Mist in the MOUNTAINS

Clare had theories about her friend's disappearance. Could she prove them to be true?

- Gabrielle Mullarkey

Clare's head whipped up, phone in one hand, creased map in the other. She recognised the man who'd stepped out of the mist as Rory Martin, arms folded across a waterproof jacket.

'T-trespassing?' Clare stuttered. 'I got caught in the mist. Didn't know I was on your land until this very second.'

'Convenient,' snorted Rory. 'Technically, you're in my back garden. High Lodge is over there.' He waved vaguely behind him in the direction of his impressive house. 'Came out to investigate because I thought it was foxes again.'

Clare bristled but kept her voice steady as she said, 'I'm sorry if I strayed on to private land. I'm trying to get back to Glenmarach.'

'What are you doing walking about in this weather?' Rory demanded, arms still folded.

Clare was tempted to tell him to go swivel. Back in the day, she'd teased a teenage Aisling that she had a crush on Rory, even though he was a good bit older than either her or Aisling.

But now Clare hesitated, wondering if this was an opportunity to bring up Aisling's name and remind Rory of the enduring tragedy of her disappearance. It had even occurred to Clare on the long journey to the village that he might like to sponsor a festival event in Aisling's name. Aisling's mother Nuala would be moved by such a gesture.

'I walked to the bothy...' she began to explain, only for Rory to interrupt.

'Oh, you're one of those. The vampires who come to suck the lifeblood out of an old story.'

Clare asked on impulse, 'Do you mean the story that the bothy's haunted, or the disappearance of Aisling Escott in that vicinity?'

Rory blinked at her, then rasped, 'Both! That bothy used to house a rural labourer who died there, and now folk have made up stories that he's still hanging about. It's ridiculous!'

He glared at her. 'But it's the folk who go chasing after conspiracy theories about that poor girl's disappearance who are the worst of all!'