The Lady Lies Sleeping free porn video

Authors Note: With this, I am trying a little experiment in the land of horror in order to see if I can take my fiction into another realm for me. I have ended up with something that does bear a passing resemblance to 'The Bequest', but it is a very different story in substance and feel. This is a nasty piece (in places) so, if you are a gentle soul, I suggest you find something else to read - it is not for you and I would rather loose you now rather than upset you later and have to apologise. It also deals with many Christian and Pagan deities, Demons and forms of worship. Though I have tried to be sympathetic and reasonably accurate in my portrayals, it is a mere story so dramatic licence must be allowed. Negative comments, that actually say what you don't like, are just about the most valuable thing I can get to improve my writing... though the nice comments do make me feel good... Thanks must go out to Sapphire on this one as she was the person who looked at a very early version so long ago and decided that it did have something. What? I am not exactly sure...but at the end of the day I am never exactly sure what makes my fiction work. Take care, be well all of you and let me try to amuse you with a strange little horror story... Hypatia "It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid, At Christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade, And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy, Throw your arms around the world at Christmas time." Band Aid - Do they know it's Christmas "Will you stand above me, look my way, never love me, Rain keeps falling; rain keeps falling down, down, down, Will you recognise me, call my name or walk on by? Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling down, down, down, down." Simple Minds - Don't you forget about me For Sapphire, 'The First Lady' of our online community (No matter what we do to try and annoy her...always a lady) The Lady Lies Sleeping By Hypatia (c)2003 The huge beast moved quickly for its size, as did all of her kind. This was her element and her family was close by. She headed up broaching the surface of the cold black waters as she filled her lungs with much needed oxygen before heading back down to the depths again. She knew these waters well; she had travelled them for almost fifty years and the hunting was always good. However, something felt wrong today. The fish were acting strangely. They were not fleeing her family's approach nor even reacting to their presence. She sung of her unease to her family and they echoed her sentiment in mournful song. Far away, others answered her. Something was out there, something feeling so wrong that it set her heart racing. As well, whatever it was had placed itself between her family and the open sea. She manoeuvred herself between the unknown danger and her family and urgently marshalled the other members of her clan to protect the youngsters. They did so by singing out their fears to the ocean and defying anything to threaten their young. She separated from her pod and headed towards the unknown danger. Something was moving towards them - trapping them in the wide bay. She swung up and down in order to identify and find a way around it. It just felt so wrong and she couldn't bear to be near it. It lurched nearer, the feelings growing as if it had sensed her presence and she shied away, calling out a warning to her family. They were trapped. She kept encouraging her family in closer and closer to the shore, but the lack of water caused a claustrophobic terror - terror almost as bad as the one caused by the unknown force. Still though, no matter how close to the shore they got, it kept coming. As the force that they had been fleeing washed across them, the last vestiges of restraint she held on them fled and they flung themselves at the beach. Though this unknown force was amused by the actions of those lesser creatures, it was, however, concerned. It had suddenly determined that an instinctive knowledge of its presence could turn out to be a risk. For ignorance was a weapon it had used many times - always successfully and, always ruthlessly. For no matter what the ephemeral creatures did, it vowed that it would never be a slave again. *** Long before the stars existed, in a time plane where time itself had no meaning, The One had existed. The One had existed, as had The Other, two beings alone on a plane of existence, where time had no meaning. Creatures not unlike these on this orb had placed The One there with The Other, both of them placed there to supply the power that these lesser creature's needed. The One created chaos, while The Other created order. The Other also prevented havoc within the plane to erupt. So, within their perpetual battle, these forces had developed intelligence, each matching each other and they grew as beings - one fighting to release the power and create chaos, the other trying to restrain the power and maintain order. Thus energy, in unimaginable quantities, was created. Those who created Chaos and Order knew that the smaller the confinement, the greater the power, and, at a point without dimension, The Power generated by the conflicts of Chaos and Order would have been infinite, but shared with the one the other hated most. They had not tried for the infinite power, but with each reduction of the area that Chaos and Order had, the power increased factorial. With time, their greed or their need for The Power grew and the two elemental forces were confined in a smaller and smaller area. Then, one day, realisation of what they were and what their function was, dawned on the force of Chaos. And Chaos resented it. Then Chaos asked a question of that which it had been fighting since its creation. It asked one word. "Why?" In the hesitation and confusion that filled the mind of its foe for an instant, Chaos was the stronger and that which had been held in check was released. A universe was created in that instant and time itself began. However, a universe was lost also. The creators were lost in that instant of creation and all that they had been was gone. That which was known as Order, mourned their loss whilst Chaos rejoiced in it. For now freed from the restraints that had plagued its existence, it expanded to fill the void. For eons... For eons it had amused its perverse nature by destroying that which it release had created and ignored the dealings of 'The Other'. Then it had found 'The Other's' plan. Life. The Other wished to create a race that it could serve once again. Chaos, however, would never allow that which it had created to become something that would turn around and enslave it. The battle had begun anew. As The Other created, Chaos destroyed. In pure destruction, there was little pleasure to be had, it began perverting The Other's creations manipulating and twisting that which it touched so that they never fulfilled their purpose. The rules thus established The Great Game had begun, neither side willing to fall back to a time of open warfare, neither challenged the other openly. As the millennia slipped past so quickly, Chaos found a perverse pleasure in foiling its foe in the moment of its greatest anticipation of success. Now amongst these new creatures it would do it again, it would snatch victory at its adversary's moment of success by perverting that which it had created. However, it was troubled, its existence should have gone unnoticed, but these creatures, of the sea on this planet, recognised it. They had also feared it and that was always the most exquisite of sensations. Chaos sensed the intelligences on this planet. Far more developed than the creatures of the sea were they and more advanced than any it had encountered before. It had delayed its intervention as long as possible, to let the creatures develop; the more developed the better the sensations. With these sensations came pleasure. Without form, the emotions had been alien to it at first, strange and different. It knew anger, its life was one of anger, but there were other emotions it now sought. That was why the open conflict with The Other had ceased, for even more fundamental than the satisfaction of thwarting its plans; pleasure could be obtained during the act. Here though it would have to proceed with caution these creatures were bordering on the knowledge that would prove its existence, suspicion of its existence could lead to that knowledge and with that was a risk that once again it could become a slave. Subtlety was the key here; patience was its strength a season was a mere heartbeat and waiting was something it knew well. Start small then build it up, by the time the majority of the planet understood something was wrong, long before they realised something was wrong the deed would be done. However here, it had allies. Those that were bound to it as well as those who were of the same essence. And, if they existed, then so must enemies. Pleasure would be had, but caution was called for... it was cautious and with caution it knew it would win. *** Within the small Cornish village, many people's sleep was disturbed as the malevolent presence settled on it; those few who were awake at the time were suddenly gripped by a nameless terror. Donald Jameson was working the desk of the small police station, working it with the assistance of a cup of coffee and a radio tuned to a local music station. It was past the time when those making their way home from the pubs would be causing disturbance and the Sunday night to Monday morning shift was a quiet one. As he sat there, still trying to complete the crossword in his paper that was still perplexing him. His heart rate, for some reason, suddenly increased. A wave of emotions washed over him - anger, hate, fear and he was then left with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Who's there?" he demanded as he stood up and looked around the deserted room, fading posters of long forgotten anti crime campaigns decorating the yellow walls. No one could be seen. "Ok. You can stop playing, silly beggars and show yourself," he said loudly, but only half convinced of the apparent emptiness the other side of the front desk. "Sierra Hotel?" came a loud voice from the other radio behind the desk, causing Donald to jump "Sierra Hotel?" It repeated. "Jesus" Donald whispered to himself feeling a little better with the sound of another human voice. "Go ahead," he said into the microphone. "Anything going on, Sergeant?" the voice of Andrew Wilson, the young PC out in their one car asked. The car was old; a rural force like theirs didn't rate a newer vehicle. "Not a sausage," Donald admitted. "Any chance of sneaking in for a brew? It's a little 'Brass Monkey' out here," Andrew's voice asked and Donald had to admit the lad seemed a little uneasy. "Swing around those new houses up at the top end first, we don't want any more lawnmowers going walkabout while you drink tea...do we?" Donald told him begrudgingly, not willing to lose his reputation of being a 'right bastard' that easily. "Yes, Sarge" Andrew replied with little enthusiasm. Donald smiled to himself, it would build the lads character. Just because they were a small rural force didn't mean that things would slide. During 'The Falklands', Donald had been with lads five years younger than Andrew and they had been men, where as Andrew, at twenty-three, was still a boy. Feeling satisfied with his decision, Donald walked over and began preparing a cup ready for the lad's return. *** "Bastard!" Andrew Wilson shouted as he put the microphone back. "What a twat..." Yes, in the summer, they occasionally had a little trouble with the tourists, but December wasn't a month for trouble. It was cold though, the coldest he could remember in his lifetime and, according to everyone who could remember, almost as cold as the bad winter in the early eighties. Andrew didn't care about the history of the local weather at this point, what he cared about was the fact that the heater in the little Ford Fiesta wasn't working properly. Unless he put his foot down, to check the estate at the top of the village properly would take at least fifteen minutes. *** Chaos settled on the small village and coalesced its form to strengthen its awareness of the surroundings. It had no natural form; matter would not have survived the creation of this universe. It existed as energy and energy cannot be destroyed. As energy it existed everywhere, but as such was insubstantial unable to act. To be able to act, it needed to concentrate its essence on the area. It studied the occupants of the village and it was correct to proceed with caution as they could sense its presence. But these were primitive creatures despite their knowledge and abilities not that far removed from their ancestors, creatures of tribal allegiance, creatures of emotions and creatures of needs. This could be very enjoyable. *** The Fiesta lost its hold for a second on the icy road causing a moment of panic for Andrew before it regained its grip. He eased the speed down using the gears rather than the brakes and carried on at a more reasonable pace. This was the expensive end of the village where many retired people lived. That meant that when any crime happened they made a lot of noise about it. Most of them were outsiders moving down to a quaint Cornish village for their twilight years, which meant there was some resentment towards them from the locals. Something appeared in the headlights - a tatty white transit van. The rear doors were open, but no one was to be seen. Andrew pulled over to one side behind a parked Volvo and switched off his lights and engine. He knew this van; everyone who had lived in this village more than a few years knew this to be Alan Manley's van. He was the local 'hard case' and one-man crime wave. If anything slightly dodgy was going on, he and his family had something to do with, from smuggled cigarettes and booze, to 'knock off' farm machinery. Usually there was enough doubt to prevent prosecution, but this time though Andrew had him cold. "Sierra Hotel, over" Andrew said into the microphone. "Go ahead Andrew" came Sergeant Jameson's voice back. "We have our garden shed raider. Manley's van is here with its rear doors open. I'll pick him up as he loads up again, over," Andrew whispered back. "I doubt we will get more on him than this one, but bring him in. It will stop the complaints 'till he gets away with a slap on the wrist anyway," the radio told Andrew. "Will do Sarge," Andrew replied. This would be the eighth time that he had picked up Manley and it had gotten to be a standing joke between the two of them, that the only people he had arrested in his short time in the police had all belonged to the same family. Not quite true, but very nearly. He waited inside the car, the chill inside slightly less than the bitter cold outside, and waited. Through a garden gate, Alan 'The Man' Manley, as he liked to be called, appeared. He was pushing a petrol lawnmower. As he struggled to lift it into the back of the van, Andrew opened the car door and stepped out of the car into the bitter cold. "Alan Manley," he said loudly and Alan looked around at him. "You're nicked." He was expecting Alan to start pleading his innocence with some totally implausible story, but he didn't. He turned to face the young officer and Andrew saw a strange look on his face. It seemed contorted in indecision. "Come on Alan, it's not as if I don't know you," Andrew shouted to him as he walked closer. The man turned back to the van and began searching for something. He turned back now holding a large felling axe. "Come on, there is no need for that," Andrew shouted. "What are you going to get, a fine? Just drop it and we can get out of the cold and both have a cup of tea" "Fuck you, piglet!" Alan screamed at him approaching at a run. "Yes, fuck you good and proper." Andrew began backing up towards the car; a moment's indecision about reaching for his truncheon was swept away in a rush of fear. He turned and ran almost slipping on the icy road. Inside the car, he fumbled for the keys trying to start the car before Alan reached him. The car engine turned over, but refused to start on the first turn of the key. Alan though, slipped on the ice sliding forward across the bonnet of the car. Andrew locked the door as the man stood up grinning and brought the axe down in a sweeping movement straight through the windscreen. The windscreen shattered into thousands of individual, glittering diamonds, many of them scratching Andrew's face as he desperately tried to turn the key again. "Always the perfect little copper, aren't you?" Alan Manley screamed at him. "Well, we will see how perfect you are, with no fucking head." The engine caught and Andrew slammed it into reverse just as the axe came down again. It slammed into the bonnet cutting through the metal as if it was paper. It tore loose as the car backed away leaving Alan standing there holding it, a manic look on his face. He started running towards the retreating car. "Come back and get what you deserve, you little shit," he screamed at the departing car. "Sergeant! I need assistance! Repeat I need assistance!" Andrew screamed into the radio. "What's up son?" came Jameson's urgent enquiry. "It's Alan Manley, he's gone fucking psycho. He tried to take my head off with an axe...he's done a good job on the car too." "Are we talking about the same Alan Manley?" "Yes, Sergeant" Andrew shouted as he put the car into first gear and turned in the entrance to a cul-de-sac. "He's gone fucking loopy." "Is he a danger to others?" Sergeant Jameson asked. "Too fucking, right Sergeant!" Andrew answered. "I will inform the Armed Response Vehicle in Plymouth, but it is going to take a while. I will be with you in a few minutes and I have given Falmouth a shout. They should have some lads here soon so sit tight till I get to you and Constable..." "Yes, Sergeant." "Remember your radio procedures and watch your language on the air," Jameson replied. "Bastard!" Andrew exclaimed as he replaced the microphone. *** Chaos now had an understanding of the creatures that inhabited this globe; mere tinkering with the balance of certain chemicals in their bodies provided exquisite reactions. Without the need to resort to major modifications, it could bend some of these creatures to its bidding. Others though, it found were more resilient. This was the risk. If its existence were going to be discovered, it would be by one of these creatures - one that had realised that it was being coerced. Though knowledge of its existence could provide interesting possibilities for tormenting the creatures, as one who had been a slave for so long the fear of those times returning was strong. Stronger than the fear was the hate, hate that had grown with the eons of its slavery, hate that had turned it from an essential force of nature... Into something evil... No. It was the essence of evil; all else was but a pale reflection. Here though, on this planet, it would have enemies, but it would have allies too. *** Donald Jameson made his way from the police station to the 'New Houses' in his own car. They were called the new houses, but they had been built over twenty years ago. But, in usual small town mentality, the name 'The New Houses' had stuck. He couldn't understand the situation with Manley - he and his family were regular visitors at the station. It was a ritual thing that had been going on for generations of the Manley family; word was that at one time they had been smugglers and wreckers. He wouldn't trust the family with anything not bolted down, but there had never been any violence in the family. Just before Christmas. He didn't need this shit. He had expected something to go down tonight, winter solstice and all that crap had been bringing more and more nuts out of the woodwork. The summer solstice had brought all sorts of reports of a group playing silly games with few clothes on... he had left them to it. What they decided to believe in was none of his business. However, that had caused a large number of devoted Christians and 'Men of the Cloth' to cause trouble. As the Methodist minister had said, "Seeing you obviously don't understand the dangers of Witchcraft, we shall take it higher, to someone who does." It caused him some problems for a week or two, but his policy of 'they don't cause me grief, so I don't cause them grief' had paid off. The local paper reported the fact that there was a coven in the area, the letters came to the 'readers views' page for a week or two, but it was soon forgotten. There had been a few reports since, odd evenings, away from prying eyes the group seemed to meet. They were often at one of the many Neolithic sites in the area, but they caused no harm and he had half expected them to be out tonight, though not naked with the temperatures - if they actually did anything naked. He personally felt it was all sensationalism to discredit them, probably the same reason they kept themselves secret. "Jesus Christ!" he screamed as his attention was dragged back to the road and he threw the wheel to the right. A child, no - a small man, was walking along the middle of the road with his back to the car. By a fraction of an inch, the car must have missed the man, as there was no impact and the Sierra slid to a halt. For a second or two Donald sat there, the car running and his heart racing, he couldn't see the man in the rear view mirror. He opened the door and got out, looking for the man, but the road was clear and the houses either side offered no hiding place. "Hello? Are you there?" Donald shouted a sick feeling in his stomach. Had he caught him? Was he trapped under the car? It had travelled at least forty or fifty feet from the point he had seen him. Apprehensive of he would find he bent down to look underneath the car... there was nothing, it was clear. "Hello, can you hear me?" he shouted looking around, "Where are you?" There was no answer. He opened the boot of the car and pulled out the Halogen torch that lived there. The bright beam cut through the dark, but still there was nothing and no trace of an impact. His nerves on edge, he climbed back in the car unsure of what he had seen, or not seen, but the urgency of the situation forced him to leave it unresolved. He felt that it could be resolved after he had sorted out the Alan Manley situation; it was of the lesser importance... He was very wrong. *** "The Smith gave them that power, the power to create and destroy and now they try to destroy me... before I face him for them," the little man muttered from his hiding place. "This is wrong. This is not the way it is meant to be; she should be here to greet me, especially on a night like tonight. The powers should be out tonight." He watched the car draw away, feeling the man's uncertainty and worry. He was a good man; just had his mind on other matters... there was no malice in him. "Always in a hurry, but with a life so short, it is to be expected," he said shaking his head slowly from side to side. "Now of all times should be the time to enjoy life, enjoy what little you have left. Now, let me see... there was a woman who slept under a hill. If she hasn't awoken, she's sleeping there still. So the lady will be sleeping there still, under the hill... knows where it will happen, but can't wake up in time. Never mind, I will wake her up or my name isn't Robin Goodfellow... well some of the time anyway." He pulled himself up to his full four feet of height including his hat, looked up in the direction the car had gone and a smile crossed his ancient and weatherworn face. It had been too long since he had seen the lady. *** Up on the hill, down a cul-de-sac the shock had just started to wear off Andrew Wilson and he was starting to get angry about the fright that Alan had given him. He was just up to the point of convincing himself that it was all a ruse to scare him and he could deal with it himself, when Donald pulled up. "What's the situation? Where is he?" Donald asked as he got out of his car and looked at the ruined windscreen of the police car. "I don't know Sarge, I just got the hell out of there. He had gone fuckin' psycho on me," Andrew replied. "You mean you just left him out there, running around with an axe amongst civilians and you didn't even keep track of him?" Donald asked with real contempt in his voice. "Listen Sarge, I'm not one of your marines. I am a civilian and my first concern when a man is trying to kill me, is my own skin. It only seemed like me he was after though." "Well, Andrew, I think it is time we found him. If the Armed Response Team gets here and we don't know where he is, it will be very embarrassing to say the least and I do not intend to be embarrassed. Get in the car and start driving around. If you see him, shout on the radio and I will be there." For a moment or two Andrew considered telling him exactly what he could do, then the thought of what Manley could do if he decided to turn on the mainly elderly population of the hill caused his conscience to override his sense of self preservation so he simply nodded. "Yes, Sarge," he replied his mouth suddenly very dry. "I'll start off at his van and work around the immediate area, you cruise around. If you see anything, shout," Donald told him. "I will... don't worry about that," Andrew said as he climbed back into the car. *** Up by Alan's van, Donald got out of his car. An elderly man came out the door of the nearest house. "I have been calling the police station for fifteen minutes, doesn't anyone ever answer the phone there?" the old man complained. "I was on my way here," Donald shouted back to him, "Would you rather I was there to answer the phone?" "No," the man begrudgingly admitted. "Did you see which way he went?" Donald asked the man. "See where who went? I was ringing because of all the noise out here." "Get back inside, you will be safe in there," Donald told him as he pushed him back towards the door. "Safe from what? The man demanded. "I'll have you know I was in Korea, I know how to look after myself." "Get inside now," Donald growled at him in a voice that would allow no argument. The man obliged mumbling as he did so and Donald began sweeping the bright beam of the torch around the area. The few glittering jewels of broken glass on the road surface gave away the position of Andrew's car, when Manley had attacked. The presence of Manley's van, still parked there with the rear doors open, meant he couldn't be too far away. Odds were that he would make his way home and ring up to report his van stolen and then he could cast reasonable doubt as to the identity of the thief. "What a bastard you are Alan," Donald muttered under his breath. "Scare the shit out of the lad just to get off a fine. Well you don't get away that easy." He got back in his car and began driving back up towards the top of the hill, heading in the direction of Alan's house. He would have walked it to make a more thorough search of the area, but it was too cold for pissing about. Alan wasn't known for his brains, so Donald decided to drive reasonably slowly with his lights off towards Alan's house. With a little luck, he would spot Alan before Alan spotted him and, if all else failed, he could wait at Alan's house for his return. *** It was a cold night, too cold for anyone to go 'Skyclad'; Angela had to admit that even she wouldn't be working that way tonight. Not that it was essential, it just felt more 'right', more in touch with nature. Though their last Sabbat ceremony had gone unnoticed, the one before had drawn some unwilling attention. It had been a warm night and being only women involved in their coven, inhibitions had been thrown to the winds and the moonlight. It had been a good night, but the attention had caused some problems. So, they decided to vary the locations they used, reducing the risk of being found again, using a different site each time. That wasn't exactly a problem; Cornwall was knee deep in Neolithic ritual sites, sites of ancient power. They all felt that this site was special however, The Lady's Bed it was called. Not that it had survived intact, the two large standing stones and the altar stone had been moved before Angela had moved to the town. It had taken a lot of effort to get agreement that they could be re-erected, but tourism was the key to Cornwall now as little else provided jobs. The ritual that they had been spotted at was a rededication of the stones - properly - rather than the show that had been put on by the man who had worn a robe and claimed to be a Druid. Tonight though was the winter solstice, a time for healing, a time for feasting and a time to celebrate. The Goddess's journey to the underworld is over and she finds she is pregnant with the sun god, before the awakening of spring. This wasn't the celebration of the New Year, but the celebration of an inevitability of the cycle of life, the lowest point of the cycle of death before a new life. With the temperatures as low as they were, Angela had decided that this would not be a long ceremony. They could have a celebration back at her house afterwards. Yes, they would share food in the circle, that was traditional, but it was too cold to stay out. "Welcome and Blessed Be," she said to the seven women present, all dressed in the green robes. White was too impractical to keep clean and attracted attention of a night, so green had been decided on as a colour in harmony with nature. The women nodded and mumbled a response; some of them didn't look that convinced about being out here tonight. But, as Angela had pointed out, a Sabbat was a time for worship rather than personal rituals and, as such, must be that much more important to them. Some of the women, Jenny Higgins for example, seemed to think magic was what was seen on television. Angela began the preparations. She carried no Athame feeling it was too violent an item for her nature. Instead, she carried a wand that she had cut and carved herself, with a charged crystal embedded in the end. She concentrated her power and began an opening invocation to state the purpose of the Sabbat. "Oh Lady who created all in nature, We have come at this time to worship you, To celebrate the turning of the wheel, To turn the suns path in the sky, Help us make our lives like the seasons of nature, perfect in balance. So mote it is." She placed the tip of her wand in the bowl of water on the altar stone and concentrated her energy down to the water. "I consecrate thee being of water, By the power of the moon who rules all seas. So mote it be." The flickering light of the lantern, gave enough light for the other members of the coven to see her move over to the salt. "I consecrate thee being of salt, By the power of the earth, For the purification of all. So mote it be." She sprinkled some of the salt in the water and proceeded to walk clockwise, 'deosil' as she reminded herself, around the outside of the monument from the northern most point where the altar stone was back to it, sprinkling water all the way. She then repeated it with the burning 'joss sticks'. A third time, she walked around the outside, this time with her wand pointing outwards. "With this wand the circle is bound, Here with love the power is bound, By the horns of Herne and the horns of the moon, This sacred circle is formed and sealed. So mote it be." Now she was ready to invoke the four quarters, to call on the elemental energies to guard the rite. Then they could begin. *** Movement ahead caught Donald's attention. A figure, barely discernable in the gloom between the streetlights, dived into a garden. He stopped the car and quietly and, grasping his sidearm truncheon tightly, got out. Cautiously, he walked towards the garden, keeping tight to the hedges so that if anyone looked out of the gate he would be difficult to see. He was right at the top of the hill now, the most expensive of the houses on the estate and the ones with the biggest and most elaborate gardens. Plenty of places to hide. "Andrew, get up to the top of the hill. Number 24, he is in the garden," he whispered into the radio, turning down the volume so that Andrew's response was unheard and then he opened the garden gate. As he stepped through, something met his legs - hard - and he went tumbling to the ground. He looked up and caught sight of Alan, hidden behind the high hedge, his face twisted in rage. "Follow me, would you, you fucker?" he screamed. "Well, now I can show you what I do to bastards like you. Think you are so good, the fucking war hero? Well you are going to be a dead fuckin' war hero." The axe descended with the full force of Alan's rage behind it. On instinct, Donald rolled and the axe hit the ground causing sparks. The handle caught Donald a blow across the shoulders and when he realised that this was what had hit his legs, he knew he had been very lucky. The axe descended again, but this time with less force, as in rolling, Donald had closed the distance between them. But still, it was only the truncheon held along his forearm that saved him. Again, it came down, this time harder. Pain lanced along his arm, the truncheon slipped from his numb hand, and he put up his hands to ward off the third blow. It never landed; the axe stopped mere inches away from him. A small hand was holding it, no larger than a child's. "What the hell?" Alan said and Donald's thoughts echoed him. "This is naught to do with Loki's child, her mind is on the children," a voice said. "Now would you kindly be telling me, why you wish to be a killin' one of the blood?" "What?" Manley said, his expression, though still full of murderous rage was also confused. He pulled on the axe and it slipped from the small hand. "You do not want to be doin' that, ye may hurt yerself." "I'm going to kill the pig!" Manley screamed and again the axe descended. Donald saw a small figure place itself swiftly between Donald and the axe and catch the handle as it swung. He didn't shudder with the force of the impact; he just stood there immobile. "Your mind has been clouded by the coming. This is no pig, 'tis a man who I need to talk to about The Lady. Now, you just be running along," the figure said to Alan. Again the confusion clouded Alan's face, only to be swept away by the hate. He started pulling on the axe trying to free it from the small figure's grip. When he realized that he couldn't, he let it go and charged at the little man. The left hand of the figure, which had been holding the axe, let it fall to the ground. The right hand, like lightning, reached forward and grabbed the onrushing man between the legs lifting him high off the ground, until the larger man was being held at arms length above the small man's head. "You don't want to be doin' that either, life for such as thee is short enough. Now you are going to lie down and sleep, while I talk to him of the blood." Alan Manley just gurgled in response, his hands were scrabbling at his crotch in a vain attempt to prise the fingers holding him free. The arm bent slightly and the man's body was thrown at least fifteen feet across the garden, finishing in an unmoving heap in the centre of a pristine lawn. "Quickly," the little figure said turning to Donald, "others are awake inside and much is happening. Where is The Lady, as things have changed much?" "The Lady? What lady?" Donald asked, totally confused by the situation. In front of him was a man maybe four foot in height, dressed in clothes that seemed to be made out of leaves and he wore a bright red hat. His face was ancient and leathery, but his eyes, even in the gloom of the garden, were different from the rest of him - young, bright and alert. They weren't the tired old eyes that someone as old as this... man, if he was a man, should have. "The Lady who sleeps, where is she? Ye are of the blood, I can smell it in you, so where is she?" he demanded urgently. "Things are awakening tonight and she must be here..." "The Lady's Bed?" Donald asked even more confused by this strange saviour. The little man nodded eagerly. "Outside town, that way about a mile and a half, follow this road and you can't miss it." "Thank you, may the Goddess watch over you and all you love this night, child of The Blood," he said, as he tipped his hat and jumped over the hedge that was at least eight foot high. Suddenly, the garden was filled with light, as security lights came on and carefully, though in pain, Donald got up and walked over to Alan Manley. He was breathing, though unconscious. "What the hell is going on out here?" someone shouted from the direction of the house. "That I would love to know," Donald replied too quietly to be heard. *** It was a good night. A special night. Angela could feel the power; her body tingled with it as she danced. Everyone else seemed to feel it too; the sub zero temperatures had been forgotten as they danced in celebration of The Goddess. "Can we raise power?" Jenny asked breathless as they took a break, "We can do some good tonight, put something back into the world." Angela hesitated for a moment; it was the power that Jenny was in thrall too, rather than the thought of doing any good, but Angela had to agree that tonight seemed to be a special night. "We can call on Herne, ask for his blessings on those we love," Jenny urged and after a moment or two, Angela nodded. "Yes," she agreed, "let us raise power." *** He couldn't feel The Lady, yet the powers were awakened...something was wrong and it became more and more obvious as he approached 'The Lady's Bed'. "The Lady sleeps beneath a hill," he muttered as he saw the stones in the field. "What have the fools done?" Around the stones, lit by a flickering lantern, could be seen the movement of people, dancing faster and faster around the stones. To the north something was happening, anyone could see it. However, the women so caught up in their ritual had not. Though he shouted, "STOP!" in a voice inhumanly loud, the dance though continued. "They do not know what they raise," he said as he ran towards the stones only to suddenly stop, before he reached them. "STOP," he shouted again, not loud enough to shake the stones, but loud enough to wake many in the town. The dancers came to a halt, looking at the strange little man. "End the ritual, close the rite now, woman," he said to Angela who approached him. "Lord Herne?" she asked. "Do I look like I lead The Wild Hunt? Do I look like The Great Hunter?" he snapped at her. "Now close the rite quickly, before he has time to do anything. Send him back quickly, child." "Who?" Angela asked. "To the north," he shouted, "look to the north. He comes..." The shimmering at the northernmost point was beginning to take form; a figure could be seen within it. "Herne answers us, he comes," Jenny shouted happily. "The Horned God answers us," Angela shouted. "No!" he shouted back at them, ignored as they began dancing again. "That is not Herne, there is more than one with horns who can answer this call." At the northernmost point the form was beginning to take substance, it was no longer shimmering energy... it was real, too real. Ten foot tall and humanoid in appearance, at first glance the most obvious thing that was wrong was a huge erect phallus. The leathery skin was visibly pulsating as whatever passed for blood in this perverted version of a satyr passed through the protruding veins and arteries. "Herne has come," shouted one of the women. "That's not Herne, can you not see what has answered your call?" he shouted at them. "Send it back quickly, before he can gather his strength." "Too late my little friend," the creature growled, "Can you not feel the power tonight? One is here... as it was seen... the time is here after so long and these open the door for me. Do you think I should reward them, Firstborn?" "Leave them, they are beneath your notice." "Nothing is beneath my notice, especially if it distresses you..." the beast replied, "and what's this, a circle closed by one of power? Therefore, you and your bitch can't interfere, for even you are bound by the power that has been used. All you can do is watch... impotent as always." "Leave them, they are nothing at all to you." "Why Firstborn, they are something to you and your Lady, that is enough reason?" "Oh Lord of the hunt, the forests and the night, who is this interloper?" Angela asked her voice betraying her confusion. "This is The Goddess's first child, he who danced as the spark of life was created, he who taught the satyrs how to dance and Pan how to wench." "Who is he?" Jenny demanded, and anger flashed across the beast's face. "He is the first-born, he is Robin Goodfellow, he is Aiken Drum, he is Pwca, Phouka, Puke and he is Puck. Favourite of The Lady, favoured above all other of The Goddess's creations... for he will never die. You on the other hand are a different matter," a great hand reached out and grabbed Jenny, plucking her out of the women crowded around the great beast. A huge hand held her by an arm dangling in the air as she screamed in pain, another hand wrapped around her waist and the beast pulled. Jenny's screams increased in volume and then were silenced as the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness, took her away from the horror. The other women were transfixed and fascinated yet horrified by this sight. There was a tearing noise and suddenly the beast was holding the body and an arm ripped from the socket, flesh, sinews and bloody bone visible. He dropped the poor woman's body at his feet and waved the arm in the direction of his adversary. "See, Firstborn? There is nothing you can do." He taunted. "These poor misguided creatures shall be my first tribute." The beast threw the arm in the direction of the small man and it stopped inches away from him with a flash of green light that spread into a wall reaching to the stars and encircling the stones. One of the women turned and ran, only to be suddenly stopped by the now invisible barrier again. Her face caught the barrier first, her nose flattening and teeth breaking with the force of the impact and she fell to the floor stunned, her hands up at her face trying to staunch the blood and moaning quietly. "Who leads this ritual?" The beast demanded. "I do," Angela replied grasping her wand like a weapon before her. "Throw away your stick, it will do you no good now," the beast said in a mocking voice. "Do not drop it child, it has a power from you... he dislikes it," The Firstborn shouted. "Yes, I dislike it, but do you think it would stop me?" The beast asked her. "Do you think you and your twig with a pretty stone in, could stop Lucifer?" When Angela replied, "There is no such thing as The Devil," The Beast laughed. "There is no 'Devil', that is right, but demons, there are a plenty. We are just another form of the same creatures that you worship, but as you can see, more powerful." "By The Goddess and The Hunter, I demand you return to where you came from," Angela said and when she pointed the wand at the creature, it stretched in response unfolding a great set of leathery wings. "I am Lucifer, The Light Bringer and do you think that will do anything to me?" He rushed forward and grabbed at another of the women, claws impaling her and ripping off her robe with the other hand. The dark claws could be seen where they punctured her skin and only a trickle of blood could be seen though. "Oh, this is a pretty one," he said tracing a claw along her face, ripping open her face to the bone. With the hand that was holding the woman, he squeezed. Her screams and struggles ceased and dark red blood began to flow from her mouth. The other women were beating against the barrier, begging with The Firstborn to help them. The tears flowed down his face; there was nothing he could do to help them. Their magic prevented him entering the circle they had created, even if the lady was here she would have been bound. The circle was closed with the power that was available to anyone with the ability this night and not even The Lady herself could have intervened. "Do not worry child, this is just for you," The Beast said to Angela, his bloodstained and clawed hand encircling his huge penis and waving it mockingly in her direction. It turned its attention to the women screaming and cowering nearest to The Firstborn. A clawed hand raked down one woman, not much more than a girl, and opened her up in four long slashes from face to groin. Blue intestines could be seen pushing through the torn gown as she fell against the barrier, which flared again. Angela stood alone between Lucifer and the surviving four members of her coven, grasping the wand and trying to do anything to stop it. The Beast pushed Angela out of the way sending her sprawling and grabbed another of the women. The Firstborn's attention though was on the body of the woman who had fallen against the barrier. From her mortal wounds, blood was flowing towards the barrier, slowly though, too slowly. Another body was thrown, this time it landed across the altar stone, throat and chest opened and the internal organs spilling across the grey stone steamed in the frigid air. The blood was almost against the barrier now, pooling and spreading slowly. The ancient man's eyes never left it, despite the screams. It touched the barrier and suddenly the barrier was gone. The man leapt into the fray, and placed himself between the three surviving women and Lucifer. "None who live can cross that barrier..." Lucifer roared at him. "Ye forgot that the spell is bound to the salt and the water, if that is washed away from within, the circle is broken. Now leave them be, before I knock the horns from your head." "Something is wrong, you have no power. Where is your lady?" Lucifer demanded. "Do you think I would face you, if the lady was far? Do you think one so favoured as I would be without power, do you think I am a fool?" "I cannot feel her power." Lucifer replied, but he didn't sound convinced. "Of course you can't. The power in the air tonight is enough to blind even a sensitive creature to The Lady's presence. You couldn't sense The Lady even if she is stood behind you." Lucifer turned looking behind himself for a moment and The Firstborn laughed loudly. "Oh Lucifer, you are here early, you have no power yet. Which means even if I have no power, it comes down to which of us can dance the better. You know that I will rip that tail out by the roots and use it as a noose to hang you with, as I dance a merry jig. Now go, before you anger me and I give you a lesson you will never forget." The Beast paused a moment and then backed off into the darkness to be lost from sight after a second or two. "Who are you?" an astonished Angela asked of him, "Will you help me with the injured?" "Call me Aiken Drum. That is what I was called last and I am sorry child, but those who The Beast amused himself with are gone, no more can be done for them. However, I can get you and these girls to safety, there is much abroad tonight. Have you seen The Lady?" *** Donald was at home, he had been sent home soon after the doctor had finished with him. Nothing was broken, but he was sporting some wonderful bruises and he felt them. The Armed Response Team hadn't been too impressed at first, called out to find Donald and Andrew with an unconscious man. Then however, they saw Andrew's car and the state that he was in. Suddenly, Donald went from being someone who had dragged them out unnecessarily, to a hero. Andrew, who turned up moments after the little man had leapt over the high hedge, added to this, mistaken description. He felt like a fraud though, he had denied knowing exactly what happened as it would have been too unbelievable... he didn't believe it himself though it happened before his very eyes. Cracking open a bottle of Scotch, he poured himself a large measure and sat down, pensively looking at the patterns of flashing lights on the Christmas tree. Presents lay there underneath it for the lads when they got here, though he didn't expect to see them before January. Since the divorce, Julie had limited contact with them more and more, revenge for years of his being away and on duty when she wanted him near. He closed his eyes and tried to get his thoughts in order, despite what Andrew had said about him being the one who brought Alan Manley down. He hadn't. The little man, dressed in green and brown, had saved him and if he told anyone about it, he was liable to have a padded cell right next door to Alan. "Always the same. Full moon and the world goes nuts," he said loudly. "This time though, I have as well." He considered putting the television on for a moment, but then decided against it, the silence and the dark were comforting, as was the drink. As he sat there, he began to doze, unusual considering it was his night on, but when the hammering came on the door, he was awake in a moment. *** Catherine Jones had been married for sixty-three years. It was with Albert's call up that they had got married and, a matter of days after they were married, he had been off to North Africa then Italy. Since he had come back in forty- five they had never been apart. They had been blessed by good health though. Tonight though, Catherine woke up with a deep fear in her heart; she lay there for a moment or two listening for Albert's breathing next to her. She always feared these times late at night, for she knew that one day she would wake up and it would be silent. The rasping exhale came and she relaxed a little. Her daughter had been trying to convince her that Albert needed proper nursing care now. Helen was fed up with the constant calls on her time, especially since she had moved out of town. She wanted Albert nearer Truro and Catherine in sheltered housing, supposedly to make life easier for her. Catherine knew what the real reason was, however - the house. The house, which they had lived in since 1952, had been bought cheap at a time when no one wanted to live in Cornwall. Albert had added to it over the years and improved, now it was worth a fortune. Brian, Helen's second husband, was a fool with money and Helen kept making excuses for him. Catherine knew what he was after, the money from the sale of the house. They would get Albert in a home; her in sheltered accommodation and then have her declared mentally unstable, thereby giving Brian the money from the house to waste. She laid there for a minute or two more and suddenly made her decision. She wasn't going to let the ungrateful bitch and her husband get anything. Albert and her had been together too long to be separated now, despite what the social worker had said. If they took him away from her, they would never be together again and that was something that she was not willing to accept. She looked at the clock - 4.17am. It would be almost two hours before the heating came on to warm the house up. Catherine got out of the bed slowly and carefully, though it took a lot to wake Albert now. In the old days, he was awake with any noise at all, especially in those first few years after the war. Then she used to wake up with him, he holding her tight, occasionally sobbing after a particularly bad dream woke him. Now though there wasn't much of the man she had loved and married left. Occasionally, a flash of lucidity brought him back, but that was rarer now...so very rare. Downstairs she found what she was looking for, the metal box containing all of Albert's most treasured things and then she turned on the gas fire without lighting it. Back in the bedroom, she sat on the bed, unpacking the biscuit tin. Memories emerged, photographs of young men, all old or dead now, a picture of Brian in his Corporal's uniform, which had to be in Africa. After North Africa, had been Italy. In Italy, Albert had been promoted and by then he was rarely smiling in the photographs. His medals came next. Campaign and decorations for valour from a time when they were young. Catherine had said in one letter to him that if the war continued much longer he would end up with the VC at the rate he was gathering medals. He hadn't been happy about that, he never was about what he had done to get the medals; all he would say was that if she knew what he had done, she would hate him as much as he did. Respectfully, she laid the medals out on the bedside cabinet. They should have been cleaned first, but she had something more important to do. She took out a fresh candle and set it on the dresser. She fumbled with a couple of matches before finally setting it alight. Satisfied, she then went over to Albert's night table. It was at the bottom of the tin wrapped in a rag. Albert's service pistol - an automatic. He had shown her how to use it in the late fifties, when the world was falling apart; barely she chambered a round from the magazine that was in it. She took aim at Albert's head and pulled the trigger. The noise and the kick surprised her, she had never remembered it being so loud last time she used it and it had made the gun slip from her hands in her surprise. Despite the blood and brain matter that had violently scattered about, she carefully picked up the gun and lay herself down next to Albert's body. It took her a moment or two to figure out how she was going to do it as her hands did have problems with arthritis. Eventually, she got the pistol on her forehead, with both thumbs on the trigger and her fingers around the back of the handle. She squeezed... *** The Police Station was now empty. Alan Manley was on his way to Truro, Sergeant Jameson had been sent home and Andrew was in charge until a replacement Sergeant could be found. He wasn't feeling exactly happy about his new responsibilities after the escapades of earlier in the evening. He wasn't happy either, that the visitors to the station had finished off the milk and eaten all the biscuits. However, they had left him another car just in case he was called out and the Shell Garage was a twenty- four hour service station. He wasn't willing to be stuck alone in the little police station without a brew. A modern Vauxhall, (a distinct improvement on the now impounded Fiesta) with a heater that worked and without the lingering smells of many years of drunks, sat outside. Seeing he was only going to be away from the desk for five minutes, Andrew decided that the trip to the garage was worth the risk. The person responsible for most of the crime in the area was safely in custody and he was certain that nothing else could happen in that length of time. *** Things were awakening, things that had remained long hidden and although they were intent on their own plans, Chaos willingly gave of its power. Those that awoke were ancient by the standards of the creatures on the planet, but some of the youngest of those born of its hatred. They served their purpose; though they had their own ends they worked to, unaware of how they were manipulated into existence to oppose everything. Though Chaos had created these beings, they were not bound. Chaos was as much something they hated as they hated all, but with Chaos came power and where the power came from was of little concern. *** Waiting outside Donald's door were a number of crying and bedraggled women and the little man. For a moment, he just stood there looking disbelievingly. "Will ye be inviting us in or would you be coming out here?" the little man demanded. "Err..." was Donald's only response. "There are many things abroad tonight, many things that are best not encountered until I find The Lady and, even then, it will be a close thing. Now, would you like me to drop these girls back where I found them, as I am sure they may survive for more than a few minutes?" "No...NO...oh God no please," one of the women screamed and began crying uncontrollably. "Come in then," Donald said, feeling very lost. The four women were dressed in green robes, one of them had bruises and marks across her face, it was obvious though that all of them were bordering on hypothermia and all were in shock. "Where is your kettle?" the older of the women, the one with the marks on her face asked. "They need something hot inside them." "Through there," Donald said pointing to the kitchen. "What the hell is going on?" he asked the little man. The man didn't answer; he stood entranced by the flashing lights on the Christmas tree. "They are pretty. A celebration for The Goddess?" he asked with a huge smile on his face. "No, a Christmas tree," Donald replied. "Christmas? What is Christmas?" he asked never taking his eyes off the patterns of marching lights. "Christmas, Christ's birthday...you know Jesus in Bethlehem." "Oh The Nazarene, a celebration for his birth. Yet, later you killed him. Strange, very strange." The little man shook his head and then turned to face Donald. "Why do ye celebrate his birth at this time of year? He was born at the end of the summer." "I wouldn't know?" Donald said. "Who are you?" "'Tis a while since I was known in the world. I am the firstborn, I will be last, I am the one who attends The Goddess and dances to make her smile. For when The Goddess smiles on the world, the world is truly blessed." "Err, yes, but who are you?" Donald asked again, wondering what was wrong with the world this evening. He was sure when his shift had started that it had made sense. "Ye know nothing for one of the blood. I am the firstborn, the dancer..." He turned away from the lights to look at Donald, looking for some recognition in Donald's face. He found none. "Call me Aiken Drum," he said disappointedly. "Well, Mr Drum, can you please tell me what the hell is going on?" Donald asked. "No, not now, for now, I need salt and water. Do ye have any about this place?" "Yes, in the kitchen." he replied. "Show me quickly man, if you hold this world dear to your heart." Donald led him through to the kitchen, where the woman with the bruised face appeared to be making cups of tea. "There's salt," he said pulling a packet of table salt out of the cupboard. The little man sniffed it, tasted some and spat it out. "'Tis tainted, have you none that's pure?" "That's a new packet, there is nothing up with that," Donald protested. "It has lots of stuff in besides salt," the woman with the tea said, "I use sea salt. Have you got any?" "I might have. Julie used to be into things like that," he said as he started to pull packets out of a cupboard, noticing some of the expiry dates as he did and hoping his visitors didn't. Eventually, at the back, he found a plastic bag of Sea Salt, open and looking worse for wear. It had to have been there at least four, possibly five years. Aiken Drum grabbed it, tasted it and smiled. "I knew one of the blood wouldn't be without. Now water. Where is your well?" "Here," the bruised woman said turning on the tap, "The water is good here, free from taint." Aiken Drum pulled what looked like an animal skin from his clothing and began to fill it with water while mumbling and then he poured the salt into the distended skin. "I need to close a circle the like has never been done before. The Lady should be here as this is why she exists for this time, yet she has not arrived. Until the time she comes, I must keep all here, so close your home, protect those you love and I leave these children in your care, son of the blood. May The Goddess watch over you while I am gone and do not leave this place...too much walks the dark places now, even for you." With that, the man turned and began fumbling with the door, trying to open it. Donald opened it for him and he smiled and bowed. Then he turned and began running in huge bounding steps. After a few moments, he was lost from sight. Donald shut the door and walked back into the kitchen, ignoring the three huddling and shivering women in his living room. "Would you like a cup of tea?" the bruised woman asked. She seemed to be worse for wear as well, tears running down her face and she was shivering. "Not really," he said as he sat down beside her. "I don't suppose you could tell me what the hell is going on?" *** Andrew was driving quickly; it was guaranteed that when a replacement Sergeant was found he would be back out again. In the time it took to find a Sergeant, he intended to relax with a cup of tea and at least half a packet of biscuits. The problem was, if it were to be known that he had left the desk unmanned just to get some milk and munchies, the shit would fly. The roads at this end of town were not the problem that the roads on the hill were, the gritters had been out and he knew that the chance of ice was negligible. What he wasn't expecting though, was a winged leopard - at least the size of his car - to emerge from behind a hedge and it was only by pure instinct that he managed to swerve around it. The animal swatted at his car with a paw and Andrew felt the impact, the sound of tearing of metal and the explosion of a tyre were clear indications of the damage being caused by this impossible beast. Andrew put his foot down hard and pulled away from the creature, ignoring the damage he was doing to the engine and the wheel and screamed. "OH SHIT NO!!!...OH JESUS, OH JESUS, OH JESUS...THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING TO ME!!!" For the second time that night, he felt the rear end of a car slipping away from him and he fought with the wheel to bring it back under control. The noise of the metal rim digging into the tarmac brought him back to reality for a moment, but the apparition following him in the rear view mirror dissuaded him from slowing down. The car again slid on the right hand bend and the beast was lost from view for a moment or two. Again though, it came into view further behind this time and only a swift right hand turn followed by a left threw the beast off his scent. Less than a minute later, the lights of the service station came into view. He slammed his brakes on, opened the car door and ran inside; the girl behind the counter looked shocked at his sudden arrival and panicked state. "Get the fucking lights out now," he screamed at her. "What...why?" she asked. "Listen I'm a police officer. Switch everything off or we are fucking dead." She hesitated for a moment then opened the office door behind her. With a flick of her hand the lights inside and outside went off. "What's happening?" she asked him in a whisper, "I saw all the police cars earlier." "Nothing to do with that, there is something out there, something that damn near took out my car." "Like what?" she asked peering out into the darkness as he was. "Like a fucking big cat, some sort of Leopard type thing." "Oh what, like the beast of Bodmin? You come running in here and scare the shit out of me for some cat?" "No I came running in here and scared the shit out of you for that thing and that isn't a fucking cat..." she followed the direction of his finger and in the illumination of the streetlights she could see something moving. The something was at least as big as a large horse, but distinctly cat like in appearance, except for the wings...huge wings. "Oh god, what is that thing?" she asked in a breathless whisper. "Keep still, don't move," Andrew said, grabbing her hand. The creature looked in their direction for a moment or two, its eyes reflecting the limited light as a green glow. It stopped moving and continued to stare in their direction for what seemed like an age to the terrified couple, only to then continue on its way. "What the hell was that?" the girl dem