Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous

by Gerrard Wllson

mare.”

  “Under a mare? How did that stop you?”

  “Her suitor was a bit frisky, there were legs everywhere – I could have been brain damaged!”

  Frowning, Eric said, “Brain damaged?”

  “Now stop that – we have horses to save!”

  “Sorry...”

  Pointing to the instrument panel, Jimmy said, “What do you think of it, Eric?”

  Studying the panel, Eric was shocked to see the sheer number of dials, gauges, lights, switches and relays mounted upon it. Scratching his head, he mumbled, “I, I don’t know…”

  “But your dad works in the gas works – you even visited it, once,” Jimmy pressed optimistically. “Surely you can work out how to turn off the munching machine?”

  Flipping one of the switches – a buzzer began sounding – Eric panicked. All fingers and thumbs, he returned the switch to its original position. “I dunno…”

  “You told me you were taken on a tour of the gas works,” Jimmy exclaimed. “You said they showed you the control room... There must have been something like this, there!”

  “I did see an instrument panel,” Eric admitted, studying it some more, “but it was nothing like this…”

  Just then, one of the dials, which had been steadily climbing, redlined, and another buzzer, much louder than the first one, sounded, filling the room with its shrill tone, sending the horses into a panic.

  “What have you done?” Jimmy barked.

  “I, I did nothing – honest!”

  We’re Doomed, I Tell You, Doomed!

  In addition to the ear-splitting sound of the buzzer, panicking the horses – not to mention the two boys, every dial, gauge, light and switch on the control panel burst into life. Lights of every conceivable colour blinked, flashed and glowed, needles veered erratically from side to side, relays switched, and so many other alarms sounded the first one paled into insignificance.

  If Jimmy and Eric had thought the noise from the munching machine could not get any louder, they were in for a shock – it did. Whirring, buzzing, slashing, chopping – and munching, the machine, cranking up a gear, shaking the building to its foundations, began moving the floor, rolling it away from under their feet. Moreover, it continued to move it, vibrating, shaking and shuddering so violently, Jimmy and Eric feared the factory was in danger of collapse.

  As they struggled to remain upright, on a floor that was moving slowly but relentlessly beneath them, the panicking horses began whinnying like crazy. Speaking of panic, Jimmy and Eric were faring no better. Nodding, Jimmy said, “I don’t want to alarm you, Eric, but…”

  Standing on tiptoes, trying to see over the horses, to where Jimmy was gesturing, Eric gasped when he saw the wall at the far end of the room breaking, splitting apart, revealing the massively noisy workings of the machine, below. Staring into the workings, at the blades, cogs, wheels, pulleys, chains and belts, ready to kill, Eric believed their time was up, that he, Jimmy and the horses were goners. “We’re going to be killed!” he cried out. “We’re doomed, I tell you, doomed!”

  “Control yourself, Eric!” Jimmy ordered. “And think!”

  “Think – are you mad?” Eric whined dolefully. “What’s there to think about? The munching machine is going to get us, and that’s that!”

  Pressing on regardless of how Eric was feeling, Jimmy said, “You must have done something, Eric, to start it!”

  “To start it?”

  “Yes, come on – THINK!”

  “But...I didn’t do anything...” he protested, “...apart from flipping that switch.”

  “Then flip it again!”

  “But I already have!”

  “Try in again, anyhow!”

  “But…”

  “GO ON!”

  His fingers trembling, Eric flipped the switch. Incredibly, unbelievably, the munching machine began to slow.

  “You’ve done it!” hurrahed Jimmy. “You really have!”

  Cocking his head over to one side, Eric asked, “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “A laugh, I think…”

  “No…forget it, it’s nothing,” Jimmy told him. “You stopped the munching machine, that’s all that matters.”

  Withdrawing his finger from the switch, Eric said, “So it appears...”

  As the munching machine continued to slow, and the terrible noises it produced abated, the horses’ state of blind panic eased.

  As Jimmy and Eric mulled over what had transpired, they slowly, gradually concluded that all was not as it seemed, and they became increasingly worried.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Jimmy, suddenly cocking his head over to one side, listening.

  Nodding, Eric replied, “Yes, that’s what I heard before, when I flipped the switch. What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, “and that scares me. Come on, it’s of no use, us just standing here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Pointing to the separated wall at the end of the room, Jimmy said, “In there.”

  Gulping hard, “Eric whispered. “In there?”

  “Down there, to be precise,” he explained.

  “What about the horses? Are we just going to leave them here?” Eric asked. “What if Mr Viscous returns, and turns the machine on again?”

  “That is something we will just have to chance.”

  “Chance?” Eric spluttered, shocked by his friend’s nonchalant approach to the matter.

  “If you have any other, better suggestions, I am willing to listen,” Jimmy said, folding his arms, waiting.

  Gulping hard, pointing, Eric said, “In there?”

  “Yes. Are you coming?”

  “I am,” he replied softly, quietly, humbly.

  Having reached the split in the wall, Eric, pointing to a landing atop a rickety looking spiral staircase, opposite, asked, “What about using that to go down?”

  “We could, if we could reach it,” Jimmy replied. “However, it’s too far, so, no, we cannot.”

  “Oh...” Delving a hand into the duffle bag, withdrawing the electric fan, he said, “What about using this, its flex, as a rope to bridge the gap?”

  “It’s a good idea,” Jimmy replied. “However, there is nothing for it to catch onto, on the far side.” Thinking about it some more, he added, “If we were over there, things might be different.”

  Gazing through the opening as the moving floor disappeared under their feet, Eric wondered what might or might not be lying in wait, below.

  “You first,” said Jimmy, offering Eric the lead.

  “Me? Why me?” he asked.

  “Because you are the tallest, that’s why.”

  “The tallest? What has that got to do with it?”

  “To see the way forward, you berk,” Jimmy replied. “Now, are you going to step in or procrastinate out here all day?”

  Stepping through the opening, Eric, unhappy that Jimmy had bamboozled him into taking the lead, grumbled.

  “What did you say?” Jimmy asked.

  “Nothing,” Eric lied. “I said nothing.”

  “It sounded like an awful lot of nothing!”

  Grumbling, but under his breath this time, Eric crept cautiously forward.

  Climbing down into the munching machine, into its innermost workings, where so many unfortunate animals had already lost their lives, in the glue factory owner’s insatiable quest to get rich, Eric did not intend to offer him an opportunity to do the same with them. Picking his steps carefully, he began negotiating his way around the workings, past razor sharp blades, hammers, cogs and wheels, all of them caked in blood, bone and pieces of dead equine. Stopping, raising a hand, Eric signalled for Jimmy to halt. “I heard something,” he whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “A laugh...

  “A laugh?”

  “Yes, and an insane one at that!”

  “Mr Viscous?”

  Nodding, Eric repl
ied, “He’s the only person I know who can laugh like that.”

  “Do you want me to take the lead?” Jimmy asked.

  “No...”

  “No?”

  “No – shush, I think I can hear someone moving...” In silence, Eric resumed his trek, weaving his way through the dangerous machinery, left, right and then left again, following someone – or something lurking within the machinery, ahead of them. Faster, faster ever-faster boy and his quarry moved in their deadly game of follow the leader, until WHAM, something smashing hard into Eric’s face, sent him crashing to the floor.

  Stepping out from behind a particularly large cog, Mr Voracity had struck out with a vengeance. Not intending to let her accomplice outdo her, Madam Poulfarriy, leaping out from behind an equally large cog, made a beeline for Jimmy, attacking him with as much fury as the Mr. As if that was not enough for the boys to contend with, Mr Viscous emerged from out of the shadows. Laughing insanely, he said, “How nice to see you again, both of you.” Changing tack from sweet to coldly cruel, he added, “That’ll teach you to return, wanting to steal my horses!”

  “But...”

  “No buts or ifs, remember?” he quipped. “Hasn’t that nice Mr Smith taught you anything?”

  “If Mr Smith was here,” Eric yelled, shaking a fist at him, “he would sort you out, you old fart!”

  “Name calling won’t get you anywhere,” Mr Viscous replied. “As to where you could have picked up so crude an expression is certainly beyond me.” Joining the Madam and the Mr, the factory owner spoke quietly, he said, “We think you have fallen into disrepair.”

  “Disrepair? What on earth are you talking about?” Eric yelled. Then it struck him, it hit him hard; they were words of advice Mr Smith had offered, earlier. “He told us to be on our guard...”

  “...Lest you might fall into disrepair,” the factory owner added,