Glengoric: The Blood of Tremain

Glengoric Part III: The Long Time Traveller

PART THREE:

THE LONG TIME TRAVELLER

XXIV

The fine drizzle danced upon a strong wind, covering Leo's face in a spray of cool rain. It had been moments since his return, and he found the wind to be by no means cold. The summer storm, fresh and exhilarating, quickly woke Leo's diminished senses.

The boy found himself upon his haunches, having had that sudden feeling of falling again, as he did the previous time when leaving for Glengoric.

Glengoric. Had it been real?

Leo saw he was still in the borrowed clothes and boots. Only now, he was not in a dragon's lair, surrounded by demons with four arms and deadly scimitar swords.

He stood up, conscious that the coin was still gripped by his right hand, so tight, it hurt. He then realised that he was in the field of long green grass that grew opposite Nan's cottage. With the howling wind bending every tree in his direction, Leo pocketed the coin and ran towards the cottage for shelter.

Leo knew something was wrong as soon as his gaze fell upon the once immaculate cottage. Now, to his mystification, he saw that every window of Nan's house was boarded. The front garden had become overgrown with weeds and bramble. Ivy and Wisteria had ascended the frontage, as if in a race to claim their right to the cottage.

Leo leapt the wire fence separating the field from the dirt track and arrived at the garden gate, his breathing heavy and mind in disarray. As close to the cottage as he could be, Leo was in no doubt; the boards, with rusted nails had been there for a long time.

He took a minute to gather his thoughts, walking around the grounds and returning to the front gate. For reasons he couldn't understand, Leo walked up to the cottage door and rang the bell. Of course, there was no answer, but it was home, not a derelict nothing, condemned to rot.

There and then, his life a haunting nightmare, Leo ran as fast as he could towards the town of Totnes, with visions of his companions dying at the hands of the Cyclops'.

Down the dirt track the boy ran, crossing the Kingsbridge Road without thought for his safety and fortunate that no cars were travelling his way at the time.

In the square at the top of town, opposite the fish and chip shop where several students queued, Leo found an old telephone box and reverse-charged a call to home. There was no reply. Even the answer machine was switched off. He then rang his Father's office to be told, by a voice he didn't recognise, that his Father had left the company.

Leo stood transfixed inside the telephone box with the receiver stuck in his hand.

On a nearby bench dedicated to a long dead good citizen of the town, there sat a gang of teenage boys smoking and drinking beer. Leo glanced their way and wondered why on earth they were out in the rain without waterproofs. He then realised that they were watching him in his medieval garments.

The gang mumbled to each other to be on guard, as the weirdo came out of the telephone box and approached them. They noticed his dirtied clothes, cut hands and bruised face. They shuffled in their seats, expecting trouble. 'Fancy dress?' joked one of them, as Leo stopped before the bench.

'Something like that,' Leo replied, offering a friendly smile. But the boys could see the anxiety behind his eyes, like a volcano about to explode.

'The old cottage, Glengoric?' Leo began, and the boys agreed they knew of it. 'Do you know what happened to the lady who lived there?'

None of them knew.