Free Binscombe Tales - The Complete Series by John Whitbourn

so, Mr Disvan?’
    ‘It is so said,’ Disvan replied.
    ‘Well then, young Trevor, with your permission we’ll try and get Lenin to sit in the back seat of the car. If there’s something nasty there he’ll refuse or growl or do some such thing, won’t he?’
    Trevor, torn between his electrical engineering world into which such beliefs did not intrude and his desire for undisputed ownership of his car, mumbled vague agreement.
    ‘Right, let’s go. Come on, Lenin, in you go, there’s a good boy.’
    Trevor unlocked and held the door open for the huge dog while the landlord ushered it in.
    Lenin, although perhaps a little puzzled, did not hesitate at all. With one bound he was seated in the back of the car, huffing happily away at his master in anticipation of what would happen next in this game.
    ‘That concludes that, then,’ said the landlord.
    We all smiled in relief, already beginning to revise the episode in our minds so as to minimise the seriousness with which we had treated it.
    ‘Poor old Lenin doesn’t understand what’s going on, do you, boy?’ said Lottie the landlady, for the dog was looking perplexedly from face to face, waiting for the next development. ‘He does look funny sitting there. I think I’ll take a picture.’
    This she duly did.
    The crowd started to wander back to the Argyll while Trevor lingered behind to lock up his car. Lenin, pleased to have been of service even if he didn’t know how, walked jauntily by the landlord’s heels, tail wagging hard. Suddenly, just as Mr Patel in the lead placed his hand on the door to enter the bar, a piercing female scream from behind brought our progress to a halt.
    The landlady was standing aghast, staring at a picture held in both hands. The camera, broken and unregarded, lay where she had dropped on the ground.
    ‘Oh, my Lord,’ she said, ‘she’s there. She’s got her arm around Lenin and... and she’s baring her teeth at us!’
     
    *  *  *
     
    ‘It took me weeks and weeks to persuade Tania to ride in the car again after that second photograph, and now this happens!’ said Trevor, leaning dejectedly against the bar.
    ‘You mean you managed to explain that picture away?’ said the landlord.
    ‘No, not really, it’s just that with the passage of time she got over the shock and let it fade from her mind.’
    ‘It shan’t fade from my mind, I can assure you,’ said Lottie. ‘There’s something evil about the whole business.’
    ‘Probably, probably,’ Trevor replied, waving a placatory hand at her, ‘but just please don’t say such things when Tania is about.’
    ‘I felt terrible about poor old Lenin,’ Lottie continued unabashed. ‘I took him for a thorough shampoo the next day to get rid of any taint.’
    Hearing his name mentioned, and apparently none the worse for his encounter with the unwelcome passenger, Lenin woke from sleep beyond the bar and looked up expectantly.
    ‘What did you do with the photograph, Trevor?’ said Mr Disvan.
    ‘Well, first off I thought to burn it—that’s what I told Tania I’d done, but in fact I’ve got it here. Do you want to see it again?’
    ‘Yes please.’
    The picture was produced and for the second time we were able to see the little girl visible in the back of the car, with her arm cradled around the dog’s neck and her snarling face close up against the window. As before, dark shadows covered most of her features.
    ‘That’s sure some trick of the light!’ exclaimed Mr Wessner.
    ‘Okay, okay,’ said the landlord angrily wiping the bar top, ‘so I was wrong. I freely admit it. There’s no need to rub it in.’
    ‘Yes, I think we can safely discount that theory, attractive as it was,’ said Mr Disvan.
    ‘So what is going on, then?’ asked the landlord.
    Trevor’s retort was almost angry, and a look of frustration briefly occupied his features. ‘If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here asking you lot for advice, would I?’
    ‘Now, now,’ said Disvan,