Sawney Bean was a Lothian man, who left his home and the honest profession to which he was born. He took up with Black Agnes Douglas, a woman of low morals. Both unsuited to work, they travelled the land as beggars until they made a home in a cave on the Ayrshire coast. Sawney provided for his wife by robbing travellers through the nearby woods, and soon realised it was better to murder them than risk being identified, caught and hanged. And how better to dispose of the bodies than by eating them?
This gruesome trade he continued nigh on twenty-five years. The couple had many children and incestuous grandchildren, all nurtured on human flesh and hidden away in their deep, dark cave. That which they didn’t eat fresh, they pickled in salt, and anything left they threw into the sea. Many a local stumbled across grizzly finds washed up on nearby shores. A hand, a foot, mayhap a whole leg.
And so it might have continued, had Sawney not accidentally allowed a man to escape. His tale reached the ears of King James himself, and a party of men and dogs searched the woods and the coast for this savage attacker. Even then, the true horror might have gone unfound, but the dogs entering the cave gave up a great cry.
Sawney, Black Agnes, children and grandchildren were taken away to Edinburgh for summary execution. There was no trial, for there was no doubting the horror and evil madness of the whole Bean family, no hope for them as had no souls. And besides, they all remained unrepentant throughout. They were taken to Leith, where the men had their hands, feet and testicles cut off, left to bleed to death while the womenfolk and children were burned at the stake.
Or so the story goes. As with all these things, it is short on verifiable detail and high on horrific sensationalism. There is no record in the historical archives to corroborate the tale either, and it thereby begs several pertinent questions. What could possibly turn a man, even one so base as Sawney Bean, to cannibalism? How did he manage to elude capture for so many long years? Why, when finally discovered, was he not taken to the nearest Sheriff Court at Ayr, but dragged back to Lothian and the place of his birth? And why, truly, were he and his entire brood summarily executed without trial?
Barnaby Fortnum, A History of Scottish Myths and Legends, Edinburgh, 1935
1
She hates herself.
All the way from work, back to her compact top-floor flat, she feels the loathing in her gut, even as she feels the excitement too. It’s always this way, the tug of war between the self-loathing and the desire. Showering away the grime and sweat of the day doesn’t help either. The filth is deeper than skin, resistant to soap. And, besides, she doesn’t want it to be washed away. She wants to wallow in it. That’s part of the allure.
The clothes she picks out are her disguise, and with each layer the disgust fades, the excitement grows. It’s been over a month now, the anticipation growing like a tumour in her stomach. The ache of longing.
One last look in the mirror before she goes. Her transformation is so total she can almost believe none of her colleagues would recognise her in the street. But then that’s the whole point. If they knew, she’d be out of a job. She needs that other life too much to risk losing it. Not so much for the money as for the calm, the certainty. This other world, this other her, is about excitement. It’s about risk and the sweet, sweet pleasure it brings.
A quick check of her phone confirms everything is set for this evening. A little flutter of nervous anticipation tickles her throat as she readies herself to leave. At the door she almost forgets the package, grabbing it at the last minute, slipping it into the pocket of her long leather coat. Swiftly down the stairs, out the back door, across the broken pavers and concrete drying green shared by the rest of the tenement. Through the gate that leads out to the back lane. This is the nervous time, when she might be seen, recognised, challenged. But no voice calls out, no curtain twitches. Nobody knows who she is. Who she really is.
The drive across town takes longer than she’d like, traffic jamming the roads around Cameron Toll. She’s about to turn off onto the Braid Hill road when the text comes in. Police presence at the car park. She’d laugh if she wasn’t so hyped up already. There’s another meeting place, not somewhere she’s been before, but not far either. Satnav shows her the route.
It’s getting dark by the time she arrives. Not many other cars about, but that’s hardly surprising. She finds a suitable spot, under some trees, away from the road. Engine off, crack the window down a little, switch on the passenger compartment light. Wait.
The first tap at the window comes after less than a minute.
Copyright © James Oswald 2020. All Rights Reserved.
When a member of the Police Scotland team fails to clock-in for work, concern for her whereabouts is immediate… and the discovery of her burnt-out car in remote woodland to the south of Edinburgh sets off a desperate search for the missing woman.
Meanwhile, DCI Tony McLean and the team are preparing for a major anti-corruption operation – one which may raise the ire of more than a few powerful people in the city. Is Anya Renfrew’s disappearance a co-incidence or related to the case?
McLean’s investigations suggest that perhaps Anya isn’t the first woman to have mysteriously vanished in these ancient hills. Once again, McLean can’t shake the feeling that there is a far greater evil at work here…
Hardback, eBook and Audio published 20th February 2020 – click here to pre-order