Bats Out Of Hell

Stango was Pe

Walter peered into the darkness. It was strange, indeed, that Stango had not come to meet him. Perhaps the horse had already bedded itself down in the building. It had never happened before, though. Then he heard the drumming hooves in the field.

'Hey, Stango,' he called. 'Good boy. C'm'ere!'

Stango came into view at a fast gallop, moving from left to right, passing in front of the truck but making no attempt to approach it. With a whi

'What the devil's up with you?' Walter walked steadily towards the horse, hand outstretched. Stango backed away, and in the darkness Walter Williams saw the whiteness of his rolling eyes. The stallion snorted and, breaking into a canter, galloped away to the other end of the field.

'Bloody vandals been up 'ere again,' Walter muttered. Throwin' stones at 'im, I suppose. No wonder the bugger's upset. Better 'ave a look an' see if Vs 'urt.'

But Stango had no intention of letting Walter Williams approach him. Ten minutes later a breathless and angry Walter was shaking his fist at the silhouette of the horse which stood on the opposite side of the small field.

'AH right, bloody well stay there if that's how you feel, damn you!' he snarled, and returned to his task of unloading the bales of hay from the pick-up.

'C'mon, old girl,' he called to the watching Pe

But Pe

'So you're bein' bloody stupid, too, are you?' Walter was fast losing patience. With a final curse he threw the bale into the stable. It thudded onto the stone floor, rolled over, and then, as it came to rest, he heard a movement in the rafters.

He stood still, listening. The noise came again. A soft rustling sound like moths beating against a lampshade.

Sparrows roosting in the rafters, he told himself, but knew that it was not so. The movements were too light. He experienced a prickly sensation up and down his spine. There was definitely something up there in the roof.

He turned and headed back to the truck. Three more bales of hay had to be carried up here. He paused, opened the driver's door and groped in the untidy glove-compartment until he located the cylindrical metal shape of the torch which he kept there. He flicked the beam on. It was bright with the power of a new battery. He would soon find out what it was up in the rafters that was disturbing the horses.

As he turned back he noticed that Pe

He could hear the rustling noise again even before he entered the old building. It wasn't exactly louder, but it was more pronounced, as though whatever had been responsible for that initially had been joined by others.

'Let's 'ave a look at yer, then.' His hand trembled as he directed the beam upwards. There was a sudden rush of air, and Walter recoiled. The light from his torch picked out dozens of pairs of tiny wings, jinking, swerving, and the air was suddenly filled with shrill squeaks.

Something struck him in the face. The force of the impact was no greater than a well-aimed table-te

'Bats!' he grunted in revulsion.

Another hit him on the hand, and he dropped the torch.

'Ugh!'

He groped on the ground and located the fallen torch. He tried the switch, but nothing happened. A brief examination revealed that the glass was broken. Possibly the bulb was damaged.

Walter Williams cowered in the darkness for a few seconds, and then straightened up with a hollow laugh.

'Bleedin' flyin' mice,' he grunted. 'Armless but 'orrible. Well, they've all gone so p'raps the 'orses'll come back now.' He gave a whistle, and heard Pe

'Please yer bleedin' selves then,' he muttered, and began fetching the remaining bales of hay from the pick-up. He did not enter the stable. Instead he flung each bale in through the doorway, and within a few minutes he was reversing his vehicle back down the muddy, rutted track.

It took him less than five minutes to drive back to his small house on the outskirts of Chase Terrace.

'What on earth's the matter with you, Walter?' Gladys Williams inquired, looking up from the oven as her husband stamped into the kitchen.

'Nothin',' he answered, and began struggling to remove his Wellington boots.

'Well, you look as white as a ghost, just like you'd seen one.'

'Bats,' he puffed as a Wellington finally yielded to his efforts and came free of his foot.

'Who's bats?'

'I don't know who they bloomin' well belong to.'

'It's you who's bats,' his plump, red-faced wife was only half concentrating as she pulled a casserole from the oven.

'Bats,' Walter repeated irritably, endeavouring to pull off the second boot. 'With wings. Flyin' mice.' 'Where?' 'Wooden Stables.'

'Oh, that's all right then. It's when they get in the 'ouse I'll start worryin.'

At that moment a slim, fair-haired, freckled-face girl of about ten came in from the hall. She had changed into jodhpurs on her return from school, something which she always did lately. It was small consolation for being deprived of a daily horse ride, but in a few weeks, when the daylight extended into the evenings, she would be able to walk up to the Wooden Stables and enjoy all the riding she wanted.

'Pe

'All right,' he grunted. 'More or less, anyway.'

'What d'you mean, 'more or less'?' Shirley Williams demanded, alarm on her face.

'Nothin' to worry about' Her father was already wishing that he had said 'they're OK.' At least he would have been able to enjoy his evening meal in peace.

'What is it?' Shirley's voice was strained, and her eyes seemed to bore into him just like the time three years ago when old Biggy, the family's dog, had died and Walter had lied and told his daughter that the animal had gone over to stay with Uncle Bill for a while. Walter knew that he would never be able to lie to her again.

'Just bats,' he grumbled. 'Nothin' to get excited about.'

'And what have bats got to do with Pe

'I du

'You mean,' Shirley demanded, stepping towards him with an angry ?lint in her eyes, 'you mean that Pe

'They won't come to no 'arm.' Walter looked to his wife for support, but she was too busy serving up the stew to concern herself with such mundane topics as bats and horses. 'Couldn't do nothin' about it,' he mumbled. 'They wouldn't come in, so I chucked the 'ay inside for 'em. More than likely they're in there now, guzzu'n' themselves ...'