Our Castle by the Sea

I was very small indeed when Pa first told us the legend of the Wyrm and the Stones. It was Hallowe’en and he took us out to the standing stones on the clifftop to play snapdragon and tell ghost stories. This was my big sister Magda’s idea, and we were almost out of our minds with excitement when Pa agreed. I carried the bowl of brandy-soaked raisins very carefully from the cottage, while Pa lit the way ahead with a lantern. Mags galloped giddily behind, drunk on the night air and fizzing with delight at being allowed out after dark. It was probably not long past supper time, but I felt that it must be midnight at least – the witching hour. The darkness danced with spectres.
We wrapped ourselves up in blankets and huddled together on the clifftop, the four standing stones looming around us. Pa lit the brandy in the snapdragon bowl
and the flames flickered dangerously, casting shadows
on our faces. I had never played the game before. My
father and sister started swaying backwards and forwards,
grinning and chanting together: ‘Snip! Snap! Dragon!’