Urban Myth by James Raven

thanked me and poured himself a large brandy. I sipped at my beer which was warm and heavy. But I liked it. It slid smoothly down the back of my throat.
    So we got talking. He told me his name was Ray Turner and that he’d been the pub landlord for twenty years. He asked me where I was from in the States and who I was with. He was intrigued to learn that I was married to someone who had lived locally and he actually remembered Nicole’s parents and what happened to them, describing it as an awful tragedy.
    ‘I didn’t know them personally,’ he said. ‘But I saw them in the village from time to time, along with their daughter. A pretty young lady as I recall. Such a shame.’
    He moved the conversation on and explained, in case I hadn’t heard, why the police were in town.
    ‘Dreadful business,’ he said. ‘The poor girl’s body was found over near Castle Hill – that’s a ten minute walk from here.’
    ‘Is she a local girl?’ I asked.
    He shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. They say her name’s Genna and I’ve never come across it before.’
    He then asked me if we were staying in the forest. When I told him we were renting a house called King’s Manor he arched his brow, ‘That’s Nathan Slade’s place. I didn’t know he was still letting it out.’
    ‘It was advertised on the internet. It looked perfect so we booked it. Arrived yesterday.’
    ‘Have you met him yet?’
    ‘I’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his phone. I haven’t actually spoken to him. All our dealings have been by email.’
    ‘He used to pop in here occasionally, but I haven’t seen him in a while. That’s no bad thing because he’s a bit strange.’
    ‘What’s strange about him?’
    Ray sipped his brandy, smacked his lips together. ‘Well to say thatNathan Slade is an eccentric would be an understatement. I reckon he’s just plain weird. In fact he’s always given me the creeps.’
    ‘Any particular reason?’
    ‘His appearance for one thing. He’s in his mid to late fifties but he has this thick mane of grey hair that he wears in dreadlocks. And he has glasses with yellow-tinted lenses. They look daft. And he looks daft.’
    ‘That doesn’t sound too weird to me,’ I said. ‘Just, well, unconventional .’
    ‘But that’s not all. There’s other stuff too – like the way he makes women feel uncomfortable. It’s happened here in the bar a couple of times. He ogles them and makes smutty remarks. One of my female customers took offence one time and called him a pervy old sod. He laughed in her face.’
    ‘And is he? A perv, I mean.’
    ‘That’s how he comes across. In fact, rumour has it that’s why his second wife left him. She found something out about him and scarpered. They’d only been married a couple of years.’
    ‘What did she find out?’
    He shrugged again. ‘Who knows? He’s never talked about it. But his wife told a friend before she went that he was sick in the head and she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.’
    ‘So where is she now?’
    ‘Living in Poole apparently. That’s along the coast from here. She’s with her son from a previous marriage.’
    ‘All very mysterious.’
    ‘And so is what happened at King’s Manor earlier this year.’
    ‘What happened?’ I asked, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.
    He leaned on the bar and I could smell the brandy on his breath.
    ‘As you probably know, this area of the forest has long been associated with the occult and the paranormal.’
    I nodded. ‘I’ve seen the shops. Almost bought a book of spells.’
    ‘Yeah, well these legends about ghosts and witches are good for business. They attract thousands of visitors every year. It’s why we have more than our fair share of so-called haunted properties – and that includes this pub as well as King’s Manor.’
    ‘You’ve got to be shittin’ me,’ I said. ‘King’s Manor?’
    ‘The story goes that it’s haunted by the ghost of a