She-Hag and the Night Mare Legend: She-Hag series, #1

By Mark Davey

Just an ordinary teenager living an un-extraordinary life in a busy city; unremarkable from the crowds and un-noticed by the world - But when Travis and his virtually single mother, Sharon, turn up on the door step of his estranged, extended family in the Welsh hills it proves to be a spoke in the wheel of an ancient battle between secret and hidden communities that live, undetected, among us.

The town's folk are becoming increasingly tired and irritable due to an unexplained outbreak of widespread paranormal nightmares. What could be causing such an all pervasing phenomena? Who is capturing the latent energy of these nightmares? And why?

Cataclysmic cabals are forming; Witches and Werewolves, Druids and Demons, Humans and Vampires are all being pulled inextricably towards a sub-human, supernatural battle. As archaic magic and primeval power inevitably clash, Travis gradually uncovers an age-old war where he is pushed by all those involved to choose a side. Even more dramatically; it begins to dawn on Travis that his life and Time-Line appear to be far more intrinsically linked and woven into the mystical events being unearthed than he could ever have imagined.

Celtic Mythology and Contemorary Conflict magically collide in 'She-Hag and the Night Mare Legend'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.S.Trees
• Release date: Oct 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995610118

Book preview

She-Hag

&

The Night Mare Legend

She-Hag and the Night Mare Legend

Mark Davey

Copyright Mark Davey 2016

Published by J.S. TREES Publishing

License Statement

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mark Davey is a former college lecturer, teaching students in the School of Health & Social Care. He has worked as a Social Worker, Community Worker, Youth Worker, Lecturer and Entrepreneur.  He lives with his wife in London and South Wales.

To my Darling wife,

Who taught me ‘Believing is Seeing!’

BOOK ONE:

She-Hag

&

The Night Mare Legend

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Prologue:

NEITHER BEAST NOR MAN!!!

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This is the bit before the actual story starts.  We could have started it at any point.  We could have begun this story thousands of years ago at the dawn of what we call time.  We could have begun hundreds of years ago when the Great Treaty was signed.  We could have begun when the Council was torn apart or when civil war was only just avoided.  We could have begun decades ago when The Plan was first conceived.  However, we begin just one week before our story actually starts - for no particular reason; other than it was quite some evening!

It was a very dark night - made darker because thick, black clouds hid the pen-umbra moon. The trees of Ynys-Y-Graig forest clawed at the overcast blanket above.  Wind shook the trees and howled, as it forced its way though the swaying branches. The rain began to fall.

A figure made her way through the tight bushes at the base of the creaking trees.  She wore a purple cloak and hood that the raindrops hit, yet remained perfectly whole as they ran the length of her short, plump body before dropping to the damp forest floor. She moved quickly though the trees, with almost as much force as the wind of the storm itself.  As she pushed her way through the thicket, following a path that had long since overgrown, she would hack cuttings off various trees and stuff them into a brown, jute bag.

The creature that followed stayed a safe distance away so as not to be seen.  His cold blue eyes were perfect accessories for this stormy evening. The rain made the wolf-like beast’s fur coat drip wet. His eyebrows lowered as his lips rose to form a snarl that began deep in his throat.

The figure reached a clearing in the forest as the moon peaked out from behind several fast-moving clouds.  She stopped for a moment raising her bag above her head like an offering to the welcomed moonlight.  Raindrops ran off the end of her nose as she squealed out a cackle of a laugh before waddling on through the clearing to the small candle-lit, thatched cottage ahead.  Taking a key from her cloak pocket she quickly opened the door and vanished inside. 

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The wolf-beast ran up to the bright window and stood up on his hind legs as if two legs were infinitely more appealing than four.  He stretched his shoulders behind him till his backbone cracked.  Looking through the window, while keeping out of sight, he attempted to see where the old woman had gone.  Wooden shelves stacked with old books, bottles and jars filled each wall.  A large, wooden Welsh dresser decorated with cups, plates and a matching tea set stood to the right.  There was a breadboard on the table with a half eaten loaf of bread, a great lump of cheese and a very sharp knife on top of a red checked gingham tablecloth. The room was dark except for several candles of different height burning around the room and a ferocious wood fire with a very large cast iron stew pot bubbling away fixed above the flames. Standing in front of the pot she opened her bag, tipped the tree cuttings into a smaller pot of pinkish liquid, then poured all of her mixture into the large cauldron and just waited.  There was a wilder bubbling before something began to poke out of the surface of the stew.  Slowly the head of a new-born foal began to appear. This young horse at first seemed white, though it was actually semi-transparent! After the neck a pair of gangly legs also thrust out of the stew pot violently pulling the rest of the colt’s body behind it. Soon she was completely out of the pot, which she could never have fitted back into due to her current size. She stood next to the old woman, a little unsteady on her legs but getting stronger all the while.  She also grew taller as the woman led her towards the door.  The wolf-beast took cover in some near by bushes on hearing her coming.  By the time this odd couple were outside the cottage standing in the rain the white, transparent horse was now fully grown.  In a flash, the old woman was on the horse, riding bare back down the lane, laughing loudly as she rode towards the village.  The dark haired beast darted out of the bushes, sniffing the trail and following, again at a safe distance not to be seen.

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For hours the beast followed closely behind the old woman and her horse as she rode through the wet streets of the village. They danced this way and that. They passed parked cars, neatly planted gardens, gates swinging in the wind and even a half asleep milkman who failed to notice the three very strange companions he shared the darkened streets with.  Then all at once she was gone. No sight of her and the trail had gone too! In the distance dawn began to creep up over the mountain horizon. Birds had begun to sing as the beast sniffed the air before running towards the high fence of blue iron spikes. He leapt completely over the fence landing on the tarmac yard beyond.  Immediately he disappeared through an open window and found himself in an office.  Standing upright again he shut the window as the hairs began to recede back into his body and his face creaked and groaned its way back to its normal shape of a dark haired man of about forty five years of age. Only the piercing blue eyes remained.  He wiped his hair dry with a towel and put on underpants and trousers before sitting down at the desk to put on socks and shoes. Next came the shirt and tie, only then did he allow himself time to take a long breath.  Leaning back in the chair he let himself rest at last.  He intended to rest for just a few moments but it was several hours later he awoke to the sound of the office door opening.  A neat woman, with blond tied back hair, black wire rimmed glasses and a little too much burnt orange lipstick, spread around the lips of her mouth, entered the office. Startled, he leapt up as if he had been heading for the window when she opened the door. He stood in front of the window looking out at the schoolyard filling with pupils in grey trousers and blue jumpers.  Several bags were being used as goal posts by a bunch of fourteen-year-old boys playing football near the Dinas Community Comprehensive School sign. The burnt orange mouth formed a large smile.

Good morning! Are you ready for the last week of term Headmaster? She enquired.

Ready, willing and able! He smiled back and did a mock soldier salute.  The last week of the summer term began the countdown to the holidays, and then our story really begins.

EPISODE ONE:

Living a Boy’s Adventure

Chapter One: Genesis

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And so it begins! That’s the trouble with beginnings – they never just stay there. Beginnings are like steppingstones to whatever comes next. However, what was about to come next was happening too early. It would not be time for at least another four years, but fear and impatience were powerful forces driving a weak soul to make choices that would affect the many, unaware of the price they would all have to pay simply for being there, as characters caught up in these untimely events.  Like the first domino to fall will, eventually, lead to them all laying on the ground – a beginning with far reaching consequences was about to unfold.  Every journey begins with the first step, or so they say, and the first step on this particular journey was about to be taken.

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Travis Gioberti walked out through the school gates of Lakeland Comprehensive School in the East London Borough of Hackney. It was the second Wednesday of July and the summer holidays had begun.  He was almost fourteen years old but big enough for his age to be one or even two years older. His long, blond, curly locks acted as a contrast to his black eyebrows and olive complexion that was so dark it looked like a foreign holiday suntan.  His deep brown eyes sparkled with a smile at the thought of no school for six whole weeks – then he remembered his mother’s plans to whisk them off to the back of beyond in some Welsh valley to stay with a grandmother he had never seen.  His smile turned into a frown.  It wasn’t as if it was even her mother – this Welsh stranger-in-law was the mother of his forever-missing father who had spent more years of Travis’ life behind bars than out.  His father was a petty crook who wished he was a gangster – only he kept getting caught and so was never as big or bad as his delusions of grandeur.

Travis loosened his school tie and pulled the circle of blue and red up to his forehead then tightened it again making a ‘head-band’ of sorts that would mop up the sweat that ran from his head in the heat of the summer sun. He unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his pale blue school shirt before starting to run as he entered the local park; which served as a short cut home. This park was the most greenery Travis ever saw on a daily basis – he guessed that Wales would be very different: sheep, mountains, trees, sheep, old woman that had never wanted to know him and even more sheep! He continued his stereotypical musings as he ran on through the park. Half way through the tarmac trail he left the pathway and made his way past some bushes and a badly vandalised, out of use, public toilet.  The door had been kicked in and there were sooty signs of a fire around the glassless metal window frame.  There were some old magazines of women in various states of undress and several used syringes scattered around the dusty walkway. Travis avoided stepping in a turd that while fresh, was small enough to be dog’s mess but big enough to be human excrement. Behind the disused toilet was the rusty park fence with enough spikes missing to form an even shorter cut home. Travis Slipped through the fence and found himself on Crimea Terrace which housed three large blocks of flats (his own being the middle one). 

Outside Florence Nightingale Court, two small children played trampoline on an old sofa, carefully avoiding jumping on three rusty springs that had burst through the worn covering.

Catch me! shouted the little girl as she leapt off the sofa towards Travis.  Dropping his canvas rucksack containing the last day of term’s schoolwork Travis managed to grip her tightly and drop her gently to the floor.

‘Ow long yer gonna be gone for? asked Amy with her bottom lip poking out, pretending she was about to cry as only little girls can.

You know I’ll be gone all summer – but September is only six week’s away. Then you can jump on me again.

Oi!!! Get yer backside up here and ‘elp me down with these cases! shouted Sharon Gioberti.  She was a natural blond, her hair being short and spiky in style, very pale completion with striking blue eyes, made even brighter by too much eyeliner and mascara. The bags under her eyes told the story of the many sleepless nights and tears resulting from severe mood swings and a cocktail of anti-depressants that had been the pattern of her entire adult life. She stubbed out her cigarette on the fourth floor balcony and threw the dog-end down to the street below.

Travis picked up his rucksack and walked through the main entrance doors.  The grey hallway smelled equally of urine and bleach and the lift was out of action, again. Making his way up the concrete stairs, past all the announcements of who loves whom this week and which football teams and pop bands were presently in favour, he avoided the numerous globules of phlegm and spittle on many of the steps along the stairway. He was soon at the open, pillar-box red, front door of his flat on the fourth floor, where he saw the cases and bags blanketing the well-worn purple passage carpet. 

C’mon, get changed – we’ve got a bus to catch, Sharon said wobbling a new cigarette in her lips that she was attempting to light.  Travis went into his bedroom.  The curtains were shut, making the sky-blue walls seem as grey as the concrete stairway.  The bed was unmade, with the quilt twisted up into a ball near the pillow and the under sheet pulled out from the mattress along the bottom of the bed. Travis threw some computer games and handset into his rucksack along with; a paperback novel, pen, notepad and finally a ‘Heavy Metal’ music magazine. He tore open the blue school shirt and sniffed it - Phew! - Grinning as he imagined the stink by September, he threw it onto the bed.  Pulling down his black school trousers he sat on the bed as they landed round his ankles.  In one action he rolled back kicking the trousers off into the air and into the corner of the bedroom.  He pulled up his right leg so he could smell his socks. ‘Fine!’ he thought to himself as he wormed his feet into his trainers, then he took them off again grabbing a pair of jeans. Having wormed his trainers back on, he fished for a black T-shirt in the middle drawer of his bedside cabinet. He sprayed under his arms and across his chest with deodorant and pulled the T-shirt over his head, throwing the spray can into the rucksack too.  Dragging four pound coins and a five-pound note into his left hand with his right from the bedside cabinet, he popped the money into the pocket of his jeans. Blowing a kiss to himself in the mirror he shouted Ready! 

In the passage his mother stood next to the bags and cases, she rolled her eyes and picking up two bags she walked through the door, leaving two cases, a bag, the rucksack and an electric guitar for Travis. 

An hour and a half later Travis collapsed, exhausted, into the coach seat next to his mother as they left Victoria Bus Station.  The bus made its way through the busy London streets, past the Thames on the left and then onto the M4 motorway.  Sharon pointed out the top of Windsor Castle before curling up with a love story library book that would be returned several weeks late.  She loved her romance novels where she could get lost in imaginings and fantasies of all the wonderful moments denied to her; the tender kisses, strong arms and dependable men that had somehow unfairly eluded her. By the time the couple had failed to get together for the third time they were crossing the suspension bridge over the River Severn and through the toll crossing.  Then when the hero, realising that he loved the girl all along, arrived at her hospital bed to kiss her – just once, before her terminal illness got the better of her - they arrived at Cardiff Bus Station.  Sharon wiped away the tears and Travis struggled with the baggage as they made their way to the train station. 

The balding Ticket Guard with tufts of white hair and side-burns came along moments after they had taken their seats in the train carriage. Just forty-five minutes later the horizon had gone from a city landscape to woods, hills and mountains.  Small rows of tiny terraced houses cut into the hillside, rock faces peeked out from trees and bushes, dry-stone walls marked the boundary of various farms and there appeared to be either a Church, shop or pub on every corner!

Not a sheep in sight! remarked Travis to Sharon who failed to hear as she was already into another library romance.  He was about to say it again when the train stopped at the end of the line – Dinas Train Station.  They didn’t rush because the ticket guard explained that it would be another fifteen minutes before the train would start up again reversing all the way back to Cardiff. 

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The platform had probably changed little in the last hundred years except for a few coats of paint on the woodwork, two of the four windows being bricked up and an electronic camera spying on troublemakers, along with the rest of the population of this small valley community.

However, someone other than the railway security was watching these events unfold. Through steamy smoke Travis, Sharon and their luggage appeared like a scene from a 1950 black and white mellow drama. The steam rose from a large black pot of bubbling brown liquid on top of a log fire in a darkened room.  Long grey hair tied up in a bun sat on top of a plump older woman. Wrinkles ran in all directions across her face and her leathery tongue worked its way slowly around the lips of her toothless grin. Her eyes tightened to thin black slits, He is here – and so it begins! she whispered.

That’s the trouble with beginnings – they never just stay there.  They are always but a first step to something else.  They always lead us to somewhere or something new.  Sometimes beginnings take us to good things, but sometimes they pull us towards that which is very, very bad! 

Chapter Two: Family Re-union

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Someone once said that we can choose our friends, but we are stuck with our relatives!  Often we describe relatives as people we belong to – but what if you don’t belong?  What if your presence is undesirable? What if your very existence is an abomination? What do you do then, when you find yourself right in the middle of a family reunion? 

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Having just walked up the Main Road, turned left up a hill and then turned right into a back street that still managed to slope gradually uphill Travis struggled with most of the baggage.  Sharon walked just in front of him trying to look around at everything all at the same time.  She was taking in every door and window of each house, every parked car, each lamp-post and telephone wire, all the satellite dishes perched on the various walls of the homes they passed.  As she walked she began to sob.

It all looks the same and yet everything looks different! she cried as she lit a cigarette. I never thought I’d walk down this street again.

I still don’t know why we are! enquired Travis, but Sharon wasn’t listening; she had stopped dead at a white PVC door with a large, tarnished door-knocker and a small stained glass window.

This is it, she exclaimed, Number 27 Glyn Terrace! She threw her cigarette into the gutter and wiped her mascara-blackened tears before knocking at the door. Sharon breathed out hard letting all the smoke leave her lungs and then took a deep breath as a light came on indicating someone was coming towards the door.  The door opened revealing a woman in her early sixties. She had short curly dyed black hair, tall and slim wearing a pink dressing gown and fluffy slippers.  Her skin was dark like Travis’ own skin, but there were none of the other similarities he had secretly hoped to see when he came face to face with his father’s mother.

What the hell are you doing here? Questioned the pink vision.

Oh Mags, I’m so sorry to turn up unannounced but I just couldn’t cope no more. I had to get away and I had no where else to go!

It’s ‘MARGARET’ and you clearly had no where else to go, because I’ve had no contact from you for fourteen years and you just turn up like this. How did you know I wasn’t dead or something?

Tony said he phones you from prison from time to time and ....

It’s Anthony! And yes, I get a call on birthdays and Christmas from my son, if I’m lucky. By the looks of those cases you haven’t just called round for a fish and chip supper? She looked Travis up and down. You’d better both come in then. Stepping back into the passageway behind her, Sharon began to follow.  Travis looked up and down the street, seeing a couple of faces hide back behind their net curtains; he carried their luggage through the door of the small terraced house, kicking it shut behind him.

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It wasn’t long before there was a pile of thickly cut bacon sandwiches on the table and Sharon was pouring them both a mug of tea. The room was small and doubled up as a living room and dining room in one, with one door leading back out to the front passage way, one door leading out to a single story kitchen and bathroom beyond and a final door leading upstairs.  There was a brown soft settee in the room and a large television with a D.V.D. player underneath, a long sideboard with too many ornaments and a telephone on top of a directory and the final piece of furniture packed into the tiny room was a four-seated dining table and chairs. Travis eagerly munched on the bacon sandwiches as Sharon attempted to explain to Margaret the reason for their visit.

Oh I can’t thank you enough, she spluttered with a mouth full of hot tea and chewed bacon sandwiches. Since Tony went inside again life has just become so black and I can’t see a way out.  I got no friends, no company .... I’m just so lonely.

Travis carried on munching the hot bacon sandwiches as Margaret glared at him.

Young man those sandwiches are not all for you.  It’s not cheap bacon like your father gets off the back of a lorry!

Look missus, I don’t even want to be here. If you don’t want me to eat your stuff you should have put what was for me on my plate. You put them all on one plate and told me to help me self! So I did. I’m sorry if that offends you but I was just doing what I was told.

Well I never expected the first time my grandson spoke to me it would be such a rude outburst.

Please, stop both of you. I just need some peace! shrieked Sharon.

Let me show you both to your rooms. Margaret interrupted, We can talk more tomorrow. It’s been quite a night for us all. She stood and indicated that they follow her up the stairs.  After they had creaked their way up to the small landing at the top of the stairs, in front of them was a tiny room that Margaret took Sharon into after she relieved Travis of her baggage.  Then Margaret passed the other larger front bedroom that was obviously her own, leading Travis to the back bedroom.  This room was painted dusty pink with grey gloss woodwork and the bed had a white cuddly toy dog on it. 

Make your self comfortable and sleep well. whispered Margaret closing the door tightly.  Travis dumped the bags on the floor and made his way over to the window that he tried to open being such a warm evening, but the window was locked and he couldn’t see a key.  He looked out at the dark horizon. He could make out the houses of the terrace behind the row he was staying in.  As the streets were built on a hill each house was a little higher than their next-door neighbour making the street look like a staircase leading to the blackened mountain beyond. The roof-tops, telephone poles and even the bushes up on the mountain had a silver glimmer from the gentle glow of a half moon that hung in a very starry sky. Just in front of the window Travis could make out the point of the kitchen and bathroom roof of the ground floor and imagined, with the window open, how easy it would be to make midnight escapes from this bedroom.  Perhaps there were some adventures to be had this summer after all. Looking around the room he spotted a picture of his parents wedding day.  His father looked like the lead singer in some nineties’ boy band and his mother looked ..... she looked happy! Both sights he could barely remember seeing. There were also a couple of photographs of his father as a schoolboy and a painting of a forest scene.  Travis sat on the bed took off his tee shirt, trainers and socks; throwing them all in a pile and slipped off his jeans. He pulled the light cord plunging the room into darkness and kicked the fluffy, white, toy dog off the bed before sliding under the quilt. In moments he was fast asleep. He was unsure how long afterwards he found himself wide-awake staring at the window that illuminated the room with moonlight. Something was moving out on the roof! Was it a cat? It seemed bigger. Was it a burglar? It seemed furry. Was it the cuddly dog in some kind of weird dream? Travis sat up and looked hard at the window. Suddenly a huge, hairy white face appeared with glowing yellow eyes, a great black moist nose and big, white fangs shown through a snarl.  It came right up to the window; it’s hot breath steaming the patch of glass in front of its mouth. Travis’ eyes met those of the creature and he let out a scream. Sharon followed Margaret as she burst through the door and pulled at the light cord filling the room with a pink glow from the lampshade above.

Arrghhh!!! Travis still screamed.

What the hell’s the matter with you? shouted Margaret even louder than Travis’ terrified yelping.

Th-the window. The window. He stammered.

If it’s too warm you only have to ask and I’ll get the key!

A white wolf at the window! he shouted.

Oh my baby’s had a nightmare. said Sharon cuddling Travis head and glancing down at the white cuddly toy dog, Never you mind. There are no wolves in Wales my brave boy. Margaret closed the curtains and pulled the light cord as she left the bedroom.  Sharon kissed Travis on the cheek and pulled the door closed behind her and soon everyone was back in their own beds. Travis looked at the shape of the window through the curtains made by the glow of the moon.  He got out of bed and opened the curtains.  The hot breath steam patch was still visible – it had been no dream! In the steam Travis could make out some words scratched into the condensation as if with a pin or a claw:

BEWARE THE WITCH

Travis got back into bed but it was a night of very disturbed sleep as images of the wolf-like face kept flooding into his mind. Sharon sat on her bed and used her mobile phone torchlight to look at the many containers of prescribed tablets filling her lap. Outside Travis’ bedroom Margaret stood in the darkness and stared hard at the door muttering words silently under her breath before she returned to her room.

Family is usually the place we run to when we have a problem.  Sometimes, though, it’s a family member we have a problem with. But when family members happen to be strangers and we get thrown together; perhaps the only thing we can do with our problems is sleep on them, because tomorrow is another day.

CHAPTER THREE: THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

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When we find ourselves surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar place an act of kindness is always welcome – but the kindness of strangers is probably the most welcome all.

Travis woke to the sound of voices downstairs. He leapt out of bed and tip-toed out onto the landing at the top of the stairs where he could hear his mother and grandmother talking.

You shouldn’t have come back! said Margaret sternly.

I know! I Know, responded Sharon. But I just had to.

You gave up your right to do what you wanted fourteen years ago and now who knows what terrible process you may have started.  Why didn’t you contact me before you came?

Because deep in my guts I knew you’d stop me coming!!!

You should pay more attention to your gut reactions, my girl!

Travis walked backwards into the bedroom without a sound and quickly dressed. Once again he stood at the top of the stairs and began to listen. Sharon was telling Margaret about somewhere she wanted to go and Margaret was, quite forcibly, telling her it was not a good idea.  Travis suddenly realised how full his bladder was and made his way down the stairs two steps at a time.

Morning babes, smiled Sharon blowing him a kiss.

Cereals or toast? enquired Margaret.

Both please, can’t stop I need a pee! Travis responded, glaring at his grandmother as he passed her on his way to the toilet and bathroom beyond the kitchen.  When he returned there was a supermarket own brand of cereal in a bowl with milk already making it soggy and hot, thickly cut, buttered toast on a side plate along with a mug of tea waiting for him.

Your mother and I have a lot of catching up to do, so I’ve arranged for you to call to your Auntie Lucinda’s café for your lunch.  You can’t miss it.  You’ll find it on the main road.

"It’s called ‘Gioberti’s’ after your family name! said Sharon proudly, Your Grandmother’s father was an Italian immigrant called Marco Gioberti and he opened the café when he moved to Wales.  He would be your great grandfather!"

"Lucinda