THE TALE OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE - PART 4

Despite his unsettling chat with Baz, Shy had dozed deep into the following morning. The silly fella had slept hanging from the coat-stand in the front hall of the PIG & PUFFIN, rather than take the short walk back to his own B&B. What with having recognised Cary McFur on the sausage wrapper, those unsettling Karaoke singers and the possibility that he might be hunted for lunch, Shy really hadn’t fancied wandering the streets again, after dark! Who could blame him really? Still, there was much to be done – but at least, he and Baz were a team now. “I've got me a side kick!!” he’d grinned, feeling slightly more at ease and glad that Baz didn’t seem to mind taking the more junior role - despite being the only of them to head his own government department. Leaving a message for the still sleeping Baz – Shy had hurried back to his B&B to wash, dress and breakfast – next stop the Tenby bookshop…

Sure enough, Shy’s books had arrived and he was already four chapters in by the time Baz joined him for brunch at the Dennis tearooms by South Sands. “What are you reading there?” Baz asked and Shy noticed that his new colleague had made the effort to dress in dark or camouflage colours, presumably figuring that they might have to creep up on McFur’s base and that dark blacks and greens were the answer. Shy wasn’t convinced and instead had gone for the tourist look, in a vivid green t-shirt with a yellow logo, navy blue shorts and red socks. “Primary colour overload, mate!” teased Baz uneasily.

“You think so? I’m trying to blend in! How many people out there are dressed like you?” he added, indicating the crowd on the beach. “You might as well have worn a flashing beacon on your head!”

“Oh really!? But you’re a Yeti! A big hulking, hairy Yeti! How many of those do you see here today?”

“I’m sure you’ll find at least a dozen if you look hard enough!” Shy snapped, but knew he was making it up – again reminded how rare Cary McFur might find his Yeti flesh. “Maybe I should wear a mask!”

“What from Giggles?” laughed Baz and Shy remembered seeing the Cub outside the aforementioned Joke Store the other afternoon. “The masks are dead good – but I’m not sure that there’s anything that would fit you! Maybe you could go dressed as President Bush or Tony Blair or someone people like?”

“Oh yes… That’d be marvellous!” exclaimed Shy as Baz attempted to pry the book from Shy’s paw. “Careful!” he exclaimed. “I had to order that especially – I wanted to read more about those local Myths and Legends that McFur was going on about… Sure enough – it’s all in here – the ghost of the feuding mayor – a dozen different accounts of phantom underwear – corpse candles – the magic fairy isles we mentioned before… That said I really don’t think he’d be making sausages out of fairies…”

“I hear they’re rather tart in flavour around this time of year!” Baz joked. “Maybe it’s the Monks on Caldey Island, he’s after… I don’t imagine you get many Monk burgers for sale at Bejam, do you?”

”Who knows. He’s very interested in something – that’s for sure!!” agreed Shy. “But I swear he’s got something in mind involving those Fairy Islands! He’s been up there on the headland, staring through his binoculars since we first got here. From what I’ve read so far, it appears that there was a man from Tenby in the mid-19th Century who claimed to have seen these mysterious islands – but every time he rowed out towards them they vanished before he got there. That was, until the day someone suggested that he take with him a chunk of mainland turf! He tried and well - apparently it worked and he found his fortune there on the island – returned home and lived happily ever after… Which is nice!”

“As well as being a total load of old cobblers, Yeti…” laughed Baz scornfully. “Come on, admit it!!”

“Hmm, we’ll see!” mused Shy as he brushed cake crumbs from his pelt in a very business-like manner. “Anyway – I’m all done here now – so shall we go?” Baz nodded and together they headed back to South Bay to where Shy had previously met McFur setting up his tent. As they walked, Shy told Baz about his poetry, his job as P.A. to Simon Yeti and how Simon had vanished after inventing a time machine. Last heard having tea with ABBA. “That’s where it all went wrong!” he explained. “Simon’s accountants were crooked and drained his bank account dry once they realised he wasn’t coming back! I tried to turn them in, but they threatened to blackmail me – did a good job of telling tales to my fella and well, that was it! Goodbye career, home and lovelife…” Shy explained about his recent concussion and how that had spurred him to try again. “My friends back in London tell me I’m not my old self at all – but then most of them were pretty bizarre characters in their own rights! Anyway, I needed a change – sometimes a Yeti needs to try on new fur and see how it suits him!”

“You’re new fur seems to suit you well!” began Baz, but by then Shy was silent. “What’s up, Yeti?”

“He’s gone!” The campsite, previously so full of Cary McFur’s rubbish was now empty. “How did he know we were onto him, Baz?” Shy asked, as they set about site hurriedly. “He’s not psychic is he?”

“Not that I’m aware!!” Baz had his teeth gritted firmly as if careful not to swear. “This is BAD news!”

Shy paused, then began to fumble for his binoculars. “Just a minute, Baz – I wonder!” he was staring back down the coast. “Maybe he’s set up a more permanent base over on St. Catherine’s Island – that rock in the bay with the fort built on top. I remember, yesterday seeing a tent and other equipment set up there! Could have been anyone, I suppose!” he trailed off, was also gone. “Let’s go check it out, shall we? Looks like there’s been some movement going on up there… This must be Cary’s work…”

But Baz didn’t reply. He was clutching Shy’s Folklore book and was busily flicking through the chapters, as he stared down at something before him on the grass. “…A sparkling circle of dew surrounding some variety of out of season wild flower, such as a daffodil, primrose, blue bell or…”

“A snowdrop…” finished Shy, recognising the flower growing within the ring. “Page 27 if I remember right! It’s known as a Fairy ring – and only ever happens just before the appearance of fairy islands!”

*

Ten minutes later they reached the foot of St Catherine’s Island. “There’s a storm coming!” Baz noted unhappily. Sure enough the sky was getting dark and yet it wasn’t even six O’clock – the clouds were billowing up an evil grey and all the tourists had fled. “So, are we going to try and get into the fort?”

Shy nodded and they gazed up the flight of stone steps which had been carved in the rock. The sea was out enough for them to climb on up to the fort without either of them getting their fur wet. There was a sign marking the island out to be Private property, but the gate wasn’t even fastened, let alone locked.
Looking across at the town they could see lights from the shops, houses and hotels that continued to illuminate the skyline – and in the air, when not drowned out by regular cracks of thunder could be heard the karaoke singers. Not just at one, but every pub – from every hotel!! Shy strained to hear the individual songs but couldn’t pick out separate tunes. However, they were all M.O.R. rock classics. Through the binoculars, Shy could see the faces of the elderly holidaymakers peering out into the darkness at the storm. Standing before one window was an odd little man, who wore a Stetson badly, whilst closing his eyes to play the guitar. Crowded around him were more O.A.P.s – singing what sounded like Bohemian Rhapsody – eyes also closed, but more with fear than passion for their singing.

“It’s just like the other times!” gasped Baz. “Back when I was sleeping on the beach and then when we were in the pub, yesterday. Except this time it’s day – it’s just the sky got dark because of the storm! Look out there, Shy the whole town’s deserted – everyone’s indoors! So, why the singing - now?”
“To ward off evil…” said Shy gravely. “It’s certainly possible – and it’s not the first time we’ve discussed that as a reason, either! Songs such as those are of great comfort to people. Daydream Believer, Sweet Caroline, Hey Jude - they’re like comfy slippers. As people get older and their friends and relatives die – what’s the one comfort they have? For some it’s religion, yet for others it’s old songs that they’ve grown up with – songs they feel safe with! It’s a musical talisman to ward off evil!”

Surprisingly, Baz didn’t scoff but seemed to be in total agreement with the theory. “I see exactly what you mean – it’s a good point! But what about that?” he indicated the flickering lights that appeared to frame the windows where the guests were crowded. “Those lights were in your book, right? They were there that night on the beach, too! At first I thought it the reflection off the street lamps – but no…”

Shy nodded. “Yup! Those are them… They’re known as Corpse Candles… They prey on the old and the sick…” quickly he picked out a passage and began to read; “The origin of corpse-candles dates back to the 5th century. St. David, the patron of Wales, was known to pray that the people he loved, and among whom he worked, should have some kind of warning to prepare them for death. In a vision he was told that because of his intervention the Welsh would never again find themselves unprepared; for always before such an event the people of the land of St David would be forewarned by the dim light of mysterious tapers when and where death might be expected… Spooky, hey Cub? ”

“Just a bit! So, this is something that happens a lot in this particular area?” asked Baz, rather solemnly.

“Not necessarily!” explained Shy. “But you’ll probably find different versions of that story all over the World – and each country will have something similar in their folklore. However, it does figure that they’re sighted here so often because coastal and rural areas are the most likely areas to manifest Corpse Candles! And why? Because so many seas side towns and villages are inhabited by retired pensioners! Back in the olden days a few of the London hospitals used to literally light whole wards using the light from Corpse Candles… Still – you get fewer sighting these days because everything’s changed so much. Somewhere more old fashioned and unchanged like Tenby is perfect though!”

“Did it really say that about those hospitals?” asked Baz incredulously. “You’re making this up…”

“Not at all!” Shy returned immediately. “It says it, right here, Baz! I’ll check with a friend of a friend of mine, Mex Nephur – he’s a Dr – he’ll confirm it! Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, somewhere like Tenby is just perfect for Corpse Candles. It’s all on the net if you don’t believe me… But a lot of these supernatural phenomena stopped occurring because our towns and cities have changed so much in the last 100 years. No atmosphere any more, you see. Places like Bournemouth or Brighton used to get Corpse Candles – they still have their share of the elderly population, but these days the spirits don’t want to go there. It’s so tacky! All those piers full of chavs… Shag Me Quick hats! Lager-louts! Much too garish to attract anything much! I met a really slutty poltergeist called Brenda once – she really loved the Blackpool illuminations – but then again she used to get turned on by the tower too!”

Baz giggled. “I can see her point… I’m more into the dodgems and the big dipper, myself though…”

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit!” grinned Shy. “Anyway, I don’t suppose that any of this stuff with the Corpse Candles has anything to do with McFur’s real plans! Although he may be attempting to harness certain power to gain access to those Fairy Isles!” Shy stopped, playing over possibilities in his head. “Could it be possible that he’s somehow able to control these forces? I suppose it’s possible - I’m open to all possibilities – believe you me! These myths and legends are part of everyday life around here and Cary obviously knows his stuff when it comes to pie-perfect mythological beasts!”

With a wave of his paw, Shy ushered Baz on up the steps and hurried after him as a light drizzle began to fall. They soon reached the top of the rock, where Shy had seen the lone tent on his first visit to South Beach and yet now there was barely any sign that it had been there. Crossing the iron bridge that linked the rocks of St. Catherine’s they reached the larger outcrop on which the fort had stood since the days of the Napoleonic Wars. The door was quite firmly locked and all attempts by Baz to scale the walls were met with dismal failure. It seemed there was no getting in from any obvious entrance...

“What shall we do now?” asked Baz – Shy was thinking, but Baz himself came up with the answer in the end. “Why don’t you stay here and try some Yeti magic on that door and I’ll go back down to the harbour and see if I can find some tools or a crowbar or something. What do you say? I’ll be quick…”
“Sounds perfect!” Shy agreed, unsure about letting Baz go and yet he said nothing more. “Steer clear of karaoke singing old folk, fella!” he cried out as another boom of thunder split the sky and lightning sprung from nowhere. “Did you hear that last bit!” he sighed, closing his eyes and trying to channel his thoughts. He wasn’t convinced it would do any good – he never got good reception during a storm.

Rapidly and with good reason Shy was beginning to fear that he’d allowed his friend to walk into even more danger. Sure enough, they did need to get inside the fortress one way or another, if they wanted to learn more about Cary McFur’s plans – but at what cost? McFur’s whereabouts were possibly the most important question right at the moment, although Baz’s well being was more in Shy’s mind. He daren’t even imagine what some scared group of locals might do should they get into their heads that Baz was responsible for the Corpse Candles and all the other troubles that had recently beset Tenby…

*
As it happened, Baz wasn’t the only one out and about in the town. McFur watched the cub, in hiding as he left the island, crossed the beach and headed on down to the boat sheds. Luckily for Baz, McFur chose not to follow him, but instead let himself out of his hideaway, inside a hastily abandoned kiosk that usually sold tickets for Seal trips and hurried down a second road leading to the main harbour.

“Gotta find these tools!” Baz was muttering to himself – oblivious of the presence of their nemesis. As he searched he was distracted a number of times by the voices of hotel guests. Already, it sounded less and less like singing and more like some sort of chanted mantra. The guests seemed to be crowding at the windows of one of the hotels, right by where he was searching, their scared and distorted faces pushing closer and closer to the misted glass. “Just ignore me!” he called and then heard the sound of breaking glass across the Street. Not waiting a minute longer he ran on along the harbour wall...

*
Back by the fort Shy was trying to peer through a crack to see exactly what madness lay within. Alas, this was very little, other than the rear of what looked like some kind of sausage making machine. (Either that or one of those old fashioned dryers you often see in hairdressers.) Also, there in the background sat some kind of computer, flashing away in the background – but he couldn’t make it out.

Suddenly, through the black clouds there fell a ray of sunshine. Something made Shy turn from the door and back to his binoculars. “Oh! For All The furry saints!” he gasped, as he saw what had appeared out of nowhere. “The Fairy Isles!” he whispered. “I don’t believe it!!” But sure enough – out to sea there now stood a whole new land mass and rowing furiously towards it was Cary McFur…

*
Back at the harbour, Baz was still trying to find his way into the garages to find something strong enough to open the fortress door. Already, he knew that time was rapidly running out – there had been more sounds of breaking glass and the roar of chanting O.A.P.s had now moved out onto the streets. It was as if they were caught up in some trance – looking to blame someone for all the peculiar things that were happening. The words they chanted meant bad news for Baz and his continued chances for safety. “FIND THE WITCHCUB! FIND THE WITCHCUB!!” they bellowed, quite insane sounding.

“YES! HE STARTED THIS USING BLACK MAGIC!” agreed another lady and everyone started cheering, everyone but Baz, of course. “FIND THE WITCHCUB! FIND HIM! FIND HIM!” they bellowed. Baz’s paw found another locked boathouse door, but right now his priority wasn’t tools, but safety. He was trapped there on the harbour with nowhere to run but the sea. They were coming for him – intent on ridding the town of their terrible furry plight and there was nowhere for him to hide.

“KILL THE WITCHCUB! KILL THE WITCHCUB! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!!”

WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO BAZ? CAN SHY YETI SAVE HIM IN TIME OR WILL CARY MCFUR PUT HIM IN A PIE BEFORE HE EVEN HAS A CHANCE TO RESCUE HIM?

FIND OUT NEXT WEDNESDAY IN TALES OF A SHY YETI!!!