THE GREY RIDERS

PART ONE

BAD MOON RISING 

"Don't go out tonight or it's bound to take your life." 

CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL

S . E . England . rural . night .

A pale full moon shone down on a remote country pub, surrounded by dark woods.  

It was in an isolated spot, as only a narrow track led back to the main road, three miles away. The pub was popular with walkers and hikers, till a year ago, when the disappearances started. In the past twelve months, eleven people had disappeared, but as the missing people were all on holiday in the area, the local police were still unaware of the problem. 

The man was the last to leave the pub, the landlord having been forced to chuck him out.  

He was tall and wore a long leather coat, which reached down to the tops of his boots. He swayed slightly as he made his way, unwisely, toward a motorbike. It took him two goes to swing his leg over the saddle and three to start the engine. With too much throttle and bit of a wobble, the man started up the unlit road.  

He was being hunted.

Mr Thompson always felt at his best at this time of the month.  

He grinned to himself as he followed the motorcycle, easily keeping up as it accelerated down the track. He loved the feeling of the wind over his glossy coat and the soil of the track under his paws. 

These monthly outings had been going on almost a year now, ever since that eventful night out on the Moors. 

The night that Mrs Thompson had not survived.

His eyes narrowed, as he saw the motorbike's red brake light. He slowed to a trot, as it pulled to the edge of the track and stopped. 

Keeping to the shadows on the opposite side, Mr Thompson crept forward, till he was parallel to the man. Watching intently as he saw the motorcyclist stagger into the woods. After a minute, the sound and smell of urine reached his keen ears and nose.  

An easy kill, what a pity.  

Mr Thompson padded silently across the track and into the woods, closing slowly on the dark figure ahead. Even in almost total darkness he could see the long black leather coat and the crash helmet. The man had his back to him. Perfect.  

Mr Thompson's body trembled, as he prepared to spring. Suddenly a burning pain shot into his chest and he fell onto his side, panting.

The Man walked slowly up to the creature, as it lay twitching on the ground. The beast was watching him, but was unable to move, as the man withdrew a small digital camcorder and began filming. After a while, he put the camera away and turned to retrieve his long leather coat and helmet, which he had hung on the branches of the tree.

Mr Thompson could not understand it. It was supposed to be an easy kill, and now here he was, lying on the ground, paralysed by this pain in his chest. His prey had turned on him and he was pretty sure the man was no longer staggering.  

He growled softly, as he watched the man don his jacket, revealing an upside down lemonade bottle, hanging from a lower branch. It seemed to be half filled with yellow liquid, which was trickling onto the ground.  

He had been tricked!  

What a bloody cheek.

The man walked back to his hiding place and picked up a large folding crossbow, which he broke down and stored inside his long leather jacket. He then returned to the beast on the floor. It continued to stare up at him, bearing its fangs and growling.