The Magic Cottage

WATCHER

IN THE BATHROOM, I doused my face with water, washing away the perspiration that had broken through. Then I vigorously scrubbed my hands as though they'd become contaminated by those things in the loft. I felt sick, but the nausea remained glutinously locked inside my chest.

Bats! Ugly, sinister, wizened monsters. And from what I'd seen, a plague of them! And O'Malley must have known they were there: why the hell hadn't he said something? I now regretted not having accepted sound advice to send in a surveyor to look over the cottage, thinking one fee less would add financially to the repairs we could carry out; at least a surveyor would have discovered their presence and informed us. I dreaded telling Midge, not wanting to spoil this idyll of hers; but she would have to know, there was no way of keeping the fact from her.

Creepy little bastards! There had to be exterminators in the area, or perhaps even the local council handled such things. Were bats a health hazard? They were a mental hazard, that's for sure.

I wiped my face and hands dry, head buzzing with flesh-crawling thoughts. I suppose I may have been overreacting, but the unpleasant feeling I'd had before opening the loft, together with the shock of being confronted by all those black hanging bodies, was having a strong effect. I wondered how long Gramarye had been the creatures' domicile; had they arrived after Flora Chaldean's demise, or had they taken up residence while she was still around? The latter was hard to imagine, but then again, we knew she'd been something of an eccentric, so maybe Flora had made them welcome. Well, the new management reserved the right not to accept certain parties, and elephants, woodworm and bats were definitely out.

I walked through into the adjoining bedroom and went to the window with the intention of throwing it open and gasping in deep lungfuls of fresh, unmusty air; I checked my breath when I saw a group of figures by the garden gate.

Midge, now dressed, and on this side of the gate, had her back to me and was in conversation with three other people, two men and a girl. They were casually clothed—open-necked shirts, slacks, the girl in a longish, patterned skirt and blouse. She had long blonde hair and even from that distance looked vaguely familiar to me. A Citroen was parked half-on the grass shoulder behind them (by then we had found a clear patch to the side of the garden big enough to accommodate our Passat). Their voices drifted up to me over the garden, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Feeling particularly receptive to human company at that point in time, I left the bedroom and went downstairs. If this group were local, they might even know how to handle our bat problem.

The strong pure scent of flowers cleared my head of stale fumes as I strode down the path. The three strangers looked past Midge as I approached, Midge herself turning to greet me when I drew near.

"Mike, we've got our first visitors," she said, obviously enjoying the contact.

"First human visitors," I corrected, smiling at their brief puzzlement. I managed to push thoughts of tiny winged creatures aside for the moment.

"Mike's referring to certain animals who've dropped by since we moved in," Midge explained, and smiles broke out all around.

"I'm afraid you'll soon learn it's we human folk who are the interlopers in this neck of the woods." The speaker was as blond as the girl, although his hair was a mite shorter, almost military length, in fact. He was about my size—five ten—and his eyes were Newmanish blue. He reminded me of a time-capsuled 60s Californian surfer, and his American accent enhanced the image, although I sensed an intensity about him that belied his laid-back manner. He was grinning and even his teeth were pure Hollywood.

"Hi," he said, extending a hand over the low gate. "I'm Hub Kinsella and . . ." he waved his free hand toward his companions ". . . this is Gillie Slade and Neil Joby."

I shook hands with all three as Midge introduced me. Each one looked to be in his early or mid twenties.

"We saw you when we passed by the other day," the girl said, hardly any pressure at all in her handshake.

"Oh yeah, I thought I'd seen you before," I replied. "You waved at me from the car, right?"

She nodded. "You waved first."

We laughed, the way uncertain strangers do at the slightest hint of humor. She was English enough and quite pretty in a wan sort of way. She wore no make-up and freckles sprinkled the tops of her cheeks and her nose; there was a nervous skittishness about her that was either appealing or annoying, I couldn't be sure which.

The second man, Joby, was short and thin, and close up I noticed he was dressed less informally than the others, inasmuch as he wore a tie with his shortsleeved shirt, his trousers were sharply creased, and his shoes were brightly polished. His hairless arms projected from their sleeves like white bendy sticks and his grip was a little too tight, as if the firmness was assumed rather than natural. There was the faintest Midlands nasalization to his voice when he greeted me with, "Hope you like your new home."

"Yeah, we do," I said, "but it'll take a while to settle in."

"Are you both from London?" Kinsella asked, his tone politely interested rather than inquisitive.

"How could you tell?"

He smiled disarmingly. "You have that look about you."

"Ducks out of water?"

"Oh no, I didn't mean to imply that. I just felt this was kinda new to you."

"Not quite for Midge—she was raised in the country. Me, I'm a novice."

"You'll soon come to love it out here," put in the girl, Gillie. "I did."

Midge tucked her arm into mine and leaned against me. "You know the big house we came across on our walk yesterday, Mike?"

"Blea—the gray house?"

She nodded. "That's where Hub, Gillie and Neil come from."

"Really? You live there? All three of you?"

"More than three of us, Mike," said Kinsella.

"What is it? A hotel, a health farm of some kind?"

"Neither of those. Why don't you drop by some time when you're settled and we'll show you around?"

"Yes, please do," said Gillie, surprising us both by reaching out with both hands to touch our arms. "The house is beautiful inside and we'd make you so welcome. Please say you'll come and visit."

I was slightly taken aback with her enthusiasm, but Midge seemed pleased with the idea. "That would be nice," she told the girl. "We were intrigued by the place yesterday, weren't we, Mike?"

"Yeah, intrigued." I felt warning pressure from Midge's hand on my arm. "Meanwhile we've got a small problem that needs attending to. I thought maybe you'd have some ideas as you live in these parts."

Their expressions couldn't have conveyed more eagerness to help. Midge was curious.

"Bats have taken over the penthouse suite," I explained, pointing back toward the cottage with a thumb. Turning to Midge, I said, "That was what the noises were last night. They're up in the loft now, sleeping off the party."

"Bats?" she said.

"Bats," I replied.

"Oh, they're no great problem, Mike," the American assured me. "They really won't do any harm."

"Maybe not, but they make me feel uncomfortable. I'd hate to wake up one night and find them toasting each other's health with our blood."

They chuckled at that, although Gillie looked slightly queasy.

"No fear of that," said Joby, folding insect arms across his chest. "They mostly hunt around dusk and dawn. I can't imagine you'll find many vampire bats in Hampshire, anyway. If you leave them in peace they won't disturb you."

"They're already disturbing me."

"Oh, come on Mike," said Midge. "They're only like hamsters with wings."

Her reaction—or lack of reaction—took me by surprise. I knew she adored animals, but all animals?

"Unfortunately, there's not much you can do about them by law," Joby went on. "They're a protected species, you see. Most of them have been wiped out in this country, mainly by pesticides and ignorance—people deliberately destroying them. Conservationists stepped in just in time to beg the government to act."

"You're saying we can't touch those things?" I asked incredulously.

He bowed his head gravely. "Mammals, actually. They're either the pipistrelle or the long-eared bat, depending on size—pipistrelle is the smallest."

"I didn't take too close a look."

"The pipistrelle favors woodlands, but is quite used to residential areas, and the long-eared bat likes to sleep in caves or cellars or lofts."

"That sounds like our boy, then."

"I promise you, you're in no danger from them. Insects and moths are what they like to eat, so they may even be doing you a favor."

I was doubtful, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. Slowly shaking my head, I said, "So it looks like we're stuck with them."

The guy called Kinsella spoke in a conspiratorial voice: "Look, Mike, if it really gets to be a bad problem, maybe we can help you smoke 'em out or somethin'. No one else need know."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how it goes."

He flashed those pearlies again. "You know where to find us if you need any help at all, but we'd like to see you at any time."

"Shall I fetch the gift, Hub?" The girl was looking up at him like a puppy dog looks at its master.

"Oh, sure, almost forgot."

Gillie ducked into the open window of the car and drew out a square red biscuit tin. She held it over the gate toward Midge.

"One of our sisters is a fantastic cook, so when we realized you'd moved into Gramarye we asked her to make you a welcoming cake," Gillie told us. "Nothing very grand, but I think you'll enjoy it."

"Our small way of welcoming you to the neighborhood," said Kinsella, holding his arms away from his sides as though he could hug us.

"What a lovely thought," Midge enthused, accepting the gift and beaming all over her pretty face. "Perhaps we can invite you over once we're straight—we'd love that, wouldn't we, Mike?"

Kinsella cut in before I could respond. "You can be sure we'll be saying hello from time to time. Once we've made friends we don't like to lose 'em."

He said that with all geniality, so I wondered why it made me feel uneasy.

"Meanwhile," he went on, "we'll let you get on—I'm sure there's a lot to put right in the cottage. The previous owner was a little old to maintain the place properly, I guess."

"You knew Flora Chaldean?" asked Midge.

"Oh, most people around here knew of her," said Gillie.

"But no one got to know her," said Kinsella. "We spoke to her a coupla times, is all. Now you just remember what I told you: any help you need, you only have to call."

"We'll remember, er, Hub," I said. Then, "Is that a nickname?"

"Short for Hubris. My folks had a sense of humor."

Not much of one, I thought. "Well, good meeting you and thanks for that info on bats. Doesn't help any, but at least I know where we stand."

We shook hands rather formally, then the group climbed into their car, Kinsella taking the wheel. They waved from the windows as the Citroen pulled away, and we returned the waves, watching them until they had disappeared from view.

"Weren't they incredibly nice?" Midge exclaimed, holding up the cake box for me to see.

"I suppose so. A mite too friendly, maybe."

"Oh, Mike, you're such an old cynic sometimes. They were only being neighborly. I wish a few more people had their outlook."

"Yeah, but what are they, Midge? How come a mixed bunch like that is living together in a manor house? Did you notice Gillie referred to our cake-maker as sister?"

"What difference? They probably belong to some religious organization. What does it matter as long as they're nice people?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I felt a bit crowded, that's all, like they were too keen to get to know us."

"How many times do I have to tell you: things are different in the countryside, people are friendlier. You mustn't be so suspicious."

"Sorry, Midge, didn't mean to be. Finding those bats upset my peace of mind."

Her tone softened. "I can understand that. But it's true, you know, bats really are harmless."

"So long as they know that."

The slightest of breezes rustled the nearby trees and stirred the flowers. Midge tucked the cake tin under one arm and linked her other through mine. We strolled back to the cottage, the sun warm on our faces.

"Let's take a look at those monsters you're so afraid of," she said coaxingly.

"You want to go up there?"

She became indignant. "Of course. I can't wait to see them."

"You're full of surprises."

"I study wildlife, remember? I paint animals for stories. I enjoy watching them. Besides, these little devils may give me an idea for a future book, one I could write myself. Better yet, one you could write for me. It's about time you put that particular talent to good use."

"A horror story for tiny tots? You may have something there."

"No, nothing like that. There isn't anything nasty about bats anyway."

"You wait till you see 'em."

She left the cake on the kitchen table and we went upstairs, me leading the way and muttering under my breath about the dire consequences of socializing with Dracula's kinsmen, while Midge prodded my buttocks and gave me fair warning to quit my craven rambling.

In the attic room, my future music studio, I picked up the flashlight still lying on the chair and tapped it against the palm of my hand, confronting Midge with a sober expression.

"You really want to go through with this . . ." I asked darkly, ". . . despite knowing what happened to Pandora?"

"Get outa here," she replied, poking my chest with rigid fingers and putting one foot on the chair.

"All right, all right. I'm serious now, Midge: I honestly don't feel like going up there again."

"You don't have to—Just help me up. I won't tell all our friends.' She struck a pose, one fist clenched against her hip, foot still on the chair. Her grin was grim. And, of course, challenging.

Groaning miserably, I pulled her away and climbed onto the chair myself. I'd closed the hatch when I'd scrambled down earlier, perhaps imagining the bats might follow me, and I said, "I'll open up, then lift you through, unless you want to go get the stepladder."

"You'll do." She folded her arms and waited.

"Yes'm." I pushed at the hatch and it sucked open once more. "Nothing to get excited about, guys," I quietly called through. "Only the landlord come to check the air conditioning." Although not as nervous as before, now that I knew something about our somnolent guests, my attempt at light-hearted banter was somewhat forced.

The hatch slammed back against an upright timber as before and I ducked low at the sudden bang. I caught Midge hiding a smile behind her hand.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," I said grumpily, stepping down and handing her the flashlight. I made a stirrup of my hands. "Catch the side of the opening with one hand and put the light inside, then I'll lift you through."

"My hero," she said, resting a foot in my hands.

I straightened and she rose easily, switching on the flashlight and placing it through the opening in almost one graceful movement, her weight no problem. Midge sat as I had, her legs dangling in space.

I scrambled up after her, using the chair and trying to make it look easy now I had an audience; she quickly moved aside to allow me room.

Once inside, I whispered, "See what I mean?" The familiar smell wrinkled my nose again.

She was swinging the beam around the loft and I shuddered inwardly when I saw the black hanging shapes.

"Oh, Mike, there aren't that many," she said scornfully.

I blinked as I followed the roving light. There really didn't seem to be as many bats as before. "I, uh . . . I'm sure there were more than this."

"I think you were so alarmed you imagined more. Even so, there must be at least thirty or forty scattered around up here."

"But they were crammed together last time. A lot of them must have taken flight."

"In broad daylight? No, the light beam must have cast their shadows so it looked like there were more." She patted my thigh reassuringly. "When you're basically chicken, things have a way of becoming exaggerated." She pointed the light up under her chin, making an evil relief of her grinning face.

"Oh that's funny, that's really funny. Just gimme the light, will you?"

I snatched the flashlight from her and crawled further into the loft, keeping to the joists, reluctant to have a knee go through the ceiling below. I shone the beam into the further recesses, although I couldn't see behind the water tank; nevertheless, nothing was skulking anywhere else. Midge joined me, walking rather than crawling, making me feel even more foolish.

I stood, grabbing at a crossbeam for balance, careful not to brush against a sleeping bat. I expected to find Midge smiling mockingly at me, but she was far too intent studying one of the dangling bodies nearby.

She reached out and gently tugged at a folded wing.

"Hey," I hissed, "what're you doing?"

"Shine the light over here, Mike, I'd like to get a good look at this chap."

"Midge, it might be dangerous. Christ, it might have rabies!"

"Stop being such a wimp. There's no rabies in this country. Remember what I said about hamsters with wings? Just keep thinking of them that way. Now come on, bring the light over."

Spunky brat, I thought grudgingly, doing as I was told and treading warily on the joists. "Don't blame me if you get bitten," I warned peevishly.

The bat twitched and tried to retract its extended wing; Midge held the wing firm. The brute's ugly mouth opened in annoyance, revealing tiny Lugosi teeth, although it appeared not to wake. All the same, I kept my distance, stretching my arm to provide Midge with the light she wanted.

"See the fingers?" Her voice at least was hushed. "See how long the last three are? The wing is just skin between them. Look, it goes right down to the bat's foot and tail."

"That's really interesting. You think we could let him doze in peace?"

"And look at his furry little body. He's a cute little feller."

"Cute! He's as ugly as sin!" I instantly regretted raising my voice as the fine membranes over the bat's tiny eyes quivered open for a second.

"He's offended," observed Midge.

"He'll have to live with it. Look at that horrible squashed-up nose and pointy ears." I made a disgusted noise.

"That's his radar around the nose."

"It doesn't help cosmetically. Can we go down now, Midge? We may have to cohabit with these hanging prunes, but we don't have to fraternize with them."

She let the wing fold back inward, then squeezed the flesh above my hip. "I didn't know you were so allergic."

"To be honest, neither did I. I've just got a funny feeling about them—can't help it."

"At least you know there aren't as many as you first thought."

"I could've sworn . . . No matter, the shock must have made me see double."

"Or treble. Let's get down to where the air's sweeter."

We held hands crossing the joists and I stood with legs across the hatchway to lower Midge onto the chair below. With one last look around, I dropped the flashlight into her waiting hands and eased myself through, balancing on the chair to catch the side of the hatch and close it after me. This time the wood was lowered into place with less panic.

I hopped to the floor and slapped dust off my hands, glad to be out of the gloom. By then, Midge had gone over to one of the small windows in the attic and was trying to open it.

"I thought I'd let some air circulate up here," she said over her shoulder, "but this window's stuck."

I joined her. "Might be paint on the outside. The builders should have left the windows open till they were dry. Here, let me have a go."

Before I could give the sash on one half of the double-window a good thump, Midge held my arm.

"Do the bats really bother you, Mike? You know, we can always do as Hub suggested and find a way of getting rid of them without anyone knowing."

I gazed at her steadily. "You wouldn't like that very much, would you?"

"I don't like the idea of them spoiling Gramarye for you. It's more important to me that you're happy here, so if it's a choice between that and the bats staying, then they're the losers."

We touched foreheads briefly. "You're probably right," I said, "they'll be no trouble at all." I turned back to the window. "But any midnight bat orgies and they're out—the sound of all those frenzied wings would drive me crazy."

I banged a palm against the sash, then tried again, biting my lip at the smarting of my hand. On the third try, the window juddered open an inch, and it was easy to push it wide after that. The half next to it was equally difficult, but again on the third thump it budged open. As I widened the gap, slipping the casement stay onto its catch, I glanced over at the woodland opposite, drawing in a deep breath of sun-warmed air as I did so. I stiffened before exhaling.

Was that a figure standing in the shade just beyond the first line of trees? Somebody watching us again?

"Midge," I said, the sound strained because I still held a lungful of air. I let the breath go as she moved closer. "Midge, somebody's over there watching the house."

I didn't look at her, but I knew she was peering into the forest.

"Where, Mike? I don't see anyone."

I took my eyes off the still figure for a moment and put an arm around Midge's shoulders, pulling her even closer.

"Over there," I whispered unnecessarily and pointing. "Just inside the trees. A dark figure looking directly across at the cottage."

But when I returned my own gaze, the figure had disappeared.

"Still don't see it, Mike," said Midge, and I turned to her speechlessly, then quickly looked back at the trees. Definitely nobody there.

I began to wonder if the country air was so fresh it caused hallucinations.