His Vampyrrhic Bride by Simon Clark

did, however. That rumble grew louder, like the sound of bombs falling on houses. He found himself off the path again. Nettles stung his bare hands as he brushed by. Suddenly, a noise.
    ‘Owen?’
    A heavy body surged through the bushes: certainly something too big to be even remotely Owen-like. In the deep shadow, he glimpsed a silhouette. What he heard above the crunch of sticks was a flurry of whispers, as if a dozen people were urgently hissing comments at one another.
    The strangeness of those whispers sent cold shivers down his back. Instantly, his diver’s instinct for self-preservation slammed through him. In moments, he’d managed to scramble back to the path. His breath came in spurts; his heart was smashing like crazy against his ribs.
    No. Don’t run away.
His need to find Owen overrode the inner alarm that screamed DANGER!
    Straightaway, he plunged into the trees again, heading in the direction of that object crashing through vegetation. What if Owen was in there with that thing? The boy might be hurt. But what
was
that thing? Surely, it must be big . . . damn big. Sticks snapped under its weight. The underbrush shook with surprising violence as a heavy body surged powerfully through.
    Tom scanned his memory for big animals that were native to England. Maybe a stag? Or even a wild boar – those heavyweight brutes could be dangerous.
    As he stumbled towards the beast that crashed its way through the forest, he forced his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, and he glimpsed the creamy flesh of a tree trunk that marked where a large branch had been ripped away above his head.
    Hell, this was a big animal.
    The thunder came again. This time a great, rolling roar: mimicking the bellow of a huge, hungry beast.
    Then the scream. A boy’s scream. High and thin, and full of terror.
    Tom hurtled through the trees. The lumbering beast moved just ahead of him. He found himself knowing to the core of his being that he’d have to confront it.
    Not just confront it.
Fight it!
The thing was attacking Owen.
    He burst into a clearing. Moonlight poured down; a cascade of brilliant white.
    Owen stood on open ground. His mouth hung open. His eyes were staring in shock. They looked like big glittering balls of glass in his head. Just the expression on the boy’s face delivered a stab of fear into Tom’s stomach.
    Oh my God, what’s happened to him?
    He rushed forward. In the light of the moon, he saw the sandy soil had been gouged. There seemed to be a messy confusion of footprints, as if a group of people had gathered here. Near the ripped-up patch of soil there was a line of single footprints. He saw the shapely line of a bare foot. Individual toe prints were clearly visible.
    Once again the thunder bellowed. Immediately after that, he heard the rustle of branches; the animal seemed to be heading towards the river. Strangely, he made out what appeared to be people hissing words at each other. Though he couldn’t decipher the actual words, the unusual quality of that hiss made his scalp prickle. The sound alone pushed a cold current of fear through his veins.
    Being scared of something he could not see infuriated Tom. He charged towards the sound. Already, he heard a splashing, as if the animal had blundered into the river. Then a female voice . . . calling.
    He stopped dead.
Damn it, that sounds like Nicola! What the hell’s she doing out here?
He listened carefully as he padded towards the riverbank. Before he could hear the voice again, another crash of thunder barrelled along the river. When that faded he heard another voice – this, the rising cry from Owen.
    There was no way he could leave the boy alone any longer while he chased shadows.
    In seconds he’d reached Owen. He picked him up in his arms. ‘It’s alright, Owen, it’s me, Tom. Everything’s OK.’ He spoke in soothing tones. ‘We’ll go home now. There’s nothing to worry about.’
    The boy, however, stared at the churned patch of earth.
    He