A Glow of Stars & Dusk by Eve L. Mitchell

The wind howled outside,whipping fiercely through the naked branches, causing them to dance wildly in the night. They slapped futilely against my living room window as they were pulled brutally by the force of the gale, but the wind had no mercy to give, and instead, they strained against the firm hold on their limbs.

The rain fell relentlessly. Heavy and hard. I had checked several times at the window to know whether it was rain or branch that struck against the glass as I paced the small living room and waited.

I had been waiting for an hour, and I knew that I should accept that my last client of the evening would be mad to come out in tonight’s storm, but my elbow itched every time I went to tidy the small area I had set up.

“You can stop itching,” I told my elbow crossly. My hands fell to my work materials, and I began to pack up. I usually saw my clients in the corner of my living room at a small table with two seats. Any additional person got to sit on my worn leather couch and listen.

As I dropped the stones into the velvet pouch, I shrieked when my front door was banged loudly. I froze as I knew that it wasn’t just the wind that was rattling my door. Staring in the direction of my front door, I didn’t need the flare in my elbow to tell me there was someone out there.

The banging happened again, and again it startled me, yet my feet did not move in the direction of the front door. Instead, I glanced over my shoulder to the kitchen where the back door led to my small garden, the back gate and then the path to the river beyond. Biting my lip, I considered the back way just as the hammering happened again.

Slipping my stones into my pocket and grabbing my other paraphernalia, I quickly dropped them into my leather backpack.

Something knocked my window, and I bit back the yelp of fear at the unexpectedness of it, too loud and rhythmic to be the trees outside.

As I made my way to the kitchen, I stopped when I saw the shadow moving across the door. The door handle was tried, and my panicked brain fought the demanding question to myself to know if I had locked it.

The door rattled, and my shoulders slumped in relief to know that I had locked it. I was forgetful; it wouldn’t be the first time that I had woken up the next day to find my back door unlocked and open.

I stood in my living room, uncertain. There was something at my front door, something at the back door, and something tapping on the window.

Three.

There were three outside. Maybe more. All my life, I knew that only bad things happened to people like me when three came knocking on the door. Maybe I was overreacting, I was nobody. The banging happened again, and fear overrode my rational mind.

I checked my watch.

Shit.

The banging happened again. Hastily I pulled out my phone. The signal was poor, but I still had a signal. Quickly I dialled.

“Ruairidh?” I whispered when I heard the line connect. “It’s me.”

“Why are you whispering?” Ruairidh asked jovially.

“There are three outside my house,” I whispered quickly. “I need you.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Ruairidh’s voice had lost all humour, and I heard him moving from the room he had been in. “Get out.”

“I can’t, they’re at the doors.” The banging happened again and cut off what Ruairidh had been away to say.

“Under the floor, take the cellar, it’ll be flooded with the rain, I’ll meet you in the garden.” Ruairidh hung up, and I eyed the corner of the room dubiously.

The “cellar” was actually my wooden floorboards cut to provide a small hatch in the floor that led into my cottage’s foundations. Foundations that flooded every time there was heavy rain, because the drainage of the nearby fields was poor. I lived on a slope, and the drains couldn’t take that as well as the excess runoff from the road at the end of my lane.

Mumbling about the unfairness of having to drop my five seven build through the floor, I hastily uncovered the small hatch. Grabbing my jacket, I shrugged into it as the banging got louder and louder. Holy God, they were going to be through the door soon; my front door was vibrating from the pressure exerted by the being outside it. Taking a deep breath, I squeezed through the small opening and then crouched low as I fumbled to recover the opening from beneath.

I banged my head off the floor joists and bit back the curse ready to explode from my lips as I waded through the knee-high water and lamented that my Friday night meant I was going to be soaking wet. I banged my head again as something wispy and webby covered my face and I backpedalled away, barely catching my scream. My hands were in my hair as I did the frantic silent-scream dance in the foundations of my cottage in the vain hope there were no eight-legged friends in my hair.

With a whimper, I ducked my head as I travelled to the far end of the foundations, which ran under the house and into the spare bedroom extension, and then I was at the small hatch. Shit, it was small. Had it always been so small? In the dark, I smoothed my hands over my jacket as I tried to gauge whether or not my hips were going through the grate. Crouching down, I pulled the ironwork and hissed in annoyance when it remained steadfast and the rain managed to slash mercilessly against my face.

The scream tore from my throat when a face suddenly appeared in front of me. Thankfully, my fear was lost in the howling wind.

“Why are you taking so long?” Ruairidh asked me in exasperation. “Move, woman!”

Effortlessly, he lifted the grate and unceremoniously hauled my arse out of the foundations. “You’re such a gentleman,” I bitched as I straightened.

“Be grateful I’m here, I think there are more coming.” Ruairidh grabbed my hand, and we started to run from my garden to the river. Glancing once over my shoulder, I saw the dark figures casting long shadows on my lawn as they gathered around my home. With a crashing bang that normal people would assume was thunder, two figures converged into the cottage, and then with a purple flash, the protective ward erupted around them.

I grabbed Ruairidh to stop him so I could watch their impending devastation. Instead, I watched as the protective ward on my house failed. My gran had always told me that the house was shielded against unwelcome guests and that no one who wasn’t welcome would gain entry.

My mouth dropped open as I watched the figures shake their heads as if they were merely annoyed by a buzzing fly, and then they carried on into my cottage.

“Move, woman,” Ruairidh growled and tugged me forward. I nodded and went to turn to follow when my eye caught the shadow. He stood staring at me, green glowing eyes fixed in my direction as he stood under the canopy of the old oak tree. I could make out nothing of his features, but the stance, the height, the almost casual appraisal of my escape told me he was male.

Male what? I didn’t know. Fear clawed at my throat as the power that stood under that tree was immense. The steady perusal of the soft glowing eyes made my feet stay in place until a sudden sharp jerk pulled me forward.

“I’m not dying for you,” Ruairidh hissed, and his harsh words snapped me out of my trance. “Run, Star,” Ruairidh snarled.

We ran.

I heard the shout even over the wind and knew they were following as Ruairidh and I ran at full speed to the river. The river was swollen with rainwater, the speed of the current daunting, but Ruairidh didn’t hesitate. He jumped into the fast-flowing water, and as he still had a death grip on my hand, I had little choice but to follow him into the icy waters.

In the inky depths, I kicked my feet to propel me back to the surface. Ruairidh lost his grip in the strength of the current, and I used my arms to swim to the surface. My head broke through, and I gasped in air before I was taken down again, but this time I was closer to the surface, and my head bobbed out again as I looked around wildly for Ruairidh. Catching sight of his red hair, I started to swim to the other side of the bank.

Strong hands grabbed at my shoulders as Ruairidh dragged me out of the river. Gasping for more air and coughing up some river that I had inadvertently swallowed, I crawled up the bank on my hands and knees. My blonde hair hung around me as the wind slapped the wet strands into my face.

“Up! Get up!” Ruairidh urged, and with a heavy sigh, I pushed myself to my feet. “Keep running.”

As I followed my lifelong friend into the heavy woods, I fought back the panic as I ran. Shouted orders roared over the wind as my pursuers followed.

I just wished I knew why they were pursuing me.

There are many benefits to living in the Highlands in rural Scotland. It’s nice and quiet. Your neighbours are usually sheep. They don’t eat much, and albeit they can be rowdy at times, they pretty much keep to themselves. The few people I do see, keep their distance from me and have done since I was a toddler. Tourists wander through now and again, and as long as you keep your curtains closed and your door locked, they keep wandering right past in their hillwalking, mountain climbing and outdoor activity pursuits. The downside of rural life in the Highlands? There were no neighbours to help you, and even the enthusiastic tourists were in their hotels and B&Bs on a night like this.

As the rain added to my already sodden clothing from crossing the River Orrin, I ran over the fields with Ruairidh. I was cursing inwardly that the fields were flat and the trees we so desperately needed to hide our escape were on my side of the river.

I could hear the howls, causing my feet to trip over themselves, and I went sprawling into the freshly harvested field. I was marginally mollified to see that Ruairidh had also stopped and was looking towards me. I couldn’t see him in the dark of the night, but I knew him better than myself, I knew his stance.

“Hellhounds?” I whispered in shock. “They summoned hellhounds?”

“Who summoned hellhounds?” Ruairidh asked me worriedly as he looked over my shoulder, probably imagining a big furry dog coming out of the darkness. “You summoned hellhounds?”

What?Scrambling to my feet, I looked over my shoulder fearfully. “Don’t be ridiculous, you know I’m allergic to animal hair.” I grabbed his arm this time and pulled him. “C’mon, Rue, they get our scent, we’ll be dining in the pits of hell.”

“Not dining,” he snarled as we ran, “we’ll be the dinner.”

Despite the surreal horror of what was potentially chasing us, I fought the laugh as we ran. If we could get to the road, we had a better, surer footing for making it to the village.

“Is Abby’s open?” I asked as we ran over the uneven field.

“Yes, where do you think I was when you rang me?”

“She better bloody stay open,” I muttered as I hastily climbed the fence and once again fell forward. Strong arms caught me and rightened me, and then we were running on tarmac to the village. All the while, I ignored Ruairidh’s claims of me being footless. “We should have run out front, at least we could have made it to your car,” I lamented as we ran.

“Yeah, because running towards whatever is chasing us, was the better idea,” Ruairidh growled.

Fair enough.

The local village was small, a handful of houses, a small convenience shop that housed the post office, and we had one pub. Every village in every corner of the world had a pub, and the village of Slate was no different. Abby’s was a picture-postcard pub. It wouldn’t have been out of place on a Christmas card, covered in snow, with its low beamed ceilings, uneven walls and original wooden floors.

I avoided it like the plague. The bar owner, Abby, was a screeching harpy who was born to make my life miserable. Being the same age, I had endured the she-demon all during school. When I had escaped the Highlands for a short time to attend St Andrews University, Abi-bloody-gale had followed. Like a bad smell. Thankfully, she had come into some money, left uni to hightail it back to Slate, and bought the village pub. She changed the Harvest Bar, which had been named that since its conversion from a farm building in the year dot, to Abby’s.

I was still convinced that was what had caused Frank Summer’s heart attack when she unveiled the brassy, shiny, gaudy new sign name.

As our feet pounded down the road, the bright lights of the pub welcomed us, and I could feel our pursuers slow their pursuit. They were drawing off us, why?

Within moments, Ruairidh was bursting through the front door, causing all patrons to stop and stare at him. I heard the shock dissipate and a few chuckles start up until I followed my friend through the doors, and the return to laughter died on the spot.

The silence was deafening.

I knew I was soaking wet. I knew I had fallen at least twice face down in mud. I knew I had a bleeding elbow and a scraped knee. I also knew that my appearance was not what caused the silence. The stony silence was as a result of me, in general, coming into the bar. Hard eyes glared at me, and I automatically stepped closer to Ruairidh, his huge frame shielding me from the stern patrons.

“Star? Star Archer is that you?”

No, it’s flipping Tinkerbell, I grumbled uncharitably in my head. “Hey, Abby,” I said instead as I pushed my wet hair behind my ears. “How are you?”

“You look a fright,” Abby said with glee as she stood impeccably dressed, her long chestnut hair impeccable, her makeup impeccable, her false eyelashes framing her hazel eyes to perfection. Abby always looked like she was waiting for the reality TV phone call because they had discovered her flawlessness. The village had eleven houses, the youngest person in it was Abby, and the men were mostly taken. We were about forty minutes from Inverness, but still, Abby was too glamourous for the Highlands. I had no idea where she found the energy to get all glammed up every morning. If I remembered to brush my hair, I was doing well.

“Swimming in the river does that to you,” I grumbled as I walked past Ruairidh to the bar. At the collective gasp from the other customers, I fought but failed to hide my eye roll. “Ruairidh did it too.”

I could almost feel them moving their eyes to Ruairidh. At six feet and almost half as wide, he towered over most of the men in the bar. His bright red hair shone harshly in the artificial light as his pale skin almost reflected the light back. Ruairidh was so white, when we were little, I used to put a gift tag on his toe when he was sleeping and pretend he’d died. Morbid, sure, but in the sticks, you make up your own fun.

“Are you wanting a drink?” Abby asked me, her voice heavy with incredulity as I took an empty stool at the bar. I heard Ruairidh talking to some of the other customers, doing that thing he had, the ability to make people like him.

I didn’t own this skill. “Nope, just came to collect your soul.”

The silence echoed off the pub walls.

Shit.

Whywould I think I was funny? I wasn’t funny. I was the exact opposite of funny. Before I could protest and tell them I was joking, I heard it, and the sound had me spinning in my chair.

The long loud cry of a hound baying in the night.

Fearfully, I looked to Ruairidh, who had darted to the window and was peering through the netting. “Star,” he said in a low voice. “We need to move.”

“The cemetery?” I whispered as I leapt to my feet.

Ruairidh looked at me and nodded. “The tomb.”

Despite the uproar we were causing with our conversation, I ran to the door, and then the two of us were slipping out of the pub and running to the small ancient cemetery where no eternally sleeping resident had any living relative left.

“Ruairidh.” I halted.

The shadows of the night turned from shade to more corporeal form. I looked around wildly, where is he? Four, only four, we could make it.

“Damn it, Star, what the fuck were you doing tonight?” Ruairidh muttered as we slowly advanced to the only hallowed ground in the vicinity, keeping the four in our sights.

“I was waiting for a client,” I whispered back. “Do you think they can hear us?”

“I can hear you just fine, witch.” The voice was behind me, and I realised belatedly, we were surrounded. Hot breath at my ear made me freeze. “You tired of running, or are you ready to scream?”

Why choose?

With a determined cry, I leapt forward, snatching Ruairidh’s arm as I did so, and I propelled us across the road and through the gates into the cemetery.