Bruar's Rest

the hair on her scalp rose. Gathering what scrap of courage remained to her, she called again, ‘Who are you, and why do you follow me, what is it you want?’ Nothing, not even a heartbeat, was heard from the beast. Unlike the beat of jungle drums pumping from her own heart. The thing’s outline was just visible, its outstretched hand, finger pointing.
    At that moment her resolve broke and something in her screamed, ‘Go!’ In blind panic she was a child again, running down the hill to escape the evil Green Man. She abandoned the familiar road for snowy grass, which instantly hindered her pace. A rotted fence post didn’t appear until she had fallen over it. Buttons were wrenched from her coat by the fall, the hemline was held by the barbed wire and chunks ripped from the garment. As she attempted to pull herself free, a broken splinter tore into her hand, she screamed in pain. Strength was sapped from her as the terror of the mist made her already vivid imagination hear voices not of this world. But she was a tinker and should have known that the voices were the sounds of a gurgling stream. And as if she’d not endured enough, a rabbit snared by the fence was writhing in its last throes of life; it stiffened and died. Her foot caught under the rodent. As she lay face down, her ears felt the ground vibrate. She knew that sound! There was no mistaking the noise of horses’ rattling hooves galloping nearer.
    Fear of what might be shifting behind her back lifted her up. ‘Stop!’ she screamed, and threw herself directly into the path of the oncoming horses.
    ‘Megan, we nearly killed you, what in the name of heaven are you doing running about in this freezing weather?’ Her rescuers were Stephen and Bridget.
    ‘Some idiot dressed like a banshee frightened the life from me! I ran off the track, got lost. He’ll die for doing this to me, the stupid, senseless fool!’
    Seeing the raw wound in her hand and the blood-soaked coat sleeve, Bridget jumped off her horse and examined the injury. ‘Our house is round the corner, that splinter is deep, it would do no good if frost got into the wound. I’ll soon have it cleaned and dressed. Now, who would be out on a day like this, trying to put the terrors on you? A thousand curses on his black soul, whoever he is!’
    Stephen promised to get the fiend. ‘He’ll get my riding whip across his back when I find him, for frightening a solitary colleen.’ The Irishman spun around his horse and quickly trotted into the desolate, grey mist.
    ‘I’m worried about leaving Mother Foy any longer. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll clean my hand back at the wagon. Would you take me, Bridget?’
    ‘You’re going nowhere until I’ve given that hand a good clean with iodine, we’ll be round at the farm in no time. Anyway, we’ve left Nuala playing on her own with her toys. We don’t want to leave her longer than planned.’
    ‘Isn’t Michael with her?’
    ‘Well now, here’s a strange thing, this morning me brother, fine boyo that he is, up sticks and left.’
    The icy air stung into the wound, but it was Bridget’s news that drained the colour from her face. ‘I must have chased him away,’ she thought, with a rush of panic. ‘Where’s he gone to?’ She tried to disguise her obvious disappointment by adding, ‘I hope Stephen chases that cloaked demon away.’
    Before Bridget could answer her husband cantered back, saying he’d seen nothing.
    She didn’t ask a second time about Michael’s departure, in case her interest caused Bridget to imagine she’d something to do with him leaving. Yet how she longed to know where he’d hidden himself. ‘Poor Michael,’ she thought, ‘it’s my fault.’
    Nuala copied her mother by bandaging a dolly’s hand, and asked Megan how Mamma Foy was keeping.
    ‘She’s coming on, but very slowly,’ was her answer to the inquisitive child.
    Bridget had donned a white apron and was looking every inch the caring nurse. Pointing to a small three-legged stool she said, ‘Sit down here and put your hand on this table.’ The table was covered in yellow gauze. ‘I’m going to try and remove as much of this jagged splinter as I can, and it might hurt’ She produced a large set of pincers, and after wiping the injury with orange-staining iodine, proceeded to remove a bloodied piece of rotten wood. ‘Would you take a look at the size of that,’ she proclaimed, holding the pincers and the offensive splinter so Nuala