As you're growing up, every quirk about your village seems normal, right? Only then you grow up and see more of the world and you realise that it's anything but?

Our village is small enough that you can see all it's main sights between the two bus stops - pub, newsagents, primary school, cafe, village hall, corner shop, out of place DIY store -, and people say we only have two stops because of the hill. And no matter when you walk along that street, you'll always see a little group of retirees sitting outside the Mug Shot playing games, chatting and drinking enough coffee to kill a group of ten students. And if it's warm they'll move to the table outside and try and trick people into playing Spoof with them. Once the cafe closes they move to The Double Pickaxe and settle in until closing time.

In fact, when they're neither spotted in the cafe or pub, it feels like half the locals are on edge until they return the next day.

Yeah, sounds weird, doesn't it? Yet not a single person who lives here would think so.

And, if I'm honest, that's not even the weirdest thing about it all.

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It's hard to notice the change, at first. Too lost in all the normal (and some less than normal) aches and pains of getting on in years. Then you start to realise that some of the shadows are a little too big, or a little too mobile. Then you realised you can hear things, the kind of voices and whispers you haven't heard since you were a kid playing pretend fairies.

Then you turn the landing light on one night and suddenly there's a brownie standing right there at the top of the stairs looking just as stunned as you are on what you thought was a regular trip to the bathroom.

The following evening at the Axe, I didn't even have to place an order. Brain just gave me a once over and poured a shot from a bottle I'd never seen before and put it down in front of me. "Everyone needs one of these after the change."

"What change?"

He glanced around, as if to ensure no one could overhear him. "When you can see them again."

The drink burnt my throat.

"Again?"

He gave me a knowing look and put an Age League card down in front of me. He must have felt my glare on his back because he didn't even turn when he said, "trust me."

Now, it's not like I had anything against Age League, but frankly I didn't really see how pottering about protesting about litter and potholes or making jam was for me. Or the kind of thing you wanted to do after having to chase a mythical creature with a frying pan the previous night. Or it tripping you up with a broom in retaliation.

Yet, that's where I found myself. I'd never been so self conscious around people I'd known most of my life since I started secondary school. It was as if I was being eyed up to determine just why I'd come to a lecture on Lay-by Cleanliness.

It was a fair point. I'd grown up in the area, I knew the importance of not chucking your rubbish out of the car window. It might sound funny to hear about a sheep eating the remnants of a joint, but it's really not. Less so when there's also a used condom wrapped around it's hoof. But even if I hadn't, who went to the village hall to listen to a talk on the subject?

I clenched and unclenched my fists to resist the urge to rake my fingers over my face as I felt foolish. Maybe they just needed a petition signing? That I could do, then sneak out just before the speaker calls everyone in.

So, I looked around, not finding anything that looked like it needed signatures, but did spy some mugs and a kettle. After the last couple of days, a brew felt like a good idea.

It took me a moment to realise the fancy metalwork next to the coffee selection wasn't a cake stand, but a cage. It took me another moment to realise there was a pudgy little gargoyle sat in said cage munching on said cake. It actually looked quite happy to be there.

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I nearly sent poor Muriel flying when I took a sharp step backwards and away from the claws. It was only because Ethel caught her that we all stayed upright.

"Ah, so you can see them," Ethel said as if it were all perfectly normal.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," I said, trying to hope that I didn't sound completely off my rocker.

Ethel chuckled to herself, as she helped Muriel dust herself off. "We all do it, dearie, it's a shock to everyone to find out the creatures we imagined as children were real all along."

"Right," I agreed distractedly, not quite able to drag my eyes away from the contents of the cage yet. "And... yeah, what is happening?"

"Don't rightly know, really," Muriel replied. "All we know is that when you get old, you can see them. See the magic. It's always been that way."

"And we don't warn people because..?"

The women laughed together. "You wanna try that with the youngsters, Debbie? If they didn't think we were trying to entertain the grandkids they'd have us sectioned with dementia or Alzheimer's or whatever they want to call it these days."

"That's what happened to Brenda, and Old Charlie."

"Until Young Charlie broke him back out once she turned early."

"Turned?" I asked, interrupting their flow.

"Menopause, dearie, it's all to do with testosterone levels, the lower they are the better you can see them."

"That's hogwash!" Muriel refuted. "Men can see them and they don't have menopause."

"Their testosterone levels still go down," Ethel replied knowingly. "Bet it's that."

"But you don't know?" I checked, even though it still all felt like a wind up.

"Nah, that's not important," Ethel replied. "The important bit is keeping the village safe when most folks can't see the danger."

"Literally," Muriel added helpfully.

"And that's done how?"

The women shared a knowing look before the door to the makeshift lecture hall opened. "Come sit, I think you'll find it enlightening."

As it turns out Lay-by Cleanliness is really all about how best to keep the magical bugs away. Naturally trash attracts dangerous creatures, but you also need to keep the areas free of certain bushes whilst encouraging others. Who knew blackberry bushes were actually the best all round deterrent for goblins, imps, pixies and sprites. Though they will attract will-o'-the-wisps. Apparently they're the least dangerous, so long as there's sunlight.

What was more impressive was the way the members carefully positioned themselves to ensure that anyone who considered turning up to a talk saw the cage. Good screening tool to ensure no one heard something they shouldn't. Though it probably wouldn't work if they were even half as organised as they were, this was an operation, not just a random countryside lecture to give people something to do.

And if you missed those cues, the speaker turning to Mel at the end and asking her if we needed anymore supplies should've spelt it out.

Unless, you're like me, and still in denial that this is even happening at all. That's when Ethel takes the nuclear option - actually, don't give her the nuclear option, she absolutely would use it if she thought it would protect her own.

In this case, thankfully, she just dropped something heavy into my hands. "This is what we do, dearie."

I blinked at the double bladed axe she'd just dropped into my hands. It looked like something you'd see in a battle reenactment. "I'm pretty certain the term battleaxe is supposed to be figurative, Ethel," I finally managed to say as I looked up at her from my seat.

She threw her head back to roar with laughter. "I like that," she decided. "Ethel, the literal battleaxe!"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "So..?"

"This is what we do," she repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I looked back at the axe, and then back at her, the scrawny, diminutive septuagenarian stood in front of me. "I'm sure I've seen this horror movie."

Ethel's expression finally softened. "I didn't believe it back when I was your age, either," she said, sitting down next to me and relieving me of the axe. "But someone's gotta keep folks safe. Children can see them but don't sense the danger. Most adults can't even see or hear them, so don't even know there's danger afoot. So that leaves us. We know about them again, and have the time and freedom to deal with them. So we have a network, and an organisation."

"So you kill monsters in your dotage?"

"Hell of a lot better than sitting in a home and watching auction TV shows until the senility means they can fob the same episode off on me day after day."

I couldn't help my smile. She had a point. God knows what she got up to in her heyday - though if she heard me refer to anything but today as her heyday I think I'd be in for an earful.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this... but if you're a secret monster hunter organisation, how do you even know where to look?"

Ethel grinned conspiratorially. "We're a small village, Debbie, and what happens here that Mel doesn't know about within an hour?"

How do you run a secret monster hunting organisation where you can't have an emergency call number? You have a village matriarch who has perfected gossip networks and therefore knows everything first.

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