She had a second in which to taste fear to the full, time to think that there was such a thing as Evil which could take palpable and visual form, and that she was here alone with it. And then she recognized the thing for what it was, a flock of sheep. She knew a second of relief, and then terror again, because the animals themselves were in the grip of panic. And she could see why. Leaping in pursuit, one on each flank of the moving mass, pushing it closer and sending galvanic waves of fear through the whole, were two . . . dogs?

She heard again Ed Higgins’s voice saying that there were wolves in the Walwyk woods long after they’d all been killed off elsewhere.

By that time the sheep had reached the edge of the trees and came, straight towards the pond, pressing more closely and running faster now that no tree trunks impeded their passage. They surged, wild-eyed, towards Miss Mayfield, who stood absolutely still, certain that when they saw her – representative of the human race – they would break their solid front. And the first ranks did so. They appeared to be running blindly, but when they were so close that she could smell them – the woolly sheep smell mingled with the disinfectant with which they had recently been dipped – they broke rank. One sheep ran to the right of her, another, jostling madly, to the left. But they were the ones at the head of the stampede; those nearer the pursuers were more crazy. She might stand and shout and wave her arms; she was, by comparison, harmless, and they ran straight at her. One hit her smack in the thighs, so that she fell over backwards. She had enough presence of mind, or sense of self-preservation, to clap her hands over her eyes as she fell. The sheep which had charged at her ran over her; she felt its feet, surprisingly hard and sharp, hit her chest, her cheek, the back of one of her hands. She twisted herself over, putting her face to the ground, humping her back, and three other sheep scrambled over her, one of them hitting her in a way that almost dislocated her neck.

Then, like a beating, it was over. No more blows fell. Slowly, stiffly, she rose to a crouching and then to a standing position, and turned.

Some of the sheep had run straight into the water; others had veered, left and right, to skirt the pond. The two dogs – yes – they were dogs – had caught a laggard and had it down and were mauling it savagely. It lay on its back, as Miss Mayfield herself had so recently done, and one dog was at its throat, tearing as savagely as any wolf could ever have done; the other was slashing away, with bloody fangs, at a hind leg.