We have an entirely different interpretation of fairies today from those held before 1904. That was when Tinker Bell was popularised through the Peter Pan play. Go back to the time of Shakespeare and there was no doubt about the true nature of fairies and their different manifestations, including goblins, boggarts and the like.

Fairies in European lore are not the delicate sweet creatures of modern fantasies; generally they were similar in size to humans. They also had all of the emotions and characteristics of humans, and were generally considered to be a threat and at least one author relates how the fairies tried to steal him as a child around 1564. In some areas fairies spoil butter or steal milk. They are given to mischief but they can be generous and kind.

George was blissfully unaware of these old tales as he trudged across the moor on that late October night. His car had broken down, and at that time on the lonely road he could not expect others to come. He had been ‘off-roading’ on a barely passable track which had turned out to be impassable when he hit a particularly deep rut. He had often driven this way and had never seen such a rut, but it had successfully removed his sump and his 4x4 was going nowhere without assistance.

He was miles from the nearest road, but fortunately the Mischievous Goblin, an ancient inn, stood yards from where this track met the metalled road over the moor. He knew he would get a good pint of ale there, and possibly a farmer’s help to retrieve his car or a bed until the morning.

He was probably, by his estimate, a third of the way to the road when he saw the lights of a farmstead off to the south. He had never noticed the farm in daylight but that was not surprising. Buildings on the inhospitable moors usually hunkered down against the elements and because the builders used local natural materials often blended in with the scenery.

His torch was good and he was confident as he stepped off the track to cross the gorse-covered hillside. It was a lot nearer to his car than the inn, and he was starting to find the moor unnerving. He had a vague memory that the Mischievous Goblin was named after a spirit who, according to local folk tales, had a habit of tricking travellers on an ancient route over the fells. The old road had been forgotten, but the story was remembered and George recalled that locally there were said to be parties associated with it very year, but kept very secret.

As he neared the farm he could hear music and laughter and the cries of people obviously enjoying themselves. As luck would have it he had stumbled on one of the Goblin Gatherings, as the parties were known.

He scrambled over a stone wall at the edge of the farmyard which was quiet apart from the rowdiness of the celebration. He approached the open door of the farm from which the noise emanated together with, he discovered, some truly wonderful smells of food. He had not eaten for hours.

Suddenly a young couple burst from the open door, laughing and staggering from drink as they passed him, too wrapped up in themselves to respond as he tried to stop them. He continued through the door. The warmth, the noise and the scents overwhelmed him. The room inside seemed vast, and dozens of partygoers were carousing without noticing him. Even when he grasped their arms they pulled away without responding, until one slender young woman stepped into the space in front of him. Like everyone she was covered in green make-up.

‘You look lost’ she said. ‘Here.’

She raised a glass and a bowl of tempting snacks.

‘Thanks’ he replied, taking the glass and eating one of the snacks. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was, and thought it the best he had ever eaten. He washed it down with some of the wine in the glass – an astonishingly warming and delicious red wine.

‘How can we help you?’ the slender woman asked. He explained about his car.

‘Nobody will leave here tonight’ she said. ‘Tonight is the Festival of Samhain. Stay and enjoy yourself. Your vehicle will still be there in the morning. We can easily accommodate you.’

He couldn’t understand where everyone could possibly sleep, but he guessed the wine must have already gone to his head; the food was simply out of this world. He saw tables laden with all sorts of temptations – joints of meat, canapes, bite-sized sandwiches, cakes and fruit. Everything looked tempting and luscious.

‘Help yourself.’ The woman indicated the food and drink, and walked away.

George instantly decided to accept her invitation to stay the night, and started in on the food and drink, smiling or nodding at other revellers as they came and selected portions. All of them were young and devastatingly beautiful; George felt plain amongst them, as he gorged himself on the banquet.

He suddenly became aware of someone beside him. It was the young woman.

‘I am Tanaquil. You need rest. Come with me and we’ll find somewhere for you to out your head down.’

Suddenly aware how tired he was, he instinctively followed the elegant woman as she led him to a quiet space where the bed and pillows were soft and enveloping. Within minutes he was asleep.

The car was recovered the next morning.

It took another day to discover George’s body. He was curled up on a bank of mossy rock, with his smiling mouth full of mud and moss. The Coroner’s Court ruled ‘death by misadventure’ although why he should have filled his belly with soil, weeds and bog-water remained a mystery to most.

The moorlanders understood.

The Mischievous Goblin had claimed her latest victim.

Never go out onto the moor at Halloween…..

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