A Cornish Gift: Previously published as an eBook collection, now in print for the first time with exclusive Christmas bonus material from Fern. Fern Britton

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       5

      Piran didn’t care what Simon said, he was too naive and trusting to know much about human nature. He wasn’t worldly wise. But his words had pricked at Piran’s conscience – the vicar was good at that – and anyway, he was wide awake now and might as well take a walk out and see what was happening.

      Taking a torch from the ledge over the front door, he headed out towards the back yard. Opening the door to the shed, he shone his torch in, knowing that somewhere in the piles of boxes was a heavy-duty rechargeable lamp that would be more useful than the small Maglite one. Piran’s shed was not a shed like most men’s; it served as a workshop, with a long workbench down one wall and a dusty and cracked window overlooking the fields behind. It was packed with fishing paraphernalia, as well as several carpentry projects in various stages of development. His grandfather had been a shipwright and carpentry seemed to run in their blood. One of those projects was a doll’s house that he had been making for Summer. Recently, he’d lost heart in the project and had struggled to finish it. He comforted himself with the thought that she was too young for it yet, anyway. Turning away from the abandoned project, he began rummaging through the boxes, which held everything from spanners to old copies of Sporting Life.

      ‘Where is the damned thing?’ he cursed as he pulled another dusty box down from the shelf.

      Some of these boxes had been here for decades. What was in this one? He placed it on the work counter.

      He shook it – nothing breakable – and then peeled away the yellowed and no-longer-sticky Sellotape that had been used to seal the box. His heart gave a jolt as he saw the contents. A hand-carved and painted Nativity set. One by one, he took out the figures: a shepherd, a donkey, one of the three kings, Mary and Joseph … Finally, rummaging around in the bottom, he found the manger containing Baby Jesus. Unlike the others, this remained unpainted and unfinished. Piran remembered making these. He had lovingly created every piece and now here they were – forgotten and useless. When was the last time he had made something like this – made it for the joy of simply doing it and because he could?

      He sighed and placed the figures back in the box.

      Eventually, he found the missing lamp and headed out into the night.

      *

      Piran had always thought that the light was different in Cornwall and tonight it seemed especially so. This Christmas Eve, the night was clear and the stars lit up the sky like a luminous carpet. The crescent moon was low in the sky and the dew on the grass shimmered like diamond dust on the fields.

      He wasn’t sure where he was going exactly but headed in the general direction of the village. There was something about the surrounding darkness that accentuated the sounds around him. Not far from the headland, he thought he could still hear the waves crashing on the shore. This part of Cornwall felt defined by the sea. He imagined this was how Pendruggan would have been before the adoption of electricity, with seafarers totally dependent on the lighthouse to keep them clear of the treacherous coast. Cornish folk had held onto the old ways for longer than many, and he remembered that even when he was a boy, some of villagers still made do with gas and candlelight, and horses and carts continued to be a fixture of village life.

      Gradually, he left the headland behind and the comforting sound of the sea, and a silence seemed to fall around him as he neared the collection of houses that made up the village. It was almost as if the land was holding its breath for something. Piran wasn’t easily spooked but he felt unnerved – was he being watched?

      He heard something crackle behind him, as if someone or something had trodden on a twig. An owl cried out in the distance and the hedgerows rustled.

      Watched? Or followed? He shone his lamp into the fields.

      ‘Who’s there?’ His voice sounded strange to his own ears as it echoed in the silence.

      Nothing. He continued on his way, shining the torch again.

      There it was again, another crackle to his right.

      He swung round, thrusting his torch over the dry stone wall that separated him from the field.

      To his utter horror, an unearthly, grotesque face loomed out of the darkness at him. Its eyes were two black pools of darkness and its mouth was a red gash containing sharp yellow teeth.