The body looked as if it had been tossed on the bed, it's arms and legs would never fall in that way. There was something familiar about the mans lifeless eyes which stared at the ceiling but I didn't want to look more closely.

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to look at the corpse, I had seen enough. The skin around the neck around the wound was ragged and torn. It looked as if the poor man's throat had been ripped out by some animal.

What kind of animal could do that kind of damage? How did it get into the house? How did it close the bedroom door behind it? I was sure I'd had opened the door to the bedroom. Was it still in the building somewhere, waiting until I was alone?

Thought raced through my mind as my legs felt like they were about to give way.

Marcus charged into the bedroom closely followed by Agnes with a slight limp.

"Oh my god," cried Marcus and ran straight to the bed. He reached out to touch the body. "Oh my god this thing is cold. It must have been here for ages." He stood staring at it, running his hand through his hair.

Agnes walked to me and wrapped her arms around me. "Are you alright, Ducky?"

In Agnes's embrace, my emotions followed and I started to weep. "Why did this happen? Who would do this?" I said, shaking.

"I don't know, Ducky," said Agnes. "But we will find out. We need to ring the sheriff. He'll know what to do next."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Marcus. "We're in Wales, villages don't have sheriffs, that's an absurdity."

"You've got a lot to learn about this place," said Agnes, turning to face Marcus. "You'll discover we do things slightly differently here. Evie, come to the kitchen I'll make you a nice cup of sweet tea."

Agnes placed her hand gently into the small of my back and guided me out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen. It was good to have someone directing me as it felt as if my body frozen while my brain felt too busy to make any decisions.

The flag tiles in the kitchen which only 10 minutes ago seemed inviting now felt hard and cold. Where the wooden counter tops had spoken of rustic homeliness, they now spoke of old-fashioned death and decay. I sat at the table and rested my head on her hands. "Why?"

"I don't know," Agnes admitted, filling a stove top kettle at the sink. "I've made a point of coming by daily since May passed away. Keeping her plants alive seemed the least I could do to honour our friendship. It's baffling, honestly. I don't know when I last went upstairs but I don't know how anyone could have been there without me knowing."

Marcus barged into the kitchen. "The police are on their way. I called 999, and they're sending officers, not a sheriff," he remarked, casting a pointed glance at Agnes.

She brushed off his remark, setting the kettle on the Aga to heat. "We really should get an electric kettle" she muttered to herself. "This old thing takes forever to boil."

In less than five minutes, the urgent wail of sirens echoed through the valley and flickering blue lights reflecting off the conservatory glass.

"I'll get the door," Marcus offered, his hand resting on my shoulder reassuringly. "Leave it to me."

He returned shortly, ushering in two police officers. "This is Detective Wolfhart and Constable Brighton."

"Captain Wolfhart," corrected the younger, taller man, extending a hand toward me. His observant gaze swept the room, and I felt oddly vulnerable beneath it. "I'm sorry to meet you in these circumstances. I understand it's your first day in Llyncroft."

"Yes, we arrived this morning," I said.

"This must be tough, but I need you to tell us what happened here."

"Sheriff, glad you could make it," Agnes chimed in.

"Mrs. Blackwood," the man acknowledged with a nod.

I was at a loss for words. Agnes seemed to pick up on my hesitation. "Sheriff, allow me to introduce you properly. This is Evie Hartwell, May's granddaughter."

"You have an uncanny resemblance to May," he commented, pulling up a chair to join me at the table. "Take your time but I need you to describe what happened?"

Our eyes locked as I gathered my thoughts. "I, I'm not quite sure. I was just looking around, drew the curtains in the bedroom, and, there he was on the bed."

"Go on," He gently prompted.

"He was there, on the bed. I noticed a stain, then his eyes."

"Well, Captain," Marcus interjected, drawing the officer's attention away from me, "See it for yourself. Let's go upstairs, and we'll show you the scene. No need to overwhelm someone clearly uninvolved."

"When you're ready, Miss Hartwell, I'll need your details," Captain Wolfhart said, standing to follow Marcus.

"How long do you reckon he's been dead?" I asked Agnes, accepting the tea she handed me.

"I'm not certain, my dear, but it was clear his essence had long since departed. His soul had moved on."

"His soul had moved on? You believe in that?"

"Your grandmother did. All I know is his spirit wasn't lingering in the room. He had passed on."

Whether I understood or not, Agnes's faith in something beyond was clear. It was a foreign concept to me, despite Grandma May's similar beliefs. I wondered if it was how Agnes coped with death knowing that souls had moved on, as there was no way to prove it.

"What do you think killed him? Is neck was so damage. It looked as if he had been savaged by some kind of beast."

"There's much that lurks in the wilderness," Mrs. Blackwood said cryptically. "But let's leave this to the capable hands of the sheriff. I'm sure he'll unravel the truth. He's good at his job, that one."

"Why refer to him as a sheriff when he's clearly a policeman?" I asked.

"In the village, we handle things our own way, especially given our seclusion," Agnes said as if she explained everything.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs.

"We must call the coroner," announced the Captain to his colleague. "Mr Davies needs to be taken to the morgue."

"Yes, sir," the other officer responded, exiting to communicate over his radio.

"You know him?" I asked.

"We do. Miss Hartwell, I have some questions while we await the coroner. To progress our investigation, I need to ascertain your breed."

"My Breed? What do you mean?"

"I'm aware of his kind," he said, nodding at Marcus. "And I know Mrs. Blackwood is a nymph. For our records, I need to determine your paranormal type."

"Paranormal? I'm human."

"Please, no lies. We must solve this murder promptly."

"What?"

"My dear," Mrs. Blackwood interjected, "the village is shielded by wards. Only those of paranormal lineage can enter."

"What?"

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