I hit the road at a pretty quick pace, partly to get on with it and partly to warm up. My hands and feet were already numb with cold and I’d been planning to eat at the party so I was really hungry too. After half an hour or so of this completely alien walking thing I started to wonder if getting off the road and trying a more direct route – across the moors – would be a better idea. There was less chance of a lift, but it would be a whole lot faster. The cold was like actual pain by now and kind of made the decision for me, besides which, I was sure I had a good enough sense of direction to do it even in this visibility.
The land fell steeply away from the road and my pace naturally picked up. I felt like I was getting somewhere at last and pictured the party at Mike’s. Loads of girls, tons of food and cases and cases of champagne – Mike’s parents were weird, but generous. His mum was some big shot artist, specialising in the bleakest, dullest, most uninhabited scenery on earth – hence the great big house in the middle of nowhere. His dad was even stranger – a local expert on the region’s deaths and disasters. He was always telling us about the time he saw ‘the beast of Dartmoor’ for himself, although I was always convinced it was just a cunning plan to keep Mike and the rest of us away from the family pile and his wine cellar at the weekends.
Damn! No sooner have I said the words ‘beast of Dartmoor’ to myself than I start imagining I can hear all kinds of things out there in the darkness. I’m almost laughing out loud at myself when I thought I really did hear something besides the crunch of the freezing snow. Something like a low, snorting noise coming from behind me. This was ridiculous – it had to be my imagination running away with itself. I stopped dead in my tracks and waited. My ears strained so hard to make out any sounds but all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart and the noise of my breathing as I struggled to control it. Then it came again, only much closer, and I spun round expecting to see whatever it was behind me – but there was nothing. Instinctively, I crouched down low and the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I could feel the adrenalin surging through my body and beads of sweat trickling down my temples. I waited like a coiled spring, listening for any signs of movement, until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I knew it wasn’t smart to make myself a moving target for whatever it was to pounce on – but I couldn’t just sit there like a sitting duck either.
I sprang to my feet and rushed forwards, stumbling and scrambling blindly along. Now I knew without any doubt I was being followed. I didn’t need to see it or hear it – I could just sense that something faster than me was after me. Far away in the distance, surrounded by blackness, was a little cluster of lights that I knew was Mike’s place – but way too far for me to make it before whatever was chasing me caught up. Without even realising why, my feet suddenly went from underneath me in a skidding slide over icy, sparkling tarmac. I’d crossed the narrow strip of road that Mike’s dad had laid to connect the house to the main road, and I couldn’t stop. I went hurtling on my butt across the frozen surface like a pebble skimming the water towards the only tree trunk for miles around… and SLAM! As I momentarily contemplated the prospect of being childless, I heard the clatter of hooves on the road right behind me. There was a low, snorting noise as the tiny little pony pawed the ground and I somehow managed to scramble onto all fours. For one brief moment I looked the wild little horse in the eye and then realised he was just playing with me! He snorted and backed up as I got to my feet, then scampered away like lightening.
As I straightened my collar I couldn’t help looking around in case anyone had seen my embarrassing fall. My mobile beeped and I yanked it out of my pocket with relief. The chaps were obviously really concerned about me by now, and I read the message eagerly:
‘? is da JAG ashole Cal me bak NOW!’
I was obviously going to have some explaining to do, but I comforted myself with the thought that although the E-type Jag was completely totalled they would surely be relieved that I was ok…
The next day; 11:40am; Mike’s kitchen table.
Chaps all holding heads on with own bare hands. Waiting for painkillers and fry-up. Foreign radio station on in background (Radio Devon or something).
‘And now over to Richard Head for the latest News…Our main story this morning…Two hikers still missing on Dartmoor were found dead in the early hours of this morning as temperatures dipped to minus five last night…’
I didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying. The kitchen was totally silent and everyone was looking at me. Thanks to the ‘beast of Dartmoor’ I probably covered a thirty-minute hike in about five last night – which probably saved my life…
1205 Words.
