AN Abergavenny man who went on an illegal wild boar hunt with pals in the Forest of Dean, claims that there is a ‘necromancer’ living in the woods.

Semi-professional long-distance runner Johnny Turnip explained, “We stumbled across the necromancer’s lair after a white deer caused Big Tony to crash his Bedford Rascal.

“The ugly albino creature just appeared out of nowhere and stood in the middle of the road staring at us like we were the ones naked and running through the woods without any purpose.

“Now while Big Tony has got the blood of a lot of furry things on his hands and has no aversion to killing innocent animals, he’s very particular when it comes to his vehicle. The last thing he wanted was Bambi’s brains all over his windscreen and so he swerved to avoid the dumb animal.”

Turnip explained that they missed the deer but left the road and clipped a tree stump which caused the van to crash.

“It was a bit A-Team!” Recalled Turnip. “The band went flying about 20 feet in the air and flipped a full 360. Luckily it landed on its wheels, in a sort of clearing. However, whether in panic or instinct, Big Tony pressed down on the accelerator and we we went flying along this forest trail for about 30 feet before I heard him scream, ‘Gertcha! Brakes knackered! Jump boys, jump!’ We opened the doors and bailed just before the Bedford Rascal smacked headfirst into one of the biggest oak trees I’ve ever seen.

“Fair play the way we jumped from the van and rolled effortlessly on the ground must have looked pretty spectacular. It’s not something any of us have had to do since our early twenties but we’ve still got the old magic. Any bystanders would have probably thought we were the S.A.S on manoeuvres rather than just former car thieves.”

Turnip added, “Me and Puerto Rico Paul were a bit dazed from the ordeal at first and just laid on our backs looking at the darkening sky as if to say, ‘What next you bastard?’ However, we’re not millennials and don’t do self-pity. We were soon pulling one another to their feet and wondering if Big Tony had packed plenty of beer when we heard the wailing.”

Turnip recalled, “It still gives me goosebumps to think about it even now. It was a primal cry of absolute grief that could turn a man’s bowels to water. Worse! It was coming from Big Tony. He was on his knees next to his van with his head in his hands. He just looked at us with tears in his days and said, “She’s gone boys. It’s the end of the road for Saucy Lil.

“Now while it was news to us that Big Tony had given his van a name and a female one at that, we both knew the affection he had for his motor. It was slightly perverted to my mind but Tone’s always been a bit on the spectrum when it comes to his relationship with anything with wheels. He was the same with his first BMX. Anyhow, we may have made fun of his weird obsessions, but we respected Tone’s grief, and when Puerto Rico Paul whispered in my ear, ‘Perhaps we should do the right thing and cremate the old bitch?’ I ignored his dark sarcasm. It didn’t come from a good place and right now Tone needed time to mourn his loss.”

Turnip explained that after a few hours of being left alone with Saucy Lil, Big Tony rejoined his friends who were using the last of the power on their phones to play Wordle. He simply announced, “Long may she ride! Let’s unload the old bird one last time and butcher us some boar!”

Turnip said, “They were his last words on his lost love and we didn’t pry. It was sad for us all to see the old van bust up and mangled, but the Forest of Dean was as good a place as any for a vehicle to rust in eternity. Hopefully, it would one day become home to a family of ferrets.”

=Turnip told the Chronicle that after unloading the two crates of lager, four bottles of whiskey, six pouches of tobacco, and ten cans of beans from the van. He was a bit concerned about how they would survive a few nights in the forest.

“I said to Tone, ‘Is this going to be enough?’ He just looked at me funny and said, ‘How much do you plan on drinking JT?’ ’No!’ I said. ‘I’m thinking more of what we’re going to eat?’ ‘We’re going to chow down on some hog, boss,’ he said in a weird American accent. To which I replied, ‘And how the hell are we going to hunt it?’ Paul tapped me on the shoulder and as I turned he pointed a shotgun at me and smiled like a child on Christmas morning. The game was on and the whiskey was in the jar!”

Turnip added, “We had the booze, the smokes, and the gun needed for a successful pig hunt! Admittedly, we didn’t have any water, but there was bound to be a stream nearby. The lack of a tent, sleeping bags, and complete ignorance of exactly where we were could present a few problems further down the line but we were masters of our destiny, born to woman but belonging to the wilderness. We were like a pack of coyotes and no tame dogs were stealing our bone. We decided to set up camp for the night and get drunk. Killing pigs could wait until dawn!

“Big Tony siphoned some petrol from the van and we made a fire. It nearly got out of hand but after a few whiskies, we were joking about accidentally burning the entire forest down. We carried on drinking to the early hours and arguing about who would win in a fight between a crocodile and a bear when the old man of the woods turned up and warned us all about the necromancer.”

To be continued…..