Colm & the Ghost's Revenge Read Free

passed by.
    Waiting and listening.
    As darkness fell.
    And the night took hold.
    And still no vehicle passed by.
    Until finally, the car’s battery died.
    And Fintan Wickerly began to worry.
    It was time to make a decision. He was either going to spend the night freezing in the car with no blankets or food – and his stomach had already begun to rumble – or else he was going to have to get out and seek some other form of shelter. He couldn’t remember passing a house in the last few kilometres of his journey, but there had to be one somewhere up ahead, hadn’t there? They don’t just build roads to nowhere, he told himself, as he climbed out of the car for the second and last time.

    Fintan had been striding down the middle of the road, as purposefully as his bunion would allow, for what felt like hours and he still hadn’t come across any sign of civilisation. Without a torch or the moon to guide him, he’d occasionally wandered off the track, but then his eyes had adjusted to the night and he’d become more confident. For a while. The purposeful striding was downgraded to a hearty walk and then a sullen trudge as tiredness began to take hold. The rain eased off, not that he cared very much. He was already soaked through. He knew he needed to find shelter quickly. He was wondering how long it would take to die of hypothermia when he heard a howl coming from the woods.
    â€˜Probably longer than it would take to be eaten by a wild animal,’ he muttered.
    He wasn’t sure what sort of creature could produce such a howl. A coyote? A cougar? A bear? Did bears even howl? It hardly mattered. What was important was whether or not he could outrun any of them if they caught his scent. He was a forty-seven-year-old burger-loving postman and whatever lurked in the night was a wild animal that survived because of its speed, strength and stealth. The odds weren’t exactly stacked in his favour.
    Then he saw a light up ahead. A tiny pinprick in the distance, but a light all the same. He felt adrenaline surge through his body. His legs and arms might not be ripped off after all. He might live. He picked up the pace. Another hundred metres farther on and he could see a blurry, dark shape beneath the light. A contrast to the trees. Was it a house? He was almost sprinting now, his bunion pain a distant memory. No sign of any creature from the woods either. Half a kilometre later and Fintan Wickerly smiled for the first time in six months. It was a house. Of sorts. More like a cabin.
    Sweet relief.
    Surely whoever was in there couldn’t refuse him shelter. Even if they did, Fintan decided that it wouldn’t stop him. He was going in there no matter what they said. They could give him a meal. And a bed for the night. A hot shower would be nice too. Yes, he’d be their guest. They’d have to treat him right. He left the road, cut through the trees and up a slight incline until he reached the log cabin. It was pretty basic and probably charming in some sort of rustic way, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was some place safe. A refuge from nature. He pounded on the door with his fists.
    No answer.
    The rain started up again, splattering onto the dirt path that had been made by successive footprints. He tried the handle. To his surprise the thumb latch clicked. He pushed the door open.
    â€˜Hello,’ he called out.
    There was no reply. The cabin was small and not very well decorated, but all he focused on were the orange flames flickering in the stone fireplace, bathing the room in a warm, welcoming glow.
    â€˜Hello,’ he shouted again. ‘My car broke down and I need to use your phone. I’m coming in.’
    Still no reply. He stepped inside. Ah, he thought, the heat’s the job. He crossed the room, rubbed his hands together and warmed them by the fire before easing himself into the armchair with a satisfied grunt. He slipped out of his shoes, peeled off his