The Dyrysgol Horror and Other Weird Tales. Edmund Glasby

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      * * * *

      A cold, damp fog hung like a thick blanket over the area, making driving difficult and hazardous, yet slowly and steadily Owen drove out towards the place Edwin had informed him of the previous night. In the passenger seat sat Constable Hughes, a crudely-drawn map in his hands, whilst in the back of the car, staring out of the window, was Constable Jenkins.

      “We can’t be far away now, sir,” said Hughes. “If this map’s anything to go by, I’d say we’ve probably got less than a mile to go. Just keep going along this road.”

      “If you want my opinion,” butted in Jenkins, “I still think that this Ravenwood sounds a bit of a dodgy character. You said yourself, sir, that he’s got a huge dog. Could be that he’s trained it to kill people like in that story.”

      “You mean the Hound of the Baskervilles?” Hughes laughed, although there was little mirth in it, for they had now ventured far from the village. The realisation that they would shortly be conducting a search of a possible crime scene, one for which the perpetrator or perpetrators responsible remained both unknown and at large, was not something to laugh at. The thought chilled him somewhat.

      Owen shifted gear and slowed down, gradually bringing the car to a halt. “We’ll walk from here. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.” He got out of the car and put his hand up to his forehead. There was a filming of sweat on it and he felt suddenly cold. Even with the others there, close beside him, he felt oddly afraid. It was nothing he could put his finger on, nothing really tangible, but walking down that barely visible stretch of country road, he had the sudden impression that red eyes were watching his movements with a raptorial hunger. Savagely, he bit his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming out loud. The fear was palpable, clinging around him, soaking into his mind. He stood quite still, listening for a moment, certain that something—some hideous evil—would emerge from the fog and tear them all to pieces.

      “Sure is one hell of a creepy place,” said Hughes. In the distance, he could hear the bleating of sheep.

      “And this fog doesn’t help either.” Jenkins was walking slowly, eyes scanning the road below him.

      They walked on through the fog for a further five minutes or so before Owen brought them up short. He pointed to the ground. “Look! See those tyre marks? This is clearly were the car began to skid. It looks as though the driver tried to hit the brakes.”

      “And what’s this?” Jenkins, who had walked over to one side, returned with something long and slender in his right hand.

      “What have you found?” asked Owen.

      “Why, it’s an arrow, sir.” Jenkins handed it over. “It was just lying on the road.”

      Carefully, Owen ran his hand down the relatively thick, smooth pine shaft. The black fletching had obviously been well trimmed, and testing the iron-cast barbed point against his thumb, he was not surprised to find that it was incredibly sharp. His appraisal was interrupted by a call from Hughes.

      “The car’s just up ahead, sir.”

      “Keep a good hold of this,” said Owen, returning the arrow to his constable. “And good work spotting it.”

      The two of them jogged up the road to join Hughes, who had clambered down into the relatively shallow ditch and was peering inside the wrecked vehicle.

      At first glance, it could have just been a simple accident. A car going off the road in adverse driving conditions was not, in itself, an unusual occurrence. However, it was only as they got closer that they noticed the jagged marks that covered the roof and the nearside. It was as though some creature, a bear for instance, had attacked it. Some gouges went right through the metal.

      The driver’s door hung wide open, and Owen had to hope that the good doctor had somehow managed to escape and that he was out there somewhere trying to make his way back to civilisation. Much as he wanted to believe this, the state of the car and the terrible sounds Edwin had described seemed to make it unlikely. No, he told himself, there was something far more sinister at work here. With that realisation, he clambered down into the ditch to join Hughes.

      “Sure is a bit of a mess,” said Hughes. “But there’s no blood visible, which is rather surprising.”

      “Most strange.” Owen gave a final look around the interior of the car. He drew himself to his full height and straightened his back. His eyes narrowed to mere slits as he tried to push his vision into the enshrouding fog. That feeling of being watched was strong within him once more, as was the unsettling awareness that there was something out there. Something that could see them, despite the fact that they could not see it. A lump gathered in his throat, but he forced it down. There was a sudden cold clamminess of sweat on his back and an icy chill on his chest. He felt his arms shaking.

      “Inspector!”

      Jenkins’ call made him jump.

      “There’s another arrow over here. And—and something else. I think you’d better have a look.”

      * * * *

      By early afternoon the fog had lifted somewhat, permitting Owen to drive far more easily than he had that morning. Passing through the gateway that led up towards Dyrysgol Castle he suppressed a shiver of fear and he heard Hughes, who was in the passenger seat, let out a little gasp of uncomprehending bewilderment.

      “Looking at this lot, it’s no wonder that Jenkins thinks that this viscount is behind everything.”

      “We’ve got nothing to go by yet, so let’s not be too quick to judge, although I’ll agree with you this place sure gives me the creeps.”

      “I—” Hughes was about to speak, when he suddenly stopped and stared. “I think you’ll find that we’ve got plenty to go by, Inspector. Stop the car and look! Over there to the left.”

      Owen brought the car to an abrupt halt. “What is it?” he asked tersely. His eyes lit up. “Right, let’s go. Leave the talking to me. And don’t forget to bring that.” He pointed meaningfully at a large black bag, which lay on the back seat. With that, he got out of the car and began to stride purposefully towards the near side of the castle.

      Some two hundred yards away, he could see Ravenwood shooting arrows at a large, circular straw target.

      “Lord Ravenwood!” he shouted.

      Ravenwood turned to look at him, an arrow notched on his bow and ready to be released.

      “A moment, if you please.” Owen was now getting near and the sudden, dreadful thought that he presented a good target to an experienced archer flashed briefly through his mind. He dispelled it the moment Ravenwood lowered his bow and stood waiting, expectantly.

      “Inspector. Once again I have the pleasure of your company.” Ravenwood stood tall and imposing, the bow he gripped slightly longer than him. “You catch me pursuing one of my great hobbies. As a toxophilite—”

      “A what?”

      “A toxophilite—a lover of archery. I don’t suppose you’re aware that the so-called English longbow was in fact invented here, in Wales.”

      “Is that right? Well that’s one СКАЧАТЬ