《The Pillar of Horns》


 Chapter One

    <u>Chapter One</u>


    Milton ran, his legs screaming in rage at the amount of exertion. Running had not been part of the deal. A nice trip around the town, a robust but ultimately gentle hike across the island, and then a nice rest back in the hotel. Not this. Not sprinting across the hills, mud splashing from Milton¡¯s over expensive boots. Behind him, echoing in the night was the sound of hooves striking the earth, a strange mixture of squelching and clacking as they struck dirt and stone respectively.


    It can catch me. It must be able to? Milton thought. He was in his late fifties and heavyset, his stomach hanging over his khaki trousers. This trip, taking up hiking, it had all been part of a push to get healthier in his advancing age. His doctor had warned him he was risking a heart attack, something he now longed for. Anything to escape the nightmare that followed him.


    He stumbled for a moment, his mud-caked feet slipping slightly on the wet stone. The terrain was rougher than it had seemed when he had arrived on the island. Staggering off the boat, wobbling heavily as his legs adjusted, it had seemed almost idyllic. Sure, there were rocky regions along the coast, and a section of high cliff faces, sheer drops carved by the rain. Those were outliers though, as though they had been stapled to the rolling fields and pastures in a vain attempt to make the island seem somehow even more Scottish than it already was.


    Milton MacTavish considered himself a true Scott. He wasn¡¯t. Milton had spent most of his life living in Maine, in a small suburb just outside Portland. He had been obsessed, in the way many Americans were, with his ancestry, tracking down every link he could to what Milton unironically called ¡°the old country¡±. He had been elated to find some long distant cousin who had moved to American from Scotland. Milton changed his surname, covered every conceivable furnishing in his house with tartan, and had even taken to calling potatoes "tatties" much to the annoyance of anyone who would listen. It had been a particularly exasperated colleague who had finally snapped at Milton, telling him he should at least visit the place first.


    Rather than take it as the frustrated rage it was, Milton had considered it a helpful suggestion. He had booked the flights that night, packing his new hiking equipment into his suitcase shortly after. It was perfect after all, he had decided on hiking as his venue for exercise, intending to enjoy the Maine wilderness. Milton thought it looked a little bit like Scotland if you squinted. Now he was going to be able to indulge his new hobby and visit his ancestral homeland, it had seemed like fate.


    Milton was cursing his fate now, as he sat at the edge of a sharp drop. It was from his best guess about twelve feet. He was slowly edging himself forwards, preparing to jump. He could still hear the hooves from behind him, they were slowed now, almost taunting. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pushed himself over the edge.


    As Milton hit the ground he collapsed into a roll. Mud sprayed into the air, a thick sheen covering his coat. He felt a sharp pain as something, almost certainly a stone, slammed into his back. Milton had tossed his backpack when his pursuer had first appeared, fearing its weight would have slowed him down. He longed for its cushioning now, as he struggled to right himself. He pulled back one damp sleeve of his jacket, using the still clean jumper beneath to wipe muck from his eyes. He looked up at where he had dropped from, into the face of the thing hunting him.


    It was huge. Milton had seen stag, on the television at least, but this seemed bigger. Much bigger. It looked in the night sky, silhouetted by the moon. Huge antlers spread from its head, but their pattern seemed unnatural, every spur twisting off at right angles into strange geometric shapes. Hanging from them was a collection of metal rings. They varied in style and complexity as they spread outwards from its head. The innermost was simple, plain and wrought in bronze, whilst the furthest most pair were golden, intricate twisted braids of metal. They jingled lightly as it moved its head, warm breath escaping in mournful clouds as it did. Its eyes were milky white, illuminated by a soft light, two tiny specs in the night sky, like stars. Its tail was long, a slithering flicking whip. Its fur stopped where the tail attached, thick scales taking over. Its fur though, that was what unsettled Milton the most. He had assumed at first, that it red, a bright crimson shag covering its body. Now though, close to the infernal thing he could see that it was slick wet with thick scarlet blood. It covered it entirely, dripping from the tips of its fur, seemingly pouring from some unseen place, an endless river that coated the creature entirely.


    It snarled with a puff of warm air, shaking itself as it did. Blood sprayed outwards, splattering across Milton¡¯s face. He scrambled, still trying to gather his footing as the stag released another warm cloud of breath. Milton turned and began to run again, despite his legs continued protest. He staggered as the ground sloped downwards, arms outstretched trying to retain his balance in the mud. It had rained incessantly since his arrival. In his mind, Scotland had been beautiful, snow-capped mountains and romantic misty highlands. In reality, it had been simply dreary, seemingly retaining an eternal level of dampness. He turned briefly, his eyes flashing back to the drop. The stag was gone, but Milton was sure he hadn''t lost it. There was a noise up ahead, a gentle crashing. He rounded a rock formation and looked out at the sea.


    The sea was choppy, worryingly so, waves crashing onto the pier soaking its ancient wood. Before Milton, a man in bright yellow waterproof overalls was scowling at him.


    ¡°You going to get on the fucking boat or just stand there like a numpty? I ain¡¯t got all fucking day ye ken?" said the man, his accent thick like treacle. Milton had struggled with the accents at first. He had expected the gentle lilt he had seen in movies. Instead, the Scottish accent had been rough, as though the speaker were gargling gravel, and it seemed to vary wildly from town to town. It was getting better, his ear getting more attuned, but it often felt like Milton was trapped in a land where he didn''t speak the language.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°Is it safe?¡± Milton asked, staring at the ferry. Ferry was generous, the small boat could barely hold the ten or so people already stood on it, crammed tight. It was like someone had taken a subway car, ripped off the roof and cast it into the sea.


    ¡°Aye, been doing the trip back and forth since before I had hair on my bollocks. Now ye getting in the fucker or what? Got this like of fucks to drop off at Raasay. Some people got homes to go to, they ain¡¯t American pricks who seen Braveheart one too many fucking times.¡± The ferryman gesture to the boat. It had been painted blue, once, though peeled off in several places, orange rust sneaking through.


    "Ok, yeah ok. Sure," said Milton. He stepped onto the ramp that ran over to the small boat. A hand clasped onto his shoulder.


    ¡°Not so fast fucker, that¡¯ll be a tenner.¡± The ferryman removed his hand from Milton¡¯s shoulder, flicking it around so it was palm up. Milton unzipped the bag clipped around his waist, the sort he had known as a ¡°fanny pack¡± but had been called a ¡°bum bag¡± by every British person he had met. Apparently ¡°fanny¡± had a very different meaning here. He removed a ten-pound note from inside. That was another difference that felt strange to Milton, the banknote was made of plastic, its smoothness feeling fundamentally wrong to someone who had handled the rough American notes his entire life. He had barely gotten used to them as he had travelled up to Scotland. He had landed in Gatwick and had stopped at several tourist hotspots on his way up. It had been significantly confusing when he had finally arrived and had been given what had seemed at first glance to be a different currency from a local corner shop.


    ¡°There you go,¡± Milton said, placing the English note into the ferryman¡¯s hand. He sneered at it, before tucking into his overalls.


    ¡°Ok, on you go. Next stop Raasay.¡± The ferryman pressed Miltons back, hurrying up the ramp and onto the boat. He followed behind, pulling the ramp up and into the boat behind him. ¡°Got to say, not much in Raasay. What¡¯s an American fucker like you want there?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m from Raasay,¡± Milton answered. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not, but my family is. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here tracing my ancestry. I¡¯m a MacTavish.¡±


    ¡°Right, sure you fucking are. And I¡¯m the Laird of Kilmarnock.¡± The ferryman laughed to himself as he untied one of the series of ropes tying the ferry to the tiny pier. ¡°What is it with you Americans? Obsessed you are with ancestry and shit. Like all that Irish shit?¡±


    ¡°Irish shit?¡±


    ¡°Aye, St Patricks and all that. Your lot go fucking nuts for it. Green hats and shamrocks and all that bollocks.¡± He untied the last rope, wrapping around a metal protrusion on the edge of the hull. ¡°I¡¯ve been to Ireland plenty, on that day even, and they do not give a flying fuck I¡¯ll tell you that. I wouldn¡¯t go to Raasay if I were you. You¡¯re going to expect glens and thistles and all that shit.¡± He turned to face Milton, tucking his hands into his overalls pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this now. It¡¯s a handful of old people,¡± he gestured to the crowd behind him as if to prove his point, ¡°and all they¡¯ll do is try and sell you tat from that fucking visitor centre they built.¡±


    Milton looked over at the crowd. There was a worrying amount of blue rinse and clear plastic coats. ¡°What would you recommend?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The ferryman asked as he walked toward the ship¡¯s controls. They were open to the elements, save for a thing plastic awning that seemed to be attached to them with black tape, its cloth flapping above in the wind.


    ¡°What you say is proper Scottish then? I¡¯ve got tickets for some stuff at the Edinburgh festival once I¡¯m done here¡±


    The ferryman thought for a moment. ¡°Don¡¯t, bother with that then. There''s nothing Scottish about that, it¡¯s all London cunts who ain¡¯t as funny as they fucking think. Nah. You get yourself tickets to the next Celtic game, down a bottle of bucky first and then wake up on a bench somewhere with no shoes." He gripped the throttle, edging it forward. The boat''s engines let out a satisfied growl. "That''s proper fucking Scottish."


    The sea. Milton felt like an idiot as he stood there, the moon glinting off the waves. He had never really been escaping. Not really. It had toyed with him, driving him here, cornering him against the water. He swallowed and turned slowly as he heard the tell-tale sound of hooves. It was different this time, the steps less frequent. As it stepped out from behind the rocks, he could see why.


    The figure that emerged was no stag. At least, not any longer. Its lower half still had the same blood-soaked fur, the same cloven hooves that had tormented him. The snake-like tail still thrashed angrily. It''s top half though, that was different. It was human, or at least as close as could be described. Everything about it seemed somehow off to Milton. Its arms were slightly too long, its neck a little too broad. It lilted from side to side as it walked, its horns causing it to sway seductively. It was still stained red, a constant font of blood, cascading down it like a waterfall now, covered every part of it. Its glowing white eyes blazed from behind the outpour as it stomped towards him, hooves digging deep into the sand. It lowered its head, the geometric antlers seeming to rearrange themselves as they did so, each point twisting forwards. The creature stamped twice with its left leg, then charged.


    ¡°A tenner?¡± shouted Elspeth. ¡°Are you fucking serious. I¡¯m not some fucking wet behind the ears fucking tourist. That¡¯s a two quid trip, at most.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a tenner. And you¡¯ll fucking pay it if you want to get across.¡±


    ¡°Listen ya wee prick. I ain¡¯t some fucking wain born yesterday. If you want to square go you are fucking welcome to mate I tell-¡°


    ¡°Elspeth," interrupted Gregor. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Let me deal with this." Gregor pushed his partner aside. Elspeth was a fiery woman at the best of times, but when it came to money, she was a raging inferno. "Look, mate," Gregor fished inside his jacket, removing his police ID badge. "I¡¯m Detective Constable Lythgoe, this is DC MacAdams. We need to get onto that island, police emergency.¡±


    ¡°Still need my tenner thought.¡±


    Gregor pulled himself up to his full height. He was a behemoth of a man, and although he was in his early fifties kept to a strict fitness regimen. The result was a solid wall of muscle, more than enough to make his point. Behind him is partner smiled. Elspeth was a short woman. She had the mouth but lacked the presence to back it up. She had dark skin and a thick bushel of afro hair, a contrast to Gregor¡¯s greying hair and pale skin. ¡°If you want to risk obstructing an investigation¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no. Fine. Get aboard.¡± The ferryman looked dejected. He nodded politely to Elspeth as she walked past. ¡°Sorry,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Too fucking right,¡± Elspeth spat back.


    ¡°What do you want to go to Raasay for anyway. Nothing there but old fuckers and rain.¡±


    ¡°Yeah well,¡± Elspeth began, ¡°that and murder too apparently.¡±

 Chapter Two

    Elspeth vomited, her lunch taking a swan dive off the small pier into the bay below. She had never been one for boats or the sea. As far as she was concerned water belonged in taps where it couldn¡¯t cause any trouble. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her coat and took a deep breath. The air had a faint stench, almost fishlike and it caused her to double over again retching.


    ¡°You going to be ok?¡± Gregor asked. He had smiled the entire way across, through what Elspeth considered forty-five minutes of watery hell. Gregor had leapt into the pier before the ramp had even been deployed, jauntily walking off into the town. He was clutching a newspaper in his hands. Mercifully it wasn¡¯t raining, a rarity, and he was reading the headline, back resting against a lamppost. ¡°Not a boat person?¡±


    "Not in the slightest. Fucking hate the fucking things." Happy the vomiting had stopped, Elspeth straightened herself, stretching her arms outwards as she did. "Never have. Not really a big fan of water if I''m honest. Mum got me my bronze badge when I was little, but that was it. The fucking sloshing around. Turns my stomach."


    "I can see. The trip back is going to be fun for you then." Gregor chuckled to himself. "Personally, I love boats and the water."


    ¡°You went to one of those fucking stuck up English fucking schools, though right? You probably were in one of those rowing club kind of things I bet.¡± Elspeth smiled at him, a poor choice considering her circumstances. It was a constant source of gentle ribbing. Whilst Gregor was Scottish like herself, he had spent most of his youth enrolled in an expensive, and notably English, boarding school.


    ¡°I was. You¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°What position were you? Cocksucker?¡±


    ¡°Coxswain,¡± Gregor corrected, ignoring the insult. ¡°But no, just a regular rower myself.¡±


    ¡°Makes sense. Having a big lad like you is a bit like having a motor though. Cheating just a wee bit ain''t it."


    ¡°Nah. You think I¡¯m big? You should see some of the other lads. Anyway, take a look at this." He held the newspaper out, it flopped as he waved it. Elspeth grabbed it and stared at the front page.


    ¡°Not sure what I¡¯m looking at, seems perfectly normal.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Little place like this? Local paper?¡±


    Elspeth nodded her head in realisation. ¡°Nothing about the murder.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. This is a small place. There¡¯s what, one hundred fifty, maybe two hundred people here? Christ that paper is probably made by hand by some little old lady in her garage. There is no way that the news hasn¡¯t gotten around yet.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± said Elspeth. ¡°Somewhere like this, someone takes a particularly nasty shit, and everyone knows about it. You think they¡¯re covering it up?¡±


    Gregor stood up straight, taking his considerable weight off the lamppost. ¡°Maybe. Either that or they¡¯re ignoring it or pretending it didn¡¯t happen until it goes away. Not the best reaction regardless.¡±


    ¡°Well, good thing we¡¯re here then,¡± Elspeth slamming a fist into an open palm. ¡°We¡¯ll get their heads pulled out of their arses.¡±


    There was the gentle tinkling of a bell as Elspeth pushed open the door. She stepped through, followed swiftly by Gregor. He slammed into the back of her as she came to an abrupt stop, confused at her surroundings. The building appeared to be a small shop, tins stack neatly on shelves, magazines nestled into racks.


    ¡°Oh, we must have the wrong address,¡± she mumbled.


    ¡°Can I help?¡± can an inquiring voice from behind the shelves.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± replied Gregor. He could easily see the source of the voice. ¡°We¡¯re looking for the police station? We must have the wrong address.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, this is right,¡± replied the voice. Elspeth stomped to the end of the shelves, storming past the tins so she could see. It seemed the world wasn¡¯t designed for anyone under five foot two sometimes. She reached the end peering round to see a small counter. Behind it was an elderly woman. She was sat on a stool, a white apron draped over her simple blue dress. ¡°This is the police station, corner shop, post office and sometimes press office. I see you have one of my papers,¡± said the woman nodding at the broadsheet in Elspeth¡¯s hand.


    ¡°That¡¯s certainly a lot,¡± Gregor said leaning atop the shop shelves.


    ¡°Hah! You think that¡¯s bad I¡¯m also on the local council and the tourism board. Name is Agnes Lang. Guess you¡¯re looking for one of the boys?¡±


    ¡°Boys?¡± Elspeth said.


    ¡°Yeah. Hang on.¡± Her voice raised to a shout. ¡°Graham!¡± she screamed.


    There was a series of loud thumps from somewhere within the shop. A door on the far side of the room swung open and from inside a heavily overweight man lumbered out. He was wearing a police uniform, or at least was trying to wear one. His shit ill-fitted him, its buttons putting up a herculean effort. His hat was bent, as though it had been sat on. He seemed out of breath, his hair tussled as though he had recently awoken.


    ¡°What is it Agnes,¡± he panted. ¡°What¡¯s the emergency?¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°No emergency. These people were looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Jesus fucking Christ woman you nearly gave me a heart attack screaming like that.¡±


    ¡°Worked didn¡¯t it?¡± Agnes asked. She leant back on the stool.


    ¡°Detective Constables MacAdams and Lythgoe,¡± said Elspeth. ¡°And you are?¡±


    ¡°Officer. Graham Officer. Constable Graham Officer,¡± he reached out to shake her hand. His palm was oddly sweaty.


    ¡°Constable officer?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I know,¡± he said with the exasperation only possible from someone who had heard a joke a thousand times. ¡°So, what can I help with Detectives?¡± Gregor and Elspeth exchanged glances.


    ¡°The murder?¡± Gregor asked. ¡°You did call us about a murder. There is one here right? Our department is very¡­specialist, we don¡¯t have time to be messing about on cases.¡±


    "Oh, no, no there is one," Graham spluttered. "It''s just, we''re trying to keep it on the hush-hush. The town has just finished a new visitor centre, we''re hoping tourism might take off. Didn''t want to scare anyone away."


    "No offence," said Elspeth, something she always said directly before saying something offensive, "but this isn''t exactly sunny Cornwall. You get many tourists eager to get lightly drizzled on after riding the fucking fun boat you got coming over here?"


    ¡°Well, no¡± Agnes admitted. ¡°But it¡¯ll pick up. We¡¯ve got a lot a great history around these parts. Goes back to the stone age.¡±


    ¡°There many people big on stone age holidays?¡±


    "Leave it, Liz," Gregor said, using a nickname he knew Elspeth hated.


    ¡°Fine, fine.¡± Elspeth held her hands up in defeat. ¡°Ok well, let¡¯s get to fucking work at least. Show us what we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    Graham led them back the way they came, towards the pier, before taking a sharp turn onto the beach itself. It was a short walk, shockingly close to the town in truth, the grisly scene hidden by simply fifteen minutes worth of walk and an outcropping of rocks. Disgusting murder backdropped by the sleepy rural town.


    The local police force had at least the foresight to erect something to obscure it, though in place of a forensic tent that simply had a selection of cheap beach windbreakers. Describing them as a force was a stretch, evidently, there were three police officers for the entire island including Graham.


    Elspeth pulled back the windbreaker, looking at the obscene display inside. She let out a long whistle.


    ¡°Yeah, well, this is one of ours alright,¡± she said replacing the windbreaker.


    ¡°You know, when they said they were sending specialists, I imagined, I don¡¯t know. More?¡± Graham said. ¡°Not locals.¡±


    ¡°Nah, we¡¯re based in London,¡± Gregor said, stepping towards the windbreaker. ¡°But because we¡¯re the two Scots guess who gets all the cases up here? Not that we mind really.¡±


    ¡°The others are back and forth all over the place. Hard to complain,¡± added Elspeth.


    ¡°Right, let me take a look at what we¡¯ve got.¡± Gregor moved the breaker and let out his own long whistle to join Elspeth¡¯s on the wind. ¡°You¡¯re right. This is one of ours.¡±


    It sat on a throne. One cobbled together from sand and stone. A selection of rocks had been set into a pile of sand, the body placed against them, coming to rest in a seated position. It was an older slightly overweight man, his hair slick with his own blood, his face torn open. He wore a selection of clearly brand-new hiking clothes. Khaki trousers, green waxen waterproof cloak, black heavy boots. Around his waist, he wore a black zip-up bag, the kind a child might wear.


    "American tourist?" Elspeth asked, more vocalising her thoughts than asking the question.


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡± replied Gregor, taking steps towards the corpse, his feet crunching in the sand.


    ¡°The bum bag. Who else wears those?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± came the voice of Graham from behind them. ¡°I recognise the fella, American lad, arrived on the ferry the other day. Fancied himself a Scotsman if I recall. You know the sort?¡± The detectives nodded in unison. ¡°I think his name was, Michael maybe? Maurice? Milton! That was it. Milton.¡±


    ¡°You talk to him then?¡± Gregor asked.


    ¡°Nah, not really. One or two words. He came by the visitor centre during my shift. I¡¯m the security guard there in my off time.¡±


    ¡°Two jobs?¡± Gregor zipped up his jacket. The wind had a chill to it, and he could feel the rain building in the clouds above.


    ¡°Aye, everything here is fucking expensive. Everything needs to be shipped over, so fuckers love whacking an extra tenner on the price. That and the houses are fucking old. Every wee thing needs repairs constantly.¡±


    ¡°Right. Right. Makes sense.¡± Gregor turned back to face the body. Elspeth had slipped on a pair of rubber gloves with a slap and was examining its wounds. A line of gashes that started in his stomach, before stretching up through his chest, finally leaving his body in an eruption of blood. It reminded Elspeth of dragging her fork through mashed potatoes as a child. The odd raking wounds would have been enough to elicit their department''s involvement, but the second wound tipped it firmly into their laps. The man''s stomach had been sliced across the bottom, a long thin deliberate cut. From there his intestines had been slowly dragged out, placed onto the sand in a deliberate pattern. Lain out in straight lines that took sharp ninety-degree angles, spiralling in itself in an ever-shrinking square.


    ¡°Right Constable, I think we need some privacy to do our work here. Do us a favour and contact, hang on,¡± Gregor dug about in the inside pocket of his jacket for a second, before producing a card, ¡°this coroner. They¡¯ll arrange for the body to be collected.¡±


    ¡°This is way the fuck off in London?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a¡­specialist, like ourselves. Don¡¯t worry, they¡¯ll sort all the transport.¡±


    The constable nodded, vanishing behind the windbreaker as he walked away. "This is a new one for me. Weird fucking shit show this," Elspeth said.


    ¡°Weird is our job. Any ideas?¡±


    ¡°Not a fucking clue. I¡¯ve never seen wounds like this. It¡¯s all very ordered. Deliberate. No beastie I¡¯ve ever seen is like this.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right.¡± She was, Gregor had seen a lot of bodies in his time in the department. Too many. Werewolf attacks, angry ghosts, and a million other different creatures, but the victims there had always been savaged. Everything about this spoke to deliberate order. ¡°So, this not one of ours then? Just your regular kind of weirdo?¡±


    ¡°Nope. This is one of our fuckers, I can tell you that.¡± Elspeth placed two gloved fingers one each side a trench carved into the body. ¡°Each one of these is the same size.¡± She moved her fingers to the next, keeping the same distance between them. ¡°And each one is the same distance apart. These had to be done at the same time, with some kind of weapon.¡±


    "And no human is strong enough to do this. The weapon would have to be pretty heavy to do this many separate wounds, and I would bet good money it was one blow. Something else seems off¡­¡±


    ¡°And that is?¡±


    "The sand," Gregor said. "There''s no footprints aside from our own. The tide can''t have come in or our friend''s chair would be mush. The way these rocks are, they had to have been placed right?"


    "That''s a good bet," Elspeth said, nodding in agreement. "I get where you''re going. There ain¡¯t no fucking marks at all. No footprints besides ours, no drag marks for these stones.¡±


    ¡°So, whatever is was is strong enough to do this to poor Milton and carry these rocks. But light enough it doesn¡¯t leave marks in the sand. So, I¡¯m thinking some kind of fairy or ghost?¡±


    ¡°Could be. I will tell you one fucking thing though,¡± Elspeth said. ¡°This,¡± she gestured to the glyph written in entrails, ¡°is very ritualistic. There¡¯s no way it¡¯s going to stop with just old Milton here.¡±

 Chapter Three

    Beatrice shivered, the air was cold and the water crashing against the side of the boat was casting a thin mist into the air. The water slammed against her clear plastic coat, running down it in rivulets, like rain against a window. Beatrice had never been on a boat, not once in her eighty-one years of living. It had seemed an excellent idea when she had picked up a leaflet advertising Raasay¡¯s new visitor centre. In her hotel lobby. Now, she was regretting it, her stomach performing a high wire routine inside her.


    She glanced around at the other occupants of the boat, anything to get her mind off her turning stomach. A small crowd had been squeezed into the worryingly small boat, leaving little space to escape for the constant deluge. Most of the other occupants were like Beatrice, older people wearing clutching at their coats, desperately trying to keep the wet out. There was the ferryman, his hands grasping the wheel, whistling happily to himself. Nearby him were two people, a woman and a man who had spent significant time in discussion with the ferryman. Beatrice didn¡¯t consider herself the least bit nosey, which of course meant she was a curtain-twitcher of the highest order. She had used her considerably practised eavesdropping skills to determine the two were police officers.


    She thought for a moment, concern washing over her. Why were police headed to the island? Beatrice shook her head, trying to eject the thoughts through her ears. She didn''t want to think about it. This was supposed to be a holiday for her, away from her gaggle of relatives. Always clutching for handouts or loans they would never pay back. Beatrice had done fairly well for herself before her retirement, a success that had spawned several children and grandchildren with no concept of hard work.


    The boat crashed over another wave, sending a fresh barrage of spray onto its occupants. It washed over Beatrice, and she realised she had come to quite enjoy it. It reminded her of her youth, of walking in the rain with her father to the nearest bus stop. Everything about this trip so far had been a throwback to her childhood. The houses in the town were scattered about on the upcoming island, like crumbs spread across a pond. It looked charming, a quintessential rural town, untouched by the nonsense of modern life. No internet, no signal strong enough for smartphones, no rushing around nonsensically. To Beatrice is was perfect. It was like a tiny French village, although with a considerably greyer colour palette.


    Beatrice stepped down from the boat, the ferryman¡¯s hand clutching hers as she walked down the ramp. She smiled at him and nodded a thank you. She took careful steps, eager to not slip on the tiny pier. Its aged wood creaked uneasily, groaning underfoot. Slowly she edged towards the end, stopping to breath a sigh of relief as she felt the safety of concrete beneath her feet. She shook her coat, trying to remove the thick wet layer that had built up on it. Thankfully the weather itself was fine, which for Scotland meant that it wasn¡¯t raining yet. There was a clatter as the ferryman wheeled a suitcase across the pier¡¯s wooden boards. It clunked at the wheels dropped onto the concrete.


    "There you go love," he said presenting the case proudly, as though it were an award. "Planning on staying for a while?"


    ¡°Only for a few days, see as much of the island as I can.¡±


    "Shouldn''t be too hard, there isn''t a lot to see. Where are you staying at?"


    ¡°Raasay house,¡± Beatrice answered. ¡°Is it nearby?¡±


    The ferryman drew his breath in through his teeth in a loud hissing noise. "Not really. Clean on the other side on the island. It''s not far, distance-wise, but no offence but I imagine you aren¡¯t up for a ten-mile hike.¡±


    ¡°None taken. You¡¯re right there.¡± Beatrice took the handle of her case, wheeling it behind her. ¡°So, I need to grab a taxi.¡±


    ¡°The Taxi. We¡¯ve only got the one on the island. And I don¡¯t see him about, so he¡¯s off doing a job by the looks of it. Come with me, I¡¯ll take you to the visitor centre, you can stay in there until he¡¯s back.¡±


    The centre was huge. An impressive example of modern architecture its foyer had a large domed ceiling. Every wall was a pale beige, or at least where it wasn''t glass. The light seemed to pour into the room, creating a sense of space. Beatrice thought it was beautiful, but also hugely out of place for the island. It felt as though the building had been plucked from the heart of a modern city and dumped onto the island.


    The ferryman led ahead. His face beamed as he walked across the chamber. The floor was interspersed with glass cabinets filled with flint tools. Local archaeological finds. Several backlit displays proudly touted the history of the island. He stopped at an expansive curved counter, behind which rows of merchandise sat. Books, shirts, themed sweets, and of course tea towels. The eternal contents of a gift shop. A woman stood behind the counter, a till resting on it before he. She smiled sweetly.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Mavis, this young lady here needs a taxi, and it seems Jimmy is already on a job. I said she could wait here until he¡¯s back,¡± said the ferryman.


    ¡°Why, of course,¡± Mavis was a young woman, barely out of her twenties. She was wearing a blue tightly cut suit over a white blouse. Around her next was a white neckerchief with pink spots. ¡°Raasay Visitor Centre¡± was embroidered on her jacket¡¯s right breast. She looked oddly like an air stewardess rather than a gift shop clerk. ¡°Want me to call the taxi company for you ma¡¯am? Make a booking?¡±


    ¡°Is there a company if its only one driver?¡± Beatrice asked, a puzzled look creeping over her face. She looked down at the counter, next to the till. Her eye had been caught by a necklace that was hanging there on a small stand.


    ¡°Well,¡± the ferryman said, ¡°she means his wife Ethel. I think she takes the calls from her kitchen.¡±


    ¡°Right. Ok then, give her a ring,¡± Beatrice said. Her gaze didn''t drift from the necklace. "How much are these?" she asked, her hand lifting one of the pendants.


    The night air was cold, sneaking in through the thin lace curtains in Beatrice¡¯s room. Raasay house was beautiful, and whilst it appeared outside to be the 18th-century building it claimed to be, Beatrice had been surprised to learn that it was relatively modern inside, a devastating fire a decade ago meaning it had been rebuilt mostly from scratch. Beatrice slipped off her duvet and sat up. She turned, slipping her feet into the slippers at the side of her bed. She stood up, her nightgown swishing against the sheets as she did. She wandered over, shivering against the cold. Her curtain was swaying in the breeze. Beatrice frowned. She was sure she had closed it.


    She reached out into the night, her arm grabbing the handle of the window. She pulled, feeling its weight resist against her. The curtain fluttered in her face, causing her to let go of the window. Beatrice gripped the cloth and pulled it to the side in a sharp jerking motion, taking out her frustration on the soft fabric.


    The curtain out of the way, she leant back through the open window, gripping it. She tugged, but nothing happened. Beatrice¡¯s face wrinkled in confusion. She pulled again, harder this time. Nothing. She tried a third time, straining as she heaved. It was then she felt a cold across her skin, as something grasped it tightly.


    Beatrice looked down to see a nightmarish figure. A twisted amalgam of man and beast, blood staining its flesh. Its legs were twisted at an odd angle, hooves gripping tightly to the wall, its chest laid flat against the stone. One hand gripped the bottom of the window frame, whilst the other was clasped again her arm. It shook its head slowly from side to side, antlers swaying as it did.


    It pulled, heaving on her arm, sending Beatrice tumbling forward over the edge of the window. She flew clear, smashing into the garden beyond. Ribs shattered and legs broke with startling fragility. Beatrice had always been a strong healthy woman, even now in her eighth decade, but the impact had been too strong. She tried to crawl away, her breathing strained and ragged. Her legs refused to move, and her fingers slipped ineffectually through the slick mud. Tears were streaming down her face as there was a thump behind her, some heavy weight dropping to the wet earth. She could hear it, slowly advancing behind her, each step soft and gentle, the walk almost casual. Beatrice felt a hand clasp around her neck. She tried to scream, but her words were stolen, lost amidst the pain of her broken ribs, the blood leaking into her longs. There was a sense of weightlessness as she was lifted easily into the air, followed by a sharp pain at her ankles. Slowly, the pain spread, up her legs, across her back, as the creature''s horns-shifting forward like blades-flayed her.


    Gregor looked upon the carnage before him. A grim display covering the immaculate lawn of a large stately home. From what Gregor had gathered from a quick google on the ride up, the house had traditionally been the home of the local Laird, before being converted into a high-end hotel. Their meagre expenses budget didn''t stretch quite that far, the two of them had taken up residence in a small hostel near the visitor centre. Elspeth was stood ahead of him, talking to the elderly gardener who had found the unwelcome surprise on his lawn. He had been crying, a dribble of vomit across his overalls. Gregor couldn''t blame him.


    The victim, a Beatrice Meadows, was a tourist to the island. Apparently arriving on the same ferry as himself, although Gregor didn¡¯t remember her. Her bedroom window was open, and a large grove had been torn into the grass. A clear sign she had either jumped or been thrown from the window. It was what had happened to her next that had been truly sickening.


    The grass was stained red, thick with blood. To one side was a loose pile, at first what looked like her clothes, although a closer inspection revealed it also contained her skin, which had been peeled off, torn from her frame like discarded orange peel. Something had then taken the time to remove all her muscle from her bones, placing it into a second pile along with her organs. Then every bone had been arranged in a pattern, the same square spiral of the first victim.


    ¡°He¡¯s pretty shaken up,¡± said Elspeth, appeared behind Gregor like a shadow. ¡°Can¡¯t say I blame him. There¡¯s no CCTV or anything. Apparently, people here think the island is too safe to bother. Can¡¯t say I fucking agree right now. Whatever is doing this is some sick fucker.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all so¡­ritual. This shape again. It has to be for a reason.¡±


    Elspeth shrugged. ¡°Maybe. Maybe it¡¯s a compulsion? You know how supers can get. Sometimes they have to do things just right, can¡¯t help it. I was talking to Gemma the other day. You know they found a murdered brownie and the fridge was entirely full of cream? Or that little fella we nicked for all those gold robberies? He was just storing it all a big pot, wasn¡¯t even selling it.¡±


    "I get your point, but why is this one different from the first? Why not just do the intestines thing? This is an escalation, which is worrying." Gregor sat down on a low stone wall that ran around the garden. Elspeth took a seat beside him.


    ¡°So, you think there¡¯s going to be more?¡±


    ¡°I do. We do have one solid lead I think.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Elspeth asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s targeting tourists.¡±

 Chapter Four

    Elspeth clutched the warm paper bag in her hands, the smell of pastry and corned beef wafting into the air from the opening in the top. It was an oddly comforting feeling, one that took her back to rainy Saturdays in the park with her father. It had not surprised her, that despite the islands tiny population they had still been able to find a Greggs nestled amongst what the locals had called the ¡°high street¡± but was much more of a ¡°middle lane¡± in Elspeth¡¯s eyes. Gregor walked slightly ahead, his own pasty in hand, some new concoction, nacho cheese and pepperoni. It didn¡¯t seem right to her. Pasties should be filled with corned beef and a little potato. You went Cornish, if you were feeling fancy.


    They were strolling through the town, headed towards the pier. Raasay house had been near empty. The manager had assured them, perhaps too thoroughly that it was the low point in the year. It was a double-edged sword. It meant that it was mercifully easy to move on the guests, to conceal the brutal murder just beyond their window. It also, unfortunately, meant no-one had seen or heard anything. Their leads were non-existent, so the detectives were one their way to speak with the only person they knew would have had contact with the deceased.


    The target of that interview was currently on the horizon, driving his boat towards the pier. The weather was much improved, the constant drizzle having lifted, a slim ray of sunlight creeping through the still omnipresent cloud cover. Elspeth watched as the boat slowly drifting towards them, gliding smoothly across the water. She was jealous of the coroner''s team aboard, remembering her stomach-churning crossing. Her lips upturned in a smile as she realised that they wouldn''t be happy about the now doubled workload. It gave Elspeth a sense of grim fairness. She took another bite of her breakfast, the warm filling squirting from between the pastry layers.


    The boat drifted gently up the pier, water rippling calmly around it. The ferryman, clad in the same yellow waterproofs deftly tied the small boat up, before dropping down a large ramp. A gaggle of unhappy looking men and women, all wearing plain black suits gingerly stepped across the wobbling metal. The last two carefully lifted a gurney onto the ramp with a clatter.


    ¡°Morning all,¡± Gregor said cheerfully, placing the paper bag that had held his breakfast into a small public bin. ¡°You¡¯ll find the local bobby in the corner shop. He¡¯ll show you where to find the bodies.¡±


    ¡°Bodies?¡± asked one of the suited men. ¡°As in plural?¡± He placed his hands to the sides of his head and began to rub.


    ¡°Oh, I guess your boss didn¡¯t let you know. We¡¯ve got two now.¡± Gregor held up his fingers to make his point.


    "Oh, for Christ''s sake. We only have one gurney. We couldn''t get the van on Chiron''s bloody dinghy back there." The suited man let out a long drawn-out sigh.


    ¡°Honestly,¡± Gregor began, ¡°you won¡¯t need one for the second body. It¡¯s not¡­together enough. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news and all that, but we appreciate you guys coming up from London special.¡±


    ¡°Dragged out of my bed, slammed into a van and then told to drive to Scotland. Got its¡­every single time with your department is something weird. And it¡¯s always in the arse end of nowhere.¡± His fellows were nodding along in agreement as he spoke. ¡°Just think of the overtime Brian. Think of the overtime,¡± he muttered. ¡°Right. Come on then you lot, quicker we¡¯re done, the faster we¡¯re on the road back home.¡±


    ¡°Did I hear right?¡± The ferryman asked as the team from the coroner left, his voice low and quiet. Secretive. ¡°There¡¯s been another murder?¡±


    The ferryman sat, a mug of coffee in his hand. Gregor and Elspeth had taken seats on sofas opposite. They had found a small caf¨¦, nestled in between a hairdressers and the islands sole take-away. The ferryman seemed visibly shaken, despite them choosing a neutral a location as possible.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, sir. You¡¯re not a suspect. What¡¯s your name?¡± Elspeth asked.


    The ferryman took a glug of his coffee, foam resting on his top lip. "Malcolm. Malcolm Liscombe.¡±


    "Nice to meet you, Malcolm," Gregor said. "Now, as far as we''re aware you''re the last person outside of her hotel to see our victim alive. You recognise this woman?" Gregor passed over his phone. He had taken a photograph of the driver''s licence they had found in Beatrice''s belongings. Her real face was certainly in no photographable state. ¡°Her name was Beatrice Meadows, ring any bells?¡±


    "Didn''t know her name. She was on the same ferry as you two." He slid the phone back. "I guess you know that, though right?" The detectives nodded in unison. ¡°She was the last off the boat. I helped her with her bags.¡±


    ¡°That it then?¡± Elspeth said. She had a drink of her own, not a warming steaming coffee, but instead a tall cold drink, more sugar and cream than coffee.


    ¡°No, she wanted a taxi, but around here we¡¯ve only got the one driver. Rather than wait in the rain, I took her over to the new visitor centre. They were happy to look after her for a bit. Then, I took my leave.¡±


    ¡°Visitor centre?¡± Elspeth asked. She took a tried to take a sip of her drink through the paper straw only to find it had become soft, and largely useless. She removed it in frustration.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Malcolm shifted in his seat and nodded. "Can''t miss it. Take a left out of here, follow the road around. Can''t miss it. Big fucking expensive building. Cost an absolute bomb. It''s to try and entice people in, make Raasay a tourist hotspot.¡± He snorted.


    ¡°Not a fan of it?¡± Gregor said. He offered a small plate of biscuits he had bought to the others. They each took one.


    "Fuck no." Malcolm slammed his mug onto the table, the coffee sloshing within. "You see, Raasay house, the big fancy hotel on the other side of the island, used to be owned by the last Laird. When he got into a bit of shit with money, residents of the island bought it. Well put in for shares and set up a local group to manage it. Raasay has always had a little bit of tourism, so we change it to a hotel. Should have made a tidy little profit and cover its costs.¡±


    Gregor took the remaining biscuit from his plate. ¡°So, what happened next?¡± he asked, swishing the biscuit around as he spoke.


    ¡°Fucking greed as usual. Hotel was making money, but not enough money according to some people. The trust decided to reinvest the money made, funnelling it into a fund to open a fancy fucking visitor centre to try and get even more business. Fucking stupid idea. A lot of people weren¡¯t happy with that.¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t just spend your money like that can they?¡± Gregor bit into the biscuit with a snap.


    ¡°Ah, well, we got ourselves one of those fucking loopholes ain¡¯t we? The trust was supposed to split the profits between the shareholders, but if you take the money and spend it on investment? Well, it ain¡¯t profit anymore then. Worst mistake we ever made putting that fucking bitch in charge of the trust.¡±


    "Who''s that then?" Elspeth said, using her biscuit to skim the cream from her iced coffee.


    ¡°Agnes Doak. Runs the local newsagent. And post office. And the police station is upstairs. She¡¯s also the local councillor.¡±


    "Ah, we''ve met," Elspeth said, popping the cream-covered biscuit into her mouth.


    ¡°Woman is a fucking menace. Fingers in every fucking pie in this town. Proper fucked me over she did. I was going to use my share to replace my boat. Well, you¡¯ve been in that pile of shit.¡±


    The building certainly was impressive, a looming construct of glass. Light shone through every possible area, making the space inside seem expansive. Despite being filled with displays and artefacts from the island¡¯s history, it as oddly clinical. Any sense of gravitas obliterated by the modernity of the building. The detectives strode across the floor, their footsteps echoing, drawing attention to themselves.


    Elspeth stopped suddenly, her eyes drawn to one of the glass containers. Within was an extraordinary object. It was a pillar, of sorts. No more than three feet high, it¡¯s intricates drew Elspeth in, finding herself pressing close to the glass. Horns. Antlers. Severed violently from their hosts and assembled with strange care. It was perfect, the assembled collection was near totally circular. It was a miracle of workmanship, no bindings, no visible glues, nothing except hundreds of perfectly arranged objects.


    At the base of its glass cabinet was a label. A history of the object. "This was found alongside several flint tools during a recent archaeological dig. This amazing example is a part of a rich artistic heritage here on Raasay¡±


    ¡°You coming or what?¡± Gregor said appearing over her shoulder.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah sorry,¡± Elspeth replied. She straightened herself and turned to face Gregor. ¡°Lead on.¡±


    Gregor placed his hands onto the large counter, the only visible interface between the centre and its visitors. A curved surface of polished wood and white plastic, lain out before the usual array of gift shop rubbish.


    "Excuse me, Miss?" Gregor said, his commented directed to the young woman behind the counter. She was tiding a shelf of folded t-shirts, "I love Raasay¡± emblazoned across the front.


    ¡°Yes, how can I help?¡± The woman didn¡¯t miss a beat, spinning elegantly on her heel to face him.


    ¡°I¡¯m Detective Constable Lythgoe, this is my partner Detective Constable MacAdams. We''re here investigating a case on the island."


    ¡°Oh, the murders? Don¡¯t look so shocked detective, this is a small island. Word gets around fast. Terrible to hear. And tourists as well, we¡¯ve been trying so hard to grow tourism here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯ve heard. I know some people weren¡¯t too keen on this visitor centre, is that safe to say?¡± Gregor raised his hands from the desk, placing them into his coat pockets.


    The young woman snorted. "Short-sighted people maybe. People who don''t see a wee investment that will pay off in the long run. The whole idea of buying the house was to help the island."


    "No offence," Elspeth began, her gaze caught by a selection of jewellery by the till," but aren''t you a little young to have bought a bit of the house?"


    "Shares pass down in the family. My grandmother bought ours. That¡¯s Raasay in a nutshell, family. Generations living on the same island. That''s the line we spin here at the centre anyway. Truth is this whole business has split our little community for a fair few years now.¡± The woman stopped for a moment, solemn, motionless. ¡°Eventually everyone will get along again, once they see the centre works.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s if your tourists survive. You know this woman?¡± Gregor asked, flashing the image on his phone.


    ¡°Yes, I called her a taxi and she wandered the exhibits before it came to pick her up. Bought a necklace from the gift shop, that was about it.¡±


    ¡°One of these?¡± Elspeth said pointing at the stand. ¡°I was admiring them, where does the design come from?¡± The necklaces were simple gift jewellery, non-precious metals suspended on black cord. It was the symbol that interested Elspeth. A square spiral, turning in on itself. Exactly like the murder victims.


    ¡°These are based on some prehistoric art discovered right here on Raasay. It''s unusual, right? You think cave paintings and stick figures and handprints spring to mind, don''t they? Personally, I reckon they were a lot cleverer back then than what we give them credit for. You want one?"


    ¡°No thanks,¡± Elspeth replied shaking her head. ¡°Was just curious. So, has anything, odd been happening on the island. You said that word travels after all.¡±


    ¡°Odd how? Suspicious people and that?¡±


    "Maybe, anything really. Any strange noises, sightings, people reckon they saw ghosts. You would be surprised at what turns out to be a regular person skulking about in the bushes."


    ¡°Now you mention it yeah. My boyfriend Jack reckons his friend, they call him Big Mac, said that his sister was told by a work colleague they seen something weird. Like a floating light where there shouldn¡¯t be one. Tried to take a picture and got one of them, what are they called? Orbs? Like on Most Haunted. I loved that show as a kid.¡±


    "Exactly like that," Elspeth said. Alongside her, Gregor listened intently. "Where did they say this was?"

 Chapter Five

    The rain had finally come, bearing down on the island in waves, crashing across its hillsides. The night had ushered away the brief sunshine, prompting the clouds to droop and sag, before unleashing their barrage. Elspeth clutched her umbrella, her knuckles white from her tight grip. The umbrella was struggling against the wind, proving almost useless against the deluge. Coin ill-spent in the local pound shop, the small folding apparatus being a poor match for actual weather.


    Night. Elspeth hated it. It seemed like nearly all her time was spent trudging around in the darkness. Fumbling along looking for something that was normally doing its best to remain hidden. No, sunlight, that she liked. Summers spent lounging on the beach. Budget trips to Spain. That was more here speed. This night and its constant pestering rain were killing her mood. Whilst it was a typical Scottish June, something about the small island made everything closed in, even the weather. The heavy rain forming thick walls of water around her. Gregor was ahead of her, only visible by the light of his torch.


    They were searching the hillside, headed to the other side of the island. Whilst small, the islands only road ran around the outside in a ring. Where they were headed lay off that, and with no vehicle available to them they had set out across what had been lush green grass, before the night had come bringing its rain. Now it was thick slippery mud that wormed its way up trouser legs and into socks, squelching between toes before taking up its final home within boots. They had considered getting the islands sole taxi driver to take them as close as possible, before discounting that. The island''s population was so small, so tight night, that their suspect could be anyone.


    The light that signified Gregor reached the crest of the hill. He turned, the torchlight hitting Elspeth''s eyes, forcing her to close them momentarily. When she reopened them, she could see Gregor more clearly, the clouds had parted for a moment, silhouetting him against the moon. Gregor was waving to her, torch still clutched in hand. In the other, he held an umbrella. He had sprung for a more expensive model, the large kind used for golf. It was holding up considerably better than Elspeth''s.


    She stepped up the hill slowly, boots sinking into the mud. More than once she slid back, losing progress on her climb. Eventually, she reached the top, panting a little. Gregor manoeuvred his larger umbrella to cover them both. He had given his opinion at the time they had bought them that Elspeth was making a mistake. Now, he was wordlessly signalling his triumph.


    "This is the place I guess," Gregor said, shining his torch down the other side of the hill. "You never really think of places like this. I mean, they must have existed sure, but way up here? I wonder why?"


    "Remote ain''t it. Someone escapes up here, what damage are they going to do? You Ken?"


    "Fair point." Gregor nodded, his lips pursed. "Ok, so, down we go then?"


    "Fuck me, let me get my breath first. Not everyone lives in the fucking gym like you."


    "Aye fair play, you''ve put a shift in tonight I''ll give you that." Gregor cracked a grim smile. "Five minutes then, and we''ll head down," he said, his colleague responding with a roll of her eyes.


    Below them was Raasay''s dirty secret, a collection of abandoned buildings surrounded by collapsing rusted fencing, remnants of barbed wire hanging limply from them. Some seventy-five years before it had been filled with men, captured prisoners of war, shipped from the mainland to the remote Scottish island. The German soldiers had been well treated, but the rows of small wooden huts, walls collapsed, stone foundations exposed, were given a wide berth by the locals. They whispered amongst themselves, about fleeting sightings, strange lights and furtive whispers on the wind.


    This is what the detectives were seeking. In their considerable experience, rumours often had a basis in truth, even if it was sometimes only tentatively. This was where one of the residents had captured what was known as an orb. Generally the result of backscatter, light reflecting into a camera''s lens from water, insects or even specks of dust, for a while in the nineties they were popularly associated to ghosts thanks to a tacky television ghost hunting program. Not always though. Sometimes, just rarely, it was a fragment of spirit. A mote of life left lingering in the beyond. It was for this reason that Elspeth reached into her handbag, removing a large old-fashioned polaroid. She held it up, taking care to keep the antique camera beneath the protective canvas. She pressed the shutter button, the flash pulsing in the night.


    The picture slid out of the bottom of the camera. Elspeth gripped it, shaking the paper square in her hand. Something about the action was soothing. It felt right, more real than a digital picture. Satisfied it had developed, she gestured for Gregor to shine his torch on it.


    "Nothing on here," Elspeth said. The photograph looked normal, or as normal as could be expected for a dilapidated prisoner of war camp in the middle of the night.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "We should go down, get closer. We might not get anything from up here."


    "I knew you would say that," Elspeth groaned shaking her head. "For once can we not just stroll into the spooky place? Why can''t things just give us a friendly wave and meet us outside?"


    Gregor chuckled. "It would be too easy then. Come on, you secretly love it. Remember that ruined castle? Or that cottage in the middle of the woods?"


    "Yeah, they''re pretty high up on my list of places to die in a horror movie. You know who always dies first in horror movies, don''t you? I''ll give you a clue, it isn''t the white people."


    "Ah yes, but it''s always one of the women characters who are left at the end. That gives you fifty-fifty odds, right?"


    Damp plant life collapsed underfoot with a crunch as they stalked between the ruined buildings. It was a miracle, in a way, that they were still standing. They clearly hadn''t been expensive at the time of their construction. The place had an overwhelming sense of grim morbidity, a constant sense of imprisonment, even now. If there was something lurking on the island, this was certainly prime real estate for it.


    "Ok, you take a few photographs. I''ll whip this thing around." Gregor held up a length of string. One end was looped around his finger, the other was tied to a small blue stone. He left the line go slack. Slowly the stone began to rotate, completing a rotation before beginning another. "Looks like we''ve got something at least. Right, let''s get to work then."


    Elspeth looked at her cluster of photographs. There was something here, certainly. Flickers of light were caught on the images, circular glimmers of something lurking beyond the vale. It seemed to flit around the compound, not staying in one place. It wasn''t uncommon, certain spirits were difficult to track down at the best of times. Elspeth sighed, and took another image, this time of one of the ruined buildings. It reminded Elspeth of the temporary buildings she had attended high school classes in, ones that had lasted long past their supposed expiry date. The flash of the camera whined as its light dulled, the paper sliding out of its slot with a clack. The glowing on the photograph was larger now, she was getting closer.


    "Anything?" Gregor asked over her shoulder. Elspeth shook from fright, spinning around. As she did the camera struck Gregor in the eye with a whack. "Ow. Jesus. Fuck. Corners on that thing are fucking sharp."


    "Well, that''s what you get for sneaking up on me. Didn''t think that fucking through did ye?"


    "I wasn''t aware you were a fucking horse. Don''t go behind Liz. Fucking got it." Gregor rubbed his eye. "Find anything with that metal boxing glove of yours?"


    "There is something here, orbs being picked up the camera. It''s most responsive here around this building. The crystal?"


    "Says the same. There is a ghost here. No doubt about that, but it''s not a powerful one at all. Wouldn''t put money on it being our culprit. Still, might be worth talking to it if we can."


    "Doesn''t feel like it wants to be talked too." Elspeth sighed, releasing a long mournful breath. "But, I suppose, if you think it will help."


    Elspeth stood in the half-collapsed building, her feet planted firmly on the floor. It would be important for what was to come next. A tangible, real solid connection. Her mother had always called it a gift, a unique skill passed down from mother to daughter. Elspeth hated it. It was useful now of course, as a part of her Special Investigations role, but when she was younger it had brought only nightmares.


    She took one last look around herself, taking as much as she could about her surroundings. It would be useful. To find her way back. Elspeth took a deep breath in and closed her eyes. She exhaled, re-opening them to a different place.


    She was still in the ruined camp. She knew that. She was there, but also not quite there. The air seemed thick here, like she was moving deep underwater. There was an odd hue to everything, sickly pale green light illuminating the walls of the buildings. They were whole now, no longer ruins, but the walls seemed to shimmer, fading in an out. Half forgotten memories. Elspeth stepped forward, feeling the constant resistance of the place. It longed to get her out, to send her back to where she came from. She pressed on, determined.


    Elspeth''s mother had made a decent living as a medium. She held sold-out shows in pubs, working men''s clubs and even the occasional town hall all across Scotland. Her mother had started from a pure-hearted place, looking to use her talent to soothe a person''s grief. All too often though, people didn''t want to hear what she had to say, and she soon all the tricks and cons used by nearly every other medium. Her mother, like Elspeth, possessed the ability to project their souls onto the astral plane. To walk amongst the spirits and ghosts, if only for short bursts. One of the few true mediums in the country. Her mother had become a master of the cold read, able to draw information from a crowd and mould it into something they wanted to hear. Because the harsh reality was too much for them.


    It was inevitable really, that Elspeth would find herself drawn into the orbit of special investigations. She had joined the force at a young age, making detective in record time for her division. She had sensed a ghost whilst on a mundane case-Elspeth couldn''t remember what it was even about now- and just couldn''t help herself. It was crying out in agony, its pain seeing through into the living world. It was there she had crossed paths with Gregor, who was working the ghost case. Like all the department''s detectives, she had found herself transferred into Special Investigations with very little say so on her part.


    Gregor at least had agreed to keep her ability a secret. Elspeth had no desire in becoming the departments resident medium, begrudgingly using her ability when only absolutely necessary.


    Elspeth stepped out from the shimmering building into the courtyard by simply walking through the wall. She could see Gregor standing in the doorway, no doubt guarding her frozen body. Across the courtyard, she could make out another figure. It was a man, his image slightly hazy. He was wearing what appeared to be a simple shirt and plain trousers.


    "Hello?" Elspeth cried out at him, her words echoing into eternity. The man turned to look at her, bemusement written over his face. He spluttered something in German. "Ah," said Elspeth. "This might be a problem."

 Chapter Six

    Moonlight cascaded through the glass of the visitor centre. The building seemed to absorb the light, a seething black void nestled in the heart of the town. It was the opposite of how it appeared during the day, the gleaming modern construction transforming into something dark and terrible. It was stark, monolithic, like some ancient tribute to a long-forgotten god. Within its midnight void, something moved, a shadow barely discernible with the tomb-like building.


    The shadow took up its place amongst the others. They stood around the main hall of the centre, the exhibits moved to the side to make room. All except one. That relic had been lovingly placed in the centre of the circle, removed from its glass case and sat gently on the floor. It was a perfect pillar, cast from perfectly interlocked horns and antlers. It gleamed, seemingly sucking in the moonlight that had been trapped in its glass prison.


    One of the shadows stepped forward into the low light. It was cloaked in a heavy robe, the large hood concealing its face. It clutched a bushel of dried plants in his hands, a mixture of browned reeds and desiccated herbs. The robed figure knelt, placing the plants gently around the pillar, pushing them tight against its base. It stood back up, and stepped backwards, taking its place in the circle.


    ¡°Good evening brothers and sisters,¡± said one of the robed figures, a mans voice booming across the hall. ¡°Things are moving as we planned. Our prayers have not gone unheard, and two sacrifices have been collected.¡±


    ¡°Cernunnos acts quickly it would seem,¡± said another of the figures, this time a woman.


    ¡°It has been effective, certainly,¡± said a third voice. ¡°I am concerned about the...visibility of our actions. We don¡¯t need some detectives snooping around, not now of all times.¡±


    The crowd seemed to nod in unison, a wave of agreement bubbling around the circle.


    ¡°It is, unfortunate,¡± the first man said, ¡°Cernunnos collects his bounty how he sees fit. It is a shame that it has drawn attention, though I suppose considering his choice it is to be expected. Ours is not to question a god, however. What do these detectives know?¡±


    ¡°Little I would imagine,¡± the woman¡¯s voice said. ¡°They¡¯re looking for a human killer. How can they possibly suspect a god? They don¡¯t know what they chase. How could they?¡±


    ¡°They are from London, some specialist unit,¡± said another of the figures.


    The woman snorted. ¡°More English fucks telling us what to do? Nothing new there. I wouldn¡¯t worry about them. Last I heard they were headed to the old-world war two camp. They haven¡¯t got a clue.¡±


    ¡°Still, it might be best to get them off the island. At least until the harvest is complete.¡± The first speaker stepped forward towards the pillar. ¡°Now, let us at least proceed with tonight¡¯s ritual.¡±


    Brian spread out on his hostel bed, his legs aching. He had been exploring the island, seeking out its nooks and crannies, its hidden grottos and glens. He had been on the island a week and despite the tiny size still hadn¡¯t experienced everything had to offer. It had been a pleasant surprise. He still couldn¡¯t quite articulate why had chosen Raasay for his holiday. Everyone else at his university had laughed, taking his precious time off from studying travelling to a rural Scottish island. Something is Brian¡¯s gut had resonated when he had seen the advertisements online. Some unseen hand guiding his clicks.


    He didn¡¯t regret it now. Brian had always loved hill walking. He had spent time as a child in the boy scouts combing the lake district. It had been put the wayside as he had gotten older, cast aside for cooler pastimes like drinking and girls. He was enjoying the resurgence of his old hobby, though his legs were now complaining.


    He pulled his thin sheet over himself, trying desperately to keep out the cold. The hostel was cheap, and it showed. It''s only heating an old oil-filled radiator that whistled and rattled whilst it was on, fighting against any attempt at actually outputting heat. Brian shivered. It was colder tonight than previous nights. He could hear the heavy rain slamming against the window of the room he shared with a much older man Brian hadn¡¯t seen much of. He gripped the sheet tightly, and closed his eyes, trying vainly to get to sleep.


    Blood splashed onto the top of the pillar, thick and red, it oozed happily down the column. The blood ran, trickling through carefully arranged trenches in the horns. The robed figure turned, placing the now empty wooden bowl into the waiting hands of a second figure before being handed another full container. It resumed filling the pillar. Blood flowed to its base, filling the visible gaps with stick gore. As it reached the bottom it split out from the base, being absorbed by the stacked dried plants.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Around this, the circle was kneeling. Each held another cluster of dried flowers. They were burning, a low constant heat, releasing foul-smelling smoke out into the hall. The blood pouring complete, the leader figure and the two who hand handled the blood kneeled in a triangle before the pillar, bowing their heads.


    It started slowly at first, a light bubbling in the blood at the base of the pillar. It seemed to be boiling without heat, not steam listing from the sludge. It began to move, the pool collecting into one spot, drawn in by a sinister magnetism. From this pool, a set of angular antlers broke the surface. The rest of the creature followed, taking his half-human form. The blood coated his body, sticking onto his skin, matting his fur. The creature smiled, its arms outstretched. It was a grateful god, thankful for its worshippers.


    ¡°My children,¡± it said scratching one of its hooves against the floor. ¡°It warms my heart to see you.¡± Its voice boomed, thick and gravelly, audio wet cement.


    "Our Lord Cernunnos, we welcome you,¡± chanted the crowd.


    ¡°I am welcome, children,¡± Cernunnos shot a wide toothy grin, gnarled stumps jutting from gums. ¡°I can feel your warmth. I trust the bounty I have brought you is proof of my love for you. Now, before I leave to partake in my share of the bounty, can I help you further children?¡±


    "Our Lord," the lead cultist said, their voice low and revered. "Your hunts, blessed though they are, have drawn the attention of some detectives they- "


    ¡°What are detectives?¡± Cernunnos titled his head quizzingly, the torcs on his antlers rattling as he did.


    ¡°Uh,¡± the kneeling cultist was flummoxed. ¡°They are warriors, in a way, from another village. Here to investigate the deaths of those you hunted.¡±


    ¡°They seek to interfere with my hunt?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lord, they do not understand your radiance.¡±


    Cernunnos clasped his hands behind his back and strolled around the pillar. As his hooves struck the ground they clattered. Despite the blood covering them, they left no track marks. "I will see to these warriors. First, though, I will partake in my right. My hunt."


    Brian had given up on trying to sleep. The constant rattle of the heater, the chill creeping through the thin sheets, they had gotten to him, needling away until he was too annoyed to drop off. Instead, he had slipped on the ratty dressing gown the hostel had provided and stepped outside into the buildings small garden. Brian lent against the wall, cigarette clutched tight between his fingers, savouring its warmth. In his other hand, he held a small keychain he had picked up at the visitor centre, a squared spiral attached to a small strap of leather. He had attached to the door key the hostel had given him.


    The garden was a small fenced area behind the hostel, though the fence felt like it hardly mattered. It was the picket kind, only two feet high at the most. Beyond it lay vast open fields and rolling hills. It felt silly to designate such a small part of the countryside as owned, but also distinctly human at the same time.


    In the darkness something leapt, bounding into the moonlight. It was a small deer. Brian had been surprised to see them when he first arrived, but the tiny prancing animals were common to the island. To Brian deer were things that existed only in Disney movies or Christmas movies. One of the locals had told him that Raasay meant ¡°Isle of the roe deer¡± and that they had been here before humans had made the crossing.


    Brian stood there watching them bound across the hillside. His cigarette burnt unsmoked, the ash collapsing off the end under its weight. Another deer leapt into the light, but this one was different. It was enormous, its antlers vast and impressive compared to the tiny horns of the other deer. It was like a stag, or at least, a stag as it would appear in Brian''s imagination. It trampled down the hillside, seemingly running towards him. Brian watched it, fascinated. Its running seemed odd, as though it were skipping across the ground without actually touching it. It swept its head around, swinging its antlers. They were bizarre, cut at perfect angles, several twisting around in unsettling geometric patterns.


    Something about it made Brian sick to his stomach. A visceral reaction to the wrongness of the thing. He stamped out his cigarette and made his way inside the hostel. He locked the back door behind himself. He couldn¡¯t quite articulate why he had done that. The stag was still far away, and there was no chance it would come inside the hostel, but his instincts screamed at him to do it.


    He entered into his hostel room in an awkward sort of half jog, sliding into his bed and pulling his cover over his head. Brian felt like a child, hiding from his nightmares. What am I doing? It¡¯s just a stag. I¡¯m being stupid. He let the cover slip for a moment, before pulling it back tight as he heard a rattle. Something was at the back door. There was a clicking as the handle was pulled up and down ineffectually. Brian breathed a sigh of relief. It¡¯s just a guest. A stag can¡¯t use the handle. Why am I so scared? What¡¯s wrong with me. There was a creak, the sound of a door being pushed gently open. The back door.


    Brian tried to compose himself. It must be someone with a key. Must be. He took a handful of careful breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth, a technique taught to him by a university girlfriend who was much too obsessed with meditation and healing crystals. That relationship hadn¡¯t lasted long, supposedly they had ¡°incompatible auras.¡± There was the sound of footsteps entering his room. His roommate, it had to be. That made sense, his roommate had spent almost every night so far doing whatever it was that he was doing. They must have given him a key.


    There was another footstep. It sounded, wrong. Like the foot hitting the ground almost clopped, a higher-pitched, echoing sound. Brian slowly, moved his sheet, shaking slightly as he did.


    Standing over him was a man. Or at least, its top half was a man. The creatures bottom portion was covered in a thick fur, hooves striking the wooden floorboards from its muscular deer-like legs. From his head, great antlers sprouted. From this distance they seemed to be almost vibrating, something about their shape made them difficult to look at directly. The figure was cover in blood, staining it a deep vivid red. It smiled, revealing a cluster of gnarled yellow teeth. Brian tried to scream, but his voice failed him, escaping in a faint whine.

 Chapter Seven

    ¡°Was machst du hier?¡± said the ghost. His face was awash with confusion as he stared at the woman who had appeared before him. He knew, instinctively, that she was alive. No spectre stood before him, no mournful banshee or tormented soul. A woman, an alive one, had found her way into his world of death. ¡°Was machst du hier?¡± he repeated.


    Elspeth replied, defaulting to the translation method of British people world-wide. Loud and slow. ¡°Hello. Do. You. Speak. English?¡± She was cupping her hands around her mouth as she spoke. It was pointless of course, there was no air here, no sound transmitted by vibrating molecules. She walked carefully towards the German ghost, smiling as she did.


    ¡°Some, enough to get by,¡± the ghost replied, his accent thick.


    ¡°Oh, thank god.¡±


    ¡°There is no God. Not here at least. You are not dead, am I right?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right there. Good, you¡¯re still conscious at least.¡± Elspeth stepped down from the ruined building, her feet hitting the ground. Dust from her boot listed upwards lazily, as though suspended in water.


    The ghost raised an eyebrow. ¡°Conscious? Should I be concerned?¡±


    ¡°You know where you are, right?¡±


    The ghost nodded, the loose cap on his head flopping as he did. ¡°I do not claim to understand it. I am trapped between this life and the next am I right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Elspeth replied, remorse heavy on her voice. ¡°Look, I need your help. Maybe, in exchange we can help you?¡±


    ¡°You English always want something in return.¡±


    ¡°Not English, Scottish. But yes. A little tit for tat. You seen anything unusual around here.¡± She looked at the ghost, taking in his appearance. ¡°Aside from yourself.¡±


    ¡°There are a few other spirits. They are not as¡­whole as me. Some are quite mad. I assume that isn¡¯t what you refer too. I think you¡¯re talking about the¡­other thing.¡±


    ¡°Other thing?¡±


    The ghost sat upon the doorframe of the building nearest him, scraping his feet idly across the ground. ¡°It is, something. I am not sure what exactly. It is in your world, the living world, but as it stalks the island it¡­ripples in this one. Everything around here seems wrong as it passes. I don¡¯t know what it is, but it has been abroad more frequently recently.¡±


    ¡°How often have you seen it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen it. Not really, just it¡¯s wake in this world. I first saw it not long after my, uh, trip to this side. Then maybe once every few years. I¡¯ve seen it these past three nights though.¡± The ghost pressed his hands to the side of his head. ¡°I worry, when I see it. I try and keep as far away as I can. I felt it once, its wake washing over me. I could feel anger building, like just being near it eroded my sanity.¡±


    Elspeth considered his words for a moment. She could feel a pull, her body calling her soul back to its fleshy prison. She resisted, willing herself to remain a little longer.


    Cernunnos stalked the countryside, his legs striking the ground in impossible ways as the thundered over the hills. A mighty stag lording over its domain. He was relishing his new hunt. The few tributes his children had provided so far were perfunctory, simple sacrifices arranged by ritual. This was something different. He couldn¡¯t sense this new prey, there was no magic binding him to them. This hunt would rely on his skills. It was thrilling.


    The stag crested the hill, striking a silhouette against the full moon. It looked down across the island, scanning it with senses beyond human. There, across the island two humans, their scents different subtly from his children, were scrabbling around in a set of old buildings.


    Old was relative. Cernunnos had been content to slumber, called upon once every few hundred years, though he had existed for longer than even he remembered, his early history fuzzy, half-remembered flashes and truths. His children had become more demanding in recent years, more insistent on their requests. He had fulfilled them, for now, though the constant requests were grating on him, proper payment or not.


    He didn''t understand their questions. Not really. The modern world was confusing, hectic, strange castles stamped across the once pristine countryside with little regard for the myriad spirits and entities that called them home. It was a shame, to see humanity so all-encompassing. Cernunnos had called out, briefly to his fellow gods. The replies had been pathetic, faint.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The god flexed his front hooves, shaking his head, antlers swaying against the moonlight. It was time to hunt. To claim his prize.


    Gregor sat, watching the body of Elspeth. It was frozen, perfectly still save for a shallow breathing. He had seen her use her abilities only a few times. Elspeth had repeatedly stated a reluctance at using them, even going so far as to hide them from the rest of the department. It didn¡¯t sit well with Gregor, in their line of work it was an incredibly useful skill, but neither was he going to turn his partner in. The bonds formed in the line of duty outweighing any sense of loyalty to the job.


    He dragged the heel of his boot across the dirt, boredom setting in. Gregor let out a loud sigh and leant back, arms touching the dirty floorboards behind him as he did so. He stared up at the full moon, letting its light wash over him. He found it oddly soothing. Something caught his eye, moving oddly against the great white disc. A shape. An animal of some kind. Gregor squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look. It was a stag, or at least, had the rough shape of one. Its antlers were wrong, the elegant natural lines replaced by jagged shapes and odd arrangements.


    ¡°Ah shit,¡± Gregor whispered. He was an experienced detective, second only in experience to DCI Florence Weston. Gregor had spent many decades in the department and much to Weston¡¯s annoyance had declined multiple promotion offers. Gregor knew where that road led, a trail of paperwork and worn out desks. No, his place was here in the field. As he watched the odd-looking creature begin to bound down the hill, Gregor felt a sickness rising in his gut. He knew enough to trust his instincts, the human body often had visceral reactions to the supernatural.


    He stood up, turning quickly toward Elspeth. Gregor placed his hands onto her shoulders. ¡°Come on MacAdams, wakey wakey time.¡± He shook her gently trying to rouse her. ¡°Now isn¡¯t the time to get all fucking zoned out on me. I don¡¯t care how good the fucking chat is, time to pop back now.¡±


    Elspeth felt another tug; her body was screaming for her soul to return. It was starting to strain on her. She could feel herself slipping in this realm, becoming almost thinner.


    ¡°Look, thanks for all this,¡± she said to the ghost. ¡°We¡¯ll help you out, I promise, after we sort out, whatever is causing trouble on this island.¡±


    The ghost nodded. ¡°I¡­I thank you. I don¡¯t know how you can help me, I fear I am doomed to stay here forever. To become like some of the¡­others I have seen. All I ask is you find out what happened to my family, after the war. I gather my side lost correct?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right on that front yes.¡±


    "You know, I just joined the army to help protect my country. We all did. It was well paying and many of us remembered the money troubles after the first war. I was not poorly treated here. Your people even provided us with a German-language newspaper." The ghost took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled. "Just one winter where it was a little too cold. Turns out I had a heart problem I didn''t know about and a little pneumonia was enough. Shame, I quite liked it here. Maybe that''s why I linger?"


    "Maybe, in my experience, it can be almo- ¡°Elspeth stopped. Something was wrong. Reality seemed to be rumbling, as though something enormous was stomping its way towards her. ¡°What is this?¡± She asked. The spectral buildings around her seemed to ripple with the impacts.


    ¡°What you¡¯re looking for,¡± said the ghost. ¡°It¡¯s coming¡±


    Gregor released his grip on Elspeth¡¯s shoulders as her eyes snapped open. She gasped for air, sharp snapping breaths as though she had breached from underwater. Her breathing settled and she stood up, shaking her limbs. They felt strangely numb.


    ¡°We need to move,¡± she said.


    ¡°Our suspect is coming,¡± Gregor replied. ¡°I saw it, I think, up on the hill. A weird stag.¡±


    "Stag? No, it''s nothing as simple as that. It was¡­resonating in the spirit realm. A particularly chatty ghost says our friend has been around for a long time, at least before the war."


    Gregor nodded along as she spoke. ¡°Ok, so. Do we have a plan?¡±


    ¡°We go say hello.¡±


    The stag slid down the hill, though its hooves left no tracks, none of the expected trenches cut into the dirt by its slide. It trotted slowly towards the two detectives, who stood in the centre of the ruined camp, hands in their coat pockets. The creature titled its head in confusion. It hadn¡¯t expected its prey to be so cooperative.


    Elspeth took in the creature. It was enormous, not just in height but in thick tightly stacked muscle. Every move a display of power and strength. It emitted an overwhelming aura of wrongness. It did not belong. Not in this world. Not in this time.


    ¡°Evening sir, anything we can help you with?¡± Elspeth asked, a sly smile on her lips. The stag stopped its approach. From here she could see it was slick wet with blood. It was everywhere, covering it entirely. It seemed as though its skin was bubbling for a moment, before it collapsed into an amorphous glob of floating gore. It reshaped itself, solidifying into the form of a gnarled beast-man. It snarled a mouth of stained teeth.


    ¡°This is disappointing,¡± the creature growled. ¡°I had expected more than this pitiful submission. Warriors I was told you were.¡±


    "Warriors eh?" Gregor said with a laugh. "I suppose in a way. Against things like yourself. These murders on this island. Do you know anything about them? We have to let you know that you are a suspect in an active investigation. Oh right, I¡¯m Detective Constable Lythgoe, this is DC MacAdams.¡±


    ¡°Suspect? Investigation? What does this mean?¡± it hissed.


    ¡°Means sunshine that if we find you¡¯ve been offing tourists on this rock then we¡¯re going to have to take you in for murder.¡± Elspeth pulled her jacket tighter against herself. In her pocket, gripped tight in her hand was a retractable baton.


    ¡°Murder? No. I take what is mine by right. Equitable trade. A hunt, a sacrifice for my grace. A tithe of the bounty I bring. These tourists,¡± the creature sounded out the words slowly, struggling with the word, ¡°are mine by rights.¡±


    ¡°Well, sorry my lad, but not around here. Now, are you going to come along quietly?¡± Gregor asked. The creature snorted, lowering its horns. They shifted, forming rows of razor-sharp blades pointing forwards. It dragged it right hoof across the ground. ¡°Guess not,¡± shrugged Gregor as the creature charged.

 Chapter Eight

    Cernunnos charged, the antlers lowered into an oncoming wall of blades. He surged forward, his hooves finding purchase with the ground. A trampling ferocious storm of razors and flesh he swung his head around triumphantly. Or at least, he tried to, before slamming into the ground.


    Cernunnos was ancient. He had lorded over pre-historic man, exchanging his favour for a tithe of its bounty. Fertile hunting grounds, victory over opposing tribes or a bountiful harvest, he had delivered them all. His children had performed the ritual, fed the pillar with blood and awakened him, and every time he had set out on his hunt. Claiming his price. In all his millennia, never had a human reacted like Elspeth.


    As the lumbering god had charged Elspeth had run directly towards it. She ducked, the antlers catching her jacket, ripping the fabric. Past the sharp edges, she brought up her knee into the stomach of the blood-stained god. It grunted from her blow, but Elspeth wasted no time, slamming her elbow down into the matted fur that ran down its back. The beast crumpled into the earth, its antlers carving deep troughs into the earth, the strange effect that prevented it leaving tracks seemingly broken. As it landed something scattered across the ground, glinting in the moonlight.


    The twisted amalgam of man and beast lay there for a moment stunned. Not just from the blow, but from the action. She struck me he thought. A human dared touch me! A snarl crept across Cernunnos face. Primal anger welled up within, a searing bubbling rage that filled his limbs. The wet blood covering him shimmered, as his body lost cohesion, becoming a floating orb of searing boiling blood. It reformed his body, this time standing upright. Cernunnos would not be seen scrabbling up from the ground like a grovelling supplicant. He was a god. He deserved worship.


    "A mistake child," he spat through his stunted teeth. "You dare lay hands on your god?"


    Elspeth held up her hands. ¡°Worth a shot weren¡¯t it. I¡¯ve been in tougher scraps truth be told. You ain¡¯t had a fight until a Glasgow drunk is trying to steal your Kebab pissed on bucky.¡±


    ¡°Aye, she¡¯s got a point. We¡¯ve seen scarier things in back alleys friend,¡± added Gregor. He had removed a pair of handcuffs from behind his waist from their leather holster hidden beneath his coat. ¡°Now, me old mate, we are arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.¡± He slapped the rings of metal locked together by black carbon fibre onto the being¡¯s wrists. Cernunnos gave no resistance, more bemused than anything else.


    ¡°What is this?¡± rumbled the god. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re nicked mate,¡± Elspeth said. She took her place beside Gregor, her arms crossed. ¡°Now, fancy telling us who you are?¡±


    ¡°Who am I!¡± came the bellow response, torcs jangling as the creature shook its head in anger. The antlers had shifted back into their original place, taking on new odd shapes. ¡°I am your god! You should be honoured to be hunted by I Cernunnos!¡±


    ¡°Cernunnos huh?¡± Elspeth replied. ¡°Bit of a mouthful that. How bout we go with Clive instead. He look like a Clive to you DC Lythgoe?¡±


    ¡°Maybe more of a Chester?¡±


    ¡°Cease this foolishness!¡± Cernunnos roared. He lifted his cuffed hands into the air. Slowly, the began to sink through his wrists. His hands fell off with a pop, the cuffs dropping onto the floor soaked with blood. ¡°You will kneel humans! Kneel before your god.¡± The stumps of his wrists were already reforming new hands.


    ¡°Nah, we¡¯re good,¡± Elspeth said inspecting her nails. ¡°Never really been my thing. I never behaved in Sunday school either mind.¡±


    ¡°Not me I was a good boy when I was younger. The school I went too made us sing hymns in assembly before classes,¡± Gregor said. He was staring up into the air, not paying attention to the entity throwing a tantrum before him.


    ¡°We never had hymns, but they made us sing about like, cauliflowers and stuff. Man, school was weird huh?¡±


    There was a roar, a terrible peeling rumbling scream that echoed throughout the night air. Cernunnos panted, his head tilted back, his mouth hanging open oddly. It snapped back into place as the screech stopped. It stood there, shoulders rising and lowering from deep breaths as its stomach began to ripple. With a hiss two pillars of blood sprayed forth, each end tipped with snarling snake heads. Their eyes darted back and forth, their fangs dripped gore. The body of the snakes were formed of liquid blood, shifting slithering weapons.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    They lashed forth towards the detectives, who dived in opposite directions. The snake heads slammed into the ground before rising to strike again. Both detectives ran, eager to get distance between themselves and their strange attackers. They could hear them following behind, a strange mixture of hissing snake and sloshing blood.


    Elspeth pressed hard against the small fragment of remaining wall. She was holding her breath, trying to remain as silent as possible. There was a slow patter, like gentle rain, from the other side of the thin prefabrication. One of the tendrils of blood was searching, tongue lapping from its serpent head as it searched. Elspeth steeled herself, summoning her bravery to peer around. The tendril of blood seemed thinner now, as if its vast reserve of crimson was slowly being spent.


    Her heard jerked as something clattered. A noise from across the camp. Gregor maybe? She thought. No, he ran the other way. You know what this is. You can feel it. There was another clang, and this time she saw its source. An old tin can, half-rotted from rust flew lifted into the air and then flew as though thrown. Elspeth smiled. Faintly she could feel his presence, her ghostly saviour. The snake hissed, darting off towards the noise. It was definitely growing thinner as time went on.


    Plan forming in her mind, she mouthed a silent thanks to her ghostly protector and began to carefully creep away from her hiding place.


    Gregor swung, bringing his baton down in a long arc. He had chosen a decidedly different tactic to Elspeth. He had waited, biding his time until his pursuing head had crept closer, deliberately leaving part of himself exposed. Bait to drag it in.


    The baton struck the body of the snake, finding no resistance. Not that Gregor expected any it cut clear through the blood, which was hot, almost boiling. The severed head splashed as it hit the dirt, losing its cohesion. There was a bubbling hiss as another began to form from the remaining body.


    Gregor wasted no time, striking again and again, separating globs of blood before another head could fully grow. A roar echoed from the other side of the camp and the blood tentacle snapped backwards, splatter colliding with Gregor¡¯s face as it retracted back to its host.


    Elspeth heard the angry roar of the ancient god. It was thinner now, almost gaunt. Her suspicions were confirmed, it was fading. The nightmarish thing seemed to be formed of blood, every moment it walked, every drop wasted, weakened it. She had crept around the outskirts of the camp, taking care to huge what remained of the fence. She had stopped for a moment, taking the time to collect some rusted gnarled remnants of barbed wire.


    One of the tentacles snapped back into Cernunnos¡¯ stomach with a sickening slap. The other still snaked around the camp, searching desperately for its prey. Deciding this was her moment, Elspeth ran, his hands tucked insides her sleeves as she grasped the barbed wire between her hands. Cernunnos had his head raised, still roaring defiance, his eyes closed.


    With one quick movement, she slipped the wire around his neck and pulled, barbs digging into the self-proclaimed god''s neck. Slowly they began to sink, sliding through the blood that formed its body.


    The remaining tentacle began its quick retraction backwards, but it never reached its destination. Gregor sprinted across the camp, sliding across the dirt before the strangled god like a baseball player aiming for a plate. He swung his baton as he did, severing the tentacle which had stretched to a prodigious size.


    It was enough. The barbed wire found the resistance gone, sending Elspeth tumbling backwards. The creature burst, blood spraying outwards, covering both detectives.


    ¡°Jesus fucking Christ,¡± Gregor whinged as he clambered to his feet. ¡°This was a new fucking shirt. Fuck.


    ¡°That was a¡­new one for the books I think,¡± Elspeth replied wiping the splatter from her face.


    ¡°So. That¡¯s it then?¡±


    "No. No, I don''t think so," Elspeth said. She walked past Gregor reaching down into the dirt of the courtyard. "I think we need to ask some serious questions." She lifted her prize, the glimmering object that the twisted god had dropped. It was a keyring. The leather strip was black but had ¡°Raasay Visitor Centre¡± printed in white across it. The metal attached to the leather was a familiar shape, a squared spiral.


    The spirit of Cernunnos whipped across the countryside, screaming through the void towards his pillar. His totem. His home. He seethed with anger, but more than that he felt humiliated. Ashamed at his loss to two pitiful humans. He had never lost before, not that he could recollect in his memory. His children. They had betrayed him somehow, sent him to his defeat. Yes, the spirit thought that must be it. They have drunk deep of my bounty and now seek to be rid of me. They knew. They had to know. As the entity settled into its bone container, it planned and plotted, dreaming deep of revenge when it was summoned again.


    ¡°Jesus fucking Christ what happened to you pair?¡± Graham asked. He was standing outside the hostel as the pulses of blue light washed over him from his police car.


    ¡°What¡¯s going here more importantly?¡± Gregor replied. The flashing lights strobed in his eyes, making him squint. ¡°Fucking Jesus turn that light off.¡±


    "Sorry, sorry, hang on." Graham reached in through the open driver''s side window, flicking off the lights with a switch. "We''ve got another one for you lot. It''s just like the other two. Bit grim really. And uh¡­it''s in your room apparently." Graham tapped Gregor on the arm with fake sincerity. "You might be hard-pressed to find something clean in there, and you look like you need if you don''t mind me saying."


    There was a loud groan from Elspeth. "A bath, you know?" she asked. "That''s all I wanted. A Bath and a change of clean clothes."


    ¡°Well at least you have both,¡± Gregor said followed by a long exhale.

 Chapter Nine

    Gregor adjusted himself, his newly bought shirt was uncomfortably tight, the islands small clothing store poorly stocked for a man of his size. He adjusted the collar, pulling it away from the skin of his neck.


    The rest of his clothes were a write-off. His room in the hostel had been a torrent of gore, blood seeping through the polyester of his bag and staining the clothes within. He had stood in the doorway of the room despairing to himself. Not just for his lost belongings but for the young man who had shared his room. Gregor hadn¡¯t spoken with him, not really, a few grunts and nods proving more than effective, the unspoken male language carrying their meaning clearly.


    The scene in the room had been horrific. The victim had been split open across the stomach, the entrails wrapped around his wrists and hooked to the ceiling fan that took up far too much space in the room. That creature, that supposed god, had removed the victim''s teeth. It had pressed the bloody tooth fragments into the body''s chest in the now telltale squared spiral pattern. The same one that had been attached to the keyring he and Elspeth had recovered.


    Latching onto that single lead, Gregor and Elspeth had taken up a vantage point in the caf¨¦ opposite the visitor centre. Gregor clasped his hands around his cup of tea, the cuffs on his shirt straining under his bulk as he moved. The cuffs cut into his skin as he took a long sip.


    ¡°So,¡± he said between gulps of tea, ¡°you¡¯re thinking the same as me I guess?¡± He placed the teacup back onto the cheap table, the plastic wood effect veneer starting to peel off. Gregor undid the button on one of his cuffs and began to roll up the sleeve.


    ¡°Yeah, I think so,¡± Elspeth replied. She had her own drink tucked in tight against her, a large mug of hot chocolate covered in cream, tiny pink marshmallows sprinkled on the twisting white mountain. Its warmth was soothing against the oddly chill morning air. ¡°That same shape appears every time our furry friend makes a kill. What are the chances of the visitor centre using the same symbol?¡±


    ¡°Could be a coincidence?¡±


    ¡°Coincidences are for normal coppers. There is no such thing in our line of work.¡± Elspeth lifted her cup to her lips, changing her mind as the cream came perilously close to her nose. She placed the mug onto the table and picked up a spoon. ¡°Symbology, sacred geometry, ritual iconography and just plain old sympathetic magic. There has to be a reason every victim so far is a tourist, too right?¡± She waved the spoon around like a conductor waving a baton as she spoke.


    ¡°The key attached to that keyring was for our hostel. Looks like it was the one they gave the lad sharing with me.¡± Gregor reached into his pocket, placing the key that the hostel staff had given him onto the table with. The metal clicked as it struck the cheap plastic. The key was loose unattached to anything. ¡°This is how I got mine. They pulled it out of a drawer full of them. I think that key is from our third victim and he attached that on there.¡±


    ¡°Got it from the visitor centre probably. A souvenir,¡± Elspeth said. She spooned a wobbling clump of cream into her mouth. ¡°It all comes back around to the centre doesn¡¯t it?¡± she continued, her words muffled through the mouthful of cream. Elspeth swallowed. ¡°The centre has souvenirs with this logo, they exist to draw in and serve tourists, tourists who are then getting murdered and left with the same shape.¡±


    Gregor picked up his hostel key and tapped it on the table twice. ¡°That thing from last night. It kept talking about its children, and requests and tithes. I think that¡¯s what¡¯s happening. Someone is asking that thing to do something, and it¡¯s collecting a portion of that request for itself as payment.¡±


    "So what? They ask it for tourists and in exchange, it gets a few of those tourists for itself?"


    ¡°I suppose so,¡± Gregor said. ¡°This thing considers itself a god. It makes more sense if it¡¯s helping with hunts and harvests. Jesus, all this is just to get some more fucking tourists? That¡¯s sick.¡± He adjusted his newly rolled sleeve, brought up to match the other, the folds razor sharp.


    Gregor crouched behind the car, his breathing slow, his movements deliberate. Night had fallen over the island, a slow encroaching blackness that had swallowed the visitor centre whole, embracing it in shadows. The building seemed to take on the properties of some uncaring void, a pit of oblivion cast into the skyline. Gregor watched from his hiding place, as a small line of people shuffled inside, through a small side entrance away from the main doors and their portal of glass.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Across from him, lurking in the small gap between two houses with Elspeth, watching the same procession of locals into the ominous building. His eyes caught hers and she nodded. Carefully, Elspeth stepped out of her hiding place as Gregor did the same. The stepped towards the looming construction of concrete and steel, that modern behemoth clinging to the ancient island like a barnacle.


    The crowd had disappeared inside now, swallowed by the blackness of the building. Gregor stretched out his hand gingerly to the door they had been using and was pleased to find it unlocked. He twisted the handle and stepped inside, followed closely by Elspeth.


    The circle was formed. The pillar placed in its rightful place in the centre of the chamber. A robed figure stepped forward followed by two others, pitchers of blood in hand, a kind donation from the local butcher. Beneath the hood, Agnes Doak smiled. The community was coming together, working hard to make the islands fledgeling tourist industry a success. Or at least half of them were, some on the island were still intransigent at her decision to build the visitor centre.


    She didn¡¯t regret it, not in the slightest. It was transferring the artefacts that had been stored at Raasay house over the last century that they had discovered the pillar. That perfect cylinder of horns. They had placed it in pride of place in the visitor centre hall, proudly displaying the unique prehistoric art.


    The dreams had begun almost immediately. Terrifying nightmares. Flashes of rage and blood, during which once thing hung in the air, a focal point of calm. The pillar. It was calling to them, reaching out in their dreams. Offering them peace, prosperity. All it asked in return was for a portion of its bounty. A tithe.


    They had known, almost instinctively the steps to take, the ritual to complete. The needed dried plants, the blood. It had all come from their dreams, as though the pillar was calling to them, desperate to be used. To be worshipped.


    Agnes held the bowl of blood high, and began to pour, allowing the thick gloopy blood to flow down the pillar. It ran over the bones, spilling into the crevices, filling the space inside. Agnes turned to the person behind her, ready to take the second bowl of blood from the waiting hands of Graham. She gripped the simple wooden bowl, nodding to him as he released it into her hands. She turned, and dropped it, sending it clattering across the ground, spilling its precious cargo, shocked by the voice she had heard.


    ¡°Police! Nobody move!¡± Elspeth had shouted. She was standing on the gift shop counter, her arms crossed.


    ¡°I suggest you listen to the woman,¡± Gregor added. He was standing in a doorway, its short corridor leading to the still unlocked side entrance.


    "Can I help you, detectives?" Graham said sliding down the hood on his robe. "We''re just- "


    ¡°Engaging in a ritual? Summoning a particular horned entity?¡± Elspeth hopped down from the counter, her boots thumping on the white tile that covered the floor. The robed figures nearest her backed up, breaking their circle. ¡°Don¡¯t look so surprised. You were well aware we are specialists after all.¡±


    "Everyone against the wall, hands above their heads, let''s go!" Gregor barked.


    Agnes slammed her hand on Graham''s arm as he began to back away. "No body move. Idiots. Our Lord will deal with them. You were stupid to come here!"


    ¡°Oop, one for the bingo card there Lythgoe. Maybe she¡¯ll start monologuing and you can get a full house.¡± Elspeth was smiling. Her job was hard, dangerous and terrifying, but she enjoyed every minute of it, a poorly kept secret. She opened her mouth to speak again but was stopped by an odd noise.


    The small pool of blood was bubbling, coming to a boil. There was a piercing wail as it erupted into the air, forming into the mad horned god from the night before. He was thin, gaunt, bones sticking through his humanoid chest. The fur hung loosely from his bestial legs. He was incomplete, the ritual interrupted before the required amount of blood could be gathered.


    Agnes spun around, her arms outstretched, eyes wide at the sight of her god. ¡°My lord! These unbelievers have come to interfere with-¡°Agnes didn¡¯t get to finish her sentence. Cernunnos simply gripped her head and squeezed, popping her skull like an overripe grape. He shook his hand free, allowing the now headless corpse to drop to the ground.


    ¡°Betrayers!¡± Cernunnos roared. "You tricked me, sent me to face my doom." He was seething with rage, stamping his hooves as he spoke. Around him, the cultists staggered backwards. Several trembled in fear.


    Graham collapsed to his knees as his god loomed over him. Cernunnos stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling in deep breaths, exposing his ribs beneath the skin. He gripped Graham by the shoulder and lifted him into the air with both hands. Graham said nothing, terror stealing the words from his lips. The god''s antlers shifted, becoming two long straight needles. He brought his prey forward, impaling him onto the blades.


    Graham¡¯s body shuddered, his eyes rolling back. Then he exploded, spiked blades spraying forth in a cascade of razor-sharp needles. The found the flesh of the other cultists, bursting through them. The needles were red, weapons forged of blood which splattered against the floor and walls as they struck them. Elspeth leapt backwards, rolling over the gift shop counter and taking cover behind it. Gregor ducked back into the doorway as a cultist fell dead at his feet, too slow in hiding from the storm of death.


    Cernunnos dropped Graham¡¯s corpse to the ground, now little more than a deflated bag of bone and meat, the blood drained from it by the ruinous barrage.


    ¡°Warriors!¡± It screamed, its rage shaking the building itself. ¡°Come and face me!¡±

 Chapter Ten - Final Chapter

    ¡°No!¡± Elspeth replied from behind her hiding place. ¡°I think we¡¯re good thanks!¡± The angry snarl told her that sarcasm was a poor choice. She looked around frantically, searching for something she could use. A weapon against an angry god, chosen from gift shop junk. There was a strange noise, not quite the clicking of hooves onto tile, but more a strange mixture of clacking and squelching.


    Blood. The events of the night before raced through Elspeth¡¯s mind. It was made of blood. Its solidity was an illusion, brief moments of coherency amongst the chaos of crashing gore-filled eddies. There has to be a minimum, Elspeth thought. It couldn¡¯t hold together last night. Enough of the blood used and it fell apart. Her eyes settled onto something, a neatly stacked pile nestled into one of the nooks shelves that held the array of gifts. Elspeth smiled, she had found it. Her weapon.


    Cernunnos lumbered forward, moving like a crashing wave. As he stepped his body shook and wobbled like poorly set jelly. He was incomplete, the ritual interrupted. Normally he savoured the hunt, the chase, tracking his prey through the night. Now though he was racing against time. He needed to deal with these two people, these "detectives". He didn''t have long, his body already starting to slough apart, pools of blood trailing where he walked. Supplicants were replaceable, there was always more humans eager to offer the appropriate sacrifices for a boon. That is, of course, if he could survive the night.


    The curved table ahead, there was someone there, he was certain. The woman had shouted from behind it, barking defiance at his godly order. A wicked smile curved across his lips even as a handful of his gnarled yellow teeth collapsed into their constituent blood, tricking down onto his already red skin.


    ¡°Come out woman,¡± Cernunnos snarled. "I will make it quick. You should be proud, to meet your end at the hands of your god!"


    ¡°Didn¡¯t work out so well for you last time did it?¡± Came the reply from behind the counter. Cernunnos chuckled at the response. Brave to the last. He was at least certain that his prey was worthy, he was humble enough to admit that.


    "I underestimated you, I admit that," he said, stepping closer to the desk. "You and your comrade have proven admirable warriors." Blood dripped free from his leg, splashing onto the tile as he took another step. "I will take no pleasure in ending your lives," Cernunnos said, the lie hanging in the air threateningly.


    ¡°Yeah, same here,¡± Elspeth replied. She popped up from behind the counter, her hands grasping something tightly. A stack of large tea-towels, ¡°I love Raasay¡± emblazoned on the top. She slid the top one of the pile, throwing it outwards in one swoop. It struck the twisted god in the chest, sticking to his vicious body. It quickly stained red, drinking deep his blood like a vampire.


    Cernunnos stumbled backwards, peeling the now soaked towel from his chest. As his hooves found purchase, so did Gregor¡¯s knee. Seeing the advance of the horned god upon his colleagues hiding place he had burst forth from his doorway, running across the open hall, stepping over the bodies of townspeople as he ran. His knee raised up into the creatures back. He felt it sinking in, the blood forming the body of the beast losing any semblance of solidity. Gregor quickly pulled his leg free, blood splashing onto the floor and staining his trousers.


    Cernunnos roared as it tried to stabilise itself, arms thrashing, trying to desperately to land a blow on one of the humans. He could feel the rage building within him, escaping as heat, his body begging to boil, bubbles forming on the surface of the blood. It howled, its horrid shrieking wail cut off as Elspeth struck Cernunnos across the face, a tea-towel wrapped around her hand like a knuckleduster. Blood splashed outwards in a curving splatter, a chunk flying free, Cernunnos¡¯ face melting back into shape slowly.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Gregor realised his partners plan immediately. He raised his hands, catching a hastily thrown towel. He twirled it tight, lashing it out in a whip-like motion, a manoeuvre well practised from ill-spent high-school P.E lesson. It cut deep into the god''s body, getting stuck in the matted furred chest, dangling freely as it absorbed blood, a slow creeping line of red.


    It was too much. The rage, the anger, the constant loss of blood. Cernunnos could feel his body failing, losing its cohesion. He simply let go. Arms exploded outward, legs became stretching searching rivers of blood. His image collapsed from beast-man to furious wailing bubble of blood. He lashed out, tendrils of blood striking blindly, crashing into the counter.


    Elspeth tried to duck, but the shifting mass of blood was faster. An outreached flailing limb struck her in the chest, sending her flying off her feet. Her back struck the tile hard as she slid across the ground.


    The blob turned towards Gregor. At its surface, the faint outline of a face could be seen in between pulses of blood. It was smiling. Gregor turned to run but found himself gripped in a mass of tentacles. They squeezed, pressing against his flesh in a growing agonising pressure. He could feel his muscle bruising, screaming in agony.


    ¡°Hey, fuckface,¡± shouted Elspeth. The face on the glob shifted, disappearing on one side, then reappearing facing her. ¡°This yours?¡± She wrapped a knuckle against the elaborate pillar of horns. One side of her dropped, injured from her fall, her other hand pressed against it. She smiled, and then pushed.


    The pillar topped, ancient fragile bone striking the hard tile for the floor. It shattered, sharp fragments of horn flying free, its intricate delicate arrangement collapsing from the force. It scattered across the floor, destroyed utterly.


    Gregor dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. There was no agonised screech, no wail of defiance. Cernunnos simply ceased to be, the blood composing his body falling to the ground with a splash. It lay there, silent, harmless.


    "You alright there Lythgoe?" Elspeth asked, hand outstretched. Gregor took it as she helped him to his feet.


    ¡°I suppose so. I have to say, that was¡­unexpected.¡±


    ¡°What part? The god made of blood, the weird pillar or the crazy cultists praying for tourists?¡±


    ¡°What? No, that shit is normal for us. I mean the tea-towels. That¡¯s a new one for the books.¡± Gregor rubbed his sides, aching from the creature¡¯s vice grip. He looked down at his shirt, stained red with blood and shook his head.


    ¡°Ah well,¡± Elspeth said with a smile, ¡°I figure you use silver for werewolves and iron for fairies. For a big wet blood monster, we needed something absorbent¡±


    The boat purred in its mooring, ready to take its precious cargo to the mainland. A gaggle of extremely unhappy locals handcuffed and seated as police officers stood before them. Gregor had called to the London office, who had pulled some strings and arranged for some officers from a nearby mainland town to take the boat over. Next to them was the ferryman, looking extremely pleased with the number of "passengers" he had.


    Gregor adjusted himself against the lamppost he was leaning on, drinking from a steaming paper cup, warm coffee radiating out from within. He was watching Elspeth instructing the uniformed officers. Apparently satisfied, she nodded to them and stepped off the boat. The ferryman, clad in his yellow waterproofs, was already untying the boat.


    ¡°So?¡± Gregor said as Elspeth approached. ¡°What¡¯s the official line?¡±


    "We''re going with what it looks like. Cult. Murder-suicide gone wrong. Poison in the Ribena or something like that. Maybe we can get some fraud charges to stick with the surviving trust members, see if we can get the money spent on the centre turned over to the other families. The relic?¡±


    ¡°All locked away.¡± Gregor tapped at a suitcase he had bought for far too much money from his hostel. ¡°Does mean we need to head down to London, get it sealed away in the vault.¡±


    Elspeth nodded. Special Investigations was hidden beneath New Scotland Yard, obscured down multiple access corridors and basement hallways. Beneath that again was the vault, the largest collection of occult materials and relics in the country. The fragments of the pillar would be locked away, sealed where they could never be reassembled. ¡°After we¡¯ve done that, we need to come back.¡±


    ¡°We do?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Elspeth said. Her face was solemn. ¡°In the camp, there was a spirit, a prisoner who died there. He helped me during our¡­night time adventure there. We need to help him. We do owe him.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± Gregor took a long sip of his coffee. ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯ll be happy to see this island again. This is going to suck for them, the tourist industry is as good as dead right?¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding? People see the news there was a cult here and they¡¯ll come flocking. There will be a Netflix documentary before the end of the year, you bet your fucking life on it.¡±