PROSE: The Shining Man [Ch. 29]

He pointed past the bush, but Schofield couldn't see a thing. A thick mist hung low in front of them, obscuring the field beyond.
'Look harder,' he told her.
'How ...?' Even before she finished her question, her vision began to clear. It wasn't that the mist was thinning, somehow she knew it was still there, but the sunglasses were reacting to her thoughts, cutting through the fog.
So that's what X-ray vision felt like.
Shapes were solidifying in the haze. Tall, blocky shadows arranged in a circle. Stones! They were standing stones, each covered in moss that seemed to squirm across the faces of the monoliths.
She could see fires now, braziers mounted on poles, and that wasn't all. There were figures gathered around the stones, dancing and cheering. They swam into focus, and Schofield had to clasp her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out.
There were Boggarts, with their rangy limbs and shaggy hair, and giants as tall as a double-decker bus with hairy faces and even hairier hands. Some of the throng were small, barely coming up to the Boggarts' bony knees, with large bulbous heads and stubby limbs. Others were obscenely fat, folds of layered flesh covered in swirling tattoos, ridged tusks curling up from their wide, slobbering months.
Then there were the things that hovered in the air, darting back and forth like wasps ready to attack on a summer day. They bore a resemblance to their Boggart cousins, with the same blotchy skin, and long, clawed fingers. But these had long conical heads cropped with tight crimped hair, and translucent wings that whirred between angular shoulder blades.
'The fair folk,' the Doctor explained quietly.