Eddie

IT'S GETTING DARK AS DAN and I pedal into the woods on two of The Manor's bicycles. The male guest saved a What3words location where they found the blood, so we've got that to work from. It's kind of fun at first, whizzing as fast as we can along the winding trails, dodging bushes and trunks: it beats standing at the sink any day.

But then we're farther into the gloom and the trees are closer together and the sounds from the outside world begin to disappear. Delilah liked sneaking into the woods to have sex. She said my single bed with the old football stickers on it and being able to hear Mum listening to The Archers in the kitchen downstairs didn't really do it for her. Even though I tried not to show it I always freaked myself out in here. Especially because Delilah would sometimes sing this song that most of us locals learned as kids—our own version of "The Teddy Bear's Picnic" about a different kind of surprise in the woods.

For every foul that ever there was

Is gathered there tonight because

Tonight's the night

The Night Birds make their mischief

I never actually knew whether it was meant to be "foul" or "fowl." Based on the legends, I suppose it could be either.

While Lila and I walked in the woods I'd remember Mum's warnings about never going after nightfall. I'd keep thinking I saw things—shadows, figures—moving among the trees. I couldn't shake the idea that we weren't alone. There are all sorts of noises in old woods when you tune in to them: rustles and creaks that might be a small animal or the wind or whatever but might also be the sounds of someone creeping about. And while we were doing the deed it was often a struggle to keep it up (which wasn't normally my main problem). Especially because Lila liked to whisper stuff in my ear like: "Imagine: they could be watching us. Kind of a spooky turn-on, isn't it?" Erm, no. I never said this but I much preferred it when we were at her house and she lit a scented candle and played Lana Del Rey.

But right now I'm thinking about that last time we came into the woods together. Finding old Lord Meadows dead at his desk. The look on his face. I'm starting to wish I could just give that five hundred quid bonus back.

I call out to Dan to stop so I can check our bearings. It seems like the guests came off the path around here, following the animal trails that lead farther into the trees.

Dan stops the bike with a screech of brakes and turns to me, saying in a big rush: "Maybe we say we just couldn't find anything. Or, like, say there's nothing there. That they were making it up. It's not like they're going to come back and check."

"Yeah," I say, "I don't think we can do that. If Francesca Meadows finds out we didn't do the job properly, or Michelle hears about it—" It's not even worth thinking about.

"But, like, this goes beyond the job description. Don't you think?" Dan darts nervous looks between the trees. He's scared. And yeah, I'm scared, too.

We carry on cycling, but then I hear the screech of Dan's brakes a second time. He's pointing straight ahead. "Eds," he says, his voice wobbling. "What's that—there?"

I slam on my brakes too, follow his gaze. A dark figure crouches on the ground a few feet ahead, face hidden in the shadow of a black hood. I can't breathe. It's like I've just taken a hard tackle to the stomach. And then the figure unfolds itself and stands up fully, and I see that it's Nathan Tate. He's wearing dirty jeans that hang from his skinny jutting hipbones and a black hoodie that reads: I'D RATHER BE MASTURBATING. For a moment he goes still as a hunted deer, then he relaxes. "If it isn't my old pal Eddie," he slurs. I think he might be drunk. Dan shoots me a glance like: er ... how do you know this guy?

"What are you doing here?" I ask Tate.

"Could ask the same thing of you, m'lad."

"This is hotel property," Dan says, finding a burst of confidence from somewhere. "So, like, it's private?"

"Oh is it now? Because to me it looks like a fucking wood that's been here for thousands and thousands of years, probably since before humans even existed. And now I'm just existing. Just doing a bit of forest bathing. Is that really a crime?"

"Oh my God. Not a-bloody-gain." Delilah appears from between the trees, one hand on her hip. She's wearing black denim hotpants and a purple vinyl halter neck top and her belly button ring peeks out between the two. I see Dan's mouth fall open.

"Like, how is it that you seem to turn up everywhere? Should change your name to friggin' Eddie Stalker."

"Let's get going," I mutter to Dan. "They're harmless."

Maybe Tate's hearing is better than I thought—or maybe he's less drunk than I thought—because as we ride off he shouts after me: "That's what you think, Eddie old boy! That's what you think!" The last thing I hear is Delilah's laugh, echoing among the trees.

"Come on," I say to Dan, sounding braver than I feel, "let's just get this over with." I check the What3words location on my phone. The signal's totally died but I can still use it as a sort of map and according to this we're pretty close to the spot. We leave the bikes on the trail as the undergrowth is thick on the ground but as we shove our way through we eventually find a path that's been trampled, like something bigger than a human has passed through here. On a patch of bare earth, I see a hoofprint. A deer? But it would have to be an enormous deer.

Then we step into a clearing and in the beam of the torch I see it. Oh God.

Blood covers the ground, shining wet and blackish red in the torchlight. I lift the torch and see there's some spattered up the bottom part of a nearby trunk and even on the leaves of the lower branches.

"Fucking hell," says Dan, hoarsely. I look over at him. He's crouched down like he's trying to make himself smaller, his eyes wild and darting about. "Fucking hell mate—that is a lot of blood."

I can't even find the words to reply.