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1

Jesse wakes up in confusion. He is lying on his back in the bed at Hill Fort farm. But he has no idea how he got back there. Groggy, he props himself up on one elbow and examines himself. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on when he got to the old church but he has no memory of returning. He presses a hand to his forehead where a nasty headache is brewing and a slideshow of images fills his mind.

Running. So much running. Suddenly, he can hear his heart beating in his ears again. He squints and groans. Running faster. Grass and hills. The church. What made him go there? Why were the others there? What were they doing?

The black hare…

Jesse springs upright, lowering his hand and gazing around in a panic. He saw it, the black hare. He chased it. He wanted it. The smell, the scent, the blood. Hunger. Running, running, running. Teeth. Escape. He shakes his head – after that, he has nothing.

A knock on the door alarms him. Margaret never knocks. Jesse moves to the end of the bed and lowers his feet to the floor. His throat is tight and dry and his stomach is rolling over in hunger.

‘Who is it?’ he asks, his voice a thin croak.

The door handle turns slowly and time seems to slow down as the door swings open, revealing Hilda in her wheelchair, Horatio at her side.

‘Horatio is not much of a dog,’ she states flatly, her eyes shooting around his room. She has a tray on her lap and what looks like a sandwich in the middle of it. Jesse swallows, licking his lips.

‘What?’

Hilda rolls herself slowly in. She ignores his question and gazes around the room. Seemingly satisfied, she holds out the tray and Jesse takes it nervously. His hands shake as he rests it on his knees. The sandwich looks divine. Thick white bread, corned beef, lettuce and tomato. He stares at it longingly.

‘Thanks.’

‘She said you’d be hungry.’ Hilda is turning her chair around. ‘She’s gone to town.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Lunchtime,’ says Hilda, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Saturday,’

Jesse’s jaw drops. Saturday? He leans forward. ‘Wait. Did you say Saturday? It’s Thursday.’

‘It was Thursday,’ yawns Hilda. ‘Then it was Friday. Now, it is Saturday. Come on, Horatio.’

‘No, wait! Please!’ Jesse places the tray behind him and gets up. He feels sick for a dizzying moment, light-headed as the room swims around him. He holds his head. ‘I’ve been asleep since Thursday? No way.’

‘Yes way,’ is Hilda’s terse reply. She still won’t look at him, he notices. But he looks at her. He sees a small woman in a child’s body – her clothes young, her face old. She’s supposed to be a decade younger than Margaret but as Jesse looks at her now, he thinks she looks older. Her wrinkles are deeper, the skin on her neck saggier. It’s almost impossible to tell what goes on behind those eyes but Jesse can’t help feeling that she’s been trying to tell him something.

‘How did I get here then?’ he demands. ‘Last I remember, I was in the old church with my friends.’

‘Yeah, they brought you,’ Hilda replies, her eyes on the dog. ‘They helped you back here.’

‘Why don’t I remember? What the hell was in that drink they gave me? It did something, didn’t it?’

Hilda releases a dramatic sigh. ‘Not supposed to ask questions.’

‘And you’re not supposed to tell me things, but you did. Didn’t you, Hilda?’ He steps closer and she glances up nervously. Is she afraid of him? He stops where he is and holds out his hands. ‘You told me that Horatio isn’t a dog and Margaret isn’t your sister. What the hell does that mean?’

Hilda arches her lip, her eyes now fixed on her lap. She rolls herself a little closer to the door. ‘You know about the boy. The hare,’ she says after a beat. Jesse nods. ‘Then you know about Horatio,’ she sighs, her gaze shifting to the Labrador’s dozy face. He’s sniffing around her lap trying to snuffle up sandwich crumbs.

Jesse steps closer again. ‘He’s not a dog. Shit.’ He presses both hands to his head. ‘Shit. Shit. Like Paddy. When? When did it happen?’

‘I don’t know,’ she grumbles, with another eye roll. ‘Don’t ask me.’

‘But I need to know. You have to tell me, Hilda. Horatio was a missing kid too? Is that what you’re saying?’ His mind is spinning when an awful thought occurs to him. ‘Jesus, he’s not my mum, is he? Or my aunt? They both went missing!’

A shrill and childish laugh escapes Hilda. ‘He’s a boy, stupid!’

‘Whose boy? Whose? Where did he come from?’ Jesse closes the distance between them and puts his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her. ‘You have to tell me. You can’t just drop that and not expect me to ask more!’

‘It’s not important who he is,’ she mutters, eyes burning into the floor.

‘Yes, it is! If he was someone’s kid!’

‘He was never a puppy…’ she hisses. ‘He was… grown-up.’

‘Why can’t he change back? Like the committee? Like Mayfield? Hilda, please!’

‘I don’t know.’ She crosses her arms tightly and glances at the window, panicked by the sound of wheels on gravel. ‘She’s back. She’s never gone for long.’

‘Please tell me,’ he begs. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t know. They don’t tell me anything.’

‘Then how do you know about him?’

‘I listen. I wait. I pick stuff up.’ She unfolds her arms and grips the wheels. Jesse lets go and she rolls forward. They hear the front door open and he knows he has to let her go. She wheels away silently, head bowed, Horatio at her side.

Jesse closes the door and paces back to the bed. He sits down and devours the sandwich in seconds. It’s only when the plate is clear that he sees the folded note poking out from under it. Quickly, listening out for Margaret, he reads the note:

Jesse – you passed out. Sick! You made us take you to Margaret’s. You said you were close but we’re worried. You were not like you! We need to see you ASAP. Find a way, They are trying to change you – Willow, Ralph and Jaime.

2

Jaime watches Mark passing the first crate to the delivery driver, then creeps back up the stairs and closes her bedroom door behind her. She goes to the window and waves at Ralph who is lingering outside the shop opposite. He gives a wave to show that he has seen the signal. Then he starts to move. She watches breathlessly as Ralph crosses the road, walks past the pub and turns left into Lupin Lane. He is out of sight and Jaime has no knowing if his part of the plan worked or not.

3

Ralph arrives at Lupin Lane just in time to see the first crate being loaded into the waiting van. He ducks back and waits. Shaking and unable to believe he is actually doing this, Ralph watches until he is satisfied the van is loaded with enough crates for him to hide behind.

As the driver returns to the pub for more, Ralph hares down the road and flings himself into the back of the stationary van. He scuttles quickly behind the stacked crates. He’s clutching his bicycle helmet tightly in both hands and he curls himself over it, closing his eyes and holding his breath as footsteps approach.

The van dips as another heavy crate is loaded and then the doors slam shut and Ralph is in darkness. He opens his eyes and sits up, huddled against the back of the van. He’s breathing fast now, hands shaking slightly as he holds onto the helmet, his only protection.

Shit, he thinks, picturing Jaime’s face; I’m gonna need more.

The engine starts and music blares, making Ralph jump. It’s that Spaceman song he keeps hearing everywhere, one that gets in your head and won’t get out. He closes his eyes again, a small yelp escaping as the van starts to move. Ralph cannot believe he is doing this. Alone. Willow had offered to come but he’d refused. She needed to put her own plan into action.

Ralph folds his arms around his knees and tries to prepare himself.

4

‘You ought to take a break now,’ Willow’s mother says to her from the till where she is sipping a fresh cup of tea. ‘Before it gets busy again. It always gets busy after lunch.’

Willow turns the jewellery stand around another rotation, her eyes fixing firmly on the one she wants. A silver dagger on a black cord. She slips it from the hook then conceals it up the sleeve of her shirt.

‘Okay, I’ll go for a walk then,’ she tells her mother, slipping behind the till to retrieve her cloak. She nods at the pile of neatly wrapped gifts in a box beside the till. ‘Are these orders?’

‘Yes, waiting to be picked up.’

‘Could I deliver any? On my walk?’

Her mother eyes her curiously but nods. ‘Sure. Go for it. Take as many as you like, They’re all addressed.’

‘I will.’ Willow selects four gifts and drops them into a large gift bag. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Thanks, love.’

Willow pauses at the door. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes, love?’ Her mother lowers her mug of tea.

‘I gave those photos to Jesse to show his dad, is that okay?’

Her mother looks uncertain; her lips parting then closing again as a troubled frown wrinkles her brow. Then she recovers with a nervous smile and pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘Yes, of course, that’s fine.’

‘And you still don’t remember hanging out with Nick Archer? Or Frankie Maxwell?’ Willow asks softly. ‘It’s okay if you don’t, Mum. Sometimes I think this town sort of sings people to sleep, you know.’ She laughs at herself, lowering her gaze. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I do know,’ her mother replies and when Willow looks up she is sure she can see tears in her eyes. ‘I think you might be right. It’s like I don’t want to remember, but I don’t even know why I don’t want to, or why I can’t. Does that make sense?’

Willow nods. It breaks her heart but she gets it.

‘I just know that it’s better that I don’t,’ her mother adds softly, looking down.

Willow nods before slipping out the back way. She starts to skirt swiftly around the outskirts of town. She delivers the packages one by one to four surprised and grateful customers. Willow saves the dagger necklace for Hill Fort Farm.

5

Jaime checks the library first. It’s empty except for two elderly ladies perusing the romance section in a wobbly manner. Eugenie Spires peers over the rim of her spectacles and raises her eyebrows.

‘Can I help you, dear?’

‘Just looking for my friend.’ Jaime fakes a smile and backs out again just as quickly.

Her heart racing, Jaime doesn’t really know what she is doing. This is not a plan; nothing they agreed upon anyway. But she couldn’t sit still and do nothing; not while Willow is on her way to Jesse and Ralph is risking life and limb trespassing on Bob Rowan’s land.

Her mother had complained of a headache so Jaime had offered to pop out and pick up her prescription. She hadn’t thought twice; it was just an opportunity to get out of the pub and away from Mark’s accusing gaze.

A quick trip around town, she’d thought, get away from Mark and help out Mum and get time to think, because it’s been increasingly hard to think inside the pub. Jaime is relieved the investigation is no longer stashed there. The pressure had been keeping her awake at night and she certainly doesn’t need any more reasons for Mark to distrust her. But even with it gone, the atmosphere there makes clear thought almost impossible. The pub, she has realised, is a focal point for the town. There is another, of course, the ill-reputed Old Fort, a place frequented by the likes of Jesse Archer’s father. But almost everyone else goes to the Hare and Hound at some point every week. Mark is proud of this. The heart of the community, he often says, while the church is the soul.

Jaime isn’t sure about any of that but she does know the pub is constantly rammed with people, morning to night. Everyone knows Mark and Mark knows everyone. It’s like that in small towns, he likes to remind her.

But out here, in the fresh air, where everything still smells like the earth after rain, Jaime can finally think clearly. She checks the library for Nathan Cotton who she knows frequents it as much as her but then outside, remembers the other place he can usually be found and quickly diverts to the chemist.

Of course; why didn’t she think of it sooner? Because thinking rationally is so hard in that damn pub. It’s a circus, day and night. But maybe somewhere at the back of her mind she had known.

She pushes open the door and there he is. Reading a magazine behind the counter; a magazine he quickly stuffs under the counter when she walks in, his cheeks reddening.

‘Hi!’ He looks pleased to see her, so she smiles back warmly.

‘Hi, Nathan, how are you?’

‘Pretty good thanks. How can I help you?’

‘I just need my mum’s prescription.’ Jaime rests her arms on the counter in a casual manner that she hopes indicates there is no need to rush. ‘It might not be ready though, she said.’

‘I’ll check for you. Catherine Aster, right?’

‘Yep, thanks.’

Nathan trots around the back and she can see the top of his head bent over a few shelves whilst murmuring to Mr Martin, the pharmacist. Nathan returns, shrugging apologetically.

‘You’re right, it’s not ready but Mr Martin is making it up for you now. Can you hang on a few minutes? It shouldn’t take long.’

‘No problem.’ Jaime flashes her sweetest grin. ‘I can wait.’

‘Cool.’ Nathan returns to his stool but does not retrieve his magazine from under the counter. He smiles guiltily instead.

‘So how are you?’ Jaime asks. ‘You and your family?’

He sighs and examines his hands. ‘Oh, you know. Okay, I suppose. Thank you for asking.’

‘There’s been no news, I suppose?’

‘Great-Grandma? No.’ He shakes his head. ‘Nothing. Mum says not to expect any. She says it was a long time coming.’

‘Really? That’s so sad.’

‘Yeah, but she was super, super old.’

Jaime nods in sympathy. ‘It must be hard not knowing for sure.’

‘She was always vanishing,’ says Nathan. ‘Mum says even when she was a kid. There one minute, gone the next. Never knew how long she’d be gone for.’

‘Where do you think she went?’

Nathan shrugs. ‘No clue. If she went off, you could never find her. Just had to wait for her to come back on her own.’

‘Wow. So, you never knew where she went or what she did?’

‘Nah. Just figured she went off into the woods, the hills, you know. She really liked it out there. Just needed to be alone, I guess.’

‘And what was the longest she’d be gone for?’ Jaime asks, then, seeing a slight frown on his face, she adds hastily, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so nosy. I should shut up. I want to be a journalist one day and once I get asking…’ She laughs at herself. ‘I’m sorry, Nathan.’

‘No, no, not at all.’ He reassures her with a smile, ‘The answer is, I don’t know. A few weeks maybe? Here and there.’

Jaime nods and decides she might as well brave one more question. She can see Mr Martin sealing the paper bag with her mother’s prescription in. ‘What was she like, Nathan? What sort of person was Iris?’

‘Hard to say.’ Nathan glances at the ceiling and rubs his chin as if thinking. ‘Eccentric mostly, I guess. Old-fashioned. In her own world, really. I’d have liked to get to know her better but my mum always said not to expect to.’

‘Really? Why not?’

‘Said she didn’t like children.’ He shrugs again.

Jaime lets a nervous laugh escape. ‘But she had a family, she had you..?’

‘Yeah I know. But I can vouch for it. She wasn’t mean or anything, but Mum was right. She really didn’t care for children.’

‘Was it your mum’s mum or dad…?’

‘Her dad,’ nods Nathan. ‘He didn’t stick around when my nan was expecting Mum though.’

‘Oh? He left town? Iris’s only child left Black Hare Valley?’

‘Never to be seen again,’ Nathan smiles and shrugs. ‘My nan brought my mum up on her own until she died of cancer when my mum was, I dunno, I think about eighteen? She didn’t have a lot to do with Iris, I don’t think.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry, Nathan. Not exactly happy families then, hey?’

‘No, I guess not.’

‘Catherine Aster?’ Mr Martin shuffles into sight, squinting behind his thick glasses and holding out the paper bag.

Jaime wishes she had more time with Nathan but she knows it would be risky to keep questioning him. She takes the bag, thanks them both and leaves.

6

Ralph has been bumped about long enough to know they are now on Rowan land and he has the bruises to prove it. The van has finally come to a stop. Ralph freezes, listening. The music stops and a van door slams. He curls into a ball and holds his breath. He thinks to himself, what is the worst that can happen? The driver finds him, shouts a bit and then sends him on his way? But what if the driver is one of them? What if he is caught and handed over? Changed in some way? What if they hand him over to the police? What if he ends up alone with Mayfield?

Ralph’s mouth is paper dry and his pulse is roaring in his head when the doors are slid open and sunlight fills the van. He feels footsteps walking away, crunching on loose gravel. Ralph knows he has to move now. He can’t risk missing his chance or getting shut in the van again. Breathless, almost sick with nerves, he forces himself to move. He slides over to the doors and lowers his feet to the ground, before climbing slowly and cautiously out of the van.

When nothing happens he peers around the door and sees the Rowan farmhouse looming ahead at the end of a scruffy gravel drive, overgrown with weeds. It is surrounded by long grass, stinging nettles and unkempt hedges. Huge oak trees circle it and beyond them, nothing but deep dark woods.

Ralph shivers and looks around. Seeing no one, he starts to move, heading left to where a rusty red tractor is stationed. He slips behind it, hidden in cold shadows to wait.

7

Willow approaches the farm under a dark and turbulent sky. It looks like bruises spreading out across the horizon, slowly but surely creeping closer to Black Hare Valley. The clouds are blooming, she thinks, swollen and pregnant with the promise of yet more rain. Summer in Black Hare Valley is not a given, she thinks. Weather can, and will, go either way.

Willow wonders; how close will Margaret allow her to get? A cold wind whips viciously across the fields and Willow’s cloak drifts out to either side, briefly illuminating her slim dark frame, before she tugs it together and hurries on, eyes fixed ahead on Hill Fort House.

A large bird arrives, circling above her as she approaches the drive. Margaret’s car is there and Willow can see the light from the open front door. She curries on, casting a watchful eye on the hovering bird, then she sees that it is Hilda at the door. She wheels herself backwards to allow Willow an entrance, almost running over a drowsy Horatio as she does.

Willow stands there, blinking in silence for what feels like forever. She suddenly has no words, and barely any thoughts. A roll of thunder shatters the silence and Hilda wheels forward to swing the door shut with a bang,

‘Are you here to see stupid?’ she asks, wheeling around to face Willow, who nods instantly, mouth hanging open. ‘I gave him your note. He’s out the back.’ Hilda points to the conservatory attached to the library. ‘On the patio.’

‘I’ve got a delivery for him.’ Willow finally remembers her voice but Hilda is not interested. She looks away and wheels herself towards the kitchen with the dog in tow. Willow turns slowly, mystified, before marching stiffly into the library. There are no lights on and its dim and shadowy as she makes her way across to the French doors. One is ajar so she slips through and follows the small orange glow in the rose garden.

Willow clears her throat and walks quickly over to join Jesse. The clouds have thickened and the quality of light is poor. Jesse is perched on the edge of the patio, smoking a cigarette. He looks up as Willow joins him and she sees pure confusion in his eyes. He is pale and clammy, his fingers trembling as they tap ash from the cigarette onto the grass.

‘She lets you smoke?’ Willow can’t help smiling. His gaze shifts to the cigarette and his shoulders lift and drop in a small tight shrug. ‘I can’t believe she let me in. Hilda, I mean. Where’s Margaret?’

Jesse looks up. The large bird, a buzzard, Willow thinks, is still circling above them, slowly and lazily as if it has nowhere else to go.

‘You gave Hilda that note? Bit risky.’

Willow swallows and looks back at Jesse. She digs into her cloak and retrieves her last package. ‘I know. I hope she didn’t show anyone else. This was my cover,’ she tells him, pushing it onto his lap. ‘I was going to say you’d ordered it from the shop. You might as well have it.’

Jesse pulls on the cigarette one last time then flicks the butt away. He unwraps the package carefully, his eyes clearing suddenly, his face losing the tension. He lifts the necklace out by the cord and allows the silver dagger to dangle in front of his face. A small smile brightens his features.

‘This is cool.’

‘Yeah, it is. Jesse?’ Willow looks down at her hands clasped between her knees. She feels a drop of rain splatter onto her head. ‘Do you remember what happened that night at the church?’

He drops his hands between his legs and releases a juddering sigh. ‘No.’

Willow feels a surge of relief. Before she can stop herself she turns to him and takes one of his hands into her own.

‘It’s okay, Jesse,’ she tells him softly, leaning closer. ‘She wants you and she’s trying to change you. I think we need to get you out of here.’

He doesn’t nod or shake his head. He stares into her eyes, then licks his lips and says, ‘It was a drink they gave me.’ There is a slow shock building behind his eyes and Willow waits, giving a tiny nod to encourage him on. ‘It did something to me. But I should stay here… The more she trusts me, the more I can learn.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Willow squeezes his hands. ‘We can’t undo what they’ve done. We spoke to Paddy, to the hare, at the church before you ran in. He’s been saving us again and again but he’s not safe from them and he can’t ever be Paddy again.’

Willow waits while he tries to absorb this news. There is nothing but pain and confusion in his face. She glances up as the bird of prey cries out suddenly – a shrill, haunting call. She shudders and squeezes his hand again.

‘I had to see you.’

Jesse nods but does not answer. His eyes are fixed on the small silver dagger pendant.

‘We’ve got some plans,’ Willow hisses at him. ‘But I think we really need to get you out. You could go back to the treehouse. You’d be safe there.’ When he does not reply, Willow leans closer, until their heads are pressed together. ‘Jesse, if you can do it, please go to the treehouse. If you get the chance, okay? Paddy is there. You’ll both be safe while we figure it all out. Because there has to be an answer, Jesse, there just has to be.’

Jesse finally meets her eye, draws in his breath and gives a firm nod. Willow breathes out in relief and lets go of his hand. She tugs her cloak closer as the rain falls harder.

‘I better go. We’ll see you soon, okay?’

He nods. Willow forces herself to move when all she really wants to do is grab his hand and drag him with her. But the bird is circling and the lights are on in the house that looms behind them.

She walks quickly away against all her instincts, and does not look back.

8

Ralph doesn’t know how long he’s been hiding behind the tractor but it feels like forever. It’s raining steadily and the plumy low clouds have darkened considerably. Bob Rowan is there by the van with the delivery driver, a short burly man with a grey baseball cap on. They’re chatting – perhaps Bob Rowan is relaying his next order, or perhaps a dissatisfaction with this one – but he keeps looking over at the tractor.

The knowledge that he has been spotted or sensed somehow, drips through Ralph like cold cement until he starts to fear he is going to heave. But Ralph reminds himself sharply that he is here to speak to Mr Rowan. This is all going to plan. Despite how close to vomiting he is.

The van door slams and Ralph jumps dramatically and bites down a scream. He peers out long enough to see the van driving away and that Bob Rowan has disappeared from sight. Ralph allows himself to breathe out slowly, steadying himself and willing the nausea away.

Then suddenly he is surrounded by black feathers fluttering madly against his face, and a terrible dark scream fills the air. Ralph staggers backwards, yelping and gasping and batting with his hands. He trips and falls on his backside, looking up long enough to see a huge black raven flapping directly above his face. Ralph screams and scrambles back until his spine presses against the trunk of one of the huge gnarly oaks.

The bird dives in, black feet and talon like claws stretching towards Ralph’s face. He lowers his head, pulls up his knees and wraps himself into a tight ball. The claws strike the helmet again and again, soft black feathers filling the air as the raven’s wings bat rapidly up and down.

Ralph shrinks in on himself – safe in the knowledge that the helmet is protecting him – then he yelps in pain when the claws rake across his knees. He had thought to wear thick jeans and chunky walking boots along with a wool-lined duffel coat. It still hurts, despite the padding.

‘Stop it!’ he barks behind his arms. ‘Stop it! I know who you are! Just stop it!’

The raven squawks at him and continues to try to gouge his flesh. He feels a sharp slicing pain in his wrist when the bird’s beak finds exposed skin.

Ralph reaches out in desperation, lifting his head long enough to stare right into the demented white eyes of the bird – whilst his hands grab and slip and grab again, finally closing around the wing feathers.

Ralph cries out with the effort to contain it but he has it and he forces the bird down onto the damp ground. It twists and flaps and squawks furiously, but he’s on his knees leaning over it and putting his weight onto it.

‘Stop it!’ he shouts angrily. ‘Just stop it Bob Rowan! I just want to talk! And I’m not leaving until we do!’

Ralph feels a shift under his hands. The soft silky feathers seem to contract inwards as if shrinking away from his touch. He stares dumbly but darkness fills his vision, feathers beating and rustling and fluttering in his face. Ralph backs off, raising his arms and closing his eyes for the briefest moment.

When he opens them again he is staring at Bob Rowan. The dark-haired sturdy looking man is standing over him, breathless, his eyes burning with cold malice.

Ralph gulps and uses the tree to help him to his feet. He realises then that despite everything he still can’t fathom how any of this is possible. Rewind a few weeks and Ralph had no idea such sinister and impossible things happened in his town. He presses himself back into the thick rough bark and gulps cold air.

Bob Rowan examines him – looks him up and down then licks his lips. ‘You got a death wish?’ he snaps suddenly, stepping forward. ‘Is that it?’

‘No,’ Ralph shakes his head. ‘No, I haven’t.’

Rowan steps closer, his low round head jutting viciously forward. ‘You must have!’ he snarls, spittle flying from his thick lips and splattering Ralph’s face. ‘Sneaking on my land! Did you think I wouldn’t smell you or hear you the second that van arrived? I knew that van had a visitor in it, you stupid little shit. Do you think they don’t know too? Of course they do! They know every little move you miserable lot make!’

He steps back finally, glaring at Ralph, who lifts his hands warily and drags them across his face. ‘They,’ he manages to utter. ‘The committee? They? You’re not one of them, are you?’

Rowan’s eyes drift away. His face shuts down and he turns away abruptly, lifting and dropping his broad shoulders in a dramatically sulky shrug. He starts to move away, muttering to himself, ‘Get off my land…’

Ralph leaves the tree and follows.

‘Mr Rowan? You were happy Iris was killed. You pecked at her and the mayor, she shooed you away like she hated you. That must mean something. You’re like them but you’re not one of them.’

‘Oh, aren’t you a clever clogs?’ Rowan sneers at him sideways.

‘We’re right,’ Ralph asserts. ‘And they changed Paddy. Others too. But Paddy is stuck like that, isn’t he? It’s different for him and he’s in danger. We’re all in danger, Mr Rowan.’

‘Leave well alone then.’

‘We can’t do that.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Because Paddy is our friend. We have to save him. And Jesse too – the mayor is trying to change him, isn’t she? We want our friends back. Safe.’

Rowan chuckles darkly. ‘No chance, lad. Too late.’

‘Was it you?’ Ralph asks suddenly. He stops walking. ‘Was it you that tried to warn Paddy?’

Bob Rowan growls again and turns to face him. He looks him up and down again. ‘You need to go, sunshine, right now. You, those others, they’re no match for what’s out there. You should know that by now.’

Ralph agrees but he can’t stop now, he can’t have gone through all this for nothing. He has to take something back. He has to. He steadies himself and stands tall.

‘You’re right,’ he nods. ‘We don’t understand any of this, not really, but we’re trying and we’re not afraid, Mr Rowan. We have to save our friends.’

‘Too late I told you,’ Rowan shakes his head solemnly. Ralph wonders if he can detect regret in the old man’s eyes. ‘They’re too strong,’ he adds. ‘Too old. Ancient, they are. You’re meddling with ancient… things, boy. Things you don’t understand.’

‘Help me understand,’ Ralph begs him. ‘Even if we don’t stand a chance. Please. Tell us it’s hopeless if it is, but please tell us so we can decide for ourselves.’

Bob Rowan stares back at Ralph, into Ralph, for what feels like a very long time. His eyes, though surrounded by wrinkles, are incredibly bright and sharp. Curious, even. Then, he wrinkles his nose and looks away.

‘Mayfield is the problem,’ he says in a low voice, almost a whisper. ‘He’s the danger.’

Ralph swallows thickly. He feels cold suddenly, drenched in a creeping icy panic.

‘Mayfield is her mistake,’ Rowan goes on. ‘He’s her regret. She hates him and Mayfield – along with being a bloodthirsty sadistic killer, is a spy. A blackmailer. A spy with power over every single person in this town, even if they don’t know it yet.’

Bob Rowan steps back. His head is low on his burly shoulders. He looks weary and old, the light in his eyes dimming.

Ralph stares at him, a deep and dark realisation pouring over him, suffocating him with its gruesome obviousness – He licks his dry lips and says to Bob Rowan,

‘We’ve got to kill Mayfield.’

The old man nods. Yes.

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-Eight “The Storm”

© 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

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”