Ben got the pub ready for the forthcoming celebrations. Many ex pats and tourists turned up for the quaint festivities. It was a load of nonsense, that stuff about ghosts and horses was rubbish... The windows of the pub glowed with light. Ben looked through the tiny window at the dripping that thinking 'what a god forsaken spot'.

Up the curved road and around the pub came the sound of that damned horse. The clopping hooves and the the breath snort, stopped outside the pub. Ben expected the vicar who always travelled with his pony and trap. There was nothing! Someone was playing a bloody joke on him again. The same trick as the night before and the night before that.

The log fire roaring in the old inglenook reflecting in the newly shined brasses gave the pub a welcoming air. The old boys would be ensconced in the settle by the fire, telling yarns about the mysterious New Years Eve disappearance a hundred years ago for the benefit of the punters.

To many of the revellers the Mari Llwyd was a quaint old Celtic myth going back to the old religion. The grisly decorated skeleton had survived making its' horrid annual appearance. Calling from house to house and exacting forfeits, these days of the alchoholic kind. The evening progressed with jollility and mirth and music, the crowds raising the thatch off the old building.

The clock turned midnight and a loud knock was heard at the barred door. The Mari Llwyd complete, with the ribbon bedecked skeleton. The master of ceremonies started off the 'pwnco' with a jolly rhyme, replies from inebriated locals casing much laughter. After a while the replies became more hesitant and the Mari more aggressive. Dai demanded that the door be unbarred and the party be granted admittance.

Huw's disappearance over a hundred years previously was discussed. The Mari had been an ancient custom which had largely died out since the nineteenth century. After Huw had 'got religion' they said he had preached against a harmless tradition denouncing it as demonic.

Ben arose early New Years Day and cleared up the debris of the previous evening. Today the builders were moving in to restore the bread oven and inglenook. They started smashing away at the false wall covering the inglenook. Ben was more than surprised when a stone staircase was uncovered; he climbed through the debris shining his torch before him and made his way to the top of the staircase which seemed to end at the wall of the bedroom above. The plasterwork from the false wall was probably erected during the nineteenth century. Bashing through it with a sledgehammer, the wall fell away to reveal a further cavity, it was the old priest hole!

Through the landslide of plaster and debris Ben saw a bony skinless hand protruding from the ruined mass. He gave the wall another bash and out fell a ghastly skeleton, its repugnant remains dressed in the tattered clothes of a previous century grinning and staring at him through eyeless sockets. The horrific mess was, from the inscription on his pocket watch, Huw....

Ben's blood ran cold at the sight, terror gripped him momentarily. Again he heard the stamping of hooves and the scream of a horse. He could not cope with this madness which surrounded him, sunddenly everything went black....

Ben closed the pub, the weather was still foggy and the trees and thatch dripping wet. The night was moonless. He heard the stamping of hooves and the heavy breathing of a horse. Terror hit him in waves. Surely to God it was not true? He opened the door and peered into the fog in time to see a huge grey mare galloping into the mist...

Beryl Richards

Click here to read Part One of Beryl's story...