"It... it runs real-weird, you know?" Simon Coombs breathlessly explained to Father Jacobs. The sweating boy's skin
was still white with shock and the Priest seriously thought about taking him out to Doctor Fell's house. But considering
the late hour and the ten miles to his home in Bitters Helm, he instead urged the lad to take another sip of the alter wine
and calm down.
Leaving the grave-digger's son trembling in his nightshirt on the chapel's pew, Father Jacobs ushered Benedict Coombs
out of earshot to examine Simon's peculiar claim regarding the 'thing' that attempted to climb into his bedroom window.
The pair looked at each other for a few moments before the older man spoke.
"It's a sad day and no mistake, when 'Ah wake 'nd find me-lad runnin' about me-bedroom screamin' about nightmares..."
Coombs whispered and glanced wide-eyed again as his only son. "... And 'Ah've left it that, iff'n 'Ah hadn't seen the tracks
outside his window with me-own eyes" he added. Jacobs nodded and looking back at the ashen youngster, he mimed
sipping the drink at the boy and saw Simon respond.
With Martha Dinsdale's recent trance-like malady, the Sexton of Little Compton had resisted the urge to connect the two
incidents, but the way Coombs-junior described the fleeing creature, it seemed more and more like tonight's invasive
foray was the work of the one they called Doramus.
"He said it looked like a fella..." Benedict said in a hushed voice "...but at the same time, he said there was something,
something wrong with how it moved". The labourer stared at his Preacher and silently wished he'd brought a bottle of
his moonshine with him. "Do yer' think it's the work of what killed the Oaker boy and his Ma?" he asked and performing
something he hadn't done since he was a boy younger than his son, he crossed his heart with a finger.
Mona Oaker and her son -Theodore, had been attacked by a wolf a year ago when they were nearing their home after
visiting relatives not far from Burnham's Hope. It was taken as fact. The cart they were on showed marks of where the
beast had leapt from hiding and after a struggle, the nine year-old had fled whilst his mother fought unsuccessfully to
stop the brute from going after her son.
Sadly, young Theo was discovered a day later further along the canyon and it was decided that the boy had died from
something Dr Fell had called 'hyperthermia'. Major Craythorn -a man of some note in the area, agreed with the findings
and had previous experience in tracking during his military years. The esteemed Major had also suggested the wolf
tracks indicated a distinct deformity in its gait. But the brow-furrowed Priest believed this recent incident was entirely
different and so he warned Coombs not to jump to conclusions.
Deliberating on this current situation, Father Jacobs thought on Martha's daughter's comment that every night, she
made sure the doors were locked and the windows were secure. However, the morning of her mother's weird state,
Jenny had found a back-room window open. The very room -that due her the joint-stiff condition, her mother slept in.
"You need to take your boy home and make sure your windows are locked... I suggest using nails on the inside" the
vicar said absently and fought off a sudden need to sob. He needed to be strong for his parishioners -he told himself.
Mr Coombs nodded and quietly added he would move his son back into his original bedchamber as only a couple
of weeks ago, he'd swapped their sleeping arrangement around.
Nodding as if he was listening, Father Jacobs pondered that if it was Doramus, then the single contusion behind the
old woman's ear made sense. But it meant that the Vampyre had not only survived the fire, but was fulfilling his former
guess at revenge. Unknown to the fearful grave digger and his son, one of the hunters who burned the cave was Simon
Coombs late-Grandfather.
...................................................
Alfred Carstairs handed the odd-looking woman in the unkempt poncho the small plate of fried bacon and waited for
her verdict on the wolfhound called Firebrand. Ignoring the sounds coming from the chewing Witch, the bewildered
Butler kneeled beside her and peered at the stupefied dog that hadn't moved from its position at the rear wall of the
kennel.
"What do you think?" he whispered and then wondered why he'd kept his voice low, it wasn't that the mesmerised mutt
would react to any sound, including the unlocking of the cage. Peggy Powler had been inside the enclosure whilst the
man-servant was a way and now she wondered to herself if -what she think had happened, had actually happened.
She'd heard of it only once and by the time she'd arrived at the lonely farmhouse in Meredith County, the owner -Seth
Carrigan, had caught the creature in a man-trap and beaten the thing to death with a shovel. After chopping up the body,
the gritty farmer had buried the remains somewhere on his property.
He'd called it Barghest and from what Peggy could get from the mulish sod-puller, it looked a little like a wolf, but not
totally... which didn't leave a lot to go on. Especially when even under a charm, the awkward bastard couldn't remember
where he'd buried it.
But after examining the frozen wolfhound in the pen, Peggy was sure this was the work of the same type of creature
due to the small bloodstain on the dog's flank and what the boorish ploughman had mentioned as he'd went about
moving manure from one place to another.
"It's like this, Billy..." Seth had said as he straightened a strap of his overalls and with a sigh, leaned against his smelly
shovel, probably the one he'd dispatched the Barghest with. "..It was crawlin' away across the yard and as 'Ah hit wiv'
me-shovel, it turned its head and stuck its tongue out me". Carrigan had turned away to get back to his malodorous
chore when Peggy had pressed him further. And just for the record, he called everyone 'Billy'.
"Bloody-hell woman, the thing opened its mouth and..." Carrigan moved his hand to his face and indicated a tube-like
protrudence had appeared from the Barghest's muzzle. "...it shot out like this, all-reet'?" he explained acidly and raised
an eyebrow to imply the last Witch of Underhill might not have been able to grasp the meaning of his gesture.
So now here she was, down to her last rasher of bacon and the quandary of whether to tell her kneeling companion
of what she really believed had caused Firebrand's state. Crossing the fingers of her left hand, Peggy explained the dog
had caught 'the Stare', a rare effect when poisoned from a Rhododendron bush.
"Take me-advice and just keep puttin' a bowl of milk mixed with these herbs in with him and he'll be fine in a couple of days"
she said with all the conviction she could muster. And the crossed-fingers weren't due to the falsehood, the dexterous act was
for her satchel to have such plants available.
Feeling a small sack of soft contents in the corner of her bag, the little Witch produced a confident smile to accompany
the little hessian bag. "It might tek' some time" she warned and by the look of Carstairs puzzled face, Peggy reckoned
she'd got away with the trick.
was still white with shock and the Priest seriously thought about taking him out to Doctor Fell's house. But considering
the late hour and the ten miles to his home in Bitters Helm, he instead urged the lad to take another sip of the alter wine
and calm down.
Leaving the grave-digger's son trembling in his nightshirt on the chapel's pew, Father Jacobs ushered Benedict Coombs
out of earshot to examine Simon's peculiar claim regarding the 'thing' that attempted to climb into his bedroom window.
The pair looked at each other for a few moments before the older man spoke.
"It's a sad day and no mistake, when 'Ah wake 'nd find me-lad runnin' about me-bedroom screamin' about nightmares..."
Coombs whispered and glanced wide-eyed again as his only son. "... And 'Ah've left it that, iff'n 'Ah hadn't seen the tracks
outside his window with me-own eyes" he added. Jacobs nodded and looking back at the ashen youngster, he mimed
sipping the drink at the boy and saw Simon respond.
With Martha Dinsdale's recent trance-like malady, the Sexton of Little Compton had resisted the urge to connect the two
incidents, but the way Coombs-junior described the fleeing creature, it seemed more and more like tonight's invasive
foray was the work of the one they called Doramus.
"He said it looked like a fella..." Benedict said in a hushed voice "...but at the same time, he said there was something,
something wrong with how it moved". The labourer stared at his Preacher and silently wished he'd brought a bottle of
his moonshine with him. "Do yer' think it's the work of what killed the Oaker boy and his Ma?" he asked and performing
something he hadn't done since he was a boy younger than his son, he crossed his heart with a finger.
Mona Oaker and her son -Theodore, had been attacked by a wolf a year ago when they were nearing their home after
visiting relatives not far from Burnham's Hope. It was taken as fact. The cart they were on showed marks of where the
beast had leapt from hiding and after a struggle, the nine year-old had fled whilst his mother fought unsuccessfully to
stop the brute from going after her son.
Sadly, young Theo was discovered a day later further along the canyon and it was decided that the boy had died from
something Dr Fell had called 'hyperthermia'. Major Craythorn -a man of some note in the area, agreed with the findings
and had previous experience in tracking during his military years. The esteemed Major had also suggested the wolf
tracks indicated a distinct deformity in its gait. But the brow-furrowed Priest believed this recent incident was entirely
different and so he warned Coombs not to jump to conclusions.
Deliberating on this current situation, Father Jacobs thought on Martha's daughter's comment that every night, she
made sure the doors were locked and the windows were secure. However, the morning of her mother's weird state,
Jenny had found a back-room window open. The very room -that due her the joint-stiff condition, her mother slept in.
"You need to take your boy home and make sure your windows are locked... I suggest using nails on the inside" the
vicar said absently and fought off a sudden need to sob. He needed to be strong for his parishioners -he told himself.
Mr Coombs nodded and quietly added he would move his son back into his original bedchamber as only a couple
of weeks ago, he'd swapped their sleeping arrangement around.
Nodding as if he was listening, Father Jacobs pondered that if it was Doramus, then the single contusion behind the
old woman's ear made sense. But it meant that the Vampyre had not only survived the fire, but was fulfilling his former
guess at revenge. Unknown to the fearful grave digger and his son, one of the hunters who burned the cave was Simon
Coombs late-Grandfather.
...................................................
Alfred Carstairs handed the odd-looking woman in the unkempt poncho the small plate of fried bacon and waited for
her verdict on the wolfhound called Firebrand. Ignoring the sounds coming from the chewing Witch, the bewildered
Butler kneeled beside her and peered at the stupefied dog that hadn't moved from its position at the rear wall of the
kennel.
"What do you think?" he whispered and then wondered why he'd kept his voice low, it wasn't that the mesmerised mutt
would react to any sound, including the unlocking of the cage. Peggy Powler had been inside the enclosure whilst the
man-servant was a way and now she wondered to herself if -what she think had happened, had actually happened.
She'd heard of it only once and by the time she'd arrived at the lonely farmhouse in Meredith County, the owner -Seth
Carrigan, had caught the creature in a man-trap and beaten the thing to death with a shovel. After chopping up the body,
the gritty farmer had buried the remains somewhere on his property.
He'd called it Barghest and from what Peggy could get from the mulish sod-puller, it looked a little like a wolf, but not
totally... which didn't leave a lot to go on. Especially when even under a charm, the awkward bastard couldn't remember
where he'd buried it.
But after examining the frozen wolfhound in the pen, Peggy was sure this was the work of the same type of creature
due to the small bloodstain on the dog's flank and what the boorish ploughman had mentioned as he'd went about
moving manure from one place to another.
"It's like this, Billy..." Seth had said as he straightened a strap of his overalls and with a sigh, leaned against his smelly
shovel, probably the one he'd dispatched the Barghest with. "..It was crawlin' away across the yard and as 'Ah hit wiv'
me-shovel, it turned its head and stuck its tongue out me". Carrigan had turned away to get back to his malodorous
chore when Peggy had pressed him further. And just for the record, he called everyone 'Billy'.
"Bloody-hell woman, the thing opened its mouth and..." Carrigan moved his hand to his face and indicated a tube-like
protrudence had appeared from the Barghest's muzzle. "...it shot out like this, all-reet'?" he explained acidly and raised
an eyebrow to imply the last Witch of Underhill might not have been able to grasp the meaning of his gesture.
So now here she was, down to her last rasher of bacon and the quandary of whether to tell her kneeling companion
of what she really believed had caused Firebrand's state. Crossing the fingers of her left hand, Peggy explained the dog
had caught 'the Stare', a rare effect when poisoned from a Rhododendron bush.
"Take me-advice and just keep puttin' a bowl of milk mixed with these herbs in with him and he'll be fine in a couple of days"
she said with all the conviction she could muster. And the crossed-fingers weren't due to the falsehood, the dexterous act was
for her satchel to have such plants available.
Feeling a small sack of soft contents in the corner of her bag, the little Witch produced a confident smile to accompany
the little hessian bag. "It might tek' some time" she warned and by the look of Carstairs puzzled face, Peggy reckoned
she'd got away with the trick.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.