Black Shuck

It was a humid summer's night, and the air was thick with rain as thunder rumbled across East Anglia. A white builder's van skimmed down narrow country lanes like a pebble across a lake. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the surrounding fields, and the wet roads glistened. They were dangerously skiddy, but the van twisted impatiently through the darkness.

"Today's count - Eight thousand pounds", said Danny counting the money as he fidgeted in the passenger seat. He was a skinny man with a pointy, gaunt face and dirty blonde hair that made him look like a malnourished rat. George, the driver, was a much heavier set, with broad shoulders and a belly that hung loosely over his belt. He wore a grubby tight-fitting vest that emphasised his bulk.

"I like this plan; it's easy. You do the talking, and I'll frighten them into giving us their money", said George.

"Yeah, something like that", said Danny.

"What do you mean?"

"You can't just frighten them, George; we'll get nicked for that. They have to agree to let us do some work in the first place, so we have a verbal contract. That way, they'll be lying to the police if they say they didn't agree to it. I'll tell them there's something simple that needs doing, like cleaning the guttering and charge them a small fee, so they think they're getting a good deal. Then when I'm doing that job, I tell them I spotted some other work that needs doing urgently. We pretend like we've fixed it on the spot, you turn up looking mean, and then we charge them whatever we like. They can't say no, because they're scared of you and know they agreed to let us carry out some work. Puts them in a right old spot. They just pay it because they don't know what else to do."

George grinned at him. "Easy money".

"Yeah, well, it is, but we have to be careful; we don't want to overdo it. I reckon another month, and then we're out of here. We can work our way up past Bramblehook and then come back around Deer Park. They'll be plenty of old folk out there in the country, isolated and vulnerable. By the end of the month, we could clear fifty thousand. Then we just move on, maybe try our luck down in the South West; Devon or Somerset."

The engine of the beat-up old van revved in a high pitch, sounding like it was barely holding it together as George struggled to keep it on the road. Despite the hazardous conditions, he accelerated towards the crossroads at breakneck speed. Both roads heading left and right were flanked by hedgerows, grown tall in the height of summer and obscuring the line of sight. George stooped his head to get a better view, but the driving rain made it hard to see out of the windscreen.

A burst of dazzling light flooded their senses, and momentarily the inside of the van was lit up like a camera flash going off. Lightning struck the ancient elder tree on the corner of the crossroads, splitting the trunk in two and sending the top two-thirds crashing down. The eyes of the two conmen barely had time to adjust; the image of lightning burned on their retinas. Time froze for a moment before the falling elder tree loomed into view. George jammed his foot down on the brake, but it was too late, and the van spun to the left, careening sideways with the momentum, burying itself in the felled tree.

Dazed and still struggling to shake the flash of lightning from his eyes, Danny pulled the passenger door open and got out. The front half of the van disappeared into a mangled wreckage of branches. It was a miracle George managed to turn, or they would have been crushed, possibly impaled in the crash.

"Jesus," said Danny staring at the wrecked van. The trunk of the elder tree was burning at one end where the lightning struck it, blowing acrid smoke toward him.

"George, are you seeing this?" There was a pause, filled only by the crackling and popping sound of the wood as it singed in the falling rain.

"George?" repeated Danny, looking into the van for his partner. George sat with both hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, his eye fixed to the left of the crossroads. By the hedgerow staring back at them was a huge black dog with glowing red eyes. For a moment, Danny thought it was a cow because of its size. The towering presence provoking an instinct in him to flee, but dread paralysed him to the spot as the red eyes locked on to his. Burning furiously and holding him in a hypnotic spell, he could feel the searing heat from the dog's eyes transfer to his own. Then, lightning flashed overhead, and the trance broke with a terrifying glimpse of the black hound, its long fur matted in the rain before darkness returned to the crossroads. George scrambled from the van and grabbed his buddy by the shoulder, dragging him away. The pair of conmen ran for their lives.

"What the hell was that thing?" shouted George as they sprinted down country lanes.

"Did…did you see its eyes?" said Danny."

"I think it was the fire reflecting from the burning tree", George speculated. "But what the hell was it? A wolf, maybe?"

"It was a big bloody wolf if it was", cried Danny.

Growling and the sound of bracken being brushed aside in a field close by spurred the terrified men on.

"It's following us!" they both shouted.

Pushing harder, they ran blindly into the darkness, barely aware of what was in front of them. Heavy panting trailed behind them, interrupted by sharp snarls as the dog closed in. Their eyes fully dilated, desperately searched for light sources and any kind of sanctuary. Turning a tight bend in the lane, Danny slipped on the wet asphalt and skidded onto his side, rolling over the muddy verge at the roadside. Picking himself up, he dared a backwards look. The hedgerow rustled violently as something pushed its way through, and somewhere in the darkness, he could sense terrible movement. Danny turned and ran.

George didn't wait for his friend; he'd heard the slip, but the thought of the giant wolf was overwhelming. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, forcing his muscles to move automatically. His hefty frame lumbered in the darkness, and despite his friend's clothes being soaked and heavy with mud, Danny soon caught up with him.

Turning the next crook in the road, a faint light flickered further ahead. They headed towards it, hoping for a house or car to flag down. As they got closer, the light began to flood the road, and like a rising sun, it poured from the window of a village pub. The two men ran like moths to a flame, hearts thumping in the chests, gasping for air, never daring to look back again.

The Royal Oak was a traditional country pub. Dark oak beams ran the length of the low roof, and taller customers quickly found dipping their heads was essential when going to the bar or toilet. It was quiet for most of the week, but it would be busy with customers celebrating the start of the weekend every Friday. And on a wet, stormy Friday like this one, it was rammed.

The door to the pub flew open. The entire bar stopped talking in unison and stared at the two bedraggled newcomers, who appeared suddenly and loudly from the night.

Danny approached the barman, his own pale face streaked with mud down one side. A concerned-looking man in his 50's, stood facing him. Danny assumed because of his age, he was probably the landlord.

"You need to call the police."

"Excuse me? What's happened to you?" replied the landlord, staring at the pair's dishevelled appearance.

Still gasping for air, Danny mumbled, "It was huge".

"A wolf. There was a bloody big wolf out there. It chased us all the way here", said George.

The pub was silent. Everybody was listening intently.

"What? There are no wolves around here", said the landlord. "Not unless you were in a zoo. Where were you when you got chased?"

Danny pulled himself together as the oxygen in his lungs returned to normal.

"We were driving our van, just up the lane there, and suddenly a huge bolt of lightning struck a tree and knocked it clean over the crossroads. We crashed into it, but when we got out, there was this huge black dog. It must have been a wolf, no dogs can be that big, and it chased us down the lane. So we just kept running till we found this place."

A sharp intake of breath from the watching crowd roused the landlord, who shot them a worried look. Then, nervously he looked back at Danny, and in a quiet voice, said, "That's wasn't a wolf sir, I think you've just seen Black Shuck".

"What's Black Shuck?" asked Danny.

"Where did you say you crashed, young man" called a voice from the far side of the bar. Everybody turned to look as an old man emerged from a dark corner of the pub. His tatty brown and green tank top with several holes in it, over a checked Tattersall shirt, and tweed trousers, identified him as a man of the country. His weathered face and balding head suggested it was a position he'd held for a long time.

"We crashed up at a crossroads. I couldn't say exactly where, but not far from here".

"And was that tree that got felled, a wise old elder that sat on the corner of those crossroads?"

"I haven't got a clue what type of tree it was, but it was sat right on the corner".

"I think he means Hancock Crossroads, Mr Turner", offered the landlord.

"That's right, I think he does. You said it was struck by lightning. Was it on fire? Did it burn?" asked Mr Turner.

"Well, yeah, it was burning alright. We could see the flames reflecting in that damn dog's eyes", said Danny.

Mr Turner's frown spread like a wave around the room as people read his concern as a foreboding sign.

"The problem is, that tree was an Elder, an ancient and wise English tree. Said to be ripe full of magic. It's also said that you must never burn the wood of an Elder, or you'll see the devil himself in the smoke."

Danny looked at George for reassurance but found his own fears looking back at him. He hastily pulled himself together.

"What are you talking about? The devil in the smoke! How do you know all this? And what is Black Shuck?" said Danny defiantly.

"I learned all of this from a wise woman who used to live around here. She taught me the local folklore, the legends, and how to protect myself against the evil ones."

"A wise woman?" said Danny.

"That's right, Mrs Henry. She made her home out in the woods and lived off the land. She knew more about this world and the next than anyone I've ever met", said Mr Turner.

There was a low mumbling from the rest of the pub, and the landlord sensed it was his duty to represent their sentiments.

"Mrs Henry was a witch. Everyone knows that".

Mr Turner snorted in a mixture of laughter and derision. "Aye, and some say she was two hundred years old and cooked potions in a cauldron. But those were ignorant views of people with wicked lives and wayward families. To those people, she was a witch, and she would curse them and send them to the madhouse. But to most folk, she was a wise woman who helped kind souls. To those people, she was as gentle as the land and would deliver the baby lambs in your flock or could make a struggling farmer's field turn a healthy harvest. "

Danny searched the faces of the pub's customers, looking for signs that this was some kind of crazy joke. But they sat in silence earnestly listening to the old man.

"And Black Shuck, she knew all about him. Because he was just like her. Legend says that Black Shuck will appear to let you know that your end is nigh if you possess a bad and wicked soul. If you let him see your soul, you'll be served a warning and be dead within six months. But, if you're a kind, gentle being, and you get lost at night, it won't be Black Shuck that visits you, but Hairy Jack. A protective guardian dog, who'll lead you to safety."

Dan and George looked at each other in disbelief.

"It's all rubbish; it doesn't mean a thing," cried George.

"Well, I guess we did get led here. In a way", said Danny hopefully.

But concern was creeping across his mind. That was no ordinary dog; he knew it in his bones; he wanted it to be Hairy Jack. He wanted it so badly his conscience was begging him to believe it.

"Mr Turner? How do you know if you've seen Black Shuck or Hairy Jack?" asked Danny.

"Well, it should be obvious to those with a good heart?"

"What if it's a bit unclear. I'm not saying evil like, but if someone's not a saint either. Just a bit in the middle."

Mr Turner paused and smiled crookedly.

"There is no "in the middle" for Black Shuck, my boy. You are either good or bad in his eyes. And that'll be where you find the answer, in his eyes. If you saw Black Shuck, you'd better hope he didn't look at you because that's how he sees your soul. Anyone who's stared into those burning red eyes can consider themselves fairly warned."

The landlord called the police, and slowly the pub returned to the general hubbub of a Friday evening. A lingering uneasiness nagged at Danny. While they waited at the bar, he caught several of the locals staring at him. George got them both a pint, and the two friends sat in silence as they replayed events in their heads. It had been a strange evening.

Later that night, fire crews helped clear the elder tree from the crossroads along with the smashed up white van. The storm had blown itself out by morning, and Danny and George left East Anglia for good.

A crow landed on the ridge of a roof and cawed loudly. Instinctively Danny looked up from the guttering he was clearing. A month on, since the crash, he'd mostly pushed the events of that night from mind. They bought a new van from George's brother and moved their business down to Devon. He liked it down here. They'd already found some good marks, and there was a noticeable absence of giant hell hounds. He shuddered at the memory.

More cawing came from the ridge as the crow danced along the roof, stamping its feet. He noticed there seemed to be large flocks of crows in Devon; it was annoying how they appeared to roost together. Weirdly this one seemed to be on its own. He scanned the eaves for any damage. Apart from his carrion audience, the roof seemed in good shape.

"Mrs Eldritch", he called to an elderly woman standing in the garden below.

"You seem to have some loose tiles."

"Oh dear. Is that going to be a problem?" asked Mrs Eldritch.

"I'm afraid so. The problem is structural and will need fixing urgently."

The crow cawed again. As Danny turned to look at it, the ladder shifted from the hook securing it to the wall and fell sideways. He grasped at thin air and twisted, somersaulting as he fell. His skull hit the ground with a crack.

George heard the cries from the van and came lumbering up to the house. His friend's body lay motionless on the floor.

"Your friend's had an accident. I think he might be dead", cried Mrs Eldritch.

George looked at Danny's dead body. He knew it was no an accident; Black Shuck had seen them.