad to be walking to the ruins alone. As much as she is desperate to see the others, she can’t bear the thought of having to say it all more than once, so when she spots Ralph pushing his bike up the hill ahead of her, she breathes out in relief. She’s wearing her backpack – filled with the investigation disguised as schoolwork – and she plans to stop by the library on the way back so her excursion is not a total lie. She’s told her mother she’s going for a long ramble first, to take photos for a project and to explore.

It’s been a tense week in The Hare and Hound. Her mother’s pregnancy is exhausting her and although a lot of the staff are doing extra shifts, that has not stopped Mark from watching her almost constantly.

The change in him is palpable and odd. It makes Jaime feel uneasy whenever he’s around because it’s hard to explain or put your finger on. She doesn’t think she’d be able to articulate it enough to form any kind of actual complaint – not that she’d want to upset her mother at the moment anyway – but something has changed and she’s starting to fear that it will never change back.

She shivers just thinking about it. He’s colder, she thinks, and quieter. But it’s not just that. It’s the way he looks at her.

‘Your boyfriend gone without you?’ a voice calls out from behind.

Jaime jerks to a stop and looks over her shoulder. She’s dismayed to see Bryony and Alexa skulking through the trees where Ralph caused the power cut. Jaime glances back at the hill and can’t see him anymore. She smiles weakly as the two girls strut towards her, hands shoved into the pockets of their matching denim jackets.

‘Um no,’ Jaime replies, hoping to put them off following. ‘I’m just going for a walk.’

Alexa jerks her head towards the hill. ‘Saw that chubby Maxwell kid heading up that way. Why are you hanging around him anyway? He’s in the year below!’

Bryony sniggers at this, her brow creased in mock concern as she gives Jaime the usual up and down look.

‘I don’t hang around with him,’ says Jaime, although she has no idea why she should feel the need to explain herself to these two.

‘We’ve seen you, don’t lie,’ sighs Bryony, rolling her eyes. She glances away and fixes her gaze somewhere else, giving Jaime hope that she is getting bored already.

Alexa, however, steps closer. ‘He’s got a crush on you, we reckon.’

Jaime shakes her head and stifles laugher. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘He does,’ insists Alexa. ‘We’ve seen him looking at you, haven’t we Bry?’

‘Yeah,’ Bryony says distractedly, still peering into the trees.

‘I suppose you could do worse,’ shrugs Alexa. ‘He’s younger and funny looking but who knows? Maybe he’ll get really hot one day, right?’

Jaime has no idea how to respond so she says nothing, biting her lip and gazing at her shoes. She doesn’t want to let on where she’s going and is considering changing direction just to avoid these two following her. They wouldn’t, would they?

Bryony tugs at Alexa’s arm. ‘Think I just saw the boys heading that way. Come on.’

Jaime breathes out slowly.

Alexa nods at her friend but narrows her eyes at Jaime. ‘Course I know who you really have a crush on, new girl.’

Jaime laughs. It’s an awkward, high-pitched sound that makes her cringe. ‘I don’t… I don’t have a crush on anyone!’

Alexa leans closer and whispers into her ear. ‘Jesse Archer.’

Jaime moves back. She can feel her cheeks flooding with heat and lets her hair fall forward to cover it, but it’s too late, Alexa has seen.

‘Knew it! Bry, I knew it! I said, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah, you said, come on. Let’s catch the boys up.’ Bryony gives Jaime a dirty look before tossing her hair and marching away.

Jaime wonders if that is it. If they have bored of her already, their short attention spans snatched away by the lure of boys. But Alexa leans close one more time.

‘You wouldn’t have a chance in hell, you know that, right?’ She pauses long enough to give Jaime yet another up-down look of disgust, before spinning on her heel and catching up with Bryony.

Jaime wanders away, shaken. She has no idea why Bryony and Alexa target her whenever they can. It’s never physical, never serious, never anything she’d bother telling anyone about. It’s always subtle, she thinks, cruel and icy comments that could be disguised as jokes. She swallows hard, blinks back tears and starts up the hill.

With the sun in her eyes, Jaime is breathless by the time she reaches the ruins. She staggers towards the wall where Ralph has propped his bike and turns the corner to find the three of them crouched around a small fire. Ralph is warming his hands and throws a huge goofy smile her way. Jaime instantly recalls what Alexa said about Ralph and her cheeks flush again. She smiles back but doesn’t make eye contact. Willow is snapping sticks and feeding them to the flames and Jesse seems to be swigging from a bottle of vodka.

‘Hey Jaime!’ he calls out when he sees her. ‘It’s party time!’

Jaime almost wants to run away. Alexa’s words are ringing in her ears and she wonders for a brief second if she should just walk away from all of this and attempt to live normally in this strange town. If Alexa has noticed her crush on Jesse, what if he has too?

They are all looking at her, so she smiles awkwardly and joins them. She pushes Alexa and Bryony away and forces herself to remember why they are all here. Paddy.

‘Where shall we start?’ Willow asks, looking between them all.

Jaime is quick to jump in. ‘Well, I think our main concern was Jesse but seeing as how he’s here and seems fine, I think I’ll go first if that’s okay with everyone?’

They all nod in solemn agreement and sit around the fire facing each other.

‘The floor is yours,’ Jesse offers with a smile.

She smiles back and pulls her backpack round in front of her. ‘The first thing to say is that I went to Maze Lane to visit Iris Cotton but her grand-daughter, Sarah-Jane, shooed me away. She said Iris is very confused and upset and needs her rest. So, that was that, but I have noticed that her son Nathan regularly does this baby singing thing at the library so I was planning on bumping into him by accident and seeing what I can find out.’

‘Good plan.’ Ralph gives her the thumbs up.

She nods in thanks and goes on. ‘So, I’ve been keeping up the investigation and making sure everything goes on the timeline and so on but I’ve had to be careful and hide it, look…’ Jaime unrolls the paper and demonstrates how the Paddy Finnis Disappearance case is hidden safely behind a history project on the Tudors.

Jesse grins his approval. ‘Very nice. Smart thinking.’

‘Brilliant,’ agrees Willow, her eyes darting over it. ‘So, your folks are still watching you like a hawk, are they?’

Jaime rolls it back up. ‘Yes, so I’m having to be very devious. Every time I go to either library I’m hiding books under books and so on. Anyway, this is the real thing I wanted to show you all.’ She takes out a notepad and unfolds a few loose pieces of paper. The others lean forward and she hands them out. ‘I photocopied them at school. I don’t think anyone saw so I was able to put the newspapers back and take these with me. They’re from the national newspapers and a few others. It took a lot of digging and reading and hiding!’ She breathes out wearily as if it tires her to remember it.

‘These are all missing people,’ says Willow, rifling through the papers and looking from hers to Ralph’s, before peering at Jesse’s.

‘Yep,’ confirms Jaime. ‘There’s at least six mentioned in those stories but there could obviously be more.’

Jesse has skim read the page in his hands. ‘They weren’t from town though?’

She shakes her head. ‘Nope, none of them. They all have a few things in common though.’ She counts them off on her fingers. ‘All young-ish, late teens to early twenties at the most. They were all hikers or walking enthusiasts. And they all vanished in this area never to be seen again.’

‘In this area?’ Ralph stares down at his paper quizzically. ‘But this report doesn’t mention the valley.’

‘No, none of them do but I marked them on a map, look.’ Jaime unfolds another piece of paper – a photocopied map of the Dorset Somerset border. She has marked six circles close to their town. ‘The circles show where each person was last seen or heard from. They were in the area but not here, not as far as we know anyway. But don’t you think it’s weird? Two teenagers vanish from the town thirty years apart and in the meantime at least six outsiders have vanished close to town.’ She looks around at their faces, each deep in thought as they re-read the reports. ‘Maybe they came here or walked through or maybe they never made it that far but it’s got to be connected for so many to vanish so close to our town… I’ll keep looking,’ she adds, quickly anxious that they’re not going to see it the way she does. ‘There could be more.’

Jesse passes the bottle to Willow and looks brightly at Jaime. ‘I think you’re right. This has to be connected. And then there’s my mum being missing too, like you said. I’ve been thinking about that.’

She breathes out in pure relief. ‘Okay, and there’s one more thing. I went through a ton of local history stuff. Births, deaths, marriages, local events, that kind of thing and I found out that Iris Cotton is related to Agnes Salter, the original owner of the original Black Hare Cottage. Cotton is her married name.’

There is a collective gasp and Jaime feels herself swell just a little in front of them. ‘Salter the witch?’ asks Jesse. ‘That’s like a local legend. You know, they burned her and her house.’

‘Same house, different woman, different time,’ replies Jaime. ‘Which is why I really do need to talk to Iris if I can.’

‘My mum delivers logs to Maze Lane,’ Ralph says then. ‘To most of the houses there because they all have open fires. I could see when their next delivery is due and I could offer to go along and help… maybe I could find a way to talk to Iris?’

The others nod firmly and Jesse pats his shoulder. ‘Sweet.’

Jaime watches Ralph grow redder as he smiles in response.

‘Good plan,’ she tells him then starts to pack away her work, just in case. ‘Now,’ she says. ‘Jesse, it’s your turn. You must tell us everything!’

Willow holds up a hand. ‘Hey, hang on, can I jump in first? I’ve got to show you something and it affects nearly all of us.’

The others swap glances and then nod warily. ‘What is it?’ Jesse asks.

Willow pulls a small pile of photos from her cloak and hands them to him. ‘Your dad was right, Jesse. Our parents did know each other. My mum’s still being weird and cagey about it all but she did finally dig these out for me.’

Jesse fans the photos out and they all lean over. He instantly points out his father who looks remarkably like him and is posing with a group of teens in Milly’s Café. ‘That’s my dad! And Willow, your mum!’ He points to a dark-haired girl and Willow nods.

‘Recognise anyone else?’

‘Is that my dad?’ breathes Ralph, his eyes wide. ‘Jesus!’

Jesse points to a girl. ‘That’s my mum!’

Jaime takes the photo when he passes it to her. She scans the faces, noting the undeniable similarities between her new friends and their parents. Jesse is already looking at the next photo.

‘My dad again,’ he confirms. ‘Wonder where that was? Looks a bit like the land near The Fort but I dunno. And there’s your mum Willow and your dad again, Ralph. Looks like they were proper friends, doesn’t it?’

‘Or maybe they weren’t but they were drawn together by a missing person, just like us?’ Jaime suggests with a shrug. She takes the photo from Jesse. ‘They all look so sad here.’

Jesse is scrutinising the final photo. ‘My mum and your mum again,’ he says to Willow.

She leans closer and presses a finger against the May Queen. ‘I think that’s your aunt, Jesse. That’s Carol-Anne. Look at her face and your mum’s face. Don’t you think that could be her?’

‘I’ll have to ask my dad.’ Jesse holds it up, lost for a moment as he stares into a past he never knew existed. ‘But yeah, they look alike, don’t they?’

‘None of them want to talk about it,’ says Willow, pulling up her legs and wrapping her arms around them. ‘I’ll try but I don’t think I’ll get much more out of my mum.’

‘My mum didn’t know much,’ adds Ralph. ‘She said my dad was older than her and when she met him he wasn’t hanging around with anyone.’

‘What can it mean?’ asks Jaime. ‘All I can think is Carol-Anne went missing just like Paddy and your parents tried to find her but for some reason, don’t remember? Or don’t want to talk about it?’

‘It might not mean much at all,’ sighs Jesse, passing the last photo to Jaime, who is now holding all three. ‘What we do know is this. I had an aunt that went missing and that, I dunno, affected my mum, I guess, made her crazy, my dad said. Eventually she couldn’t cope with it all and ran off. No one ever talks about any of it. I mean, I guess I could try and show him these, see if it gets him talking?’

Jaime promptly hands them back.

‘Take them,’ nods Willow. ‘Show him if you get the chance. Now, come on. Your turn.’

Ralph sits with his legs crossed the way they make you during school assembly. He’s wearing cargo trousers that are smeared with dirt and grass stains from a morning gardening for Eugenie Spires. He feels lucky that he got away when he did – he had a feeling as soon as he was done his mother would ship him off to Mayor Sumner’s for more work, but she was taking a long bubble bath and reading a novel. She said they’d both worked hard all week so deserved a break. She gave him her blessing to meet his friends and didn’t ask where.

Ralph squirms now with doubt and fear. Maybe he should have lied. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the others. But his mother trusts him and it seems Mayor Sumner has also placed a certain amount of trust in Jesse.

‘From the beginning!’ Jaime is urging. ‘From when they drove you off!’

Jesse sits with his knees up and his elbows resting loosely on them. He looks cleaner and brighter than normal and his clothes are washed and uncrumpled. He’s wearing dark jeans, black boots and a checked flannel shirt over a black t-shirt. His nails are clean and his hair is brushed: it would appear that the mayor is being a good foster parent so far.

He lowers his head slightly but keeps his eyes on them as he speaks. Ralph attempts to read the expression on his face and the closest he can get is that Jesse looks fierce.

‘Okay. When we got to the mayor’s house, something really weird happened. Something scary. It was really fucking scary.’ He stares at them each in turn as if keen to impress this upon them. ‘It was the worst bit but I swear since then, nothing else has happened and it’s just been… I dunno, weirdly okay. I’m still getting used to having a room all to myself and three decent meals but every time I think about what happened first I feel sick and shaky. So, I’ll tell you.’ He glances around again, his eyes narrow and suspicious as if he fears they are being spied on. ‘Even if it messes things up for me,’ he adds.

They wait, breath held. Ralph’s hands are on his knees and he can feel his fingers slowly curling, digging in, holding on. Jesse clears his throat.

‘Inside her kitchen is this big larder, one of those walk-in things, like a whole extra room full of food.’ He swallows. ‘And they took me straight in there, still handcuffed, and there was this other door at the back which led down to some sort of cellar, I guess, under the house. It was dark until they lit a lantern but it was weird too, like there was this weird energy.’ He pauses for a moment, swallowing again and focusing on the ground. His expression is intense, as if he is conjuring the images in his head. ‘It was like it felt alive down there, like it was electric or something. I’ve never felt anything like it. There was a really terrible smell too, really strong. I’m still not sure what it was but…’ He stops again, wrinkling his nose and licking his lips at the memory.

‘What sort of smell?’ Willow asks softly.

‘I don’t know…’ Jesse lifts his head, gazes at the sky above them. ‘Sort of hot and like something old and rotten but a bit like something awful had been cooked or boiled. It was just horrible. Anyway, it was cold too and I could see mist around my feet like I did when I tried to run away. And yeah, just the energy, guys… All my hairs stood on end and I had goosebumps all over! Margaret said it was the ley lines. You guys ever heard of them?’

Willow nods instantly. ‘Sure. Not everyone believes in them but they’re meant to be ancient lines crisscrossing the country. Maybe due to trade or to reach sacred monuments but no one knows for sure. You can’t see them.’

He nods at her. ‘She seemed to believe all right. She said several ley lines converged in the cellar where we were standing and that made the energy so strong there. I couldn’t see too well because of the shadows but I looked around and I could see little rooms, like cells.’ He swallows again and scratches quickly at the back of his neck.

The others swap looks. Willow reacts by drinking more vodka then passing the bottle to Jaime, who almost passes it on, then stops, shrugs and takes a tiny sip, before making a face and giving it to Ralph.

‘Cells?’ Willow is the only one brave enough to prompt him.

His eyes are fixed on the fire. ‘Maybe. I could see bars anyway and I thought, I mean I can’t be sure because it was so dark and I was so shit scared by this point, thinking they were literally about to murder me, so I don’t know, but I thought I saw something in one of those little rooms. I thought I saw bones. Like, this little pile of bones.’

‘Animal bones?’ Ralph asks in a voice that comes out far too high. He coughs and feels his face grow red.

‘Maybe,’ Jesse replies quickly, with a half-smile. He shakes himself. ‘Anyway, the whole thing was a warning. They wanted to show me my options, they said. I couldn’t leave town, they said, or I’d end up down there and when I said, do you mean dead? They laughed and said it’s not death exactly, it’s more like a rebirth.’ Jesse moves his knees together and hugs them. He’s shivering.

‘Jesus…’ Willow murmurs, glancing away.

Ralph gazes into the bottle of vodka then slowly lifts it to his lips. He lets a small amount drip down his throat and winces at the burn.

‘They joked,’ Jesse says in a low voice, ‘about what they could turn me into.’

Willow sits up straighter. ‘Shit.’

‘Then that was it. They told me not to ask any questions and took me back to the kitchen and Margaret made Mayfield leave, so he did. It’s like she has power over him.’

‘Rebirth…’ whisper Willow as Ralph passes the bottle to Jesse. She’s sitting cross-legged with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. ‘What if it’s possible? Say it’s possible. They were threatening to do to you what they must have done to Paddy.’ She looks up right at Jesse. ‘And a black hare helped you, took you to the treehouse and I saw it last night.’ She stares pointedly at the others. ‘I saw it in my garden. Then there was this awful howl nearby and it took off. I felt like it was Paddy. Like he was trying to tell me something.’

Jaime sputters and holds up a hand. ‘Wait. Wait.’

‘It’s got to be!’ Willow goes on, her voice rising. ‘Don’t you see? You must be able to see? It all makes sense. Mayfield, he can turn into something; a wolf or something, something that clawed at Jesse’s back. And, and Iris! The white hare, Jaime! We both saw her and then her house burned down again and… and… she was on the committee and she left the book for Paddy, see?’ She unfolds her arms and claps her hands together, making them all jump. Her face is flushed with excitement. ‘Oh my god, oh my fucking god! They’re witches or something! They’re monsters and they’re doing all this! The missing people! Jaime?’ Willow leans forward to grab her hand. ‘You must be able to see!’

Jaime is shaking her head as she slowly withdraws her hand. ‘No, no, wait. I mean, wait. What are you actually saying?’

Willow leans closer to her. ‘That there is something very wrong here. It’s not just abduction or murder, it’s more than that, it’s whatever powers these people have got… I just can’t…’ Willow bites her lip, frowning deeply, shaking her head until finally she drops it into one hand. ‘Oh, Paddy. Poor Paddy. What did they do to him? We have to find him and help him!’

Ralph sits in silence. Thoughts pop in and out of his head in split seconds, bouncing around and refusing to connect. There is a tense silence between them where he finds it almost impossible to lift his head and look at them all. When he does, he sees intense excitement, fear and anger splashed across Willow’s tightened features. Jesse appears to be the calmest but Ralph supposes he’s known the darkness surrounding them for the longest. Ralph gets the feeling there is still a lot Jesse holds back until he feels they are ready to catch up. As for Jaime, she’s shocked and white and staring at the flames as if she hopes to find an answer there,

‘Wait,’ she says again, waving one hand limply. ‘Just hang on. None of this can be real.’ She finally looks at Willow and Ralph can see tears in her eyes. ‘Can it?’

Willow takes both of her hands and squeezes them. She’s wired with adrenalin but looks at Jaime with nothing but pity. She can’t really get her head around it either but everything adds up and she can’t escape it or deny it. It’s not just everything she said or everything Jesse has relayed or Jaime has discovered; it’s more than that. It’s the dull throb of absolute certainty she felt when she saw the hare. She knows it was Paddy.

‘It’s okay,’ she tries to tell Jaime. ‘It’s okay.’

Jaime just keeps shaking her head. She’s blinking back tears but one escapes and rolls down her cheek. Willow can see the turmoil unfolding inside of her. She slips an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.

‘Come on, let’s leave it for now. What else can we do about it right now anyway?’

Jaime is silent. Jesse cheers and passes on the bottle.

‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘I say let’s have some fun. Let’s muck about for a while. I think we need it.’ He uses the wall to help him to his feet then stares at them, grinning.

‘But a plan,’ Jaime looks up at him. ‘We still need a plan.’

‘Let us know when you think of one,’ Jesse replies and holds a hand out to her.

Willow knows Jaime will take it and she does, a shy smile breaking out on her face as she reaches up tentatively and is pulled to her feet by Jesse’s tug.

‘Come on,’ Jesse says, pulling Jaime with him and snatching up Willow’s hand too. ‘There’s something I like to do.’

They follow him to the other side, where beyond the higher walls, the outskirts of the valley roll away before them. They can almost feel the earth rolling gently under their feet in an ever undulating wave towards the glistening river.

Jesse breaks free and lies down on the grass with his arms wrapped around his body. ‘Follow me!’ he yells and before anyone can question, he is off, rolling rapidly down the hill, bumping and spinning over grassy slopes and hillocks.

‘He’ll kill himself!’ Jaime gasps, but Willow is already lying down, compelled by the urge to be moving along with the land, to be part of it and to not lose Jesse. She feels drawn to his still rolling figure, bellowing laughter as he goes.

She pushes off and feels herself flying. Her bones thud and jar but every now and then she is in the air, weightless, and the world is turning over her again and again, blue then green, then blue, then green then suddenly she slows and rolls to a stop. The land rises up, creating a ridge – a protective barrier saving them at the last moment from an icy drench in the river,

Willow looks for Jesse and finds him sitting further along, rubbing his shoulders and grinning wildly.

‘That was amazing!’ she tells him breathlessly. ‘That was terrifying!’

‘I know!’ He looks back up the hill and they watch Ralph, then Jaime start to roll. They seem to be rolling impossibly fast, just blurs of colour plummeting towards them and then, just when it seems they will crash into them and shatter their bones, they start to slow, eventually rolling slowly up against the ridge before finally stopping.

They sit up, wincing and laughing and checking their limbs for damage. Willow laughs and drops back in the grass. She feels something she has not felt since Paddy vanished. She feels love. And hope.

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 Twenty-Three “The Raven”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Nineteen “The Meeting”

September 4, 2025September 2, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 1 Comment

Willow is the only one who comes to see him after school and Jesse can guess why. The smell of burning thatch has reached Black Hare Road and he learns from Willow that if Iris Cotton did give Paddy the book to help him, then she has been severely punished for it.

Willow explains that she has to be quick and discreet and Jesse can imagine the committee members closing in on them. Bishop, Hewlett and Gordon all work at the school. Perhaps they have been warned off, blackmailed or threatened? He nods and waits for Willow to unload the torrent of information he can sense thrumming inside of her.

She can’t stop checking over her shoulder. ‘They’ve burned her house down. Again,’ she adds for impact. ‘Jaime saw her this morning while Ralph was here. I saw a white hare run down the High Street and Jaime said one came inside Iris’s gate then ran around to the back garden. When Jaime followed it, she found Iris there, sweeping.’

‘She can turn into a hare like Mayfield can turn into some sort of wolf-thing,’ Jesse says because he knows it is true. Having already shown Willow the violent claw marks down his back, he watches her nod in white-faced horror.

‘And so maybe she tried to warn Paddy,’ Willow goes on, grimly. ‘She admitted that she put the book there and so far all Jaime’s translations have come up with spells or poems, maybe, weird stuff all written in Latin.’

‘Anything about the treehouse?’ Jesse wonders. ‘The wolf-thing couldn’t come in the garden and Mayfield still hasn’t come here to find me.’

Willow gulps nervously. ‘Yes. She translated something about a protection spell, a safe circle or something. Maybe that’s all Paddy had time to work out; how to make it safe out here. The committee are closing in though,’ she adds softly, looking over her shoulder again. ‘We all got cornered by Mr Bishop and Mr Hewlett today. Asking where you were, accusing us of lying, that kind of thing.’

‘I can’t stay here forever,’ he tells her helplessly. ‘I’ll go crazy, Willow. Did Jaime find out anything on my mum, or Carol-Anne?’

Willow shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Mark arrived to walk her home from school so I don’t think she got the chance.’

Jesse grimaces. ‘That’s just creepy.’

‘I know. And Ralph’s mum met him too – said something about a few hours work at Hill Fort Farm and off they went.’

‘Keeping us apart,’ he says and Willow smiles at him.

‘Well, it won’t work. And you’re right, you can’t stay here forever. I think we need to do this properly, Jesse.’

He frowns. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Go to the station in the morning hand yourself in. I’ll get Billy to meet you there.’

Jesse ponders it and realises it makes a horrible kind of sense. In daylight, with his family there, what can Mayfield do?

‘Maybe,’ he whispers.

Willow looks around again, her expression half-cautious, half-curious. ‘Jesse,’ she says, ‘I’m sorry I doubted you to begin with.’ She is sitting beside him with her legs dangling from the platform. He looks at her, not understanding. ‘I really did think you were hassling Paddy. Maybe I was a bit jealous too. You know, that he seemed to have a new friend.’ She glances away, her fingers twiddling. ‘I’ve never been that good at making friends myself. Maybe I was a bit, you know, possessive of him.’

Jesse grins. It feels blissful on his tensed features. ‘Hey, I can’t blame you. And I did bully him before. All of you.’

She exhales softly, her shoulders lowering. ‘Yeah, but I kind of get why now. Seems like you’ve had a lot of people bullying you.’

Jesse is not sure so he shrugs.

She pauses, swinging her legs and looking at the sky while her hands knit together in her lap. Then she looks back at him. ‘Can I ask you though? Paddy never, I mean, he never mentioned the book to you? Or spells? Or the committee? In any way?’

He feels her intense gaze. Everything about Willow is intense – her attention, her individuality, her scorn, her clothes – he realises she is as much an outcast as he is.

He shakes his head. ‘No. He never said anything about the book or spells. All I can say is he seemed… energetic, maybe.’

‘Energetic?’

‘Yeah, like focused. Excited, sort of. A bit like he had a secret, if I think about it now. Maybe something he wanted to talk about but just hadn’t decided who to tell yet. Was he like that with you? Different than normal?’

She nods. ‘Yeah if I think about it, he was a bit like that. I mean, he always had this thirst for knowledge, this determination to learn and know everything. But yeah, it seemed like he was super focused, brighter than normal but to be honest? I thought it was because of you. And I was jealous of it. But who knows?’ She shrugs and swings her legs. ‘It could have been both. Or neither.’

Jesse wants to ask what she thinks about the black hare, what she thinks about all of it, and he wants to ask if Paddy ever said anything about him to her, anything good, but he doesn’t. He enjoys the relative peace and normality of a friend sat beside him in a treehouse and soon she goes home.

Jesse feels impatient sat in the treehouse with only his wounds and a torch for company. Mr Finnis has been providing food and drink but he’s worried about popping out to him too often – he doesn’t want to draw attention to Jesse’s hiding place.

Jesse settles on his belly and feels the scratches pulsating on his back. He stares at the quiet blackness of the garden and longs for something to happen. He fixates on the shadows, hoping to see one move, hoping to see a black shape emerge… A sign, maybe. Something to tell them what to do.

It’s not quite dark when he hears a, ‘Psstt!’ from the bottom of the garden. Jesse stares into the shadows, trying to decipher shape or form. His stomach contracts as his skin prickles in warning. Then,

‘Jesse! Hey bud, it’s just us!’ A pause. ‘You there?’

Jesse is momentarily relieved – it’s Steven and Dominic, but then his back is up again. He hasn’t seen them since Mayfield broke up their fight. What the hell do they want and how the hell did they know he was here? Maybe they want to talk to him about Mayfield blackmailing them to take the book?

Feeling vaguely hopeful, he steps uneasily onto the rope ladder, gripping the wall as it sways under his weight. He can see them now, lingering at the gate and he calls out a gruff, ‘Hang on,’ before descending the ladder.

Jesse meets them at the gate. Steven is smoking a cigarette and Dominic just stands there with his oversized hands stuffed inside the pockets of his grimy denim jacket.

‘What?’ he hisses at them.

Steven slips a conspiratorial arm around his neck and starts to walk. ‘Need to talk to you, man. Where the hell you been? You’re a wanted man for fucks sake! I mean, what the hell?’

Jesse’s movements are stiff but somehow he has allowed Steven to propel him out of the gate. ‘Complicated,’ he replies, looking over his shoulder. He catches Dominic’s eye but the bigger boy just looks away miserably.

‘Yeah, I bet, I bet,’ says Steven, grinning at him. He smells of smoke. Its suddenly too strange and Jesse wriggles free of Steven’s arm. ‘Whoa, what mate?’

‘Nothing.’ Jesse looks around anxiously, his senses on high alert. He shrugs at Steven’s confused face. ‘What do you want, Steven?’

‘Just to hang out,’ he shrugs, finishing his cigarette and chucking it down. ‘I thought we were mates.’

Jesse is tempted to tell him the truth, that they have never been friends, not really. They just grew up in the same building and drifted towards each other to escape their equally horrible parents. They linked up with dumb Dominic and passed their anger and frustration on to anyone weaker than them. It disgusts Jesse now – what they did, who he was when he was with them. But he just wants them gone – not another fight.

‘Yeah, we are,’ he tells Steven to shut him up. ‘It’s just stuff. Complicated.’

But suddenly they are gone. Jesse almost misses their exit. One minute they were right there – Dominic looking unhappy and scared and Steven looked mock-friendly as usual and he looked away, just for a moment, just to scour the darkness, just for a moment, just to check and in that second they have vanished. Drifted away.

It’s eerie but Jesse doesn’t have time to ponder it for long. He steps towards the garden and bumps into something instead, something that wasn’t there a moment ago. His eyes drift slowly, fearfully up the thick barrel chest, tightly contained inside a policeman’s uniform, and fix in horror on Sergeant Mayfield’s unsmiling face.

A choked sound escapes his lips then the police baton is shoved sideways into his neck and he is slammed back into the fence behind. He feels it give, hears a crack in the old wood. Mayfield’s weight is behind the baton and the fence creaks again. Jesse uses his last breath to force his body backwards, kicking out at the rotten slats behind him then gasping as he feels it give way completely.

Wood splinters and cracks in the air around him and he’s falling weightlessly and free of the dreaded baton. He can breathe again, though he’s instantly winded when his body hits the ground with a thud.

Mayfield rears up and over him, face twisted in rage, eyes glowing – but he does not advance. He can’t. Jesse scrambles backwards, his heels digging into dirt, his hands splayed into grass. Mayfield glares at him in pure hatred and then lets out a roar, sending strings of saliva whipping around his twisted face.

Jesse spins onto all fours and crawls, then staggers to his feet, and runs for the treehouse. He can hear nothing but his own terrified breath rasping in his throat and his legs are shaking as he scrambles up the ladder and hauls himself inside. He whips around and stares at the fence but Mayfield has gone.

Margaret Sumner carries six dead pheasants by the neck into the kitchen, three in each hand, and dumps them on the table. She brushes her hands off on a nearby tea towel then smiles lovingly down at Horatio, her faithful Labrador. It’s a cool night and he has arranged himself beside the Aga, stretched out on one of his blankets with a chewed and misshapen tennis ball beside him.

‘Good boy, Horatio,’ she says kindly, before gathering two bottles of wine from the sideboard. ‘You are a very good boy.’ He looks up with adoring eyes and his thick tail thumps against the floor. ‘I always knew you would be,’ she adds softly before leaving the room.

Her guests have arrived on time and are already gathered in the drawing room. As it’s not an official neighbourhood watch meeting, Catherine Aster is not present. Margaret sent a message earlier telling her the urgent meeting had been cancelled. Margaret strides in with the bottles of wine and takes a moment to survey the group.

Aaron is agonised, she notes with some amusement. He prowls around the edge of the group with a whisky already on the go and his hackles up under his shirt. He paces like an animal, more beast than man tonight. He lets his instincts rule him, she notes then looks at the two women, Eugenie and Sylvia. Separated by generations yet so similar in outlook and mannerisms.

They are sat beside each other in the fireside armchairs. Each with legs crossed and hands resting demurely on the arm rests. Eugenie is small and sharp and made up of hard angles and natural suspicion – nothing gets past her and like Aaron, she knows everyone’s secrets. The only difference is, Aaron knows hers thanks to the extra eyes he places around town.

Margaret watches her now, eyeing her long neat fingers and wonders how many small and pointless items she has stolen over the decades. She smiles a little – compulsive stealing was after all, what got Eugenie into trouble as a young girl.

And Sylvia, the newest member until the arrival of Catherine. Margaret admires her haughtiness, the old-fashioned no-nonsense attitude that does little to quell the seeping sexuality of her. She has cast a powerful spell over Greg Roberts, that’s for sure. But none of that is on the agenda this evening.

Margaret’s eyes track over to Greg who is deep in conversation with Neville and Edward. Though talking and gesturing wildly, Greg cannot prevent his gaze from drifting almost constantly back to Sylvia. Neville appears calm but slightly nervous, as is his default setting. He likes to appease people, stay on neutral ground and everyone’s good sides, so he always listens attentively to every word said and nods and smiles in all the right places. Margaret knows that Aaron has several interesting videos of his late night clinches with seventeen-year-old Nathan Cotton.

Edward, meanwhile, wears his usual expression of thinly veiled disgust, but he has a new, replenished air about him too. He eyes them all as scathingly as normal and his top lip is almost always raised in a sneer, as if the stain of working with children all day cannot be washed away, but he does seem brighter tonight, she thinks, louder, more alive. Margaret wonders if he is enjoying his new, elevated, elongated life.

She supposes she feels a bit like mother to all of them. A mother welcoming them to the flock, teaching, advising, nurturing and punishing until they are all ready to take the next step. Her gaze drifts to the large windows and she supposes at one point Bob Rowan was the father of the group and Iris Cotton, the grandmother. She feels a twinge of regret but it doesn’t last long. They have too much to discuss. There is a lively atmosphere in the room; a taut tension sparkling in the air. She senses excitement, fear and frustration and she thrives on it all.

She places the bottles on the small fireside table and begins to twist the cork out of the red. ‘Red or white?’ she calls out, her firm harsh voice instantly cutting through their chatter and silencing them. ‘Grab a glass and drink. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

Eugenie is the first to hold out a glass. ‘Red please, Margaret.’

‘Oh and for me too,’ says Sylvia.

Margaret fills their glasses while the men collect theirs from the sideboard. There is a series of thumps heard from upstairs and Margaret rolls her eyes at her guests. ‘Hilda. She’s in the playroom. Aaron? Red or white?’

He arrives silently at her side, broad and tall and white-haired, a mountain of a man capable of just about anything. She finds his cruelty and rage endlessly exciting. He grunts for red and she fills his glass.

Edward, Neville and Greg choose white and everyone settles down, only Margaret and Aaron remain standing. Sylvia has her notebook and pen on her lap ready to make notes.

‘It’s been quite a week,’ Margaret addresses them. ‘Quite a challenging one. Also, quite an interesting one. We’ll start with Iris Cotton. Any news?’

‘I heard her grand-daughter took her in,’ Eugenie speaks with authority. ‘I let Nathan go after his Rhyme Time once he’d heard the news. He was heading home. Not long after that someone said they saw Iris going into Sarah-Jane’s house on Maze Lane.’

‘Aaron, can you confirm?’

‘Yes,’ he says with certainty. ‘She’s there. They have a spare room.’

‘Unhurt?’

He nods. ‘Nothing can hurt that old witch.’

A snigger moves around the room. Margaret smiles in empathy. ‘Quite. And the cottage?’

Aaron grunts. ‘I was there earlier. It’s just rubble. A few incomplete walls and that’s it. No roof left. I caught a couple of local reprobates there smashing glass for fun.’

‘Yes well, we’ll come to that in a moment,’ says Margaret. ‘But the house is badly damaged and can’t be salvaged?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. It’s gone. And everything in it.’

Another murmur drifts among them. Margaret can feel their excitement rising.

‘And do you want to tell us about the boys you caught, Aaron?’

He sniffs, his eyes dark with anger. ‘Dominic Robeson, the half-wit from the caravan park and Steven Davies, the thug from Taylor Drive, both used to be in a gang with Jesse Archer. At one point, the three of them were always together causing trouble. Not so much now. Anyway, I tried to use the boys to lure Archer from the Finnis garden.’

‘Tried to?’ Edward cannot hide the ridicule in his voice.

Aaron glares at him. ‘It worked. I had that little bastard but he broke the bloody fence down. I lost him.’

This time there is a collective sigh.

‘Again,’ says Edward, unhelpfully.

Aaron growls.

‘Now, now.’ Margaret holds up a calming hand. ‘There’s no need for that, gentleman. Jesse Archer is a smart boy and he’s not acting alone, let’s remember. He has others helping him but we will get him eventually. We’ll get him in custody and bring him here.’

‘Then what?’ asks Sylvia. ‘You can’t… You know. It isn’t time.’

‘I realise that,’ replies Margaret. ‘He’s a very lucky boy and he doesn’t even know it. We still need him here though. He knows far too much and we need to set him straight. Give him a chance.’

‘A chance for what?’ wonders Eugenie, looking unsure. ‘Joining us?’

‘Maybe, yes,’ smiles Margaret, enjoying the look of disgust on Aaron’s face. ‘In years to come of course and that will be very much up to him. We should be a group of nine, remember.’

‘True, but that does seem risky.’ Eugenie pushes her glasses up her nose and shifts in her chair.

‘You could let him go,’ Neville suggests with a weak smile. ‘Like you did with his mother? Wouldn’t that be better for everyone? If he just left town?’

‘I think he’d come back,’ replies Margaret and Aaron nods in agreement. ‘And as for the rest of them, they’re in too deep. Plotting and digging. If he left too, it would only spur them on.’

‘So, what is it you’re suggesting?’ asks Edward.

‘Our best bet is to weaken them,’ she says. ‘To split them up and tire them out. To keep them busy, or scared or distracted. We need to put water on the fire, in other words. They’re all very different and different techniques will work for each, but that’s my suggestion. They are weaker divided. Weaker confused. Weaker scared. They are, after all, just children. They’ll give up. It will not be worth it to them to continue. They’ll have to accept that Paddy is gone. And then soon they will forget like everyone else.’

She looks around at them, smiling pleasantly while her words sink in. This is the way Margaret envisions it. After all, it’s not the first time they’ve been through this and it’s not the first time a fuss has been made about a missing child. She does agree with Aaron on one thing; it really should have been Jesse Archer who went missing. No one would have bothered to look for him. But Iris Cotton had to interfere. Revenge, she supposes, or maybe just good old-fashioned mischief. Iris always did like to set the cat among the pigeons. It doesn’t matter now. They had no choice and what’s done is done.

‘So,’ she continues smoothly when no voice rises to challenge her. ‘We need a way to get him away from that garden so Aaron can arrest him for the break-in. The paperwork to take him into care is already prepared and signed by his father. He’s very easy to persuade when he’s drunk and can barely see the hand in front of his face, let alone what he’s signing. So, everything is ready. We just need the boy.’

‘You could always light another fire?’ Sylvia suggests with a shrug. She looks around at the others. ‘Just a small one in the garden. He’d have to move then, wouldn’t he?’

It’s a risky proposition but Margaret quite likes it. As long as the fire doesn’t get out of control, it could work. It could be the fastest and simplest solution.

As if reading her mind, Aaron nods and say, ‘I could get Dominic and Steven to light it.’

‘You could,’ nods Margaret. ‘And you’d be on hand and ready to catch him when he runs.’

‘Once he’s out of that bloody garden he’ll never outrun me,’ says Aaron brashly and Margaret knows he is right.

She glances around at the rest of them. ‘Well then, we’ll try that tomorrow. I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Aaron. Call me as soon as you have him. Now, on to the rest of the group. Eugenie?’

Eugenie sits up straight, knees pressed together. ‘Charlotte and Ralph have settled in well next door to me,’ she reports. ‘On the very first day Charlotte offered to prune my apple tree for me. She’s already done a lot to the garden. She never stops, does she?’

Margaret smiles fondly. ‘No, she’s a force of nature that one.’

‘And the boy seems well-behaved,’ Eugenie adds. ‘I think I’ll enjoy having them as neighbours.’

‘I’ll be keeping Ralph busy here,’ says Margaret. ‘He’s always keen to help his mother and provide. He’s just like her really. A hard worker. Of course, we’re all relieved he didn’t take after his father.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ remarks Edward with raised eyebrows. ‘He might be a hard worker like his mum but he’s got the same nosy streak his old man had if you ask me.’

Margaret nods in regret. ‘Possibly. Possibly that could be Archer’s bad influence. But we do need to keep an eye on him. He’s such a lovely child, it would be a real shame to see him led astray.’

There are nods from everyone. Ralph Maxwell is just the kind of boy Black Hare Velly thrives on nurturing.

‘Jaime, the new girl,’ Edward goes on. ‘She shows a lot of promise and is very smart but I’m afraid she’s mixed up in all this too and her teachers have seen her concentration nosedive as the week has gone on.’

‘Mark is concerned, I can tell,’ nods Eugenie, who often likes to end her day with a quick sherry in the Hare and Hound. ‘He and Catherine will keep an eye on her. I see them as fair but strict parents.’

‘Willow Harrison’s parents are not though,’ sighs Greg. ‘And I think we know why.’

Margaret knows he views them as nothing more than godless, misguided pagans and permissive hippy types but she’s not too concerned herself. It stands to reason that Willow would act out the most. Paddy was her best and only friend.

‘She was very confrontational with me,’ Neville adds sadly as Edward shakes his head slowly and gravely. ‘It’s her I fear Archer has his claws into the most.’

‘Her mother was the same,’ nods Greg, his expression dour. ‘I’ve been tempted to encourage her to leave town enough times. Is there a chance she could be fuelling Willow? Her and Nick Archer were thick as thieves last time.’

‘No,’ Aaron shakes his head with certainty. ‘She doesn’t remember. None of them do.’

‘We’ll keep an eye on Willow,’ nods Margaret looking at Aaron. He nods back and sips his whiskey. His eyes, of course, are everywhere. ‘But yes, this does all come back to Jesse Archer, which is why most of this can be resolved and ironed out once I have him here with me. Like I said, we weaken them, distract them and divide them. The others will drift away and I have every confidence I can get through to the Archer boy. Iris has been dealt with. It’s just one last loose end to tie up.’

‘What about Bob Rowan?’ asks Greg. ‘I thought I saw him at the fire.’

Margaret waves a hand dismissively. ‘We don’t have to worry about him. He didn’t want to be on the committee anymore and that’s his right. As long as he keeps to his side and stays out of our business, I don’t see a problem.’

There is a collective sigh of relief and contentment. Only Aaron still seems riled up – but that’s nothing new. When the others start talking about Edward and how he’s been feeling since his transition, Margaret positions herself beside Aaron and waits for him to acknowledge her.

He does so with a reluctant grunt. Sometimes she thinks he is more beast than man and always has been.

‘All of this could have been avoided if it had been Archer, not Finnis,’ he says in a low voice.

Margaret does not hide her irritation. It’s like listening to a broken record. ‘Oh, Aaron, do get over it. What’s done is done and you know we had no choice. Blame Iris, not me.’

‘Oh, I do. I do.’

‘You’ve got to calm down, Aaron. You’re letting your mask slip too often. I’m going to have to do a lot of damage control with the Archer boy when he’s here, thanks to you.’

Aaron glares at her, his lips pressed and trembling. She reaches out and clasps his wrist in her hand.

‘Aaron, forgive me, but you know I always speak my mind. You have a temper. And you like drama. That is not a good combination. In fact, it is your weakness.’

She watches the anger flare in his blue eyes. He feels rigid with rage and his muscles are tensed under her touch but she is not afraid. ‘It’s all right,’ she tells him soothingly. ‘Everyone has a weakness. That’s yours.’

‘And what’s yours?’ he asks in a tight, thin voice.

Margaret smiles. ‘Why, I should think that is very obvious, Aaron. It’s this town, of course.’

Jaime looks up with a start when someone knocks on her door. The entire investigation is spread out on her bed and it’ll take time she maybe doesn’t have to clear away – or she could call out – maybe it’s just a knock to say that dinner is ready. She checks the time – it’s probably that.

She gathers up the notepaper, the timeline, the translated notes and the photos and bundles them into her school backpack. Hiding them is becoming a constant source of worry for her. She can’t lock her door when she leaves her room – so how is she to know that they won’t come looking? Jaime used to trust her mum implicitly but she can’t help feeling that trust has been damaged by Black Hare Valley and the secrets it holds.

‘Yes?’ she calls out, zipping the bag and shoving it under her bed. She grabs a book from the bedside table and flips it open on her pillow.

‘Jaime, it’s Mum.’

She gets up reluctantly and opens the door, already dreading her mother’s concerned and cautious expression. Her mother smiles weakly. She looks pale and winces as she rubs both hands across her taut belly.

‘You okay, Mum? I thought you had a meeting?’

‘They cancelled it last minute and I really don’t feel like cooking so I thought me and you could grab fish and chips from down the road and have a nice walk?’

Jaime stiffens. What if it is a guise to get her away from her backpack?

‘Okay, sure.’ She smiles as breezily as she can. ‘Can I just get changed?’ She feels weak with relief that she hasn’t yet changed out of her uniform.

‘Of course. I’ll wait downstairs for you.’

Jaime closes the door and panics. She can’t take the bag with her; it’ll look odd. She can’t leave it under the bed either; Mark could come in and see it. She opens the wardrobe – a messy splurge of colours and textures bursts out at her, but again, Mark could easily search it. Finally, she opens the bag and takes it all out. She needs to make it smaller. Make it fit somewhere else. The treehouse she thinks with certainty.

For now, Jaime uses the large timeline of events to envelope all the other pieces in. She rolls it up until it’s a tight, neat tube then she slips it inside one of her wellington boots and pushes the boots to the back of the wardrobe. Her heart is beating painfully because it still doesn’t feel like enough.

But when she joins her mother downstairs she is less concerned. The bar is heaving; Mark and Tahlia look overworked and stressed.

‘Don’t they need your help?’ Jaime wonders as they head for the kitchen and the back door.

‘I’ve worked all day,’ her mum replies with a weary smile. ‘I just need a breather to catch up with my girl. They’ll be fine.’

‘All right.’

They head out into the dark garden, then turn through the gate onto Lupin Lane, before making their way to the High Street. It’s quiet and the air still smells of burnt thatch. Jaime recalls the whispers she heard all day at school and at the pub. The gossip is that Iris Cotton’s house burned down because she’s a very old and forgetful lady. She probably left something dangling too close to a candle or made a mistake with the log burner or the stove. Nothing remains, they say, such a shame, one of the oldest houses in the valley, they say.

Only Jaime seems to know that it has burned down before, when Agnes Salter was accused of being a witch. Were they related, she wonders, did Iris marry a Cotton before she had her daughter? Was her maiden name Salter? And even more worrying, was her house burned down on purpose? As a punishment for helping Paddy and admitting such to Jaime? Or perhaps she gave him the book to place him in harm?

Jaime shudders. Not for the first time she wonders if she herself is in danger. She doesn’t have much information for Jesse and she feels bad about it. She found a newspaper story from the year Carol-Anne Radley vanished, and that was hard enough to come by. She spent lunch and second break in the school library where she was almost about to give up until she found a pile of old newspapers collecting dust in the history section.

A quick rummage revealed Black Hare Valley Times – a paper that was apparently no longer in existence. It was a thin publication mostly full of adverts, upcoming events and a few mild local news stories. Jaime has the clipping in her tube of evidence. A front page story from the year 1966, ‘Have You Seen Carol-Anne?’ It seemed that no one had and no one ever did again.

As Jaime’s mum steps into the fish and chip shop, she can’t stop thinking about it. Another missing child. The same town. No answers. Does anyone even remember it? We have to bring it up, she decides, no matter what danger that brings. She reasons that they are already in danger to some extent, so why stop now? She’s thinking about it as her mother orders the food and makes friendly small talk with the other customers. Should she tell her mum? Not about all of it, but some of it?

Mark has been weird with her again – tense, edgy – accusing her once more of knowing where Jesse Archer is hiding out. Jaime doesn’t know how much more she can take. She feels she will crack like an egg, mess oozing out everywhere, secrets and lies revealed all over the place. But then she thinks, what is the worst that can happen?

Her mother carries the food to the park and they sit on a bench overlooking the pond. And after a few bites, her mother says, ‘Mark and I are quite worried about you, darling.’

Jaime doesn’t look at her mother as she chews and swallows her first chip then says, ‘Mum, did you know another kid vanished from here in 1966? Carol-Anne Radley. She was fourteen too. No one ever found out what happened to her.’

Willow is quiet throughout dinner. While her parents are discussing a novel they both recently read, she is trying to work out the best way to tackle her mum about Angie and Carol-Anne Radley. She is desperate to question her mother and keen to examine the look on her face when she either remembers or doesn’t. The need to know is under her skin making her want to tear at it with her nails, but she is afraid.

She’s already let it slip to Mr Hewlett that she has seen Jesse since he escaped custody and the fear of what that could bring is churning her stomach and making it impossible to eat. As she pushes her mashed potato around the plate, she has to bite her lip to stop her from screaming. She is also wary of upsetting her mother. Her mother has what her father sometimes describes as ‘a nervous constitution’ which, he has explained to Willow before, sometimes leads to her getting swallowed up by the blues. Willow knows this because when she looks back on her childhood there are patches of time when her mother was absent. She didn’t go anywhere physically – in fact, for sometimes months at a time she was unable to leave their home – but she did go somewhere in her own head.

During those times her father often warned Willow not to upset or worry her mother, to be extra good, extra considerate until her mother was better able to cope again. Willow has never understood where the nerves or the blues come from. She often wonders if she might suffer from them herself, one way or the other. Although nerves for her often manifests itself in anger, she can admit that the anger does sometimes lead her down a dark and lonely path.

Paddy saw that in her, she thinks now, and he would always gently pull her back. He wouldn’t ask her what was wrong, and he wouldn’t try to cheer her up or distract her. But he would make her come outside with him. Just for walks, sometimes even at night to look at the stars. She misses that about Paddy the most. His way of just knowing.

Finally, her father leaves the table to answer the phone and Willow jumps to her feet and starts to help clear the table. It’s now or never, she thinks, and although she is loath to push her mother into a state of nervousness, she has to at least try.

‘You grew up here, right Mum?’

Her mother is at the kitchen sink swirling Fairy Liquid into the running water. Willow hears her sigh softly as she circles a hand in the basin. Tiny bubbles rise in the air around her.

‘Yes, sweetie.’

Willow opens her mouth then pauses. Suddenly a hundred questions want to erupt out of her. What was it like? Why did you stay? Why didn’t you move away when you were old enough? Who were your friends? What kind of trouble did you get into? She wonders then why they have never talked about these things before. But then she supposes it is because her mother has never wanted to.

Her mother looks over her shoulder, frowning gently. ‘You okay?’

Willow clears her throat. It is now or never. She can’t think of a subtle way to ask and if she leaves it much longer, her dad will get off the phone and come back in. She knows he moved to the valley when he was twenty, so whatever went on when her mother was a teenager, has nothing to do with him.

‘Um.’ She arrives at her mother’s side and pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘You never talk about it much,’ she says, glancing anxiously towards the door. She can hear her father laughing on the phone.

‘Don’t I?’ Lizzie Harrison looks slightly perturbed as she turns off the taps and starts lowering dishes and cutlery into the bubbly water. ‘I suppose I assumed you wouldn’t be interested. Why? Something you want to talk about, love?’

‘What were you like?’ Willow bursts out suddenly. She knows she should get straight to the point but suddenly she really wants to know. ‘Have you got any photos?’

Her mother laughs. ‘Oh, I expect there are some lying about somewhere. I’ll dig some out for you if you like.’

‘Yes please.’

‘Curious, all of a sudden?’ Her mother side-eyes her, still smiling.

Willow shrugs. ‘Yeah, maybe. Like, were you like me?’

‘I was a lot like you,’ Lizzie laughs, rubbing vigorously at a bowl.

‘In what ways?’

‘Um, well, I guess I didn’t like authority much. You definitely get that from me.’

Willow nods and waits for more, but although her mother is not exactly shutting her down or ignoring her, she’s starting to get the sense that she isn’t particularly keen on revisiting the past either.

‘Anything else?’ she urges. ‘Did you get in trouble at school? What was your favourite subject?’ Suddenly, there are so many things she wants to know.

She watches her mother tuck loose black hair behind her ears just as Willow did moments before, and she watches her mother frowning slightly as her teeth pull gently at her lower lip. Her mother is thinking, she can tell. Her mother is working out what to say.

‘Anything arty, I guess,’ she replies with a soft chuckle and a shake of her head. ‘I don’t know. Anything to do with music or art, or drama. I liked those things. Same as you really.’

‘Who were your friends?’ Willow can see the questions are getting her nowhere so she goes straight for the jugular.

Lizzie shifts her position, lifting one foot and then the other, then shaking her hair back and wincing slightly before offering up another smile. Willow stares at her, her eyes slowly narrowing.

‘Um. Well, let me think.’

‘Were you friends with Jesse Archer’s dad, by any chance?’

Willow can see the question has shocked her mother. Her dark eyes blink rapidly and her tongue runs across her lips while her cheeks gently flush. Willow wants to grab hold of her and shake her.

‘Did he say that? Where did you hear that?’

‘I didn’t, I was just wondering.’

‘Willow.’ Her mother drops the dish she is holding, wipes her hands off on a tea towel and turns to face her daughter. Her expression has now settled into one of stern suspicion.

‘What? I’m just asking who you were friends with when you were my age. You’ve never told me stuff like that.’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘So, were you then?’

‘What?’

Willow resists the urge to roll her eyes and suspects her mother of stalling. ‘Friends with Nick Archer?’

‘No,’ Lizzie says firmly. ‘Not really, and I do want to know where you heard that, Willow. You know you’re supposed to tell us if you see that boy, don’t you? The police are looking for him.’

Willow crosses her arms defensively. ‘I haven’t seen him,’ she replies evenly. ‘He told me ages ago. He was teasing me about it actually and I just didn’t like to ask you at the time. But is it true, Mum? Did you hang around Nick Archer and what about Angie and Carol-Anne Radley? Remember them?’

Now it’s her mother’s turn to open her mouth then close it again before anything can emerge. Willow watches her eyes widen before she turns back to the sink and plunges her hands back under the water.

‘Mum? Why are you being so cagey?’

‘Because it was a long time ago, that’s why.’

‘So? What’s the big deal?’

‘Nothing,’ she shrugs irritably and glances over her shoulder. ‘Just, you know. It was a long time ago. I was a kid, who didn’t know any better.’

‘So, you did then? And the Radley’s too? Angie and Carol-Anne, right?’

Lizzie winces again as if in pain. ‘I don’t… I’m not sure…’

‘Jesus Christ, Mum, it’s a simple question!’

Her mother slams a plate down onto the side. ‘You don’t have to take that tone with me, young lady. I can’t help it if I can’t remember. It was a very long time ago and I haven’t thought about any of those people since…’ She frowns heavily and suddenly reminds Willow of a petulant chid.

‘You’re saying you’ve forgotten?’ Willow lowers her voice and tries a gentler tone.

Her mother nods and swallows. ‘Yes. I had forgotten.’

‘Do you remember now?’ she asks gently. ‘Who you hung out with? What sort of stuff you got up to?’

‘No, not really…’ Lizzie waves a hand, sending foam across the floor tiles. ‘Willow, I’m getting a bit of a headache. Perhaps you could finish this up for me?’

‘Okay, but seriously Mum. Jesse’s dad said you were all friends. You and him, and Angie and Carol-Anne. Do you remember Carol-Anne? Could you maybe check your photos?’

Her mother nods and wipes her hands down her legs. She won’t make eye contact with her daughter as she turns and heads for the door.

‘I’ll see if I can find them in a bit,’ she says as she goes. ‘I just need to lie down a bit first.’

‘Okay, Mum. Thanks.’

Willow is left alone in the kitchen with the dirty dishes and her ruffled thoughts. She starts to wash up, her mind spinning as she tries to determine her mother’s reactions. Were they genuine? Had her mother genuinely forgotten who her teenage friends were, and if so, how disturbing and strange is that? Or was she lying for some reason?

Willow cannot decide what is worse.

Thanks for reading!

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

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Twenty “The Prisoner”

The Glorious Outsiders

Chantelle Atkins, Author

Author

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Four “The White Hare”

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Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Three “Bob Rowan”

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Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Two “The Ruins”

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Black Hare Valley: Chapter Nineteen “The Meeting”

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