The Crowfield Curse

William crouched behind the fallen oak tree and listened. Close by, someone or something was whimpering in pain.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake . . . my leg.’ Soft groans, a snuffling grunt, and then, ‘My leg! Oh, my leg, mylegmylegmyleg, my leeeeg …’
Cautiously, William got to his feet and peered over the trunk of the tree. He could not see anyone. He stared around the woodland clearing uneasily. Frost rimed the hanks of dead grass and thin branches of hazel and elder bushes. Nothing moved. The whimpering stopped and William had the uncomfortable feeling he was being watched.
‘Who’s there?’ he called. He waited for several
moments, and then called a little louder, ‘Do you need
help?’