Bloody Friday the 13th
Andy didn't believe in Friday the 13th, in fact he rather despised those who do and thought of them as 'superstitious fools'. This Friday the 13th, however, was definitely living up, or should that be down, to its reputation; it had just been one damn thing after another. For a start he'd traipsed halfway across the country for a sales meeting only to find it had been cancelled at the last minute, then the Sat-Nav had gone on the blink forcing him to dig out his old road atlas from the boot. And now he was lost, well and truly lost. He'd tried a rather clever shortcut across the moors and it had gone badly wrong; he must have taken a wrong turning somewhere and now, with the atlas balanced across his lap and not a road-sign in sight, he was desperately trying to find out where he was. The detour, instead of being quicker, had cost him hours; it was getting late, night was fast drawing in and the gathering gloom had brought with it lashing rain driven by a north easterly gale.
Slowly, cautiously, peering through the windows, he picked his way along the narrow twisty lane that dropped down from the tops. Under better circumstances this would be the North Yorkshire moors at their best but, as the windscreen wipers fought the incessant rain and headlights picked out the jagged outline of the dry stone walls that hemmed him in, right now Andy would give anything to be back on a main road.
Fate had kept her cruellest twist to last. A sudden turn in the road concealed the flooding where the beck had burst its banks and, before he could even think about stopping, Andy found the bonnet of the car awash, the engine stalled, the lights dead and the car sliding to a halt in two feet of swirling water.
"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!" Andy hammered his fists on the steering wheel in impotent fury. He got a grip and forced himself to calm down; anger and bad temper were not going to fix his current predicament and he needed to get somewhere, anywhere, to sort out the mess. He dug in his pocket for his mobile phone but, as he suspected, he could not get a connection; there was no chance of getting a signal out here in the middle of nowhere. He put his phone back in his pocket and reviewed his options: he could either sit there until someone came along and rescued him or he could get out and walk. He hadn't seen another car for quite a while, nor would anyone in their right mind be driving a road like this in the current weather. Anyway, Andy was never one to sit quietly and wait, he always seen himself as forceful, a go-getter, so there was nothing for it but to brave the elements and walk. He opened the door and looked out and his resolve nearly weakened; he was going to have to step out of the car directly into the water but, with the way the rain was lashing down, he was going to get soaked to the skin anyway so it wouldn't make that much difference. He got out of the car, pushed it the best he could to the side of the road, locked the doors and set of in search of a phone, preferably one in a pub.
What was left of the daylight was fading fast and Andy was beginning to wonder if he wouldn't be better off sitting out the night in the car after all when, thank heavens, he spotted the light. It wasn't that far, a hundred yards or so at the most and not far from the road either. It must be a farmhouse, please let it be a farmhouse, though, quite frankly, Andy would have settled for a barn at that point. Pulling up his collar and wrapping his jacket around him as best he could he pushed on through the wind and the rain. As he got to the gate he could see it was indeed a house; the light was showing from an upstairs window and there were signs of life from downstairs. He opened the gate and, stumbling in the potholes; he made his way up the drive and reached the relative shelter of the front porch. He groped for a bell but he couldn't find any; rather there was an old fashioned door knocker in the shape of a ram's head. He pulled it back and slammed it onto the door. At first there was silence so he hammered again and this time he could see a light moving inside. The door opened a crack and an unseen person peered out at him.
"Please, please help me." Andy asked. The cold, the wet, the struggle against the wind had left him quite exhausted and his words came in clumps, almost incoherently. "My car... it's back in the lane... broken down... need to call the AA..."
Immediately the door opened fully revealing a tall, thin woman of indeterminate age. She had long, jet black hair and dark eyes. She was dressed in some sort of long flowing robe which made her look a bit like some sort of nun or something but, as far as Andy was concerned, she could be dressed any way she wanted as long as she gave him shelter. She held up a candle which flickered in the wind and looked down at him.
"You poor man, look at the state of you!" the woman exclaimed. "Come in, come in immediately. We must get you dried out. Here, this way."
The woman stood back to let him in and motioned with the candle to a half open door further down the gloom of the hallway. Grateful to be out of the rain Andy pushed past her and stood apologetically dripping on the doormat.
"Oh, don't worry about that. Go on through; I'll fetch you a towel."
Squelching gently Andy went down the hall and on through the door. It opened into a large, well proportioned room which was mostly lit by a roaring log fire at the other end. The only other lighting was from candles and Andy presumed that they must have had a power cut or something, heaven knows they couldn't be that uncommon out here in the middle of nowhere. Grouped round the fire were three high-backed armchairs and, as he approached, two women got up to greet him. They were dressed in the same sort of robe as the woman he had first met. Indeed, they might almost have been her as they were both similarly tall and thin with long black hair. Andy guessed that they must be sisters or something.
"Come in, come in. Get yourself next to the fire." One of the women urged. "You must be soaked to the skin on a night like this. Let's get you out of those damp clothes."
She reached out and led Andy to the hearthrug. Then she came round behind him and started to help him out of his jacket. Andy was a little concerned, after all his wallet with all his credit cards was still in the pocket, but it would have been churlish to have refused such warm hospitality and, there was no doubt about it, he was soaked to the skin. He'd hardly got his jacket off when the first woman reappeared carrying a towel and a dressing gown.
"Ah, that's better. Now let's get you out of those damp clothes. You'll catch your death and that would never do." She handed Andy the towel, laid the dressing gown over the arm of a chair, and, as Andy towelled his hair, knelt down in front of him and started to take of his shoes. And had no problem with this but, as he continued to dry his hair, the woman finished taking off his shoes and socks and reached for his belt.
"Err..." Andy stammered. He wasn't at all sure about this.
"Don't be silly, man." The woman replied crossly. "You've nothing we've not seen before and your trousers will never dry unless we hang them up properly. Now don't be shy. Get that shirt off and put on the dressing gown."
Again, despite his concerns, it would have been churlish to have refused such hospitality and, anyway, the woman's voice had an edge to it, like a primary school teacher from his childhood, an edge that stood no nonsense, an edge that demanded obedience. He took of his shirt as fast as the damp material would allow so as to put on the dressing gown and preserve his modestly. The woman gathered up his clothes and headed for the door.
"Now, I'll hang these up to dry. Alice, why don't you fetch our visitor a drink? I'm sure he'd like one."
One of the women, presumably Alice, went over to the side of the room and, without asking Andy what he wanted, fixed him a drink. When she returned she handed him a cut glass tumbler with a couple of fingers of dark amber liquid at the bottom.
"Here, drink this. It will warm you." She said.
