‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I would like that very much.’

So down we sat and gazed at the moon, though I gazed mostly at her.

‘Please tell me your name,’ I said. ‘I will bet that it is a romantic name, as might befit a faerie queen.’

‘My name is Esmerelle,’ said Esmerelle.

‘And that is a beautiful name.’ I reached out now to touch her hand, but this she pulled away.

‘Might I tell you a story?’ she asked. ‘Of my homeland.’

‘Might it lead to anything, how might I put this delicately, interesting? ’ I enquired.

‘Oh yes, I can most certainly promise you that.’

‘Does it involve pirates?’ I asked, for I still harboured a great affection for pirates.

‘No pirates,’ she said. ‘But there is a monster involved.’

‘That is fair enough then,’ I said. ‘A monster and pirates might be asking a lot.’

‘Would you like me to begin now?’ asked my fabulous companion with but a hint of annoyance in her voice.

‘Yes please,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’ And I settled back in the moonlight and listened to the tale.

‘More than a century ago in my village, there lived twin sisters. Young and gay and beautiful were they and as the village prospered, for the land was rich and lush, these sisters were carefree and joyous. But then one day a showman’s waggon was driven into the village. A curious hunchbacked fellow in multicoloured garments drove this waggon and with him a dwarf of terrible aspect. Many of the villagers were afeared at the arrival of these unsavoury characters, but the twin sisters, who knew only happiness and frivolity, dallied near the waggon when it stopped for the watering of its horses and that its driver and diminutive companion might take a jug of mead at the alehouse. And while the horses and the travellers drank, the two sisters sneaked around to the rear of the waggon, which was as a gypsies’ waggon with bowed canvas all about and a tiny door to the back. And they peeped in at a tiny window in this tiny door and there saw something wonderful within.’

‘Was it a monkey?’ I asked. For in my way I did like monkeys almost as much as I liked pirates. I was, in fact, very taken with Fangio’s monkey Clarence. ‘A golden monkey, perhaps?’

But Esmerelle shook her beautiful head, raven-haired tresses and all. ‘Are you a complete stone-bonker?’ she asked.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But I have always dreamed of seeing a golden monkey. Please carry on. I should not have butted in.’

‘It was a golden mermaid,’ said Esmerelle.

‘How close was that?’ I asked.

And Esmerelle sighed, which made me feel very guilty about behaving in such a foolish manner.

‘I am so very sorry,’ I said. ‘Please carry on with your tale, I promise not to make any more stupid remarks.’

Esmerelle’s eyes sparkled with reflected moonlight and she continued with her tale.

‘Golden, she was, and alive. This was no showman’s gaff. No stuffed chimera of ape and fish, but a living, breathing mermaid, who sat in a gilded cage. The two sisters were entranced by this mythical being made flesh. And they felt that they must free it from its prison and release it back into the sea. And so they entered the showman’s waggon and were never seen again.’ And Esmerelle sighed gently and diddled her fingers on the arms of her steamer chair.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘That is not much of an end to the story. Surely there is more to it than that.’

‘There is more,’ said Esmerelle, ‘but you might not wish to hear it.’

‘You said there was a monster involved,’ I replied. ‘Get to that bit at least.’

‘So be it. The two sisters tried to free the golden mermaid, but they could not open the cage. And then suddenly they heard the door of the waggon lock upon them and the waggoner whipped up the horses and drove away from the village. Although the sisters cried out for help, their cries went unheard and the waggon drove on and on for several days. Soon the sisters were starving and driven half-mad by this hunger. And they could hardly cry out any more because they were growing so weak. There was no food at all in that locked wagon and so, upon the third day of their awful confinement, they made a terrible decision. That if they were to survive they must eat the golden mermaid.’

I almost said, ‘Alive?’ but held my tongue.

‘They stabbed it,’ said Esmerelle. ‘The golden mermaid still flourished, you see, as if it had never the need for food. And they had begun to hate it and to envy it for watching their torment whilst remaining beautiful and unmoved. Oh yes, they really hated that mermaid. And so they killed it. They stabbed it through the bars of the cage and chopped it into pieces right there. And then they thrust those pieces into their mouths and never had they known such pleasure. That anything could taste so sweet.

‘But mere moments later the waggon stopped and the door was unlocked and the waggoner looked into the back of his waggon. And there he saw the two sisters, dirty and dishevelled, with blood all about their faces and all over their hands. And the waggoner gave forth a terrible wail and wept for the loss of his treasure.

‘And there and then he cursed those sisters for eating the sacred flesh of a merperson. And he cursed them with an everlasting hunger that should never be satisfied but by eating one of their own kind. The waggon had stopped high in the mountains and as the waggoner vented his curse a lone wolf howled on the mountainside.

‘And so that curse came to be, that the sisters would live for evermore, tormented always by a hunger that they could only slake once every month. When, with the coming of the full moon, they would take on the awful aspects of that lone wolf and consume human flesh. And so must they do this for ever.’

‘That is quite a story,’ I said. ‘And it has two monsters rather than one. Would you like me to tell you a story about how Mr Rune and I once travelled upon a subterranean ark and also visited the sunken city of Atlantis?’

‘No,’ said Esmerelle. ‘You fail to understand. My story is not just a story. My story is real. Those events really happened.’

‘I suppose it is possible that they might have done,’ I said. ‘I have experienced some very weird occurrences, so I would be prepared to believe such a tale. At a stretch.’

‘It is a true story,’ said Esmerelle. ‘And there is a little more to it than that. The curse was even more horrible in that only one sister is able to eat at each full moon. And the sister who is unable to eat ages overnight to become a wizened, wretched creature. So each sister must nurture the other, if both are to survive. And so the strong one, who remains young, selects a victim for the one who has become old to feast upon. This victim is always a young, fit boy of teenage years and he is dowsed with a pungent unguent to tenderise his flesh and mask his human smell, which makes him easier to eat. And he is fed a last supper of fat bread rolls, well-buttered, great big pie and huge rolly pud. For stuffing, you see. As one might stuff a Christmas turkey. And washed down with a milkshake to add extra vitamins.’

A certain chill had now entered my bones and a certain squeaking sound came also to my ears. Along the deck trundled the wicker bath chair containing the ancient prune-like nanna, still being pushed by the striking gentleman with the amazing mustachios.

The bath chair was drawn level and the nanna stared at me. ‘Meet my twin sister,’ said Esmerelle.

And the nanna’s eyes glowed in the moonlight.