Emily breathed a sigh of relief. All she wanted was to be left alone to get on with her writing.
Sibbie, however, always wanted the last word. “I bet Uncle Raymond’s really sick of hearing your voice by now,” she said, on her way out of the room.
“No, he isn’t.”
“Yes, he is. I’m right, you’re wrong.”
And Sibbie was gone. At last.
The Devil’s Element
A dreadful story, written by Emily
Chapter 1
It was a dark and story night.
A little girl, whose name was Miley, lay fast asleep in a truckle bed.
So far, she was sleeping soundly.
Peacefully.
Without a worry in the world.
It looked as if the sounds of the words from the story her Mama had read to her had lulled her to sleep.
But it was NOT so!
And it would NOT last!
The girl was NOT in her own bed.
Her Mama had NOT read her a story.
Miley was SOMEWHERE else!
And SOMEONE else was about to discover her!
This is how Miley came to be in a bed that wasn’t her own.
Chapter 2
Miley had had a BIG argument with her dear Mama
and her dear Papa, and an even BIGGER word-fight with her older sister.
Miley’s uncle - Mama’s long-lost brother – whom Miley had never seen before in her whole, entire life, was coming to stay. Miley was going to be forced to give up her room, her precious room, and move in with her bad-tempered sister.
“If he comes then I’m not staying here a second longer,” Miley declared.
“You must endure,” said her parents. “You must sacrifice your room for the greater good.”
“Stop sniveling,” her older, nearly-twelve-years-old, sister said. “He’s not going to be here forever.”
“Why does he have to come at all?” Miley asked.
Miley’s sister turned her head away knowingly, the way she always did when she was lying. “I do not know,” she declared. “But I heard our parents say that the reason is a shameful secret.”
“Without a doubt, I am not staying,” Miley declared. “If he comes then I will go."
“Go then,” her sister said, pushing Miley in a very rough manner from the miniscule room they were going to share. “You are too clever by far, anyway. You are a precocious brat!”
Crying big, fat tears Miley slunk from the house. In her hurry, she forgot to take her coat, her winter shawl and the money from her Hippo Bank. She also left her parapluie behind. (Everyone else called it an umbrella but Miley had once heard a very fashionable lady use the work ‘parapluie’ and she much preferred it to ‘umbrella’. So there! If that was what being precocious meant, Miley was glad she was too clever by far. Better than being a bad-tempered dumb-bum like her sister!)
Miley stumbled down some dark, dank streets and through cold and narrow laneways, without a clue as to where she was going. People walked past her, nearly all of them going in the opposite direction. A
man big about the waist, maybe the biggest-waisted
man Miley had ever seen in her whole entire life,
bumped into her. It was hardly surprising. There was barely room in this particular laneway for one person,
much less two. The big-waisted man didn’t even try to
move aside for Miley. He didn’t said sorry, or anything.
More tears filled Miley’s eyes. When she had at last wiped them dry with her little lace handkerchief she saw she was somewhere she had never been before.
She realized she was LOST.
AND it had started to rain.
Chapter 3
Tall buildings seemed to drape themselves over Miley, like her heavy winter shawl (which she had left behind), but they didn’t make her feel at all warm. No, not a bit.
Miley was terribly scared. And she suddenly felt tired, and oh! so weary. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest.
That was when she spotted the open doorway. Where does that lead, she wondered?
There was a signboard above the doorway. Written in
scraggly letters, it said:
The Devil’s Element
And underneath:
Inward Goods Only.
The Devil’s Element meant nothing to Miley but she hoped the doorway might lead to somewhere warm and dry.
Miley slipped inside. She descended some steep, wooden steps and found herself in an empty cellar room with a small truckle bed inside it.
The room was dry but not at all warm. Shivering, Miley lay herself down. Above her, a high window gleamed in the weak, wet glow of lamplight from the
street above. Soon she had fallen fast asleep, still wearing her day clothes.
So, now you know how Miley got there.
Chapter 4
Something woke Miley.
She sat up in the truckle bed, her heart pounding like
waves thumping their fists on the beach during a stormy night. She felt thirsty. Luckily, she heard a tap
running somewhere. But wait, it wasn’t a tap. It was
rain. It was funny how the two things sounded alike.
Miley looked up at the high window. The rain lashed the glass and flowed down the leadlight strips. The wind was howling, too.
It was, in fact, a dark and stormy night.
Then Miley remembered she was not in her own bed. She was not in her own room. The window was not her window. It was far too high off the ground.
And, worse than any of these things, her Mama had not been there to read her a lovely story before she fell asleep.
Everything was different. So horribly different!
It struck Miley that all she had left in the world were the clothes on her back. She was penniless and alone.
The cellar was a dark and dismal dungeon. It was so dark that Miley could not see even her hand in front of her nose. Her heart began to palpitate. Her knees knocked together. Her teeth chattered.
Then Miley heard a door open. A sudden sharp but flickering light sparked into the cellar. It lit up a
staircase. This was not the same staircase that Miley
had descended. This second staircase was right opposite the first.
The light went out and then came back on again.
What a funny light it was, thought Miley. Noisy and smelly, as well as flickering. It reminded her of something but what, exactly, she couldn’t remember straightaway.
She heard footsteps coming down the steps. Miley leapt up from the truckle bed, unsure what to do next. Should she run into the light and beg for succour or should she escape back up the first staircase? Miley decided to escape.
Her shoes clattered loudly on the wooden steps.
“Who’s there?” a voice called after her.
Miley did not reply. She reached the door at the top of the staircase. But, oh no! oh dear! the door was shut fast.
Shut fast and LOCKED!
Chapter 5
“Who’s there?” the voice called a second time. It was
a lady’s voice.
“To whom are you speaking?” another voice asked.
This voice belonged to a man. He sounded rather
ruffianly even though his grammar was very correct.
“I heard something, or someone, in the cellar,” the lady’s voice replied.
“Rats, maybe?” the man’s voice said.
“It didn’t sound like rats to me,” said the lady’s voice.
“A ghost under the stairs, then?” the man replied. “Perhaps some kind of shameful secret has come to haunt us? In other words, a metaphorical ghost.”
“Where on earth did you learn the word ‘metaphorical’?” said the lady.
“From the newspaper, of course?” said the man.
But the lady was not the least bit interested in ghosts or words, metaphorical or otherwise.
“Whatever or whoever it is, I
think I have it trapped at the top of Inward Goods Only,” she said.
Miley heard footsteps coming towards her, just before the flickering light went out for the second time.
Then she heard a ‘rattcch’ sound and the light was back. The light was a match the lady held in front of her. It was easier for the lady to see Miley than it was
for Miley to see the lady.
Smoke from the match caught at Miley’s throat. She
coughed.
“It’s only a little girl,” said the lady.
“I’m not a little girl, I’ve just turned nine,” Miley declared stoutly - once she had finished coughing, that is.
“Are you a burglar, then?” asked the lady. “Did you come here to rob us?”
“Of course I’m not a burglar!” said Miley. “I came through the door behind me, to shelter from the dark and stormy night. It’s locked now.”
“Of course it is. The night watchman locks it. Were you invited in?”
“No,” said Miley.
“Neither are burglars invited,” said the lady.
Chapter 6
“Damnation!”
The light had gone out.
“That’s three now!”
Miley did not have time to cover her ears. The lady
had used a swear word. Miley knew it was a swear word because it was the exact same word she had
heard her Papa say on more than one occasion. Mama
had told Miley and her sister to cover their ears whenever Papa said the swear word. “Bad language is not the proper language of girls and ladies,” Mama had explained to them. That could only mean this lady was not a proper lady.
“What sort of place is this?” asked Miley. She felt a little tremulous but she did her best not to show she was afraid.
“It’s a factory, my dear,” said the lady, lighting another match. “Of sorts.”
“Of what sort?” Miley asked, more out of politeness than really wanting to know. The Devil’s Element was a funny name for a factory. A sinister name. Not like the factory she had once visited with her class from school. That factory had been called Heavenly
Smells. It made wonderful soaps (not sweets, as Miley had at first imagined) and the visit had left Miley with
pleasant, sweet-scented dreams.
“You might call it a cottage industry,” said the lady. “We do things on a small scale.”
“But this isn’t a cottage,” said Miley. “Is it?”
The lady didn’t answer. She asked Miley a question
instead.
“Where did you come from?”
Then Miley made a BIG mistake.
She told the truth.
Chapter 7
“I don’t remember exactly,” she said.
The light went out. Rattcch! The lady lit match number five and came up even closer. Now Miley saw the lady (even though she wasn’t a proper lady because of the swearing) for the first time. She was thin and grey and wiry, like a strip of tough bacon.
“You don’t remember?”
“I know the address,” said Miley. “It’s number 37 Long Street.”
“But you don’t know the way back to Long Street, do
you?”
Miley did not answer. The lady smiled a small, grim smile. “No, of course you don’t,” she said. “Not by
yourself. You lost your way in the dark and stormy night, didn’t you?”
“What on earth is happening down there?” called
the man from the top of the second staircase. “Hurry up!”
Miley thought he sounded rather brutish as well as ruffianly.
The lady ignored him. Good!
“I left my parapluie behind,” said Miley. “And my Hippo Bank. And my coat and shawl.”
“Tut, tut. So many things to be without. Such a pity,” said the lady. She held the latest match up to Miley. It was a long, straight, skinny match. Its light was bright and hot. And stinky.
“It hurts my eyes,” said Miley. “And it gets up my nose.”
“You’d better come along with me then,” said the lady. “This cellar is no place for a little girl as refined as you to sleep in. The truckle bed belongs to our night watchman. He sleeps there during the day.”
The lady with the match took Miley’s hand (actually she grabbed it rather than simply taking it, but Miley
didn’t want to believe that anyone would take her hand in such a rough fashion) and bustled her back down the Inward Goods Only stairs.
On the way to the opposite set of stairs the fifth match
burnt out and the lady lit a sixth one, saying ‘damnation’ again under her breath. Miley managed to cover one ear so all she heard was ‘da’ which nonetheless upset her greatly as it reminded her immediately of her Papa whom she and her sister often called ‘da’ because ‘da’ rhymed with ‘Papa’.
“Such a waste,” the lady said. “You’ve caused me no end of trouble tonight. That’s six matches I’ve spent on you young lady.”
“My name’s Miley,” said Miley. “And I’m nine.”
“There’s no need to repeat yourself,” said the lady.
They reached the top step and entered a room where the man had lighted an oil lamp. The lady did not have to waste more matches, although she might not have been too happy about having to waste her oil supply instead.
“Here is our intruder,” she said.
If the lady looked like a piece of bacon the man
looked, in Miley’s opinion, like an undercooked pork pie. And she didn’t like pork pies. He was pale, short,
roundish and somewhat greasy. Without doubt, a ruffian and a brute to boot, Miley decided.
“Can you take me home now?” Miley asked.
“Please,” she added, polite as girls and ladies ought
always to be.
The lady and the man looked at one another. “In the morning,” the lady said. “First you will have to pay for the matches I’ve had to use up, as well as for your bed and breakfast. Altogether that will cost you at least one penny.”
“But that’s dreadful!” exclaimed Miley. “You know I don’t have any money with me. I left it behind, just like my parapluie and all.”
Miley was rather ashamed at how her voice quivered and quavered. She really should have done her best to disguise her fear but, in the circumstances, that was not easy.
“What was that ‘p’ word?” said the man.
“Parapluie,” said Miley. “Some people call it an umbrella,” she explained.
“I haven’t come across that word in any of my
newspapers,” said the man. “Interesting.”
He took a small notebook from the table.
“How do you spell it?” he asked.
“I T,” said Miley.
“No, no, no! I mean the umbrella word!”
“Oh, sorry,” said Miley. “It’s P A R A P L U I E. I’m a good speller, you know. The best in my class. Now
that I’ve spelt parapluie for you, may I go home?”
Chapter 8
Miley did not know why the man suddenly burst into a raucous, villainous laughter. There was nothing funny about her situation whatsoever. She suddenly disliked Pork Pie even more than Bacon, despite his unexpected fondness for proper grammar and interesting new words.
“Take no notice of him,” said Bacon, trying to sound pleasant but managing only just. “You can spend the rest of the night in the spare bedroom and tomorrow we will take you home. After you’ve done one or two little jobs for my husband and I, that is.”
“You should say: ‘my husband and me’,” said the
man. “It’s important to get it right.”
“What a load of old tosh!” snapped the lady. “Who cares about that sort of thing?”
“Writers do,” Miley was about to say but she was suddenly feeling far too tired to argue. She simply
hadn’t had enough sleep. Bacon led her to the spare bedroom and allowed her to crawl into the
bed, still
wearing her day clothes.
“I’ll wake you early in the morning,” she said. “When the factory begins its work.”
“But I’m not a factory worker,” said Miley. “And you haven’t told me what sort of factory this is.”
But Bacon had shut the door, leaving Miley all alone in the strange room. Miley heard her turn a key in the lock.
She was shut in!
“Oh, what must I do?” was her last thought before she fell into a nightmarish slumber.
Chapter 9
Miley was having a nightmare. She was trapped in a factory called The Devil’s Element. There was a devil
with a red tail chasing her, trying to set her favourite dress alight with a match.
“When I wake up everything will be fine,” Miley told
herself, in the middle of the nightmare. “Nightmares don’t really bother me if they aren’t real real.”
But when Miley woke the following morning, the nightmare was most definitely real real. There wasn’t
a devil with a red tail and Miley wasn’t wearing her favourite dress but she was still in a strange bed (her second strange bed that night) in a locked room in a strange place with two wicked (not to mention rough) people she had nicknamed Bacon and Pork Pie. This was the sort of nightmare Miley didn’t like one little bit!
She got up and banged on the door. Bacon opened it and passed her a bowl of claggy gruel with a dirty-looking spoon stuck straight up in the middle of it, like a lighthouse that had stopped working.
“You’ve had the bed and this is the breakfast,” she said. “Eat up. You have a busy day ahead of you.”
“But I want to go home NOW,” said Miley. “You MUST take me.”
“So I will, so I will, but first of all you have to pay us back the money you owe. As we agreed.”
“Did we agree?” said Miley. She couldn’t remember.
Emily's Penny Dreadful Page 3
