Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Six “Bloodlust”

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1

Something lingers…

It’s in his mouth, between his teeth, coating his tongue, but as Jesse wakes groggily on his bed at Hill Fort Farm, he can’t place it or name it. The dream, if that’s what it was, drifts away in fragments. He sits up, head in hands and witnesses it breaking up inside his head. A road. Darkness. The valley walls looming over him. Running. Chasing. Hunting?

Jesse drops his hands into his lap and lets his head fall back, eyes closed as the pain in his head rages on. And the taste… something clinging to the insides of his mouth, something earthy, yet metallic…

The door opens suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. It’s Margaret, marching in with her shoulders back and her head held high. She walks and moves like she has a broom stuck down her clothes, he thinks, blinking slowly as his sluggish body begins to awaken.

There is nothing sluggish about Margaret as she sweeps rapidly through the room, throwing open the thick curtains and letting the morning sun stream across the varnished floorboards. Jesse grunts and puts his hands back over his face. Suddenly, she is there, leaning over him, slapping a hand across his forehead.

‘How do you feel? You were out of it for some time.’

She sounds sharp, he thinks, lowering his hands to look at her, sharp and stern. Did he do something wrong? He thinks back, frowning – the memory of the dark stuffy drawing room and the committee watching him frozen in his chair, returns shakily. He remembers the drink… and then the dream… It comes back to him again in scattered images. Running on the road, racing after something, some small creature.

He runs his tongue around his mouth. It feels claggy and dry and that taste; like bits of meat have got stuck between his teeth….

‘Not great,’ he tells her, his shoulders sagging.

‘Sick?’ she snaps. ‘You were sick last night.’

‘Was I?’

‘You don’t remember?’

He shakes his head glumly. He has no memory of throwing up. He glances at his clothes curiously.

‘What about now? Do you feel sick still?’

He nods listlessly. ‘My head hurts.’

‘I’ll keep you off school,’ she says and part of him is relieved, part of him dismayed. He needs to see the others. But he nods obediently and Margaret narrows her eyes at him. ‘Get some rest. Catch up on schoolwork. It’s important you apply yourself and make something of your life. You see that now, don’t you?’

He nods. ‘Margaret?’

‘You don’t want to end up like the rest of your family,’ she goes on. ‘This is your chance to be different, remember?’

‘I remember, but Margaret, I don’t…’ He frowns, scratching his head, swallowing again to get rid of the foul tang in his mouth.

‘Don’t what?’

He looks at her helplessly. ‘What happened? That drink?’

‘That drink was myself and the committee placing a tiny bit of trust in you, Jesse. That drink was a glimpse – you wanted to know, didn’t you? You wanted to know everything and you will, if you continue to please us. But it can’t be rushed so we gave you a glimpse. What did you see?’

‘I don’t know,’ he whispers, staring up at her fearfully.

She stares back, hands on hips, her body rigid, her demeanour excited yet impatient. He fears her greatly – he feels she could eat his very soul – but at the same time he feels closer to her than ever before. He wants to reach out and touch her. He needs to understand.

‘Tell me what you remember,’ she commands coldly. ‘Everything. And your brothers won’t get that visit we talked about last night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If we left them alone?’

Jesse swallows and nods. ‘I was running,’ he tells her. ‘Really fast. Faster than I can run… I don’t think I was me.’

‘Do you know what you were?’

He shakes his head sadly. ‘No, I don’t know. But I was fast. I was running down the high street after something.’

She leans closer. ‘Did you see what it was?’

‘A creature, maybe something small. Fast. But not as fast as me.’

‘Interesting. Did you catch up with it?’

‘Nearly. But then I woke up…’

She nods. ‘Did you want to catch up to it?’

‘Yeah. I did.’ He watches her, wondering if this is what she wants to hear.

‘What did you want to do to it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jesse shrugs weakly. He can tell instantly that she does not believe him. She tilts her head, eyebrows raised; her don’t try to fool me face. He says, ‘I wanted to kill it. Catch it, tear it to pieces.’

Finally, Margaret moves away with a small chuckle. ‘All right. Well done, Jesse. I appreciate your honesty. You must understand we placed great trust in you last night. You’ll keep this to yourself. You’ll think of your brothers, won’t you?’

He nods and she smiles slowly.

‘A predator, eh? Ha. Aaron will be fuming.’ She turns at the door. ‘I’ll bring you something to eat. In the meantime, rest.’

He wants to call out, to stop her, ask her a million questions – but her can’t bring himself to – he’s too weak, too groggy and confused. Instead, Jesse falls back onto the bed and closes his eyes. His mouth fills with the taste of blood and his stomach heaves.

2

Jaime sits on her bed, listening to the rain pattering against the windows. The pub is quiet, not open yet – but she knows Mark will already be downstairs, setting up, sorting orders and doing whatever else needs to be done. Staff will be arriving soon.

Jaime dresses in a lethargic manner, her eyes fixed and glassy as she buttons up her school shirt and cardigan. She checks her face in the mirror and winces. The scabs looks nasty and the skin around them inflamed.

She sighs and looks away. Before going downstairs, Jaime gently pushes her mum’s door open. She can just make out her shape under the duvet and her gentle snores drift across the room. Jaime closes the door again and heads downstairs, tying to tread lightly on each one to avoid the creaks.

To her dismay, she is only half way down when Mark pokes his head around the kitchen door. ‘Want some pancakes?’

She’s surprised by the offer and his friendly expression. He’s been strange around her lately and its made her feel unwelcome in the pub. What had felt like a unique and exciting new home now feels like a malevolent prison. She forces a smile that makes her face sting.

‘Okay sure. Thanks.’

Her stomach is in knots and she’s not sure she can manage a single bite but she doesn’t want to annoy him any further. She needs him on side – she needs to feel safe here. So she holds the smile on her aching face and follows him into the kitchen, watching warily as he plops homemade pancakes onto two plates.

‘Shall I take some up to Mum?’

He shakes his head and passes her the syrup. ‘No, let her sleep.’

‘What time is the appointment later?’

‘Half two. You’ll be okay walking home?’ He eyes her carefully. ‘Straight home,’ he adds.

‘Yeah, of course. Though I thought I might go for a bit of a wander if the rain stops. There are still some places I haven’t explored yet.’ Jaime wants to lay the groundwork – it’s such a small town and if anyone mentions to Mark that she was near the old church, he won’t be impressed at all.

‘Like where?’ he asks, chewing on pancake.

‘That way.’ She points behind her. ‘I haven’t been to the stables yet or anything over there. I bet the views are good too.’

‘East?’ Mark cocks an eyebrow. ‘Oh, okay. Yeah well, as long as you stay out of trouble.’

Jaime swallows her mouthful and looks down at her plate. ‘Of course. I just like exploring, getting to know the place.’

‘It’s a beautiful place,’ he says and she nods.

‘I know.’

‘Really beautiful. We’ve got everything, haven’t we? All those rolling hills, protecting us down here. Woods and fields and rivers and streams. So much untouched countryside. You don’t find that anywhere else these days.’

‘No?’

‘No. It’s all built over. Developed. So many places now, they look at fields or woods and just see money. Pound signs. What can they build? How much money can they make? Sod the wildlife.’

‘That’s so sad.’

‘It is. It’s criminal. But not here. The countryside, the wildlife is valued here. Protected. We’ve got everything we need in our little town and we’re surrounded by natural beauty. We’re very lucky.’

‘The mayor wouldn’t ever allow any of it to be developed then?’

Mark looks horrified. ‘God no, never. She loves this place. Her ancestors founded it. It’s in her blood to protect it and serve it, and in return it protects us, right?’

Jaime pushes a smile across her aching face. ‘Right.’

He smiles back and pats her shoulder as he takes his plate to the sink. ‘Good. You’re very lucky to live here. Never forget that.’

A knock at the back door distracts him and he opens it and ushers in a man Jaime vaguely recognises as one of the delivery drivers around town. Instantly, Mark starts loading his sack truck up with prepared wooden crates.

‘Big order for Margaret,’ the guy comments and Mark chuckles.

‘Yeah, I’m sure they just enjoy a drink or three at those committee meetings, eh?’

Jaime shifts slightly to watch. She recalls that every Thursday and Saturday, the same man turns up to collect crates of drinks businesses around town have ordered from Mark. He puts the orders together the night before and each crate is labelled with its destination. Hill Fort Farm. The community centre. The school. Rowan Farm. Her eyes widen and a plan start to formulate in her head.

3

Ralph stumbles blearily down the corridor, rubbing his face with both hands to wake himself up. He hasn’t been sleeping well, in fact he can’t remember the last time he slept properly. It’s all starting to catch up with him – as if he’s been running on fumes for so long, on adrenalin and fear and wonder. His mother noticed it this morning, frowning at him in concern as he lethargically spooned cornflakes into his mouth.

‘Are you coming down with something?’

‘No,’ he insisted quickly before collecting up his stuff and getting out of the house. All day the exhaustion has been suffocating him, dragging him down and drowning out his surroundings. His head feels thick and fuzzy but it’s okay – he has made it to the end of the day. The doors are in sight. He will make his way separately to the old church and meet the others there.

Ralph is almost there when a clawing hand shocks him by latching roughly onto his shoulder. He gasps and looks up into Mr Hewlett’s troubled face.

‘I’m sorry Ralph but I really need a word with you, right now.’ He turns and gestures to his office; his movements brisk, impatient, perhaps even nervous.

Ralph enters the office hesitantly then gasps again as the door closes, revealing Mr Bishop. Ralph shrinks away but there is nowhere to go.

‘We’re concerned about you, Ralph,’ Mr Bishop growls.

Ralph examines him quickly. He is sweating and his tie is askew but there is an excitable glow in his eyes and a thinly stretched sneer on his lips.

‘Your teachers are concerned,’ adds Hewlett, standing back and wringing his hands. ‘They say you’re not concentrating. You’re tired and preoccupied.’

Bishop’s head juts forward. ‘You fell asleep in class today, Ralph.’

He nods quickly. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ll definitely go to bed earlier tonight.’ He reaches slowly for the door handle behind him. ‘I’ve just been staying up reading, that’s all.’

‘That’s not all,’ Bishop snaps, leaning closer. ‘You’ve been slacking, Ralph. Letting yourself be led astray. Poking around in things and trying to be a hero. You’re weak. Puny. Miserable. I can smell that from here.’

And to Ralph’s horror, Mr Bishop’s nostrils start to work rapidly, and his head bobs up and down as if picking up a scent from Ralph’s body. He flattens himself against the door, his heart racing.

‘Edward,’ Mr Hewlett says gently, a hand landing on the other man’s arm. ‘Let’s not scare the boy. A warning is all that is needed here. No need to call home or suspend him or anything too dramatic.’

‘Stop digging, little pig,’ Mr Bishop rasps, his eyes widening, almost bulging from his face. ‘Stop digging around like a greedy ungrateful piggy and be satisfied with what you have here. Do you understand?’

Ralph tugs at the handle. ‘You can’t hurt me… You can’t…’

‘No, I can’t,’ Bishop agrees, a delighted grin lighting up his face. ‘Not here. Not in my school. But out there. At night… When I’m hungry…’ He looks at Ralph, his eyes glinting as he drags a glistening tongue across his lower lip. ‘I think you’d taste like pork. That Jaime girl too. Two chubby porky-pigs who think they can be heroes. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.’

Bishop backs up then, seemingly satisfied and Ralph yanks the door open. Hewlett lays a hand on his shoulder once again. ‘Just be a good boy, Ralph. Understand how special this place is. Wake up, before it’s too late.’

Ralph struggles free and leaves in a hurry.

4

The rain intensifies, plastering Willow’s cloak to her hunched shoulders. It drives at her; wind and rain pushing her back as if even the weather is trying to stop her from making it. Willow grits her teeth and pushes forward. She is driven by love. By the need to see Paddy again and by the urge to show him and the truth to the others. They have the truth now and she is dizzy with it. At the back of her head, Willow hears a faint voice crying out, reminding her that this doesn’t change anything; they are all so helpless, powerless against the committee and if they were to tell the town or their parents, who would believe them? Willow knows it is more than likely that people will just get angry with them, turn on them even, like Mark has done to Jaime.

But right now, she pushes the voice away. The confirmation that Paddy is the black hare, that Paddy is still alive and with them, is a victory. Her heart swells with love and joy. For now, despite everything, she will cling to it. The bottom of her cloak is sopping wet and sticks to her ankles as she climbs the hill and approaches the church.

It’s made of the same stone as the ruins, she thinks – at least it looks like it – the same stone found in the ancient graveyard before Black Woods. The church is strangled by ivy, greenery dominates the brickwork and smothers the windows. Shrubs, mostly brambles, have devoured the space around the building, but Willow finds a way through, using a stick to beat back the thorns until she finds the three stone steps and beyond them, the thick wooden door.

It’s hanging open, rotting off its hinges, forced free by ivy. Willow pushes through, relived to be out of the rain and finds herself in the small simple church, and there right in front of her, resting on haunches in a small patch of light, is the hare.

Willow cries out in surprise and relief. ‘Paddy,’ she whispers and the hare eyes her carefully, not thumping his foot, not moving towards her.

She crouches down and holds out a hand. Rain water drips steadily from her cloak, pooling on the grimy stone floor around her. ‘It’s all right. It’s me. It’s okay. The others are coming.’

The hare stares past her at the door behind. He appears skittish she thinks, unsure of her and the surroundings. His ears swivel and she too can hear footsteps outside. ‘It’s just Jaime and Ralph,’ she tells him. ‘Don’t worry. No one is going to hurt you. They’re just going to be a bit shocked, that’s all.’

She remains crouched but looks over her shoulder for the others as they stumble hesitantly into the church. They brush cobwebs from their shoulders and shake rain from their hair and clothes, gazing around in wonder before they both stop still and stare, frozen, their eyes fixed on the hare.

Jaime slaps both hands over her mouth and squeaks. Ralph’s jaw drops open, his eyes bulging. He staggers forward and kneels beside Willow.

‘Is that?… Is it?…Him?’

Willow beams proudly as them whilst still holding a soothing hand out to the black hare.

‘Yes, it’s Paddy, it really is. He found me last night. Saved me. Look, ask him. It’s one thump for yes, two for no.’

Jaime lowers herself shakily to her knees and slips her hand around Ralph’s arm as if she needs something solid to anchor herself to reality.

‘Paddy?’ she asks. ‘Paddy, is that you?’

The hare’s nostrils twitch. The ears swivel. Then he thumps one foot, hard and sure. Yes.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ says Ralph.

5

Whatever the smell is, it’s getting stronger.

Jesse rises from his bed, pushing sweaty sheets away and swiping back his hair with shaking fingers. He crosses the room, opens the window and inhales.

Something still lingers.

In his mouth too – as if all the crazy dreams have left a memory there. He runs his tongue over his teeth, grimaces then spits out of the window.

The smell again – something in the air, faint but yet… It’s like its talking to him, whispering in his ear, trying to get through…

Irritated, Jesse leaves the room, his empty stomach growling. Margaret has brought him breakfast and lunch but he hasn’t been able to eat a thing. He stalks the corridor restlessly. He doesn’t feel well – or normal – but he can’t stay still either. He can’t stay in the house a moment longer. He hurries downstairs and finds his boots in the hallway. He sits down wearily and heavily to pull them on.

A noise in the kitchen distracts him so he wanders in, boot laces trailing, to find Hilda alone in her wheelchair, feeding Jaffa cakes to Horatio.

‘Where’s Margaret?’

She rolls her eyes but won’t look at him. She feeds another chocolate coated cake to the dog who sits obediently before her, licking his lips and wagging his thick yellow tail.

‘You shouldn’t give him those,’ Jesse grumbles as he heads to the door. ‘They’re bad for dogs.’

‘He’s not a dog, stupid.’

‘What?’ Jesse spins to face her. She giggles and bites her lip. ‘What did you say?’

Hilda frowns, pats Horatio on the head and throws a Jaffa cake at Jesse. It hits him on the chest then lands on the floor and Horatio blunders over to gobble it up.

‘What did you say about Horatio?’

‘He’s not a dog, stupid.’

‘But what does that mean? And where’s Margaret? Where’s your sister?’

‘Not my sister, stupid.’ Hilda throws another Jaffa cake and it strikes him on the chin.

‘Ow! Stop that! You’re so annoying!’

‘And you’re so stupid, stupid.’ With that, Hilda sweeps the crumbs from her lap and spins her chair around. ‘Come on, Horatio.’

The fat Labrador trundles after her.

‘What do you mean, he’s not a dog? She’s not your sister? What is she then?’

But there is no reply. Jesse considers following her. Maybe grabbing her wheelchair and forcing her to stop. But outside, the smell permeates the air, drifting up his nostrils and causing saliva to fill his mouth. He’s suddenly hungry. Ravenously hungry. His stomach is an empty, aching pit and the smell on the air is one he simply can’t ignore.

Unaware of anything else, of any other senses or thoughts, Jesse leaves the farm, follows the smell and starts to run.

6

‘I can’t believe it.’

Several phrases have been running through Jaime’s mind since she walked into the church and saw the hare and all of them sound trite and predictable. The truth is, she can believe it because there he is – a black hare, a rare and mysterious wild animal that should be afraid of them but is instead communicating with them via foot thumps. If she wasn’t already sitting down, she knows she would have fallen.

Jaime glances at Willow and sees pure joy on her normally serious face. For a moment, Jaime softens and allows herself to sink lower, resting gently on her knees as a long sigh escapes her.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ she murmurs, then a giggle escapes before she can stop it. ‘Nice to meet you again?’

Willow flashes her a grin. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? Isn’t he? I mean, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?’

Ralph swallows and shakes his head slightly. ‘Shit. Crap. I mean, Christ. I got nothing.’ He shrugs and continues to stare at Paddy. ‘Paddy Finnis. Bloody hell. Did anyone get a message to Jesse?’

The girls shake their heads. ‘I’ll go to the farm with Mum later, or tomorrow,’ says Ralph. ‘He wasn’t at school today.’

‘You said he saved you.’ Jaime turns to Willow. ‘What happened?’

Willow takes a breath. ‘I was near Black Woods and something was in there, watching me. I don’t know what, or who. But the birds all flew out in a panic and I saw something moving in there. I even saw its eyes…’ Another breath. ‘And then Paddy, he appeared out of nowhere and led me back into town, right back to the treehouse.’

Ralph gapes. ‘Seriously?’

She nods, grinning. ‘I know. I guess it’s safe for him there. He has to be so careful. Look what happened to Iris Cotton!’

Jaime shudders and looks back at the hare. At Paddy. ‘This is so bizarre, I feel like I’m dreaming.’ She suddenly remembers Mark’s deliveries and places a hand on Willow’s knee. ‘Before I forget, I think I know a way we can sneak onto Rowan Farm and maybe talk to Bob Rowan.’

Willow’s smile fades in concern. ‘Are you kidding? Why would you want to go back there after what happened?’

‘I don’t, but we need to talk to him, Willow. Mark has this delivery van and this guy, he takes crates of drinks all over town. I noticed one said Rowan Farm on it.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Ralph speaks up with a glum nod. ‘Armed, of course.’

‘Not yet.’ Willow waves a hand at him. ‘We need to be patient and slow down a bit. We need to talk to Paddy and find out as much as we can.’

Jaime knows she should be amazed by this but somehow she is not. She smiles at Willow, then at the hare. ‘That really is awesome. I’m so glad you’re okay, Paddy. I hope you know how worried we’ve all been.’

‘Did you see the missing persons posters?’ asks Ralph.

One thump, yes. They all laugh. Then Willow grows sombre. ‘Not that anyone in this fucked up town gave a shit. Bet most of them knew what really happened to you.’

‘Did they?’ Jaime stares at Paddy.

Two thumps, no. Paddy yawns and stretches.

‘Hope we’re not keeping you up!’ Ralph jokes.

‘I have too many questions,’ complains Jaime. ‘Willow, I don’t even know where to start.’

‘Can you change back?’ Ralph jumps in. ‘Can you ever be human again?’

The animal does not hesitate. He delivers two hard thumps to the stone floor of the church.

‘Do you know that for sure?’ asks Jaime.

Two more thumps; no, not for sure.

‘But you’re not like Iris Cotton,’ Jaime goes on. ‘She was human and a hare. She could change, right?’ On thump for yes. ‘But you’re stuck? You can’t change back and forth? You can’t control it?’

‘Slow down, Jaime.’ Willow touches her shoulder gently. Paddy thumps twice, no, he can’t control it.

‘How did it happen?’ gasps Ralph.

Willow sighs. ‘Yes or no questions, Ralph. Let’s go back to the start. Paddy, we know you found a weird old book in the shop and your dad didn’t know where it came from. Jaime spoke to Iris and she admitted leaving it there but wouldn’t say why. Did you know it was from her?’

Two thumps, no.

‘Did you suspect it was her?’

One, yes.

‘Why?’ Willow asks, then groans. ‘I mean, was it something she said?’

One thump, yes.

Willow’s wide eyes meet Jaime’s. ‘Oh! I wish I knew what she’d said!’

Jaime nods frantically and shifts her position to cross-legged. ‘She talked to you after you found it?’ Thump. ‘She hinted, maybe? Mentioned a book? Something subtle, right?’ Thump. ‘She wanted you to know it was her.’ A pause. Then, one thump.

‘Well, we kind of knew all that already,’ Ralph reminds them. ‘What else can we ask? Oh, shit! I nearly forgot! I just got hauled in to see Bishop and Hewlett!’ They all stare at him. He nods grimly. ‘Yeah, scary as hell. Hewlett was all anxious and weird, but Bishop wasn’t messing around. He kept sniffing me like an animal and then he threatened me.’

Jaime turns stiffly to look at him. ‘What did he say?’

‘He called me a greedy piggy. Greedy, ungrateful piggy, he said, who should be satisfied with what I have. And I said he couldn’t hurt me and he said at night he could, if he was hungry.’ Ralph pauses and swallows thickly. ‘He said I’d taste like pork. And you too, Jaime, He said we thought we could be heroes but we can’t, and then Hewlett, he told me to just be a good boy and wake up. Wake up, he said, before it’s too late!’

There is a silence as they each take this in – then Willow slings a friendly arm around his shoulders and gives him a side hug.

‘And yet here you are, definitely not being a good boy. Oh, Ralph.’

He smiles bravely. ‘I know.’

Willow focuses back on Paddy. ‘So, Iris, she had a power then? She could become a hare. I mean, stories like that go back centuries. Hares have been linked to witchcraft among other things in loads of cultures.’

One thump; Paddy agrees. Willow smiles and reaches out to tickle him under the chin.

‘Mayfield can change too,’ Jaime reminds them. ‘We know that because of Jesse, but into what, Paddy? Is it a wolf? Something like that?’ One reluctant thump. Jaime shudders. ‘And what about Margaret?’

Thump.

‘What is she? A bird?’ Thump.

‘Good guess,’ nods Ralph.

Jaime shakes her head. ‘I had a feeling. There was a bird of prey the day I tried to speak to Iris. I’m not sure what kind.’

‘An owl?’ Ralph asks Paddy.

Two thumps. ‘A sparrowhawk?’ asks Willow.

Two thumps.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ sighs Jaime. ‘She’s a bird. And so is Bob Rowan.’

Paddy stretches out his back legs one by one, then thumps another yes for good measure.

Jaime laughs. ‘I already knew.’ She points to her face. ‘Have you seen the state of me?’

‘Are they a danger to you, Paddy?’ wonders Ralph. ‘All those predators?’

Another firm thump in reply. Yes. Ralph, Willow and Jaime exchange glances.

‘Is it witchcraft?’ Willow asks and when Paddy does not respond with a yes or a no, she throws her hands up in frustration. ‘Was it in the book? Are we talking about spells? Magic of some sort?’

Paddy stares at her for a long still moment before slowly lifting his toes from the floor, then lowering them again; more of a bump than a thump.

‘You’re not sure,’ states Jaime.

They swap glances again. ‘What now?’ Ralph sounds nervous.

‘We’ve been trying to translate the book – what we had of it,’ says Willow. ‘Should we keep trying? Will it help?’

Paddy does not respond – instead, he stares over their shoulders, his eyes bulging and his ears held stiff and taut.

‘Is there anything we can do, Paddy?’ Jaime presses him.

Paddy springs to all four paws – back legs slightly extended and one forepaw raised . His ears swivel and his nose twitches. His eyes widen.

‘What is it?’ frowns Willow, looking over her shoulder. ‘Is something wrong?’

The hare thumps once for yes.

Ralph gets up and hurries to the door, knocking cobwebs out of the way as he moves. ‘I’ll check.’

‘Is it danger?’ whispers Jaime, stiffening in fear.

Ralph has poked his head through the door. ‘I can’t see anything,’ he calls back. ‘Not from here.’

‘I’ll check the window,’ says Jaime, jumping up. ‘He looks terrified.’

Willow looks on as Jaime blunders clumsily between old wooden pews to check the windows on the other side.

‘Paddy, we need to know what to do,’ Willow begs. ‘If not the book, then what? What can we do? Who can we trust? How can we stop them?’

‘I can’t see anything,’ shrugs Jaime, crossing the aisle to join Ralph at the other windows.

‘Paddy?’ Willow persists, her tone pleading. ‘Please tell us. Can we stop them?’

Paddy’s eyes widen even further – they seem to be protruding from either side of his elongated face. Did it hurt, Willow wants to ask him, when they changed you? How? Why? What is wrong with this town?

‘Can we stop them?’ she cries at him. He hops closer and thumps once.

Yes.

7

Jesse runs in a manner that makes it feel like he has never truly ran before. His memories suggest otherwise – he’s ran from home, Mayfield, Bishop, monsters and more but not like this. He isn’t running from something, he is running towards something and that makes all the difference.

He doesn’t feel scared and that is astonishing, mind-blowing even. He isn’t being chased. He isn’t going to be pinned down and torn to shreds.

He can run, like the hare and the dogs, he can run. He tears around the edge of town, feeling the thud and rebound of ancient earth and stone beneath his feet and his mind throbs with vivid images of blood and bone and he feels that too, under the earth. And more than that – he smells it too. All of it. Not just the wet grass he’s thundering through, not just the rain, or the smells from town – everything else, every layer hidden under the soil, under the town.

And he can smell blood.

Fresh blood. Pumping, running, flowing, pulsing. He can smell it; it fills his nostrils, feeds his brain and coats the inside of his mouth.

Jesse runs, faster, faster, closer, closer, following the smell, letting it lead him home. And as he runs he salivates and his teeth feel strange, disconnected, trembling for more. He runs until he sees the old church looming up on the far hill on the east side of town. He doesn’t slow. He has unending stamina – his muscles are pumped full of adrenalin and hunger.

He runs – powering on, long strides leading him closer and the smell is getting stronger and stronger until it becomes unbearable – a drug, a longing, an ache, a need. It’s heavy and cloying in the air, sweet and sour and dripping with juice… He runs faster. He runs up to the church, closing the distance between himself and Ralph in impossible time.

Jesse does not acknowledge Ralph’s open face gazing out at him in confusion and wonder. He barges past him – he is flying, running, hunting.

He skids to a stop, his tall frame almost toppling over as he runs into Willow and Jaime.

‘Jesus, how did you know?’ cries Jaime and when he glances at her he sees confusion and trembling uncertainty wash over her features. He stares back at her and something in his face makes her back away. ‘Jesse?’

‘What’s wrong?’ asks Willow, but he pushes her aside, nostrils working frantically and then he sees the slope of a black-furred backside slipping between cracks in the wood on the far side of the church.

Jesse growls and charges after it but it’s gone.

He roars, shoving wooden pews and random dusty chairs out of his way until he finds the doorknob of the back room and twists it violently.

‘Jesse, what’s wrong?’ Ralph is pulling at him, fearful like a small creature, trembling like a leaf in the rain.

Jesse wrenches open the door and plunges into the next room but there is no sign of the sleek dark creature, only a room crammed to the ceiling with old tables, chairs and benches. He edges around them, cobwebs stretching with him and a solitary pigeon arises from the top of the jumble to flap bossily out of a broken window.

He smells, searches, hunts, but it is too late. It’s gone. He can’t smell its blood anymore. He can’t smell anything except damp and mildew and thick dust, bricks and rotten wood.

Bewildered, Jesse walks back to face his friends. They are clustered together, staring at him in terror. He’s not sure why. What did he do?

Then suddenly he doubles over – a sharp pain ripping through his body, cutting him in half. Another one attacks his head and the pain bellows in his ears. He drops to his knees before their frightened faces.

‘Help me…’

He pitches forward into darkness.

Thanks for reading!

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

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

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Twenty-Seven “Ralph and The Raven”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Five “Secrets and Lies”

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1

Willow knows the answer lies with Paddy. If he is the black hare, he has been looking out for them. If he is the black hare, he must know the answers. He must know everything.

‘I have to find him,’ she whispers over the phone to Jaime on Wednesday evening. ‘I’m gonna go out tonight on my own and see what happens.’

There is a pause before Jaime clears her throat and says nervously, ‘That sounds risky, Willow. You don’t know what could happen.’ There is a little intake of breath and Willow suspects that Jaime is a bit tearful. ‘Look what happened to me.’

Willow hasn’t seen Jaime’s injuries because Jaime has not been back to school this week. Willow has called numerous times but it was only this evening she actually got to speak to Jaime. And that was only because her mother answered the phone, not Mark.

Jaime is scared and Willow does not blame her. A change has come over the town slowly but surely. It’s subtle things, unless you see Mark Aster’s merging into an evil stepfather as subtle. Jaime doesn’t. And neither does Willow.

‘How are things? How’s your face?’

‘It’ll probably scar.’

‘Oh, shit.’

‘That’s what Mark says. I was lucky not to lose an eye.’

‘We’ll take weapons next time,’ Willow assures her.

Jaime laughs but does not sound amused. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘No, I mean it. I’m deadly serious. I’m not going out tonight without a weapon, I can tell you that. Really though, how are things?’

Jaime exhales softly. ‘Weird,’ she says, her voice dropping lower. ‘Tense. My mum is just so tired I don’t think she notices what’s going on. Mark is…’ She trails off and Willow pictures her chewing her nails. ‘He’s different, Willow. Like he’s turned into a guard dog for the town or something. What about your parents?’

‘Yeah, they’re a bit weird, but then, they always have been.’ She pauses, hoping to encourage at least a chuckle from Jaime, but there is nothing. She sighs. ‘I don’t know, the best I can explain it is they seem sort of sad, but then my mum does get like that sometimes.’

‘Sad?’

‘Yeah, just sort of down and deflated. Sad. I was gonna ask my mum more about those photos and what happened to Carol-Anne but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to make her worse.’

There is a pause during which Willow thinks she can hear adult voices in the background.

‘It’s okay, just Mark,’ Jaime says then. ‘He wants to know who I’m talking to.’

‘Jesus, what’s his problem? He always seemed like an okay guy.’

‘I don’t know. I just know that he wants us to stop. I don’t think he’s in on anything but he doesn’t like us digging. I’m gonna have to be very careful.’

‘Has Ralph still got everything?’

‘Yes.’ Jaime breathes out in relief. ‘He does. And I can meet with him tomorrow, maybe. Mum has an appointment for the baby and Mark’s going with her. They won’t notice if I’m not straight home from school.’

‘Okay, great. I’ll try too. The ruins?’

‘Maybe somewhere else.’

‘The abandoned church then?’

‘Yeah, why not? Hey, Willow?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Be careful tonight. Don’t forget, people have gone missing. Maybe dead. Maybe changed. But we don’t know for sure so we don’t understand the danger yet.’

‘Maybe Paddy can tell me,’ Willow responds hopefully.

‘You really miss him, don’t you?’

Willow has to take a deep and steadying breath to fight off the sudden urge to cry. When it’s gone, she forces a smile and straightens her shoulders. She has to do this. She has to find him. ‘Yeah, I do. But I’m not giving up, Jaime. I owe him that.’

2

‘There’s a meeting tonight and I want you to attend.’

Jesse looks up from his schoolbooks. Studying is a fairly new concept for him but Margaret insists on it. His work is spread out on the kitchen table and a plate of chocolate chip cookies is placed in the middle. On the other side of the table, Hilda sits, pouting. She hasn’t thrown anything yet but he knows it’s coming.

‘Why?’ he asks Margaret, genuinely curious.

She stares back at him coldly. It’s obvious she’s not been the same since the white hare was killed by his brothers and he fears she blames him. His guts turn to ice every time she looks at him and when he’s not looking at her, he’s looking at the door.

Margaret zips up her wax jacket. Her face is impassive and unimpressed. ‘Because you might as well be useful,’ she snaps. ‘Because you owe it to us, don’t you think?’ She stares back at him, challenging him to disagree.

He shrugs, not sure of the answer.

Her hands land on the table beside him and she leans closer. ‘Let me remind you that it was your idle brothers who murdered her and now our committee is one short.’

He holds up a hand. ‘Hang on, I thought she left the committee? I thought she hadn’t been part of it for ages.’

Margaret freezes and for a fraction of a second Jesse sees a flash of panic in her steely eyes. She straightens up a little abruptly and runs a tongue over her teeth.

‘That’s right.’ Her voice is small and tight. ‘She had retired from official duties but you must understand, me and her went back a very long time and she was still very much one of us, despite our differences.’

Jesse’s guts clench in fear but he thinks he may as well go for it while he can. ‘Differences? You mean like her trying to warn Paddy by leaving him that book and then her house getting burned down as a punishment?’

Margaret freezes again but this time he detects no panic in her eyes. Instead her pupils dilate and her mouth twitches. ‘Oh, Jesse, is that really what you think of us?’

He scowls at her obvious amusement. ‘You don’t want to know what I think of you.’

She snorts. ‘All right then, dear. Well, it appears there is much you don’t understand.’

‘Because you don’t tell me and I’m not allowed to ask!’ He throws up his hands in frustration. Hilda picks up a cookie and aims it at his head. ‘Ow! Stop it!’

‘Yes, I agree, Hilda. We don’t trust him enough yet, do we?’

Jesse shoves back his chair and slams his books shut. ‘Then why am I here? Let me go then.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ laughs Margaret. ‘Back to your criminal family where you’ll be an even bigger thorn in our sides? No. You’re here so I can keep an eye on you. And while you’re here you can be useful. Be ready at 7pm, young man. Our meeting starts then.’

With that, she turns on her heel, picks up her rifle and walks out. The door slams and Hilda releases a high-pitched laugh before launching another cookie at Jesse’s head.

3

Willow waits until her parents are settled dreamily in front of the TV. They loll against each other like dolls, heads touching in the middle.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ she tells them from the doorway, lifting up the camera she is wearing around her neck. ‘Feel like taking photos of the moon.’

It’s a lie but they seem to buy it. Her mother smiles weakly and her father just about manages to lift a hand in a wave.

Willow frowns. ‘Are you guys okay? You seem kind of…’

‘Just tired, love,’ her mother continues to smile even while her eyelids flutter. ‘It’s been a long day.’

No longer than any other, Willow thinks but she shrugs and waves goodbye. ‘Won’t be long.’ She leaves with a kitchen knife tucked inside her cloak. As she goes, she has the feeling that she could stay out all night and they wouldn’t notice. This is getting weirder, she thinks, pulling up her hood before facing the town.

It stares back. She wonders if it is tired of her and she shudders as she moves away from the safety of her home and heads right on to the High Street. She doesn’t really know which direction to take or where to look for Paddy. She just feels like the outer reaches of the town might be worth wandering. She clutches the camera and every now and then she stops to take a photo.

Willow heads east – deciding she will walk the perimeter of the town, as far from the buildings as she can get. Surely if Paddy is out there, he will come to her? She walks to the far end of the High Street and gazes around. It is a black night, no stars, and the moon is a faded silver circle behind low clouds. To her left, are the stables and riding school and on her right, the veterinary surgery and car park. She pauses, scanning the quiet streets, listening for anything. There is one light on at the stables and one car parked in front. She keeps walking then veers right, wondering if there is more chance of finding Paddy closer to his home.

Leaving the road, her boots stomp through long wet grass and every now and then she feels the shape of something harder and older beneath her feet – the stones of ancient buildings, long gone. Her path takes her around the edge and as she climbs the valley wall she can see lights on in the houses of Black Hare Close and Black Hare Road. The higher she climbs, the smaller the town becomes, until she is on the border of the Quigley Farm and is heading towards Black Woods.

Something moves in there – a twisting, slithering movement between the blackened trunks of densely packed trees, that makes her gasp and freeze. Suddenly, a flurry of wings break free from the treeline – pigeons mostly, spooked and panicked, they rise. She watches them go then hears a howl that turns her blood to ice.

Something is hunting in Black Woods.

4

The drawing room is full of shadows. Jesse watches them flicker and dance on the walls as Margaret settles Hilda to bed. Horatio lies like a beached whale in front of the roaring fire. Despite the fire, Jesse feels cold.

He sits in a rigid straight-backed chair upholstered in rough red velvet, with his arms wrapped around himself. He finds his gaze keeps tracking to the door. He thinks about running and finds himself breathless with longing.

The doorbell rings and Horatio whines but doesn’t get up. Jesse tenses. His limbs feel like stones as his body seems to contract in on itself. One by one he hears them arrive – a cold drought flows in, as the doors open and close. He hears boots on tiles, coats being removed, murmuring voices and robust, friendly greetings.

Then, one by one they enter the drawing room and Jesse cannot look at them. Aaron Mayfield, Eugenie Spires, Sylvia Gordon, Vicar Roberts and Neville Hewlett. One by one they fill the room and Jesse closes his eyes, wishing none of this was real. He can see their faces inside his head; large and pale, all looming over him as their pupils dilate in excitement. He opens his eyes but he still can’t look, still can’t move, and now he realises it is not just his cold fear, it is something else. Something coming from them. Something they are doing. He tries to shift in the chair but he can’t. He tries to turn his head but he can’t. He can’t even move his eyes. He can’t even blink.

Jesse feels his heartbeat accelerate under his clothes. A cold sweat breaks out on the nape of his neck and spreads to his frozen shoulder blades. He tells himself to stay calm, to wait, to breathe.

One after the other, they sit down. It is Sylvia Gordon who speaks first, accepting a glass of red wine from Margaret as she flips a notepad open on her lap.

‘First, Edward sends his apologies,’ she announces to the room. ‘He’s not going to make it, I’m afraid. Something came up.’

The others respond by giggling appreciatively. ‘Yes, indeed,’ Margaret says softly, glancing away. ‘He’s still enjoying the novelty and who can blame him?’

‘Well, onto the first point of discussion,’ Sylvia glances at her notepad. ‘Anti-social behaviour outside the leisure centre. Graffiti and litter mostly but the manager has brought it to our attention.’

Mayfield clears his throat. ‘Put cameras up. Catch the buggers and speak to their parents. I can do it first thing tomorrow.’

‘Wonderful,’ smiles Margaret. ‘Sylvia, you can cross that one off as resolved.’

‘All right. Next we have out of control dogs. In particular, dogs being used for illegal hunting and poaching. What do we plan to do?’

‘We know whose dogs they were,’ says Margaret calmly. ‘Aaron, would you arrange to speak to Billy and Wyatt Archer at your earliest convenience? They don’t own the dogs but I’m told they know who does.’

‘I’ll do that tomorrow,’ replies Mayfield. ‘Do you want more cameras here? Around the borders perhaps?’

‘If I’m honest I’d like to do something a little more impactful to protect my land and my birds.’

‘Oh? What were you thinking?’

‘Traps,’ Margaret says and Jesse knows she is staring right at him. ‘Good old-fashioned traps. I’ve got some in the cellar, you know. A spot of oil and they’ll be fine.’

‘What kind of traps?’ Neville Hewlett questions, his voice a tad too high.

‘The kind that take your foot off,’ she tells him and there is a long silence.

‘Noted,’ Sylvia says after a while. ‘Resolved, for now. We’ll keep an eye on the issue, obviously. Now, item number three this evening, fundraising. We’ve got three big events coming up in the following months, with the summer garden party, followed by the Harvest Festival, followed by the Christmas tree lighting and carols. Our funds are looking good but we haven’t done any official fundraising in a while. I was thinking the school could get involved and I’ve already checked with Edward. He says we can arrange something; a raffle perhaps? A quiz night? The parents always like those. A poster competition?’

‘All fine ideas,’ Margaret says. ‘Come up with two for each event, please. Sylvia, will that cover it?’

‘We could ask local businesses too. They could donate prizes for the raffle and put up posters.’

‘Of course.’

‘All right, now moving on to item number four.’ Sylvia turns a page. ‘The remains of Black Hare cottage. Several residents have brought this up but I don’t know what to tell them. Do we know who owns the land?’

‘Iris,’ says Margaret, wistfully. ‘It was in her family for generations.’

‘I see. Do we know if it was insured? Have any of her family mentioned what they want to do?’

‘Sell it, I expect,’ says Aaron. ‘They were embarrassed by the old woman and want to forget about it. Something of a curse, I expect, that house, that land. I can speak to Sarah-Jane if you like. See what she wants to do.’

‘Perhaps I should speak to her?’ Vicar Roberts speaks up. ‘She is one of my congregation after all.’

Margaret nods. ‘Of course.’

Aaron grunts.

‘That’s everything,’ says Sylvia, pen poised. ‘Does anyone have any issues they would like to raise?’

There is a low rumble as the members respond and Jesse can see heads shaking out of the corner of his eye.

‘All right then.’ Sylvia snaps the notebook shut. ‘Meeting adjourned. We’ll meet again on the-’

Margaret interrupts. ‘Thank you, Sylvia. Well then, lets enjoy a drink or two and each other’s company. I hear Catherine is feeling very tired and drained at the moment so I don’t expect we’ll see her at many more meetings before the baby is born.’

‘Everything okay though?’ Eugenie enquires.

‘Yes, I believe so. Nothing to worry about. But anyway, as you can all see, my house guest is here in her place. I wanted to give him a glimpse of how our committee operates. So, here he is. You all know Jesse Archer, of course.’

Still frozen, Jesse can feel their eyes narrowing in on him and he can hear their jumble of responses, a mixture of polite greetings, groans and disappointed sighs.

Margaret appears before him, glaring down. ‘Yes, yes, I know he has quite a reputation around town, as do his family, but you know, since I’ve been accommodating him here I’ve seen a change in him.’

Another face joins hers and Jesse can see Mayfield’s piercing blue eyes burning into him. He swallows, just barely, but his body is still a locked prison.

‘Have you, Margaret?’ Eugenie asks from behind them. ‘In what way?’

Margaret tilts her head, smiling at him. ‘Better behaviour. Better attitude. Better attendance at school, improved grades. You can ask Edward.’

Another murmur travels around the group. Jesse hears a girlish giggle but is not sure who it came from.

‘Why don’t you tell us what you’re really thinking, Margaret?’ Aaron speaks slowly and softly, while his eyes burn into Jesse. He wants to squirm and cringe away from those eyes but he cannot move a muscle.

‘What I’m thinking is, our committee needs fresh blood. Young blood. A new line.’ Margaret speaks confidently but Jesse can hear the gasps and grumbles from the others. ‘In time, of course,’ she adds hastily. ‘When he is ready and only if he proves himself.’

‘And you really think he’s worthy?’ mutters Aaron.

‘Well, I think Margaret is right,’ says the vicar, suddenly appearing on her other side. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance and she’s right about needing new blood. After Iris, and Bob…’ He shakes his head sadly.

‘And we all know Catherine is not ready, nowhere near. I’ve got a feeling she’ll lose interest once the baby is born.’ It’s Sylvia now, appearing beside the vicar to join the line of committee members staring at Jesse. She grins at him greedily. ‘You’re a very lucky boy, Jesse. This is truly an honour.’

‘He doesn’t deserve it,’ Mayfield retorts. ‘He hasn’t earned it.’

‘Not yet,’ agrees Margaret. ‘But I have faith. And curiosity.’

‘And what if you’re wrong?’ Now Eugenie joins them, her wrinkled face peering around Mayfield’s broad shoulders. ‘You’d be risking everything, Margaret. Isn’t he one of the children causing trouble? Snooping around? We’ve been here before, you know.’

Margaret laughs. ‘Yes, and that’s partly why this is a good way forward. If we can welcome him on board and share our knowledge, what child would turn their back on that, Eugenie? After all, think about it, how many decades did you beg and simper and scrape to join us?’

Eugenie frowns but says nothing.

‘We should vote on it when Edward is present,’ suggest the vicar.

‘He’ll say no, like me,’ grunts Mayfield. ‘Vote now. Edward knows more than anyone what a worthless troublemaking shit this boy is.’

‘I told you he has changed,’ Margaret shoots back rather frostily. ‘And besides, we have leverage. We have his brothers. His friends. He’ll do anything to protect them. He’s a hero, Aaron, and that’s what really gets on your nerves. Vote then. I say yes.’

‘Me too,’ pipes up Sylvia, clapping her hands together as she beams at Jesse. ‘It’ll be interesting. And besides, he’s almost as handsome as his father used to be.’

‘I’m a yes,’ nods the vicar. ‘I agree with everything you said, Margaret. New blood and all that.’

Mayfield shoots him a look of disgust. ‘No from me and no from Edward.’

‘A no from me,’ Eugenie says with a scowl.

All eyes turn on Neville Hewlett, as he appears cautiously beside the vicar. He clears his throat and frowns at Jesse, a little pitying smile on his lips. He seems to know that this is his moment and takes longer than he needs to, as if enjoying the build-up of tension.

Finally he looks at Margaret and nods firmly, raising his glass. ‘It’s a yes from me. I believe that Margaret is right and let’s be honest, when has she ever been wrong when it comes to what is good for this town? I say if she has faith in the boy than we ought to trust her.’

‘Four against three,’ Margaret smiles smugly. ‘Excellent.’

She turns to Jesse and positions herself in front of him. She places her hands on either side of his frozen face. He feels the hold drop suddenly and he can move again – his fingers instinctively digging into the rigid armrests of the chair. His mouth falls open and he sucks in dry air.

‘Neville, would you fetch him a drink? I think it’s safe to allow Jesse a glimpse of what his life could be like, don’t you?’

Nevile nods obediently then disappears from view. Margaret strokes the hair back from Jesse’s face and he starts to shake violently. There is a strange energy in her touch; something that makes his stomach cramp. He leans back, but she takes a glass from Neville and thrusts it in front of him. It looks like red wine – it’s colour a deep earthy maroon and its scent reminding him of the stench in the cellar below.

‘One sip, Jesse, just one sip. You’ll feel something very interesting. You’ll share it with us. Understand?’

He nods stiffly because he has no choice. He takes the glass in one trembling hand and brings the rim to his lips while they all look on. He takes a breath and opens his lips, allowing the tiniest of drops to touch his tongue.

Jesse wrenches away and Margaret seizes the glass before it is dropped. He sticks out his tongue, longing to spit. It’s bitter yet sickly sweet, its smell like old iron, and it tastes like darkness. Breathing fast, he drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes.

5

Willow freezes – she wants to turn and run as fast as she can back the way she came, back towards the safe lights of town, but she is afraid to turn her back on whatever is watching her from Black Woods.

The silence is heavy, suffocating, making it impossible to draw breath. She feels like whatever is in there is waiting for any movement, any sound, and when it comes, the thing will come too, faster than she could ever imagine.

The stillness is eerie. No breeze, no swaying grass, or scurrying wildlife, no birds, nothing. Just Willow frozen and staring and the thing in the woods staring back. She starts to edge away, tiny movements at first, shuffles more than steps. She tries to move without making it obvious that she is moving. She sees two glowing orbs through the thick darkness between clusters of trees. She can think of nothing more horrible than being inside that darkness now, with the trees, snared in black.

Edging away slowly, Willow catches something else in her side vision. A sudden movement accompanied by the rustle of something pushing through grass. She is loath to take her eyes off the thing in the woods but when a small dark creature comes out of nowhere and crashes into her ankle, Willow has no choice. Open mouthed, eyes like moons, she stares down at the thing that has bumped into her and the thing stares back.

A jet black hare, ears pressed flat against its skull as it rebounds from her legs, twists violently then leaps away again at top speed. Willow turns swiftly, and a noise in the woods chills her blood: the thing in there is moving too. She takes off after the hare as it zig-zags wildly back down the hill towards town.

6

Jesse is running. His feet are pounding against the ground and when he looks down he sees road – flat and black, broken up by white lines. He is running down the middle of the high street at top speed but how did he get here? It seems surreal – a dream – wasn’t he at Margaret’s? In the drawing room, with the committee? With the fire roaring and Horatio snoring?

Jesse runs on. It feels good, he realises, the running; like he could take off and fly at any moment. He is moving so fast his feet are barely touching the ground and though he ought to feel winded by now, he doesn’t. He feels strong, agile, and something else, something knocking at the back of his brain, something like power or knowledge of power. Whatever it is, it makes him feel safe.

He glances over his shoulder. Is he being chased? Is that why he’s running so fast? But there is nothing there. Just an empty road and dead silent shops. So, he runs on and as he runs he is getting closer to something in front of him. Something running from him. He powers on, eyes glowing, teeth grinning as his lips pull back. He puts power into it, feeling the muscles in his thighs and chest flexing and stretching and still his tread is so light, so barely there he really could be flying.

The thing in front is small and he can smell its terror. It smells like sweat and piss. It makes him feel hungry and saliva drips from his teeth. He is gaining on it. It is slowing, tiring, panicking. It takes a sudden left and he charges after it – now longing to catch it, now desperate to sink his teeth (and claws?) into its flesh. He is close. Closer. He can smell its blood and hear its heartbeat and taste its fear. Closer. Closer. His feet fly in front of him and he realises then that he has no arms, no hands, only feet.

And his senses are in overdrive. He has never experienced such a wide and rich variety of sounds and sights and he just knows if he catches that terrified thing it will feel even better. Its squeal, its soft fur as he rips into it, its wet warm flesh its blood sweet and sticky in his mouth, its screams…

Closer… Closer…

Jesse jerks forward, pitching face first onto the floor. He feels hands grabbing for him but he falls through them and curls up as the images fade, as the running stops and as the taste and smell and sound of his prey meeting its grisly end is torn from his grasp like a cruel joke.

His belly aches. He gags and then heaves. He opens his eyes and stares up at their curious faces looking over him. He is breathless and drenched in sweat. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears and hunger is clawing at his throat.

‘What did you see, Jesse?’ the mayor is asking him, her eyes round and gleaming down at him. ‘What did you see? Tell us!’

‘Were you being chased?’ Mayfield asks, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Jesse shakes his head and instantly sees Mayfield’s face fall in dismay.

‘You were chasing something?’ Hewlett demands, a degree of excitement in his voice.

Jesse looks at him and nods. He remembers now. It was a dream or something. A hallucination maybe… Shit, what did they make him drink?

‘Did you feel it, Jesse?’ the mayor is asking him. ‘Did you feel the power? Did it feel good?’

Jesse can only nod. His mind is scrambled. He feels like he is on fire and he wants to escape, run outside and feel the wild night air on his skin again. He has no idea what just happened but the memory lingers…. Hunger, violence, blood. He rolls onto his front and throws up.

7

Willow races back down the hill, barely keeping the hare in sight, when she finally dares to look back over her shoulder, all she sees is Black Woods growing smaller on the hillside. She is not being chased by whatever lurked there and she knows something was there, watching, lying in wait. Whatever it was has not left the darkness of the trees, has not followed – at least, not as far as she can tell.

Willow runs faster than she knew she was able, but still, she has no chance of catching up with the hare. She can barely see it, zig-zagging at top speed back towards town.

‘Paddy!’ she calls out breathlessly. ‘Wait!’

But the hare does not wait; she is not even sure it heard her. It runs on and she catches sight of it bounding through tall grass close to the bridge.

‘Wait!’ she yells again, stopping briefly to catch her breath, hands on knees. She sees the hare on the bridge now – a black shadow poised on hind legs, long ears twitching as it stares back at her.

‘Wait,’ she begs, moving again. ‘Please wait.’

The hare leaps away, over the bridge and across the field behind the Station House. Willow stumbles on, less panicked now as she thinks she knows where it is heading. And sure enough, she is right. As Willow rushes out on to Station Road, she spots the hare already scampering soundlessly across the road, rounding the corner onto Black Hare Road.

Willow allows herself to slow down. She’s smiling as she crosses Station Road, because of course, it makes sense. Of course Paddy would return to the safest place in town. The hare must have followed her, she thinks as she walks up the alley behind the book shops. He got her attention and led her away from whatever was hunting in Black Woods. Willow feels slightly foolish and immensely relieved as she gently places her palm on the flaky paintwork of the Finnis back gate.

There is no sign of the hare now but somehow Willow knows she is right. The gate swings open and sitting calmly in the middle of a moon drenched garden is the mysterious black hare.

It rests on its haunches, using its forepaws to hold each ear as it fastidiously grooms them. Willow slips inside the gate and gasps. She doesn’t think she has ever seen anything more strange and beautiful. It stops grooming its ears and stares back at her, forepaws raised and quivering as if forever poised to run.

‘Paddy?’ Willow whispers, tears filling her eyes as she closes the gate gently behind her. ‘Is it really you?’

The hare tilts its head slightly – a deep amber eye on either side of its narrow skull stare back at her curiously. It stamps one black foot and Willow steps forward.

‘Does that mean yes? Paddy? One thump for yes? Two for no?’

She is smiling as she wipes away her tears and steps closer. She can hardly believe she is talking to a wild animal yet it also seems to make all the sense in the world.

It thumps its foot again just once.

Willow sobs behind her hands. ‘Oh, Paddy!’

She sinks to her knees, weakened by relief and love and grief all at once. The hare lowers its forepaws and crouches, ears flat against its back. Willow lowers one hand and lays it softly upon the creatures head. It feels warm; the black fur like silk. Fresh tears pour down her cheeks as her shoulders shake with soft laughter.

‘Oh Paddy, I’ve missed you. You’ve no idea how much I missed you.’ She sits back on her knees, one hand on his head as her fingers search through the dense fur and she gazes around the garden.

Paddy leaps up suddenly, startling her – He hops casually over to the treehouse. For a moment, Willow wonders if he’s going to somehow climb up, but instead he goes under it, settling onto a patch of what looks like fresh hay. Willow grins and gets to her feet. She ducks under the house and watches Paddy eating the hay. Beside the patch is a bowl with a carrot in, some green lettuce and a cabbage leaf.

She can’t help but giggle. ‘Rabbit food, hey? God, I bet you miss chocolate.’ She kneels beside him, drawn again to the touch of his fine fur. ‘So, your dad knows? That’s what this is? He feeds you and you’re safe here?’

Paddy, still chewing hay, thumps one foot. Yes.

Willow exhales slowly, wiping her cheeks and settling back on her knees again. She feels weak with relief and can’t stop smiling or crying. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s being looked after. She reaches out and lays her hand on his back again.

‘You are so beautiful,’ she sighs. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. So glad you’re okay. I’ve been so worried. All of us. I guess you know that Jesse Archer is one of us now?’ She pauses and he thumps again while calmly nibbling his food. ‘But then you were already friends, hey? Before this happened? I just didn’t realise. And so much has happened… I’m not even sure how much you know. We tried to get the book you had. Oh Paddy, why didn’t you tell me about it? I just don’t understand. I wish you had.’

Paddy continues nibbling, his ears twitching in response to her words. ‘Do you think Iris was trying to tell you something?’ He shifts position but does not thump. ‘She told Jaime she left the book for you but that was it. No explanation. Now she’s dead. Was she on our side, Paddy?’

She watches closely and when he doesn’t thump, she drops her head into her hands in despair. ‘Paddy, you have to meet us. Come to the abandoned church tomorrow after school. Then we can all ask you questions. We might actually get somewhere. Can you do that?’

The hare sits up, nostrils working, sharp eyes fixed on Willow as she looks on in wonder. Finally, he thumps one foot and she relaxes.

‘Oh, thank you, thank you. I’ll tell the others and we’ll be careful. Go separately and arrive at different times. Are we in danger, Paddy? If we keep digging?’

Another long pause; his eyes shift restlessly, ears turning to pick up sound. He thumps once more then returns to his food.

‘I miss you,’ Willow sighs. ‘I miss talking to you and hanging out with you. I miss when it was just you and me against the world. Do you know how we beat them, Paddy? How can we prove what they did to you?’

The hare does not answer. He stretches out his front legs, jaw hanging open in a ginormous yawn that reveal his long teeth, then he stretches his hind legs out, one at a time.

‘Tired?’ Willow laughs. ‘Okay then. Can I get home? That thing in the woods will it come after me?’

He answers with two thumps.

‘No? You’re sure? Was it one of them? Mayfield? Or someone else?’

One thump, yes.

‘Wow, I knew it! Will you be okay? Are you safe from them?’

One thump, yes. Paddy turns around in a circle then lies down, tucking his front paws under him like a cat.

‘You’re perfect.’ Willow plants a kiss on his head and choking back fresh tears, she forces herself up and out from under the treehouse. ‘Tomorrow then? At the church. Night night, Paddy. And thank you.’

Willow walks home slowly – quietened by shock and relief and a hollow sense of loss. The hare is Paddy, she is sure of that, but that doesn’t change the fact that she has still lost her best friend.

She arrives home in a daze having paid no attention to the journey but when she pushes open her own back gate, she stops suddenly, slapping her hands over the scream that emerges from her mouth.

There is a glistening gift for her in the middle of the lawn. A young, fragile roe deer lies on its side, disembowelled, yet still alive – its huge haunted eyes flickering in eternal panic as the warm blood leaks from its open guts, soaking the grass around it.

Thanks for reading!

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

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

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Twenty-Six “Bloodlust”

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

The raven… 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.

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1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hey?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do you guys see that?’

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

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

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

‘Bob Rowan,’ he whispers to the others.

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

‘Go,’ he says and starts to run.

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

2

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ralph wrinkles his nose. ‘Really?’

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

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

‘Yeah, exactly. Well, hopefully.’

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

‘Any idea how recently they left?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

4

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

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

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

Jesse opens the door and steps inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Dad?’

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

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

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

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

‘Dad? You okay? It’s me.’

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

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

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

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

‘Remember?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Troublemakers?’ asks Jesse with a smile.

His dad snorts. ‘Yeah.’

‘Like who?’

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

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

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

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

‘I forgot.’

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

‘Get me a beer, son.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Fuckin old bastard!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5

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

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

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

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

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

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

6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Thanks!’ he calls after them cheerily.

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

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

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

7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why?’

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

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

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

‘Pick her up,’ commands Margaret.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Paddy…’ he whispers, then starts running.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No!’ Jesse surges forward.

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

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

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

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

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


Thanks for reading!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Ralph: I’ll be there!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘So cool,’ Willow murmurs admiringly.

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

‘Wow,’ she says, blinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She has to wait. And waiting is torture.

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh yeah?’ Steven shoves him harder.

‘Stop it, man.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vodka? Jesus Christ.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘No, not exactly.’

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

‘What did they want?’ Willow asks.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah, sort of, I think so. You?’

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

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

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

‘Yeah.’

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

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

‘How’s your back?’

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

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

‘We better wait for the others.’

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

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

Willow looks surprised. ‘No?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Then what happened?’ Jesse asks.

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaime breathes out slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaime watches Ralph grow redder as he smiles in response.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Recognise anyone else?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaime promptly hands them back.

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

4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What sort of smell?’ Willow asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Jesus…’ Willow murmurs, glancing away.

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

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

Willow sits up straighter. ‘Shit.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Thanks for reading!

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

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

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Twenty-Three “The Raven”