“Just you keep your eyes open and your wits about you when playing out and about. There are Bauchans in those woods. Hobgoblins. They’ll make your life a misery if you cross them so be canny.” That was what granny used to say.

Eunice counted seven of them. From her hiding place behind the roots of a fallen tree, she watched them with a dreamlike mixture of fear and delight. The Bauchans were short, only half her height. They had thin bird-like legs and weather-worn, sharp faces. Their ears were long, and some of them even had horns. When they spoke, their teeth glinted like metal. A few were holding push brushes – the type that you might find in any cleaning cupboard; others had older looking brooms with long swishy bristles. All of them were looking around, as if they were waiting for something. After a minute, an older, cheeky-looking one made an exasperated sound and ambled down to the edge of the pond. He tapped the surface of the water with his broom handle. There was a sparkling moment of anticipation; then, a thick sheet of ice rippled marvellously into existence across the water. Eunice muffled her gasp of awe. With calls of appreciation the motley crew made its way onto the ice. A stern-faced Bauchan with a storm cloud of hair dragged a line of smooth, polished stones tied together by string around their handles. It looked like she was being followed by a gaggle of petrified ducks. Eunice recognised them as curling stones from a half-remembered match she had watched with her father when she was a child. He’d proudly told her that Scotland had invented the game. Her mother had joked that it was out of desperation for something to do in winter.

Now two of the creatures came trotting up with a long plank between them. The one that had conjured the ice beckoned them over. They plonked it down and he held the centre of the contraption in place while the other two pushed and pulled it around in a circle. There must have been something sharp on its underside, because it scored three perfect circles into the ice. They picked it up and ran to the other side of the pond to do it again. Meanwhile, the rest of the team were still looking around at the surrounding trees, grumbling to each other like a flock of grumpy pigeons. Eunice craned her head around to look at the trees behind her in case whoever they were waiting for was coming up behind her. Suddenly, she lost her footing, and tumbled out from behind the roots with all the stealth of a panicking pheasant.

Instantly, the pack tore up the banks towards her. She scrambled backwards, but was trapped by the fallen tree. They surrounded her. Many of them held their brushes with potentially malicious intent. All she could think to say was,

“I’m so sorry. I wanted to watch your game.”

They all started talking at once with surprisingly deep barks and squawks. Some bared their metallic teeth at her, and she shivered, imagining the damage they could do. Then suddenly, one with bright eyes and alert ears screeched to get the group’s attention. She rattled off a string of words that Eunice couldn’t hope to understand, and held up seven fingers. The stocky one that had made the ice barked in apparent agreement. After more deliberation, another one with an eyepatch crouched down in front of her. He spoke slowly and the burr of his voice was strangely reassuring, despite the air of efficient danger about him. He pointed to the ice, then to her, then to his broom. Behind him, the keen one held up seven fingers and then added an eighth.

“Do you want me to play with you?” Eunice asked in disbelief, pointing at herself in case they couldn’t understand.

Instead of answering, the gang pulled her to her feet and herded her down to the pond, chirping to each other in excitement. As she stepped carefully onto the ice, first one foot then the other, she felt a thrill of uncertainty surge in her stomach. A touch of fear balanced out by fascination.

The party split, three of them continuing to crowd around Eunice. The keen one began pointing at the ice and miming different positions, encouraging her to copy. That distant memory of the curling game floated back to the fore and she nodded in understanding. After being put through her paces, she was handed a broom, then she and the keen one took up stations on either side of the marked-out lane. Their teammate was crouched with a stone, brush out for balance, eyes intensely focused on the instructions from the eyepatched captain at the other end. She rocked back, drawing the stone with her and then took a long, lunging step and released it. It was a little like watching a hunting cat. She suddenly sprang from a tight crouch to a long stretch, practically lying flat against the ice as she delivered the stone. Eunice kept pace with the keen one as she walked briskly beside it. She had no idea what she was supposed to be doing, and the fear of the bauchans attacking her if she got it wrong settled in her ribcage like a heavy weight. Then a shout came from the other end, making her jump and nearly lose her balance. It was louder, deeper, and had more certainty of purpose than a bull’s bellow. Her partner’s brush smacked down and she began scrubbing the ice in front of the stone. Eunice copied her, trying not to knock the brushes together. As the stone curled across the ice there was a deep, low rumbling. It was almost like a musical note. An ethereal roar. Then another sharp shout from the captain and it was brushes up. The stone seemed to have a mind of its own now and curved in towards the scored circles, slowing down. Her partner started hopping up and down, trying to get it to stop in the right place by sheer force of willpower. It finally settled at the front of the third ring. The captain gave a closed lipped smile with eyes wide and eyebrows high. A quiet triumph.

Each player got two stones to play and the teams alternated. The captains — Eunice heard the rest of the Bauchans refer to them as ‘Skip’ — would signal where they wanted the next stone with their arms and brooms. It was almost like semaphore. Her Skip was the one with an eyepatch that even the other bauchans seemed a little wary of. Now it was Eunice’s turn. She was hustled over to a board that had been frozen into the ice. One of her teammates tapped her left shoe and it glowed like sunlight through an icicle. Suddenly, there was no grip on her sole and she nearly toppled over. Two of the group cackled,but the keen one nipped at them in rebuke. Eunice’s heart wasn’t so much pounding as leaking into her chest cavity, and it stung. She tried to narrow her focus, took a breath, and slid out. She wrestled with the laws of friction as she tried to copy the deliberate and delicate handle turn she’d seen the first player make. The booming call came almost immediately and the two sweepers smacked their brushes down, scurrying up the ice with bowed legs and scrubbing with all their might. They drew the hesitant stone up in front of the circles and let it lie there. She waited a painful moment before the Skip looked up and waved, clearly saying ‘not bad.’ She plopped down on the ice in relief. A  buzz began in her chest and she leapt back up with a huge grin.

“I’ll do it better this time!”

Once all the players had delivered their stones, they would all swap ends of the lane. After the first two ends Eunice began to distinguish names from the stream of chatter. There were two Skips. First, cheeky Torrda, the one who made the ice and always looked like he was getting away with something. The second was cunning Rokel, who was missing an eye but saw everything that happened on the ice, almost before it happened. Keen and helpful Gi’Lck, who seemed to keep all the others in line. Stern Halth, with stormcloud hair, a curlew cry, and a worried brow. Thoughtful Teeton, who took time over each action and spoke intensely, even though she knew Eunice couldn’t understand. And Brom and Bran, one tall and strong, one short and quick. Both celebrated successes and laughed at their own and others' mistakes with equal enthusiasm.

Every single one of them, even the other team, scurried up to Eunice at some point with a piece of advice. Showing her how to hold the brush, correcting her stance or pointing out exactly where the skip wanted the stone. Under their guidance she was starting to feel less like a baby deer. She paid particularly close attention when the other team had their shots. Halth watched her stone sail away with a worried face. Torrda made repeated, rhythmic, bird-like chanting, and Brom and Bran held back from sweeping. The stone sailed past the one she was aiming for and Eunice heard Halth say something that was definitely profanity. At the other end Torrda and Rokel jostled playfully, pretending to fight with their brooms, bearing their teeth and cackling as the stone slid out the back of the circle (or as her teammates called it ‘house’). Eunice was so busy trying not to chuckle that she nearly missed what happened next.

Bran was speeding back up to the other end at a fair lick when he lost balance. His feet shot out in front of him and his head hit the ice with an echoing crack. Halth and Brom scooted over to help Bran to his feet. There were some streaks of green on the ice and when they got closer Eunice could see that Bran had taken the skin off the back of his head, his blood as green as moss.

Nausea made her hair prickle. She turned away to take a breath, putting her hands in her pockets as she did so. She felt something crinkle, but since this was the first time she’d worn her winter coat in months she wasn’t sure what it was. When she pulled it out she couldn’t believe her luck and she hurried, carefully, back to the group. Brom, who had been taking a reassuring look at Bran’s scalp, sniffed at the emergency plaster suspiciously. It wouldn’t have been that big on a human but on the smaller Bauchan it covered a sizable area. Bran patted the back of his head gingerly and then grinned. Meanwhile, Teeton scurried up to the blemished ice and extended a finger. A jet of blue flame shot out and she carefully melted the surface of the ice. She then deftly flicked the frozen dirt and blood away before standing up to look proudly at her handiwork, nearly scorching Halth with a careless hand wave.

After a minute, Bran was up and insisting that he was fighting fit again, so the game continued. From the way that the group kept checking the sky, Eunice gathered that it was nearly the end.

“What’s the score?” She asked Gi’Lck, who pointed at the other team and held up six, then pointed to herself and held up four. “Close then.” Eunice said, getting excited at the prospect.

By the time it came back around to her turn it was very tight. The stones were all within hair’s breadth of each other and well-guarded by stones on the outer rim. Rokel wanted them to try and lightly tap at one in the middle ring to nudge it in closer, which might get them to a draw. It was a tricky shot. As Eunice slid out, her knee wobbled and she slipped, landing with a slight bump, and the stone shot forward accompanied by giggles from everyone. They turned to laughs of glee as it shot up the middle and sent the opposing stones shooting off in every direction, while her stone gently spun to a stop near the centre. Brom clapped her on the back, pointing at the wreckage as he continued to hoot with laughter. By sheer accident she had just cleared the house and put them in an excellent position. With a few expertly placed stones by Rokel they had won. The exhilaration filled Eunice’s heart and she couldn’t hold back a little whoop that echoed musically around the clearing. Everyone chattered and laughed, and it seemingly didn’t matter who had won or lost. Still, there was a flinty spark in Rokel’s eye when he caught her gaze, and his approval felt like a warm blanket on a cold day. Where once she had stepped hesitantly, now she strode with confidence. The risk still stalked her heels, but now she could better tap into her sense of gravity and the way that the ice held her up.

From behind a large stump, Gi’Lck produced several baskets, trilling excitedly. Torrda immediately went to go and pilfer from them, and she snapped her teeth, making him dart back like a naughty puppy with absolutely no remorse in his face. Bone cups were passed around with a deep red drink, and Eunice tried hard not to think about what animal or person they might have belonged to. She took a sip and couldn’t place the taste, but its warmth seeped quickly through her insides. It was like a fire had been lit in her liver and the clouds that came out with every breath were puffs of smoke. She noticed that it had stained the Bauchans shiny teeth and when she looked down at the ice she saw that her smile was

painted red.

They all found seats on stumps and fallen trees as the equally unrecognisable food was served. When the circle of sky above them began to darken, some of the group scampered to the tree line and came back with wood, most carrying pieces twice their weight. Once it was all piled up, Halth clapped her hands together hard and blew through them as if she was trying to warm up. A tongue of flame leapt out to engulf the wood, and Eunice sprang back in alarm. Brom and Bran snickered at her surprise, and their mirth was infectious. Despite the fact that she couldn’t understand them, she was so swept up in the group’s enjoyment that she stayed till they ran out of firewood.

Eventually, Eunice stood hesitantly, part of her expecting the group to turn with snarls and threats now that she was trying to leave, as if a spell had been broken. But they just watched her with sharp eyes that glinted in the firelight. She pointed over her shoulder.

“I should make tracks.” It didn’t feel like enough. She held out her hand awkwardly. “Thank you for teaching me to play.” That wasn’t all that they had done, but she didn’t have the words to put around that emotion right now.

Torrda stared at her hand for a moment as if trying to figure out a puzzle then he held out his own. Eunice took it and shook. Torrda chuckled at the bizarre action and returned it, shaking her entire arm. The rest got very excited at the new game and jostled to shake her hand next and then began to shake each other’s, lifting them off their feet with their enthusiasm. Eunice left them like that, creeping back into the woods to find the deer trail back to the path.

It wasn’t until she was back in her kitchen, having a late supper of scrambled eggs on toast, that she remembered something important. The usually delicious snack tasted dull and empty, like her tongue had been wrapped in a tea towel. Fairy-tales really couldn’t have been clearer about never eating their food. Her granny’s story echoed in her ear again.

“Dry as dust and nothing to it. They starve to death on human fare.”

She stared at the food. Her entire life had changed. Nothing would quite compare to the strange, frozen joy of that game. The taste of that victory meal. They had let her go, but they must have known she was already snared. She would have to go back again and again. There was no such thing as a one-off match. Her fate was sealed. She was on the team now.

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Rosie Beech is a writer, performer and podcast manager from Scotland. Xe produces the literary podcast Yorick Radio Productions and has created and directed several audio dramas including Communicable 2020, and Secret Saint 2022. Xer short stories include Antique Spirit (Jaberwookie Magazine, 2019), Lewellen’s Last Stand (Jaberwookie Magazine, 2020) and I will Wait for You (StAR Radio, 2019).