A Change In The Weather

Chapter 24: Winterton Hall

The rasp of the campervan’s tiny exhaust split through the evening air as it made its way up the tree-lined driveway towards Winterton Hall. Ahead, imposing wrought-iron gates stood securely closed, flanked either side by demonic stone gryphons that guarded the gates like a couple of faithful hounds.

As the van pulled up Tobias leaned forward and peered worriedly up at the creatures from the driver’s seat.

‘I don’t believe we’re doing this…’ he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. ‘I mean, these people are really dangerous.’

He glanced around at the estate’s expansive grounds that were veiled in a thin mist.

‘This place is really giving me the creeps…’

His face was pale and his forehead glistened with tiny beads of sweat.

Hillary looked at him and patted him on the back, before unclipping his seatbelt.

‘Look, don’t worry. The trick is to relax,’ said Hillary reassuringly, clambering out of the van.

Tobias watched him walk off.

‘That’s easy for you to say…’ he mumbled, sitting there with his hands firmly on the steering wheel. ‘You’re a wizard,’ he sniffed, ‘and I’m just a single, broke, little-known, soon-to-be ex-professor of cryptozoology. Don’t worry yourself unnecessarily on my part.’

* * * *

The gravel crunched loudly under Hillary’s feet.

It hadn’t escaped his attention that the whole area was strangely quiet, eerily so in fact. Out of the corner of his eye beyond the driveway, he thought he caught sight of the mist coalesce into something before dispersing into the evening breeze. He had to turn his head to be absolutely sure.

But he wasn’t, and after the scene at the windmill, he’d come to be wary of anything that was even vaguely fog-like. The funny thing was that he was beginning to feel vulnerable, something he hadn’t felt for centuries. And for Hillary it was a strange sensation, the last time he truly felt it was seven centuries ago as he hid in the loft as those despicable hooded ghouls cast his friend and mentor into his own forge.

Approaching the gates he couldn’t resist looking up at the stone guardians again. He half-expected them to crane their great heads down, but as it was they just stared impassively into the distance from their vantage points on top of the gate posts.

The gates were huge and at twice the height of Hillary they dwarfed him. The heavy black iron had been beaten into impressively complicated patterns and flourishes, a tribute to the ancient art of the blacksmith.

It suddenly occurred to him, as he stared through the gates towards the house, that in all the centuries he’d lived in the village he’d never once set foot in the Winterton estate.

To the side - hidden by ivy - was an intercom and a button.

Hillary’s finger hovered over it momentarily before pressing it. There was a buzzing sound, and he pulled his hand away quickly as if the sound had caught him off-guard.

Finally, an elderly voice answered.

‘Yes? Winterton Hall - how may I help?’

Hillary cleared his throat. ‘Hillary Bellock and friend. We have invitations to the society dinner.’

‘One minute please.’

There was a pause, before the voice continued.

‘Please drive through gentlemen and park your vehicle at the main reception.’

Hillary trudged back to the van and climbed aboard as the great iron gates slowly swung open inch by inch.

‘Is it time?’ asked Tobias.

Hillary nodded.

From their perches, the gryphons continued to stare impassively into the distance as the little van moved slowly through the gates and up the mist-shrouded path towards Winterton Hall.

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