The Malice of Fairies!

It is finished!  And here are the first few pages, first short chapter actually..  Picture of Ballyalban fairy fort courtesy of tripadvisor.   This post has now been edited, since the book has been, and the new improved first chapter c. April 2016 has replaced the original one.

Cover by Tara Moore

Chapter 1

Hallowe’en

“So, how come I’m the only one booked in at the Freke Park Hotel?” Deirdre asked Róisín, the conference manager.

 “Didn’t you request it? You ticked 5-star on the form – and it’s the only 5-star hotel in driving distance. You have your satnav?”

“Oh, yes, if it will work out here in the sticks.”

“You’ll be grand, so!” said Róisín, in a tone of steely cheerfulness.

Outside there was a gibbous moon and once Deirdre had pulled out of the conference-centre car park and into the dark country lanes, the scene was eerily lit. At first she drove confidently – only slightly unnerved when she looked into the mirror and found nothing but utter blackness – no street lights, no headlights behind her – just deep, enshrouding darkness. She was comforted to hear the satnav’s mechanical instructions occurring regularly. But it was strange – she didn’t recall it having an Irish accent this morning, when she’d picked the car up at the airport.

She had been driving along an interminable road through rough grassland land and bog, with no sign of any farm buildings, let alone a 5-star hotel, when she arrived at a crossroads. The satnav was annoyingly silent. She slowed down, then stopped by the Yield sign – peering about hopefully for a signpost, or even some evidence of human occupation. In one direction, the road went slightly uphill, and the beginnings of a hedge sprouted along a poorly maintained stone wall. In all other directions stretched unbounded tracts of bog. She probably ought to just go straight over the crossroads since there was no signpost. The right-hand road looked more domesticated though: that hedge indicated some sort of farming activity, and perhaps there’d be a place where she could ask directions.

A movement, glimpsed out of the corner of her eye, made her skin ripple with gooseflesh. A sinister dark shape was moving purposefully across the bog towards her. She quickly turned the key in the ignition, then panicked as the car wheezed, refusing to start. At a second try it coughed into life and she moved forward with relief, her headlights now picking out the old sheep which turned skittishly and trotted off.

Don’t they sleep? she thought irritably.

She turned right, and the satnav came alive.

“Change of direction has been noted. Will I re-compute the journey for ye now?”

“What?” This was mad – this was taking cute Irishry to desperate ends – next time she’d ask for a regular satnav – not some Tourist Board whimsy.

“Or would you rather just go your own sweet way?”

Deirdre felt panicky: this was not satnav-speak. She had heard her grandmother saying those words to her a hundred times throughout her childhood. For an instant she imagined that some thing, some entity, had taken it over. That was ridiculous – nothing could interfere with the laws of physics. It must be some daft folksy program they had put in. Perhaps if she re-set it …

She stopped the car a little farther up the road, where the hedge had given way to a thin band of trees. She re-set the satnav, and waited while green lights flashed on the device until it appeared to settle down.

When the satnav spoke this time, it had an old man’s voice, uttering the immortal words: “Well now, if I was you, I wouldn’t start from here.”

“Christ on a bike!” She clicked it off.

Damn it, she’d find her own way to the hotel. It wasn’t rocket science. She had a map too, an old Ordnance Survey map that had been in the car – the last hirer must have left it there. She opened the glove compartment and pulled it out. There was the conference centre, and there was Freke Park. So she must have come this way ... now was it this crossroads … or that … perhaps this one? The contours were changing. Then she gasped as the interior light went out. She scrabbled at the switch, but nothing happened.

It was now so utterly dark that she could barely see the road beyond the headlights. Deirdre flung the map on the passenger seat. She’d seen enough – she’d go on up the hill, see if she could find a farm to ask directions. Failing that, she’d soon arrive at Caisleanshee, which looked like a small village. Surely there’d be a bar there? It was still only seven thirty; she’d be at the hotel in time for dinner. She started the car again and drove on up the hill. The trees were dense and full grown on either side now, and they reached to meet each other overhead so that she was driving through a deep tunnel of boughs, which were still well-leafed. At the brow of the hill, the road fell steeply down, but she noticed an opening onto a green way off to her left, through the trees. That must be the drive to a farm, she thought. There was a wooden noticeboard as she turned into the lane, but the sign was written in Gaelic script and she couldn’t make it out. It was so silent, driving across grass, through the still tunnel of trees. The lane ran steeply downhill – she felt as if she were tumbling down it towards something. As her headlights cut the darkness, through the rear-view mirror she saw it falling back into place around her, unscathed and absolute. She felt like the only person in the world.

This is quite a drive, she thought, hoping it would be a short cut to the hotel too.

After several minutes of uncertainty she stopped. She’d always been afraid of the dark – now she was trembling with the effort of not giving in to her anxiety.

This is ridiculous, she thought. There’s nothing threatening you, you’re out in the countryside, in one of the safest countries in the world. You have nothing to be afraid of!

The moon had deserted her, invisible beyond the trees which were packed together as densely as fencing pales. And if she switched the headlights off ... but she was not going to do that.

How much farther can it be? I must have gone a mile already surely ... I’ll turn around, that would be best.

But she could see that the road was so narrow that it would be impossible for her car to turn in it.

“Oh, if only I’d got one of those tiny cars – that would have turned here, no problem!”

“If you’d a smaller car, the road would be narrower,” a woman’s voice said.

Deirdre yelped. “Who’s that?”

But there was no answer. She looked about – certain there was no one outside. With a loudly beating heart, she cautiously opened the door – it scraped against the stone wall – the road here was barely wider than a parking space. There was nothing to do but go on, and hope she could turn in a field gate, or indeed in the farmyard she was expecting to find any minute.

A little music perhaps? she said to herself, clicking the radio on.

She pressed the different buttons, attempting to find one audible channel – but there was nothing but crackles, and white noise, until at last she found a station which was playing, very faintly, some fiddle music. It wasn’t her sort of thing, but it was the only thing available, so she started the car again, and drove on, fighting down a fear that it would get narrower and narrower and she would have to somehow reverse all the way back. More time passed – she wasn’t sure how much, since the car’s clock seemed to have stopped when the interior lights gave up the ghost. Thank heavens for the radio – but then again, this station seemed to play nothing but fiddle music, with no announcements, adverts or news flashes. It alternated between lively dancing music, so vivid that she could almost see the fiddler’s elbow bobbing and swooping, and slower, majestic, heartbreaking tones, that seemed to convey a lost grandeur, a noble race whose glory had faded forever.

As one of these tragic pieces came to an end, so did the road and she found, to her relief, that she was in a small green circle with room to turn around. There was no farmhouse though: the road ended here, in a steep wall of rock. Deirdre thumped the steering wheel in frustration, and accidentally hit the horn. To her surprise the sound was echoed with a couple of seconds delay in the radio broadcast. For a moment she felt her hairs rise a little. How could that be? A coincidence. You occasionally heard these things on live Radio 3 concerts – a police siren serenading the Schubert or whatever.

Deirdre sat up straight and took a few deep breaths – she had clearly been breathing too shallowly – her brain was starved of blood – that was why she was feeling panicky. There was no way out but back, but it looked like there would be enough space to turn around and leave by the way she had come. She drove cautiously into the circle but, as she turned to face the opposite direction, she was horrified to see the headlights of a car approaching along the lane. There’d been no sign of any car behind her before – how on earth had it got this close without her noticing?

It would probably be a local farmer, someone who could give her directions, but she couldn’t see how they would both be able to turn about in this tiny circle. As the car drew near her, she saw that it was a small, neat sports car. Was this a lovers’ lane? This circle would be ideal for a courting couple. Romantic even, if you were in the mood, but Deirdre was definitely not. A shower, a change and a hot meal were her sole desires at present. Still, it was embarrassing. She’d have to ask them to help her out. She manoeuvred her car to the side of the circle to make room. However, the car stopped in the mouth of the lane, blocking her way out. He – it would be a man of course – had deliberately blocked her exit! Deirdre was really frightened now, and quickly turned to lock herself into the car, but there was no reassuring click of locks – had that failed too? Well, she’d just sit tight. What was it they said about opening automatic windows in dangerous situations? Don’t! was the only advice she remembered.

The door of the little sports car opened, and a surprisingly tall man unfolded himself from the driving seat and crossed the green circle to her. He didn’t seem fazed by the headlights, which illuminated his almost glowing green eyes. That’s not possible, she told herself, noticing how incredibly attractive he was. This was irrationally reassuring. Surely such a handsome man wouldn’t have any evil designs on her?

He bent down and briefly touched the driver’s window – it slid down smoothly and he leaned towards her. She could barely bring herself to look at him. He was so gorgeous she was afraid he would see her interest on her face. But she still had to get herself out of this.

“I’m afraid I’m lost!” she said, as cheerfully as she could manage.

“Were you looking for me?”

“Well, I was looking for someone to give me directions.”

“So, since I’m the only one who lives hereabouts, you were looking for me then.” He smiled, with curving lips that reminded her of an Aubrey Beardsley faun. She found herself checking his ears, to see if they were pointed, but they were covered with brilliant, thick red-gold curls.

“I suppose I was then,” she said, smiling up at him. God, this is ridiculous, he’s so ...

“Well – you’ve found me now.” His voice had a husky edge to it, and he was smiling faintly, but invitingly.

“I wonder, could you tell me the way to the Freke Park Hotel? My satnav went on the blink at the crossroads down the hill and I got confused.”

“They’re terrible things, aren’t they? I never use them on my roads – I won’t have them.”

“You surely don’t need one for this area yourself?”

“No, no ... now, let me think.”

He turned his head to one side and half-closed his eyes, allowing her to admire the slightly slanting lids and the high cheekbones. Suddenly Deirdre felt very lumpen and ordinary – even if he came back to the hotel with her and she changed into her smart black dress, she’d feel too dowdy to be seen with him.

He dropped his head to look down at her again, and she could see he was assessing her. She didn’t really mind as much as she usually would have.

“I think I’ll turn around and you can follow me to the hotel – that’d be best, wouldn’t it?” he said.

That voice: warm and deep as an embrace.

“Oh, would you? That’s so kind, but if you can just show me on the map ...”

He pushed it away. “It’s no trouble at all – I’m always happy to help a visitor – just follow me.”

He got back into the car and it turned about without doing any obvious manoeuvres ... as if it compacted itself, spun around and then elongated itself, as it was now a long, elegant, low-slung car, rather like an old E-type Jag. Since this was impossible, Deirdre did not believe what she was seeing. The darkness and her fear had discombobulated her. His car started up the lane at a fair old lick and Deirdre followed. He was the perfect guide, slowing at the crossroads, indicating in good time. It was all too easy to follow him, and within a few minutes he was driving into the brightly lit hotel car park.

During the drive, Deirdre formulated her plan: she wasn’t going to let him get away. She was on her own this evening, since Niall had abruptly dumped her by cancelling their plans for dinner, and she would be happy to have the company of this handsome local landowner, or whatever he was. She was betting he was a bachelor: a car like that, no wedding ring. He might be gay of course, but she was curious know more about him.

He parked his car beside the hotel and she jumped out to speak to him. When she touched the vehicle she was surprised to discover it was not apparently made of steel – but a soft, almost rubbery material. It must be one of those new smart materials which could be programmed to change shape and so on. He opened his window.

“Thank you so much for your help,” she said. “I was quite lost out there.”

“You were nearly entirely lost, but I’m delighted to have had the opportunity to help you.”

“Can I buy you a drink to say thank you?”

He inclined his head.

“That is, if you don’t have another engagement?”

He looked up at her, his eyes looking straight into hers – and to her surprise she saw a distinct interest.

“Why don’t we have dinner together and make a night of it?” he said.

The low, slightly rough tone in his voice suggested something earthier than his sophisticated appearance.

“That would be lovely – I think the food’s meant to be pretty good here.”

“Wouldn’t you rather come back to the old castle with me?” he asked.

Deirdre’s skin prickled ... having dinner with him in the carefully lit hotel dining room was one thing ... but going to some old castle, however charming and traditional – she didn’t like the sound of that at all. The hotel dining room was nice and public, but presumably they’d be on their own at his castle. He was a stranger, anything could happen, yet no alarm bells were ringing – she was more concerned with the trivial horrors of dust, damp, draughts, cobwebs, spiders, beetles, mould … and yet ... She felt herself being gently nudged towards saying yes and having no resistance to the proposal.

He would have a drink in the lobby while she changed for dinner.

After a quick shower, she came back downstairs in her black dress and some jewellery and saw him sitting in a wingback chair, turning the pages of theIrish Arts Review. With his tumbler of whisky beside him, all he needed was a red setter at his feet to look every inch a member of the gentry. Out there in the green turning-circle by the rock he had seemed austere, aloof. His beauty had been almost sinister, but now, seeing him in proper lighting, everything about him appealed to her, even his slightly outré green velvet jacket. It gave him a charming, sexy, boho air. Of course a lot of these gentry types were old hippies really. She hoped to God he’d got a decent bathroom back at his place and that the “castle” wasn’t just some glorified tepee in a field.

She handed in her key at the desk.

“Are you not eating with us, Professor Riordan?” the receptionist asked.

“I’m sorry – will you cancel my reservation please – I’ve been invited to the old castle for the evening.”

The girl looked at her in astonishment.

“Do you know the place at all?” she asked in a low voice.

“No – my friend over there is taking me.” Deirdre gestured in his direction – but the wingback chair stood empty and the glass empty beside it on a table.

The girl nodded uneasily. “Oh, that gentleman … but he’s … Well, I wish you a pleasant evening.”

This small exchange gave Deirdre a slightly frosty feel, but her “gentleman” was standing by the door waiting for her, giving her an approving look.

“Have you a coat?” he asked.

“It’s a warm enough night – the jacket will be fine, won’t it?”

“I’m sure it will,” he said, putting his arm through hers.

As soon as he touched her, she felt two conflicting sensations: the first a sort of limpness, as if her intellectual faculties were draining away, then a weird vitality as though a green sap was pumping through her veins, making her feel intensely alive. The “body-mind disjunction”, was her last rational thought as they walked towards his car.