"A bet, you mean? I'm perfectly willing, not that I have much money, but what I have I will happily use to back myself."
She got to her feet. I stood up in front of her.
"Then we're agreed. We will have a bet as to who can prove" - I raised my eyebrows - "or disprove a paranormal being or event." She thought for a moment. "Beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"Beyond reasonable doubt," I agreed, and we shook hands. "You know, I'm skeptical even without a bet."
"Yes, I know you're perfectly happy trying to rain on my mystical parade. But this adds just a smidgen of spice to it, don't you think? A little friendly competition?"
"Mmhmm. How much is the bet for?"
"Oh, we're not betting for money," she said, waving away such a mundane thought. "This is our honor we're betting, here. Honor, and the right to say 'I told you so' to the other person."
I laughed at that. "Sounds good to me. For every haunted house we visit, for every psychic you take me to see, for every crackpot who claims he has crop circles, I'll show you the truth behind the paranormal facade."
Her smile lit up her eyes as she opened the door to the tiny hallway. "We can start this afternoon. This area is a hotbed of paranormal activity, but most well known is the faery ring just outside of town. Get your faery-hunting clothes on, Portia. The game is afoot!" "Na then, t'get ta the faery circle, gwain ye doon the road past Arvright's farm - ye know where that be, then?"
By focusing very, very hard, I managed to pick out words in the sentence that I understood. "Yes."
"Aye. Gwain ye doon the hill past Arvright's, then when ye see the sheep, ye turn north." The old man pointed to the south.
"Is that north?" Sarah asked in an undertone, looking doubtfully in the direction the man pointed.
"Shh. I'm having enough trouble trying to get through his West Country accent." I turned a cheerful smile on the man. "So, I turn left at the sheep?"
"Aye, 'tis what I am sayin'. Na then, once ye've skurved past they sheep, ye'll come to a zat combe."
"Zat combe?" Sarah's face was fierce with concentration. "I'm not sure I...a zat combe?"
I wrote down the old man's directions, praying we wouldn't end up wandering into someone's yard.
"Aye, 'tis right zat. Full o' varments."
Sarah looked at me. I shrugged and said to the man, "Lots of them, eh?"
Behind my back, Sarah pinched my arm.
"Chikky, too. They needs a good thraipin', but none here'll be doin' it."
"Thraipin'," Sarah said, nodding just as if she understood.
"Well, thraipin' chikky varments is an acquired skill, I've always found," I said, continuing to take notes that made no sense. "So we go through the zat combe with the varments? Then...?"
"Ye be up nap o' thikky hill."
"Ah."
Sarah leaned close. "I recognized a word in that sentence. I think I'm getting the hang of this language. It's good to know that all those years of watching BBC America are paying off."
"And that's where the faery circle is?" I asked the man, trying not to giggle. "Up nap o' thikky hill?"
"Aye." The old man narrowed his eyes and spat neatly to the side. Sarah looked appalled. "Dawn't ye go kickin' up t'pellum on thikky hill."
"We wouldn't dream of it," I promised solemnly.
"Ye maids be master Fanty Sheeny t'gwain ye ta the faery circle. 'Tis naught good ye find up nap o' thikky hill."
"Well, now, that's just lost me," Sarah said helplessly, turning to me for translation.