Molly exhaled with relief, sagging slightly. She looked up to her Mum, who, it appeared, didn’t know whether to be furious or gobsmacked and so was wavering somewhere in between. ‘Well? What in Heaven’s name was all that about?’
‘Trust me, Mum, we don’t want those two in our house ever again. I’ll go to my room now.’ Molly turned and headed towards the stairs, leaving her Mum to finally commit to being fully gobsmacked.
~Chapter Fourteen~
Molly had a plan. In the Between she and her dead Gran had spoken about what needed to be done. There were no two ways about it; the Fisks needed to be got gone. They had hidden for centuries, according to Gran. Countless people had been dragged from their half-slumber and planted in the garden, to be feasted upon by the Fisks' monstrous real selves that they hid in the safety of the Between. Well, no more; their stone had been upturned, but rather than scuttle away like a beetle startled by its sudden reveal, the Fisks would fight, and if they were given the chance to fight, they would win.
Molly had to take the fight to them; it was the last thing two such as the Fisks would expect, so certain and comfortable were they in the belief that they were untouchable. Gran couldn’t do much but offer advice and moral support, limited as she was to the four walls of the house, but that didn’t mean she was going to let her Granddaughter tackle the monsters alone. Molly would need help, and Gran knew just the man for the job.
Time was of the essence; the Fisks wouldn’t allow anything perceived as a threat to run free for long so Molly wanted to get right to it. Unfortunately, after her outburst in the kitchen, Mum wasn’t going to let Molly go anywhere.
‘But I just need to do something; it’ll take a minute and I’ll be right back, promise!’ pleaded Molly.
‘Not a chance, young lady, now you just get back up to your room and stay there,’ replied an unimpressed Mum, arms crossed.
Molly sat on her bed, leg jiggling in worry. She ran over to the bedroom window and peered out; but it was no good. No tree near enough to help her clamber out, no drainpipe within reach to shimmy down, and she didn’t fancy her ankles’ chances if she tried to dangle out and drop to the ground below.
So she waited.
This was a risk, she knew that. Who was to say that when her Mum went to sleep the Fisks wouldn’t be waiting for that moment when she was between awake and asleep to grab hold of her and pull her back into their world? So, after hours and hours, when her Mum finally went up to bed, Molly crept up the landing to lurk outside her bedroom door. Luckily Mum had something of a fear of the dark so always slept with the door partially open and the landing light on. Molly stood silently, watching over the shape of her Mum in bed, ready to rush in to shake her awake at the first hint of her starting to fade away to nothing.
Once Mum was properly, fully asleep, she would be safe; she would have moved past the point where she was vulnerable, and at that point, if they got to that point, Molly could slip out and go for help.
Mum tossed and turned, before finally getting up to head downstairs for a glass of water, causing Molly to scuttle quickly back into her own room. After Mum didn’t appear again for almost ten minutes, Molly shuffled out and stood on the landing, straining to hear the sound of her Mum moving around, or of the TV blaring late night programmes; but nothing. Silence.
Molly panicked, running down the stairs three steps at a time, dashing around the ground floor. Was she too late? What if her Mum had fallen asleep down here and the Fisks already had her? There was no way they’d hold onto her in the basement like last time; she’d be straight into the soil, planted in their garden as soon as they had their yellowed hands on her and it would be all Molly’s fault for taking her eyes off her.
Molly’s heart was beating as though it might burst from her chest, when a soft snuffle caught her ear from the couch, and there she was. Mum, curled up, half drunk glass of water on the floor, fast asleep.
‘Mum?’ said Molly quietly, then louder. ‘Hey, Mum.’ She didn’t even stir. The Fisks hadn’t taken her; she was past the in-between phase and in a deep sleep. She was safe, for now. Molly smiled and gently placed a kiss onto her sleeping Mum’s head, before heading for the front door, and, as quietly as she could manage, opening it, slipping outside, and closing it again behind her.
She shivered in the sudden cold of the night air, hugging herself and rubbing her sides with her hands to try and warm herself up. She was dressed only in her thin pyjamas; in her rush it hadn’t crossed her mind to put her coat on. Oh well, there was no time to lose, no going back.
To her right light filtered through thick curtains from an upstairs window at the Fisk’s house. She looked at the garden, which looked just as it always had done. Normal lawn, flowerbeds and plants, tended to with pride, but Molly knew the truth. Billy Tyler was in there, half-dead, half-alive, a grotesque parody forever lost. Had he recognised her when he reached out? Was he aware of what he was doing, what he’d been trying to say, or was it a reflex memory? Was the real him still alive in there, terrified, in pain, in horror at what had become of him? Molly shivered again, but this time it was nothing to do with the cold.
***
Mr Adams was asleep in his favourite comfy chair, the material on the arms worn and frayed from years of use. His chin was down on his chest, eyes closed, pictures from the muted television set flickering as they projected onto his skin. Books packed the shelves in an untidy fashion, as well as in piles scattered higgledy-piggledy around the room on the thick, brown carpet. Most were about the army, about adventurers, about the unknown. About great battles fought and won, or fought and lost; grand, brave men doing what they thought was right.
Over the fireplace, dominating the room, was a large framed picture of a British Army battalion, lines of stiffly stood young men with stern, proud faces; and in there, second row, fourth from the right, was a twenty two year old Mr Adams. Young, fit, with his whole life of proud adventure in front of him.
Mr Adams shifted in his chair as memories washed over him. Years of life splashing against each other, creating adventures anew for the snoozing Mr Adams, young again as he grasped a pistol and ran headlong towards the screams for help with no thought for his own safety, only of doing the right thing.
The doorbell rang.
Mr Adams heard it distantly, but now he was taking tea with Yeti and it would be rude to leave them; goodness knows what a fully grown Yeti would do to an Englishman who disrespected him!
The doorbell again, accompanied this time by a hand knocking at the window.
‘Mr Adams!’
Mr Adams opened his eyes and looked blearily around, wondering what had happened to the mountains, to the monsters, before remembering that all of that was done and gone. Long ago finished. He lived in this house now, surrounded by memories, body old and past its best. The doorbell rang again, and again.
‘Now, now, I hear you! Wait a minute, won’t you?’ said Mr Adams, mouth dry. With a groan he eased himself up out of his chair and onto his feet. He smoothed down the lines of his clothes and walked crisply towards whoever was calling at this ruddy late of an hour. He threw open the front door, ready to give whatever bounder stood behind it a damn good talking to, only to find any outburst forgotten as he saw Molly Brown stood on his doorstep, shivering and hugging herself, her eyes wide and worried. ‘Now, Molly girl, what’s all this, then? It’s late, you know, you should be tuckered out and tucked up.’
‘Mr Adams, you’re the only one that can help,’ said Molly, teeth chattering.
‘Help, is it? What d’you mean?’
‘Monsters, Mr Adams; we have monsters to fight.’
~Chapter Fifteen~
Molly sat on the plump couch, a thick, warm blanket that Mr Adams had given her wrapped around her body twice. She’d never actually been inside Mr Adams’s house before, it wasn’t as tidy as she had expected; in fact, it was a complete and total tip. Masses of books piled all around, and yellowing bundles of years-old newspapers. Plates
poked out from under furniture with bread crusts turned hard and flecked with mould. Outside of the house you’d think him the most orderly man alive, but it was clear he liked to let everything hang out behind closed doors.
‘Now then, here we go, young Molly girl, fresh cup of hot tea, that’ll do the job, warm you right through,’ said Mr Adams as he entered the front room, kicking a pile of old newspapers out of his way and placing a tray holding two large mugs of steaming tea and a packet of digestive biscuits onto the coffee table. Molly took her mug and munched on a biscuit.
‘Thanks,’ she said, spraying biscuit crumbs.
‘Please don’t mind the unruly state of my digs; a man’s home should be full and messy with life and information! Shows a busy, sharp mind, that does me girl! Also, I don’t like cleaning up. Waste of time if you ask me.’ Molly nodded. Mr Adams kicked another pile of newspapers aside and sat in his chair. ‘Well then, Molly my girl; monsters is it?’
Molly nodded and blew on the tea to cool it.
‘I see. Tricky blighters, monsters you know. And such a variety of the buggers, that’s the thing; rules for one don’t apply to the other, or vice versa. Did I ever tell you about the time I had tea with a family of Yeti?’
‘Yes,’ said Molly, chancing a mouthful of the still too hot tea.
‘Ah. Yes,’ said Mr Adams, looking momentarily crestfallen. ‘I suppose I’ve told you all my stories a hundred times now. Nothing new to add to the roll for such a long time.’
‘Until now,’ said Molly, grinning.
‘Oh yes, so you say. Monsters! Well, well. It must be very serious for you to be sneaking out of your warm home in your jim-jams at such an hour.’
‘The most serious thing ever,’ said Molly gravely.
‘I see. Best fill me in then, yes? Give me an idea of the task we’re up against.’
And so Molly told Mr Adams everything. About the Between. About the Fisks. About the people planted in their garden. About her ghost Gran. Even about the boy locked in the room, the bus, and the man without a face. Out it all blurted in one continuous stream, as Mr Adams sat nodding, taking it all in, never once interrupting.
‘And so, well, then I knocked on your door and ate your biscuits,’ said Molly, finally up to date.
‘I see,’ said Mr Adams, before slapping his knees and getting to his feet. ‘Well there’s no time to waste, is there, my girl? Let’s show these monstrous blighters what for!’
Molly blinked once or twice in silent surprise. ‘You believe me? You just believe me, no questions?’
‘Shouldn’t I?’ asked Mr Adams in surprise.
‘It’s just, well, it’s not a very believable story. It’s a really stupid sounding story, in fact. I thought I’d have trouble convincing you.’
‘You’ve never shown yourself to be anything but truthful far as I can see, Molly, why should you start lying to me now? No, believe me, I can sense when I’m being lied to; I can see it in a person’s eyes.’
‘You didn’t know the Fisks had been lying.’
‘Ah, now did I or did I not say ‘person’, hm? Monsters are not people, different set of rules altogether. Sneaky as you like, monsters; born to lie, it’s inbuilt, nothing to betray them, you’ve got to catch them in the actual act, you know.’
‘Gran said you’d believe me,’ said Molly, beaming.
‘Course she did, one of the wisest people I ever met, your Gran, she’s no fool, she knows what’s what. Fine woman. Sort of woman I would have married if I’d ever had any interest in that sort of thing.’
Molly discarded the biscuits and leapt to her feet. ‘Okay then. Let’s do it!’
Mr Adams smiled, ‘What say you and I go bag us some monsters, hey?’
~Chapter Sixteen~
Molly left Mr Adams’s house with a spring in her step. She’d found the man to help her destroy the monsters; now she needed to get back home and find her way back Between.
‘Well I never did, looks who it is, Mr Fisk.’ Molly froze, her heart fluttering. She turned to see the Fisks stood in their garden, eyeing her with oily malevolence as she shivered in the dark.
‘Stay back!’ said Molly, trying to sound firm and determined, rather than cold and scared.
‘Stay back she says, to us, her old friends and neighbours who’s been with her through thick and thin alike,’ said Mr Fisk, mockingly.
‘Was we not there with a tender word and kind eyes when your dear old Gran shuffled off her mortal coil and completely in fact died a death? Hm?’
‘Don’t you talk about my Gran. She was the first to see you for what you really are.’
‘Was she now? Well, well I never,’ said Mrs Fisk with a chuckle.
‘And what exactly might we in fact be, child?’ asked Mr Fisk.
‘Monsters. Killers. Evil.’
Mr Fisk leant back, hand to his chest in faux-surprise. ‘Cuts me to the quick does that, Molly, such vicious if not entirely untrue words dropping out from between your youngster gums.’
‘We’re going to stop you,’ said Molly with certainty.
‘We are, are we? We and Gran, is it? Or 'praps you mean silly old Mr Adams. That’s where you been, is it? Recruiting?’
‘We’re going to stop you. Stop you hurting anyone else, stop you putting people in your sick garden.’ Molly moved towards her front door, keeping her eyes fixed on the Fisks. They didn’t move, quite still, quite calm, eyes not blinking even once as they remained fixed to hers. Their mouths stayed in permanent smirks, so certain were they of their power, of their superior position.
‘So you thinks you might come back to our real home and kills us stone dead, is that it girly?’
‘Oh, that’s exactly it,’ said Molly.
‘Gots to fall asleep for that; ain’t that true and right, Mr Fisk?’
‘True and right enough, Mrs Fisk.’
‘So what’s to stop the horrible old monstrous likes of us from taking you and gobbling you up as you drift between worlds, hm?’
‘My Gran won’t let you. She’s there; she’s waiting. She’ll make sure I arrive Between safely.’
Mr and Mrs Fisk laughed, thick phlegm hacking up and down their throats.
‘Good old Gran, she always was a strong headed one, weren’t she? But don’t you be worried Molly girl, we wants you to step across all safe and sound.’
‘It’ll be more fun and games that, way. We gets to savour the chase. So few times we really gets to savour the chase.’
Molly shivered, then silently cursed herself for showing weakness. ‘It’ll be me that does the chasing,’ she said.
The Fisks laughed again, louder this time.
‘Oh goody.’
‘We’ve got a nice spot all ready Molly, haven’t we Mr Fisk?’
‘Oh yes, yes. Nice bit of fresh, nutrient-rich soil all pegged out and ready for a rare and unique flower; now what’s the technical name of that rare and soon to be ours flower, wife of mine?’
Mrs Fisk’s lips peeled back to reveal her yellow and brown stained teeth. ‘Molly, husband of mine. It’s called Molly.’
Molly threw her front door open and jumped inside, quickly shutting out the Fisks and their dusty laughter. ‘Oh no,’ said Molly, ‘not me. You won’t get me, because I’m going to get you first.’
She checked on her Mum, still curled up asleep on the couch, snoring gently. Molly made her way upstairs to Gran’s room and hopped into bed, pulling the covers tight around her. Now all she needed to do was fall asleep. Just fall asleep. Eyes shut, off to sleepy byes. Easy as that. After several futile minutes Molly sat up. Her mind was buzzing, thoughts whirling and chasing each other, heart beating like it was trying to break through her rib cage; how on Earth was she going to drift off to sleep in this state? And Mr Adams! She needed to be there to wake him otherwise he’d slip past and become fully Asleep; or worse, the Fisks might grab him.
Molly flopped back down again and kicked at the covers in frustration. What could she do? She wasn’t in
the least bit tired—
‘Close your eyes.’
Molly blinked several times in mute surprise, ‘What?’
‘Close your eyes.’
‘Gran? Gran is that you?’ Molly wasn’t hearing her Gran’s voice, not exactly; more she was sensing it, bubbling up inside her brain.
‘Close your eyes, Molly, and go to sleep.’
‘I’m trying but I’m not at all tired,’ said Molly, and she yawned. ‘Oh, well, maybe I am. A bit.’
‘Go to sleep now. I’m waiting for you.’
And Molly closed her heavy eyes and fell quickly to sleep.
~Chapter Seventeen~
Molly awoke Between. Her dead Gran was sat at the bottom of the bed waiting. ‘Hello darling.’
Molly threw herself down the bed and hugged her Gran’s grey body, ‘Gran!’
‘Careful, darling, I’m dead not indestructible!’ said Gran.
‘They know. The Fisks know and they’re going to try and kill us.’
Gran stroked Molly’s hair and smiled. ‘Yes, I thought they would. All went well with Mr Adams?’
‘He believed me straight away. I told him to wait an hour, then to go to sleep; that would give me enough time to get here and to pull him through.’
Gran released Molly from her embrace and looked her in the eyes. ‘Then go, go now, you show the Fisks what you’re made of.’
Molly stood and stepped towards the door, only to pause.
‘I might not win. I mean, the Fisks might kill me, might put me in their garden.’
Gran smiled sadly. ‘Yes. Yes they might.’
‘But I have to try, don’t I?’
‘Is that what you think?’ asked Gran.
Molly knew there was only one answer. ‘It’s what Dad would do. People are in danger. They have to be stopped and no one else is going to do it.’
A Monstrous Place (Tales From Between) Page 7
