The Brightonomicon

by Robert Rankin

‘No, not now. Speed up!’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’ Norris was straining to look over his shoulder. ‘The nodding spaniel in the back is obscuring my view.’

  I shinnied into the back and ripped away the nodder.

  ‘Now you’re in the way,’ said Norris. ‘Oh, I do wish these women would leave us alone. Persistent creatures, women. I have one at home for a wife. My dinner will have been growing cold on the table for more than five years now.’

  ‘Ever thought of phoning her?’ I said.

  ‘Do I look so rich as to possess a car phone?’ asked Norris. ‘Even if they had been invented yet, which they haven’t.’

  ‘No, but …’ I paused. ‘Never mind. Drive faster.’

  ‘I am driving as fast as I can.’ And he was. And suddenly with a lurch and a bang we were no longer on that darkened lane, but back in the bright streets of Lewes.

  ‘It seemed to take much longer driving up than it did backing down,’ observed Norris. ‘How strange.’

  ‘Just drive,’ I said. ‘I know the way out of Lewes. Follow my instructions.’

  Norris laughed. But at least he kept driving as he did so.

  ‘Do not laugh,’ I said. ‘I do know the way.’

  ‘So where have you parked your car?’

  ‘I came by train,’ said I.

  And Norris laughed again. And then he suddenly stopped laughing as one of the mad witch women who was still clinging to the bonnet of the Morris lost her grip and fell beneath the wheels. It was a horrible, horrible thing. The shriek. The thump. The bump.

  ‘Oh my God!’ shouted Norris, and slammed on the brake.

  Another one fell from the bonnet.

  ‘Do not stop.’ I rammed the gear stick forward and forced my foot down upon his accelerator foot.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he shouted, but we lurched forward.

  With another thump and a bump.

  ‘Oh my God!’ shrieked Norris again. ‘I have become a serial killer. Please get out of my car.’

  ‘I am not leaving,’ I said, and I forced his accelerator foot down harder.

  The last of the shrieking women fell from the roof and we moved off through the night streets of Lewes.

  ‘These streets are very quiet,’ I observed.

  ‘Everyone is at the bonfire sites.’

  ‘And where are they?’

  ‘Search me,’ said Norris, trembling terribly.

  ‘Calm yourself,’ I said. ‘We are safe now.’

  ‘You made me kill those poor women.’

  ‘Those poor women would have killed you.’

  ‘Why were they chasing you, anyway?’

  ‘Because I have something they want. Drive faster now,’ I told him, for Norris was slowing down again.

  ‘They must want it very badly – what is it?’

  ‘It is a map,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, one of those,’ said Norris, with a sigh.

  ‘And to obtain the information upon this map, they killed my bestest friend. A great man, a mystic and adventurer. The Logos of the Aeon. His name was Mr Hugo Rune.’

  ‘Hugo Rune?’ said Norris and he began to laugh again.

  I still had Mr Rune’s stout stick and was all for using it. ‘Why are you laughing?’ I asked.

  ‘Because there’s no such person as Hugo Rune. He’s just an urban myth – the mystical detective who fights the forces of evil, but never pays his bills. It’s a myth put about by cabbies, who swear that every time one of their fares runs off without paying, it was Hugo Rune.’ And Norris laughed yet again.

  ‘You can drop me off at my hotel,’ I said to Norris. ‘It is just along here.’

  ‘Which street?’

  ‘The High Street.’

  ‘The High Street isn’t just along here,’ said Norris.

  ‘I think you will find that it is.’

  But it was not.

  ‘Turn left here,’ I said.

  ‘Can’t turn left, that’s a one-way street.’

  ‘Next left, then.’

  And so it went on. And so we drove. And presently the sun came up and we drove some more.

  ‘You get good mileage out of this car,’ I said to Norris. ‘We have been driving for hours and hours and the needle on the dial has never moved.’

  ‘It never does,’ said Norris.

  ‘Well, of course it does,’ I said, ‘or do you mean that the needle is broken?’

  ‘Not broken, just never moves. And the petrol never goes down.’

  ‘Do not be silly,’ I said. ‘You will have to stop and fill up soon.’

  ‘Never do. Never have.’

  I looked at Norris. He stared straight ahead. And I felt a terrible chill. And then I saw something more. And I screamed.

  ‘Stop this car right now!’ I screamed.

  ‘No,’ said Norris. ‘You’re with me now. You made me drive over those women – you’re mine and together we will drive on until the day we leave this cursed little town.’

  ‘Let me out.’ And I rattled the handle of my door. But the handle would not move and the door would not open. I was trapped, trapped in a Morris Minor with Norris Styver, the Morris driver, the driver who drives on and on.

  And I saw once more what I had just seen that had caused me to scream. Norris Styver was not flesh and blood. Norris Styver was a skeleton, clothed in rags, a horrid skeleton.

  He grinned me a death’s-head grin and the morning sun made shadows in the sockets of his skull. And a terrible chill entered the air within that Morris Minor. A terrible graveyard chill.

  ‘You are cursed now to ride with me,’ said he and he laughed a terrible laugh. ‘Unseen in the hours of daylight, when I don’t look quite as good as I do at night, you and I will drive on and on until with the coming of Judgement Day we’ll drive aloft to redemption.’

  ‘Over my dead body!’ I cried, and I swung Mr Rune’s stout stick. And to my horror and further alarm, the stout stick passed through Norris and bounced right off his seat.

  ‘Would you like the radio on?’ asked Norris. ‘It’s almost time for Desert Island Discs. I wouldn’t fancy being on a desert island myself, no roads to drive along.’

  ‘Let me out of this car,’ was what I had to say.

  Norris shook his horrible head. A spider crawled out of his nose hole.

  ‘Let me out!’ I cried and I rattled at the handle of my door again with vigour.

  ‘Relax and enjoy the ride. I’ve heard that there are signs and portents in the Heavens. Omens of the Coming of Ragnarök. The End Times are upon us. Judgement Day is close at hand.’

  ‘I do not have time to wait for that,’ I said. ‘I am upon a quest. I have things to do.’

  ‘There’s always time,’ said Norris, his finger bones drumming on the steering wheel. ‘Time is all we have. You and I, that is.’

  ‘I need the toilet,’ I said. ‘And I need my breakfast, so please let me out.’

  ‘The pain will pass,’ said Norris, softly. ‘The hunger will grow strong, but with your passing, it will pass, as it did for the others.’

  ‘Others?’ I said.

  ‘I’m Sam,’ said someone.

  ‘I’m Bill,’ said someone else.

  I turned and I stared. And would you believe it – there were two more skeletons sitting in the back.

  ‘It’s not so bad once you get used to it,’ said Sam (the skeleton on the right, looking from the front, of course). ‘We do have our sing-alongs. Is Desert Island Discs on yet, Norris?’

  ‘Let me out!’ I screamed.

  ‘Not so loud,’ said Norris. ‘The noise bounces all about in my empty skull.’

  ‘What do you want?’ I begged the dry-boned driver. I was beyond the point of terror now, sort of numb all over. ‘There must be something you want, something I can do for you, so that in return you will release me from this car.’

  Norris turned his awful empty face in my direction. ‘I want out of this town,’ he said. ‘Out of this one-way system.’

/>   ‘That is easy,’ I said.

  Bill and Sam took to laughing and rattling their teeth.

  ‘We tried that,’ said Bill to me. ‘Don’t you think we tried?’

  ‘Well, you cannot have tried very hard.’

  ‘It can’t be done,’ said Sam. ‘Norris is cursed. This car is cursed. It can never be driven out of Lewes.’

  ‘Then let us get out and walk.’

  ‘If we could get out,’ said Sam, ‘then where would we walk to – the nearest cemetery?’

  ‘You might find some peace there. But come on, Norris, there must be some spark of humanity left in you. I am a young man with my whole life before me. And I am on an important quest, a sacred quest, you could say. Would it really be so hard for you to just let me out?’

  ‘You made me kill those women.’

  ‘And I am sorry, please do not get me wrong. But they killed my bestest friend.’ And the thought of Mr Rune’s death brought tears to my eyes.

  ‘You can only be released from this car if you do something in return for me. It is the balance of equipoise, and it must always be maintained.’

  ‘I will guide you out of Lewes,’ I said, sniffily.

  ‘Can’t be done,’ said Sam.

  ‘Don’t waste your time trying,’ said Bill.

  ‘There must be something I can do,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ asked Norris, driving along with Desert Island Discs now on the radio. ‘The car never needs petrol and we never need food. What could you possibly do for me?’

  ‘I could …’ And I thought. ‘I could …’ And I thought some more. ‘I know,’ I said, ‘I could get you a woman.’

  ‘A woman?’ said Norris.

  ‘Well, would you not like a female companion for … you know. You must miss the old you-know.’

  ‘So what you are saying?’ said Norris and he turned right.

  ‘You have turned the wrong way down a one-way street,’ I said.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Norris. ‘But what you’re saying is that you would entice a woman into this car in order to save yourself. That she should face your terrible fate instead of you.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I said. ‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘That is not a nice idea, is it?’ And then, ‘Oh, look,’ I said. ‘That is my hotel up ahead. Please drop me off.’

  ‘No,’ said Norris. And then he said, ‘Oh.’ And the car took a lurch and shuddered all about. ‘What is going on?’ asked Norris.

  ‘Flat tyre,’ I said. ‘You have a flat tyre.’

  ‘Impossible,’ said Norris. ‘The tyres never go flat.’

  ‘I bet your MOT is well overdue,’ I said. ‘I bet all your tyres are bald.’

  ‘The tyres can never go bald.’

  ‘Well, one of them has gone flat,’ I said. And Norris stopped the Morris.

  And then things grew a little quiet in the car. And a little tense, too, I thought. Not that they were not already tense. At least, they were for me. Beyond tense, in fact. Beyond anything, really.

  ‘Do you have a spare wheel?’ I asked Norris.

  And Norris nodded his death’s head.

  ‘Within the boot, would it be?’

  And Norris nodded again.

  ‘Would you like me to get out and change the wheel?’

  Norris was silent.

  ‘I will do it,’ I said. ‘All you have to do is open my door.’

  Norris remained silent.

  ‘I thought not,’ I said. ‘Then you will have to do it yourself.’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Norris. ‘I cannot leave the car.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Really? That is a shame then, is it not? Perhaps the ghost of an AA van will pass this way.’

  ‘It won’t,’ said Norris.

  ‘Then it will have to be me. And I will do it, to maintain the balance of equipoise. If you let me out, I will do it for you in return.’

  ‘You’d just run away,’ said Norris.

  ‘I would not,’ I said. ‘I promise. See this wet, see this dry, cut my throat if I tell a lie.’

  ‘You’d be cutting your own throat,’ said Norris.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Because,’ said Norris, ‘if I release you from the car and you break your side of the bargain, the curse will fall upon you.’

  ‘That I will never be able to get out of Lewes?’

  ‘Your bones will bleach as mine have done, and you will walk and walk for ever. And it’s far more miserable to walk than to drive, I assure you. Very hard on the bones of the feet.’ And he grinned me that terrible grin once again.

  ‘Let me out of the car,’ I said, ‘and I will change the wheel.’

  ‘Don’t think to break our bargain.’

  ‘I will not,’ I said.

  And there was a click and my door opened and I stepped out from the car into November sunlight, which although not altogether warm was a considerable improvement on the graveyard chill within that Morris Minor.

  ‘There’s a jack in the boot,’ called Norris to me, ‘a screw-type jack and a nine-inch tommy bar.’

  ‘Norris,’ I said, and I raised my finger, ‘to use the popular parlance of the day, “sit on this and spin!”’

  ‘What?’ went Norris, a look of horror on his face. Which came rather easily to a bonehead.

  ‘This has been the most horrible night of my life,’ I said, ‘and you can fuck right off.’

  Which was as much of a shock to me as it must have been to Norris.

  And I turned away from the haunted Morris Minor and marched into the hotel. And once inside, I paused to look back, but the Morris had vanished away.

  ‘And good riddance to you,’ I said.

  The manager on the front desk made a face at me and I marched into the bar.

  There was no one drinking as it was too early, but Fangio was there. He stood behind the counter polishing an imaginary glass and whistling a tune that did not exist. I approached the counter.

  ‘Give me a drink,’ I said to Fange, and I sank on to a barstool. ‘No nonsense, no toot, any drink you have, as long as it is very alcoholic.’

  Fange drew me a pint of Farmer’s Wife. I did not ask him anything about it.

  ‘You look knackered,’ said the barlord. ‘Party all night, did you?’

  ‘Anything but,’ and I drained much of my beer. ‘It was terrible. Horrible. Mr Hugo Rune is dead.’

  ‘Hugo Rune?’ said Fange. ‘Isn’t he an urban myth?’

  ‘Do not even think about it.’ I raised Mr Rune’s stout stick. ‘He is dead – I saw him die, it was awful.’

  ‘I’m truly sorry,’ said Fangio, ‘and I mean that most sincerely. I really liked the old fart. Does that mean that you will be settling his account at The Pub That Dare Not Speak It’s Name, which is what my bar is going to be named tomorrow?’

  ‘No, it does not,’ I said. ‘And show some respect. Mr Rune was a great man – one-of-a-kind, a one-off. I do not think that his like will ever be seen again.’*

  Fangio pulled himself a pint. ‘I’ll miss him,’ he said. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘I do not want to talk about it now.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Oh, one thing – a bunch of strange-looking women were in here earlier asking after you.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’ I asked.

  ‘That you weren’t here.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’

  ‘I gave them your address at Grand Parade.’

  I groaned.

  ‘Oh, and the manager of the hotel is really upset. Apparently he saw the Pope on TV last night and he’s not too happy about Rune having deceived him. But I suppose that doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘It does not,’ I said.

  ‘Although you’ll have to settle the bill.’

  I groaned again.

  ‘Although,’ said Fange, ‘I might see my way clear to letting you slip out of the fire exit.’

  ‘That would be brilliant,’ I said.

  ‘You’d better pay the manage
r, then.’

  ‘I will take you up on your offer.’ And I finished my beer.

  ‘I’ll put this on the Pope’s account,’ said Fange.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I will go up to the suite and salvage what I can and then you can let me slip away.’

  ‘See you later, then,’ said Fangio.

  I went up the stairs with a heavy heart. I felt empty inside. I had no idea how I was going to carry on without Mr Rune and I was worried now about what might have happened to his body. Had those monstrous women done something hideous to it? Should I return to the castle and look? I could not just leave him lying there. Should I call the police? An ambulance? An undertaker? And what was I going to do without him? Where was I going to go? Find the Chronovision, certainly I would try to do that, and destroy it, too. But without Mr Rune, was that even possible? I was sick at heart.

  And empty.

  I found the room key and turned it in the lock. And I pushed open the door.

  And then I smelled something and felt something, too – a terrible chill in the air. And I looked and I beheld and I became afeared. Because something sat at the breakfasting table.

  Something I knew to be dead.

  ‘Ah, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune, ‘you took your time. I ordered two breakfasts, but had to eat yours as it was growing cold.’

  PART III

  ‘Dead—’ I croaked and I staggered in the doorway. ‘You were dead—’

  ‘I am alive.’ And Mr Rune rose to my assistance. ‘You’re all done in,’ he said. ‘You need some food inside you. There’s a bit of toast left, I think.’

  And I flung my arms around him (in a manly kind of way). ‘Alive,’ I cried. ‘Alive! I am so glad.’

  ‘Calm yourself, my friend.’ And Mr Rune patted at my head. ‘Your hair needs cutting,’ he said.

  ‘It is you.’ I looked up at him. ‘It really is you?’

  Mr Rune guided me to a chair and set me down. ‘Do you still have it?’ he asked.

  ‘Have what?’

  ‘The map,’ said Mr Rune. ‘The map, of course.’

  ‘I do,’ I said. And I rootled about in my pockets.

  ‘And my stout stick also, how thoughtful.’

  I found the map and handed it to Hugo Rune. ‘But how?’ I asked him. ‘Tell me how.’

  Mr Rune poured coffee for me and I drank it. But he downed that last piece of toast.

  ‘I had to know,’ said he, ‘the location where the Chronovision is hidden, and it seemed the only way. I put my trust in you and you did not let me down. Bravo.’