The Mist of Moningsbury

Chapter Fourteen

It was early Saturday morning. The faint trickles of dawn starting to peep in through the curtains. The Mist hadn't bothered to undress. He had spent the whole night chasing Stanley around the pub while he terrorised the drinkers, smashing glasses and using the taps when there was no one there, creating floods of ale on the floor. For an old farmer, Stanley was surprisingly nimble and strong. It wasn't often that Stanley caused mischief but when he did, The Mist had his work cut out. And now, he felt knackered.

He had only been in bed an hour or so, looking forward to sleeping through his Saturday morning when a loud crash outside caused him to open his eyes. He lay there for a moment, disinclined to move when he heard Victor's voice cut through the silence.

"Stand still you cretin. This won't hurt."

Sighing, The Mist rolled out of bed and, feeling groggy, pulled on his boots. Leaving his house, a small cottage at the very edge of the village, he quietly circled around the next door house a short distance away before approaching Victor from behind. The highwayman was following a man who looked as if he was returning home from a night of work somewhere. Victor was poking and prodding him in an attempt to reach his eyes. The man could evidently feel the pokes and prods and, terrified, had knocked over some bins in his haste to flee the odd sensation. All the while Victor kept making loud remarks and shouting wildly for the man to hold still.

It was clear to The Mist that Victor was trying to possess him. Or so is appeared. The Mist suspected it might be more than just that.

"What do you want Mr Balling?" he called out, approaching the scene.

Victor looked up, a smile playing round his lips. "Nothing you need concern yourself with Misty."

The man trying to get home had fallen over the bins and now sat staring up at The Mist wide eyed. "I'm not. I'm..." he stammered.

"I know." The Mist replied, "Go home."

The man scrambled to his feet. Victor made a lunge towards him. The Mist grabbed him tightly round the shoulders so Victor could only struggle and watch as his victim sprinted away.

The Mist looked at him and could find none of the usual anger in his eyes.

"For you, that was a very clumsy attempt. I don't think you would have been shouting so loudly if you did not want my attention. So what do you want Hector?"

The highwayman glanced nervously to the side at the use of his real name, as if worried that someone might hear it.

Rapidly composing himself, he said "Nothing from you. Am I not allowed to be loud when in good spirits?"

The Mist grunted and reluctantly let go of him. "You're up to something. Question is: what?"

Victor looked indignant, placing his hands on his hips. "You are always accusing me. Why are you not ever suspicious of someone like. I don't know, say Tiff."

"Tiff?" Victor could have sworn he saw The Mist's face redden. What little he could see of it anyway.

"Tiff would never do anything malicious. It's not in her nature. Whereas you, it most certainly is."

"And how do you know Tiff is trustworthy?"

"Because I do." The Mist turned away, about to walk off.

"Ah." Victor clicked his fingers, "You like her."

The Mist halted. "I do not!"

Victor grinned. He could tell he had found a soft spot.

"I think you do. Although I can see why you've been holding back. You alive, her dead. That could get complicated."

The Mist growled, "Enough of this." And started to stomp away down the lane, silhouetted by the rising sun.

"No, wait." Victor panicked, running after him. "Why don't we, err, take a stroll together? Get to know one another properly. After all, we've known each other for so long."

The Mist turned to face him, realisation coming into his stormy eyes. "You're trying to distract me."

"Now why would you say that?"

"Someone's going after the cockatrice?"

"Not exactly." Victor looked smug. "We decided to go for a more direct approach."

"Snotem." The Mist turned around in certainty and started striding off again.

Victor looked about to follow him, before changing his mind and running off through the hedge.