The fog curled increasingly thickly all around me, giving me only glimpses of my surroundings. Mud and mire, and thick tufts of dark vegetation, along with open stretches of standing water. I just kept going, hoping to reach someplace that made sense. Off in the distance, something was howling. My first thought was wolf, and then, not quite. There was something distinctly off about the sound. Werewolves, perhaps? The car’s machine guns had special backup ammunition for special creatures: silver, wood, cursed and blessed bullets . . . but not a lot.
It occurred to me that given how much noise the Bentley’s engine was making in the quiet night, there was no way of hiding where I was. So I might as well announce my arrival and let my kidnapper know I was here. I leaned heavily on the car’s horn, and the loud blaring sound carried defiantly on the still air. It was immediately answered by more wolfish howling. It sounded a lot closer.
The Bentley lurched dangerously, as she ploughed through bog and mire, and unseen deep muddy furrows. I put my foot down and hung on grimly. The car kept going. Dark waters splashed up against the sides of the car, and even over the bonnet. And then I realised from the smell that it wasn’t water. It was blood. I was driving across moorland soaked in blood. I turned on the windscreen wipers and hunched down in my seat. The car was supposed to protect me against all unnatural threats, but I wasn’t sure whether the blood qualified. Maybe blood in the mud was natural here. And then I pulled a face, as I realised I was going to have to clean the car when all this was over. And caked dried blood can be a real pain to remove.
A massive circle of ancient standing stones loomed up out of the mists on my right, and despite myself, I slowed down to get a better look. There were more circles, inside the main circle—dozens of them, grey pitted stone menhirs, standing tall in the night. And every single one of the many stones was spattered with old dried blood. As though uncountable human sacrifices had been made in this place, under these stones, long ago. Like some terrible primeval machine, designed for slaughter. And I couldn’t escape a very definite feeling that there was something moving, silently observing, from inside the circles. Hidden in the shadows, watching me with bad intent. I couldn’t make out any specific shapes, but then, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I put my foot down again, and the car lunged forward. As I moved away, leaving the standing stones behind, the giant menhirs in the outer circle started spinning like a roundabout, round and round, faster and faster. And then all the inner circles began spinning round in opposing directions, until all the standing stones were sailing round and round like some out-of-control machine.
I drove on, keeping a careful eye on the stones in my rearview mirror, until I was sure I’d left them behind.
Not long after that, a cemetery loomed up on my left-hand side, and once again, against all my better judgement, I slowed down to look the place over. It appeared to be an old-fashioned burying ground, surrounded by low stone walls and a single pair of tall iron-barred gates. Which were, of course, standing wide open. I brought the Bentley to a halt outside the gates. The mists had thinned right out, as though to make sure I had a good view. I could see some distance into the cemetery. It was all broken crosses and shattered headstones, and a great many dark, gaping holes in the ground. Graves that had been opened and dug up, or perhaps burst out from within. Just looking at the place was enough to raise all the hairs on the back of my neck. Another bad place. And once again, I had the strongest feeling that someone or something hiding inside the cemetery was watching me from the shadows. I also had a strong feeling that I should get out of the car and go into the cemetery and investigate. So I didn’t. Some impulses you just know aren’t going to lead you anywhere good. I turned the wheel and hit the gas, and accelerated away from the cemetery.
Never leave the car.
The fog thickened again as I moved on, curling and roiling in the Bentley’s