‘Braveheart, Molly,’ said Gran, and though her mouth was smiling, her eyes were full of worry.
***
Molly opened the front door a crack to peer out. Just like last time the absence of noise was quite pronounced and startling. She pulled the door fully open and looked around for any sign of the Fisks laying in wait to attack her, but all seemed clear. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the safety of her house and into the outside world. Glancing warily around for any sign of danger, she thought she caught sight of the tall faceless man in black, but in the time it took to blink he’d gone.
Molly turned her back on the Fisks unnatural garden and ran over to the low wooden fencing that separated her own front garden from Mr Adams’s. She scrabbled over, trampling on Mr Adams’s flower bed, and rushed to his front door; it was open a crack.
‘Mr Adams?’ she called quietly. No answer. She pushed the front door open and stepped inside. It looked just as it had done in the real world, with piles of newspapers, unopened mail, and abandoned mugs each concealing half an inch of congealed black coffee.
‘Mr Adams?’ Molly called again, louder this time. She began to worry. Had the Fisks got to him first? The door had been open; perhaps they’d tempted him outside and all was already lost? Was he even now within their home, down in the flesh basement awaiting the soil? ‘Mr Adams!’
‘Who goes there? Friend or monster?’ replied Mr Adams forcefully from upstairs.
Molly’s heart skipped a beat as the relief washed over her. ‘It’s me, Mr Adams!’ she shouted.
Mr Adams stepped into view at the top of the staircase, legs planted wide and firm. He was dressed like he was ready for an expedition into strange new lands un-trod by human foot, an antique rifle in hand and pointed down towards Molly. ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth, hm? I’ve come across more than one shape-shifter in my time, oh yes. Once in, I think it was Nepal, a young lady entered our camp, only after we had the common courtesy to feed and water her she changed without a moment’s notice into some sort of toothy goblin chap. All green and scaly, teeth as sharp as razors. Very nearly bit my second in command’s left foot off. Chap was in quite a state after that fright, I can tell you.’
‘What did you do to the goblin?’
‘Hm? Oh, bashed it over the head with the pan we’d been cooking baked beans in, knocked it clean out, handed it over to the proper authorities. Now tell me, girl, are you a toothy goblin creature in disguise?’
‘No, I am not; I’m Molly, your neighbour. Now how on Earth are you already here? Someone Between has to pull you in; you don’t just appear here.’
Mr Adams lowered his gun, all thoughts of Molly possibly being a foot-biting goblin apparently having exited his train of thought. ‘Oh, I don’t need a guide anywhere, not me, not with all my accumulated years of experience, found me own way here, oh yes! Been trained by the best when it comes to trances, meditation and the art of astral projection, you know. I just put myself under and willed myself to enter what you referred to as ‘The Between’. Next thing I know, I open my eyes and here I am, done up in my finest explorer togs, clearly in my house but not my house. If that makes sense.’
Molly nodded. It did not surprise her that a marvellous man such as Mr Adams, who had seen and done so many eye-widening and thrilling things during his life, would be able to find his way to a place such as this very easily and under his own steam.
There was a sharp knock at the front door.
‘Who goes there!’ Mr Adams raised his rifle and trained it on the door, squinting down the barrel.
‘It’s them, the Fisks, it must be!’
‘Never fear, girl. Okay you out there, state your name and business or expect a sharp reply!’ said Mr Adams as he made his way swiftly down the staircase so that he was stood facing the front door, rifle steadily trained on it, Molly to his side.
A second knock.
‘Oi, he said state your name, are you deaf?’ said Molly.
‘You heard her, got no time for messing about, either state your business or clear off, you hear me?’
‘Jack,’ came a man’s voice from outside. ‘Jack, is that you in there old chap?’
Mr Adams face turned white. ‘Can’t be....’ The rifle lowered slowly until it was pointed at the floor.
‘What is it, Mr Adams?’ asked Molly. ‘Who is he?’
‘I say, Jack, it’s me, couldn’t come out here and give a chap a hand could you? I’m afraid I’ve gone and gotten myself terribly lost. Can’t for the life of me work out what’s going on.’ The voice had a superficial friendliness to it. A cheeriness, even, but Molly heard something else underneath. It was an emptiness. A thinness. It wasn’t a human voice; it was more like lots of sounds that had been mashed together to create the illusion of a human voice.
Mr Adams shook his head to bring himself out of his surprise stupor, and raised his rifle once again. ‘Some sort of trick, this. A cruel trick at that,’ said Mr Adams to Molly.
‘I say, are you going to help me out or not? Dashed rude of you to leave me stranded in silence like this old thing.’
‘Who is he?’ said Molly.
‘Cavan Scott. Least it sounds like him. Haven’t seen the man in, well, must be close to forty years. Not since that awful business in the Amazon.’
‘Jack? You still there are you?’
‘We lost him, you see. One of my best men. One of my best friends. Never did find his body. Blame myself. I was in charge. My fault.’
‘It’s them, it’s the Fisks, must be,’ said Molly. ‘We know it’s you two out there! We’re not stupid, you’re trying to tempt us outside where you can get us! Is that what you did to the others? To Neil? To Billy Tyler? To my Mum?’
Molly blinked in surprise as she realised Mr Adams had his hand on the front door handle, his rifled lowered once more.
‘Bally hell is the girl going on about, Jack?’
‘What’re you doing, Mr Adams?’ asked Molly, as Mr Adams’s face began turning red as he fought the urge to open the door and step outside.
‘I’m in an awful pickle, Jack, could really use your help.’
Mr Adams began to turn the door handle.
‘Stop! Stop it, now!’ yelled Molly.
‘Some... some sort of hypnotic suggestion, using me own memories against me....’ Sweat began to bead on his creased forehead and he trembled violently.
‘Open the door Jack, step on outside.’
‘Fight it, Mr Adams!’
Molly pulled at him, trying to loosen his grip, but he was too strong for her. He opened the door. A man was stood on the pathway. He looked to be in his thirties and was dressed smartly in full explorer gear. Straw yellow hair was scattered atop his head, and a lopsided grin furnished his face. Mr Adams panted, catching his breath.
‘At last, wondered what the hell was going on,’ said the thing claiming to be Cavan Scott.
‘I know it’s not you, Cavan; I know a trick when I see it,’ said Mr Adams, raising his rifle.
The thing placed a roll-up cigarette between his lips, struck a match against his boot and lit the end. Black smoke began to wisp around him. ‘Ah, nothing like that first lung full, hey old man? Gets your senses bubbling and snapping!’
Molly wrinkled her nose in disgust as the creature inhaled and exhaled the foul, damaging smoke.
‘Remember how you and I would stand out on cold nights and enjoy a smoke and a chat? Talking about the future.’
‘I remember.’
He dropped the cigarette and rubbed it out with the toe of his boot. ‘I don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault I died.’
‘Shut up,’ said Mr Adams, his voice a low growl.
‘You listen to him, monster! Listen to him or he’ll shoot you to bits!’ said Molly, but the thing wasn’t paying any attention to her, probably wasn’t even aware of her existence. It had but one point of focus and one goal.
‘You did everything you could have done. I mean, probably.�
� The thing shrugged. ‘I still died, didn’t I? So perhaps there was a thing or two you could have done better.’
‘How dare you look through my memories, you filthy monsters. That’s what I call unsporting behaviour. Now stand firm and prepare to die!’ Mr Adams raised the rifle and looked down the barrel. The creature didn’t appear worried, it continued to look at Mr Adams, gun raised and pointing in its direction, with the same easy, relaxed demeanour as before.
‘Enough of this nonsense. Step outside, Jack. Come on old man, let’s shake hands and forget the whole sorry affair. Share a smoke for old time’s sake. Half-forgotten times and places, hey old man?’
The gun was still raised, stiff and steady; his hands did not tremble. ‘I can feel you in my mind again, but I’m afraid I’m ready for you now. Caught me off guard the first time. Won’t be taken twice.’ Mr Adams pulled the trigger.
‘Oh.’ said Cavan Scott, a large ragged, bloodless hole now where his forehead should have been. Molly could see straight through to the house on the other side of the street. Cavan Scott raised a hand as though he was going to say something, then crumpled to the pavement like an empty bag of skin, as though his bones and other inside bits had suddenly vanished.
‘Good shot, Mr Adams!’ said Molly, hopping from foot to foot.
‘Damned rude monsters round these parts, trying to use a man’s darkest memories against him.’
Molly stepped toward the pile of skin and clothing that used to be the pretend Cavan Scott and kicked at it gingerly with the toe of her shoe.
‘Yuck,’ said Molly. ‘It’s completely empty, like it was just a skin suit.’
Mr Adams reloaded his rifle and checked his harnessed twin revolvers. ‘Some sort of puppet I’d wager, built from memories to try and tempt us outside.’
‘Hey yeah, Gran said that we were safe in our own homes here in the Between; makes sense that they’d try to get you outside so they could attack.’
‘Yep, though I get the feeling that this was merely reconnaissance.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘They were testing, softly prodding us to see what sort of stuff we’re made of. Won’t be so easy from now on, not now they have the measure of our mettle.’ Mr Adams patted Molly heartily on the shoulder. ‘But don’t you worry young ‘un, we’ll see the Fisks off alright.’
‘You know you’re going to lose, old man?’ the skin of the creature that had pretended to be Cavan Scott said, attempting to smile. ‘They’re going to tear you apart and feed you to the bugs.’
Mr Adams lifted the skin with the end of his rifle. ‘That so.’
‘Oh, sure. No doubt about it. Be seeing you.’
Mr Adams swung the rifle and tossed the skin over the fence into the next garden.
‘So,’ said Molly, ‘shall we go and say hello?’
Mr Adams smiled. ‘Yes. They’ve made the first move; what say we get off the back foot and take the fight to them?’
Molly smiled and looked to her right, past the front of her own house and into the gloom-shrouded Fisks property. ‘Time to enter the garden.’
~Chapter Eighteen~
Molly glanced up at the Boy’s window, but it was empty. For a moment she wondered if someone had let him out, and if so were there now fresh red handprints decorating the walls of the corridor?
‘Well, well, that’s something.’ Mr Adams was stood before the gate to the Fisks garden; as before, it had increased in size to loom over them.
‘It’s some sort of optical trick; it’s not really that size,’ said Molly.
‘Tricky buggers, aren’t they? If you’ll pardon me French.’ Mr Adams looked up at the sky. ‘Seems somewhat darker on their patch too, hm?’
Molly nodded. ‘Come on.’ She led the way, shoving the giant garden gate open and stepping boldly over the threshold. Mr Adams smiled and strode after.
‘Molly girl?’ called Mr Adams, eyes blinking as he tried to get used to the sudden gloom, like someone had just turned the lights off.
‘I’m here.’ Molly touched his arm. Within a few seconds they had both adjusted to the darkness and could get their bearings.
‘Like a jungle in here,’ said Mr Adams, peering around at the giant, strange trees and the closely set greenery.
‘Yes, only those little tree plant thingies over there? They aren’t tree plant thingies, those are people.’
Partially covered by leaves and what might be a type of bark, eyes were visible. A nose. A mouth. ‘It’s macabre is what it is. Pure and simple. Whatever happens, we’re putting these poor blighters out of their misery.’
Molly instinctively went to protest, but the words never came; she knew he was right. It was like her Gran had said, there was no saving these people now. Not now they were in the soil. They were sort of alive, but that’s as alive as they ever would be; to try and reverse what had happened to them was impossible. There was only this or death, and Molly knew there wasn’t really two options at all, as leaving them in this state was disgusting. She and Mr Adams would have to put them out of their misery, just as he said.
‘Right,’ said Mr Adams, done with examining the vegetation. ‘Best foot forward; let’s get to the house and find these monsters.’
Mr Adams strode forward with purpose, Molly looking at the nearest tree person face again before setting off after him.
They walked. The garden was different this time. Darker. Larger. More densely packed with people it seemed. Molly thought it must be the Fisks. Before, they had no idea she was coming; this time, they were fully aware and they weren’t going to make it easy. They must be able to influence the garden in some way. Make it bristle at their intrusion.
They’d been walking steadfastly forward for almost half an hour now with no sign of the house bursting from the vegetation. Mr Adams hadn’t paused, hadn’t wavered; he’d marched at a steady determined pace directly forward, showing no sign of weariness in spite of his age. At times he even whistled, as though he was enjoying himself.
‘Molly.’
The voice was a dry-throated whisper emerging from the gloom to Molly’s right. She stopped and turned despite her better instincts. Silence. Molly turned back quickly to Mr Adams to follow on—only Mr Adams was nowhere to be seen.
‘Mr Adams? Hey, where’d you go?’ Molly half-ran, half-walked forwards, expecting to catch up with him at any moment. She’d only stopped for a second; he couldn’t have gone that far ahead. ‘Mr Adams!’ She tried not to panic as she ran straight ahead, brushing aside leaves and branches that blocked her passage and whipped at her. ‘Mr Adams! Where are you?!’
‘Molly.’
‘Molly.’
‘Molly.’
‘We see you.’
‘We feel you.’
‘Come be one with the soil.’
‘Shut up!’ Molly held her hands over her ears and tried to block out the swirl of voices that attempted to grab and smother her from all directions. Her heart jumped as she suddenly realised that each planted person she passed now had their eyes trained upon her, following her, imploring her to approach.
The Fisks had tricked her, made her take her focus away from Mr Adams long enough for the garden to swallow him up and take him away from her, and now here she was alone, the garden wanting her. Needing her.
That was when the trees began to scream.
All around her, the whole garden of tree people, their eyes and mouths wide, such piercing and unnatural screams that seemed to strike at her body, wearing her down, pulling at her so that it was like she was attempting to run through a swimming pool. Finally the garden had its way and exhaustion caused her to stumble slightly, to miss a step, and that was all it needed to bring her to the ground. Molly landed face first in the dirt, the impact winding her. As she fought to catch her breath she placed her hands onto the soil to push herself upright, but the ground in front of her was no longer solid and her hands sank almost up to her wrists.
Molly forced her body backwards, yankin
g her hands from the hungry soil and landing on her bum with her back against one of the screaming trees. She immediately knew that this was a mistake, but before she could throw herself to the side the branch arms cracked and grasped her, pulling her roughly to her feet so that her face was beside the tree’s own face, eyes looking blankly at her, mouth screaming.
Molly kicked and tore at the plant but it felt nothing and cared nothing and did not give an inch, instead tightening its grip on her, hugging her closely, the rough bark digging into her skin through her clothing.
‘Mr Adams! Help me! Help me!’ she screamed, as weeds at the foot of the person began to snake upwards and wind around her ankles and calves. She could feel them begin to pull her downwards; they were trying to make her a part of the garden, make her like the other trees. ‘No! Mr Adams, please!’ Molly wriggled and fought but there was nothing she could do; the tree held her secure and the weeds had already pulled her feet down far enough that the soles of her trainers were now under the soil. Molly closed her eyes and thought of her Mum, of her waking and not being able to find her. Never being able to find her. Never knowing what had happened to her daughter.
A sound like a whip crack snapped out, and the branches holding her fell aside, causing Molly to topple backwards to the ground. Gasping, she kicked her legs, and the now lifeless weeds that had pulled at her broke with ease.
‘You alright there, me girl?’ Mr Adams stood over her, rifle in hand.
‘I lost you,’ was all that Molly could manage. She looked up at the tree that had almost killed her; where its head had been now resembled an exploded cauliflower. Mr Adams pushed it with the sole of one boot and it collapsed back onto the dirt, turning grey before crumbling like flaky pastry and blowing away on the breeze.
~Chapter Nineteen~
Molly regained her composure quickly. For the rest of the journey through the garden she walked with her hand gripping the hem of Mr Adams jacket. If they remained physically in contact then the Fisks wouldn’t be able to play the same trick again. She hoped.
A Monstrous Place (Tales From Between) Page 8
