canine probity. Lexy couldn’t figure it out. It was as if the cottage and Freshing Hill were
exerting some strange, restraining force on him.
Although it was early, the sun already felt warm on Lexy’s face. She stood looking out over the restless grey-green North Sea, dimpled with sunlight, and felt a stab of envy for Rowana.
What a shame she had to sell the place, and what a shame Lexy didn’t have a spare few hundred thousand in the bank to buy it. She couldn’t imagine why she had found it so sinister the
previous night.
A low mist hugged the shingle shore, some thirty feet below. The beach extended in a wide crescent all the way to Clopwolde, formed over centuries by the sea taking bite after patient bite from
the land’s edge.
She followed the path along the edge of the cliff. It wasn’t long before she came to a set of rough stone steps leading down. A wonky tubular metal rail ran beside the steps.
“Come on, fella.” Lexy began to descend.
Kinky dithered at the top.
“Stay there, then.”
Lexy was getting a mite fed up with the little caramel-coloured sod and his inexplicable moods. As she clambered down, a large, loose stone slipped from under her and tumbled heavily down to the
beach. Lexy clutched at the railing, falling on her backside. There was a rustle in the undergrowth, and a couple of rabbits shot away.
Kinky began barking. That was more like him.
Lexy pushed herself up. “Don’t even think about chasing them.”
Then she noticed it. Moving away from them through the mist.
“Not again,” she whispered.
But it was happening again. Old Shuck was at large, making along the beach for Clopwolde.
It was exactly the same creature she had glimpsed coming along the dyke towards her cabin yesterday morning. Head down, big powerful shoulders, drumming feet. As she gazed, the black,
shadow-like form disappeared into the mist. Drumming feet? The creature had to be mortal. Lexy clambered awkwardly to the beach, Kinky slithering down in her wake.
They found themselves on cool shingle glazed with silver wash from the sea. Pretty to look at but not great for running along in pursuit of mysterious black beasts. After five minutes Lexy was
exhausted, and Kinky had given up completely. There was no sight of the creature, or any trail of animal prints – no hope of that on the uneven ridges of pebbles. Thoroughly disconcerted,
Lexy trailed back to the steps, meeting up with the panting chihuahua on the way back.
They climbed back up the steps to the cliff top, and Lexy stared down at the beach until the mist lifted in shreds, revealing – nothing. Nothing other than a couple of early fishermen,
arriving and setting up on the shore. She debated whether or not to go down and ask them if they, too, had seen it. Then it occurred to her that Lonny had doubtless already regaled the entire
fishing community of Clopwolde with tales of a lush bird in underwear, gabbling about a sinister black apparition. She didn’t want to fan the flames of that one. She had a feeling she
wouldn’t be taken seriously, even fully dressed.
6
Half an hour later Lexy was sitting in the sun on Elizabeth Cassall’s back doorstep, drinking black tea, and eating cold baked beans straight from the tin.
She’d just tried the car and it had started first time. Seemed like her luck was beginning to change.
“Points must have been wet,” she told Kinky, without really knowing what this meant, other than that she could now drive to the village and get him some food before their
relationship deteriorated beyond repair.
“Remind me in future,” Lexy told him, “to keep some emergency packets of Doggy Chomps in the car, for the next time we illegally enter a remote cottage and spend the night
there.”
Kinky raked her knee, pleadingly.
Neither of them heard the stranger coming down the path at the side of Four Winds.
“Hey – who are you?” He rounded the wall, pushed the front gate open and advanced on
exerting some strange, restraining force on him.
Although it was early, the sun already felt warm on Lexy’s face. She stood looking out over the restless grey-green North Sea, dimpled with sunlight, and felt a stab of envy for Rowana.
What a shame she had to sell the place, and what a shame Lexy didn’t have a spare few hundred thousand in the bank to buy it. She couldn’t imagine why she had found it so sinister the
previous night.
A low mist hugged the shingle shore, some thirty feet below. The beach extended in a wide crescent all the way to Clopwolde, formed over centuries by the sea taking bite after patient bite from
the land’s edge.
She followed the path along the edge of the cliff. It wasn’t long before she came to a set of rough stone steps leading down. A wonky tubular metal rail ran beside the steps.
“Come on, fella.” Lexy began to descend.
Kinky dithered at the top.
“Stay there, then.”
Lexy was getting a mite fed up with the little caramel-coloured sod and his inexplicable moods. As she clambered down, a large, loose stone slipped from under her and tumbled heavily down to the
beach. Lexy clutched at the railing, falling on her backside. There was a rustle in the undergrowth, and a couple of rabbits shot away.
Kinky began barking. That was more like him.
Lexy pushed herself up. “Don’t even think about chasing them.”
Then she noticed it. Moving away from them through the mist.
“Not again,” she whispered.
But it was happening again. Old Shuck was at large, making along the beach for Clopwolde.
It was exactly the same creature she had glimpsed coming along the dyke towards her cabin yesterday morning. Head down, big powerful shoulders, drumming feet. As she gazed, the black,
shadow-like form disappeared into the mist. Drumming feet? The creature had to be mortal. Lexy clambered awkwardly to the beach, Kinky slithering down in her wake.
They found themselves on cool shingle glazed with silver wash from the sea. Pretty to look at but not great for running along in pursuit of mysterious black beasts. After five minutes Lexy was
exhausted, and Kinky had given up completely. There was no sight of the creature, or any trail of animal prints – no hope of that on the uneven ridges of pebbles. Thoroughly disconcerted,
Lexy trailed back to the steps, meeting up with the panting chihuahua on the way back.
They climbed back up the steps to the cliff top, and Lexy stared down at the beach until the mist lifted in shreds, revealing – nothing. Nothing other than a couple of early fishermen,
arriving and setting up on the shore. She debated whether or not to go down and ask them if they, too, had seen it. Then it occurred to her that Lonny had doubtless already regaled the entire
fishing community of Clopwolde with tales of a lush bird in underwear, gabbling about a sinister black apparition. She didn’t want to fan the flames of that one. She had a feeling she
wouldn’t be taken seriously, even fully dressed.
6
Half an hour later Lexy was sitting in the sun on Elizabeth Cassall’s back doorstep, drinking black tea, and eating cold baked beans straight from the tin.
She’d just tried the car and it had started first time. Seemed like her luck was beginning to change.
“Points must have been wet,” she told Kinky, without really knowing what this meant, other than that she could now drive to the village and get him some food before their
relationship deteriorated beyond repair.
“Remind me in future,” Lexy told him, “to keep some emergency packets of Doggy Chomps in the car, for the next time we illegally enter a remote cottage and spend the night
there.”
Kinky raked her knee, pleadingly.
Neither of them heard the stranger coming down the path at the side of Four Winds.
“Hey – who are you?” He rounded the wall, pushed the front gate open and advanced on
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