Candy Canes and Buckets of Blood

by Heide Goody

  The elves, sniggering and whispering, clustered around the table.

  “Please, take a seat,” said Duncan. “We can discuss this like civilised human be— Like grown-ups, I’m sure.” He gestured to the chairs. The bearded Bacraut leapt onto the end of the table and sat cross-legged.

  Duncan steepled his hands in front of him and smiled around at the whole room. Dave imagined he practised the gesture in front of the mirror. “I received your letter,” he said, placing the papers flat on the table. “And I had no idea the civic leaders of this town were such distinguished – gentlemen – as yourselves.”

  An elf pulled the letter closer to look at the writing on it. Hand to hand it made its way round the table.

  “Shall we begin by all stating what we’d like to get out of this meeting?” asked Duncan. “As you know, I wrote to the local business forum with suggestions for a mixed usage building project.” He unfolded the plans he’d brought with him and laid them flat on the table. “A project that utilises some underdeveloped brownfield sites within the town proper, extends through the churchyard and into the woodlands behind.”

  Bacraut and several of the other elves hissed.

  “Do not worry yourselves unduly, good sirs,” said Duncan. “I have initiated projects like this before. I’m a dab hand with building on consecrated ground. We’ll soon have those stiffs swiftly – but sensitively – relocated. We can even make a decorative feature using the headstones. And, hey—!” he spread his arms warmly “—what’s better for Alvestowe, eh? A graveyard for sixty, seventy unproductive corpses, or an estate of affordable starter homes and mover-onners for two hundred locals? And with that avenue created we can spread into that under-utilised wood.”

  The elves hissed again.

  “It’s just trees, my friends,” said Duncan. “We’re not talking about the Amazon rainforest here.”

  At the back of the room, near the door, Dave leaned in to whisper to Newton. “I don’t think they want him to cut down the trees, do you?”

  “Eco-terrorist elves?” murmured Newton.

  ***

  39

  “I’d just like to know what they want?” said Esther, as she stuffed a rag into the top of a bottle.

  They had scoured the kitchen for flammable materials and Esther spent too long dithering which alcoholic spirits burned and which did not. She suspected some of their Molotov cocktails were more likely to make things smell like a New Year’s party than set fire to them.

  “I think they want to kill us,” said Guin.

  “Yes, but perhaps we’ve got it all wrong,” said Esther. “Maybe elves are an endangered species.”

  “Like orangutans?” said Guin.

  “Exactly. And this is the last little enclave of them. No wonder they’re desperate, they’re fighting for the survival of their entire species. Imagine if the orangutans of Borneo had the means to fight back against the humans who are taking their habitat? I bet they’d behave in just the same way.”

  Guin opened her book on the counter next to them. “No. I think they just like killing.”

  “What? That’s a terrible thing to say, Guin. Sometimes we need to put ourselves in someone else’s situation. If we can truly understand and empathise with them, maybe we can find a way through this. Violence can’t be the only way.”

  Guin flicked through the book purposefully, watched by the creature in the orange juicer. “I think I need to show you some of the pictures in this book,” she said, holding up Little Folk in European Folklore. “This is what elves do to people they catch.”

  Esther looked at the image. It involved a bent willow tree, lots of rope and some improbably positioned spikes. She swallowed hard and stared at the elf that was trapped in the juicer reservoir, glaring out at them.

  “Point taken,” she said.

  ***

  40

  “So—” said Duncan, after his initial offer had met zero response from the elves, apart from some unhappy hissing, “—perhaps you can tell me what you’re after, Mr Bacraut?”

  The elf stared at him, unblinking. The light in the room was bright, but still the elf’s eyes were dark and malevolent. Dave tried to look at the elf with a detached and professional eye. Did it have a similar physiology to a human? What did elves eat? How did they reproduce? How easy was it to make one bleed?

  Duncan’s smile faltered slightly, but he pressed on. “I feel that your outward hostility is a sign of frustration. Has it been difficult for you, negotiating with humans? I want you to know that I’m the man who can make things happen for you. Do you understand?”

  The elf inclined its head by a fraction. It was a tiny gesture, but managed to be both supercilious and dismissive at the same time.

  “Oh, you don’t think that’s true?” said Duncan. “Well, why would you? I haven’t proven myself to you yet. Let’s try something. Is it money you want? I can get you a great deal of money if that’s what you need.”

  The elf stared back, unimpressed.

  “No,” said Duncan, with a small nod of understanding. “I can see that you’re not motivated by money. Let’s think harder. I gathered by the tone of the gentlemen over there that there’s been some level of violence this evening?”

  Elf eyes flicked to Newton and Dave for an instant. The beardy Bacraut was smirking.

  “Yes!” said Duncan. “I see I have struck a chord. Interesting. I’m working hard here, trying to put myself in your shoes. I hope you appreciate the effort I’m putting in.”

  “Psst,” said Dave.

  “What?” said Newton, who was trying to keep one ear on the meeting, keep one eye on his own personal safety and keep his brain from squirming out of his ears in anxiety over where his mum was right now.

  Dave nodded at the table. The letter had worked its way from the table, from one uncaring elf hand to the next. It was now just in front of them, scuffed and torn around the edge.

  It was hand-written, which was a rarity these days. Only grandmas sending birthday money wrote letters anymore. Furthermore, it looked like it had been written by a grandma who’d learned to write from medieval monks. The lettering was all long and scratchy and surprisingly familiar. Yes: caught in a fold was one of the Christmas cracker jokes, written in the same hand.

  Duncan had seen the joke and at some point realised that it was the same writing. What had that meant to him? Did he know about the elves?

  “Why did they invite him here?” Newton whispered.

  “What would you do if an aggressive property developer wants to turn part of your elfy town into a housing estate? What if he’s never going to take no for an answer?”

  Newton thought about it. He knew what he would do (probably a strongly worded yet polite e-mail). But elves? “They just wanted to get him here,” he said.

  “Mmmm,” nodded Dave. “Up close.”

  “So,” said Duncan to his audience, “it’s the violence that excites, is it?”

  Elves grinned.

  “I totally understand. Rode with the Goathland hunt a couple of times myself. Fine tradition. Nothing like tearing across the countryside in pursuit of quarry, man and beast.”

  Bacraut jiggled up and down, whether in excitement or a mime of horse-riding, Newton couldn’t tell. He suddenly thought of the stables back at the farm, of Lily and, yes, Yolanda too and realised there was a strong possibility he would never see them again.

  He tapped Dave with his hand. “We need to escape.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” agreed Dave but seemed to have no idea how they were going to do it.

  “So, a spot of hunting is the order of the day,” said Duncan. “You are talking to the right chap! I know all the local hunts. Do business with most of the huntmasters. Stirling fellows. Real animal lovers. I can set you up, I promise, and Duncan Catheter’s word is his bond. Now, what do you fancy, eh? Fox, is it?”

  Bacraut shook his head slowly.

  “Partridge? Grouse? A bit of old bang-bang on the Glorious Twelfth?”r />
  Bacraut raised his knife. A couple of elves giggled. Duncan was undeterred.

  “I can – on the hush hush – get in touch with some fellows who do a spot of hare coursing. No, I know what you’re thinking, but the hare enjoys it! Really does! No? Then badger baiting? I think I know a man in Pickering who knows a man who knows a man.”

  Bacraut was on his feet now, standing at the centre of the table, blade held tightly.

  Duncan’s face twitched in a confused nervousness. “Unless, of course,” he said hoarsely, “it’s … people you like to hunt?”

  Bacraut nodded.

  “Penny drops,” muttered Dave.

  Duncan licked his lips. His eyes darted to and fro. Newton could almost see the cogs whirring in his brain.

  “Humans. Humans,” Duncan muttered. He cleared his throat. “And what would you do with those humans when you have them?”

  Bacraut performed a rapid and very expressive mime in which he pretended to slit open his belly and poured out handful after handful of guts. This delighted his companions. More than one reached over to grab the imaginary innards and shove them into their mouths.

  “My word, yes,” said Duncan. “And how many humans would you like?”

  Bacraut raised his arms up and round, a rainbow to encompass the whole world.

  “All of them?”

  Bacraut shrugged.

  “Well, it’s nice to have a goal,” said Duncan. “Now, this is where the art of negotiation and compromise comes in. You want people. I want houses. You can’t have all the people. No, I’m sorry, you can’t. And, similarly, I can’t build all the houses I want. It’s just the way of the world. So, I say to you, yes, I can probably get a number of people for you – er, ten? – and you say, ‘Thank you, Mr Catheter, that’s lovely. We’ll sign over our land to you now.’”

  “Ten?” growled Bacraut.

  “Yes. Er.” Duncan struggled to focus on his own hands and held up ten fingers. “Ten. I know where the rough sleepers can be found in Scarborough and York.”

  “Vilgé ten-ty,” said Bacraut and every elf at the table held up a hand with tiny wiggling fingers.

  “Tenty?” Duncan blew out hard. “That’s a tall order. Although I do know a care home or two with a few residents who are just not value for money. You okay with, um, older specimens?”

  The elves looked at him blankly.

  “Very good then,” said the businessman. “Tenty it is. Now, I will go and make the arrangements and we’ll draw up plans of which portions of Alvestowe I can—” As he stood to leave, the elves pressed in closer, weapons raised.

  Duncan held out his hands. “I do need to leave. I can’t just magic them here.”

  “Ten-ty,” snarled Bacraut.

  “Yes! Yes. Tenty it is, but I don’t have them on me.”

  “Ten-ty!”

  Duncan huffed, irritated. “Do I have them in my pocket, eh?”

  The elves actually leaned forward to see if he did have tenty hidden people in his pocket. Dave tapped Newton and flicked his hand surreptitiously towards the door. All the elves were close to Duncan now, none looking back. Newton shuffled quietly towards the exit and Dave followed.

  “I haven’t got them on me,” protested Duncan. “You’d be fools to think I did.”

  Elves hissed angrily.

  “If we’re taking about humans I have on me then it’s a different ball game, my friends. You’re talking about much smaller numbers and a much higher price per unit. Now, if I were you, and the sight of human blood excited me, I think I would value the slaughter of children above adults. For example, we have fine a specimen over there.” He pointed at Newton, who was within a foot of the door. Newton froze.

  “There are two plump young individuals in this very building.”

  “What the hell—?” hissed Dave.

  Bacraut grinned gleefully.

  “I’d say I’ve hit upon a real point of interest there,” said Duncan. “Now my colleagues are likely to have some issues that we need to work through, but I think I can safely say that we can deal with those. The offer that I’m going to put on the table is that we give you the two children in return for the safe passage of the adults. How does that sound?”

  The elf continued to smile, but blew a small raspberry and then laughed.

  “Not enough?” Duncan asked. “Well, that is easily remedied. Two children, one adult. The mother or the father. Your choice which.”

  The elf hooted with laughter, rubbing its belly with mirth.

  “You rat,” spat Dave.

  “I’d go for the father trying to sneak out right now,” said Duncan, his expression cold and desperate.

  “Ten-ty,” insisted Bacraut.

  “Oh, they’re just a down payment. What do you say, squire?”

  Bacraut advanced on Duncan, a knife in each hand and its face now a solid mask of murderous intent.

  “No? Then how about two children and all of the other adults in the house? If you just let me go safely out then you take the rest. How does that sound?”

  The offer clearly didn’t appeal to Bacraut. He twirled his blades, forcing Duncan back.

  “Wait! Let’s not be hasty, I can’t help thinking that there’s an aspect we haven’t explored. Shall we sit back down and try to find some common ground?” He backed against the window as the elf moved forward.

  “Can’t we help him?” whispered Newton.

  “You want to help him?” Dave whispered back.

  Duncan grabbed a chair and whirled around, smashing it into the wide window. As soon as the glass shattered, he climbed onto the windowsill with a loud grunt of effort.

  “Honestly,” he said indignantly. “Do you have no idea how business meetings are conducted? I’m hoping we might work a little harder at our communication skills, but I’m going to climb down the fire escape to the ground for the moment so that we can all cool off!” He turned round. “Oh. Is the fire escape on the other side?”

  The elf lunged at him and Duncan toppled out of the window with a prolonged scream. There was an extravagant smashing sound accompanied by more screaming. Elves poured out of the window after him.

  ***

  41

  Guin had once broken a vase at home, and was surprised by the amount of broken glass that resulted, and how far it travelled. It seemed as though they were finding pieces for months afterwards, even though she and her father had carefully cleaned it all up. She now knew that a glass roof made a much, much bigger mess when a human body fell through. It bounced off a counter in a shower of glass and snow and sprawled onto the floor.

  She recognised the odious businessman who had alternately ignored and insulted her at dinner, although he wasn’t quite the same cocky, strutting businessman after he’d come through the roof.

  “Is he dead?” she said.

  Esther stared wordlessly, then looked up at the shattered skylights. Guin wished her dad was here, at least he would have known.

  The question was answered when Duncan lurched to his feet with an incoherent grunt. His face was fifty-fifty glass and blood. He seemed to have left some of it behind in a pile of gore on the floor. She would remember that phrase for Newton. Gore on the Floor. She recognised panic bubbling up in her mind and reached for Wiry Harrison.

  “Oh, no.” Esther was looking up. In the darkness above, beyond the smashed skylight, elves were climbing rapidly down the exterior of the hotel.

  Duncan Catheter staggered forward. He seemed incapable of walking, or seeing where he was going as his face was a pulped mess. Guin wondered if she should help him. She hadn’t read anything in Little Folk in European Folklore about elf-related injuries being catching, like zombies or vampires, but it might be wise to take care.

  Duncan lurched forwards, his arms banging into things, and the bloodied mess of his hands flapping uselessly. He howled with something like pain and fear and anger all jumbled up. He fell against the juicer with the elf inside and pressed what must have been his on
e good eye to the glass.

  He whirled – blood sprayed out in an arc across the counter and Guin would have vomited if Wiry Harrison hadn’t been there to comfort her.

  “You!” he bellowed, spraying spittle, blood and little fragments of things that might have been glass or teeth. He was addressing the elves who had dropped like mini-SAS soldiers onto the kitchen table. “Another – ssfffp!—” He spat out a gobbet of loose flesh from his mouth – “—Another step and your friend is gonna be a smoothie.”

  The elves peered round to look at their trapped companion in the orange juicer. The trapped elf made worried noises and pleading eyes.

  “Smoothie,” said the lead elf, coming at Duncan.

  The injured man thumped the switch on the machine.

  A high-pitched motor started up, stuttered, whirred again. The lights flickered in the kitchen, strobing across the room and highlighting the colour change in the transparent hopper. The contents had gone entirely red, but significant chunks of white bone hopped within the soupy mess, making the machine judder violently. Each time the motor paused, the lights flickered again.

  “Don’t look!” called Esther. Guin thought it was perhaps a little late for that.

  ***

  42

  Several elves ran to the door, ignoring Dave and Newton in their urgency to get to wherever Duncan had fallen. Suddenly the room was empty but for the two stunned humans.

  Dave turned to Newton. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Ya reckon?”

  The lights flickered both in the room and on the landing outside. As Newton looked up, Dave realised he had been wrong. They weren’t alone in the room.

  The white-bearded Bacraut leapt up from his position under the table and latched onto Newton’s leg. Newton swung round, yelling, grabbed the little git and hurled the elf away.

  The elf tumbled, rolled and came up facing the wrong way. Dave had a free run at the lone elf and he booted it as hard as he could. His foot connected with such a satisfyingly powerful kick that Dave thought he’d re-join his five-a-side team if he made it out of this nightmare place. The elf connected with the open door and slid bonelessly to the floor. Dave opened the trouser press, inserted the elf and stood on it so that he could clamp it shut. The elf made small grunts which diminished after a few moments into a final-sounding sigh. Dave propped it upright and wondered if the elf would be able to revive itself and escape. He picked up the plug and pushed it into a nearby socket to be sure.