LITMIR.BIZ

       Prologue

      Stars. Pinpricks of light vaulted across the sky. Hundreds of them, thousands, more than he can count. Perhaps, he thinks, there are even as many stars in the sky as there are girls in the city. He licks his lips, the notion exciting him. That’s one hell of a lot of stars. A hell of a lot of girls.

       You know what you do with stars, Chubber? Make a wish.

      ‘Oh yes, a wish!’ Chubber whispers to himself as he swings his eyes earthward, down from the heavens. ‘I wish, I wish … I wish I could find her!’

      In front of him, the moor is a heaving landscape of shadows rolling towards the distant orange glow of civilisation. All around, tors rise from the scrub and heather, grey granite forms that watch and wait. Chubber is waiting too, crouched behind a prickly clump of gorse, well wrapped in a homemade sheepskin cloak. The night is cold and frosty. A lacework pattern of ice glitters amongst the bog plants. Chubber’s eyes follow the silver trail as frozen water winds up towards a spring. She’s up there. Hiding. If Chubber hadn’t slipped over he’d have caught her by now.

       Silly Chubber!

      Yes. Silly. She’d been safely locked away but he’d wanted to give her a chance. The game was more exciting when he gave them a chance.

       Exciting, yes! The thrill of the chase. You love it.

      Chubber scans the hillside hoping his wish will come true, but there’s nothing moving, nothing living out here. Not at this time of year.

       December, Chubber. Nearly Christmas.

      He should have waited for the big day, he thinks. Now he’ll have nothing to look forward to but a ready meal from the microwave and the chocolate orange he’s been saving. If only she would … there! His heart leaps as he spots her eyes sparkling green in a shaft of moonlight. He jumps up and starts to run. She runs too, but now Chubber’s grinning, he’s getting closer. Gaining. Soon he’ll catch up with her.

      ‘There, there,’ Chubber shouts out. ‘No need to run from Chubber, my little beauty. Chubber’ll be nice and gentle. Promise. Just a bit of gliding and sliding and then … and then …’

      She lets out a little cry, the noise disappearing into the dark of the night, the moor sucking the sound down into the boggy ground, where centuries of secrets lie hidden in the peaty soil. Chubber stumbles after her, but then pauses. There she is, standing on a ridge in the distance, for a moment silhouetted against the starry sky. She’s found harder ground and now she darts away, across the moor and into the night; disappearing behind a tor, the hunks of granite sheer black against the sprinkling of stars.

       Bugger.

      Chubber stands and pants. Hard work, chasing. Bloody hard work. Especially when you don’t catch them. Air wheezes in and out of his lungs. A hand moves down to loosen the tie on his baggies. Slips inside. Touches himself and then scratches his bollocks.

      Double bugger, he thinks. Waste of an evening. She’s well and truly gone. Disappeared behind that … Chubber feels a breeze glide across his exposed tummy. He shivers. Realises he’s chased his prey far over the moor.

       Too far, Chubber. Much too far.

      Yes, because he knows this place. The tor. What lies beyond.

      Chubber moves slowly now, climbing to the ridge so he can see down into the valley beyond. A group of rocks stands in a circle, the hunks of granite clustering like sentinels, guarding a large, flat boulder at the centre. This place is bad, cursed, he thinks. An ancient place of witches and ghouls, spirits and will-o’-the-wisps. In the daytime you might sit and eat a picnic, but at night …

       Ch … Ch … Chubber!

      Chubber looks again. The rocks are moving, dancing, one with a towering headpiece of antlers.

       Not rocks, Chubber – people!

      Six standing stones and six people dancing in and out, weaving some sort of pattern. A soft wind carries a plaintive melody across the ground, a woman’s voice, as sweet and clear as the cold night air. Then other voices join in, a low hum providing a background drone. Chubber tries to understand the song, but the words mean nothing, the language foreign to him, alien.

      He stares down and his lip quivers. He moves to the tor and slides behind a large boulder. His head peeks round as the six figures begin to move faster and faster, back and forth between the stones. The tall figure with the antlers starts to sing a different chant, the figures whirling until there almost seems to be more than six. As if the very stones have somehow come alive and are joining in.

       Chubber, run!

      But he can’t, he’s frozen to the spot, mesmerised. Seconds pass, minutes, hours maybe. He doesn’t know. The figures race round and round until their chants conflate to a single drone. Chubber blinks. Something has happened. The six figures have rushed away from the circle. They are pulling something from behind a stand of gorse. It’s a person. A man. He’s limp, not resisting. Now they shove him down next to the flat rock and push him into a shallow trench alongside it. The six figures position themselves around the huge slab and slowly push the boulder over the hole in the ground. The scraping echoes into the night and the rock moves the final few inches and seals the chamber.

      Chubber turns from the tor and runs back down the hill. Twice he tumbles over and rolls in the bog, clothes soaking, body cold. When he’s put two ridges between himself and the stone circle, he finally pauses for breath. He thinks of the man, the one in the hole. Chubber looks to heaven, raises his hand and passes his palm across his eyes, recreating what happened back at the stone circle. The tapestry of moon and stars and galaxies soaring overhead are wiped away, replaced by the utter blackness of the tomb.

      Chubber whimpers at the thought of it. He knows he’s a bad man, but what he’s just witnessed goes far, far beyond bad. Those people, they were …

      Evil, Chubber, those people were evil.

      Evil. He doesn’t like the sound of that. He quickens his pace again. Not long to the track where he’s parked his van. Just a few more steps and he’ll be there.

       Chubber!

      Oh God! There’s the track and there’s the van and …

       And, Chubber, and?

      And standing by the car is a hooded figure with a towering headpiece of antlers.

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