[Brenda & Effie 00] - A Treasury of Brenda and Effie

by ed. Paul Magrs

  “But Brenda, this is Harriet. Harriet Finch.”

  Miss Finch turned to look at me, her face cast completely into shadow. “Harriet?” I gasped. “Harriet! But... if that’s the case, why didn’t you remember me...? Or all of this...? Why...?”

  Effie, as always, had put things together quicker than me and she was already charging at Miss Finch with her umbrella. “Because that’s not Harriet in there!” she shouted.

  But as quick as she was, it wasn't fast enough.

  Effie flew across the room, smashing through arrays of equipment, crashing against the wall in an explosion of dust and broken glass. She slid down it, pinned by some unseen force, and crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap. The umbrella landed beside her, the spokes sticking out in all directions, horrifically bent.

  “Effie!” I shouted—but then the breath was knocked out of my body as I too was hurled across the room. I escaped a painful collision with the stone walls: instead I was pressed against the metal cages, the cold metal jabbing into my back. My feet wiggled useless in empty air below me.

  “I may not have much magic left,” Miss Finch said, “but I have more than enough to deal with you two.”

  In the hollows of her eyes, something sparked green.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I lived. You didn’t take my energy. And what about your sisters?”

  Miss Finch lifted her head. Her face looked different now, as if her human skin was nothing but a Hallowe'en mask. She lifted her hands; green fire pulsated in the palms. The coldness at my back vanished—I was being floated across the room towards her.

  “It was all that stupid girl’s fault,” Miss Finch said. Her voice echoed around the laboratory. “Har-ri-et.” She pronounced each syllable as if she was chewing on something distasteful. “She tried to save you, her precious Miss B.”

  My vision wavered. I could remember it—Harriet, that brave girl, jumping in front of me. And the spell expending against, robbed of its original target.

  I shuddered. And look what I had caused. The poor thing had lived her life possessed by those horrible things that had tried to kill me. Another person in my long life hurt by my very presence. And yet here I was pretending I was not truly a monster.

  I sank towards Miss Finch, helpless to fight. The air was growing syrupy, turning thick with a pungent green mist. “I was first in line in the spell, you see,” Miss Finch said. I was nose to nose with her now; I squinted, trying to see the remains of the Harriet I had known in her face, but it was impossible. “So for me, and only me, it worked. Oh, you can’t imagine what it was like, Brenda. Arms! Legs! Hands! After a thousand years trapped.”

  Miss Finch turned away. “We were here before there was even a school, Brenda. Just me and my sisters, roaming the moors, lost, untethered. I'm sure you've felt it, looking out over those hills—the sense of a menace, looking back at you. For centuries we were that menace. And then that Wildthyme woman came along and built the school, to save all the little lost girls just like her, the sentimental old bag. But she knew things, things even we didn’t know. She knew we were out there on the moors, and so she contained us—trapped us here.”

  Miss Finch waved a hand and candles around the room blazed to life. Dust clouds erupted beneath her feet.

  “And then we heard tell of you. The remarkable creature that lived without feeling the quickening of a mother. And we knew you were the key, Brenda.”

  Miss Finch began to dust the arms of that great clanking chair. I wiggled my feet again, trying to find some purchase that would free me, but there was nothing to be done. I was powerless.

  “How did you get me here?” Perhaps if I kept her talking...

  “Oh, a whisper in the right ear. It was an easier time. People believed in things like us, then,” Miss Finch said.

  “And what about your sisters? You took Harriet’s body—what about all the rest of you horrible creatures?”

  Miss Finch laughed. “Oh, it’s almost funny really. Turns out there were a few other available bodies in the room when the spell went awry.” She turned to face me, her eyes tiny points of green in the shadow. “Look around you.”

  They moved, backs arching, into the light. Seven black cats, mouths hissing angrily below old, old eyes.

  All those years, those reports of ghosts. The terrifying scratching noises, the ridiculous TV show with their Ouija boards and mediums, all that fuss about seven cats roaming the walls.

  Seven immortal possessed cats, I reminded myself. Not to be trifled with.

  “They proved so useful in the end,” Miss Finch said. “Easy to smuggle into your bag, carried all the way back to your lovely home. Where we found just what we needed.”

  On a bench was a dark sheet thrown over something large and square. She flung back the sheet and there they were, my spare parts, all locked together in a cage. They started to bounce frantically as the light hit them. I remembered how it had felt, tied up in that chair, trying to get out. Disembodied heap of parts they might be, but that was me she had locked up there.

  “Your parts Brenda. Though I must say, they put up a fight. A few even got away, but don’t worry. These are more than enough.”

  The cats were circling around me, and I noticed that Charlie, with his white ears, had slunk in to join them. I tried to twist in Miss Finch incorporeal grip; without even looking over her shoulder she waved a hand, and I found myself gripped so tightly I was sure I felt ribs crack.

  “I wonder how long you can live without a change of parts?” Miss Finch said. She knelt down before the cage, and stretched out a hand to them. My parts rattled unhappily. She licked her lips, and then er jaw, like those terrifying ghosts before, stretched open, open and then more open in a way no human should be able.

  She was going to suck the life out of my parts, and there was nothing I could do stop it.

  Except:

  “Oh no you don’t!” screeched Effie.

  And there she was, my wonderful friend, tome in hand, staring down Miss Finch without a trace of fear in her face.

  Miss Finch’s dislocated jaw stretched even further and a horrible scream arose from her. The cats about-turned and dashed at Effie in a flurry of claws and teeth. Effie squinted at her grimoire and muttered a couple of words and the cats, screeched to a halt, then rolled on their backs, pawing the air and purring happily.

  Miss Finch’s scream rose to a horrifying crescendo. A hand flashed out, a brilliant flash of magic leaping from her palm and darting across the room towards Effie—who produced, from behind her, a metal talisman, roughly shapen from bent spokes of her deceased umbrella.

  “Some really quite ancient magic, this,” said Effie, matter-of-factly. “Control magic—filthy stuff. But you should have done your homework, Miss Finch—cos this 'ere is a hexspindle. No, hold on, it's a...” She squinted at her grimoire. “A grimwatch? Witchymacallit?—or something...” She looked up scowling. “Well it doesn't matter what it's called. Point is, I've got all your power now.”

  She waved a hand, and Miss Finch flew up into the air, a startled look on her face.

  “Now, you daft old crone, will you let my friend go?”

  The invisible hands that held me in the air released me, and I fell with a screech into a very undignified pile.

  “Oops, sorry, Brenda lovey,” Effie said, grimacing at me in apology.

  I pulled down my skirts in embarrassment and set myself the right way up.

  “Now then,” Effie said, turning her attention back to Miss Finch, who was squirming in mid-air. “I think it's time you learned a few lessons, don't you. Repeat after me: I will not try to steal life force that doesn't belong to me.”

  Miss Finch glared silently.

  “I said, repeat after me...”

  Miss Finch's mouth twisted open. “I will not try to steal life force that doesn't belong to me,” she said, sounding like a ventriloquist dummy.

  “Excellent!” cried Effie. “Let's try that fifty times, shall we?�
�

  I climbed to my feet. It was times like these I could really see the dark history that ran in my friend's blood. “Effie...” I said. “I think perhaps...”

  She looked at me, and sighed.

  “Oh, Brenda, you are a gentle soul.” She pointed a bony finger at Miss Finch. “Repeat after me: I will banish my sisters and I where we can never bother this world again.”

  Miss Finch's mouth twisted, repeating the words. Effie lowered her gingerly to the floor.

  “Now,” said Effie firmly, “do it.”

  Miss Finch crumpled. Nothing else happened—no burst of light, or explosion of energy. I was almost disappointed. I had come to expect certain things in my adventures. “What happened?” I asked Effie, who had sat down on the floor rather shakily.

  I looked around. Miss Finch was slumped over my cage of parts, two of which were rudely pulling her hair. The cats had slunk into a corner. “Are those… things gone?” I asked.

  “I'm not quite sure, to be honest.” Effie said. “But you know I’m not as good at all this sort of thing as my aunts. Between you and me, I was winging it the whole time.”

  Miss Finch raised her head, and Effie gripped the tome defiantly.

  “Miss B?”

  I stepped closer, carefully. “Harriet?”

  “Miss B? What’s happening?”

  Miss Finch’s face crumpled into tears, and she began to sob, like a small, frightened child. “Miss B? I’m scared. They came to take me away. You promised, you said the sounds couldn’t hurt me. You promised...”

  I cradled her in my arms, just like I had done all those years ago. “There there, Harriet, you’re okay now. You were a brave girl, you know? You saved my life.”

  There was a miaowing, and a black furry head pushed its way between us. “See,” I said, stroking between his white ears. “You can’t be scared. Charlie’s here to look after you.” Miss Finch threw her arms around the cat and sobbed into its fur.

  I stepped back, rejoining Effie. “The poor woman,” I said. “I think I have it hard being an old woman in a younger body. The other way around will be even harder.”

  As we led her gently back to the hallway, it was all I could do not to cry my own tears. Look at us, Brenda and Effie charging towards some derring-do, banishing demons. And this poor girl who will have to pay the price. There’s a lot of us like that, women left behind when the adventures are done, just a little bit different to the rest of the world around us.

  Still, if there was ever a place where it’s okay to be like that, it’s Whitby, I thought to myself. We’re all peculiar here!

  I put an arm around the still-sobbing Miss Finch as we led her into the light, followed by a silent phalanx of black cats, mewing quietly like lost kittens.

  The Sons of Kalevala

  Morgan Melhuish

  Brenda was trying to keep a lid on things. Quite literally.

  Rattling amongst the unused griddles and larking in and out of the novelty teapots on the shelf above the range, a litter of baby gremlins skittered and chuckled along to the early morning kitchen noises and Whitby F.M.

  Brenda tutted as one of the brown furry creatures poked its nose out a particularly wide spout: a cross between a chinchilla and a marmoset with multiple rows of sharp orange teeth that grinned mischievously at her. She’d already had to re-do the toast for table two as it had been munched through. If only the Environmental Health Officers could see her kitchen now, they’d have a field day, Brenda thought, snorting to herself!

  Brenda’s hefty hands tried to keep the ugly brutes at bay. She wasn’t fooled by their big watery eyes trying to look all adorable, as a trio cooed along with Dusty bemoaning I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself. Oh pull yourself together love, Brenda thought, as she swept three gremlins into a spare cafetiere. It was tempting to bash the plunger down, but she was in loco parentis. The things you agree to, just to keep the peace!

  Grabbing at passing bush baby tails while keeping an eye on the black pudding was trickier than she thought. The blighters were swift as buggery. This was supposed to be the calm time of her day, giving her guests a good feed and a little TLC before they went on their way. She usually went on automatic just focusing on sizzling oil crisping bacon and shrivelling the jackets of tomato halves, a timer on the oven for sausage and mushrooms. Today her peace was shattered and in this moment of reflection, that too was shattered as two empty cans of beans were sent clattering to the tiles.

  Brenda growled through gritted teeth, “That’s enough from you lot,” waving her greasy spatula threateningly. Placing it to one side she expertly plated up the food, picked up the full cafetiere and shuffled into the dining room.

  Geoffrey tutted in his tweeds, drumming fingers on the crisp white table cloth. Across the table Ann looked pityingly at him, placing what she hoped would be a calming hand over his. He sighed theatrically, picking up the spoon from the remnants of his muesli and letting it drop back into the bowl. A small splash-back of semi skimmed caught his cuffs.

  “Darling,” she warned. “We are supposed to be relaxing.” She might as well have been talking to the Welsh dresser with its array of sauces and cereals.

  Geoffrey craned his neck to look out of the window. It was a drear day and the sunny paintwork and flowers on the table couldn’t mask it. This whole enterprise had been a mistake, thinking they could rekindle something.... something like their youth, like the sand on the beach, it had just trickled through their fingers.

  Geoffrey sighed again, at least the overcast weather seemed perfect for them. The couple hogging the window. The couple holding hands like they meant it. The couple of freaks more like. She was all dolled up in black satin and lace, a heaving corset barely keeping her voluptuous breasts restrained, munching marmalade covered toast through lilac lips. He was Jack Spratt to his massive missus in an undertakers’ get up, with round mirror glasses and a steam-punk blunderbuss all valves and brass propped up under the windowsill.

  Finding out it was Whitby’s Goth Weekend had been an added - pardon the pun - nail in the coffin, for Geoffrey. Last night you couldn’t move along the harbour without bumping into the near dead, the undead and their assorted hangers on. Ann had revelled in it, the millinery and polyester wigs, the cos-play as she called it. Whatever that was.

  “Here we go!” The lumbering landlady sauntered over with their cooked breakfasts. She slid them from her thick arms onto the placemat before striding to the couple in the bay window and depositing the other plates. “Condiments are on the side, dears,” she cooed cheerfully.

  “I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything else, duckie?” she asked the guest in the corner, his face hidden with a giant broadsheet.

  Before he had a chance to reply, Geoffrey called across the dining room deep pile. Excuse me? We still haven’t had our toast yet? I mean, how difficult is it toast warm bread?”

  “Geoffrey!” Ann hissed under her breath. A flush of colour coming to her cheeks. The two goths turned around too. Brenda was mortified. She liked to think she ran a sumptuous yet affordable B&B. An establishment where the service was second to none.

  “I’m so sorry,” she started muttering, and in her haste to get away she plonked down the cafetiere. As she did so her ungainly limbs knocked into the coffee pot and with a thwack and a tinkle it fell to the floor, releasing not hot coffee but gremlins!

  Brenda was properly aghast, she must have absent-mindedly taken them through with her. And now the critters were swinging from tablecloths, tumbling Tupperware full of cornflakes from the sideboard and skittering hell for leather for the bacon.

  Ann screamed and got up onto her chair. “Rats!”

  Startled as well, Geoffrey stood up, making a perfect ladder for the nearest gremlin to storm the table. Grabbing his knife he waved it ineffectually. The creature was far too fast for him, and all of a sudden it was sitting with a sausage in its cheeks and those cute eyes on full force: ‘love me daddy!’ they seemed to say.

 
; Brenda stood frozen with indecision. This kind of thing could ruin a business. And how exactly would she explain, and who would care, that these weren’t your average run-of-the -mill rodents but had come scampering out of the Bitch’s Maw, the gateway to Hell that was formed in the ruins of Whitby Abbey. They’d lock her up if she came out with ravings like that.

  Amongst the chaos her guest in the corner stood up, calmly folding his newspaper in half. Now revealed, his face was a mass of blue glowing suckered tentacles. The mass of feelers darted out and encircled each of the gremlins, pulling them towards him. In a moment they were gone, shoved, as Effie might say, in the big brute’s cakehole. He gave a little gulp of indigestion, raising a hand to cover his mouth and stiffly bowed at Brenda.

  “Oh wow, that’s immense,” cried the bespectacled goth. He clapped heartily in appreciation, his fetish wife joining in. “What is that, animatronics? Doesn’t it get hot wearing that?”

  The octopus-faced man gave another stiff little bow as Brenda gathered her wits to announce: “Errm yes. A little breakfast entertainment, to... to... to celebrate Whitby’s gothic weekend, yes,” and joined in with the applause.

  Brenda was in the doldrums and consoling herself with supper at Cod Almighty with her friends Effie and Robert. She punctuated her tale with jabs into the glass of her now empty crème de menthe sundae.

  “And since then, bookings have taken somewhat of a slump... I’ve even had people phoning up and cancelling. How do they know?”

  Effie nodded sagely. Being joint keeper of the gateway to Hell, she knew better than most how it was becoming a full time job. Still, she could pick and choose her hours in the antiques emporium - she didn’t envy Brenda changeover days and endless fry-ups and being nice to people. She wasn’t into that at all.

  Robert piped up. “I bet someone’s put something on the internet.” He fiddled with his phone. “Here we go, you’re on Rate My Roommate and True Review.”

  This technology malarkey was all a mystery. Brenda had only just got used to washing machines over a scrubbing board. The last time they’d seen a course for Silver Surfers Brenda had told Effie, “I’ll be buggered if they’re getting me in a wetsuit.” At mentions of liking things on Facebook Effie had muttered something darkly that if she was going to update her family on her goings on she’d hold a séance.