Hunters' Moon

By Nicholas Peter Blatt

What is a big game hunter from South Africa doing in Cornwall with military grade hardware and a bunch of silver bullet toting mercenaries?
Sara Tremayne, local Vlogger and animal rights activist, finds herself in way over her head when she pry's on the new residents over at Blackwater Hall. She's going to need backup, but can she count on the village Priest, Father Shaw, who is fighting demons of his own?
The Travelers have returned to the Standing Stones to celebrate Samhain.
Something is at large on the Moor.
The first full moon of winter is rising, the Hunters' Moon.
One thing's for sure, the village of Trebannon Withic will see a Halloween like no other.
At least, those that survive will!

 

127 Pages

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicholas Peter Blatt
• Release date: Feb 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215910580

Book preview

Thunder Moon 1986

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

Bismillahir rahmanir rahim.

(In the name of Allah, the most gracious, the most merciful.)

Its skin burned under the blazing moon, full and powerful. The calling of eons commanding deep within. Night was its element, the forest its domain. It passed through on all fours, faster than the deer and stealthier, barely making a sound for something of its immense size. Its senses were finely attuned amidst the dark mantle, seeing what could not be seen by others, sensing what those that walked in its dominion, could not.

Now it sensed men.

Six of them, their footfalls on the forest floor sending ripples out across the fractured glass surface. It had caught their scents some time ago. The metallic scrape and click meant danger. It lowered itself to the ground as it slowed, legs reaching out to the sides, like a giant spider. Its chest skimmed the, moss and dirt with long hair. The broad head sought to locate the direction more accurately. It stopped by a large Horse Chestnut.

They were close.

It stretched upward, its thick hind legs elongated at the hock as it drew itself upright, the forelegs wrapping around the trunk as it sampled the air.

It smelt smoke, fear and blood.

Its talons dug deep into the wood.

The same moon, that aided its sight, also signalled it was time to hunt.

The Nordic blue Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit sailed through the countryside, its expensive bulk cushioning its passengers against the abrupt turns and dips of the road. The open fields had disappeared, the horizon now hidden by woodland. The headlights briefly stroking spiky hedgerows, parting only to reveal pale trees like ghosts, lurking in the shadows. Occasionally, it slowed, discovering an opening at the roadside, but these became less frequent as it sped on in search of the gated driveway that was its destination.

The heavy wrought irons gates of Blackwater Hall.

In the rear of the leather opulence a couple sat, bedecked in jewellery and clothes that belied their mature years. Her hair and makeup had been set in the salon in Knightsbridge, before the drive to the airfield, the jet to Cornwall and now the drive cross country to the house. He had dressed fresh from his post squash game shower at the Belgravia club.

A formidable wall of old brick emerged from the blackness to run alongside them.

Ah, his looks promising Masoud said optimistically.

I told you we should have left earlier, Masoud!

"We left in good time Najat. If you hadn’t made a scene at the restaurant... he said in his slow, placating tone. We just have to navigate these local roads. Don’t we Wazir?"

The chauffeur took the pointed reference and nodded into the rear-view mirror.

The scene her husband was referring to, using his English Boarding school vernacular, was her berating of their waiter at the Bistro, for lacking deference. She always made a point, not matter what the restaurant, to send back at least one course, to re-enforce her importance. He had grown keenly aware that people with no self-esteem themselves could only obtain it by taking it from others. It just bewildered him that, with all that they possessed, she felt it necessary at all? He consoled himself, as usual, with a cigar.

Must you! She lowered the window, but the cold, damp air blew in re-arranging her hair, so she pressed it back up. Why your brother had to buy all the way out here?

The wall rolled past them, finally giving way to a wide opening where two huge, square gateposts topped with ball lights, stood sentry in the gloom.

Ah, we are here he said, taking the cigar out from under his thick grey moustache.

Najat shook her head, the Cole she had put in her eyes was beginning to irritate.

I told you, Najat a little patience.

The car turned off the road to a wide, arched, double height gate. On either side were large stone buttresses, against one was a grey camera the size and shape of a shoebox, by the other was an olive-skinned man in a grey suit.

The chauffeur drew level with him and the window slid down with a buzz.

Mr. and Mrs. Habib.

The security guard nodded and pulled a radio from his belt.

سامي الله ليمان حميده

Sami’ Allahu liman hamidah

(Allah Hears those who praise him)

Good, see them through Akif replied, a hand to his other ear to block out the music coming from the car parked by the big, ornate porch of Blackwater Hall.

He glanced sideways at the brand new, yellow Lamborghini Coutach, even more yellow in the shaft of light from the double height windows, throbbing with music from its very core.

Even the dogs were scared of it.

He made sure to give the Alsatian a wide berth as its handler led it on their circuit of the Manor house. He knew it would take them twenty minutes to walk the circumference, it took him three just to get from one side of the front to the other!

The bright moon tinged the broad landscape but the greens of the lawns, mauve of the high banks and blue of the lake all stood out. The white stone bridge (blue-grey now) stretching out across the lake appeared to be thrown into even starker contrast as did the foam on the water cascading over the weir. His eyes ran to the other side of the lake, to the black treeline that curved up with the landscape, lining the edge of the grassy bowl the large house sat amongst.

The undulating landscape reminded him of the sand dunes of home.

He missed their cleanliness. The smell of cooked food wafted across the lawns.

Lamb Byriani!

His sister-in-law back home made the best. He looked out to the gazebo and tents arranged around an open fire. The charcoal aroma reminded him of the naan she made to go with it.

Perfect.

He located his boss behind them, resplendent in simple white robes and Keffiyeh doubly secured around the head with a gold braided Agal, on his knees, his forehead pressed to his prayer rug.

He put down the radio by the steps, dug his thumbs into his waistband, hoicked his trousers up and quickening his step. His gleaming shoes kicked up stones of the gravel driveway that separated the Hall from the grounds as he conveyed his bulk down the several stone steps set into the embankment to the flat expanse of lawn.

الله أكبر

Allahu Akbar

(Allah is the greatest)

As he made his way past the white cloth covered tables he automatically sought to locate all members of the family among the security detail.

Fatima, the wife, was talking with her sister-in-law, Jumana. Her silver dress shimmering in the moonlight complementing the sparkles from her diamonds as they portioned out the food. Khalfan was at the open fire, gathering up his Thawb in one hand, stirring pots and turning the meats on spits with the other.

Panic flashed over him as he sought out the final member, who had the amazing and frightening talent to appear and disappear at will, as most six years olds do, or so he was told.

But then spotted her, the brightest jewel in the night, Shanara. She emerged from behind a tent, gathered flowers in her hand, to flit between the adults like a glowing butterfly, bestowing happiness and smiles wherever she went.

Akif entered the open sided tent, Mr. Masoud has arrived at the main gate he informed them in a quiet voice. He had been given permission to address the family by their first names when not in company, but he could never quite bring himself to do it completely.

Fatima glanced over to Akif who was dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief.

It is un-seasonally hot, apparently she said offering him a glass of water.

Yes Madame, the air is so wet, here he said taking it from her.

Take a plate Akif, eat, please.

Thank you, madame. After, perhaps.

Shanara selected a small yellow ball covered in date juice and sesame seeds from the pile and offered it to him. He extended a massive hand as she placed the warm Luqaimat in his palm.

Thank-you, my Princess of the Sands.

Please take more, it’s okay she said simply.

His large face split in a broad smile, One is just enough, my Princess.

She hoped off and he pocketed the sticky sweet as his master entered.

Nadir, come we eat Fatima called as she and Jumana served out filled plates at the table.

We will wait for Masoud he said.

Akif greeted him with a curt nod.

I will be with you.

Akif made his way back to the drive.

Food will get cold! Jumana said returning to the gazebo. It will be a shame, after all the effort you put in to making it.

I don’t mind Fatima answered. I don’t get the opportunity to cook much these days. It made a nice change.

When do the staff get here?

They arrive tomorrow. Nadir thought it would be nice just to have family this evening. Fatima scooped out some savoury rice into a bowl as Nadir poured water over his hands from the carafe.

Can I help, Father? Shanara said.

Yes, beloved, help your mother, please.

Fatima gave her some white napkins. Take these out to the table, will you, my dear?

She did as she was bade.

Jumana watched her go, Poor girl, she should have other children to play with.

This time next year, inshalla Fatima said looking to the slighter version of her husband, Khalfan, by the fire.

Ameen Jumana said with a twist of the wrist.

Have I missed prayers? a clipped voice boomed from behind them.

A man of medium height sauntered in, a blazer stretched taught over his belly with a Saville row shirt and neckerchief squeezing out from the collar. He shared the same dark olive complexion as his brothers, but his hair was prematurely white and cut in a second-floor boutique in Piccadilly Parade off the Strand. He had a glass of red wine in his hand that his gold rings chimed against as he picked his way over the ground, careful not to spill it over his cream slacks and brogues.

For the last ten years, I think, Jabir Fatima chided.

His expression of mock pain turned to something else when he noticed Jumana was also present to witness his admonishment.

Khalfan came with a fresh plate of bread. Where are my glasses? he said, looking about.

Jabir picked the case up from behind the crystal glass salad bowl. You need your glasses to find your glasses.

You want to lend a hand, perhaps?

No. One of us smelling like a bonfire is enough, thank you Jabir said, standing guard over the wine bottle.

The Ladies withdrew.

I would speak with Jabir, please Khalfan.

Khalfan left the two of them with a slight bow, knowing from experience not to be around when his older brother spoke with that tone.

What? Jabir had heard the tone too.

Nadir took a deep breath. Your car is loud...

I’ll turn it down.

...In every way he continued.

I’ll have it resprayed. What colour would better suit your business associates. White?

Your wife hasn’t received money from you yet?

Jabir took a long sip It is not so much.

As much as that car?

I’ll send her some.

It is done. She is the mother of your son.

Jabir slammed the glass down on the table. You are not the head of the family! So don’t play at it.

And you, what are you playing, English gentleman?

Sure, why not? You know how much this bottle of wine cost, $78,000, and it’s worth it. But you wouldn’t know, would you!

No, I would not. Do not bring that to my table again!

A couple of shots rang out in the distance. Your son, he is playing the Country Gentleman a-hunting?

And at night! Jumana exclaimed, returning for cutlery.

Faizan is after rabbits Jabir defended. They come out at night!

Fatima sashayed past them with more food. He brought a tweed jacket. Looks ridiculous over his robes

Thank you, Fatima Jabir said.

Shanara ran to catch up with Akif Is that thunder?

Just fireworks he lied.

But I can’t see them! she said scanning the clear sky.

They are behind the big trees, Princess, far away from us he said as he pointed to the near horizon, high up where the forest began that stretched all the way to the Moor.

She immediately switched her attention to one of the Alsatians as it was walked past. Without fear, Shanara stepped towards the dog, who appeared to be surprised at the brazen approach. As she extended a hand to its’ head he took a step forward, ready, as ever, to put himself between her and anything that might harm her. Had seen one of the dogs snap at one of the handlers recently, drawing blood. But the animal sat back on its hind legs and bowed its’ head, allowing her to stroke it between the ears.

The beast was tamed by beauty. For truly, she is blessed.

A rapid salvo of shots rang out, reverberating in the broad basin of grass.

Too many! Faizan had taken a shotgun and could only fire two at a time, which meant the others were from his guards!

His hand went to the rear of his belt, but his radio wasn’t there.

Call them, Ikbal he said to the dog handler, who produced his and punched it to life.

Jabir, crossed to his car and slid his fingers under the door handle. It obediently pivoted straight up to the sky with minimal effort, much to his satisfaction. He reached into the spacecraft like cockpit and blipped off the radio.

Nothing The dog handler said over the static.

Before he had a chance to voice how uncomfortable that made him feel, the sound of a revving engine snapped his attention to the direction of the woods.

The White Suzuki Vitara jeep jumped through the high tree line at speed, landing some twenty feet out before it began to slalom down the steep incline.

Call the cars around he said, almost to himself.

Fatima paused laying the table to turn to see what had caught his attention. The others had seen it too.

Call them, Ikbal!

In response the handler blipped the radio.

It’s just Faizan, returning Jabir said marching towards Akif as he saw the other bodyguards alter their body language.

In some haste, it seems Nadir said as he joined them.

The dogs began barking now, straining at the leash as they sensed change in the air.

Probably the worse for drink Fatima added.

...and with guns! Nadir said in disgust.

But with no headlights?

Try the hunting party again Akif said, deliberately leaving Jabir on the gravel as he closed the distance between himself and the family.

Sir, Madam, please come with me he said, not taking his eyes off the careering vehicle as it skimmed the shallows around the lake, the bulbous tyres sending a silver arc of spray into the air, before righting itself and heading directly for the group on the grass.

Why didn’t they take the shortcut over the bridge

Hashem, are you there? Please answer!

Nadir heard the panic in the mans’ voice and knew better than to argue with Akif. Fatima, get Shanara. Khalfan! he called out as he realized he couldn't see him.

Fatima put the food down and scooped up Shanara, who protested. Akif appeared between them and the oncoming vehicle. Be with your mother, Little Princess he said, taking his eyes from it long enough to make sure she understood. She didn’t know why he was spoiling her fun, but like her father, she had the wisdom to not question it.

Khalfan came out of the gazebo with a stacked plate, looking to see what all the fuss was about.

Akif heard tyres on the gravel and glanced back to the house expecting to see the two Mercedes being brought round, but instead saw a Rolls Royce approaching.

Where are they!

He turned back to the rapidly advancing jeep, not five hundred yards away, but his attention was caught by something moving down the embankment behind.

A disembodied shadow.

Akif, what do we do? one of the guards shouted as the vehicle closed the distance to the encampment.

In response Akif drew his Browning, the others reluctantly followed suit.

Assassins! the one nearest Khalfan shouted as he dropped to one knee and fired.

It’s still ours! Akif shouted out to all. Shoot the tires!

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a volley of lead flew towards the oncoming jeep with a screech of metal as it slammed into the bodywork.

To his shock Akif saw the windscreen shatter as his men shot wide. The grill lit with sparks before it smashed into the head of the kneeling guard and careered through the gazebo. The fat, nearside tires exploded, the rims dug deep into the lawn and the Jeep tipped over onto its roof

The tables disappeared in a flurry of cloth and silver. Khalfan tried to get out of its way but the roof slapped him across the fire. His Egyptian cotton garments caught light and he was instantly transformed into a human torch, running blindly and flailing into the tent, igniting that too.

Khalfan! Jumana screamed.

Akif snapped back to focus on the shape that had broken through the tree line. Unlike the car, it ran straight and true, gathering speed.

A dog? Too big. A cow, too fast!

A crumpled door flipped open and someone struggled to get out.

Akif drew his pistol up to cover the man, but again he caught the shape, some hundred yards off, advancing low to the ground. The sound of gunfire snapped his attention to the man in his sights.

Hashem!

Hold fire! He shouted over the wild growling and snapping of the dogs. Loose them!

The dogs were freed, all three bolted away into the dark.

Hashem was bent double, holding his face with one hand. Akif saw it was covered in blood. The man extended his other arm and started shooting in a blind panic. There was a whine as some smacked into the brickwork of the house behind him.

Fatima screamed and covered Shanara as the bullets flew about them.

The drivers’ window of the Rolls imploded.

Jabir threw his glass to the ground, ran back to his car and raised the door.

The Rolls jammed into a hard U turn, with a frozen Ikbal at its centre, as the tyres sent a spray of gravel over the porch and windows. Inside, Masoud and Najat were compressed against the door by centrifugal force.

Wazir! he shouted to the Rolls driver only to see blood spraying out the window from his temple.

Hashem staggered forward. He sent shots out blindly, one of the guards snapped back as he was caught high in the chest. In response another loosed off a volley that downed Hashem in a display of sparks.

Jabir had slid halfway into his seat when he saw the Roll Royce mount the bonnet of his car, the drivers face blanched, his eyeballs rolled back white. The car continued up over the windscreen, forcing down the Lambo door, like a thick guillotine, slicing Jabir clean in half across the torso.

As he passed overhead, Masoud saw his brothers’ right arm and shoulder falling away from the closed door, pulling his head and what was left of his trunk to the gravel.

The Rolls crunched to a stop on the roof as it gave way the with the weight, its metal piercing the Rolls’ fuel tank.

A man tried to clamber out of the upturned Jeep as Akif approached, his gun trained on him. To his relief he recognized Faizan!

The animal...the animal! Faizan screamed, blood pouring from the tears in his tweed jacket.

Akif was about to step forward when he noticed the shadow was absent. He scanned the background. There were low shapes scattered across the lawn, but he knew they were bushes.

One changed silhouette.

As he trained his gun on it he saw two orange points of light in its midst. They flashed in the firelight, then disappeared.

يا الله! أعوذ بك من عذاب النار ، ومن عذاب القبر ، ومن محنة الحياة والموت ،.ومن خداع المسيح الكاذب

Ya allahu! 'aeudh bik min eadhab jahanam , wamin eadhab alqabr , wamin shadayid alhayat walmawt , wamin khidae almasih alkadhibi.

(O Allah! I seek refuge in You from the torment of the Hellfire, from the torment of the grave, from the trials and afflictions of life and death, and from the deception of the False-Christ)

He could only watch as Faizan turned, inadvertently shielding the creature as it swept overhead, separating his head from his neck as it leapt over the roof.

It landed behind, between Akif and the family.

He rolled and spun round but couldn’t chance a shot. He called out to Ikbal as it powered toward them.

The Rolls exploded, sending Ikbal back into the brickwork of the house.

The creature, deflected by the explosion, swept right, away from Nadir and his family as the two Mercedes pulled across the porch.

Akif looked to the garden to see if there was anyone he could help. The pagoda was flattened, with Jumana under it, the jeep destroyed. Khalfan was a charcoal log scorching the grass.

He dashed to the driveway, all the while searching the perimeter of darkness for signs of the creature.

He could hear it breathing.

Nadir had opened the door of the rear car and was ushering Fatima in, despite her screams of protest, as Shanara stook idly by watching the fiery wreck of the two vehicles.

As Akif pounded up the incline to the drive he recognized the sound of something heavy moving slowly at the perimeter of light.

It’s on the gravel!

The creature had circled away from the fireball but was now closing back on them. It metamorphosized from upright on two legs down on to all fours.

Shanara turned as something caught her attention away from the cars.

Nadir reached to his side for his daughter’s hand, but she was not there.

As Akif ran up the bank he trained his pistol on the shape and pressed the trigger, but only the metallic click of a spent magazine, answered.

For a moment all points of the terrible triangle, Nadir, Akif, the creature, were still, with the little girl at the centre. Then Shanara walked unsteadily but assuredly toward the creature.

Ikbal, half his face melted by the blast and his clothes smoking, pulled himself out from behind the porch. His vison was blurred, he could just make out the creatures’ massive outline. With supreme effort he raised his pistol in what was left of his arm and squeezed off a round.

The bullet zinged off the stones. Fatima screamed, the creature snarled. Nadir shouted.

أعوذ بالله من الشيطان الرجيم

A'udhu billahi minash shaitanir rajim.

(I seek shelter in Allah from the rejected Satan)

Feet pounded on stones. The creature launched. Bodies collided, limbs grappled, teeth gnashed, hot blood splashed across brickwork and gravel.

Chapter 1

Waning Gibbous Moon

The present

Sara Tremayne strode up the middle of the High Street, dead leaves swirled around her feet as she made her way across the empty thoroughfare. Her long legs, covering ground effortlessly, were aided by her equally long arms swinging with purpose, but then, Sara Tremayne went everywhere with purpose. The cold air blew against her short, auburn hair, and felt even more chill on the tighter, clipper cut short back and sides. She was dressed against it in black jeans, green waxed jacket with a brown cord collar and emerald cable wool jumper. Her brown ankle boots found good purchase on the cobbles, despite the steep incline.

She could have driven the two miles from home, but had decided the fresh air of the morning walk would do her good having already spent two hours in the office on the days Vlog.

There was one road that went through Trebannon Withic and that was the High Street, off which all else sat. The Doctors and the Pub at the top, either side of the square trough in the middle. The Church, Vicarage, Tea rooms down to the village shop cum Post Office just up from the single lane bridge at the other.

The wind carried little sound, save for the church bells calling the faithful to Mass and the clopping of horses hooves up by the trough. True, it didn’t get much busier through the week, now it was off season, even then it was mostly agricultural vehicles.

At the heigh of the season, when the narrow lanes of Cornwall became congealed, the covered trough became a logjam for tourists who had got lost or caravans that ignored the signs. In centuries past, it had been used to refresh livestock when local farmers brought them to the market that stretched the length of the street.

The summer sun (when it chose to reveal itself over the foot on the cross-legged imp that is the map of Great Britain) could dazzle the beaches, bleach the pastels of harbour houses nestled among the steep cliffs like Kittiwakes and nourish the greenery that abounded in the vast spaces between places.

But the sunshine had gone, along with the Kittiwakes.

Now the cold, grey Atlantic breeze blew across the whole peninsular. With nowhere more than twenty-five miles from the coast, there was no escaping its bite. Fishing boats that ventured out on purple frothing seas to eke out a living, would fight for life to return to their faint clusters of lights. Some would inevitably loose. The earth of the fields had become frost hardened, the thick stonewalled dwellings, cold and damp.

Autumn was here in force and hard winter lay in wait.

A difficult place to get to and a harder one to find, the village of Trebannon Withic was even more insular than most. The river Sibyll snaked around it, carving a deep crevasse along the Moor to the rear and sculpting the banks under the thin bridge at the base of the high street. As such, it had not suffered from the ravages of change.

But there had been a price.

Trebannon Withic lay out of sight, being too far from the sea, too difficult to get to and on the way to nowhere. But when the harvests were lean, or the small businesses folded, all it had to fall back on, was Blackwater Hall.

Country houses of the landed gentry abound in the region and have done for centuries. Sitting amid their own grounds, using fences and lawns instead of battlements and moats to keep the masses away. Aloof from the dying hamlets around them, like baronial castles braced against the plague. All they had to do was endure, to survive and eventually, thrive.

True, a couple lost their family seats. Those Mansions were hoovered up by gauche new money that had overflowed from the Thames in London and splashed over the West country. Those same houses, sold for a song to red trousered Ruperts and their fake tanned wives were knocked through, extended, redesigned and re-built with glass, steel and concrete, so that all the olde worlde rural charm was constructed over with the very attributes they sought to escape. But at least they were given a new lease of life, as a backdrop for parities, businesses and weddings.

Therein lay the paradox for Trebannon Withic.

For it existed in the shadow of Blackwater Hall.

Supplying