Hello, dear readers! I hope you are all well, and that you have your courage screwed to the sticking place, because things are about to get very dark and violent in my story, alas for Team Sherlock and Team Mycroft (Sendai came up with the names, I just can't resist using them!) I'm sorry this update has taken so long, Real Life has attacked me with a vengeance, and whilst I'm loving my Master's studies I have three assignments already... But enough grumbling. Many thanks to Nonimouse and Garnet Dark for their reviews, I so love getting them! And it's back to Mycroft et al this chapter, so without further ado...
Warning: My story is going to get increasingly dark, violent and (hopefully) scary from here onwards, so exercise caution if any of this worries you.
Two men, two women and one ancient water spirit stood on the pavement outside a House That Cannot Be Found. Lestrade wondered in passing what the punchline to that joke would consist of.
'I thought it would be more… sinister, somehow,' he muttered, examining the House with a professional eye. After two decades in the Met, Lestrade had an uncanny instinct for knowing which buildings were being used for dubious purposes. He could spot a crack den from a mile off, knew exactly how to spot which flats were used by con artists and the like, knew where the gangs had their hideaways – it was his own special sixth sense. But he wasn't gaining any such impression from Moriarty's lair.
Lestrade glanced over at Mycroft, whose attention seemed to have wandered. 'Myke, you're looking at the wrong house. Eyes dead ahead, remember?'
'Ah, yes,' Mycroft murmured, refocusing said eyes and staring hard at the House, twirling his omnipresent umbrella in distracted fashion. 'Good grief, this is difficult.'
'I know what you mean. My eyes keep sliding away from it somehow,' Molly said, somewhat nervously. 'I wish Ulysses had decided to stay a bit longer.'
Sherlock's familiar had done as he had been instructed and taken them right to the House, after which he had promptly departed, desperate to return to his master. Still, they had two magicians (Lestrade supposed Irene could be gifted that title) and a water spirit on their side, so Lestrade wasn't too worried at losing the owl. They had no weapons between them, however, which was a bit worrying. They had come straight to the House and Lestrade had not had a chance to collect John's handgun, which he had been keeping in his bedroom at Mycroft's townhouse and completely forgotten about in the fuss surrounding John's departure. Ah well, no use fretting about it.
'Irene?' Lestrade asked, as Mycroft continued to try and focus on the House, squinting in exaggerated fashion as he did so. 'You've nicked stuff from Moriarty before, do you know any way into this place? Preferably somewhere no-one on the street can see us, I don't want the Met getting caught up in this because some nosy neighbour calls 999.'
Irene shook her head, not looking at him but keeping her fierce gaze on the House. 'Sorry, Inspector, but I've never seen this place before,' she answered semi-apologetically. 'The cursed necklace was in transit when I stole it the first time, and when I made off with it the second time it was from a secure facility on the other side of the city. It's unstable when brought near other magical artefacts you see, so Moriarty was keeping it at another property, away from all his greatest treasures.'
'Interesting,' Mycroft murmured. 'Miss Adler, keep that accursed thing close, it may come in handy at some point.'
'Assuming we actually manage to get into the place,' Lestrade remarked dryly, bringing everybody back to the task in hand.
'Why don't we just ring the doorbell?' Molly suggested brightly.
Irene sniggered in derision, throwing a scornful glance at poor Molly. 'Brilliant idea, darling. Genius. The darkest magician in the world lives there, all sorts of abominations lie in wait there and you want to ring the doorbell. Hands up, who else thinks that's a good idea?' She turned to the others, one eyebrow raised. 'Well?'
One minute and thirty-seven seconds later:
'I don't bloody believe this,' Irene muttered, standing on the step below Mycroft and Lestrade as the police officer rang the doorbell. She glanced down at Molly, standing one step below her. Molly smirked, and turning to the Lorelei, Irene found her companion wearing an identical expression of amusement. She curled her lip in a disgusted expression and turned to face forwards in a huff.
It was lucky she did so, as in the silence of very late night or very early morning, they could hear footsteps on the other side of the door – heavy, thudding footsteps. Mycroft seized hold of Greg's hand as they waited, and to the distracted interest of the three women watching them Greg made no effort to disentangle himself.
The door opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. A meek-looking elderly lady peered around it, her hair wound up in a neat bun, a frilly apron covering most of her.
'Can I help you, dears?' she quavered.
Lestrade held up his warrant card. 'I'm DI Lestrade of New Scotland Yard, madam,' he informed her in his 'official' police voice. 'We'd just like to ask you a couple of questions. Is this the residence of one James Moriarty?'
'Sorry – who?' the old lady croaked, blinking in bewildered fashion.
Mycroft's sharp eyes observed her hand snaking slowly towards a pocket in her skirt. He gathered himself, ready to unleash magic – high magic, water magic, it mattered not. Behind him, he could sense the Lorelei tensing in anticipation.
'James Moriarty, madam,' Lestrade repeated patiently.
'I think you must have the wrong house, officer,' the old lady was saying. 'There's no-one of that name here.'
'Yeah, right,' Lestrade huffed sarcastically, patience expired. 'Stand aside please, we're coming in to search this place.'
'Not without a warrant, dear,' the old lady answered, politely enough.
And then several things happened at once.
The old woman drew her hand from her pocket and flung something at Lestrade and Mycroft all in one swift motion. Mycroft, no fool, pulled Lestrade to one side and flung up an arm, shouting out in a language not even Irene recognised. There was a flash of multi-coloured lightning as two magicks clashed on the doorstep of Moriarty's townhouse, blinding everyone for a moment.
Blinking the rainbow flashing lights from his eyes, Lestrade realised that he and Mycroft were still standing and that the old lady was reeling backwards, leaving the door unguarded. The Lorelei saw her chance and slithered up the steps past the two men like an eel, throwing herself on the old woman with a snarl.
The old woman snarled in turn, her teeth lengthening and her fingernails growing and curving and something unfurling from her back –
'A succubus,' Mycroft murmured. 'Not seen one of those in a while. Right, quick, everybody follow me!'
Lestrade had no choice in the matter, as Mycroft was still holding his hand in a firm grip. Together, they pushed past the duelling women – well, one woman and a winged, hideous creature – and made their way into a long narrow hallway. Irene and Molly were right behind them, Molly squealing in terror at the sight of the succubus.
'Halt!' Mycroft ordered, coming to an abrupt stop. Ignoring the sounds of the fight, which was becoming increasingly vicious, he glanced almost lazily around the hall, before honing in on a little ornament standing innocuously in a niche below the stairs that descended into the left side of the room.
'A cursed object,' Mycroft muttered to no-one in particular. 'It will curse anyone who passes by it who is not a member of Moriarty's staff or who enters here uninvited. Miss Adler, if you would?'
Irene strode forward, extending a hand. She uttered several words in a language neither Greg nor Molly could understand and the ornament simply vanished in a puff of smoke, as it would have done in some stage magician's act.
'Nice,' Lestrade remarked approvingly.
'A transportation spell,' Irene boasted smilingly. 'Very handy in my profession. I've sent that ornament to an enchanted cave, Mr Holmes, one that most humans cannot enter. Off the coast near Boscastle –'
'I'm aware of it, Miss Adler,' Mycroft responded obligingly. 'I'll arrange for the object's neutralization once we have taken care of business here.'
'What now then?' Molly asked, a little nervously. Just then, there was an awful shriek and seconds later the Lorelei appeared amongst them, her mouth and dress stained crimson, her hands coated in so much blood that she appeared to be wearing a scarlet pair of gloves. Her mouth was curved in a satisfied smile, her eyes bright with bloodlust, and even Irene regarded her companion a little warily.
'Ah, I see the succubus is no longer an issue,' Mycroft commented, with a consummate mastery of understatement. 'Right, everybody, be on high alert. It's been easy going so far but Moriarty's no fool. The further we go into this house the more guards and booby traps we will encounter.'
'So what do we do? Split up and cover more ground that way?' Lestrade suggested, only half-seriously. So it came as a mild surprise when Mycroft, Irene and the Lorelei all nodded their agreement.
'Good idea, Gregory,' Mycroft said approvingly, and Lestrade was sure Mycroft's hand squeezed his own for a too-brief moment. 'You ladies –' this to Irene and the Lorelei, who listened willingly, '– search upstairs, please, and Gregory, Amelia and I will look down here. And for Herne's sake, be on your guard.'
'What are we looking for?' Molly asked curiously.
'Moriarty's collection of magical artefacts and curiosities,' Mycroft answered. 'Remember, my dear, he has no natural magical ability, unlike you and I. All his power comes from magical relics, bargains he has made with supernatural creatures – like his deal with the Erl King.'
'So basically we find his horde of magic thingy-me-bobs and go and smash them?' Lestrade summarized, and Mycroft rolled his eyes.
'I wouldn't have phrased it quite like that, but yes, that's the plan, Gregory,' he sighed with over-exaggerated patience, causing everyone else to snicker quietly in amusement. Mycroft waited for the hilarity, which had a slight edge of hysteria, to settle, before gently tugging Lestrade down the hall and motioning Molly to follow.
'Good luck, ladies,' he said to Irene and the Lorelei. 'Call us if you find anything interesting or need help, and we'll do the same for you.'
The Lorelei inclined her head graciously in acknowledgement and started for the stairs, motioning Irene to follow. Adler did so with a wry, here-we-go-again expression on her face but without hesitation.
Lestrade turned his attention back to Mycroft. The other man smiled ever so slightly, and pulled at Lestrade's hand, leading him down the hallway to a cluster of doorways at the other end. Lestrade felt Molly's dainty fingers slip into his free hand as they walked, and so, all hanging onto one another, they made their way through the house.
Mycroft brought them to a halt when they reached the doorways. There were four of them, all made out of mahogany, heavy and ornate. One of them, off to the left, had a strange symbol carved into its wood.
'Nobody touch anything or try to open these,' Mycroft said in a harsh whisper. 'They'll almost certainly have defensive spells upon them.'
Lestrade had absolutely no intention of trying any of the doors. The hallway, the doors, the House itself were giving him a strange, uncanny feeling. Admittedly, they were in the lair of a psychotic magician who liked to curse people for fun, which ought to have explained the eeriness. But Lestrade felt, absurdly, that the House was waiting for them to do something, to walk into a trap, to make some fatal blunder.
'Not going to happen,' he muttered to the House.
Oh, no?
Lestrade looked round sharply. But no-one was there in the hall apart from Mycroft, Molly and the tattered remains of the dead succubus. Irene Adler and the Lorelei were long gone. Besides which, Lestrade wasn't entirely certain that he'd heard those words. It was as if he'd… sensed them, somehow.
'I'm going doolally,' he complained quietly as Mycroft inspected each of the doorways in turn, searching for something. 'Anything doing, Myke?'
'No,' Mycroft grumbled. 'I am unable to ascertain which door might shield Moriarty's collection of objects, or even if the doors are spelled in some manner. Whatever magicks have been performed or put in place, they are remarkably subtle. We shall have to try each door in turn and hope for the best, which will take far longer than I'd hoped.' He scowled at the offending doors. 'We need to weaken Moriarty as soon and as much as possible and this is a severe setback.'
'Can't be helped,' Lestrade said needlessly. 'Shall we start with the door that has the funny squiggle on it?'
Molly and Mycroft turned to look incredulously at him, pinioning him between them with twin gazes of astonishment.
'What did I say?' Lestrade asked, rather indignantly.
Mycroft's face lost some of its astonishment and looked almost impressed. 'Gregory, I cannot perceive any… squiggles, as you term them, on any of these doors. Neither can Amelia, judging by her expression.'
'You're turning into a magician, too, Greg,' Molly said, softly and seriously.
'Really?' Lestrade asked, ridiculous hope rising in him like a flood tide. Myke and John and Molly all had magic, was Lestrade about to be included too? Could he be a part of this bizarre, beautiful world he'd only just begun to discover?
'Which door has the marking on it?' Mycroft asked him, breaking into Lestrade's optimistic thoughts, and the police officer gestured towards it. 'Can you describe the symbol to me, Gregory?'
'It's a rune of some sort,' Lestrade answered at once, pausing briefly to wonder where this new knowledge had come from. 'It looks like a stick with a cross in the middle –'
'Norse rune,' Mycroft said, reaching into an inside pocket without further ado and extracting a soft leather wallet. He flipped it open to reveal an extensive array of skeleton keys and lock picks. He smirked at Lestrade's raised eyebrows. 'A man in my profession involves himself in all manner of shady dealings, Gregory, and thus must be prepared for any eventuality, be it a locked door or a colony of selkies. Turn and face the wall if this meets with your disapproval – although, given we've entered here illegally…'
'Whatever,' Lestrade muttered, trading resigned looks with Molly. Mycroft's smart-aleck tendencies were low-key and subtle but nonetheless deeply entrenched.
Mycroft selected a couple of picks and went to work on the lock, uttering what Lestrade presumed was a charm or spell as he worked. Lestrade and Molly hovered behind him, casting nervous glances about them or listening for sounds of approach, but there was nothing. It was silent upstairs, too – Irene and the Lorelei were being very quiet about whatever it was they were doing.
'Got it!' Mycroft said triumphantly after a minute or two, as the lock clicked and the door swung open. Mycroft held up a hand to forestall Lestrade and Molly, and reached into yet another pocket, extracting what looked like a handful of blue powder. He flung it into the room, there was a crackling noise and some flashes of light, like sparklers on Bonfire Night, before everything faded and silence reigned once more.
'An electrocution spell,' Mycroft explained absently to them both. 'It's safe now, the energy is spent.'
All three of them peered into what the unlocked door had revealed. A smallish room, tastefully decorated, evidently a study of some sort. There was a large desk, bookcases, the odd folder lying about, a fax machine and plenty of stationary. There were no ornaments or computers however, though there was an empty space on the desk that was just large enough for a laptop.
'Moriarty's study,' Mycroft murmured.
'It's too easy,' Lestrade demurred, feeling very apprehensive. 'We should have run into more trouble than this by now.'
'Nonetheless, we must proceed,' Mycroft said firmly. 'Come along, you two. We must find Moriarty's collection of artefacts.'
Mycroft stepped across the threshold without hesitation. Molly followed him willingly. Lestrade hesitated, feeling as jumpy as a frog on hot coals, but gave in when Mycroft turned and shot him a look.
He went through the door…
And it slammed shut behind him.
Molly and Mycroft whirled round.
'I didn't touch it!' Lestrade protested as he saw their annoyed expressions, turning to try and open it.
It wouldn't budge. He rattled the door handle with increasing terror, but the door was stuck fast. 'Oh, bloody hell,' he muttered angrily. 'We're in a trap!'
And, as if on cue, there came a hideous groaning sound from every corner of the room, of stone scraping across stone, and the ceiling began to close in on them, descending lower and lower. They were going to be crushed as flat as pancakes!
Molly screamed, Mycroft's jaw dropped and Lestrade cursed furiously.
'Well, don't just stand there, try and brace it with something!' he shouted at his compatriots as he ran to the desk and with one furious heave overturned it, sending paper fluttering everywhere. His yell galvanized both Mycroft and Molly, and together they all manoeuvred the desk onto its side in the hopes of halting the ceiling's descent to the floor or simply slowing it down.
All in vain. As the lowering ceiling met the desk, the wooden bit of furniture creaked, groaned and began to splinter immediately. Mycroft uttered a sentence in Latin that sounded worth translating, and holding his hands up, began casting all manner of spells and charms, some visible as light and flurries of air, some totally invisible and all of them totally ineffective. The ceiling continued to writhe inexorably downwards, and Mycroft, the tallest out of the three, was already having to stoop to avoid it.
'Try the door again!' Mycroft shouted and Molly ran to do so, banging on it and kicking it but to no avail.
'I can't move it!' she cried despairingly. 'Irene! Lorelei! Are you out there?'
But there was no answer forthcoming.
'Myke, what do we do?' Lestrade asked frantically, bent double. But Mycroft had no answer for him, merely gesturing helplessly and pushing back against the ceiling in a hopeless gesture of resistance.
Lestrade turned to the wall and began pounding on it in a fury, hurling abuse at Moriarty's stupid House That Cannot Be Found, so hard that the skin in his hands tingled, the sensation stretching out tentacles to cover his whole body. 'Let us out, you bloody –'
And then wall somehow gave way and Lestrade found himself standing – well, crouching – in the corridor outside the study.
'House,' he finished faintly. 'What the fuck?'
'Gregory! Where are you? Gregory!'
'Greg, we're still in here!'
Mycroft and Molly!
'Fuck it all!' Lestrade snarled, turning to the study door. He had no lock-picks, no keys and sod it, no time for any of them. He instead snatched up a handy marble bust and aimed a brutal blow at the lower door, which splintered despite the sturdy wood. 'Myke, Molly, I'm knocking the door in!'
Lestrade, remembering his days playing cricket for his school team, swung low and hard. And again. And again. And again –
The lower half of the door cracked almost in two with the force of the blows. Lestrade dropped the bust on the floor, seized hold of the broken wood of the door, heedless of splinters and wrenched it aside. Instantly he perceived Molly on hands and knees, and she needed no prompting but scrambled out at once before turning to look for Mycroft.
Lestrade threw himself on his stomach and reached into the study for his friend. The ceiling was only a foot from the floor. Less…
And then Mycroft's umbrella was thrust towards him out of the gloom, and Lestrade grabbed it and tugged mightily. And then an iota later Mycroft was clutching at him and hanging on for grim death. Lestrade pulled, Molly lunged forward and grabbed hold of Mycroft too, and together they dragged him from the room, his feet clearing it just as the ceiling kissed the floor in a deafening boom as stone and rock collided.
For a long moment they all lay there on the parquet flooring, too stunned and shaken to move. Mycroft rallied first, forcing himself upright and pulling Lestrade up with him before reaching a courteous hand down to Molly, who was trembling with shock.
'It's all right my dear, you're safe now,' he informed her, before turning to Lestrade and frowning. 'Oh, you've hurt your hands, Gregory –'
'I've had worse,' Lestrade said stoically. 'Besides which, care to explain how I managed to walk through a solid stone wall just now? Not that I'm not glad it happened, but it's still bloody unnerving.'
'You've got magic, Gregory,' Mycroft explained almost absently as he picked out several large splinters from Lestrade's damaged hands. 'Stone and earth magic, it looks like. The stones in the wall allowed you to pass through them because of it, most fortuitously. And remember, on the pavement, you were the only one who could perceive the House clearly? You'll have power over such things if you work at it.'
'Cool, Greg!' Molly exclaimed, some of her residual terror fading in the light of such a brilliant discovery. At least, Lestrade thought it was brilliant. He could feel his face stretching into an inappropriately large grin at the idea of being able to walk through walls, drop through ceilings and floors like something out of the X-Men. What a thing to be able to tell John when they saw him again!
The sound of tearing cloth brought Lestrade back to the here and now, and he realised Mycroft was tearing up one of his pristine handkerchiefs to serve as bandages.
'My hands aren't that bad, Myke,' he protested, a little embarrassed.
'Let me do this, Gregory,' Mycroft said quietly. Before adding, with quiet fury: 'I should have known better. Better than to lead you both into such an obvious trap! I was overeager to find Moriarty's stash of artefacts –'
'We understand, Mycroft,' Molly chimed in reassuringly. 'We know you want to help your brother as much as possible.'
'You are far too forgiving, my dear,' Mycroft sighed, tying Lestrade's makeshift bandages with a neat little knot on each hand and turning to survey the remaining three doors in the hallway. 'Well, we escaped, and there's nothing for it but to try again. Let us proceed, albeit with more caution.'
The next five minutes passed quickly. One door revealed a spotless, stainless steel kitchen, the other a chilly little living room full of minimalist furniture and hideous modern art prints on the walls, and one was an elegantly appointed dining room – and the only room to hold anything of interest. A sideboard had several knick-knacks on its shelves that Mycroft proclaimed to be magical, albeit not very powerful magic, and the three friends passed a pleasant minute smashing them against the wall or stamping them underfoot.
A quick scout around of the ground floor revealed nothing further of interest, though there was a lovely landscaped garden accessible through the back door. Mycroft, uninterested in the garden, looked hard at a black-painted door in the kitchen and spent some time muttering to himself and running his hands over it. Despite having a lock on it, it was open. A quick glance inside revealed only a broom cupboard however, and eventually Mycroft led the way upstairs to check on Irene and the Lorelei.
It was still eerily quiet in the House, and Lestrade could feel the hairs on the backs of his arms standing up in anticipation. Something was going on, he just knew it. Mycroft was proceeding with more and more caution as they came to a landing, and once they were all assembled he motioned for everyone to stand still and proceeded to close his eyes and turn in a slow circle, ears and magic straining for clues as to the whereabouts of Moriarty's treasure horde or Irene and the Lorelei.
Suddenly, Mycroft froze. His eyes snapped open and fixed themselves on a doorway at the opposite end of the landing.
'Myke?' Lestrade asked apprehensively.
'Keep absolutely still,' Mycroft whispered roughly. 'Both of you, keep still and keep behind me, whatever you do.'
Neither Lestrade nor Molly needed to be told twice. Molly reached for Lestrade's hand – causing him to wince as she gripped it tightly – and they huddled together behind Mycroft, who was inching his way towards the door that had unnerved him so. Or, more likely, whatever it was behind the door that had him spooked.
Then the door creaked open.
Mycroft halted so fast he lurched forward where he stood, unable to arrest his momentum totally. Lestrade and Molly, startled, recoiled and Lestrade muffled a groan as Molly's fingers nearly crushed his injured hand.
The door had opened only by an inch or so. Then, very gradually, it opened a little further, a little further, until finally it was wide enough to let someone slip through. An instant later a dainty foot, followed by a long slender leg and then an arm, a tatty dress and blonde hair followed. It was the Lorelei, walking backwards and moving with the same careful stealth Mycroft had employed when going upstairs. She flicked a quick glance over her shoulder, and with one ensanguined hand motioned for Mycroft to remain still and quiet. He did as she silently bid him. There was no sign of Irene Adler and Lestrade wondered in alarm if she'd run into a particularly nasty bit of trouble.
'Greg?' Molly whispered. Her voice was so soft that Lestrade barely made out what she had said, but the unexpected noise in the dead silence of the House made him start violently. He got himself under stern control and glanced anxiously at Molly.
'There's something behind that door,' Molly breathed almost inaudibly. 'I can hear it – it's saying awful things. I will rip you open, eat your liver and heart, I will gulp down your steaming blood –'
'I get the idea,' Lestrade hissed back. 'Myke? Molly says she can hear something –'
'I hear nothing,' Mycroft interrupted. 'Silence, you two.'
Lestrade realised in alarm that only Molly could hear whatever was lurking behind that door. He looked at the Lorelei, who had dropped into a crouch, flexing her sharp nails like claws, an animal ready to pounce. A cat, about to pounce on a bird?
That's not far off.
'Shut up,' Lestrade muttered to the House.
Molly was not so frightened as to be able to give Lestrade a funny look – but she got no further. The door at the end of the landing flew open with a crash that rang in all their ears and they got their first look at whatever had frightened the Lorelei.
It was two metres tall. Bipedal. It had the legs and trunk of a man, hairy and squat though they were. But the head and the forearms – well, Lestrade could only come up with the words demon, owl, demon, owl, his stunned mind repeating them in an endless litany. Overlong feathered arms, feathers long and nearly sweeping the floor, claws that must have been eight inches in length on the tip of each finger, and an owl's head atop a man's shoulders. Round, feathery, with a savagely hooked beak that, dreadfully, was shaped around a human mouth that was muttering pitiless, incomprehensible words. And the eyes – round, the size of tennis balls, black and fathomless, and without a shred of humanity in them, only a blood red glint of maniacal savagery.
'Oh, bloody hell,' Mycroft muttered. 'The Owlman of Mawnan.'
'Oh, you've met?' Lestrade managed to get out in a strangled whisper.
'No, Gregory,' Mycroft whispered back. 'But all magic-handlers know of him. We see him in our darkest nightmares, utter charms against his presence, pray to all the Gods that we never meet him. He is an abomination, an atrocity and without mercy.'
The Owlman, ignoring or uncaring about Mycroft's words, surveyed each of them briefly in turn, that wintry inhuman gaze sweeping across them all like a bitter frost, leaving cold in its wake.
The Lorelei hissed a challenge. Mycroft, Greg and Molly all held themselves as motionless as they could, not daring to provoke the creature.
A moment passed. A car passed by on the road outside, roaring as the driver stomped hard on the accelerator. The raucous sound faded away into nothingness, and still everyone stood frozen.
And then, with an indescribable screech, the Owlman sprang at them.
Author's Notes: Yes, I'm seriously finishing the chapter there.
I speculated for ages about what sort of magic Lestrade would have, but the personality trait I kept coming back to was his stubbornness and tenacity - he's steady as a rock, so it made sense for him to have power over earth and stones. At least in my crazy brain it did ;-)
A succubus is a legendary female demon that is supposed to have intercourse with men while they sleep. The male equivalent is an incubus.
The Owlman of Mawnam, or the Owlman of Mawnan Smith, is a wonderful British urban legend. In 1976, tourists in the small Cornish village of Mawnan Smith were terrorized by what they called the Owlman. Eyewitnesses described it as a massive creature, a cross between a man and an owl with glowing red eyes. Sightings of the Owlman have occurred intermittently ever since. Whilst various theories have been put forward, some more outlandish the others, the most likely explanation is that Owlman was in fact an Eagle Owl (which are HUGE birds) which had gotten lost and ended up in Cornwall. But for the purposes of my story, he's the most fearsome monster imaginable...
Till next time, dear readers!
