She pulled him his pint and he handed over a ten pound note.
“Can I ask you for some directions?” He asked.
“Of course,” she said “fire away.”
“I’m looking for Slawit hall, the ancestral home of my family.”
Everybody stopped talking. Silence descended over the entire pub. The young man felt the eyes of everyone in the pub staring at him.
“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Have I said something I shouldn’t?”
An old man with a twisted lip sidled up to him.
“We don’t like talk of Slawit Hall round ’ere lad,” he said. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just that there’s a curse on t’place.”
All around the pub heads nodded, and people could be heard saying “That’s right,” and “It’s t’ curse of t’ Slawits”.
The Landlady gave the young man his change.
“Don’t take any notice of them,” she said. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Oh aye,” said a man sitting at a table near the bar, “how do you explain what happened this afternoon, then? You know — Bob Slawit turning into a were-cat and killing five young men in t’ street outside?”
“Bob Slawit is my grandfather,” said the young man. “I’m James, the last in the Slawit line. Are you saying something’s happened to him?”
“We are that lad, he’s turned into a bloody tiger or something like that, and he’s going round tearing folk to pieces.”
The Landlady shook her head.
“No-one can prove that,” she said. “There’s only a couple of people claim they saw him do that. One of them is Marjory, She’s nice enough, but she’s not the sharpest tool in the box is she? And t’other one who says Bob Slawit turned into a were-cat was that young walker, but he’s not from these parts. I bet he’s not playing with a full deck, either.”
The old man looked away and muttered to himself, and the villagers got back to their drinking and general murmuring.
The Landlady leaned across the bar and spoke to James in hushed tones.
“There’s a big hill at the end of the high street called Nodger Hill, with a cobbled road running up it. You’ll see the sign for it just outside. Follow the cobbled road up to the top of the hill. You’ll find Slawit Hall on top of the hill. Be careful, mind, we’ve had five killings in this village today, and there’s some as reckon a big cat did it, and some as reckon it might ’ave been some other animal, and even some, as you know, as reckon your grandfather turned into a cat and did it. So watch your step. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll stay here in one of my rooms for the night, and go there tomorrow during the daylight.”
The young man finished his pint.
“That’s very good of you,” he said. “But I don’t believe in all that superstitious nonsense, and I’ve been waiting a long time to be reunited with my Grandfather. I’m not waiting any longer.”
“It’s not superstition that five men were killed in t’ Nobblethwaite high street today.”
“Maybe not, but my mind’s made up. If it was an animal that did that, it’s probably long gone by now. And anyway, I’ve got this.”
He took a number of objects from of his rucksack and started putting them together.
“What’ve yer got there?”
“It’s my shotgun. I thought I’d get some shooting done on Grandfather’s estate while I was up here. This thing will stop anything that moves.”
“Aye, but will it stop a were-cat?”
“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
James Slawit put his rucksack on his back and left the Ne’er do well with his shotgun nestled in the crook of his arm. He saw the sign for Nodger Hill and walked towards it up the high street. He came to the line of police tape around the area where the gang known as the Savages had been slaughtered. At that point, he thought he better have his shotgun ready for action, so he loaded it with a couple of 12-bore cartridges, and made his way up the steep cobbled incline of Nodger Hill.
Shortly after James left the pub, Sam Bateson finished his pint.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’ve had enough. I’m going home.”
He wiped the froth from his white whiskers and got to his feet, and wobbled backwards and forwards until he’d found his equilibrium.
“Mind how you go out there,” said the landlady. “There mightn’t be anything supernatural like a were-cat on the high street, but there’s some ’at that’ll ’ave yer if yer get in its way.”
“Don’t worry,” said Sam. “I’ll check if the coast is clear then I’ll go straight home. I only live across the road.”
He opened the door, and looked right and left. The street was dark, and all was quiet.
“It’s all right, everyone,” he said. “There’s nowt to be scared of. There’s nowt there.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than he heard two shotgun blasts, followed by what the villagers would later describe as a blood curdling scream.
Bateson immediately retreated back into the safety of the pub, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Did you fucking hear that?” He asked, his eyes open wide.
“Aye, I did,” said Bog Jessop. “I reckon as we all did.”
There were murmurs of agreement from all around the pub.
“What are we going to do?” Bateson asked.
“I’m ’aving another pint,” said Jessop.
“Me too,” said someone else.
“I reckon as I’ll join you then,” said Bateson.
It fell on the landlady to call the police, which she did as soon as she’d pulled all the pints of beer that were suddenly required by everyone.
CHAPTER 10
Up at the Nab police headquarters, they were all in a tizzy.
They’d had seven dead bodies within seven days, and the landlady of the Ne’er do well in Nobblethwaite had just called in with news that suggested there might be an eighth. The trouble was, no-one at the Nab had any great desire to go out to Nobblethwaite late at night and risk another life, investigating yet another death. But they had no choice. What were they to do?
Commander Bradshaw clutched the straws together in his clenched fist.
“All right, lads,” he said. “You know the rules by now. Here you go.”
He extended his hand, and a number of young police constables and older sergeants assembled in a semi-circle front of him. Each stepped forward one at a time, and drew a straw from his hand.
The tension mounted as each one proved to be a long straw. Finally there were only two straws left.
Keith Foster stepped forward and took one. He held it up for everyone to see. It was the short one.
“Oh, fucking hell,” he said. “I fucking knew I should have gone for t’other one.”
His colleagues gathered around him and gave him supportive pats on the shoulder.
“Hard lines Keith,” one of them said. “Better luck next time, if there is a next time, of course.”
“That means it’s not just you that’s fucked, Jenny Bradshaw’s fucked too, isn’t she Keith?” Another said. “She is your partner, isn’t she? Where is Jenny tonight?”
“She’s getting a brew,” Said Keith. “I’ll let her enjoy it before I tell her the good news.”
Keith found Jenny and explained the situation to her, and they signed the documents which allowed them to take firearms out with them while on duty. They’d both had firearms training. They took their rifles from the police arsenal, and went to their car tooled up.
They drove through the dark country roads to Slawit Hall, where they were able to confirm that there had indeed been another death caused by something capable of ripping a man to pieces. They reported the incident to headquarters.