When I first heard the silly talk, I didn’t take much notice. After all, the witterings of the drunken old men in the Greyhound Inn are hardly life-changing. They usually spouted tales of their childhood and ‘the good old days’, most of which were completely fabricated. But as I sat in the corner reading, I couldn’t help but notice that their conversation lingered on the same topic for some time. I found myself drawn in. Keeping my eyes on my book, I listened.

They were discussing a place up on the moors, a pool that was reputed to be haunted. Legend told of a malevolent mermaid lurking in its depths, and several mysterious disappearances in the vicinity. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. The thought of a mermaid in Staffordshire really tickled me. It’s a landlocked county – in fact, you can hardly get any more central.

Normally I would have dismissed what they were saying out of hand, but although the legend was undoubtedly ancient, the disappearances were recent. My reporter’s instinct kicked in and I slammed my book down on the table, startling the trio of pensioners. Whipping a notebook and pen out of my bag, I stood and moved over to their table.

One round of drinks later and I had everything I needed. This was going to be one hell of an article.

*****

By the time I parked my car in the lay-by near the pool some two weeks later, I’d done my research. The gentlemen in the pub had given me their version of the legend, the information they had about the recent disappearances, and the rough location. A study of my White Peak Ordnance Survey map revealed the exact location and correct name of the mysterious body of water – Blake Mere. A library visit, a raid of my own bookshelves and some Googling turned up several different versions of the legend, none of which I could confirm as true or false. I decided to visit Blake Mere and make my own mind up.

As I made my way along the path skirting the small ridge above the pond, I looked down. At once I understood at least why people found the area creepy, if not how the mermaid legend had come about.

It didn’t help that I’d chosen a mid-week evening to visit; the darkening sky and lack of people did nothing to dissipate the eerie atmosphere. And nor did the silence.

Part of me was glad no one was around. Some of my more unusual journalistic investigations had, in the past, caused people to come and ask what I was doing. My responses, as I never saw any reason to lie, inevitably prompted a barrage of further questions. This meant I then had to find a way of extricating myself from the conversation so I could get on with my work. Not being the most forceful of fellows, I always find it difficult.

At least this time I’d be left well alone.

The path forked, the left turning being the one which would lead me down by the water. I took it. The closer I drew to the mere, the more another part of me wished I wasn’t alone. The quiet was uncanny, as was the absence of any wildlife. You’d normally expect to find midges, dragonflies, and the birds that ate them around most bodies of water. There was nothing, which was strange enough. Stranger still was that despite its exposed location and the slight breeze in the air, the pool’s surface remained undisturbed. I wish I could have said the same for my state of mind.