It only took them another quarter of an hour or so to get to their destination: a stately home tucked away in the English countryside. The gate was open, and no one was in sight, so he stopped the car just outside as they looked for some indication that this was the right place.

'Well, look, we can always say we are lost,' said Leona.

'It wouldn't be a lie, either,' replied Marcus, as he shifted into first. As they crunched up the drive, they saw a battered minivan coming through the gates.

Marcus pointed it out.

'That your buddies?'

She shrugged. 'Maybe. Maybe it's the space aliens.'

The driveway was designed so that you travelled in a wide arc, passing through the grounds and showcasing the landscaping to maximum effect as you gradually ascended the hill to the house itself. This meant that they were treated to great seas of weeds, waist high grass, straggly copses and tumbledown buildings.

'This place has seen better times,' remarked Marcus.

'Yes, it has. No rubbish, though. You'd think that the local joyriders would use it to abandon cars and stuff, you know?'

'Maybe they don't do joyriding round here. Maybe combine harvesters aren't that fun to nick.'

'Sort of misery riding?'

'For want of a better phrase, yeah.'

They rounded a bend, and suddenly the house was in front of them.

It was obviously abandoned, because its dark brickwork was almost completely covered in ivy, crowding over the windows; its crown of chimneys was crumbling, and was now the home of a huge family of crows, who silently stared at them as they crunched over the rutted gravel. There was a large paved area in front of the house which was laced with weeds, and the bushes around the edges jostled with each other to invade the space.

There was no one else to be seen, except for the minivan behind them. It pulled up, and the driver's door opened. A slightly overweight guy with blond beard and sunglasses hopped out, and walked towards their car.

'Hi. Is this it?'

Leona and Marcus got out, both slightly stiff from the drive, and walked to meet him.

'You're Ben, aren't you?' asked Leona.

He nodded. 'Yes. So you must be Leo? Thought you were a bloke.'

'On the internet, no one knows I'm a dog. Ben, this is Marcus.'

They shook hands; Ben looked appraisingly at him, and nodded. 'Pleased to meet you.'

'Likewise.'

They all looked at the building, which looked gloomy even in the noonday sun.

'So this is it then. Or you are as lost as we are?' said Ben.

'Yep. Look, on the note it says that it's Hedley Hall... oh, damn. No reception,' replied Leona, holding up her phone. 'Guess they didn't install a mast when they built this place. Bit of an oversight, really.'

Ben shrugged. 'Oh well. If nothing else happens, we can still have a picnic. I'll go and get the others.'

Within quarter of an hour they were all sitting on a tartan rug in the long grass at the edge of the drive, eating service station sandwiches and drinking cheap lemonade. Ben had come with two companions: Stuart, a pale, profane Scott with a pony tail and a habit of chain-smoking acrid roll ups, and Tamsin, an incredibly aristocratic looking woman who was dressed in clothes that would have looked like charity shop rejects on anyone else but her. They had obviously all been bickering in the van, but were too polite to resume in front of strangers; however, lounging in the sunshine with full bellies sweetened everyone's mood and soon the five were laughing together at the stupidity of the situation.

'...and it's such a damn cliché, too,' said Stuart, 'this shitty haunted house place. I mean, look at it! Straight from an Ed Wood film.'

'Not that surprising though,' said Marcus. 'These places tend to be owned by cults and communes and whatever other hippies you can think of. No one else can afford them. Can you imagine what the heating bills would be like? You'd need a trust fund and a serious dedication to home-knitted lentils to survive.'

Leona smiled. 'If my phone was able to talk to the internets, I'd be able to prove you right. This place is indeed owned by our friends the Blazing Path. Recently purchased, too, according to the Land Registry.'

'So where are they?' asked Ben. 'Why are we the only ones to turn up?'

'I don't know. Bit disappointed, frankly. Although I wasn't looking forward to the bit when they handed out the Kool-Ade.'

Tamsin shrugged, obviously bored by the whole thing. 'Look, I think we should just head back. You guys can come too, if you like. Did you have any plans?'

Marcus shrugged. 'We were going to play it by ear. Got sleeping bags and tents in case it turned all festivaly.'

'That is a cool idea,' nodded Stuart. 'If this place did festivals I'd be here like a shot.'

'Shh,' said Ben. 'Can you hear a car?'

Everyone except for Tamsin stood up to stare down the grounds towards the entrance; and, sure enough, there was some kind of four wheel drive growling its way along the gravel, a cheap-looking model that Marcus couldn't identify. It rumbled its way up towards them, parked some way away, and its driver bustled out and hurried towards them.

She was a woman in her mid forties, looking harried and tired, her salt-and-pepper hair tied in a bun.

'What are you doing here?' she called to them. 'Why have you come here?'

'But this is...', began Ben, but she cut him off.

'No, it's not. It's just a stupid prank. Or worse. Why didn't you get our email?' She had reached the rug now; she stared at them, suddenly suspicious as well as cross. 'Who exactly are you? You are trespassing, you realise that?'

Leona smiled, trying to defuse the situation.

'Hi. My name is Leona. I'm sorry; there seems to have some kind of misunderstanding. We came because of a press release that was put out by the, ah, religious organisation called the Blazing Path to the Glorious Resurrection? We were interested in what was being discussed, and we hoped that we could see and possibly film what was happening. We are from a local UFO club, you see, so we hoped...'

The woman seemed slightly mollified, but still cut her off tetchily.

'Well, you've been duped, I'm afraid. We managed to get a message to the group, but I suppose you wouldn't have had that. How did you find out?'

'Oh,' said Leona breezily, 'we heard it on the news.'

'Fine. Well, it's time to go. Come on: I need to get you out so I can chain up the gates. No doubt you'll see yourself on some so-called comedy program filmed on a secret camera.'

They looked at each other, and shrugged. Leona and Marcus helped pack up the picnic and then got into the car, while the students climbed into their minivan.

'You're a good liar. That was smooth,' remarked Marcus, as he turned the car round.

'Yeah I thought so. Other option was that I was the producer and you were my PA.'

'I'm not cute enough to be a PA,' he replied, as a shadow cast itself across the grounds.

'Not sure Ben would agree with you...', she started replying, before suddenly shouting, 'what the holy shit is that?!'

He stabbed the brakes, looking wildly around, 'what?'

The other cars had all stopped too, and he couldn't tell what the big deal was until he happened to glance up...

It was huge, and silent. He couldn't imagine how it had appeared from nowhere, so suddenly and quietly, and how it was hanging in the air, totally still.

It was cone-shaped: or at least the underside was, the top was totally hidden from view. It was a deep, deep blue, almost black, with dark grey ravines carved into it, some wide and deep, others shallow and narrow. It had no lights or moving parts, none of the trappings of the spaceships he had seen in video games and films; it was simply there, blotting out the sun, vast and taciturn.

He looked around. Ben was standing outside the van, filming; Stuart was wrestling with sound equipment, and Tamsin was bringing a second camera to bear. Leona was holding her phone up, also filming, and the cheap four-by-four was still, its occupant hidden from view.

There was a soft ping from his pocket, followed by another from Leona's phone. He shook his head, and pulled it out, and gasped at more or less the same time as her.

'Have you just had...', he started.

'...a friendship request from someone with an unpronounceable name and a picture of that as their profile?' she gestured up. 'Yes.'

'This has to be a wind-up.'

She looked at him.

'Yes. Let's get out of here. We can laugh in a dignified way on national TV later.'

'What about the others?'

'Fuck 'em. They are all adults. They might be in on it anyway.'

He put he car into gear, and started driving around the other vehicles.

'Harsh, but fair.'

He saw the woman from the cult stare at them, wild eyed, from her four by four; Tamsin was the only one of the students to pay them any attention.

'Leaving?', she called.

'Yeah,' replied Leona. 'We think it's a set up. Check your phone. If it's not, tell them we left in peace...'

And then they were bumping along the gravel drive, down the hill, away from the house, still in the shadow of the massive cone.

'What do you think it is?', asked Leona. 'Bother, reception's gone again.'

'Dunno. Blimp, maybe? A hot air balloon with some kind of covering? That would explain why it's so quiet.'

'You'd expect that to drift a bit, though. And balloons make a noise: they flap, and vent hot air. I think it's some kind of projection. Oh, look...'

He glanced in the mirror, and saw what she had seen; the very tip of the cone, positioned directly above the drive, had detached and was slowly gliding downwards, with some indistinct shapes on it.

'That'll be the game-show host, then.' he said. 'Tell me what happens, I need to concentrate on driving.'

She shrugged. 'Trees are getting in the way. Can't really see.'

The exit was visible now, the huge wrought iron metal gates now closed. He pulled up a few metres away, and got out to open them; but, as soon as he got close, he saw that they seemed to have been melted together. The metal where they touched was twisted and slurred, and when he lifted his hand to it, he could feel warmth. He pushed it gently, and it was solid.

'What the...?'

Leona had walked up to him.

'What's the problem? Oh, and by the way; apparently, Jenny Mcleod has just checked into The Landing Unit on Foursquare.'

'What?', he looked at her in confusion. 'Is now really the time...? Oh.'

She was holding her phone up: the profile picture was a little indistinct, but definitely the woman from the cult. He looked up at the huge, dark shape above them, and suddenly felt slightly uneasy.

'What's happened to these gates?', asked Leona.

'It's weird. Been welded, I think: just one big gate now. Not sure how we get out.'

She pushed gently, and then shoved them hard. Nothing gave.

'Could we drive through?'

'No! I don't want to trash my car! Anyway, look at them: not sure how much force you would need. She's only a Golf, after all.'

'Your car is a her?'

'Look, I...', and suddenly there was the roar of engines behind them. They turned to see the minivan barrelling down the gravel driveway.

They watched as it got closer and closer, without any sign of slowing down; then, with a yell from Leona, they both sprinted away from the gates, into the long grass. There was a screech of brakes and the noise of vehicles colliding: a loud, dull metallic thud, a punch of metal on metal. Marcus turned around in time to see the minivan rebound from his car; and his car, in turn, thrust into the gates.

'Oh, Jesus...'

He was aware that there must have been people in the minivan; but, he had watched as his car had ploughed into the iron cage, absorb the full impact of the collision. All he could think was that his most expensive possession, his means of independent movement, his almost antique vehicle, was dead.

Leona had run to the minivan. It was still upright, and was more intact than the VW: its radiator and lights were smashed across the ground, and a great bruise was spread across its face that would need to be beaten out, but it was basically intact, the windows and doors unbroken. She ripped the driver's door open, and it creaked strangely, the metal twisted by the impact.

'Help me!', she shouted back to Marcus. He looked up, remembered that the students had been in there and hurried towards her.

The people inside were all in shock; they looked like they had only been slightly hurt by the crash: cuts and bruises from banging against surfaces, whiplash, fear, but nothing serious. She helped Ben out, and between them, they got the other two onto the gravel. They were pale, cold, afraid. Their feet crunched on the broken glass.

'What the fuck...?', screamed Marcus. 'You fucked my car! What were you doing?'

Ben looked at him, grey faced. 'I'm sorry, man; we need to, shit, we need to...'

Stuart yelled, hoarse and furious. 'They're coming down here!'

Marcus was about to yell back, but Leona touched his elbow and pointed, and he was suddenly silent.

Down the driveway, slow and slender, floated two dark, graceful shapes. They moved like fish, dart-nosed twisting forms that turned on fins; but they were looked more like insects, with plates of armour, antennae, skeletal limbs that were curled around their bodies. They were the same dark blue and grey as the cone that hung above them, no lights or symbols, more shadow than anything else, and they swam through the air silently, calmly.

Marcus glanced at the students in confusion; Ben pulled his camera from somewhere, started filming. Stuart glanced at him, before muttering 'fuck that!,' and pulled his phone out; he scrambled into the grass to the right of the drive, away from them all. Tamsin stood still, an unreadable look on her face.

'What happened?', asked Leona.

Tamsin shivered. 'That woman, the one with the car. Something came down, and she walked up to it, saying all this hippy shit, and then out came those things. And they took her.'

The fish paused; they hung, perfectly still, suspended above the gravel.

'What do you mean, took her?'

Tamsin glanced at Stuart, wading through the grass, obviously trying to call someone, getting away as quickly as he could. Marcus and Leona followed her eyes: one of the fish was moving again, gliding towards the Scott as he thrashed through the long grass. The other stayed where it was.

'I don't really know, but there was a lot of blood. And, she screamed...'

Marcus frowned. Some way to their left was what looked like an old stables, nearly overrun with weeds. It was about half a mile away, easily walkable in ten minutes. Stuart was heading off the other way, the metal fish gracefully closing the gap.

'Look, we can get to that building, maybe climb over the wall, phone someone. And then you can pay for my fucking car,' he snarled at Ben. 'What are you doing? Put that shit away.'

Ben ignored him, eyes glued to the camera.

Leona reached up, placed a mollifying hand on his arm. 'That's a good idea. Come on, Tam; I think we've all had enough of this.'

Tamsin seemed to shake herself out of a trance, and started walking down, off the drive, towards the building. Leona followed her.

'You coming, or what?' Marcus asked Ben.

Ben still didn't say anything, and Marcus turned to watch what Ben was filming: the fish that was following Stuart.

Stuart was trying to run now, but the going was slow, and they could see him stumble and stagger through the thick weeds, sending up showers of pollen and dandelion seeds. He was obviously tiring, and looking more and more panicked as he glanced over his shoulder at the thing floating behind him. He'd given up with his phone, which he clutched as he struggled forwards.

'Shouldn't we go and...', Marcus started asking, but Ben cut him off. 'No. There's nothing we can do now.'

'What do you mean by...? Oh, Jesus.'

Suddenly a great metallic spike had appeared from the thing's head, almost as if the machine had stuck a huge metal tongue out. For a moment it looked like a swordfish; but then, the strange appendages dangling from it started snaking out, too, extending claws and hooks, and it looked alien and cruel.

Stuart must have heard something, because he screamed in fear and anger, throwing himself to his right, disappearing from their sight as he rolled across the ground. The fish twisted and followed him, now keeping pace only a meter or so away. He reappeared holding a branch, thrashing it at his pursuer.

'I'm going to help him,' muttered Marcus, and he took one, two paces forward; and then, suddenly, the thing lunged.

Stuart hit it with the branch as it darted forward, but the wood was rotten and when he smashed it across the thing's flank, the branch disintegrated, sending showers of wood chips spiralling into the air. Totally unaffected by this, the machine kept lunging forward; and while Stuard stared with disbelieving eyes, the spike plunged smoothly into his chest. It made a wet tearing noise audible even from where Marcus was standing, and a great dark patch spread out through his clothes. The Scott tried to scream, but it had pierced his lung, and he just made a pathetic bubbling howl while brilliant red gore dribbled from his mouth.

Marcus staggered backwards, horrified, unsure what to do; the machine thrust its limbs forwards, arterial blood reddening the claws as it snatched the man up, drawing him forward, stopping him from sliding off the spike. It embraced him, binding his flailing limbs to his sides, and as it did so it retracted its harpoon so that he suddenly slumped into its grip.

His mouth was still moving, eyes staring at the pair of them; then the thing gathered his body completely under it and glided back towards its companion, as serenely as it had come, its perfect blue surface now shiny with red.

Ben lowered his camera.

'That's what happened to the woman too.'

Marcus looked at him, at the women, who were standing a few metres away, visibly shocked.

'Why didn't you do anything?'

'Why didn't you?'

Marcus had no reply to this.

The fish carrying Stuart reached its companion, passed it, and disappeared back up the hill, towards the house. They could all see the dark dots along the gravel where it had travelled.