Full Moon Over Valentine's Rocks

He was so strong.

She couldn't help herself. Inch by inch, Donna felt her resistance give.

Still though, Jake didn't stop. He pushed. He eased Donna's legs apart.

As she spread her legs, Jake added a little pressure to the inside of Donna's knees. The intention was obvious. Without hesitation, Donna bent her legs. She didn't need to look down, to know what a view she would be giving, but it didn't seem to matter. What did matter was what Jake was going to do to her next?

Her heart was pounding faster and faster.

With one final nudge of encouragement, Donna spread her legs as far apart as she could. She watched as her lover climbed onto the end of the bed, kneeling between her outstretched legs.

Jake leaned forward. He ran his fingers down the inside of her thighs. The touch sent shivers through Donna's young body as he worked his way towards her knickers. She jumped as he nudged up against the thin black fabric, the only barrier between him and her waiting sex.

There was another feeling, something deeper inside, an ache... an ache of desire. If she didn't know better that tingle down below told not of nerves, but more of arousal.

Donna gasped.

Jake had looped the fingertips of one hand around the lower edge of her knickers and eased the gusset to one side. As he did, he leaned forward once more. Donna could feel his breath against her pussy, the warmth tickling at her tender lips.

She closed her eyes and waited.

A soft moan filled the room as Jake went down on Donna, his lips against hers, his tongue flicking out, seeking an opening.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And so, shut happens, even when the day is still young, and money to be made. If you stood outside the shack that very afternoon, you may have head the moans of a young woman as she was eaten out to within an inch of impending climax.

If you didn't hear those moans, then maybe it was the squeal as he thrust long and hard into her sodden sex which caught your attention.

Without fail, the scream, as orgasm finally hit, would have left little doubt as to what was going on inside.

He had the gift, and Jake knew they just couldn't resist... his enchanting tales, his manly prowess, his alluring charms... his... well... as far as Jake was concerned, it was why they kept coming back... why they considered him the true legend of Craggnaggan.

As Jake put another metaphorical notch in his bedpost, he resigned himself to the impending wait. The weather would close in soon and, with it, so would the opportunities. Throughout the wintry months, Craggnaggan would become what it really was... a quaint little village by the sea, frequented only by those who happened to call it home.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One

What's in a weather forecast?

Lunchtime... Thursday 12 February.

Brenda busied herself restocking the bar. She was up and down to the cellar so often, that you would wonder why she wasn't a spritely size eight. Maybe it was age. Maybe it was just the result of a lifetime in pubs. No... not drinking, although she was partial to a glass or four of full-bodied red, but working... and now, managing.

Her parents had taken over the running of what, more than forty years back, was called the Bay Inn. It was all Brenda could remember. She'd lived all her life in that very pub, in both of its incarnations, as the Inn and as the Mermaid's Curse. In fact, it was Brenda who had ended up changing the name, one of the first things she had done having taken over the running from her ailing father.

The Mermaid's Curse had been a success, not that the pub wasn't doing well beforehand. Just as in real life, sometimes you needed a little facelift, and that was just what Brenda gave it, exactly that... a facelift... a new lease of life.

Was it the change in name which made it a success? For sure it helped, especially combined with the legend of Craggnaggan, but it wasn't the only factor. Every good pub needed good beer, and the Mermaid's Curse had the best, real ales on tap as against the uniform fizzy mainstream stuff you found elsewhere in the village.

Along with good beer came good food, and then there was the question about a host. Every good pub needed a host, and that was where Brenda came into her own. She may have been a size sixteen—Brenda always reckoned she could squeeze into a fourteen if it was stretchy enough, not that they ever were—with curves a plenty, and no intention of hiding them away. What's more, if the curves were obvious then the personality was even more so. Brenda was in her element behind that bar, holding her own with even the most boisterous of customers, not that Craggnaggan was really that wild a place.

Brenda headed back down to the cellar once more, returning with a couple of cases of mixers which she started stacking neatly behind the bar. The radio blared out in the background, with Brenda catching snippets as she worked. She sang along to the odd song. She let the news bulletins wash over her, catching a headline here and there, but ignoring most of the mundane local stuff.

It was only when the weather forecast came on, that something caught her attention. As a publican the weather made a real difference. Wet and windy was a poor return. Dry would keep her ticking over. Hot and sunny... well, with heat came thirst, and with thirst came sales. It wasn't though the weather which stopped Brenda in her tracks. It was an idle comment, spoken almost in jest.

'Finally... for all you romantics out there, the big day's gonna be dry and mild, thirteen at max, dropping to eight in the evening... wrap up warm if you're out for the night, and the best of luck in finding love,' the presenter started to wrap up his bulletin. 'Oh, and who knows... it's going to be a full moon out there, so maybe Cupid's arrow will fly true this year.'

Brenda couldn't believe what she had just heard. Her heart skipped a beat. It was like... like... it was déjà vu. Without hesitation, she grabbed a glass from the shelf, poured a shot of whisky into it, then downed it in one. A full moon on Valentine's Night... oh god... was it going to happen again... just as it had done those nineteen years ago?

She poured another shot and sat down at one of the tables. Any idea Brenda had of stocking up before opening had gone out of her mind. All she could think about was that very night, all those years ago.

It had been so unexpected. The weather had been fine. The full moon had provided a sense of light in the darkness.

Why then?

Why had he ended up vanishing into the sea?

They blamed a freak wave, a sudden storm surge knocking him off the rock he was fishing from, leaving him floundering in the undercurrents. But that was the other thing. No matter how many searches there were, and there were plenty, his body was never found... only his gear and clothes, all sitting atop the very rock he had chosen as his casting base.

The official report was an accident, unexplained, but not foul play. A memorial was erected to honour that loss and those which had come before. The choice, a stylised mermaid sitting on a rock, spoke to the sea whilst bringing the village's mysterious past to life. The choice was controversial, but the memorial was a fitting response to a tragic event, an acknowledgement that the sea wasn't to be messed with, that for everything it gave to Craggnaggan, the sea could quickly take away again.

For most, that was it, a tragic accident suitably memorialised. Brenda though, wasn't most. She knew of the legend. She remembered that time nineteen years back, and even had vague memories of the one before then, albeit she was nothing more than a young child that time.

Once was unfortunate. Twice though, was it coincidence, or did it suggest something more was at play? Coincidence didn't sit well for Brenda, and after that last time, she had found herself rummaging through the village archives, all the way back to the start of the last century, or at least as far back as records had been kept.

Was she putting two and two together to make five?

By the time Brenda had finished, the couple of unexplained deaths she was aware of had become seven, all different, but all with so much in common. There was a sort of regularity, each happening more or less nineteen years apart. They were all lost to the sea, on or around Valentine's Day, and it just so happened that the moon was full, at least in those reports where a mention of the weather was made. It seemed a strange observation to be noted, but there it was in printed text... a full moon, and unexpectedly inclement weather.

But that was all it was, a series of unexplained deaths over the years. It was hardly proof, was it? Still though, Brenda felt the need to change the name of the pub, and Mermaid's Curse spoke both to the legend, and to the unease that came with coincidence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Penny for them?"

Brenda glanced up from her table. There, staring down at the publican, was a younger looking redhead.

"Gemma," Brenda responded, surprised to see her bar hand standing there. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Early?" Gemma replied, sweeping her long wavy locks behind her ears, and tying them in a ponytail. "It's ten to opening time, and by the look of it I'm not a minute too late."

"Ten to..." Brenda started to reply, her voice tailing off as it suddenly dawned on her what Gemma had just said.

How long had she sat there? A sudden panic swept over Brenda as she imagined the hordes swarming inside, eager for a lunchtime pint. Okay, so this was an out of season Craggnaggan, so swarming was more like trickling, but still they would be here, and Brenda was nowhere near ready.

"I'm so sorry," Brenda added. "One minute I was listening to the weather, the next you were standing there."

"The weather? I can tell you the weather. It's blooming gorgeous... well, for February anyway... blue sky... barely a cloud to be seen... guaranteed to get the thirst buds working," Gemma responded. "Isn't that what they said?"

"Errm... yes... no... well..."

"Well, what? Thirsty day or not thirsty day? Oh, and if we don't get stocked up soon, it'll be a very thirsty day," Gemma teased.

"Yeah... yeah..." Brenda responded. "I'll get 'em out the cellar, you rack 'em up. Oh, and it wasn't so much the weather which got me."

With that, Brenda disappeared out of sight, returning moments later with a couple of cases of soft drinks.

"What was it then, Brenda? Is there a storm on its way or something? God, I know how much damage that one did back in twenty-seventeen. We were mopping up for days... but you know we're better prepared."

"Nope," Brenda replied, disappearing downstairs once more. "No storm... as you say, quite mild for Feb."

"Then what?" Gemma called after her boss.

"Full moon," came the reply from the cellar.

Gemma laughed.

"Full moon... really, Brenda!" Gemma quipped. "You don't believe in that stuff, do you?"

By the time Brenda emerged again from the cellar, carrying a couple of boxes of crisps, the look on her face screamed of not being amused. She was about to put her subordinate to right when the first of the lunchtime trade walked in through the door.

'Later,' Brenda thought to herself. Later, she would put Gemma to rights.

Some things just didn't warrant joking about.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later never came... at least not for any retelling of the legend of Craggnaggan. With the sun shining, it had been a good day when it came to selling beer, and before long the concerns over the full moon were forgotten.

What did come later, much later, when most were asleep, was an unexpected sea fret. The forecast hadn't warned of incoming mist, driving in off the waters, rolling all the way up the beach, but there it was... and a couple of hours later, just as the village started to rise, there it wasn't.

Few were awake to notice the short-lived bout of inclement weather, and not a soul to notice the stranger heading up the sands, her form emerging out of the fogginess, taking human shape, before disappearing through the narrow, twisty village streets. With her long blonde hair blowing in the breeze, she hurried along, eager to reach her destination before anyone caught sight of her nakedness.

She paused outside an old fisherman's cottage, a single dim light illuminating the downstairs window. It was nothing to look at from the outside, and a bit off the beaten track, but it didn't matter when you were only planning to stay for a day or two. It was a haven, a place to change, a place to make herself more... well... presentable.

A knock on the door, was quickly answered.

"Come... come... I've been expecting you," came a greeting from inside.

A hunch-backed old lady lingered inside the doorway. Quickly she beckoned the stranger inside, then shut the door. It was as if this was a regular normal occurrence. There was no look of surprise on her face at suddenly finding a naked young woman knocking on the door. Everything had been planned for, waiting for this very day. Aggie, her preference over Agnes, had been doing the same for the last fifty-odd years, her mother before her, and her mother's mother before then.

"There's food in the larder, and clothes upstairs. I hope you don't mind, but I bought some new ones... you know... more... modern. Will you be staying long?" Aggie asked, trying to make conversation.

There was no reply, not that one was expected.

The stranger never stayed long, and Aggie never pried as to her intentions. She had done what was expected of her and would bid her farewells. No questions asked. No answers expected. Aggie had a job to do, and that's what she prided herself in doing. She was the custodian of the cottage, and with the cottage came the secret... a secret which would be passed down through the generations... a secret which could never be told.

"I'll leave you to it," Aggie continued, grabbing her coat, and turning towards the door.

"Thank you, Aggie," the stranger finally spoke, a foreign tone to her voice.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Two

A pint of mild and a pinch of salt

Evening... Friday 13 February

Any inclement weather had burnt away in the early hours, leaving another bright February day, with plenty of thirsts to quench. By evening the pub was busy. Well, by Craggnaggan standards and given that it was February after all, it was a little over half full.

Full, or not, Brenda was already in her element. There were thirsts to quench, there were conversations to be had, and she was in overdrive.

"That'll be eight-seventy, John," Brenda called out, placing a second pint on the bar top before taking a crisp ten-pound note from the elderly regular. Quickly, Brenda rang the cash into the till and started to count out John's change. As she did, she heard the scrape of a stool on the wooden floor.

Brenda glanced up towards the rows of glasses above the till. It wasn't exactly the glasses she was running her eyes over, but more the polished mirror behind the shelves upon which they sat, and the blurred reflection of the woman who had just taken a seat at the other end of the bar.

Brenda smiled. Another thirsty customer, and this time somebody new, somebody different to the regulars who tended to turn up most weeks, come rain or shine. Much as Brenda loved her regulars—they did pay the bills, after all—it was always nice to have somebody new to talk to, and you never knew, today's newbie might become tomorrow's ever-present.

"Be right with you," Brenda called out.

The comment was directed towards the far end of the bar but, all the time, Brenda was focused on the task in hand.

"Here you go, John. One-thirty in change. Sure, you can manage them?"

"Less of ya' cheek me lady," John responded. "I ma' be old, but I can still tak' me beer."

For a moment, Brenda simply stood there, watching John pick up the two pints, then slowly head off towards a table in the shadows where his partner in crime was patiently waiting. He was slow. He was dithery. He was right. John was quite capable of managing his beer, even in what must have been his late eighties. Brenda was already thinking about how happy she would be if she made it to John's age and could still manage a couple of pints, when she remembered the customer at the other end of the bar.

Brenda spun around in the direction of the new customer. For a moment, she found herself fixed to the spot. She had to consciously tell herself not to gawk, but it wasn't exactly easy. Somehow, this young woman had made an impact without even saying a word.

What was it that caught Brenda's eye?

Was it the stranger's slim build?

Was it her long, straight, blonde hair, cascading down over her shoulders?

Was it the pure whiteness of said locks, reminiscent of the crest of the largest waves as they crashed in towards shore?

Was it her youthful looks, her naturally pale complexion, blemish, and make-up free, akin to that of the finest porcelain doll?

Or was it the clothes she wore, the tightfitting silver dress, clinging to her slender frame?

"Yes please... what can I get you?" Brenda asked.

"Errm... one of those?" came the reply, the young woman's gaze moving down towards where Brenda had just been pulling pints.

"A pint of mild?" Brenda asked, surprised by the response. Brenda would have expected an ask for cider, or even lager, but mild? Mild was an old person's drink, at least around these parts, and the last thing she was expecting to be pulling for a young woman.

"Mild... yes... mild... a pint of mild... oh, and some salt..." the stranger replied, an uncertainty in what she was asking for.

"Salt's over there," Brenda responded, pointing towards a small table covered in cutlery, napkins, and various condiments. "Beer's coming right up."

Brenda never questioned the unusual request. She just responded, and smiled as she headed off to pull another pint. All the time though, she couldn't take her eyes off the blonde stranger. There was something different about her, more so than appearances alone. She was beautiful, naturally beautiful, and the more Brenda looked at her, the more she felt attracted, almost pulled, towards this young woman. It was difficult to put a finger on why, but there was something almost magnetic about her.

Was it the hair, and the way it seemed to shimmer against the glow of the pub's log fire?

Was it those piercing blue eyes, reminiscent of a tropical sea on the sunniest of days?

Was it the charming smile, lips pale pink, lacking in artificial colour, yet so very alluring?

Was it the accent?

The accent? Yes, that was strange; both the accent, and the words she chose to use. It was like she didn't quite know what she wanted, like she lacked the confidence in what she was saying, like she was having to learn as she went.

"First time?" Brenda asked, returning with a freshly pulled pint in one hand.

The stranger took a sip at the beer before responding.

"First time," came a reply.

The blonde gave a grimace as the beer hit her taste buds. Without thinking, and much to the amazement of Brenda, the blonde picked up the pot of salt and tipped a little into her drink, before taking another sip.

"Tastes... errm... mild," the stranger continued.

Brenda laughed.

"I meant, is it your first time here?" Brenda clarified. "I'm sure I would have remembered if I'd seen you around. You're not from round here, are you?"

"No... no... not here."

"Well... welcome to Craggnaggan. I'm Brenda, by the way."

"Errm... Mer... Mer... anda," the blonde replied.

"Meranda? That's an unusual name if you don't mind me saying, but I like it. A bit like your accent... not exactly local. Where are you from?"