It looked like a ghost car, covered as it was in a sheen of dew outside and pearly sheets of condensation within. Silver and sleek, it was more crashed spaceship than car; entirely at odds with its natural green and brown surroundings. As the sun rose the only sound came from the cliff edge, a mere foot away from where the car had slewed sideways, carving deep gashes in to the ground. A lone blackbird explored the disturbed earth, looking for worms. Ending in coarse tufts of grass the cliff dropped several hundred feet, where its white face met a scoured and tide-rippled base. At the sound of an approaching engine the blackbird took flight unfed, piping a warning call that cut through murmuring waves.
As the first rays of morning sun began bathing the car in light, a battered Landrover Defender bumped its way across the field. Pulling to a stop, a dishevelled lurcher leapt from the driver’s door, followed by an even more dishevelled lady. Swathed in a faded wax jacket that was as weathered as her lined face she cocked her head sideways, chuckling as she scrutinised the rear of the car. With a broad Dorset accent she whispered ‘Looks like them stingers done the trick again, eh Hal?’ Apart from a brief upturning of eyes the dog ignored her, intent on tugging at a wooden stake that protruded from one of the car’s tyres. Without turning her head she leant backwards and blared the horn of the Landrover with a series of short blasts, making her chuckles change to a deep, rumbling laugh. Something within the car stirred.