Mr Mumbles

by Barry Hutchison

  ‘Hey, baldy!’ I shouted, as loudly as I could manage. ‘How’s that broken nose doing?’

  He craned his neck and glared up at me. Even from this distance I could see the hatred burning in those dead eyes. ‘You want me?’ I yelled. ‘Then come and get me!’

  Ameena now forgotten, Mr Mumbles turned back to the pool building. A rusted drainpipe ran all the way up to the roof. He took hold of it with both hands, his eyes still fixed on mine. Without a sound, he kicked his feet against the wall and began to climb.

  He was fast for his size. Too fast. I had to move or he’d be on me before I was ready!

  I hurried over to the bag, ripped it open, and thrust my hand inside. When I pulled it back out, I was clutching a handful of the plastic arrows. There were five of them in total. I hoped it would be enough.

  No. I had to know they would be enough. I couldn’t let doubt creep in. I had to believe the arrows would stop him, otherwise they – and I – didn’t stand a chance.

  My fingers shook as I pocketed four of the arrows and slid the notch of the fifth on to the bright yellow string of the toy bow. The whole thing felt frail and fragile between my fingers, like it would snap with the first pull. I prayed that it didn’t as I took up my position at the very edge of the roof.

  The wind buffeted me from side to side, but I stood my ground. I was sick of running, sick of hiding, sick of being afraid. This was the last stand, and if I was going to go out, I’d go out fighting.

  Mr Mumbles was halfway up the side of the building now. He’d reach the roof in no time.

  Unless I stopped him.

  I gritted my teeth, pulled back on the bow, and fired.

  TWANG! The arrow slipped from the string and was instantly carried off by the wind. Cursing myself I reached into my pocket and pulled out the remaining four. Clutching three of them between my teeth, I notched another and took aim.

  TWANG! The arrow shot from the bow and curved off at almost ninety degrees, missing its target by several metres. I heard Mr Mumbles laugh as he pulled himself upwards.

  TWANG! Another arrow whizzed away – closer this time, but still not close enough. I wasn’t compensating properly for the wind. I slipped another notch against the string and aimed far off to the right of my target. I concentrated. There was only one arrow left after this. I had to make them count.

  TWANG! A direct hit! The rubber suction cup bounced harmlessly off Mr Mumbles’ head, then floated off into the night. I lowered the bow. Why wasn’t it working? I was using the arrows just like I had in the drawing, so why weren’t they hurting him? What was different?

  I took the last arrow in my hand and placed it in position. Mr Mumbles was almost on me now. One short burst of speed and he’d be here.

  My mind raced back to that drawing. I closed my eyes and saw it clearly: every crayon mark, every detail. I could see the arrow embedded into Mr Mumbles’ flesh. I could see the spray of crimson from his chest.

  ‘Sorry, old friend,’ I whispered. ‘But this is really going to hurt.’

  A familiar tingle crawled across my head and through my brain. I pulled back the string, opened my eyes, and let fly.

  THWIP! The arrow cut through the air in the blink of an eye. For a fraction of a second I thought I saw metal glinting at the far end, before it disappeared deep into Mr Mumbles’ shoulder.

  His wail of agony split the night. The wounded arm lost its grip on the drainpipe and he swung out from the wall. For a moment I was sure he was going to fall off, but no such luck. He wasn’t finished yet.

  Using just his feet and one hand, and with his face twisting in agony, Mr Mumbles continued his climb up to the roof. And I was all out of arrows.

  My hand went into the bag again and brought out the toy sword. It was light and flimsy, but then so had the arrows been – to begin with, at least.

  Giving the sword a couple of experimental swishes, I stepped back from the roof. Yet again, the storm battered me, as if the weather itself was my enemy. If only the wind would drop, even for just a minute or so.

  Just a few seconds later, the wind did exactly that. Lucky. Lucky timing. Aside from the rattling of rain, the world was suddenly all but silent. It would make things easier. Not easy, but easier.

  With a final growl, Mr Mumbles dragged himself up on to the roof and faced me. The arrow was still stuck in his shoulder, and as he got up I could see the rubber suction cup had somehow passed right through. It jutted out on the other side, thick with his oily blood.

  We stood there watching each other for what felt like forever, neither one in a hurry to make the first move. My fingers gripped the sword handle tightly. The plastic buckled in my hand and I felt all confidence drain away. I was facing a monster, and I was armed with a child’s toy. I had just begun to wonder what it would be like to die, when Mr Mumbles did something unexpected.

  He spoke.

  ‘Conngraaatulaaaationnnsss,’ he said. His voice was a low hiss – unsteady, like he was testing it out for the first time. ‘No one belieeeved you’d lassst thisss long. You’ve ssssurprised usss all.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked, more than happy to stall for time at this point. ‘Who have I surprised?’

  A low, sickening cackle escaped his blood-crusted lips. ‘You didn’t think I wasss the only one, did you? I am just the firssst,’ he sneered. ‘There are thousandsss of us, hidden down there in the Darkesssst Corners. Millions. And we’re coming back.’ His eyes lit up with crazed delight. ‘You thought you could jusssst forget about me. But I’m coming back! We’re all coming back!’ He gestured around with his good arm, not once shifting his gaze from me. ‘And then all this – this entire worthlessss world – will burn. We’ll destroy it all!’

  The Darkest Corners. Those three words almost sent me staggering backwards off the roof. But that had all been a dream, hadn’t it?

  It didn’t matter now. If I lived through this, then I could worry about the Darkest Corners. Right now, nothing mattered but stopping the monstrosity standing before me.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ I said. My voice was calm and steady – the exact opposite of how I felt inside. I couldn’t let him see my fear. I had to keep bluffing. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Oh, reeeally? And who’s going to ssstop us?’ That cackle again, like a hyena’s death rattle.

  With a flick of my wrist I held the sword out. The blunted point aimed right between his dead man’s eyes. ‘Me,’ I declared. ‘Just me.’

  And with that, I lunged.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A FIGHT TO THE DEATH

  I’d never fenced before, so there was no skill in any of my movements. Even if the blade had been razor-sharp metal, Mr Mumbles would still have managed to deflect it away just as easily as he did.

  On my second or third swing with the sword, he dodged to the side, sending me off balance. I stumbled and almost slipped on the sodden grey slate of the roof. It took just a moment for me to find my centre of gravity again, but he was behind me now, laughing. Always laughing.

  I swung the sword round in a sweeping arc and spun on my heels. Mr Mumbles leaned backwards and easily avoided the blow. Once again I overstretched and teetered forwards, my balance lost. My hand steadied me against the slates, and I was up again.

  Every move I made he was ready for. He dodged and weaved, effortlessly avoiding my every blow. The wind was beginning to pick up again, and even though the sword weighed next to nothing, I could feel my arm growing heavy.

  ‘You will never beat meee,’ he sneered, ducking to avoid another flailing swing. ‘You think you can huuurt me, but really you have no idea.’

  ‘That arrow seemed to do the trick,’ I reminded him. To hammer the point home I leapt forward and managed to whack the exposed end of the arrow with the tip of the sword. He roared in pain and retreated back two or three paces.

  ‘A lucky ssshot,’ he growled.

  We began circling each other, only the flimsy plastic blade of my weapon between us.r />
  ‘I beat you once before.’

  ‘And yet heeere I am.’

  ‘Not for long!’ I cried. With a roar I leapt at him, sword raised above my head. It whistled through the air as I swung it down at him. A second before it connected, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

  ‘You don’t get it, dooo yooou?’ he cackled. A blurred shape hit me in the face like a freight train and the world turned shades of grey. The fist came up again. I didn’t see it move; didn’t feel the sword slip from my fingers; didn’t notice the blood on my chin.

  Mr Mumbles’ bloated lips were moving, but I could hear nothing over the sound of crashing water. It filled my head and the world around me, drowning out all other noise. Except that laugh. Throughout it all I could still hear that laugh.

  The third punch caught me on the side of the head. I was flat on the roof before I felt it. The world flickered, then the pain in my jaw dragged me back from the brink of unconsciousness.

  ‘How do you think I came to exist in the firssst place?’ Mr Mumbles demanded. He was bending down, his face close to mine. Despite the torrent in my ears, it was impossible not to hear him from such a short distance. ‘You brought me into the world. You and your slurred sssspeech and your crying and your need for a friend, any friend – you made meee.’

  My chin touched against my chest as he hauled my head up. Crack! He slammed it back down on to the slate, and I felt my whole skull vibrate.

  ‘You maaade me and then, when you didn’t need me, you cast me out. You sent meee away and then you forgot me! Did you reeeally think I was going to let you dooo that?’

  My lips moved of their own accord, but no sound emerged.

  ‘We were supposed to be friendsss,’ he shrieked. ‘And you sssend me away? You sssend me to that place? Have you any idea what I’ve been through? The thingsss they did to me? Look at me! Look what they did!’

  I didn’t respond. Nothing I could say could stop him doing whatever he was about to do. He was a madman, beyond reason. I felt a sudden weight on my chest as he pressed a knee against it.

  ‘Beg meee,’ he snarled. ‘Beg me for your life and I might keep you alive as my sssslave.’ His grotesque mouth stretched into an unpleasant grin. ‘For old times’ sssake.’

  ‘P-please,’ I managed. The movement made something in my jaw grind painfully together. ‘Have a breath mint.’

  His face fell before I’d even finished the sentence. Shrieking like a demon he hit me again. Bang! An ear exploded in pain. I stretched my arms out and flailed them around me, searching for the sword. Nowhere to be found. Bang! Another blow, across my cheek this time.

  Nan’s words suddenly swam before my eyes. They burned, bold and bright, lighting up the night. My imagination was strong enough to create Mr Mumbles, so my imagination was strong enough to send him away. The arrow had worked because I’d believed it would work. No, not believed – because I had known without even the faintest shadow of doubt that it would work.

  The light bulb. The axe. The shield. Even the exploding donkey. It really was me. All of it. It had all happened because I’d wanted it enough. No, not wanted it, because I’d imagined it.

  Mr Mumbles was on me now, the weight of his body pinning me down. His fingers crawled through my hair and I yelped as he took hold. Grinning in triumph, he lifted my head and slammed it hard against the slates once again. Something at the base of my skull felt as if it were about to shatter. If only I could reach the sword. If only I could find a weapon.

  Suddenly I remembered something I’d slipped into my pocket at the police station. I wrenched my wrist around and fumbled for it, struggling against the weight of my imagined attacker.

  As he hit me again I found what I was looking for and yanked it from my pocket, already feeling the electrical tingle across my scalp.

  This had to work. It was going to work. I knew it. I knew it without the faintest shadow of a doubt.

  I pressed the water pistol against Mr Mumbles’ stomach. He looked down at it, then back up at me. His laughter rang even louder in my ears. He was speaking to me, shouting something. I couldn’t hear him. I didn’t care.

  My finger squeezed on the trigger. With a deafening roar the water pistol spat flaming hot lead into Mr Mumbles’ belly.

  The impact of the bullet lifted him off me. He flailed backwards, then hit the slates with a wet thud. Traces of smoke curled up from the water pistol as I watched him convulsing, his hands clutching at the wound in his gut. One thing was for sure: he wasn’t laughing any more.

  Despite the hole in his stomach, it didn’t take him long to recover. He was back on his feet before I reached mine, but he was more cautious this time, and didn’t dive straight for me.

  The water pistol was useless now. It was tiny, and even my imagination couldn’t picture it holding any more than one bullet. It dropped at my feet with a metallic clatter.

  ‘Impressssive,’ Mr Mumbles conceded. He threw out his arms and hurled himself at me. ‘But not impressssive enough!’

  I rolled across the roof and caught the blade of the toy sword between two fingers. Still plastic. Good, I needed it light.

  With a final effort I turned and hurled the sword. The effort sent me tumbling backwards to the tiles, but my aim was good. End over end the sword went, and as it spun it began to change. The dull grey plastic took on the shiny sheen of steel. The safe, rounded point became sharp and deadly. In less than two seconds it had changed from a play thing to a lethal weapon, hurtling directly towards Mr Mumbles’ head.

  He easily snatched the sword from the sky, somehow managing to catch it by the handle before the final spin could cut his head in half.

  ‘Stupid boy,’ he growled. He took a step towards me and raised the blade above his head. ‘You missssed me.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I shrugged. I felt an electric tingle creep across my entire body this time. The hairs on my arms stood up straight, as I imagined the most destructive weapon I possibly could. ‘But maybe not.’

  I looked up – the storm was moving away from the village now, but I could see lightning sparking from the clouds on the horizon. Could I do it? Was it even possible?

  That doubt again. I pushed it away.

  I would make it possible.

  With a fluorescent crack, a bolt of lightning stabbed down from the sky. The jagged streak of blue struck the tip of the sword, and for a moment the world went a blinding white. I threw up my arms, shielding my eyes from the brilliant explosion of light.

  When the flash had faded, I looked across to where Mr Mumbles had been. Now there was nothing, save for a small pile of ash and a plastic sword, warped and melted and black. As I watched, the wind swept up the dust, and carried it off to be swallowed by the swirling night.

  He was gone. I’d done it. The nightmare was over.

  I couldn’t get his words out of my head, though. He said there’d be more of them. Thousands of them. Maybe millions.

  I shuddered at the thought. If the Darkest Corners was real, then those things I’d seen in it had to be real, too, and if they somehow made it through…

  But no. The Darkest Corners had been a dream. The most vivid, detailed dream I’d ever had, yes, but a dream all the same. It was done. Finished. Mr Mumbles was gone.

  Finally!

  ‘Did I miss the excitement?’

  I turned in time to see Ameena pulling herself up on to the roof. It was a struggle for her, but she made it.

  ‘Yeah,’ I winced. Pain pulsed through my head, down my spine, and on to any other part of my body it could find. ‘Some sidekick you turned out to be.’

  Her face went pale as she saw the blood and bruising on mine. ‘Good grief,’ she gasped, ‘what did he do to you?’

  ‘It looks worse than it feels,’ I said. ‘No, wait, I got that the wrong way round.’

  She gave me that Cheshire Cat grin and half guided, half dragged me back into a standing position.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked.

  ‘I
’ll live,’ she replied. ‘It only hurts when I’m conscious.’

  I decided there and then that it was time for the truth. We’d been through too much tonight to play games any longer.

  ‘Your family didn’t really buy the Keller House, did they?’ I asked. She opened her mouth to argue, then decided against it.

  ‘Don’t have much in the way of a family,’ she told me with a shrug. ‘Just me. Still thought I might crash here, though. For a little while, at least.’

  I nodded, unsure what I should say. In the end I decided on: ‘The pool could do with a clean.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. Now come on. Let’s get you down.’

  Chapter Twenty

  NOT THE END

  Mum was awake and lying on the couch when Ameena and I stumbled into the living room, each holding the other up. The side of Mum’s face was a dark purple. It bulged weirdly in places it shouldn’t be bulging at all, but she was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  ‘Kyle!’ Nan yelped, her frail hands flying to her mouth at the very sight of me.

  ‘It’s OK, Nan, I’m OK,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘Did you…is he gone?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ I nodded. ‘He’s gone.’

  Mum tried to sit up, but the movement must’ve hurt and she slipped back down again almost at once.

  ‘Mum,’ I said, the relief obvious in my voice. ‘You’re OK!’

  ‘Fine,’ she nodded, attempting a smile. ‘But you – look at you. Was he, I mean, did he…?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I assured her. ‘A new head might be nice, but other than that I’m perfect.’

  She smiled again – for real this time – then closed her eyes.

  ‘How is she?’ I whispered, turning to Nan. ‘Really?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ promised Nan, who was holding up surprisingly well, all things considered. ‘She just needs some rest, is all.’