The McGuinness Of The Moor
"Start you stupid machine!"
Michael Stogie kicked the bonnet of his red BMW as yet again it had cut out on him. Lighting a cigarette he looked at his watch, eleven thirty. The decision to drive home after Bolton Wanderers' away game at Strathless-Over-Haven in the UEFA Cup. It's only up North, it'll be an easy drive. Now here he was in the middle of nowhere with half a pack of cigarettes and a tub of herbs for his home made lasagne. He knew he should've listened to his boss and worked overtime in the returns department but the prospect of watching his beloved whites was too much.
He cursed under his breath as every time he put the phone to his ear the signal disappeared. Out in the distance he could see the lights of an old farm house, judging the kilometres between them Michael decided to make a run for it. Locking the car in case of extreme joy riding sheep, Michael put his best foot forward , stopped, wiped it and strode purposely towards the lights in the night. Then it came, floating across the moors like a bad sound effects record. The howl!
"What was that?"
The noise came again, louder, somehow closer. Michael increased his speed to blind panicky running and charged through the door of the building. There was an eerie silence as the whole room looked at the new arrival.
"We don't get many strangers round these parts," the landlord said.
"Probably because you don't have any pub signs," Michael replied.
Grumbling to himself the landlord pulled a pint of Baskerville Ale from the large pump on the bar. He placed the heady pint down in front of the recovering Michael.
"I didn't ask for that," Michael said.,
"A pound,"
"I'll have two."
Michael handed over his money and once again the blood curdling howl spread through the air. A pair of truckers held hands and cuddled together in the corner and the whole inn came to a hush.
"What's that?" Michael asked
"That's just the McGuinness of the moor," Leanora O'Connell a six foot blonde stunner announced from behind the bar.
"The what?" Michael spat out a mouthful of beer.
"Nobody talks about the McGuinness," the landlord said.
"Don't be so stupid, dad. Rumour has it that there's meant to be, so, like this hideous beast. It totally roams the hills. A nasty vicious grey creature."
"Nobody talks about the McGuinness," the landlord said again.
"Like, my friend Charlene, she says it's a demon from hell sent to reap revenge on the sinners of Strathless-Over-Haven. But, Tracey says it's a mythical beast that has survived evolution, but she's a bit dumb. Carolyn reckons it's a wild creature escaped from a freak show. "
"Aye, nobody talks about the McGuinness,"the landlord said again, resigned.
Everybody in the inn looked at each other as if hiding a long kept secret away from the prying eyes of town folk.
"The McGuinness is nothing more than an urban legend made up to scare poachers!" the sound of disdain came from a dark corner of the inn.
"Like, whatever," Leanora retorted.
"Well, I don't believe it."
"Carlo O'Connell, nobody is interested in what you have to say. Not even Gina McPherson who has cootees and gives away kisses behind the cow sheds," Leanora fumed.
"I still won't sign those divorce papers," Carlo shouted standing up to leave, "You will have to get me to sign them with my cold dead hand!"
With that Carlo O'Connell barged out into the misty night. Severely stressed by the domestic of twin peaks proportions, Michael lit a cigarette.
"Sorry mister. No smoking in here," the landlord forcefully said.
Michael attempted to explain in his best Anglo Saxon that it was extremely cold, dark and scary beyond the confines of the inn, but felt he was getting nowhere so left the group to enjoy his harmful toxins in peace.
A six foot square of moorland was taped off with incident tape. Lying inside its cubic capacity was a mass of chewed limbs and ripped innards surrounded by a 1997 Bolton Wanderers shirt.
"Look at this, it's an absolute terrible mess," Martin Hynden of Strathless-Over-Haven CID commented.
"It is," Nikita Diamond, his assistant, replied.
"I mean, just look at my shoes. I paid good money for these fake Jimmy Choo's, now they're all covered in mud. What are we doing in the middle of nowhere anyway?"
"That would be the strange death under mysterious circumstances," Nikita reminded him.
"Oh, right. Is that the body in there?" Hynden asked.
Hynden entered the taped off area and knelt down next to the covered body.
"Tell me about it. What kind of sicko are we dealing with?"
Nikita slowly pulled back the tarpaulin to reveal the mess that was once a human body.
"My God. That's terrible," Hynden exclaimed, "That football shirt is ten years old."
"It looks like he was attacked by an animal, look at the teeth marks on the bones. It's a very wild area, maybe someone in that building over there heard something," Nikita said.
Martin Hynden entered the unnamed inn and forgot that Nikita was behind him so let the door swing into her face. The whole room went silent and a dozen pair of eyes focused on the detective.
"Your flies are undone," the landlord said.
With a highly audible zip the room returned to its old murmuring way.
"I'm Inspector Martin Hynden of Strathless CID. This tall dwarf in a dress is my assistant, Nikita Diamond. We just want to ask a few questions about a little murder that's taken place up the road."
There was a rumble of whispering among the locals as the words filtered through to their brains.
"We don't understand that word around here," the landlord said.
"Murder?"
"No, road! What is this, road you speak of?"
"It's a piece of tarmac that cars go round to get from one place to another," Hynden explained.
"Cars?" The landlord asked puzzled, before blustering "We don't get many strangers round these parts."
Hynden looked around the room at what appeared to be the extras from The Wicker Man. Even the Spaniel in a cloth cap and shotgun sat in the corner of the room leaning against the jukebox was beginning to give him the creeps. Behind him, he heard the sweet tones of Leanora singing as she entered the bar.
"Howdy Cowgirl. Do you know where I may find any deranged psycho killers hiding? Your bedroom perhaps?" Hynden flirted subtly.
"I've a poster of Mick Hucknall," Leanora flirted back.
"The names Hynden, Martin Hynden. I hold the world record for shooting peas at a bag of candy floss while blindfolded. What's your name?"
"Leanora O'Connell. But my maiden names A'barman. This is my dad Justin."
"Aye, that's right I'm Just A'barman," the landlord interrupted, "I've lived in this village my whole life. I know everything about everybody."
"Do you know who killed that poor unfortunate victim on the moors. He'd been torn apart with ferocity at velocity," Nikita dramatised.
"Aye, I do. That be the McGuinness of the moor. But nobody talks about the McGuinness."
"Why not?" Hynden asked.
"Because nobody knows anything," he replied.
Hynden stood for a moment and took in this startling revelation, all the time watching Leanora play with her pumps, a piece of gymnastic footwear not often associated with country villages.
"The McGuinness stalks the moors," the Landlord said lighting candles on the bar, "The grey haired creature was responsible for the downfall of the Faverhall family and has haunted the area for centuries. Rumour has it that he is controlled by a local sandwich maker who was chased out of the village because of her high prices. In an act of revenge she cursed them that should they venture onto the moor the McGuinness would be waiting to tear out their throats. "
"Does he sing Elvis songs during a full moon?" Nikita asked scoffing at the legend.
"Of course not," the Landlord replied, "Only on the first Tuesday of a month containing a 'U'"
The surreal conversation was broken by Carlo O'Connell entering the inn. Leanora looked at him shocked, her face an expression of 'What are you still doing alive?' as she went pale and her chin nearly hit the floor.
"Usual, pint please, Justin," O'Connell ordered. He turned to Hynden, "Take my advice chum. You don't want to get involved with her. She may be tall, have 33DD breasts and be heir to millions because of her old man's insurance policy. But, she's a man eater. She'll make you work boy…"
"Make you want more?" Nikita chipped in.
"I'm Martin Hynden, Strathless CID. I'm here to investigate a death on the moor. Poor unfortunate was ripped to pieces by a wild animal."
"It's so like the McGuinness. We all heard it howling and barking and stuff," Leanora said.
"Don't be daft. The McGuinness doesn't exist. It's like Voodoo," O'connell said.
"You do?" Leanora said
"Voodoo."
"Who do?" Hynden asked.
"We do!" The two truckers from the corner shouted.
"Carlo O'Connell, the McGuinness is real. If it wasn't how could I have trained a panther to kill by the smell of cigarette smoke, dyed it's hair grey and sent it out last night to kill you so I could have my div… Ooops."
Everybody looked at Leanora who was biting her lip very, very hard. Nikita Diamond pulled out a pair of handcuffs from her handbag and handed them to Hynden. He looked at her and mouthed the words 'It's not Thursday'.
"They're for her," Nikita pointed out angrily.
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