A Shift In Thinking: 2015

A few years ago I wrote the 1st of two books about a young woman and four friends who discover that they are the keepers of a special book. The book has the power of good or evil and it all depends on who has that book in their hands. Nellie has been tasked with getting it back but in order to do that she and her friends must time travel and meet head on with the followers of the Bohaban Sith.

If you have time please take a read. I will post the book every week in four sections. Let me know what you think. Please feel free to share.

Thank you,

Lee

Nellie Darling

and

The Legend of Nasty

L.G. Wilkinson

Cover art by Ross Attrill

Edited by Val Proctor

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, be reproduced or altered in any way without prior consent of the author or publisher.

Nellie Darling and the Legend of Nasty is published by

Triadic Media

e mail: LG Wilkinson at oneactplaywright@icloud.com

For Erin, Paige and Ryan.

Especially for

Chris

Before it all began

The Shard and the Book

There is a fine line between the present and the past, between being in control and insanity. This sliver of time is known to only a few as the Shard. Within it dwells all the lost souls who have ever lived. Lifeless, bodiless, each soul suspended in the Shard, waiting to be set free so that once again they can spread misery and hatred in the world. Some are set free by mistake. An unsuspecting person in the wrong place at the wrong time and a desperate soul trades places with a good one. But others are set free by design. Set free by some misguided fool thinking they can control it for their own use, someone who wants to spread fear and terror. Someone who wants to have power over others in order to get what they desire. Someone who would destroy anyone in their way in order to fulfill that desire…

The Shard was created two thousand years ago by a small group of Elders so they could control the evil in the world. It was created by the use of a powerful book that held the knowledge and wisdom of the Universe. The Book is guarded by a Keeper and must never leave their possession. For in it lies the knowledge to reverse the spell and break open the Shard, releasing a floodgate of evil into the world the like of which have never been seen before.

Only one person is given the task of guarding the Book. One person, whose soul is so pure that it is impossible to corrupt while they are in possession of it. But, what would happen if they became separated?

Nellie Darling has just turned sixteen and has been living what she thought to be a normal life in a small village in Hertfordshire, England. What she does not know is that she is to become the next Keeper on her eighteenth birthday. Also unbeknown to Nellie Darling is the fact that the previous Keeper is dead and the Elders have only a short time to locate Nellie and the Book or the Book will be lost within the Shard and open to anyone who wants to use its power for evil. Nellie Darling will either become the youngest ever Keeper of the book, or she will die in the process.

In her wildest dreams

Nellie Darling shot bolt upright, her heart pounding in her chest, sweat running down her face as she sat shivering in the middle of the empty room. It was pitch black and she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. How long had she been unconscious?

She dragged herself up and started to crawl on her hands and knees until she felt a wall. She traced her quivering fingers over it, trying to find some sort of clue as to where she was and why she was there. She inched her way over the damp stone, feeling the mould and the water trickling down her fingers until, finally, she felt a heavy ring with a chain attached to it.

She continued to move her numb fingertips over the rough stone wall. Her heart was still pounding, and she thought she would scream. Frantically, she felt the uneven surface, trying to find the opening where she had come in. Suddenly, there was a searing pain as she jammed the fingers of her left hand into another heavy ring.

At last! She had found the door and freedom. She fumbled in the dark, trying to turn the handle but the huge ring was stiff and rusty. Quickly, she stood up, only to feel even more pain as she smashed her head into a solid object. She sank back to her knees again, the pain surging through her body, tears running down her cheeks. Nellie reached warily above her head until she touched the cold stone ceiling and she could feel the warm sticky blood from her head where she had hit the roof.

She moved her hands back to the wall and found the ring and then the chain … the chain, what was it attached to? She ran her hands over it, feeling the rust and the roughness of it. The skin on her fingers tore on a shard of the chain that had flaked away but she was so numb that she hardly noticed. She touched something cold and soft…it felt like skin and bone. Who did it belong to? Her heart began to pound harder in her chest and she tensed with fear. Then she realised it was the flesh of her ankle attached to the chain. How had she become chained to a wall in a small stone room which appeared to have no way in or out?

Slowly, she spread her arms wide until she touched both sides of the room, then she began to turn, not letting go of the walls until she had completed a full circle. There must be a way out, she thought! If she had got in, she had to be able to get out!

She stopped and listened. Somewhere far off, she could make out a faint voice, keening just like the banshees her grandmother used to tell her about. The voice was becoming louder and Nellie could feel her own power ebbing away. The voice tore at her soul until she felt as if she would throw up. This voice - it seemed so familiar to her - but where was it coming from? It kept repeating the same words over and over.

Nellie Darling, come to me

In the darkness you shall see

Nellie Darling, come to me

You can't escape your destiny

Nellie could feel the disturbing aura of something in the circular room with her; something that was darker than anywhere she had ever been before; something she knew she could never come back from if she gave up her power to it.

“Give me the Book, Nellie, give me the Book. Nellie, you must face up to your destiny. Give me the Book and live as a failure or I will take it from you and you will die just as he did before you!”

The voice was cold and lifeless. What kind of choice was that? “Live as a failure or die just as he did before you?” He? Who was this person who had died and why? And what Book?

Nellie's mind began to race. “There must be a way out.” She began to move her hands over the wall again, trying to find something that would give her hope. There had to be a way out. Then - suddenly - she felt it, against her chest. Instinctively, she clutched it, it was the Book. All her remaining strength was draining away, and the darkness in her soul was turning her inside out, and all the while the banshee was keening.

Nellie Darling, come to me

In the darkness you shall see

Nellie Darling, come to me

You can't escape your destiny

She knew she needed to get out of the prison she had found herself in. She knew something terrible was happening and she had to stop it. But it was freezing and black and her mind was racing.

On the other side of Nasty, another heart was beating for its life, but this one was not in someone's chest; this one had been ripped from its owner's body and now it lay on the Altar of the Boabhan Sith as The Three knelt before it, preparing to make a sacrifice. The Three rejoiced as they joined hands and the power began to run through their circle of darkness and the remaining life in the heart began to fade. The only thing missing was the blood of The One which, together with the Book, would complete the prophecy. The Boabhan Sith would reign once more in a land of darkness.

Nellie clutched the Book. This Book, which she knew nothing about but instinctively realised if she let it go, her life and everything she held dear would go with it. On the edge of consciousness, she gave one last attempt to push at the wall. It finally gave way and she felt herself falling into the sea a thousand feet below. This was it! Her short and uneventful life was about to end.

“Nellie…Nellie…It’s time to get up, love, you’ll be late for school.”

Nellie Darling shot bolt upright! Her heart pounding in her chest, light streaming in through her bedroom window, it was the third time this week she had had the same nightmare. It seemed to be more real each time. She had to tell someone, but who?

“Nellie! Come on, love, you’re going to be late.”

Grudgingly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for her slippers.

“I’m coming, Mum.”

Katherine of Reagan

I am Katherine of Reagan, Kat for short. I am a guide and have been for many years. For my sins, I am compelled to tell this story in the hope that I might get redemption. I should begin by explaining to you how it all began.

Sometimes, there is no rhyme or reason why or how things happen; it’s just a matter of the Universe bringing together enough events in one place and then it’s out of your control. It all began when just such a juncture in time happened in a small village in Hertfordshire called Nasty. At first, the village of Nasty looks like any other English village. It has a high street lined with quaint, whitewashed cottages. There were two pubs, one at either end of the village, to save fights breaking out among drunken revellers at closing time, and a selection of village stores to make the whole picture perfect. Well, except maybe for the name.

Oh, believe me there really is a village called Nasty!

Nasty

To find it, just follow the Old Roman Road, now known as the A10, north from London and you will arrive in Hertfordshire. Nasty is a small village on a winding, country road about ten miles north of Hertford. They say that Hertford is where the last person in England was condemned to death for being a witch. The justice of the time said that if a person was accused of being a witch or a warlock, they had to be dragged through a river or a deep pond until they either confessed or died.

Seemingly, if they died, they were innocent and, if they lived, they were obviously a witch or a warlock, in which case they were burned at the stake. That should be your first clue to the fact that Nasty may indeed be a place to visit and to photograph the sign that reads:

Nasty

Please drive carefully

Then leave as fast as you can.

The butcher, the baker

and the candlestick maker

There are some very strange people living in Nasty, one of whom is Jack Savage. Rumour has it that he was gored in the leg by one of his own bulls when he tried to stop a young girl from running across his field. Sadly, he couldn't save the girl and they say you can still see her ghost running across the field on a warm summer evening, with Jack hobbling along after her, yelling and cursing all the way, hair flying in all directions. The sight is something akin to a demonic badger with a bad hair day. That probably explains why he walks with a cane and always yells at little kids.

Then there's the postmistress; she's a little odd too. For a start, the post office smells of old socks and cat litter. She has one eye that always seems to be looking at you and one that seems to be doing … well, nothing at all, really. Her cat is just as strange; it's only got three legs and a tail that goes off at a 45 degree angle and it hisses at everyone. The postmistress seems to dislike people, especially children, and she has no problem making any more than two wait outside the shop come hail, rain or snow.

There's a third person who always makes my skin itch and that's the old woman who runs the baker’s shop. She smiles a lot, but it’s not a pleasant smile. It's one that makes you uneasy; at least, it does me. I've been going in there for about a hundred years and I always leave feeling as though my skin is crawling. I've seen these three huddling together some evenings near the Puddingstone on the green and whispering to each other.

Oh, did I say a hundred years? Well, that's about right. Funny thing about Nasty, it has a way of making time stand still; on account of the legend, I suppose. I know what you're thinking, legends, what do they call them these days … urban myths? Well, I would pay attention to this one if I were you. You never know who your friends are or whom you can trust.

Visitors to Nasty say that odd things happen to them - sometimes the milk they bought turns sour within minutes and smells like bad cheese. Cars that have been running perfectly seem to not want to start after they have been parked outside the post office. Eggs that have been bought at the butcher's shop have hatched on the way home in shopping bags. Locals say this is the way some folk like to amuse themselves, and it keeps outsiders from returning too often.

But there are sinister things that go on in Nasty and those who live there would prefer the outsiders not to know about them.

For example, some visitors have reported seeing a large black dog the size of a small horse roaming the streets at night near the church as though it was guarding something. If they spooked it, it would simply disappear, vanish in to thin air right before their eyes.

And that last witch in England, it's said that her daughter lived in Nasty. Legend has it that she put a curse on the village after her mother, The Witch, was condemned to death by some of the townsfolk. The curse seems to be more powerful these days as there have been some very nasty things happening in Nasty.

Legend states that when the Boabhan Sith has been offered the sacrifice of the Keeper of the Book, then shall the death of the last Witch be revenged and the village of Nasty will disappear into darkness forever!

As I said, there have been some disturbing things going on in Nasty. The activities of a small group of less desirable people have drawn the attention of the Elders and there is one group in particular, three to be exact, who are bent on seeing the legend come true. No one is quite sure who The Three really are or what they are up to, although I have my own ideas ... well, you can't be too careful who you talk to these days, so I'll keep my mouth shut, if you don't mind … for now, at least.

Anyway, there are some normal … well, normal isn't quite right … let me think … nice, hmm, that's it, nice people who live in Nasty. I figure being nice has very little to do with being normal, but there are a few nice ones. Take Nellie Darling, for instance. I mean, how could anyone not like a young girl with a name like Nellie Darling? There are five kids to be exact, who all hang around together, now I think about it Nellie and her friends all seemed to have moved into the village within the past couple of years. It's as though they were all drawn to the same place for a reason. Let's see, there's Jonty, he's the thinker, always taking note of things, has a memory like a steel trap. And Richard, he knows a lot but always makes things a bit too complicated. Nice enough though. Then there's Mark. I’ve got a funny feeling about that one, always moaning about something. Then, last of all, there's Phoebe, very quiet is Phoebe; keeps her self to herself.

And, finally, there’s me and Mauth. Mauth is my companion. He used to be human but now he's a dog, Shapeshifter, just decided one day not to change back to being human. Oh yes, I forgot to mention I own the Old Forge, for now at least. Anyway, enjoy your visit to Nasty, but make sure you remember your way out and stay close to your friends. The Shard could close in on you at any minute and then you may never be able to go home.

The Puddingstone

It was early summer and the long, never-ending days had become a familiar part of life. The late evenings were cool and full of shadows. Nellie Darling had just turned sixteen and exams seemed like a distant memory. It should have been one of the best summers of Nellie's life but, as I said, the evenings were full of shadows.

In the remaining light one evening, five friends gathered on the green, some of them leaning up against the Puddingstone, while others lay on the warm grass. They were all talking about what they would do when the holidays finally got under way.

Phoebe rolled over lazily and began to read the plaque on the large stone.

“What's it say?” Mark was only half interested.

Phoebe scanned the plaque for any information of interest but, without even thinking, it was Jonty who answered.

“It says that the stone is a conglomerate of glacial origin and it's sometimes called a breeding stone … Hey, don't knock it, my dad makes me read all this weird stuff, says it will come in handy one day.”

Mark was amused at the thought. How could knowing the history of some huge, ugly rock in the middle of the green be of any use?

Phoebe kept reading: “Wow, it says it was thought to have been part of the old church wall and dates back to prehistoric times, marking the spot where tribal religious gatherings were held. It also says that early Christians would build churches on sites like these.”

“You mean we're lying on top of a bunch of dead people?” Mark screwed up his face in disgust.

“Come on, Nellie, what do you think?”

“What?”

“What do you think? You know, dead people, Druids, Pagans - that sort of stuff?”

“I'm not sure, Richard, but I feel as though there is something I forgot to do, or maybe somewhere I need to be.” A chill ran down her spine as she glanced up and noticed a figure walking a huge black dog. The figure stopped and then disappeared through the cemetery gates. For a second she was sure that it was someone she knew. She shrugged it off and glanced back at the paper she had been reading. Suddenly, there it was, in the local newspaper she had been idly thumbing through, looking for things to do in the holidays. It was the thing that had been trying to get her attention all day.

June 6, 2006.

It was the date in the top right hand corner of the page which, written another way, would be 060606, the kind of thing that could only ever happen once in a thousand years. If you took out the zeros, it would read 666 - the sign of evil! The Devil! Nellie jumped up. “Hey, this is it!” But, to her horror, she screamed. “Stop! Don't do that!” But it was too late. The rest of the group had jumped up and were dancing around the Puddingstone.

“Come on, Nellie, come and join the Pagan ritual.”

Unwittingly, they had set in motion events that quickly struck fear into Nellie’s heart. She made a vain attempt to run and stop them but it felt as though she had someone dragging her back and she could only move in slow motion. Her legs were buckling under her efforts. She tried one more time and launched herself towards the group. As she seemed to float in the air she could see ghostly figures on the green. There was the woman with the black dog who appeared at the cemetery gate and there was a group of people huddled together, it looked like three. She heard one of them laugh and her skin prickled as she collided with the group, finally breaking the circle. Then the world went black. But the voices kept singing in her head.

Round and round the Puddingstone

Twice around you can't get home

Once around, twice back again

Or thrice around is just the same

Thrice around, you must not stop

Ring around until you drop.

To get you all back home again

You'll find the answer up the lane

If you're lost, you must stand tall

To find the answer in the wall.

Nellie could feel the ground giving way and the spinning was making her feel as though she was going to throw up. The next thing she knew she was in a heap on the floor and everyone was laughing hysterically. Everyone bar Nellie, who lay quite still, trying to take in what had happened. For a start, the object they had been dancing around, the Puddingstone, was no longer there and the huge oak tree, which covered it in shade, had also disappeared. The grass was a lot longer and there was a donkey tied to a stake where the oak tree had been. The road they had known as the High Street was not paved and black; it was a dirt track and Nellie could feel the rain starting to soak through her clothes, which was odd as there hadn't been a cloud in the sky a few seconds ago.

In fact, everything that Nellie called normal had disappeared and had been replaced with what looked like the village she lived in but ... different. Either Nellie Darling had hit her head when she was dancing around the Puddingstone or ... no, wait … she hadn't been dancing at all. Now she remembered, she had tried to stop the rest of them from dancing around it and completing the Puddingstone Rhyme. The Rhyme … now it was all coming back. The class they had, with Mrs McHorror, on folklore and she had told them of the legend of the spell and the Puddingstone. She had spent a long time that day making them recite it over and over again until they knew it by heart. But why? Suddenly, Nellie felt as though she was going to throw up again. She didn't think that in her wildest dreams the legend was true, how could it be? Legends were just that ... urban myths, legends, right? Nothing else. They couldn't be real, how could they be?

Escape from the workhouse

The laughter began to die away as they realised one by one that things had changed. Something was very wrong and Nellie knew it was about to get worse. A loud, angry shout came down the road at them. A large, heavy-set man was running towards them with a dangerous-looking stick in his hand. Well, he wasn’t really running, it was more a cross between an amble and a waddle. His hair was long and matted and his beard was unkempt and he was spitting saliva as he gasped for air.

“'Ere….wot you lot doin' outa the work 'ouse? You wait till I get me 'ands on you! I'll give you a beatin' you'll never furget!”

They looked at each other, fear suddenly blazing in their eyes. What had happened? Was this some sort of elaborate trick one of them had pulled? It wasn't Halloween, and they could all tell by now that this monster meant business and it was not trick or treating that he had in mind.

“RUN!” yelled Jonty.

“Oooohhh, that's disgusting, I just stepped in a huge pile of cow dung!” Richard's feet went from under him as he tried to keep his balance but he landed face first in the wet grass.

“Nellie, let's go! This idiot is out of his mind! Come on, you lot, get up and run!” Richard was pulling at Nellie, Phoebe and the others, trying to get them out of harm's way but it was too late and Nellie once again had that awful feeling in her stomach.

“God, I hate this feeling,” she thought as she stumbled. The pain at the back of her head was sickening and then the world went black again.

The brute with the stick was all lined up to take another swipe at Nellie when Richard left the ground and seemed to float through the air in slow motion, colliding with the man and knocking him off his feet. He landed on his rather large stomach, which Richard was grateful for because he had landed in another large pile of cow dung.

“Come on! Run for it. Come on, this way, this way!” And Richard pushed them all down the side of the building while their tormentor floundered around on the ground like a turtle that had been rolled onto its shell and was trying without success to right itself.

“It's funny,” thought Nellie. “The things we remember when we are dreaming.”

And she rolled over, pulling the sheets up over her head. But there it was again - the searing pain at the back of her head as though ... someone had struck her with a rather large stick. And that sickening feeling, would it ever go away? There were no sheets and no bed and it was raining even harder than before and she could feel the warm blood running down her neck.

“Nellie! Come on! I can't carry you any more, you're too heavy!” hissed Jonty, who was struggling with Richard as they tried to push Nellie down behind the hedge so that the idiot with the large stick would not see them.

“Ouch!” Nellie gave a cry as the pain began to get worse.

“Shut up, Nellie!” Richard pushed her again and placed his hand over her mouth to stop her making any further noise. Everybody held their breath as the heavy panting and slogging feet of the man got nearer and nearer and then, like a wounded Elephant, he stumbled by. As he passed, they all let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Ouch,” whimpered Nellie. “What happened?” She was still clutching the newspaper that she had been reading on the green and she pressed it to her head to try to stop the blood running down her neck.

“You mean after Richard tackled that stupid prat with the stick?” Jonty was still trying to catch his breath.

“You should have seen him, he was like a madman,” said Phoebe, with more than a little admiration. “Not the man, Richard, I mean.”

“Why, what happened?” Nellie had tears in her eyes from the pain.

“We're still trying to work it out. All you've been doing for the last half hour is repeating that stupid rhyme and mumbling something about The Three," said Richard.

“What rhyme and what Three?” Nellie was looking into the eyes of several slightly bewildered people.

“The rhyme we learnt in McHorror's class last Friday. Sorry, can't help you with the Three, something about three ghosts.”

Nellie raised herself up on one elbow and peered over the hedge. “Where are we?”

“What kind of question is that?” asked Phoebe.

“I think that bang on the head has made her a little weird.” Jonty laughed, trying to hide his growing fear, but he looked over the hedge anyway.

“While you are up there, tell me what the road is made of,” said Nellie.

“What the road is made of?” snapped Mark. “Here we are being chased by some maniac with a stick, you have a cracked skull and you want to know what the stupid road is made of?”

“Easy, Mark, she got a pretty nasty whack on the head.” Then Jonty looked back at Nellie. “The road is dirt.” He said in disbelief. “The road is made of dirt.”

“So, what's the big deal?” said Richard, getting rather indignant.

“Well!” said Nellie, through clenched teeth. “The last time I walked down Paper Mill Lane to the ford and the river, the road was solid and black with a white line painted all the way down it!”

“Maybe they're doing some modernisation work,” mocked Richard.

“Don't be a stupid git, Richard,” shot back Jonty. “We live in the village of Nasty, way out in the country; the last time any modernisation work was done was in 1066 when William the Conqueror dropped by.”

“I'm impressed,” said Phoebe “That's not bad for a boy.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice started yelling.

“I found 'em, I found 'em!” It was the man again and this time he wasn't alone. Three other men of about the same size came running from the other direction across the field, one with a stick and the other two had what appeared to be leather belts. There was a tussle and a lot of shouting and all of them - Nellie, Mark, Richard, Phoebe and Jonty - were trembling as they realised their lucky escape on the village green had been a chance meeting with these Neanderthals, rounding up the slave labour from the local workhouse. The men had been looking for a group of boys who were part of the work group from the workhouse and had mistaken Nellie and the rest for the runaways.

“Look out!” whispered Phoebe. “They're coming back this way.”

They ducked low behind the hedge again.

“S'funny, but I thought it was a young girl who I clobbered, I musta drunk ta much this mornin'.” The man laughed a horrible, spiteful laugh as he snorted and spat. Nellie and the others peered through the bottom of the hedge as they watched the thugs drag the young boys down the dirt road back towards Nasty. The sound of the boys whimpering and pleading with the men who were beating them was enough to put fear into the hearts of even the strongest person and, at that moment, Nellie was thinking that maybe that's how Nasty had got its name … because of the workhouse. She kept watching until they disappeared with the boys.

“That was a little too close,” whispered Jonty. “Now what?”

When are we?

What seemed like an eternity passed until Richard finally said: “This is really strange and scary. What happened back there? One minute ...”

“… you were singing the Puddingstone Rhyme ...” interrupted Nellie. “That's what happened. I tried to tell you but you wouldn't believe me. Some things are better left alone ...”

“Don't be ridiculous, Nellie, that's just a myth, a silly nursery rhyme,” said Mark hopefully.

“Well, then you explain to me how Paper Mill Lane is now a dirt track?”

“I'm sure there's an explanation for it.” Mark was starting to become quite irritated.

“And the heavy mob dishing out the beatings? Teachers aren't supposed to even be sarcastic at school these days, much less knock the hell out of you with a club and take you to the workhouse ... you're still not sure?" badgered Nellie. “Fine, let me show you something.” Still unsteady, she got to her feet and started out along the hedge back towards the village green in Nasty.

After about five minutes of making sure no one was watching, she ducked down behind the wall. It was starting to get dark and the chill of the evening was setting in. At least the rain had stopped. Little specs of light were beginning to glow from the windows in the houses but there were no street lamps to be seen.

“Well, explain this if you can,” said Nellie.

“Explain what?” Richard looked confused. “I don't even know what you are looking at.”

“We are in the village of Nasty, Richard, and this is where the Puddingstone used to be. Jonty, tell me what it says on that house over there.”

Jonty scrambled over to the end-of-terrace house and looked at the front of it. “It doesn't say anything on it,” he whispered.

“I know, because that is Puddingstone Cottage,” said Nellie.

“But you just said there is no Puddingstone,” Phoebe shivered as she looked around, trying to find anything that might give her some comfort.

“Right! No Puddingstone! Therefore no Puddingstone Cottage, which we saw every day on the little sign on the front of the house. There is also no large oak tree!”

“What does it all mean?” asked Phoebe.

“It means that we are definitely in the village of Nasty, but we are not in the year 2006,” said Richard.

“Oh, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” laughed Mark. “I mean, be real, who the hell could pick up a huge piece of rock the size of the Puddingstone and move it?”

“Is he right?” Phoebe looked at Nellie in disbelief.

“It would seem to be right. What other explanation could there be?”

Nellie looked around for familiar landmarks. The school was still there but it stood quiet and empty. In 2006 it had been converted in to a set of houses that several families lived in, but now it was the original Grammar School. The church was lit for evening service, which explained why the village was deserted. There was something very ominous about the village; something that sent a shiver down Nellie's spine. She looked around again to make sure it was safe to move.

“Come on,” she whispered to the others. “Let's get out of here before the church empties and we're spotted in jeans and trainers in God knows what century.”

“Where?” asked Jonty, with a blank look on his face.

“Well, it's still Nasty, so most of the village seems to be as we remember it.”

“Oh good, I'll nip in to the post office and grab a Mars Bar,” quipped Mark.

Everyone laughed nervously.

They started off towards what would have been the main road which, of course, was now a larger dirt track and began to walk along what seemed like the old High Street. There was the pub, but it was called The Half Moon instead of The Bell. It looked the same. There were no electric lights on inside and the sign outside was not lit up either. As they walked quietly along the road, Nellie was aware that they were being watched. There was no one else out but she felt as though ice had been poured down her neck and every now and then she was sure she had seen a shadow on the other side of the road or that she was being followed. Finally, as they came to the place where the half dozen or so stores would have been in 2006, they were in for another shock. There was the bakery and the butcher's but no post office. They looked across to the other side of the street and saw … nothing. The post office was in its original building and the row of houses that stood next to it was no longer there.

“1891,” whispered Jonty.

They all looked at him and then at the gaping hole across the street and finally back at Jonty.

“Don't ask me why I remember this,” said Jonty, shaking his head. “But there is a plaque, well, there would have been a plaque when there were houses there, which read 1891. The date the houses were built. It's something my dad pointed out to me sometimes when we walked by.”

“So what are you saying?” asked Nellie.

“I'm not sure,” replied Jonty, as though he did not really believe what he was saying. “I mean, look, there is the church, we know that's our church - it says so on the front and we go there every Sunday. There are the butcher's and the bakery and the school. I know it's not a school in 2006 but the building is unmistakable. The village green fifty metres away from it, missing a huge stone weighing a thousand pounds and an oak tree which has been there nearly a hundred years, GONE!

What I'm saying is ...”

“What you're saying is …” Nellie was cut off.

“What I'm saying is, that is the stupidest thing …”

“Do you know what the stupidest thing is? I'll tell you! You are the stupidest thing at the moment, Mark. All you have done for the last hour is tell everyone how stupid they are and yet you have not come up with one bit of help.”

Richard was beginning to get extremely angry.

“Hey, all I was saying was …”

“Why don't you shut your mouth?” snapped Richard.

“Or what?” Mark was in Richard's face without thinking.

Jonty sprang between them and pushed them apart while the others stood rooted to the spot.

It had got dark quickly and the only thought Jonty had was to get everyone back home. If only he could work out how to do that, he would be the hero of the day. Just about the time that the tension between Mark and Richard was becoming

unbearable, the church bells began to ring and the next thing all of them were running as fast as they possibly could away from Nasty.

Crossroads

They had run flat out for about five minutes until they came to a crossroads. They were all out of breath. Mark was quite a long way behind the rest and he was sulking.

“Thank God something is the same!” Jonty was struggling to get his breath back. “It's the A10! Now maybe we can get our bearings and confirm that it is in fact the village of Nasty.”

“How do you know it's the A10? There are no road signs,” said Richard, who was more out of breath than the others.

“Look, it's a straight road and the Romans built straight roads,” replied Jonty, as though everyone should know that. “The road we just ran up has to be the road to Bishop’s Stortford which we know as the A120 and this road runs north to south which it does in 2006. It runs from Cambridge to London.”

“How do you know all of this stuff ... I mean, who remembers stuff like that?” asked Richard.

“Who cares!” said Phoebe. “None of this is going to help us get back home, this is just a load of rubbish!”

“Not so.” Nellie was suddenly thinking this might be exactly what would get them back home. “I think Jonty may be on to something.”

“What could he possibly be on to that will help us get home?” said Phoebe.

“Look, if we can put together enough information, we can at least find out where we are and what year it is,” said Nellie.

“Then what?” said Richard.

“Then we need to find a way to … get back to normal.”

“What if we can't get back to normal?” Phoebe began to cry and everyone else looked to Nellie.

“Look!” said Nellie. “I don't know how this happened or why, but we cannot give up this easily. There must be a way to work this out; it has to be some kind of mistake.”

“This is no mistake. We're here for a reason.” Jonty seemed suddenly confident about this.

“A reason?” Nellie was completely dumfounded at the idea.

“What reason?”

“I'm not sure, I just know that we are here for a reason and it's to help you.”

Everybody turned to look at Jonty. “I didn't want to say anything earlier because it seemed ridiculous, but everything is beginning to add up and make sense. When I moved to Nasty a year ago, my dad said it was to get away from the city so that we could have a less stressful life. You know - house in the country - the kind of thing adults do. Anyway, shortly after we moved in, a woman visited us, saying she had heard we had moved and wanted to welcome us to the village. I thought nothing of it and went to my room, but shortly afterwards, I could hear my parents and the woman arguing. I went to see what was going on and my dad yelled at me to get out of the room. The following day, he told us we were moving.”

“But you didn't,” said Phoebe.

“No, we had just started to pack when the woman came back. This time there was no arguing but my dad seemed very scared. I crept downstairs and listened at the door. I could hear my dad crying and just before the woman left, she said: ‘It's better that the boy knows the truth, you owe him that at least.’ And then I heard the door shut and she never came back.”

“What was the truth?” asked Nellie. “Were you adopted or a twin, was your dad in prison?”

“I don't know. I never asked and my dad never brought it up again. But the following day, my dad began to find as many books as he could on Nasty. History and folklore mostly and he started to lock himself in his study to read. He would stay in there for hours. Finally, one day, he started telling me everything he could about the village. Things I thought were useless and boring but he persisted and then he made me take McHorror's class - as an elective, he said. 'It would be something that would broaden my outlook on life.' He said it would come in handy one day. Well, I have a feeling that this is the day.”

“What are you talking about?” Nellie was completely baffled.

“Doesn't it seem a little odd to you that we all moved to Nasty at about the same time and that we are all about the same age?” said Jonty.

“And that we all ended up taking McHorror's class together?” added Nellie. “In fact, when I think about it, that's where we all met and we were the only ones in that class. Five of us.”

Nellie's mind was racing now. Why had her mother insisted that she took that class? What was so important about all of them being in that class together?

“I know this sounds a little strange,” said Phoebe, “but I feel as though we are supposed to be here also.”

“Are you sure it's not us needing to explain the odd things that have happened?” said Richard. “You know - wanting to feel in control? I know I do.”

The hoot of an owl pierced the silence and a rabbit ran out from behind them, making them all jump.

“That thing will get hit by a truck if it's not careful,” said Mark, absentmindedly. The road had not seen a truck or anything like it before. The deep furrows that wound their way back down the hill to the village belonged to horses and carts. Everything seemed out of place - or was it simply that they were all out of place and, if so, how could they find their way back home?

“The school!” Mark was suddenly wide-eyed and thinking out loud.

“What?” piped up half the group as though they had been drawn out of a stupor.

“The school was opened in 1612. I know that because I live in it now ... well, in 2006. When we moved in, the person who sold us the property told us all kinds of things about it, one of which was the date it was built. Hey, I'm not as stupid as you all pointed out.”

Richard knew he had to apologise. “Mark, I'm sorry for calling you stupid, I was just angry back there and … sorry.”

“Okay, so we know the school was built in 1612,” said Nellie.

“But tell me this, how do you plan on working out where in time we are?” asked Mark.

They all fell silent. What had happened to turn their worlds upside down? This was the type of thing that happened in a bad, scary film, or a Harry Potter book, not in a little village in the middle of Hertfordshire, England in 2006.

Nellie was still clutching the newspaper she had been reading just before everything got weird. It was covered in dried blood from her head and now it fell out of her hands and onto the ground. A couple of pages blew open in the breeze and Nellie looked down at a photograph of someone she recognised.

“Kat!”

“Who’s Kat?” asked Richard “Wait, let me see that picture. Nellie, isn't that you standing next to…?” He squinted in the low light of the moon and read the heading which luckily was in large type. “Nellie Darling representing Freemantle College talks to local independent businesswoman, Kat Peabody, owner of The Forge in Nasty.”

“Kat owns The Forge and we went to visit it one day last term to see how it worked. We had our photograph taken together before I left.”

“Maybe she's still there and she can tell us how to get home,” said Phoebe.

“It's only a starting point,” replied Nellie.

“Okay, rule of threes,” said Jonty.

“Now what are you on about?” whined Mark.

“Rule of threes is simple,” Phoebe said, brightening up as though she knew something no one else did. She suddenly realised that the rest of the group was waiting for her. “Eh ... the rule of threes simply states that one piece of evidence could be a guess, two pieces may well be coincidence, but the chance of three agreeing pieces of evidence being wrong is unlikely.”

“Well, Miss Smarty Pants, what are the three pieces of evidence?” said Mark, sarcastically.

Jonty came to Phoebe's rescue. “We know several dates based on landmarks. We know that the Puddingstone was put on the green in 1904.” Jonty thought about what his dad had said about information coming in handy. He was wishing his dad was there as he was feeling a little in over his head and under pressure to get this right.

“And we also know The Forge was built in 1841,” pointed out Nellie.

“Which gives us a time difference of about sixty years, so if we can find The Forge, that will mean we are somewhere between 1841 and 1904 when the Puddingstone was placed on the green,” agreed Phoebe.

“But that's only two points,” snorted Mark.

“I know,” said Phoebe, feeling a bit of a failure again.

“Well, we do know that the school was built in 1612. You pointed that out, Mark. I know it's not great, but it's a start. The earliest we are at is 1612 and the latest is 1904. If The Forge is there, it brings us a starting date of 1841,” said Jonty.

Suddenly, piercing the night air came the sound of the bells from the church again. Frozen to the spot, they all counted to themselves.

GaDoing! GaDoing! GaDoing!! Finally, the last bell tolled and the count was ten. Nellie was sure she could hear the sound of a human voice punctuating the night with the distant cry of “Ten ‘o clock and all's well!”

When the bells had stopped ringing and they all felt a little more composed, Jonty took the lead. “Well, shall we go?

“The Forge should be opposite the Purple Paper Shop,” he thought out loud.

It had stopped raining and the sky was now quite clear but it was getting colder and none of them was dressed in more than a T-shirt. The road had turned to mud and their feet splish-sploshed in the puddles. Without realising it, the group had begun to huddle closer together as they walked; a sense of fear seemed to be lurking in the shadow as though they were being watched. An animal ran out of the hedge, scaring them. They were all hungry, tired and - if they admitted it to themselves - terrified.

“I'd kill for a hot cup of tea,” muttered Richard.

“Hot chocolate for me,” said Phoebe.

“Hot chocolate and my bed,” thought Nellie.

They walked in silence.

The Forge

“Why are we going to The Forge?” Jonty asked Nellie after they had walked about half a mile back down the hill.

“Well, first to see if it's there, which will give us the date, and also to…”

“To what, Nellie?”

“What?”

Nellie and Jonty began to get a little ahead of the rest of the group and Nellie decided to use the opportunity to confide in him. “Jonty?

“Yeah.” Jonty could see that Nellie was distracted and he continued to walk in silence. The squelching of their feet on the muddy road was the only sound.

“Have you ever had a feeling that you were supposed to do something, but you're not sure why?”

“Like I said back up the road, I feel like we’re here to help you do something. Why?”

“Oh nothing, it's just, well …”

“What?”

“You remember I said we went on a visit to see Kat at The Forge?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, when I was there, I asked her why she had become a blacksmith, you know, being a woman and all?”

“What did she say?"

“She answered that everyone had a job to do in life. And then she asked me what my job was?”

Jonty laughed. “What did you say?”

“I said I didn't have a job because I was just a kid.”

“And then what did she say?”

Nellie shivered.

“What's up? Are you cold?” asked Jonty.

“No, I just got the same feeling I had when she asked me that question. I just remember her saying: 'Are you sure?' And I felt really odd.”

There was more silence and they continued down the dark road, squinting to see what was ahead of them. Then Jonty heard voices that seemed to be getting louder.

“Quick, everyone, get behind the hedge, it's those stupid prats again and they sound very drunk.”

“Well, obviously some things don't change,” muttered Nellie, and they all huddled behind the hedge.

“D'ya see sumin' move there, Davie?” slurred the large man who had hit Nellie.

“You mus' be seein' things again, George, mus' be too much ale at the Half Moon tonight.”

The four staggering men laughed as they walked by, but Nellie and the rest stayed rooted to the spot. Suddenly, Phoebe stood up and pointed at the men. She twisted her hand and tightened it into a fist as though she was screwing up a piece of paper. Without warning, the thug who had struck Nellie fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

“You aw'right, George?” One of the men had bent down to help him and he too was caught in Phoebe's gaze. The men let out an awful cry of agony as though they had been kicked in the stomach by a horse; they felt as though their insides had been tied in a knot. Then, with a vicious jerk, Phoebe yanked her hand and they both began to cough blood. The other two men in the group grabbed their accomplices and staggered off up the hill. The group waited until the men had disappeared.

They turned to Phoebe, who was standing alone in the middle of the road. “It was no more than they deserved,” she said.

No one said anything, they just looked at Phoebe and slowly started to move away.

Phoebe staggered and fell to her knees. “What happened?”

Richard rushed to her and helped her to her feet. “Phoebe, how did you do that?”

“What? Do what? I must have tripped on something, a hole in the road … or something.” Phoebe felt weak. “I feel really hungry.”

“Richard!” hissed Nellie and shook her head as though to say ‘don't even go there for now’.

The rest crept out from behind the hedge and set off again in search of The Forge.

As they began to walk down into the village of Nasty, Richard started to laugh.

“What's wrong with you?” asked Nellie.

“Well, at least there is one thing that's good about not being in 2006 - the Paper Shop on the corner of the High Street won't be purple.”

Even Mark, who had been pouting for most of the night, could not help laughing at that. The Paper Shop, on the corner of Stane Street and High Street, used to be white, which was a bit boring but did sit in agreement with the rest of Nasty, until the new owners bought it in 2003 and, for some reason known only to them, painted it purple. It had become a landmark of sorts. Everyone for miles around knew it as the “Purple Paper Shop” and they would laugh when it was mentioned because it looked so odd. In their rush to get away from the village, they had all run right past it and hadn't even noticed that it was white and no longer purple. The shop sold farming tools and hardware now, which was more in line with the needs of the Nasty of that time period. Nellie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, the last thing I need to see is a purple paper shop,” said Richard.

“That's not it,” said Nellie. “It's The Forge. It's there right on the corner where it's always been.”

“Yes!” said Mark, with more enthusiasm than he had shown all evening. “Never doubted you for a minute,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “What?”

“Yeh right!” scoffed Jonty.

They all burst out laughing, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from their shoulders, now that they realised The Forge was still there.

“So, why don't we stay the night in The Forge and get out early before the owner comes to work?” said Mark. “We can take it in turns to stay awake and be on watch.”

“I'm up for anything at the moment,” agreed Richard, who was beginning to shiver.

“Didn't your mother tell you to be prepared and bring a pair of clean underpants? You know - in case you have an accident.” Mark was finding his sense of humour again.

“Yeah, but I don't think she had sleeping in The Forge in mind as the accident,” said Jonty.

Without warning, Nellie cried out in pain and fell to her knees, holding her stomach. Then she looked up and pointed to the top of The Forge.

“Nellie!” Jonty knelt down beside her. “Nellie, what's wrong? Are you okay? Quick, someone, give me some water!” Then he looked at the others, fearful of their response. “Damn it!”

Not one of them had their backpack. Of course, they would all be in a nice neat pile back on the village green in Nasty, in 2006.

“Look,” said Nellie, with a voice so dry she could hardly speak. She cupped her hand in a puddle of dirty water and gulped it down to wet her mouth. “On top of The Forge! The weather vane!”

“Nellie, I don't understand. It's a dog, a weather vane in the shape of dog; you see them all the time. Dogs, cats, churches.” Jonty was trying to work out the significance of Nellie's words.

Nellie struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. “I know, but the one we have reads North, South, East, West!”

“So, the thing was old and needed replacing,” grumbled Mark.

“Look, don't ask me how I know this but that dog with a bolt of lightning through it signifies that something terrible has happened somewhere in this village. I didn't have time to say anything before but now I remember having this feeling when we ran by here earlier on our way out of the village. I just didn't realise why.”

“What kind of terrible?” asked Phoebe.

“I'm not sure but I feel like it has something to do with a death. It was a cold and oppressive feeling as though I was suffocating,” answered Nellie.

“The last person sentenced to death here was a witch,” said Phoebe, in a very quiet voice. “It was the Tring Witches, a husband and wife.”

“Why do we suddenly know these things?” asked Jonty. “I mean, I was lucky to have remembered when Christmas Day was, much less all this mumbo jumbo about witches and weather vanes and obscure dates. I feel as though we've been trained up for something.”

Phoebe was eying the weather vane on top of The Forge. “I feel as though I've been here before, and not just in 2006.”

“I know, I feel the same way. I know something bad is going to happen if we hang around too long.”

“Look!” said Mark. “We can find somewhere else to get some shelter if this place is too creepy for everyone.”

“No, it's okay, we need to get in out of the cold,” Nellie was still clutching her stomach. “Come on, let's see if we can find a way in.” And, with Jonty and Richard's help, she got to her feet.

“Let's keep out of sight, we don't want to be found by anyone else who wants to throw us in the work house,” said Mark.

“Good point.” Richard agreed with Mark about something at last. “How about we take a look around this way, maybe there's a way in.”

Nellie set off down the side of The Forge and peered around the corner, which led out on to the High Street.

“All clear,” she whispered. She realised that they were right next to the old post office. There was a light on in the front window and a figure was bent over the desk. Suddenly, Phoebe stopped dead, as though she was in a trance, her gaze fixed on the figure, who stood bolt upright and looked around the room as if she had been spooked. The figure quickly gathered all the items on the desk and shoved them into a bag that she then hid in a drawer. She hurried over to the window, peering through the glass as though she knew there was something or someone outside that she was afraid of. Phoebe closed her eyes, as though doing so would stop anyone from seeing her. Like a film playing in her head, she could see a window at the back of The Forge. It was open and the door at the back was bolted from the inside. But before Phoebe could see any more, Nellie was down on all fours, crawling below the window and pushing Phoebe back around the corner.

Like a bolt of lightning, the front door to the post office shot open and the hunched figure of the Postmistress stood there with a small lantern held at arm's length.

The reflection from the lantern lit up her face. Everyone gasped as they recognised her. Nellie could not believe it. The figure standing in the doorway was the same mean-tempered old woman who ran the post office in 2006. She looked a little older and meaner, if that was possible, and she was dressed in black, with a high-necked blouse. But if Nellie had ever been sure of anything in her life, she was sure that she was the same Postmistress who took delight in throwing them out of her shop in 2006. She felt a chill run down her spine as though someone had walked over her grave and she experienced that same suffocating feeling.

“Who's there? ... Jack? … Is that you?” The voice was unmistakable and they all pushed back against the wall of The Forge as though they were trying to disappear into the cracks. No one dared move an inch and the ten seconds that they stood there, eyes closed, not breathing, seemed like an hour. Finally, the Postmistress gave a grunt of displeasure and went back inside, closing the door behind her.

Before anyone could speak, Nellie had pushed them all back around the corner and out of sight. They stood looking at each other, fear in their eyes at all the unanswered questions.

“What happened?” asked Nellie. “You were standing there like a statue; you nearly got us all caught!”

“Look, don't ask me how I know this but at the back of The Forge there is an open window. If someone can climb in through it, they can open the door from the inside; it's got a bolt across.” Phoebe felt dizzy and Nellie caught her as she fell.

“I'm not even going to ask,” said Mark, shaking his head. “Which way?”

“Obviously we can't get around that way as there is an old woman in the post office and I think she might have seen us,” said Nellie.

Finally, Phoebe spluttered: “What was that? Am I the only one who…?

“No,” said Nellie. “You're not the only one. I think we all saw the same person.”

“I have a really bad feeling - like we're being drawn into something we have no control over.” She was barely able to stand upright on her own.

“We need to get under cover and we need to work out what's going on.” Nellie was beginning to think she had lost her mind altogether. “Maybe The Forge isn't such a good idea after all, it's way too close to her.”

“The Forge will be okay.” Phoebe was suddenly calm and focused. “Come on, we'll be fine; let's find the window.”

“Fine! So let's try the other side,” said Richard and he headed off back on to the road and along the other side of The Forge.

“Look!” he whispered. “There's an alleyway which runs down the side of the building. Let's try it.”

They all huddled into the alleyway in an attempt to stay out of sight. There had been too many close calls already tonight. They were cold and tired and no closer to working out what was happening to them. So the fact that Phoebe's prediction of an open window came true was less of a shock and more of a welcome surprise to everyone bar Nellie.

Nellie looked at Josh and the others.

“That's a bit of a coincidence, like someone was expecting us.”

“Maybe they didn't have to worry about break-ins in 18-whatever it is,” joked Mark. “Give me a bunk up.” And he slid in through the window.

They heard a soft thud as he landed on the floor and, about thirty seconds and a couple of 'ouches' later, they heard a large bolt sliding across a door and creaking, as though it hadn't been opened in quite some time.

Immediately, they all realised that what Phoebe had said had been true.

“Phoebe … how did you know there was an open window at the back?” asked Nellie.

“I’m not sure exactly, but there's something else. I know this sounds crazy but the old woman I saw in the post office a few minutes ago …Well, before she even came to the door, I was sure it was her.”

“But you couldn't have seen her through the window, not properly, anyway.” Richard's teeth were starting to chatter from the cold. “Look, let's finish this conversation inside, can we? I'm freezing.”

“It's a good job that window was open and the bolt was right where Phoebe said it would be,” said Richard, trying to make it sound as though it was an everyday occurrence to have a vision.

“I'll say,” replied Mark. “Otherwise I might have been fumbling around for half the night trying to find a way in for you lot.”

They huddled in the doorway, trying to become accustomed to the dense darkness of the room.

“What's that smell?” whispered Mark. Then, without warning, they all saw it at the same time. It looked like a small horse, only it had bared its teeth and was starting to growl. Every one of them tried to scream but no sound came out of their mouths. There was an awful moan, as if the enormous dog whose den they had disturbed had savagely bitten someone. The painful yelp subsided to a terrified whimper and sobs of fear were heard as the dog growled and lunged to pin them all in the corner. Mark had stumbled backwards at the sight of the beast's teeth and had impaled his leg on a pitchfork. He could feel the blood trickling down his leg but he dared not make another sound for fear the animal would strike.

They heard a lamp being lit, followed by a voice that sent a chill to the pit of Nellie's stomach.

“Mauth! Come!” demanded the voice.

Nellie's mind raced and, suddenly, she knew where the voice came from. As though propelled against her will, Nellie lunged forwards, arms spread wide, and stood between the animal and her friends.

“Don't come any closer - I have a knife and I'll use it if you make me!”

The voice approached slowly until Nellie could recognise the figure in the dim light. She let out a cry of disbelief and once again fell to her knees.

“Kat?” And finally Nellie threw up.

Everyone froze, except Mark who, impaled on the pitchfork, passed out.

“Mauth, come here,” she whispered. “They are our friends.”

The dog lay at Kat's feet and fell silent, licking his paw.

“You are a rather brave girl,” Kat said to Nellie.

No one spoke, they just looked from Kat to Nellie to the huge dog and back again.

“I'm not sure I would jump out in front of a dog the size of Mauth,” Kat said. “You're either very brave or very foolish.”

“Who are you?” said Nellie, who had fallen to her knees in disbelief.

“What do you mean, who am I? You just called me by my name, I thought you knew who I was,” replied Kat.

“I must have been mistaken. You sounded like someone I know ... I mean knew ... at least,” Nellie was very scared and confused. She wasn't the only one.

“I am someone you know,” replied Kat, in an almost reassuring voice.

“Then ... are we back in ...”

“2006?” Kat finished off Nellie's sentence. “I'm afraid not, you are in 1851 and, yes, I am the Kat you know from 2006.”

There was a yelp of pain as Mark regained consciousness. In the confusion, everyone had forgotten about him being injured. They made a mad dash towards him but Kat's voice once again was commanding.

“Leave him be!” She snapped and she began to walk towards Mark.

“NO! NO! Leave me alone, I don't want to die. NOOOOO!”

Kat waved her hand over the wound on Marks leg.

Mark felt as though he was falling. The pain had gone and he felt as light as a feather as he drifted over cloud-filled meadows and lay in the sunlight on the back of large black dog who was now licking his face and panting like a big, overgrown puppy.

“Ahh! Get 'im off me before he eats me leg!”

The body was Mark's but the voice was from another planet, as far as they could tell. Mark was standing up again when he realised what he had said.

“Easy,” said Kat, "You'll be fine in a few minutes. It does funny things to people sometimes.”

“What does?” said Mark, who was quite confused.

“All that travelling. Nice trip?” she asked.

“Eh, what? Where am I?” asked Mark, as Mauth licked his hand. Mark shook his head in disbelief, hoping it was all a bad dream. The Puddingstone, and climbing through The Forge window, the painful fall and now this huge, slobbering dog that was licking his hand. But, realising it was all real did not give him any comfort.

“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” mumbled Mark. “And what can I smell?”

“Soup,” replied Kat, smiling. “You should all have some, warm you up.”

The group looked over in surprise at the soup. No one could remember Kat making any or it having been there in the first place.

“I hope vegetable is okay, it's all I had available for a large group of trespassers at short notice,” said Kat, wryly.

Mark dropped his gaze. “Sorry about the window.” And he rubbed his leg in disbelief.

“No harm done."

No one could deny that they were all hungry and tired at this point. Hesitantly the moved towards the soup which was in a pot on top of the large pot bellied stove. It smelled wonderful, but then it could have been dirty laundry and it would have smelled just the same. There were bowls and tin mugs full of tea and the group looked questions at each other about where it had all come from. But, they were all too hungry to voice those questions and they quietly took the welcomed food.

The Forge was lulled into silence as the bewildered group tried to work out what had happened to their world. They were all frightened and no one wanted to be the first to ask how Kat had repaired the whole in Marks leg with just a wave of her hand. Phoebe wondered if her parents were looking for her. Richard was trying, in his usual pragmatic way, to make sense of the whole thing and was sure it could be broken down into a simple, factual piece of evidence. But after about twenty minutes of logical thinking, he could only come up with one fact, and that was that he had no clue what was going on. This sobering thought made him feel very shaky, especially seeing that he was the one who was always in control. Nellie, of course, was worried about the rest of the group. It wasn't like they were little children; they were all sixteen but, none the less, that was how Nellie felt - she always regarded herself as the big sister.

Jonty was more like Richard and was trying to use his logic to piece things together, having given in to the odd fact that they were in Nasty but not in 2006. He was having quite a good time of it when he thought: “If only I could get on to the Internet.” But this just made him laugh to himself. Mark was more annoyed than anything as he was missing his favourite TV show and he just could not seem to understand what everyone was crying about. He had made a truce with the rest of the group but it was only to serve his own needs. In fact, he thought when this ordeal was over he would stop hanging around with them and get some real friends.

The Three

On the opposite side of Nasty, three other people had felt the disturbance and were beginning to ready themselves. One was a lanky man with dishevelled hair and eyes that gave away his fear. He had a job to do and, if it all worked out, he would once again be in favour with the Bohaban Sith.

The other person was a small woman who was covered in flour from the baker shop. But it was not bread she had been baking tonight; the potion she had with her had far more power than any loaf of bread. With one more ingredient, it could make a person immortal …or dead! The woman sang quietly to herself as she finished mixing the ingredients.

Nellie Darling, come to me

In the darkness you shall see

Nellie Darling, come to me

You can't escape your destiny …

But it was the third person who was the happiest to know that Nellie had been drawn in to the spell.

“Very soon, everything will be just right and the Bohaban Sith will be pleased,” mumbled the Postmistress. “I know you are out there, Nellie, you cannot hide from me.”

The Book

Alone in the church, a man kneeled in front of the altar, clutching an object tightly to his chest. As he looked up at the stained glass window, he prayed harder and with more conviction than he had ever done before.

“I will lay down my life for you if it be of any worth. Dear God, if mine be of no use, then let her come, please let it be her and not them.”

Nellie began to tremble as she sat hunched against the wall of The Forge and, again, she could feel the black of night drowning her until she could hardly breathe. She tried to speak but no words came.

Suddenly, the door of the church was flung open violently.

The priest spoke with calm and resolution. “Go away, Jack, I won't give it up.” He hadn't even turned around but he knew who had entered his church, and he was no friend.

“This is a place of God, Father, and I don't want to cause you no harm,” came a voice back at the priest.

“Then leave while you can, before you do something you will regret for the rest of all eternity.”

“I can't, Father, I made a promise to clear her name and I will do it at any cost.”

“You can't clear the name of a witch, Jack, they are damned for ever for their sins.”

“Sins! Sins, you say. She was a beggar woman and, along with her husband, she was murdered for simply asking for some bread.”

“If she had come to the church, she would have saved her soul.”

“She did come to the church! But the Church turned its back on them! Give me the Book, Father, and I'll leave you in peace.”

“I can't do that, Jack. Like you, I have made a commitment and I will not break it at any cost.”

There was a flash of light and the world turned upside down. The door of the church slammed shut and books were scattered everywhere. The large chandelier that held the candles began to shake violently until the chain broke away from the ceiling and it began to fall. The priest turned to look at Jack Savage and, in his final breath of life, found the strength he had looked for all his life.

“I forgive you, Jack.” And the light went out.

When Jack Savage regained his composure, he looked around at the carnage he had caused. There was broken glass everywhere and pews had been turned upside down. The door was practically off its hinges and then he saw the thing that would damn him to hell for his sins. The priest lay in a crumpled mass of iron chandelier and broken limbs, blood spilling all over the church floor. Jack fell to his knees.

“What in God's name have I done?” But he was powerless by now and, against his will, he reached over and, with great effort, grabbed the Book that the dead priest was clutching to his chest. It was as though he tore away the man's soul. He could see the gaping wound, worse than any physical injury. He could see all the sins of Man, past and present, it was like a bottomless pit into which Jack had fallen. Then, the sound of a disembodied voice filled the church. “I forgive you, Jack, I forgive you.”

A combination of fear and anger raged through Jack Savage and he held the Book out at arm's length, grasping it firmly in both hands, and pointed it towards the sky. “To hell with your forgiveness!” And the stained glass window at the end of the church shattered in to a thousand pieces.

The altar

A lanky figure, with grey, wiry hair, hurried along in the shadows of the church. He had a small package wrapped in animal skin under his arm. At the other end of the village, a woman chuckled to herself. “She has come - at last, she has come.” The woman moved along the road towards the meeting place.

“Don't want to be late,” Jack muttered to himself. “The Bohaban Sith will not be happy if I'm late.” He was breathing heavily as he struggled up the stone steps towards the altar.

The Postmistress was already there. She was always early and Jack Savage could never seem to beat her to the punch. She held a power over Jack that he could not abide. She had a dislike and a mistrust of men and seemed to hold a special grudge against him. But this time Jack had some leverage over her - he had the Book! This was the answer; this would give the Bohaban Sith her power back and there was nothing the Postmistress could do to take away Jack's glory. Maybe now he could shake off the curse, which had for so long hung around the neck of his family like a millstone.

As Jack hid in the shadow of the bushes at the top of the steps, he could see the Postmistress standing at the altar, her arms raised to the night sky. He craned his neck to hear the words she was saying.

“This night belongs to you, my Mistress of Darkness. Tonight I will give you back your power when I unlock the Shard and sacrifice the One.” She fell to her knees and held her clenched hands above her head in a trance-like state.

There was a rustle in the trees and a small figure hurried forwards and knelt before the altar.

“I offer myself to you, my Mistress of Darkness, and I would gladly give my life tonight to see that the power is once again restored to its rightful place.”

The two women moved towards the altar where a stone lay at its head. They both fell to their knees and kissed it.

Jack had never been invited to take part in the ritual, but after tonight he would be the chosen one; he would no longer be just a man. Suddenly, there was a piercing sound as the church bells began to toll, and Jack knew that the confirmation was done.

“Come forward and join us, Jack. I see you have kept your promise this time. The Bohaban Sith will be well pleased with your work tonight.” There was a falseness in the Postmistress's voice, but Jack didn't care. He knew this time he had come through.

He hesitated for a second.

“I hope to God I have done the right thing because, if not, the hell I will live in after tonight will be far greater than anything the Bohaban Sith could ever condemn me to,” he thought to himself.

“Hurry, Jack, we must pray together and unite as one!” whispered the Postmistress. “And bring your gifts with you.”

“They have come,” whispered the second woman to the Postmistress.

“Yes, my dear, and we shall soon take our rightful place next to the Bohaban Sith where we belong. This shall be the real Trinity and from here the work shall begin.”

“What about Jack?” hissed the woman.

“Don't worry about Jack, the Bohaban Sith will deal with him. Oh yes, she will have her revenge for the years she has been locked within the Shard. You and I alone will set her free, tonight.”

Even though it was still the middle of the night, the village was beginning to stir and people were waking to the realisation that one among them had been killed. Nellie struggled to regain her breath and moved toward the window of The Forge where she peered out to see what all the commotion was about.

“There's been a death!” cried a voice.

Panic was growing in the street.

“Go and fetch the constable!” yelled someone else.

The rest of the group, who had been dozing, were now awake.

“What's going on, Nellie?” mumbled Mark. “What's all the noise about?”

“Shush,” said Nellie “I can't hear.”

She could see a man running down the street from the direction of the church.

“He's dead! We're all damned! He's dead, I say. The priest is dead.” The man was crying hysterically. “It's them, they're back and they've murdered him.”

Nellie moved closer to the window, making sure not to be seen. She could hear a voice talking to the man who had run from the church.

“Now, calm down, Frank, and tell us what you know.”

But the man remained hysterical.

“He's dead, I tell you, the Priest is dead. I seen it for myself and I'll go to hell for what I seen. There were books all over the place and the floor was covered in blood. I tried to help him but I couldn't. When I got to him, he was dead.”

“Take it easy, Frank, it'll be aw'right,” said the man, still trying to calm him.

“No, no, you don't understand. It was the most terrible thing the way he was killed. It was as though an animal had torn him to pieces. I've even seen the priest's…”

The man began to choke and gag on his words as though a force was stopping him from speaking. Blood spurted from his mouth and he fell to his knees, clutching his throat.

“What, Frank, what?”

But it was too late. The man twisted and convulsed as though he was being strangled from the inside and then, suddenly, he was dead. The life was sucked out of him!

Nellie had the image of Phoebe and how she had controlled the two drunks earlier that night. They had twisted and convulsed in just the same way. But surely there was no way the two had anything in common. She looked over at Phoebe who was asleep under a large sheepskin pelt.

Jack Savage and the two women held hands and raised their heads up to the sky as the priest's heart lay on the altar, pulsating, and then it stopped, the POstmistress clenched her first and wrung it in the air and the man in the street was dead.

“We are The Three and tonight we will claim back what is rightfully ours!” said the Postmistress, in a quiet voice. “Tonight, the Bohaban Sith will take her rightful place once again.”

Nellie sank to the ground. “Oh my God,” she thought. “The dog, with the bolt of lightning through it on top of The Forge. The Priest is the death it signified.”

Jack Savage closed his eyes. He could feel his own heart pounding in his chest as he thought about the events of the evening. He had committed a foul and merciless deed, but the priest had given him no option, he had protected the Book with his life and Jack had taken it. Without the Book, there could be no way forward. There was a point at which he had hesitated, but he could hear the voice of the Postmistress in his head, telling him what a failure he was and how he was just like the men in his family before. He had broken into the church, only wanting to take the Book but the priest was there, praying, with it grasped tightly in his hands and placed against his heart.

Jack had tried to reason with him but he had stood his ground and suddenly it was over, and Jack was covered in blood. Blood that was all over the floor. The only thing Jack could remember was the strength with which the priest had hung on to the Book and, when he finally lost his grip, it was as though the Book had a life of its own. As Jack used the last of his strength, it broke free, ripping the priest's heart from his body and, with it, his soul.

In The Forge, Nellie was leaning against the wall. The church bells were still ringing out the horror of the night and the village was full of fear. Then she heard a voice she recognised.

“I seen 'em myself, Davy will tell yer. There was four or five of 'em an' there was a girl. I reckon she's the witch, the one who's responsible for this.”

It was the voice of the man who had chased Nellie and the group on the green earlier that evening.

“Now then, Robert,” came another voice. “There's no need to get folk all upset, you know that witches an' things is just a lot a superstition.”

“I tell yer, it's true. I seen 'em wi' me own eyes. 'Ow else do you explain something this terrible? An' to a man of God as well. There's none of us safe, I tell you, until she's ‘angin' from a rope by 'er neck.” He tried hard to catch his breath “We was 'eadin' 'ome from the Arf Moon tonight an' we're sure we seen 'em on the road, an' just after we passed them, George and Davie started in sick. They're at 'ome now an' they can barely move! It's them, I tell you!” The workhouse foreman was scared and looking for a quick solution to the problem.

“They'll be no 'angings in this village tonight or any other,” said a calm voice. “Now, go along 'ome to your beds and we'll deal with this in the proper way.”

“Constable, good evening,” said a well-spoken, older man. Nellie pushed her ear against the wall of The Forge so she could hear what was being said.

“Constable, can you tell us anything that might make the village feel a little safer tonight?” said the man.

“Well, it's a sad night, to be honest, Your Honour, but the best thing we can all do is go back to our houses and comfort our families. I've alerted my men and they will be on watch all night, checking on you all, so there's nothing more to worry about. Now, go on folks, and let us do our job.”

“It's a very sad night indeed, but you heard the Constable, he has it all under control, so go along to your homes and comfort you families.” The judge’s words were kind but it was not a request so much as a demand.

There was some grumbling but, within a few minutes, the village was quiet again. Just as Nellie was about to report to the others, she heard the constable's voice. This time it was not so calm.

“Step into the shadow, Your Honour, so no one sees us.”

It was obvious, from the tone of his voice that he was talking to a man of power.

“It's not good news, Sir. I saw the whole thing. There was nothing I could do. I was helpless, just like Father MacKintyre had said when he sent for me. He knew they would come for the Book tonight and he knew he would die defending it. He told me to wear my cross and I would be guarded from evil.” He took the cross from inside his coat and held it up to his lips.

“But it's just a Book, Constable. I mean, surely you don't believe in all that gobbledygook, do you?” asked the judge, trying to hide behind a nervous laugh.

“I wouldn't have before tonight, but it was just like the Father said it would be - right down to the last detail. I've seen a lot of terrible things in my time Sir, but this, this what I saw tonight will be burnt on my soul for the rest of eternity. They've come, Sir, 'The Three.' The Shard is open and the Book is gone and if they 'ave their way, the village will disappear forever and we'll be gone with it.”

Nellie's mind was racing with all this new information. What book and who were 'The Three' and what did they want? The wind was picking up and Nellie felt cold and uneasy again. She folded her arms in an attempt to stay warm and thought about the dream she had had so many times. Was this the Book and, if so, what was she supposed to do? In the dream the Book always came to her and seemed to be dropped on her chest. She was tired and scared and felt a long way from home.

Nellie stood on tip-toe and rubbed at the window to clean a small area to look out of. The village was quiet and the moon highlighted the church where she could see the Constable’s men standing in a group. Just as she was about to move away from the window, she squinted her eyes and peered through the black night. She was sure she could see three people running from the direction of the church and, as they got nearer, she could see that one of them had a package under his arm. Who in God's name would be out at this time of night and with everything that had just happened? Nellie moved away from the window and looked at the rest of the group. They were huddled together and they all turned to look at her.

The Warning

The two men huddled in the shadow of The Forge and waited until the village was quiet. Down the High Street, people were darting into doorways and looking over their shoulders as though, any minute, they might be the next victim. There were hurried conversations from people who were scared and lights in windows were being blacked out. Doors were bolted and bibles held in order to ward off the evil that had made its home in the village. Although, with a name such as Nasty, what else would make a home there?

Finally, the two men spoke in hushed and secretive voices. “We should calm the village, Constable, and not let this …unfortunate incident get out of hand. You remember what happened last time an innocent person was hanged?”

“I remember well, Your Honour, but I don't like it a bit, I tell you.”

“Everything will be fine if we just keep our heads, John. Now, you head towards the church and I'll make sure this end of the village is calm before I turn in. I'll see you in the morning, Constable, bright and early, so that we can clean up the mess in the church. Oh, and maybe you should put a guard on the place; no one needs to see inside and become distraught by what they find.”

“I've already taken care of that. Goodnight, Your Honour.”

“Goodnight, Constable.”

The constable began to walk towards the church but was overcome by a chill which coursed through his body as though he was walking into a black hole and was being suffocated. He hesitated and looked back to check on the Judge, but he had disappeared into the night.

Three figures huddled in the back of a house until the Constable had passed by on the other side of the road, then they moved quickly on until they reached the post office.

“You go in, Jack,” said the Postmistress. “We need to have a little chat.” Jack Savage knew now was not the time to press his luck. He knew he had the upper hand at the moment and he tightened his grip on the package.

As he entered, a figure emerged from the darkness.

“What do you want, Judge?” hissed the Postmistress.

“The Constable knows she's here, he knows that she's 'The One' the Priest has forewarned him, you must act fast.”

“Does he suspect you?”

“I'm sure he doesn't,” replied the Judge. “But …”

“The don't worry,” drawled the Postmistress. “I have just the person to take care of the Constable.”

“I'll have no more killings, do you understand?”

“Do not presume to tell me how and what to do, Judge; you forget who is in charge now. You had your chance to run the village and you failed. You are lucky that the Bohaban Sith has spared your life. Are you getting scared as well? You men are all the same, weak and spineless!” She moved closer to his face and smiled, her blackened teeth showing through her dried and cracked lips and her breath enough to make him heave. “Leave it to us women, our time has come.” She turned towards the post office. “I have another job for you, Jack.” She let out an evil laugh.

Just before she shut the door, she turned and looked towards the Judge. “Thank you, Judge, you have done well tonight.” There was an air of contempt in her voice.

Call it instinct or a sense of something not being quite right, but the Constable had silently made his way back to The Forge and had stood, listening in the shadows to the conversation outside the post office, which was no more than a breath's distance away.

“Well, at least we all know what side we are on,” he thought to himself. “I must get to her before they do.” And he headed off at a run back to the church to look for clues. How could he have been so close to Nellie and not realised it and how could she have been so close to her peril and not sensed it?

The Keeper of the Book

Nellie turned and looked at the group. Everyone was silent and she could feel the fear smothering The Forge. Her eyes moved from person to person, looking for some sign that this could still be a dream. Finally, Nellie fixed her gaze on Kat.

“Why have you brought us here? I know you brought us here, I saw you on the green when they were dancing around the Puddingstone; that's why I tried to stop them but I was too late. It was also you who gave me the newspaper. You dropped it and when I went to pick it up for you, you were gone.”

“Yes, I should have been more careful,” replied Kat. “You are a very perceptive young woman.”

Now it was Mark's turn. “You knew something was wrong and yet you let her bring us here!” he shouted at Nellie.

“Oh, believe me, you would all have been here in time, it was just a matter of getting you all together in one place,” said Kat.

The words she spoke seemed to explode in Jonty's ears. “It was you! It was you who came to my house and spoke to my father.”

“What are you on about?” snapped Mark.

“Those words you just said are exactly the same as you said to my father. I remember he said, 'It was a mistake coming to Nasty along with the others' and you said, 'Oh, believe me, you would all have been here in time, it was just a matter of getting you all together in one place'.”

“You knew? You both knew and never said anything?”

“Think about it, Mark, we all knew something was odd. Why were we made to take McHorror's class together? Why has my dad been making me learn everything there is to know about Nasty? Isn't it strange that Nellie seems to know all this stuff about witches and folklore?”

“My mother,” said Nellie. “My mother was making me read all these books and she was acting very strangely, frightened almost. I've never seen her like that.”

“And Phoebe.”

“What about Phoebe?” said Mark.

“Her visions …” Richard jumped in.

“And her power,” said Nellie.

Mark could not believe what was happening. “Wait, you can't tell me that you believe this crap? This has got to be the biggest load of rubbish I have ever heard. Visions, witches and legends? You're all out of your minds. You would have to be idiots to believe this nonsense.”

Richard had had enough and, without thinking about the consequences, he was on his feet and had struck out at Mark. It was all over so quickly that no one realised what had happened until it was too late. Mark lay on the floor, blood oozing from his lip where Richard had punched him.

Richard looked down at him. “I take back what I said earlier; I'm not sorry for calling you stupid and here's a couple more to go with it. You're nothing more than an arrogant, pompous git! Now, one more word about what we are or are not and I'll …”

“STOP!” demanded Kat. “If you all calm down, I will explain.”

“Calm down? Calm down? What the hell do you mean, calm down? The village is out to get us and string Nellie up by her neck, the local vicar has just been murdered and, oh, just for fun, there is a group of nutters who want to make a sacrifice of one of us, and you're asking us to calm down?” Mark was out of breath after his incident with Richard and was still bleeding badly from his lip. Kat moved her hand towards his face as though she were going to heal the wound as she had with his leg, but Mark jerked his head back. “Don't even think about touching me, you … whatever the hell you are. Just leave me alone. I'd rather bleed.”

“As you wish.” Kat raised an eyebrow. “I suppose when you put it like that, 'calm down' does seem a little absurd.”

“A little,” added Nellie. “That's an understatement.”

“Okay, how about this? Stay frantic, but do it quietly and I will do my best to explain,” replied Kat.

Eventually, all attention was on Kat and Nellie.

“You are The One, Nellie.”

“Then, who are you?” replied Nellie.

“I am your guide.”

“Then it's true …?”

“What's true, Nellie?” asked Jonty.

“My grandmother...My grandmother would tell me stories from Ireland. Stories of banshees and witches. Of course, I was so young and I just thought they were stories. When I was six, my grandmother died. Just before she died, she asked to see me alone. I remember it was in her cottage and she was laying in bed in the little bedroom at the top of the landing, the one I always slept in when I visited. She said she wanted to spend her last days there as it reminded her of our times together. She held my hand and told me not to worry, that if I followed my heart, everything would be okay. She said one day I would meet someone and they would tell me a secret and, with that secret, I would have to make a choice. It would be the most difficult choice I would ever have to make. She was tired and I could see that she needed to rest, but just before I left, she gripped my hand and said, 'You are the One, remember, Nellie, you must follow your heart and you must have faith. Faith will get you through.' I never got to see her alive after that.”

Tears were running down Nellie's face as she remembered the last time she had seen the woman she had loved so much.

“What is the secret, Kat? I need to know.”

It was late, very late and Nellie was exhausted. Richard stood looking out of the window and off down what he thought used to be the High Street, but who could tell anymore what was real and what was not?

“Well, at least the bells have stopped that awful racket,” he said, hoping to break the silence, but there was no answer that gave anyone any comfort. He slid down the side of the wall and sat in a huddled, cold heap.

Nellie couldn’t take any more. “That's it! There's got to be a way back and I'm going to find it!”She got to her feet.

“No!” said Kat. “You can't, not without knowing what you're up against.”

“What do you mean, up against?” asked Jonty, who had been staring out of one of the other window.

“Look, it's not easy to explain,” replied Kat.

“We're listening,” said Nellie. “It's not like we have a anywhere else to be.”

Nellie could only think of what would happen to them if they couldn't work out how to resolve this strange situation she had got them into.

“Look, I know it's cold and late. I have some old blankets in the chest over in the corner. Why don't you get them and come and sit by the fire and I'll do my best to explain,” said Kat, trying to comfort them a little. “And you should all have some of that hot tea I made, it will make you feel better.” Once again, Nellie could not remember Kat actually making any tea; it just seemed to appear.

Hesitantly, the group grabbed the blankets and wandered, dazed, over to the fire where Richard was doling out the tea in tin cups. Kat pulled Nellie to one side.

“Nellie, are you sure you are up to this? It can wait until morning. I promise you nothing will happen for a couple more days.”

“No, we need to know what's going on. I have a terrible feeling that we must get started but, until you tell me, I don't know what to start on.”

Everyone, like Nellie, was exhausted and, as they huddled together, eyelids barely able to stay open, they attempted to take in what Kat was saying. The only one who was not part of the group was Mark - he was still seething from his fight with Richard.

Kat looked at the group. Were these the ones who would protect the Book? Was this the best that the Elders could do? They were so young, so lost. Then, almost involuntarily, she began to speak.

“A man has died tonight defending a book that you have been sent to find, take back and protect until the next Keeper comes along. He was a wonderful man who was willing to lay down his life so that others could live in peace. Nellie, the secret is that you are the Keeper of the Book.”

“But what about the rest of us, why are we here?” asked Jonty.

“You all have gifts, gifts that you will need to use to get you back home with the Book. Some of you know what your gifts are; the remainder of you will need to discover yours in order to sit at the Elders’ Table. Until you know what your gift is, you will not be able to access the power you need to beat The Three.”

“What if we don't discover our powers?” said Nellie.

Kat so wished she didn't have to answer that question. “You will, you just need to have faith.”

“But what if we don't?” repeated Nellie. “What will happen to us if we cannot, if we don't have time?”

Kat's heart sank. “Then … you will remain here forever.”

“Our parents know about this, don't they?” Jonty caught Kat's gaze and she knew she could not lie to him.

“Yes, they do, but believe me, there was nothing they could have done to prevent this. It all happened so quickly.”

“What happened so quickly?” asked Nellie.

Kat hesitated, but Nellie persisted. “What happened, Kat, why have we been chosen to do this?”

“Do you remember when I asked you in The Forge that day what your job was? You said you were just a kid and you didn't have a job.”

“I remember, and you asked me if I was sure.”

“That's correct, Nellie, your memory serves you well. You were right about being a kid. The fact is that you are too young to take on the responsibility of Keeper of the Book. You need to be eighteen.”

“So why are we here?” asked Jonty.

“There was a terrible mistake and The Book was lost. You see, you get The Book to keep for seven years and, at the end of that time, it is handed over to the next Keeper. That way, the secrets of The Book are kept hidden and only known to a few. The Book was being transferred and ...”

Tears began to stream down Kat's face and Mauth, who had been silent throughout the whole evening, whimpered like an animal in pain, his huge head on Kat's lap as though to protect her from the hurt. It was easy to see the pain that both of them suffered; it was like a gaping wound that had opened in Kat's heart as she remembered.

Through her sobs, she relayed how The Book was to be handed over to a young man on Lundy Isle, way off the southern coast of England.

“Lundy Isle was considered sacred ground and a safe place in which to make the transfer. It would be done that way in an attempt to secure it from falling into the hands of those who would use it for evil. Somehow, the secret of the Keeper and the place and time had been breached and when the Elders had arrived with The Book, they were attacked. The Book was taken and, in an attempt to regain it, the young Keeper was killed.” Kat sobbed harder still. It was her job to protect the Keeper; he was so young and so full of promise.

It had been Mauth who had come to the rescue and had chased down the one who had stolen The Book just as they were about to disappear into the Shard. Mauth had sunk his fangs into the man's leg.

“Jack Savage!” gasped Richard.

Kat continued as though she hadn’t heard. “But it was a young priest who had finally come to the aid of Mauth and retrieved The Book. He had hidden on Lundy Isle, half frozen and without food for seven days until we could work out a plan. The Elders had picked a random time in history and a random village. Father MacKintyre was sent here until he and The Book could be moved back safely.”

“Why was he left here?” said Nellie.

“He was not left, the Shard was closed and Father MacKintyre was stranded here. We knew The Book and he were safe but it meant he would have to remain here until the Shard was opened by another Keeper or he would remain here until he died.”

“Enter Nellie and friends,” said Richard.

“Yes, but Keepers don't always work out, things can go wrong; simple things that are part of life. A Keeper needs to remain pure in order to be able to own The Book, and it is that purity which gives them the strength to protect its secrets. We were planning on telling you when your education was finished. The problem was we had heard that there had been attempts to breach the Shard and so we had to get to Father MacKintyre before they did.”

“Who are 'they'?” said Phoebe.

“The Three. You nearly ran into them tonight. They came back with you when you opened the Shard and now they have The Book.”

Nellie's heart sank. She had an image of the ghostly figures on the Village Green when she had tried to stop the others dancing round the Puddingstone.

“You could not have known,” said Kat. “No one could have known. It was simply unrealistic to try and make this work.”

“What do they plan on doing with The Book?” asked Phoebe.

“Our guess is that they will use the Shard to get back to 2006 and when they have done so, they will seal it forever, keeping the five of you here. You are a great threat to them, Nellie, all of you are a threat. It is rare to get a group of people as powerful as you in one place. But first, they must make a sacrifice of the blood of The One.”

There was a horrified gasp from the group as they realised what Kat was about to say next.

“Nellie, I'm sorry, that's you.”

“So they kill Nellie and trap the rest of us here … and Nasty disappears off the face of the Earth,” said Richard.

There was a long silence while everyone thought about what had just been said.

“What if Nellie refuses,” asked Richard.

“She can of course do that, but it will mean that they have won and we will all remain here for the rest of our lives.”

“That sucks,” mumbled Jonty. “Well, it's better than Nellie being … you know?” He could not get the words out as it just seemed too disgusting to think about.

“Sacrificed?” said Kat. “Look, I know it's a pretty unreasonable demand but you need to get some sleep.”

“But …”

“Please don't argue with me. If you want to be within half a chance of making this work and …”

“… cleaning up your mess!” Mark said from the back of the group. “What you are saying is that you need us to clean up the mess you created on Lundy Isle?”

Richard began to stand up, but Mark's words sent a chill down his spine.

“Don't even think about it, Richard! I have a pretty impressive farm tool here and I will not hesitate to use it.” Mark slowly raised his hand, holding a menacing, curved knife that looked as though it could take off a limb without a problem. “It's true, isn't it, Kat? It's something we all know but don't want to hear. I wouldn't go to sleep if I were you. She won't be here in the morning when you wake up because she'll have gone back through the Shard, if it even exists, and she will leave us to work out the problems she has left behind. The simple fact is that Kat … ”

“Okay,” snarled Richard. “That's enough!” He eyed the sickle that Mark was holding, thinking how he could rip his face off.

“No, he's right. It is my fault that we are all here. The simple fact is I made a terrible mistake on Lundy Isle when I lost my concentration and let my guard down. There were so many of us, so many Elders that I became complacent and started to get lost on the ceremony instead of doing my job.”

Nellie hesitated, but knew she needed to ask the question. “Kat, I need to ask … ”

“How do you know that Mark isn't right? How do you know that, if you all go to sleep, I will still be here in the morning? You don't. Nellie, you have to start searching your heart for guidance, it's like your grandmother said, you need to have faith and follow your heart. I'm sorry, Nellie, that's the best I can do.”

“No, that's fine, that's good enough for me. If you say you will be here, then I believe you.”

“What! You mean to tell me that, after all this, a simple 'it's good enough for me' will do?”

“Mark …we have no choice at the moment and I, for one, am so tired I can't think straight. If you are that worried, why don't we use your plan and each take a watch?”

“Fine by me, I'll take the first!”

Kat waved her hand in front of Nellie's face and she tumbled into Richard's arms.

“Look after her, Richard, she is The One and she must succeed or we will all go to hell.”

Richard tried to say something but Kat just held up her hand gently. “No more talking, you must rest.” They took Nellie over to the fire and covered her with a blanket. “Sleep well, my friend,” said Kat, and Richard lay down beside Nellie and the world became a million tumbling images and then went black.

Mark

The first chinks of light were beginning to filter through the cracks between the boards that made up the walls of The Forge. Mark had not slept at all. Everyone else had seemed to disappear into the dark of the night and now, in the early morning light, he began to make out the huddled shapes on the floor of The Forge. Nellie and Richard lay next to each other where Nellie had fallen softly after Kat had so casually waved her hand in front of her face.

“How does she do that stuff?” Mark wondered to himself.

Phoebe lay rolled up under a blanket and Jonty was lying on a mound of hay with a canvas bag for a pillow.

“Only he would take the time and make the effort to come up with something like that!” Mark mumbled under his breath through clenched teeth, but no one heard him. All of them were lost in the safety of sleep as Mark begrudgingly looked on, not able to find the same solitude. He was stiff and cold and angry. Who the hell did Richard think he was, lashing out at him like that? After all, he was only telling the truth. But Richard didn't see it that way. His lip was still swollen and sore.

“I’d like to see you try that again, you stupid prat!” Before he knew it, he was standing over Richard and Nellie, glaring at them.

“This is all your fault,” he hissed. “And there's Richard the big hero saving the damsel in distress! What an idiot.”

Mark looked around for Kat and Mauth but found nothing. “I knew it! I knew they'd be gone, first chance they had.” Phoebe began to mumble in her sleep. “There's a bolt and a window and … ahjgsp…” It tapered off to a mumble and she kept sleeping.

“Fine, I'm out of here as well.” Mark took one last look at the sprawled bodies, grabbed a long coat that was hanging on a nail and felt his way to the same door they had come into The Forge through.

Gingerly, he slid the large bolt across. It was rusted and he strained to keep it quiet so as not to wake anyone. Finally, the bolt slipped from its housing and clanked against the stop at the other end. Mark froze as he heard the rustling of the straw where Jonty was lying. Phoebe moaned and Mark remained still. Finally, The Forge was quiet again and Mark slowly opened the door and slipped out into the cold early morning air. Quickly putting the coat on, he disappeared into the shadows.

A shaft of light had found its way into Phoebe's private world and she woke with a start, blinded by the intense glare that was streaming in through a large crack in the wall. She turned her head away quickly and looked around The Forge which, by comparison, was still quite dark. She could just make out the shapes of the others through her sleep-filled eyes; Jonty was a few feet away from her and Richard and Nellie lay closer to the fire, which by now was little more than a few embers. She shivered and pulled the blanket around her. She looked around for signs of the others but there was no one in sight. Had Mark been right all along? Had Kat left them alone? Mark? Where was he? Had he found a corner to sulk in? She leant over and moved to shake Jonty’s foot but before she could, he spoke quietly.

“It's okay, I'm not asleep. Mark's gone.”

“How do you know?”

“I woke up when he was trying to open the back door.”

“And you didn't stop him or wake us up?”

“I thought about it but I figured if there was too much noise it may draw attention to us. We don't know who’s walking by at this time in the morning.”

“We need to wake Richard and Nellie. Mark was right; Kat left as soon as we were asleep.”

“You need to have a little more faith if you are going to get back home, Phoebe.” Kat and Mauth stood in the doorway. Kat had a large leather bag over her shoulder. “Wake Nellie and Richard, we need to get you all to a safer place.”

Phoebe was about to tell her that Mark had left but she was cut off by Kat.

“I know, we need to get him back before he causes trouble for all of you.”

“I'm sorry, Kat, I should never have doubted you.”

“Maybe not, but you must question everything from now on, it will be your only chance of staying alive. Let’s get going while it's still early.”

But it was not to be. By the time Nellie had been awakened from her heavy sleep, it was past nine o’ clock and there was too much activity in the village to chance being seen. Kat left them in The Forge with strict orders not to even look out of the windows while she went to look for Mark. She hung a sign on the door and it was a long day of being huddled against the walls of The Forge listening to the conversations of scared people.

The Forge will be closed

as a mark of respect of

recent events

Reality

Mark quickly realised that life in 1851 was nothing like life in 2006. For a start, the village was already wide awake and people were going about their daily routine. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck and tried to hide his face but the next thought that ran through his mind was what he would do when it started to warm up. He would look suspicious walking around in the middle of a hot summer’s day with a huge coat on. That was bound to draw attention. And what about when he got hungry or needed to go to take a pee? Obviously, he had not thought through these things when he had decided to make a break for it from the rest of the group.

Walking through the village, he could tell immediately that there was tension in the air. People heading towards him looked startled, as though he was an outsider and didn't belong there. A couple of children, probably on their way to school, caught a glimpse of Mark’s jeans sticking out below the coat and his trainers stuck out like a sore thumb. The children crossed the road and huddled together as they looked at him over their shoulders.

“This is bad,” Mark thought to himself. “I'm going to give myself away if I don't change my appearance.” He ducked into an alleyway and pretended to tie his shoelace so he could observe what people were wearing.

“Not that different,” he thought. “Well, okay, pretty different.” For the most part, the villagers’ clothes were dark and … well, dark. Not a lot of colour back in 1851. He needed to do something and quick. Then it struck him. If all he needed to do was change the colour of what he was wearing, he could simply cover his jeans and trainers in mud and, with the large coat, he would at least look as though he should be working on a farm or whatever young boys did if they weren’t at school. What he wouldn't give to be in school at this moment. As he began to get up to leave the doorway, a well-dressed older man walked by.

“Good morning.”

Mark just grunted in the hope that he wouldn’t give himself away. As the man walked past, Mark was struck by the fact that he was quite upbeat given that the village priest had been killed the previous night. But he had little time to worry about the way these people thought and quickly began to walk along the High Street towards the village green. Once there, all he would have to do is head down towards the ford in the river at the end of Paper Mill Lane, cover himself in mud and then he would blend in with the rest of the village - at least, that's what he hoped.

The fact that there was tension in the village meant that no one really wanted to look directly at anyone else so, at least for the time being, Mark had pretty much become invisible. As he rounded the top of the High Street, he was stopped dead by a large gathering of people on the village green. It struck him that the oak tree and the Puddingstone were not there as he had remembered and the place where he had lived for the last year or so was in-fact a real school. He dropped back against the wall of the last house, which backed up against the green, and tried to dissolve into it. Then he recognised the man who had everyone's attention; it was the same man who had just said good morning to him in the High Street. Without drawing attention to himself, Mark tried to hear what was being said.

“It is a very sad day for the whole village. Father MacKintyre was a well-respected man and he will be sorely missed.”

“Do we know ‘oo dunnit, yer honur?” came a voice in the crowd.

“We have a very good idea,” said the judge.

“And who was it, Your Honour…if you don't mind me asking?” The hair on Mark’s neck stood on end. Right in front of him, asking the question, was the Postmistress.

“The Constable believes the culprits are a gang of vagrants who got drunk and attempted to break in to the church and steal the valuables.”

“Is anything missing, Your Honour?” came another voice.

“The Constable is confirming the details at the moment and I'm sure by the end of the day we will know exactly what happened.”

“Just one more question, Your Honour. Is it true that one of the offenders was a girl?”

There was a gasp from several people in the crowd and suddenly the judge could feel all eyes on him.

“Well, Judge, is what the Postmistress says true?” It was the woman from the bakery.

There was a nervous laugh from the Judge. “Nonsense, I hardly think a girl is capable of doing that kind of damage. Now look, all this is speculation. Why don't we meet this evening at six 'o clock and I will let you know any further details. Now, I know you must have things to do.”

The crowd began to disperse towards the village, luckily for Mark who started off down towards the ford again. But just as he rounded the corner of the wall, his heart practically stopped as he was within touching distance of the old woman from the bakery. Okay, this whole idea of running away from the group was a bad one. He backed up again and slid behind the wall. Luckily, she had her back to him and had not spotted him. “A plan, I need a plan and quick,” thought Mark. He could still hear voices on the green, one of which seemed quite concerned about part of the church wall that had collapsed. Mark could hear the judge talking to another man.

“Just get one of your best men and move it out of the way, Mr Phelps.”

“Ah, but you don't understand, Your Honour, when I say it's a stone, I really should have been clearer. The thing that's blocking Stone Lane is a boulder and I would need twenty men to move it and even then I don't think I have a cart strong enough to transport it in.

“Good heavens, then you must go down to the stables and borrow two of my horses and drag the thing away.”

“An’ where should I leave it, Your Honour? I mean, it is part of the Church an’ there's been enough irreverence.”

“Quite, quite.” The judge thought quickly and then said, “Look, just drag the thing over on to the green and we will work out what to do with it after this evening’s meeting.”

“Right you are, Sir. I'll take care of it at once.”

“The Puddingstone,” thought Mark. “So that's how it got there.” He peered round the corner of the wall and, with no one in sight, decided he would change his look and then try and make his way back to The Forge.

Fitting in

It was gone three 'o clock before Kat returned to The Forge once again with a large bag over her shoulder. This time she was not alone; she had a young boy with her about the same age as Nellie. He was wiry and strong looking, with not an ounce of fat on him, nothing like the under-worked boys in the group. There was little in the way to keep a boy lean and muscular in 2006; obviously these boys were not used to sitting in front of the television or playing video games.

All eyes were on Kat and the new arrival. “This is Luke, a friend.” There were a few tenuous grunts from the group, mostly delivered with apprehension. This was one more piece of the puzzle to try and make sense of. Was he from this time, or could he travel freely as so many seemed to do? What was his part in the plan? And most importantly, it was someone else they needed to trust.

Kat tossed the large bag on the floor next to the one she had dropped off that morning.

“If you’re going to fit in, you need to look as though you belong here. There are clothes in the bags, they will probably be a bit too big but I did the best I could. Oh, Nellie and Phoebe, you need to wear a hat and put your hair up, you don't want to draw attention to yourselves. Have you eaten anything today?” Kat looked at the group. Pitiful, she thought; how in God’s name are we going to do this? “You need to start to think for yourselves.”

“I'll start a fire and put some tea on,” said Luke.

Nellie realised they had a long way to go if they were ever going to get out of this. They had spent the entire day just sitting looking at each other, waiting for someone to do something.

“Let’s take a look at these clothes then,” said Jonty, realising that someone needed to make a move. They turned the bags upside down and clothes scattered everywhere. Gingerly, Nellie began to sort through the items.

“Try this on, Phoebe, it looks about your size.” Nellie tossed what looked like a dress but was more like overalls for a girl.

“Look, I'm sorry, none of this is meant to make you look good, you're supposed to look as though you belong on a farm.”

“It's fine, Kat, we’re just not used to this type of clothing, that's all.” Nellie scraped her hair back so she could fit a cap on her head.

Phoebe tried not to laugh, but it was no use. “Come on, Richard, you might as well get on with it.”

Within a few minutes, the group was swapping garments and trying to look as though they belonged in 1851.

"There's tea ready, and if you look in that bag, there's some bread and a little meat. Sorry, best I could do without drawing too much attention,” said Luke. The group was suddenly quiet and felt a little uneasy. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your fun.”

“No, that's not it, Luke, it's just … you know?” The words were not coming easy for Nellie.

“No, I don't really know.”

“It's been a long day,” said Kat, trying to ease the tension. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and everyone froze. Kat put her finger to her lips and whispered: “Don't even breathe.”

There was another knock. “Kat, it's Constable Davies, I saw you heading this way and I just wanted to make sure you were a'wright.”

“I'm fine, John, thanks for asking,” replied Kat in the hope that the Constable would continue on his rounds.

“Can I have a word with you, Kat, if you wouldn't mind.”

“I'm a little busy at the moment, can it wait?” Kat was stalling so she could usher everyone in to the back area of The Forge.

“Not really, it's quite important.”

“Okay, well, just a second, I'll be right there.” Kat pushed Phoebe’s head down and pulled an old tarp across everyone, then she gestured to Mauth and he lumbered over and lay down in front of it and pretended to be asleep.

“I’ll be right there, John.” And she unbolted the door. The bright sunlight caught her eyes and she squinted to see John Davies standing in the doorway. He was a large man and no one would think he could be scared of anyone but Kat could see the fear in his eyes from a night of sleepless work at the church.

“It's an awful thing, John, who …”

But before Kat could finish, the Constable cut her off. “The answer is on Lundy.”

Kat was stunned into silence. She stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“I seen the whole thing, Kat.” There was a hollowness in his voice as though he had witnessed an act of pure evil. "I know she's here, Kat. You’re safe, don't worry. Look, I'd best be going for now so as not to draw attention, but Father MacKintyre gave me this.” He handed Kat a cross in the shape of a Celtic knot. “He said to give this to her and to tell you the answer is on Lundy, said you'd know what it meant.” Several people were walking past so he returned to his normal voice. “And I just wanted to tell everyone that there's a meeting on the green at six ‘o clock tonight, thought you'd want to be there.”

As the Constable left Kat standing in the doorway to The Forge, some of the people walking by stopped him with questions. For what seemed like an eternity, Kat stood looking into space and it wasn't until Luke gently touched her on the arm that she moved again. “You should come inside, it's no good standing there all day - there's work to be done.”

“Right,” was all she could manage. Her mouth was dry and she was finding it hard to breathe.

“Here, drink some tea.” Luke handed her a mug as she sat down on a crate in shocked silence.

A Shift In Thinking

Monday 15 June 2015

The £1,800 Cup Of Coffee

Tuesday 9 June 2015

Nellie Darling And The Legend Of Nasty

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