British Folklore Horror

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Fifteen “Hideout”

~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments
image is mine

© 2025 Chantelle Atkins. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

When there is no sign of Jesse Archer by sunrise, Aaron Mayfield shines his torch into Billy Archer’s cell and rattles the keys in the lock. The eldest Archer, who looks like an older version of Jesse and a male version of their missing mother, rises from the bench, yawning widely.

Mayfield swings the door open and waits, watching him in a guarded, measured way. Billy approaches cautiously, rubbing at his bare arms as he keeps his eyes on Mayfield. Mayfield steps back to allow him out, then he lifts his baton and wedges the rounded end under Billy’s chin, forcing his head back. The older Archer remains calm and still, licks his lips once and waits.

Mayfield smiles slowly. ‘I can’t find Jesse,’ he says with his head tilted.

Billy keeps his eyes on Mayfield. ‘Good.’

The policeman’s lip rises in a sneer. ‘I arrested him last night. Caught him in my house and I think he caused the power cut. They’re just fixing it now.’

‘If you arrested him, how can you not know where he is?’

‘The mayor intervened,’ Mayfield tells him, eyebrows raised. ‘Wants to foster him, see, and get him away from bad influences.’ He looks Billy up and down slowly. ‘She decided to uncuff him and he legged it. Now it seems like we have two missing boys.’

‘And at least one is your fault.’

Mayfield lowers the baton but pushes it into his chest. ‘I’ll find him, but if you happen to come across him first, you bring him to me, you hear?’

Billy winks at him. ‘Of course, Sergeant. Whatever you say.’

Mayfield’s smile grows a little wider. ‘She wants to give him a second chance,’ he goes on. ‘Sees something in him, maybe. Not me though. I see the same outcome I’m looking at right now. Criminal scumbag who contributes nothing to this town. But sharp…’ His forehead creases with a thoughtful frown as he presses the baton harder. ‘I’ll give you that, Archer. You and Jesse – like your mum, eh? While Wyatt is a slow and lumbering useless beast just like your father tuned into, isn’t that right?’

‘Whatever you say.’ Billy smiles right back at him.

He waits, their eyes loaded, then finally Mayfield lowers the baton and jerks his head to the corridor behind him. ‘Get out of my sight, Archer.’

Billy exhales, ducks his head and leaves.

2

When Jesse wakes up with a shaft of sunlight warming his face, he opens his eyes then wishes he hadn’t. His head contracts in pain, his scalp tightening as the head wound picks up a steady throb. He wraps the blanket around himself and then realises that someone knows he is here…

There is a pile of items placed on the edge next to the rope ladder. He lifts his aching head, blinking his eyes into focus. A flask, a bottle of water, a box of cheese flavoured crackers, half a packet of chocolate Digestives, a banana and an apple. He’s frozen in fear just staring at them. His first thought is, the hare?

And then, Mayfield?

But just then a head appears behind the food and a concerned bespectacled face is staring back at him. Jesse breathes out slowly. Mr Finnis. His thin black hair is uncombed and sticking up at the back. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and there are dark circles under his eyes.

Paddy’s father comes up a few steps higher on the ladder, then perches on the platform with his legs dangling.

‘I came by earlier,’ he says with a sad smile. ‘It was weird actually. Something woke me in the night and I don’t know what, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. Then around three-ish, I had the urge to check out here, just in case.’ He shakes his head a little. ‘I don’t know. I don’t sleep well since Paddy disappeared. Anyway, imagine my surprise when I found you up here. Dead to the world, you were.’ He looks at Jesse with a wince. ‘And obviously in trouble.’

Jesse pulls his knees up and hugs them to his chest. Every movement is a reminder of the running, falling, stumbling and hurting of the night before. His gashed knee burns and throbs, his head aches horribly and his shoulder feels bruised and sore. Every muscle in his body aches from the endless running. He gives a small nod in response to Mr Finnis’s enquiring gaze.

He nods in understanding. ‘You’ve been hurt. Been in a fight maybe. Your father?’

He shakes his head quickly. ‘No.’

‘Brothers then?’

‘No.’

‘Other kids?’

‘No.’

He sees Mr Finnis frowning at him before he asks, ‘Something you can’t tell me?’

Jesse nods.

‘Okay, okay.’ Mr Finnis takes something from his pocket and passes it to Jesse. It’s a packet of painkillers. ‘You look like you need them. You can stay here as long as you like, Jesse. You’re safe here. I won’t say anything to anyone.’

Relief floods him and tears invade his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

Mr Finnis looks at the pile of food with a sigh. ‘I’ll bring some more later. And more blankets. You’re welcome to come inside at any time. You can use Paddy’s room, if you like. I know he won’t mind.’ He meets Jesse’s eye and receives another nod. Mr Finnis pats the wooden floor affectionately. ‘But you’re safe here. I am sure of that.’

He looks up then as a series of lights flash on in the flat and in the shops further on.

‘Oh, look at that. Power’s back on.’ He looks back at Jesse. ‘It’s only been a week, you know, but it feels so much longer.’ He drifts off for a moment, his hand still on the platform, trembling slightly as his eyes glaze over. ‘And I can’t sleep. I find it hard to do anything because every time I do anything, I feel guilty, like I should be looking for him. And I feel like I let him down. And his mother.’ His voice has dropped to a whisper. ‘She asked me to take care of him, she trusted me to.’ He smiles sadly. ‘But he was just in bed, you know? He wasn’t out on a motorbike or in an alley doing drugs. He was just in bed.’ Mr Finnis places his hand in his lap and breathes out. ‘I think there is still hope though, don’t you? I’m going to put new posters up today. See if it might jog people’s memories. I keep circling the town. Round and round I go looking for any sign of him.’

‘There’s still hope,’ Jesse speaks up and when Mr Finnis looks at him he almost wishes he could take it back; there is such grasping, helpless desperation in the poor man’s eyes. Jesse can feel how much he wants it to be true, something concrete to hang onto. Jesse looks down. ‘I just mean, this might sound weird, but I think I can feel him… When I was in trouble last night, Mr Finnis, I felt like…’ He stops, wipes his eyes and shrugs with a self-conscious smile.

‘I do know what you mean,’ Mr Finnis whispers back. ‘Like me feeling the urge to come out here and check?’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

Mr Finnis looks a little happier. He lowers himself carefully over the edge. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ he says again.

Jesse leans forward. ‘Willow, Jaime and Ralph?’

‘I can tell them?’

‘Yes.’ Jesse nods. ‘You can tell them.’

3

Ralph arrives first, pushing his bike because he has agreed to meet his mother at the new house at twelve now that it has been cleared out for her. She set off already to meet the mayor there at ten. Ralph props his bike against a broken wall and crouches, picking a stem of dark green grass to shred while he waits for the others.

For some reason, he expected Jesse to be here already, maybe smoking one of those funny cigarettes again, or drinking whisky. Ralph smiles a little wistfully at the thought. He feels a little embarrassed of the way he sees Jesse Archer, but he can’t help it. He’s two years older, taller, better looking, smart, brave and as tough as nails. Sure, he used to be a bit of a bully to kids like Ralph but now that Ralph has had a few glimpses of Jesse’s home life, he can understand why.

He crouches in the long grass, staring down the rolling hills at Black Hare Valley. He can see all the little houses and the roads look like black snakes coiled around them. He thinks of hanging out with Paddy a week ago and his chest suddenly feels tight. And then he thinks about what they did. He feels a nervous fizzing excitement in his belly like butterflies, as he recalls his part in it all.

He remembers the thick bark of the bough between his clenched thighs and the heaviness of the chainsaw as he reached for the branch above. He pictures the sudden solid blackness crushing the town and swallows nervously.

The power is back on. His mother said she didn’t know what had caused it and she hadn’t seemed that interested either. She was far too focused on the new house, on new starts and possibilities. Ralph is happy for her; he knows how much it means to her, but he can’t help feeling guarded. The new house does not offer the same safe feeling to him. He supposes how he feels about the mayor’s cottage depends very much on the book and what is in it, and how much Mayor Sumner might know about Sergeant Mayfield and the missing Paddy Finnis.

Ralph breathes out in relief when he spots Jaime and Willow climbing the hill below him. Willow is wearing her long black cloak again, which he thinks makes her look like a superhero and Jaime looks sensible and determined in blue jeans, walking boots and a raincoat. She has her backpack on and Ralph wonders what new information she will be able to add to her notes now.

They meet him with tight hugs and gasps of relief and Ralph is momentarily shocked into a flustered silence. He wasn’t expecting hugs but he supposes they have been through something quite life-changing together. For a moment they are linked in a circle, arms and shoulders touching, grinning, and it feels good.

Then Jaime scans the area, wiping her hair from her face. ‘Where’s Jesse?’

Ralph shrugs. ‘Not here yet.’

They swap an uneasy look. ‘Do we do this without him or what?’ asks Willow.

Ralph squirms, restlessly. ‘I’ve just got to see the pictures though! I’ve just got to!’

‘Okay,’ nods Willow, looking around one last time before motioning for them all to sit.

She sits between them and they face the town in a line. It’s a clear sunny day but the air is cold and thin. Ralph tugs his denim jacket tighter around himself and wishes that he had worn jeans and not shorts.

Willow seems both sad and nervous as she takes out the photos she took last night.

‘Was it definitely the same book?’ asks Jaime.

Willow nods at her. ‘I’d say so. Everything about it was the same. The only trouble is, none of it makes any sense. Look.’ She holds out the photos and the other two crane their necks over them as she slowly flicks through.

Ralph can see a lot of drawings and designs and patterns, none of which mean anything to him and there are words too, but he can’t make anything out.

Jaime is peering closer. ‘Could that be Latin?’

‘I think so,’ says Willow. ‘But how can we check? We can’t exactly ask anyone, can we?’

Jaime sits back, chewing her lip and frowning. ‘We’ll have to try the library and the school one too, see if we can find something to translate it.’

The others nod and Ralph wracks his brain to try and think of anyone he knows who might have a knowledge of Latin.

Jaime looks at them, still with that intense frown on her face. He’s come to recognise it as he feels hopeful whenever he sees it.

‘We’ll try,’ she says with certainty, ‘but we’ll need to write out little bits onto other paper, Willow, in case we lose the photos or they get damaged.’

‘I’ve started already.’ She digs into her pocket and pulls out a small notebook. ‘Here. That’s what I’ve copied so far.’

‘Brilliant!’ Jaime takes it, smiling. ‘And what we also need to figure out is how the hell that book got there.’ She eyes them both seriously. ‘Because whoever put it there must know something too.’

‘Maybe they wanted Paddy to find it?’ wonders Ralph. ‘But who?’

Jaime and Willow lock eyes. ‘Iris Cotton,’ they sat at the same time, then nod.

‘Why?’ asks Ralph. ‘Because Mayfield wanted Jesse to spy on her? And where the hell is he anyway?’

Willow gazes away in concern. ‘I don’t know…’

‘Iris Cotton is a recluse of sorts,’ says Jaime. ‘And yes, Mayfield also had a camera planted there just like he did at the bookshop, so that connects her to Paddy in one way. What do we do? Try and talk to her?’

No one answers. But Willow looks nervous. She suddenly grips Ralph’s arm and Jaime’s knee.

‘What?’ gasps Ralph. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m worried about Jesse.’

‘Why? He’s okay, isn’t he?’

‘I don’t know, I mean, yes, he should be, but I don’t know! I don’t know for sure. I gave him the book and he told me to run. Mayfield was in the station with his brother, so he was close.’

Now Ralph gets it. And he suddenly wonders why the hell they are all still sat there like idiots. He jumps up first.

‘You didn’t actually see him get out? You didn’t wait?’

Willow jumps up too. ‘He told me to go! He made me!’

‘Come on,’ Jaime is on her feet, shoving Willow’s notebook into her bag. ‘We better go and check on him.’

‘Shit…’ Willow moans.

‘Come on!’ yells Ralph, snatching up his bike. He feels impatient suddenly, breathless and frustrated. He can’t help thinking, why the hell didn’t Willow wait for Jesse?

4

Together, the three of them run back to town. It’s much faster than going up, but it’s dangerous too. The hills are steep in places and remnants of the ruins like to surprise with chalky white chunks poking up from the earth to trip you.

Jaime runs as fast as she can which is far slower than the other two. Willow is out in front, tearing down the hill, veering left towards the woods where Ralph caused the power cut. Ralph is just behind her, bumping along on his bike. Jaime feels her knees jarring with every pounding step and fears the momentum of the incline will send her head over heels at any second. She imagines the absurdity of her rolling down the hill and landing in an ungainly heap at the bottom. Then she tortures herself further by picturing Jesse stood over her and she blushes violently.

She pushes the embarrassing image away and does her best to keep up. They run through the small dense words and tear out onto Taylor Drive. Jaime has to slow down – she can barely breathe and she plods heroically after Ralph and Willow who are moving with dignified purpose towards Jesse’s block of flats.

It’s Jaime who notices the other figure first – tall, slim, in a ripped shirt and scruffy jeans, walking fast in the same direction. Jesse’s brother, she remembers, the one Mayfield arrested last night. She waves at Willow and Ralph to get their attention, then slows to let Billy catch them up.

He doesn’t pay much attention at first – she supposes they’ve never been introduced. He probably has no clue what the four of them have been up to since Paddy went missing, but regardless, she smiles nervously and waves at him.

Billy frowns back, then, noticing Ralph and Willow, he seems to connect the dots in his head.

‘Hey,’ he says roughly. ‘You lot seen Jesse?’

‘No, we were supposed to meet him but he didn’t show up,’ Jaime replies and the four of them fall into step together and continue towards the flats.

‘Do you know where he is?’ Willow asks Billy.

He shakes his head and shoves open the bottom door. ‘Nope, but I’m hoping he’s in here.’

They follow Billy up the steps and towards the flat at the end of one corridor. It’s narrow, dark and covered in graffiti. Billy unlocks the door and strides in, yelling, ‘Jesse? Jess!’

There is no reply. Jaime, Ralph and Willow hover in the small hallway, unsure what to do, while Billy checks each room. The other brother, Wyatt, is evidently asleep in their room as they all hear a yelp and a groan, followed by Billy demanding, ‘Jesse here? You seen him?’ Then yelling impatiently, ‘Wyatt!’

‘No,’ the other boy replies groggily. ‘He’s not here. Haven’t seen him.’

Billy comes back, hands in hair. He stalks over to the sofa, a nasty yellow thing covered in stains. From the hall, Jaime can’t see the figure Billy is shaking but she assumes from the smell and the farts that it is not Jesse.

‘Dad! Dad, you seen Jesse? Has Jesse been home?’

When there is no intelligible reply, Billy gives up and walks away in disgust. He stands in front of them and Jaime feels herself blushing again. He really is handsome, she thinks helplessly, an older, rougher version of Jesse.

‘Okay, you guys better talk. I need to find Jesse. Now.’

‘Us too,’ croaks Willow nervously. ‘He didn’t show up as planned at the ruins.’

Billy eyes them sternly. ‘You guys messed with Mayfield, didn’t you?’ When none of them answer, he steps closer, his head low, his dark angry eyes burning into theirs. ‘I’m not kidding around here. I know you’ve done something. Jesse asked me to pull that stunt in the pub last night. Now, you better tell me what the hell that was about! The power cut! Was that it? What the fuck did you kids do?’

‘It’s complicated…’ Jaime offers, grimacing.

Ralph nods. ‘It’s to do with Paddy.’

Billy straightens up. ‘Yeah?’ They all nod. He narrows his eyes. ‘Listen, I’ve just spent the night in a cell and when Mayfield let me out he said he was looking for Jesse. He said he arrested him last night but the mayor uncuffed him and he got away…’ He eyes them again, watching as their faces pale and their eyes widen. He scratches at his chin. ‘Mayfield wants him bad, you understand? And you swear you guys don’t know where he is?’

They shake their heads. ‘But we’ll find him!’ insists Willow.

‘We’ll warn him!’ adds Jaime.

Billy stares at them all a moment longer. Jaime can tell he wants to ask more but suddenly there is a violent retching sound from behind and a heavy thud as the figure rolls from the sofa. Billy rolls his eyes in despair.

‘Fucks sake! Go then,’ he snaps at them. ‘Find him and keep him safe. Whatever you do, don’t let that psycho catch up with him!’

‘We won’t!’ they cry in unison, before turning and scurrying back out of the flat.

5

Outside the flats, Willow opens her mouth to breathe again and bumps straight into someone’s hard chest. She hears two stifled yelps behind her and knows it must be Mayfield. In dread, she lifts her eyes, her gaze going up and up as if the man goes on forever. He does seem impossibly tall and broad and horribly real on such a dazzling sun-soaked day. He has reared up like an ugly building, she thinks, like a statue, immovable, made of stone.

He is in uniform, one hand resting on the top of his baton. He is wearing sunglasses and lifts his other hand, pushing them up on the top of thick white hair. His blue eyes are sharp and cold. He does not look happy.

‘Well now,’ he says, his voice a sudden boom, a clap of thunder in the still air. They all flinch. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’ His gaze travels slowly over each of them. They are silent, waiting. ‘I’m looking for Jesse Archer. He absconded from custody last night. Have you seen him?’

They shake their heads quickly. His eyes narrow. He licks his lips slowly. ‘You better not be lying to me.’

Willow shakes her head a second time, firmer. She takes a breath. ‘We’re not. We’re looking for him too.’

‘Well then,’ he smiles, leaning closer. ‘If you find him, you know what to do, don’t you?’

Willow swallows and nods.

He straightens up. ‘He’s in serious trouble. Don’t let him make it even worse.’ He pauses to stare at each of them in turn, before walking around them and towards the flats.

Willow reaches for Jaime’s shoulder, breathing hard. ‘Oh my fucking God…’

Jaime slips an arm around her waist. ‘Come on. We’ve got to go.’

They don’t say another word. Ralph gets on his bike and the two girls hurry along beside him.

6

Jesse wakes with a start, a violent twitch jerking his body awake, the remnants of a dark breathless chase still snaring his breath in his throat. He coughs to clear it, then inhales deeply as he sits and rests against the sturdy treehouse walls. He closes his eyes, breathing fast, sending oxygen through his body to calm it down. He has no idea what time it is. The sun is high in the sky, dappled light dazzling his eyes as he opens them to look up. He feels safe, despite the dream, cocooned.

Jesse stares around at his safe haven. He wonders why Mayfield has not come for him yet. He hopes Billy is okay, and the others. And suddenly, his head is full of questions he desperately wants the answers to. What was in the book? Have they met up yet? Have they figured anything out? Are they any closer to finding Paddy?

‘Paddy…’ he whispers to himself, to the treehouse. He can feel him here; it’s impossible not to. Paddy’s place, his hideout, his den. Jesse sees signs of him everywhere. The binoculars, the telescope, the bird spotting books, the books about stars and planets, the posters, the blankets, the sweet wrappers and the smell.

He smiles gently. The first time he climbed up here he felt something new. He felt welcomed and wanted and safe. He didn’t have to fight or steal, or lie or cheat. He didn’t have to act tough or try to impress anyone. He didn’t have to be an Archer, destined to fail, disappoint and intimidate. He could just be. Paddy let him, he remembers now, Paddy was the only one who just let him be.

Didn’t ask anything of him. Didn’t judge or expect. After everything, Paddy just let him be. And there had been this comforting, soothing silence between them. The silence of being, Jesse wonders now, of just existing.

It helps him now: the wooden planks nailed securely under him; the mismatched slats surrounding him which have been sawed and hammered lovingly into place. Jesse smiles as he imagines Paddy and Mr Finnis on their knees, nails in place, putting it together.

His smile fades. He fears for Paddy and for Mr Finnis. His stomach lurches hard and fast so he clutches at is uselessly as the frantic memories come hurtling back. The never-ending dark, the freezing mist with a mind of its own beating him back, containing him, confusing his sense of direction.

‘They don’t want me to leave…’ he says softly, to himself, to the treehouse, to Paddy.

A solemn sadness cloaks him, pulling his shoulders down. He curls protectively over his knees.

The voice… Who was it? At the time he hadn’t been sure; it just felt like a disembodied voice but now he wonders if it had sounded a bit like the mayor… That crisp, sharp, authoritative tone… the slight hint of amusement.

Jesse shudders and drags the blankets up to his chin. He doesn’t dare think of what would have happened if he had allowed them to get him into her car… But he also wonders, would it have led him to Paddy? Maybe he should have been braver. He gulps, grits his teeth. But he’d been so overtaken by fear. Mayfield – that roar. The footsteps in the wood, the breathing. Now he knows he didn’t imagine it before. Mayfield is not a man.

He hears a sound. Freezes.

The conservatory door has creaked open.

Jesse waits. A mop of soft black hair appears at the top of the rope. Mr Finnis. He smiles in relief and plants a pile of clean clothes on the floor.

‘You’re a lot taller,’ he says. ‘But they’ll do for now.’ Then he pulls up a carrier bag and plonks it next to the clothes. ‘Early lunch. Thought you could do with getting some strength back.’ Mr Finnis is smiling at him. His glasses have dipped down onto his nose. ‘It’s okay. You are safe here.’

Jesse smiles back. He believes him. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. And also,’ he grins and glances down. ‘You’ve got some visitors.’

Mr Finnis winks at him then climbs back down. Jesse waits, frowning, then gasps when Willow scrambles up the rope in less than a second, crosses the floor and envelopes him in a hug. Ralph and Jaime follow, cocooning him in warm arms, clasped hands, smiling faces. Jesse is still unable to process how to respond to the embrace. He can’t remember the last time he was hugged by anyone.

He feels their hearts, their breaths, their pulse. And he allows himself to relax into them. It’s Willow who pulls back first, smoothing her loose black hair behind her elfin ears. She looks sorry, hands resting on her skinny knees.

‘What happened, Jesse?’

Jaime and Ralph sit back. Jesse instantly misses the contact that had him frozen in shock. He wraps his arms around himself instead, reluctant to speak of the horrors of the night.

He shivers, then can’t stop. The blankets are not enough. He can still feel that murky, knowing mist circling his legs, holding him still.

‘Are you all right?’ whispers Jaime.

He nods at her. ‘Is Billy?’

‘Yes,’ they all say at the same time.

‘We just saw him,’ Willow clarifies. ‘He’s home. He wants you to hide from Mayfield.’ Willow’s voice drops lower. ‘He told us to keep you safe.’

Ralph nods solemnly. ‘And it worked, Jesse, the plan worked. We’ve got photos and there’s a strange language but we’re going to translate it all. So, you did it, Jesse.’

He nods in reply, a small smile fading in and out.

‘But what happened?’ Willow asks again. ‘Did they catch you? Mayfield said you escaped custody.’

Jesse stares at his knees, his heart racing. ‘Mayfield caught me. He knocked me out and when I woke up I was cuffed and Mr Hewlett was there. He was nice, he… he mopped up my head and he seemed annoyed at Mayfield. Then he called the mayor over and she was going to take me to hers.’

‘What?’ gasps Jaime, leaning closer.

He nods again. ‘They want me in their care, they said. A second chance, they kept going on about. But I got away, outside, I got away and I ran.’ He pauses, chewing at the inside of his mouth.

Jaime shifts even closer, slipping her arm gently around his shoulders. ‘Oh Jesse…’

Jesse swallows. ‘I ran and ran. But everywhere I ran I couldn’t get through. There was this thick mist and it tricked me and I ended up at the river and then on the other side. I just kept running. I even tried the Holloway, but it wouldn’t let me out, and I think, I think they were there…’

Ralph frowns, his face pale. ‘Who was there?’

‘Mayfield and… I don’t know, maybe the mayor too. Chasing me, and laughing at me and calling my name over and over. And I couldn’t see anything until…’ He stops again, suddenly strengthened by the image of the hare in his mind. He shuffles closes, his head up. ‘Then I saw a black shape moving in the mist. It was the only thing I could really see, so I started following it and it led me right here. Right across town, I mean, at one point I was up at the ruins, then in the Holloway, but it led me here. Right here.’

Jaime sits back, staring at Ralph and Willow, blinking in confusion. ‘Oh my God…’

Jesse licks his lips. ‘I swear… I know this sounds crazy, but I felt, I swear, I felt like it was Paddy. But it was a black hare. Once I was here I could see it, and it was a goddamn black hare…’

‘But…’ Jaime rubs at her face, frowning. ‘But how can…?’

‘It’s all connected,’ Willow interjects breathlessly. ‘Think about it! Mayfield spying on people. Someone planting the book in Paddy’s shop, like they wanted him to find it! And that book being so important he keeps it secret, then it vanishes the same time he does, but turns up in Mayfield’s house! And they’re all involved. The committee. All of them!’

‘Involved in what though?’ asks Ralph, miserably. ‘In taking kids?’

‘Something like that,’ Jesse tells him with certainty. ‘Paddy is gone because of them. They’re not human, guys. Mayfield roared when he caught me. He roared like an animal! Like nothing human, I swear to you!’ He looks between them, desperate for them to believe.

‘We just have to translate the book,’ Jaime says with a heavy sigh. She slaps her hands onto her knees and looks around at them. ‘That’s what we have to do next. It’s got to be the answer.’

‘But what about Jesse?’ asks Ralph. ‘They’re looking for him.’

Willow shakes her head, her expression troubled. ‘I think Mr Finnis was right. He is safe here. The hare… it led him here. Maybe it was Paddy, somehow, shit, I don’t know how! But Jesse is safe here, I’m sure of it. I can feel it. I don’t know why but I can.’

Jesse meets her eye and nods firmly. ‘Me too.’

‘We’ll keep quiet,’ says Ralph. ‘Keep you a secret here.’

‘Thanks,’ says Jesse. ‘Now, you need a plan for that book.’

7

‘I can’t believe it’s been a whole week.’ Willow sits on the edge of the platform, her legs dangling into the garden below. Like Jesse, she feels both sadness and relief in the treehouse. She feels protected; though she has no idea why, but she also feels achingly sad. ‘Just like this, we were all here together, do you realise that?’

‘It felt good,’ Ralph says without hesitation. ‘It felt right even though I didn’t really know any of you. Does that sound weird?’

Willow and Jesse shake their heads. ‘I felt the same,’ agrees Jaime. ‘And I still do – like we were meant to find each other or something. Like we’ve all just slotted together.’

‘It’s all so weird,’ Ralph goes on. ‘And somehow it feels longer, like we’ve known each other forever!’ He meets their eyes with a shy smile. ‘Anyone else?’

Willow glances at Jesse and sees a hesitant smile in his eyes as he gives a slight nod of his head. He’s so guarded, she thinks, even now, so unsure. Jaime is beaming though.

‘Oh, definitely,’ she agrees. ‘Even though we really don’t know each other at all.’

Willow swivels to face them, pulling her legs up and crossing them. ‘Let’s get to know each other then,’ she says, her eyes on Jesse. ‘Ask me anything. Then we’ll take turns.’

Jesse frowns, his forehead furrowed under his dark hair. Then he grips one wrist with his other hand and leans over his knees. ‘How did you and Paddy first meet? How did you become friends? Do you remember it?’

‘First day of school,’ she replies instantly. ‘Though according to our mother’s we did play a few times before that, at nursery and at the park. But I don’t remember that. I remember the first day of school clearly.’

Jesse gives another quick, unsure smile. ‘Cool.’

‘He sat next to me,’ Willow continues with a whimsical smile. She tucks her hair behind her ears and wraps her thin arms around her chest. ‘And he was so smart he could already read and write. I spilt milk on the table at break, and he passed me this folded up handkerchief to mop it up with, then he let me drink his milk.’ She laughs softly, her eyes down. ‘That’s Paddy for you. Always prepared.’

‘Sounds like he was a friendly guy even then,’ grins Ralph.

‘What are your worst and best childhood memories?’ Jaime jumps in then.

Willow blinks, holds a finger to her lips, thinking. ‘Um… okay. Best, got to be my eighth birthday when my parents finally gave up embarrassing me with whole-class parties, and agreed to let just me and Paddy have a birthday picnic by the river. Then he had a sleepover at ours – first time we’d been allowed that too – and we stayed up all night, stargazing.’ She smiles, then sighs. ‘Worst? Oh well, it’s got to be when I pissed myself in PE because the teacher was in a foul mood and refused to let me go to the toilet. Her fault, not mine!’ She giggles as the others stare. ‘I was nine! But I remember it like yesterday. I was mortified and got teased about it for years after. Ugh.’ Willow gives herself a shake then looks at Ralph. ‘Your turn, Ralph. First time you met Paddy, then best and worst childhood memories.’

Ralph glances at the ceiling, thinking. ‘Okay, well I remember Paddy at the park one day, the one near the caravan site. He was reading a book on a bench. I don’t know how old we were. I think I was six or seven. Anyway I was playing ball with some other kids and the ball hit his book right out of his hands. I ran over but he wasn’t cross. He just gave the ball back and said hi.’

‘He’s never been one for sports,’ says Willow, eyebrows raised. ‘Always has his head in a book.’ She looks up then, wide-eyed as she realises what she has said.

Ralph glances away and shrugs. ‘Best childhood memory. Probably getting a new bike when I was ten. I had beat up second hand ones before that but I’d been asking for a new one for years. That was cool. Worst?’ He rests his chin in his hand, biting at his lip while he searches for one. ‘I mean, it would be my dad dying but I was too little to remember it so I guess just the first time I remember my mum really crying at his grave, and missing him.’ He shrugs again, brushing it off. ‘Jaime?’

Jaime smooths back her hair and smiles a little shyly. ‘Well, I only met Paddy the once which seems so weird now because… well, everything. And my worst childhood memory was not being invited to my so-called best-friend’s twelfth birthday party because I apparently wasn’t cool enough for her anymore.’ She winces over a forced smile. ‘Yeah, I don’t miss my old home much. And the best? Finding out my mum was pregnant. I can’t wait to be a big sister!’

They all grin at her and Willow agrees that it is strange; Jaime is a stranger yet they seem to feel and operate like a tight-knit group. It’s unsettling as much as it is reassuring.

‘Your turn, Jesse,’ she says, looking at him. ‘Same questions.’

Jesse narrows his eyes as if mulling it over then replies, ‘First memory I have of Paddy is that fucking stupid science club presentation he did in Year 5. They made us all watch it and I don’t even remember what it was about but I was bored shitless.’ He chuckles softly and glances at Willow who reassures him with a smile. ‘Best childhood memory? Shit, I dunno, best I can come up with is just dumb shit like riding dirt bikes on the hills with my brothers or getting totally wasted on red wine one Christmas. I dunno.’ He waves a hand, dismissing them both. ‘Worst? Coming home to find that letter from my mum saying she’d had to go.’

Willow stares at him, something stirring in her memories. ‘She left a note? What did it say, Jesse?’

‘Hold on,’ says Jaime. ‘I didn’t know this. Your mum left town? When was this?’

‘When I was ten,’ Jesse grunts, rubbing at his chin with one hand.

‘Do you still see her?’

‘No,’ he laughs bitterly. ‘Never seen her since.’

‘Well, hang on, doesn’t that mean she’s missing too? Like Paddy?’ Jaime swallows and blushes and stares at them each in turn, anxious that she has missed something.

‘I dunno,’ Jesse mutters and Willow can sense him pulling away again, shutting down.

She reaches out suddenly, finds her hand on his arm. ‘Jesse, do you remember what the note said?’

‘No. Just something about the town being bad for her.’

Willow nods and pulls back her hand. She almost squeezes it, wants to rub it even, but all she could feel in return was tension. He’s stiff, his face like thunder. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says and he shrugs.

Jaime squirms, her expression pained. ‘I’m sorry guys, I don’t want to say the wrong thing or anything, but don’t you think this should be added to the investigation?’ When no one answers her, she looks at Jesse. ‘Jesse, do you mind?’

He shakes his hair from his eyes but does not meet her gaze. ‘Do what you like.’

They all look on as Jaime tugs a notebook from her bag. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says again, looking at them each in turn. ‘But it might be important, don’t you think? There might be more to it, I mean. That’s something I’ve been thinking about, you see, whether Paddy is the first person ever to go missing like this.’

To this, Jesse nods firmly and he finally meets her eyes. To Willow, he looks both angry and scared and his jaw shudders slightly when he opens his mouth to speak.

‘Me too,’ he says to Jaime. ‘Because I nearly went missing too last night.’

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 Seventeen: “Wanted”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Fourteen “The Black Hare”

~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments
image is mine

© 2025 Chantelle Atkins. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

Jesse moans softly when a pair of curious fingers probe his skull. He is lying on the kitchen floor close to the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands cuffed together in front of his face. He winces as the fingers prod. The side of his head feels fuzzy and wrong. His ear aches and his brain is pounding inside his skull as if it wants to get out.

‘Does it need stitches?’ A gruff voice snaps. Mayfield.

The fingers rifle gently through his hair, parting it in different ways around the head wound.

‘No, I don’t think so. It’s clotted up. Really, Aaron. What were you thinking?’

It’s Neville Hewlett, Jesse realises and keeps his eyes shut. His bowels feel weak and watery as something is pressed against the wound and held there.

‘I was thinking some criminal low life was burgling my house and I was right!’ Mayfield replies, his tone full of outrage.

‘I thought you said nothing was taken or touched?’ Hewlett’s voice is calm, bordering on the condescending, perhaps even a little amused.

‘My door was touched! He broke in with a crowbar! He was after something, Neville. He just didn’t find it.’

‘Well, what on earth do you propose we do now?’

‘I’ve arrested him.’

‘You’ve bashed him unconscious, Aaron.’

Mayfield clicks his tongue in annoyance. ‘He’s fine. Sit him up. I didn’t know who it was, did I? I was defending myself.’

‘Hold on.’

Jesse winces again as a wad of cloth or tissues is pressed harder against the wound. Neville Hewlett’s touch is firm and precise, as he smooths Jesse’s hair back and mops up the sticky blood. When Jesse’s eyes flicker open, Neville smiles at him brightly.

‘Hello there, son! How are you feeling?’

Jesse makes a noise at the back of his throat and tries to sit up.

‘All right, take it slow, let me help you. You’ve had a blow to the head.’

Neville holds his arm and helps him slowly sit up and lean on the kitchen wall. Jesse lifts his cuffed hands and tries to inspect the wound but Neville gently presses the folded cloth back over it.

‘Ooh, let me. Just a minute, it’ll be okay. No serious damage. You’ve got a bit of an egg growing there though. You okay?’ Neville is squatting beside him and peering into his face. He holds up his other hand. ‘How many fingers can you see?’

Jesse grunts, ‘Two.’

‘See,’ says Mayfield, towering over them both. ‘He’s fine.’

‘Well, best be sure. He’s ever so pale. And shaking.’ Neville claps a hand on Jesse’s knee and looks up at Mayfield. ‘See?’

Mayfield rolls his eyes impatiently. ‘What were you doing in my house?’ he growls.

Jesse looks away. He screws up his eyes and focuses on the pain. He can’t bear to look at Mayfield and he can still hear that animalistic roar inside his head.

‘Leave him be, Aaron,’ sighs Neville. ‘He’s not in good shape. We need to decide what to do.’

There is a long drawn out sigh from Mayfield. His hands are in his pockets and he looks at the ceiling in frustration.

‘I’ll phone Margaret…’ He strides reluctantly out of the kitchen.

Neville Hewlett remains beside Jesse. He takes the cloth and inspects it for fresh blood. Then he folds it over and dabs again at the side of Jesse’s head. Jesse doesn’t say a word. It feels like language is lost to him. He can barely hold onto a single coherent thought. He wonders briefly if Mr Hewlett will help him, let him go even. But he doesn’t dare ask. He can’t look at him either. He just sits with his cuffed hands resting on his bent knees and his head throbbing like an old dream half-remembered.

His eyes are half-open and focused on the tiled floor. He thinks of Willow and the photos. At least she got away. She’s got the photos that might lead them to Paddy.

Neville Hewlett drops a hand onto his shoulder and he jumps in fright, his hunched body releasing a shuddery gasp.

‘Whoa there, it’s okay, it’s okay…’ Neville assures him in a low voice. He’s staring right at him and when Jesse glances his way he sees an intense gaze on his face and a small wondering smile on his lips. His smooth unblemished face seems to suggest an eerie agelessness that makes Jesse shift away from him. ‘We just want to help you, Jesse, that’s all. You’ve got yourself into a right old mess, haven’t you?’ He sighs sadly. ‘What were you thinking, breaking in here?’

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say it: I was looking for a book that went missing with Paddy; I think Sergeant Mayfield is some kind of monster; help me, let me go!

But just then Mayfield struts back in, phone to ear. ‘If that’s what you want to do, Margaret,’ he says, rolling his eyes when Neville glances at him. ‘All right then… Yes, I suppose you might be right…. Yes, we’ll sit tight for now then. Your call. All right then… Of course…. See you soon.’ He ends the call and stares at Jesse. ‘Well, it looks like you got lucky, Archer. The mayor still seems to think there is hope for you. She’s on her way over.’

2

Willow forces herself to slow down. She has skirted around the edge of town in order to avoid the streets and it seems to have taken forever. When she finally arrives back at the shop, her chest is tight with breathless fear and adrenalin. She can’t quite believe they did it.

It’s all spinning through her mind like a crazy movie. The chainsaw, the power cut, the fight, the break-in, the book, the treehouse, the photos. She pictures each scene as if rewatching the whole thing in her head and she smiles in sudden joy and relief. They did it! They really did it!

For you, Paddy, she thinks as she lets herself into the shop and locks the door carefully behind her, I hope you’re proud of us. She waits until she is safely in her bedroom and then all at once a helpless sadness hits her. It comes out of nowhere. She holds herself and sobs, each one violently wracking her whole body. She thinks of him, sees him, feels him and allows herself to miss him. This time a week ago they were together, eating homemade pizza in the treehouse. He was talking with his mouth full again, his eyes laughing as he told her about sighting the rings of Saturn with his new 70mm telescope. His father had taken a look and expressed his doubts but Paddy had been adamant.

He had binoculars around his neck too and the back of his neck was a bit sunburned because they’d been at the lake earlier that day, in the full sun, trying to catch tiddlers with a net, laughing like idiots before they collapsed in the grass together. And all that time, he could have told her about the book. Now she wonders if he was thinking about it the whole time: when they were at the lake, when they were paddling, when they splashed each other, when they helped Mr Finnis roll out the pizza dough… Was he urging her to leave so that he could examine the book?

Her mind races with questions followed by questions, curiosity, and anger now replacing grief and confusion. Why did Mayfield want the book? Why did he steal it? Did he do something to Paddy? How is it all connected?

Willow crosses to the bed and slips out of her cloak. She drops the heavy camera onto her bed and takes the stack of photos out of her pocket. The moon is out, full and bright, shining on her lap as she sits down and looks through the pictures. She frowns – they don’t make much sense. Words, possibly Latin, definitely not English; ornate patterns and pictures scorched in black, etched into the pages made of paper so aged they are almost golden.

Pictures of wild animals dancing around the edges of some of the pages, head to tail, over and over again; hares, birds, wolves, deer.

She wonders if they are spells. If the book holds the secrets of some ancient witchcraft. It’s crazy but so is everything else: Mayfield; the cameras; Paddy vanishing. Witchcraft makes sense and she remember the book her and Jaime looked at; the legend of the witch turning into a hare to escape her pursuers.

Willow’s skin prickles as she gathers the photos back up. She lies back on her bed, her arms folded behind her head. They’ll start tomorrow, she decides, they’ll start unravelling the mystery, poring through the clues.

We’re coming, Paddy, she promises him, we’re coming for you.

3

Margaret Sumner has her gamekeeper drive her over to Station Road. He waits discreetly in the muddy Land Rover in his flat cap and waterproof jacket, while she strides calmly up to Mayfield’s back door and lets herself in.

She’s instantly in pity of the boy on the floor. Jesse Archer is a tall, thin, handsome boy with dark hair and angry eyes – and he’s sat there, huddled and helpless, his face white with shock, his eyes dull with pain. A bloodied cloth sits on the floor beside him and the side of his head appears damp.

Aaron leans causally against his kitchen table, hands in pockets, eyes sharp. Neville Hewlett hovers over the boy, smiling nervously.

‘Uncuff him, Aaron,’ she says briskly. ‘There’s no need.’

Aaron exhales but takes out his keys and approaches Jesse to remove the cuffs. Neville’s head is bobbing up and down excitedly.

‘Yes, I said that to him. It’s over the top.’

Cuffs off, Jesse rubs his wrists but won’t look at any of them. Mayfield returns to lean on his table, arms folded. Margaret steps closer to the boy and tilts her head. ‘I think it’s best if you come with me tonight, Jesse. I think it’s best all round.’

‘No,’ he says, shaking his head, his eyes on hers. ‘No, I don’t want to. No.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ She frowns at him. ‘We’ve warned you and your father that things can’t go on like this. This is the final straw. Let us help you, Jesse. You’ve got potential. Your life can be better than this.’

But he keeps shaking his head and saying no, no, so she gives Neville and Aaron a nod and they advance wordlessly, each seizing an arm. The boy reacts like a scared animal, twisting and ducking and wrenching from side to side to escape.

‘You will be fine,’ she tells him as she steps in front of his writhing form and takes his face into her hand. She holds him firmly but gazes at him gently. ‘Enough young man, enough. Listen to me. You’re going to be just fine. I’ll take good care of you. This is going to be a second chance for you, Jesse. You do deserve a second chance and the town can no longer stand by and watch your suffering. It’s time to come home.’

‘No!’ He pulls his face fee and struggles again. ‘No, you can’t make me! Get off!’

He’s twisting, breathless and utterly panicked as the two men manhandle him out of the house and towards her waiting car. Margaret watches solemnly and is relieved when he suddenly stops struggling, perhaps due to something Aaron hissed viciously into his ear, perhaps because he is so exhausted. He goes limp, his head hanging and there is a sigh of relief all round.

But as they reach the car, Jesse launches into action again finding a strength the two men do not expect. He wrenches one arm free and swings wildly to punch Neville in the face. Neville lets go and Margaret watches in both amusement and horror as Jesse Archer tears himself free and sprints off into the darkness at breakneck speed.

Aaron moves to go after him but Margaret calls him back. ‘Don’t bother. He won’t get far.’

4

Jesse doesn’t even know what direction he’s running in. He just runs. His speed surprises even him. His head is a ball of pain, his shoulder throbs and his legs are exploding with sharp spasms of agony with every step he takes. There is no light, just blackness that he keeps charging into, hoping that at some point he will burst through it and be able to see again.

He’s running uphill, barely slowing, convinced someone or something is close on his heels. He imagines teeth snapping behind him and charges on, legs pumping, feet pounding, battling his way forward. He thinks of escape, of getting out. Never going back, not for anything, not for Paddy or anyone. It’s too late now, he reasons, because they know. He has seen too much. He has escaped their plans and he can never go back, never ever let them catch him.

The urge for escape pushes him on, up and up, until his knees are trembling with exhaustion. Jesse scowls at the top of the hill. Faced with yet more, he just keeps moving, moving away from them.

He realises too late that he has stumbled onto the edge of Black Woods. His heart churns violently with a fresh horror and he changes direction, craving the open hills again, but a thick mist has submerged the ground, weaving its way among the trees and disguising his way out.

Jesse’s panic is like an ice cold vice around his vital organs. He feels a stream of urine escape and drip down his legs. He bites back screams and keeps running and staggering and flailing his way through the dark trees.

The mist rises and blinds him. He puts out his hands and slows to a juddering walk, and he bumps into tree after tree and knows he must be deep in the woods now. Lost. He wants to curl up and hide but he knows they will find him. So, he keeps moving, palming and grazing rough tree bark until his knuckles sting. He is surrounded by thick silence until a branch cracks underfoot behind him.

Breathless with terror, Jesse hurries on, picturing a clearing in his mind, a way out through a patch of welcoming light. There is another crack to his left and he whimpers in fear. He can feel it again – that patient presence, that watchful hunger – and as he moves faster, bumping even harder into the trees, he can hear it too. Not just footfalls, gentle and measured, but breathing – rough, heavy breathing and he imagines black lips settling back over a crooked smile.

The mist is impenetrable, the stalker is gaining ground, and Jesse is seconds away from buckling knees and a pitch into the misty undergrowth, when he spots a dark shape moving ahead of him.

It forces his eye – it’s swiftness, its loping gait, its intelligence, and suddenly Jesse feels no fear. He follows it. It moves on, up and down, in and out, luring him away, providing a darkness to follow to escape the one behind.

Jesse moves faster, gaining in confidence as he closes in on the creature and sees long black ears and a sloped back. Jesse feels elated, tears stinging his eyes as he sees the mist thinning out and feels the air change around him and the scent of the open fields caressing his skin.

He blunders out of Black Wood and doesn’t look back. Jesse runs, with a slither of moon directing him through the old maze before thundering his way across the rubble of the ancient graveyard. His foot strikes a piece of stone and before he can steady himself, he is sprawling forward into the ground, smashing his left knee into a chunk of exposed gravestone.

Jesse grunts in pain, sitting up and hugging his knee into his chest with his eyes screwed up and that’s when he hears the serene voice floating around him.

‘Jesse….Jesseeeee…’

He spins onto all fours and stares around wildly. The thick mist has seeped free of Black woods and is swirling stealthily down the hill towards him. He staggers to one knee, gasping at the pain in the other and sees his jeans have been flayed open where he hit the stone. He glimpses a flash of ruby red blood before he hauls himself to his feet and begins to move again.

He tells himself he imagined it. He didn’t hear a thing. Not now, not back there, not ever. He’s going crazy maybe, imagining things, hearing things that are not there. He’ll keep going. He’ll get out, he will. Get out and never come back. He runs down to Lovers Lane and heads right towards the edge of town. He will run alongside the river – that’s it – he’ll follow the river until it leads him far away from this town.

Jesse jogs along, pain jarring his knee with every step. He is so tired now that every movement feels slower and more sluggish than the last. He’s found the river and is following it with the caravan park on his left and a barn full of Sumner’s sheep on the right. He’s breathing hard, close to panic again and when he looks over his shoulder he sees the mist growing behind him. He gulps and picks up pace and a grim determination falls over him as he moves on as fast as he is able, and after another ten minutes of steady running he sees Black Hare Cottage on the left.

It’s barely visible through the mist and suddenly he notices that he can hardly see the river either. His foot slips on wet earth and he moves to the right nervously then stops, and stares around.

The river is gone. He can’t see it but he can hear it. It’s a hissing slushing moving noise that suddenly seems to surround him. He steps forward, feeling his way with his toes before committing to each step. His hand are in front of him again.

‘Jesseeee… Jesseeee…. Jesseeeeee…’

Jesse freezes, his eyes staring into the mist as its cold touch coats his face and fear tightens his scalp. His chest is rising and falling with each terrified breath.

Freezing water sloshes over his boots and he looks down with a yelp, but of course he can’t see a thing because the mist has trapped him again. He shakes his head in misery. The voice is all around him and so is the water.

‘Jesseeeee… Jesseeeee…’

‘Shit,’ he grunts just to hear something else. He starts moving again, feeling his way blindly as the water rushes up to meet his knees. How did he end up in the river? A new fear grips him: the fear of being consumed by the blackness of the water and washed away; of it taking hold of him, smashing his limbs as they flail around for a grip; of water rushing over his head and holding him under.

He realises this town has many ways to kill you.

Jesse thinks he glimpses the black shape again – somewhere to the left, but it’s gone again in a blink and he can’t be sure he wasn’t just imagining it. He has no other choices though so heads that way, thrashing through the water, beating his way forward until his hands find wet stony soil and his knees finally rise up from the water.

His fingers grasp wet grass and sludgy mud slides through his fingers as he hauls himself up and away from the river chasing by below him.

‘Jesseee…’

He stares around on his hands and knees, unsure if it came from behind, in front or even above him. He still can’t see a thing – still can’t trust the land under him. But the river is a dangerous coiled snake, waiting to devour him, so he gets up, and stumbles away, shivering with cold and fear, and he keeps going until he can no longer hear its rushing voice.

He can only manage a heavy plodding gait for now. His knees refuse to lift properly; the left one feels swollen and the other one is juddery with fatigue. He finds himself trudging through trees again. Dry leaves and twigs crunch underfoot and he wonders if he is still close to Black Hare Cottage but he can’t be sure because he still can’t see a thing through the mist.

It’s close and thick, and beyond that the darkness is like a brick wall. Jesse blunders through the woods, sobs trying to break free because he doesn’t think he can last much longer. The woods seem never-ending. Though he has lost all sense of time, it feels like the longer he staggers on, the bigger the woods become. And there is no sign of the black shape now, and as hard as he strains his ears and eyes, no sign of the town either, no glimmering lights or cars or candles lit in windows.

He’s beginning to regret the power cut part of the plan. There is nothing to suggest the existence of the town at all. He’s slowed to a walk again – he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t formulate thoughts or build decisions, he’s so close to giving up.

Jesse turns in a circle, his shoulders hanging in defeat, trying to pick out the shape of a cottage or even the spire of Saint Marks but there is nothing. Just endless darkness shrouded in white mist.

‘Jesseeeee…’

He knows the voice and it sends a jolt of fear down his spine and a small thin cry escapes his trembling lips.

‘What do you want?’ he whispers back, but he doesn’t really want to know. He picks up speed again. They can’t keep him here forever. They can’t. He pushes on, keeps going. His legs are dead flesh now, his pain the only thing that tells him he hasn’t died. And the most terrifying thing is how much he just wants to give in and fall down. Lay on the leaves and curl up and just let them take him. Maybe he ought to. Maybe the only way to find out what happened to Paddy is to let them take him too.

But something pushes him on, something inside him won’t give up yet – perhaps the cold fear and the thought of that voice reaching him, and the fragile hope that if he doesn’t give up, if he just keeps running, eventually he will get out.

Jesse feels something different under his feet. He looks down and through the swirls of mist he can see a road. He breathes out slowly, risking a glimmer of hope, though all it really means is that he has run around half of the town.

He bends down, hands on knees, gulping in pain and shock and exhaustion. He hears a giggle behind him and moves on, picking up speed again, refusing to look back. He stays on the road. He doesn’t know what road it is or what direction he is running in. He hopes it is right out of town but after another five minutes of frantic running, Jesse sees to his horror, the looming spire of Saint Marks church. He stops. He is running back into town.

Jesse’s breathing is now a hoarse, scratching wheeze. His legs are thick and fuzzy, the muscles screaming. His hips ache horribly and his head has never been filled with so much dark agony. He thinks again, I can’t do this much longer, I can’t.

He briefly considers running to the pub, to Jaime or to the gift shop to find Willow but he disregards the thought just as quickly. He doesn’t want to bring them this horror. He just has to go. He has to vanish and they’ll have to wonder forever what happened to him.

He gulps, swallowing another sob. He crosses the road, clinging to the knowledge that if the church is now behind him, he can slip between the butchers and the village hall and beyond there, Rowan Woods, Rowan Road, and after that, over the hills, another way out.

The Holloway, he thinks, his eyes widening in hope as he pictures its dark winding tunnel-like track, a track that ought to take him out of town. That was the point of a Holloway, he remembers, tracks and paths between towns. He moves on with new purpose.

Don’t give up yet, he tells himself and limps down the alley. The mist fills it quickly; it seems to move with a mind of its own, rising before his eyes to cloud the way. He runs his sore fingers along the wall of the village hall and then he is in the car park and bumping into parked cars. He looks at the hall – a dark desolate square shape behind him and sees what could be a few candles shimmering inside. Who is there? Will they help him?

Jesse shakes his head, no. They’ll just call the Neighbourhood Watch Committee and he’ll be caught again. He limps across the car park and finds the low brick wall with his hands, then climbs over.

There is blessed relief in finding his bearings again, knowing where he is. Beyond him, Rowan Woods awaits but if he veers right, he will stumble past the leisure centre, another small landmark.

He does just this, powering on now, angling right on shaking legs and throbbing feet. The woods close in on him, shutting out the light and the mist seizes control again, a swirling coldness that clings to his wet jeans.

Jesse goes faster, finding fresh strength from somewhere. He shuts out the fear and the panic and just concentrates on the fact he is still moving, still running, he is still trying and maybe he is stronger and braver and better than he thought he was. Maybe, even if he doesn’t make it, maybe he can take some comfort in that.

He’s still in the woods that now seem far bigger and denser than he recalls, when he hears something above him. A beating of wings, the sound of still air and dry leaves being disturbed by movement. He glances up, fear prickling the skin on the back of his neck. He thinks he sees something – a dark gliding shadow and then he hears it again, closer this time, surely, breath coating his neck…

‘Jesseee… Jesseeeeee…’

He moves on, faster again now, picking up his feet and forcing his knees to keep going, step after step, forwards, onwards and soon he feels tarmac again and hopes its Rowan Road in front of the leisure centre. He’s missed it somehow, even though he was sure he angled right, but it doesn’t matter because here is the play park and if he gets past that and keeps on Rowan Lane as it narrows, he can be up on the hills again. He can find the ruins and run on from there towards Bob Rowan’s land and the safety of the Holloway.

Jesse takes a deep breath. He thinks he hears soft laughter over his shoulder and another beat of huge wings above but he doesn’t look back. He hurries on. He can’t see much; the hills are cloaked in darkness and the mist is following him closely. But he tries to head to the ruins and when he makes it, he feels rough stone walls and immediately stumbles over chunks of bricks, and he cries out in pure joy.

He feels like he has won for a brief moment as he leans against the old castle walls and gives himself a chance to properly catch his breath. His body shakes violently from the endurance and the fear but he takes a moment, he just needs a moment.

Then all at once the ruins fill with freezing mist. He watches in open-mouthed horror as everything disappears under it, even his own feet, his own hands. He closes his mouth and his eyes, instinctively fearing it means to seep inside his body and destroy him from within.

Jesse stands still, frozen and terrified, and he can’t even feel the wall behind him now even though he knows he did not move away from it. And he hears those wings again and he is not surprised to hear other sounds now too, close and getting closer. That ragged, throaty breathing, the rumbling snarls that start within some hideously deep chest, and roll out over bared teeth. And the laughter, the amusement dripping from the voice that fills his ears and his head…

‘Jesseeeee… Jesseeeee… Jesseeeee…’

With his hands pressed over his ears, Jesse staggers away from the ruins and runs full pelt down the hill towards the border of Bob Rowan’s land. He sees it as his last hope. He knows the way in; where the badger sett is on the edge of the woods. There is a place where the barbed wire fence doesn’t quite meet the muddy ground, leaving a human-sized hole to squeeze through.

For a moment, as he tears down the grassy slopes with his lungs burning, Jesse feels like he has outrun them, whatever they are. The mist finally thins and the shape of the trees and the fence line can just be seen. Jesse flings himself towards it, skidding to his knees, crying out in pain, then propelling his aching body through the gap. He picks himself up and stumbles towards the dark space where the Holloway begins.

He feels its coldness envelope him and the land almost instantly begins to drop under his feet. He hurries down, reaching out to the walls for support, grasping at tree roots as the tunnel-like path swallows him whole.

He trips.

The ground is thick with mud and hidden roots and he finds himself spreadeagled in it, winded. And, as his lifts his head and stares around, he can see the mist following him, creeping mischievously down the ancient path, whispering as it curls its way through roots and branches.

 It’s all too late; they’ve caught him. He’s trapped, he can’t escape. He can’t get out. But he can’t stay still, can’t let them devour him, so he crawls forward blindly, feeling dirt and grass under his hands and soaking his knees.

He only opens his eyes when he feels the ground rolling away from him. Panicking, fearing a hole or an unknown cave or tunnel, his eyes shoot open and suddenly he sees the dark shape again. It’s close by. It’s watching. He could almost reach out and touch it. Is it real?

And behind him, the smell of rotting flesh and the slow melodic beating of heavy wings. He crawls after the shape, scrambling, scurrying like a creature himself. He follows it and stares at it, his eyes so wide they ache in the sockets, determined not to lose it in the mist.

Jesse feels that this is his last chance. He has run so far and so long and been beaten back, confused, thwarted and laughed at, and now the black shape is closer than ever and he crawls as fast as possible, terrified of losing it and the further they go from the Holloway and from the ruins, the calmer he feels. The wings do not follow… The voice falls silent and the stench of dead flesh fades away.

Part of him hopes the shape is leading him out of the valley but part of him doesn’t care anymore. He just wants to rest, he just wants somewhere safe to curl up and rest. He can’t take this anymore.

Jesse keeps crawling, his eyes fixed obsessively on the black shape as it moves ahead of him in a loping, zig-zagging motion. It’s not until he crawls onto Lupin Lane that Jesse realises it has led him back into town. His heart falls but the shape does not desert him. It stays close, and even waits while he uses a fence to pull himself to his feet.

Jesse stumbles down Lupin Lane until he can see the Hare and Hound on his left and the library to his right. The shape dashes over the road, almost invisible now in the solid dark but Jesse can make out the shine of its huge eyes when it turns to look back at him.

‘Okay, okay,’ he pants and follows it.

It runs across High Street at speed and vanishes down the alley between the row of shops and the school playing fields. Jesse follows, thinking how it feels like a lifetime ago that he stood there waiting for the lights to go out, waiting for Willow.

He can’t see the shape now but the mist is thinning out. He runs his hand along the alley wall until he reaches the other end and he can see the bookshop. Paddy’s bookshop. He stops for breath then spots the shape running down the alley between the bookshop and hardware.

Jesse looks both ways just in case then runs after it. He is almost done now, almost spent, he has nothing left to give. Yet this thing, this shadow, wants him to follow it and he knows that he feels better in its presence.

He staggers like a blind man down the dark alley. He stops at the end and can’t see it, but he feels his way towards Paddy’s back gate which is still hanging open just like it was a week ago when Paddy was still here.

Jesse presses his trembling palms against the flaky wood and eases it gently to one side. He glances up and sees candlelight flickering inside the flat. He looks down and sees the black shape is there, waiting for him. Blinking in confusion, Jesse moves forward, each step more painful than the last. He is drenched in sweat and soaked and muddied from the river and the grass and the Holloway. He is cold to his core and shocked and terrified and he cannot tear his eyes from the dark shape waiting for him in the garden.

It sits motionless at the end of the treehouse’s rope ladder. It sits on large bony haunches, facing him, with a protruding chest and one forepaw raised. Its eyes are dark pools of staring intensity, one on each side of its skull-like, elongated face.

Jesse steps towards it, one foot landing heavily and clumsily after the other. His exhaustion makes him feel inhuman, separate, disassociated from reality. It doesn’t even feel that strange that a black hare led him to Paddy’s treehouse.

His head is nodding on his neck. Somehow he reaches for the rope ladder and grasps it with sore, aching hands, while keeping his eyes on the hare.

He has never seen such a strange and beautiful creature. The white one was a surprise but this one seems other worldly. It stares back at him, its long nostrils opening and closing – its lean athletic body perfectly still, yet poised to run. Jesse feels like it could vanish in a fraction of a second should it choose to.

‘You want me to go up there?’ he croaks in a whisper and he somehow feels that it does.

He starts to climb the rope though his wrecked body does not make it easy for him. It feels like a wet sack of potatoes hanging from his arms.

The black hare watches him climb and finally he feels the wooden base against his knees and he sits down and turns around and stares back at the hare.

It’s still there. Still perfectly haunting like it’s a statue or a shadow of one.

It’s long ears are erect and one swivels, picking up sound. Jesse stares at it, mesmerised. Its fur is as dark as night, as black as coal. It is still staring at him as he lies down on his belly and drags a blanket over himself. He feels some of the tension leave his body and a great sigh works through him and as his chin rests on his folded arms, he feels like there is something he recognises in the hare’s eyes.

Jesse’s head jerks up. ‘Paddy?’

The hare turns and is gone.

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 Fifteen “Hideout”

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

~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments
image is mine

© 2025 Chantelle Atkins. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah. They’re awesome.’

‘Kind of thing you like?’

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

‘Yeah, they’re really good, Mum.’

‘Did Ralph go home?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Wasn’t her mother a mayor too?’

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

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

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

‘Oh, do you know why he left?’

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

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

3

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

4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5

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

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

6

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

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

Jaime remains seated, stiff with fear.

7

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

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

‘It’s okay.’

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

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

8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9

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

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

10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

11

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

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

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

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

12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll wait here. Go.’

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

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

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

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

13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Shut up,’ Billy says through clenched teeth.

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

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

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

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

‘You can’t do that…’ pants Billy.

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

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

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

14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Think so. Go!’

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

‘But what about you-’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And above him, the man roars.

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

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

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

‘You’ve done it now, boy.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

15

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

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

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

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

His eyes swivel upwards. The hatch. The book.

Shit.

Maybe the Finnis boy told him…

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

So, what the hell was Archer up to?

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

Thanks for reading!

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

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

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

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twelve “The Plan”

~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments
image is mine…

© 2025 Chantelle Atkins. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I guess. How?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah, I have, she’s really nice.’

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

‘Definitely.’

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

‘Thank you.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, please.’

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

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

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

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

‘Here, Ralph. Have a break.’

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

‘Brilliant! Thank you.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ralph swallows again. ‘You do?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Thank you.’

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

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

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

‘Thank you, Mayor Sumner!’

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her head snaps up. ‘Who is it?’

‘Willow! Your mum let me up.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah. Me too.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Really?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaime sits forward. ‘What?’

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

Jaime gapes. ‘Iris Cotton’s house!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

‘Billy?’

‘What?’

‘Can I ask you a favour?’

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

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

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

‘They have a band playing.’

‘So?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And keep an eye on Mayfield?’

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

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

‘Thanks, Billy. I’ll owe you.’

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

‘There’s something else.’

Billy mutters under his breath. ‘What?’

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

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

‘Thanks Billy. I mean it.’

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

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

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

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

4

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

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

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

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

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

5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘The Witch of The Valley? Our valley?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No. Did you hide the saw?’

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

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

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

‘Do I go now?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Like what?’

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

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

Ralph mutters, ‘Wish me luck.’

‘You won’t need it. Night, Ralph.’

‘Night, Jaime.’

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

Thanks for reading!

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

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 Thirteen “The Break-In”