The Beast of Seabourne

by Rhys A. Jones

  “Ah, yeff,” Ruff said, his mouth crammed with cookie. He reached into his backpack, took out a battered laptop, and switched it on.

  “Sixteen Ableton Avenue, Seabourne,” he read after it had booted up.

  “That’s up near the athletics stadium, isn’t it?” Oz said, peering at the map on the screen.

  “It’s the number 23 bus,” Ellie said, nodding. “Leon trains up there once a week.”

  Leon, Ellie’s younger brother, was two years younger but almost as good an athlete as his sister was, though they were the only two of the Messenger children interested in sport. Of the others, Rhiannon, who was nine, preferred dancing, and the eldest, Tristan, was away from home in the second year of university. And Macy…was Macy.

  “Right, it’s almost ten now,” Oz said, checking his watch. “I reckon we could make it by eleven easily.”

  Ruff looked up. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he said. “Won’t your mum go ‘bananaramas’ if she finds out?”

  Oz grinned and nodded. “Bananaramas squared. But Soph has a very cunning plan.”

  They finished their drinks and strolled through the Saturday morning crowds towards the bus station. The day was fresh and bright with just a nip of northeast wind to remind them that a long winter clung shiveringly onto spring’s coattails. At the bus station, they made their way to the very back of a number 23 bus and huddled together. “So what is Soph’s cunning plan, then?” Ruff asked as the bus trundled out.

  “Well,” Oz said, “if Ellie carries the pebble, I’ll be able to hear everything because Soph will transmit to my phone.”

  “And where will you be?” Ellie asked.

  “Out of sight.”

  “What about using her Panvis? Won’t Soph record everything?”

  Soph was capable of a myriad of amazing things. Panvis was her way of recording holographically what was going on in the immediate vicinity.

  “Not if the pebble is in your pocket, she won’t. When she’s neuro-linked to me, she can record what I see, but of course that doesn’t work with anyone else. This way, I’ll be able to hear everything.” Ellie looked dubious. “Don’t worry; I’ll just listen in.”

  They talked about school and homework, but the one and only time Ellie mentioned the science project, Ruff said he didn’t want to talk about it and fell into a brooding silence for almost ten minutes. Ellie managed to throw Oz one questioning glance while Ruff peered out the bus window, to which Oz replied with a tiny shake of his head.

  It wasn’t worth it.

  By the time they reached the stop after the athletics stadium, it was almost eleven. Ruff had drawn a rough map on the back of a Ballista’s napkin. They followed the route along quiet streets, lined by well-kept houses with neat manicured gardens, until they came to a junction at the end of Sussex Street. From there, Ableton Avenue led off to the right.

  “So, what now?” Ruff asked as they stood on the quiet corner. “We can’t just stroll up to the front door and knock, can we?”

  They were standing next to a block of six garages at the end of the street, three either side of a central driveway. Oz walked into the space between two of the garages, so as to be out of sight of the road, and reached into his pocket for the pebble. A figure dressed in a T-shirt and skinny jeans appeared before them, shimmering slightly before the image stabilized and became astonishingly solid-looking.

  “Hello, Oz, Ruff, and Ellie,” Soph said.

  “Hey, cool jeans,” Ruff said.

  “Oz suggested a more contemporary look.”

  Ellie sent Oz a raised eyebrow glance.

  Oz tutted. “It’s only because I wanted her to blend in.

  Just in case someone sees us.”

  “Oz’s right,” Ruff admitted. “You could see that bright orange uniform she had before from space. It did make her stand out a bit.”

  “Well, if she wants to dress up, I can give her some tips,” Ellie offered.

  Oz and Ruff exchanged glances, but neither said anything. Ellie was wearing a sweatshirt over her T-shirt and jeans.

  “Uh, Soph,” Oz said, “how should we approach Eldred?”

  “May I suggest knocking on the front door of his house?”

  The thing you had to remember about Soph was she was mostly machine and was not capable of sarcasm. Though sometimes Oz had his doubts. “Thanks, Soph, but I meant what reason would we have for knocking?”

  “We should have brought a clipboard. We could’ve pretended we were doing a survey or something,” Ellie said. “There’s always someone like that calling at ours.”

  “Yeah,” Ruff said. “And I’m sure your mum invites them all in for a cup of tea.”

  “Stop being so sarky,” Ellie shot Ruff a warning look.

  “No, bad idea. We don’t want to frighten him off,” Oz said.

  “At this moment,” Soph announced, “George Eldred is in his garden.”

  “How do you know that?’ Ellie asked.

  “The Russian satellite Sputcheck 17 is overhead. It has high-resolution capability. Mr Eldred is currently pruning shrubs.”

  “And you can…” Ruff glanced upwards with a quizzical look.

  “Yes, I can, Ruff,” Soph said. Ruff shook his head, his face melting into a smile of amazement.

  “How will that help us, Soph?’ Ellie asked.

  “The lane behind these garage units runs at the rear of Mr Eldred’s property. If Ellie and Ruff were to stroll along it, they might engineer a meeting.”

  Oz handed Ellie the pebble. “She’s right. Go on; it’s your best chance.”

  “But what should I say?” Ellie asked, sounding panicky.

  “Say you’re looking for the…stadium,” Oz suggested.

  Ellie beamed. “Brilliant.”

  Oz took out his phone and watched from the cover of the gap between the last two garages as Ellie and Ruff walked along the back lane. He saw them stop and turn, and heard Ellie’s voice loud and clear from the speaker on his phone. Quickly, Oz turned off the speaker and put the phone to his ear.

  “The athletics stadium, you say?” Eldred’s voice sounded a lot shakier than Oz remembered it.

  “Yes,” Ellie said. “I think we’ve walked a bit too far.”

  “Indeed, you have. Still, it’s a lovely day for a walk. I… Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Oz listened while Ellie explained how they’d previously met at the shop.

  “Of course,” Eldred said when Ellie had finished. “You were with young Mr Chambers, weren’t you? I met his father, you know. Such a terrible shame. What could possess someone with such a lovely family and a splendid home to do such a thing as…”

  Oz’s face burned as he pictured Mr Eldred shaking his head sadly. He was well used to seeing that little sympathetic shake. It happened a lot when the subject of his dad’s death came up. Lots of people thought Michael Chambers had killed himself, because of the open verdict the coroner had given at his inquest. They thought it was the only logical explanation for the freakishness of his death. Lots of people were wrong. Oz sighed and dragged his mind back to the conversation.

  “Not with you today, I see,” Mr Eldred went on.

  “No, not today,” Ellie said. “He’s busy looking for some of the other things that might have been sold off from Penwurt, like the scarab brooch we bought, remember?”

  “Oh?” Eldred’s voice betrayed a sudden keen professional interest. “Anything in particular?”

  “Yeah, a ring and a pendant,” Ruff said with cringe-worthy bluntness.

  “Ah, a ring and a pendant,” Eldred said, and Oz thought he detected a faint tremulousness in the man’s voice. “Do you know, I’m sure someone else has made enquiries about them.”

  “Really?” Ellie asked.

  “It’s all a little hazy,” Eldred explained. “My memory is not as reliable as it used to be. It was someone very insistent,

  I remember that. I remember…I remember someone with very dark spectacles and, oh dear
, yes…really awful breath. He was holding my lapels, and his face was rather close to mine.” Eldred’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “I remember thinking he was very tall and that he appeared to have black leathery wings, which was impossible, of course, and yet…oh, dear…oh, dear…I suddenly feel rather odd.”

  Oz heard rapid movement and then Ellie. “Mr Eldred? You’ve gone a very funny colour. Ruff, fetch that seat. Perhaps you should sit down.”

  “Yes, perhaps I will. Thank you, my dear. Goodness, I’m really not sure why that dreadful old nightmare resurfaced just then.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ellie said.

  “No, it can’t be helped. Now, what was it you asked me?”

  A noise drew Oz’s attention. He retraced his steps and saw a blue van with blacked-out windows pulling into the driveway between the lines of garages, but it wasn’t just any old van. This one had a bizarre, swivelling dish antenna extended up from its roof. Oz watched the movements get progressively smaller, as if it was homing in on something. More importantly, the van also had a JG Telecom logo on the door. Oz stepped back between the garages and brought the phone to his ear. Eldred was speaking.

  “As for a ring, I don’t remember being offered anything by Miss Millichamp, who was the owner at the time we visited. We were specifically looking for brooches and, of course, clocks. But I seem to remember that Bendle and Son were involved in visiting the house, too.”

  “Bendle and Son?”

  “Alas, now only Son, in actual fact. Old Mr Bendle died a very long time ago. And much that was good about the company died with him, if you’ll excuse me saying so. The younger Bendle did not share his father’s old-fashioned business approach. Indeed, he is what we used to call a very odd bod. But he is an astute collector; I’ll give him that. It may well be that this ring, if it were unusual, might have been acquired by him.”

  In the background, Oz heard the van doors slide open. Cursing, he took the phone from his ear again and sneaked back to look. A woman dressed in a dark, military-style uniform and dark glasses stepped out of the van. She held a leash and a long cane in one hand. She stood on the tarmac and looked about her carefully.

  Apparently satisfied no one was watching, she pulled on the leash. Oz was half-expecting a dog to emerge, so when an oversized, lumbering boy a few years older than himself stepped out, he could only stare in bewilderment. The youth wore a peculiar-looking pair of dark-tinted wraparound glasses. Oz recognized them immediately. He’d worn a pair just like them at a party held at the home of his neighbours, the Fanshaws, and had been astonished by their ability to make him believe he was on a canoe going down white-water rapids. But why was the boy on the leash wearing them now?

  Attached to the woman’s wrist by a strap was an oblong control box. She pressed something, and the youth briefly went rigid before dropping onto all fours. The woman prodded at him with her cane. The boy didn’t move. Instead, he turned his face towards the prodding stick, bared his teeth, and snarled with a low growl.

  An avalanche of icy slush swirled into the pit of Oz’s stomach and trickled down the back of his legs into his toes. He heard a zinging buzz in his head, and the garage wall seemed to buckle. He leaned against it for support, glad to feel its solidity as he sucked in air and waited for the sensation to return to his ears and eyes. He knew in an instant, and with chilling certainty, that whoever the youth had been when he got out of the van, he was not that person anymore. And as Oz peeked around the edge of the garage wall again, he saw a shimmer about the boy’s body—

  an aura that was dark and large and powerful, an aura that oozed around him in a blurry outline to mimic his every movement. The overriding impression, just as a second prod sent the youth padding forwards on all fours, was of a large animal, with its front feet slightly turned in and its nostrils flaring. And if this were a game of charades and Oz had to guess which animal the boy was now portraying, there would have been no doubt in his mind that what he was now looking at on the end of the leash…was a bear.

  From somewhere, Oz found a drop of saliva in his parched mouth and managed a loud swallow. He loped back to the spot at the end of the wall where he could look down the lane towards Ellie and Ruff, his mind racing. JG Telecom? It all made terrifying sense all of a sudden. The strange glasses were Gerber’s invention, and Oz was now certain the woman and the boy were Gerber’s people, and they were not there to mend someone’s TV. Yet if not, what were they doing out here? What did they want? Suddenly, with a prickling in his scalp, it clicked.

  “Ellie, Ruff, can you hear me?” he spoke urgently into the phone. All that he heard in response was the continuing conversation between Ellie and Mr Eldred. Oz cursed mentally. What was he thinking? Ellie didn’t have her phone on; all she had was the pebble.

  “Soph?” Oz said into the phone.

  “Yes, Oz?” Soph answered, and Oz felt a surge of relief.

  “Connect me to Ellie’s phone, quick.”

  No sooner had he uttered the words than he heard Ellie’s phone ring.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s someone here.” The words gushed out of him. “There’s this woman and a bloke on a leash and…I think it’s an auramal.”

  “What?” he heard Ellie gasp.

  “Look, you have to get Eldred back into his house, and you have to get out of there now. I’ll meet you at the bus stop. Don’t come back this way.”

  “But what should I say?” Ellie asked.

  “Say anything; just get him inside. Ellie, I have to go.”

  Oz shut off the phone, heart banging against his ribs, thoughts tumbling over one another in their haste to organize. Gerber had access to artefact technology, and he, Ellie, and Ruff had had first-hand experience of some of his experiments. When they’d discovered the secret passages at Penwurt, they’d come across Edward Bishop, who had believed he was a polecat and acted just like one. In addition, all three of them thought the robber who’d threatened Mr Eldred in his shop, whom the old man had mercifully not been able to remember, had been something similar. Ellie had since come up with a name for these abominations. She called them auramals because of the way a strange visual projection surrounded them whenever one viewed them directly, but which disappeared when one saw them in peripheral vision.

  Oz struggled to recall everything he knew about bears. Gingell, on one of his survival talk days, had told them campers had special bags that shut out smells to stop bears from rifling through them for food. Therefore, he knew they had an exceptional sense of smell. Gingell also had said a bear could rip off a backpacker’s arm with one swing of its paw.

  But all Oz could think about was Mr Eldred. Every fibre in his being wanted to run to Ellie and Ruff and get away, but he knew another few steps would bring the woman and the boy/bear into the lane. Ellie, Ruff, and Eldred’s best chance of avoiding detection would be if he could delay the woman and boy.

  What he needed was to create a distraction. He shut off the phone, put it in his pocket, and tiptoed back to the point between the garages where he could see the van. It was gone, but the woman and boy were moving towards him, heading for the lane. The boy’s face swung from side to side as he walked, and he sniffed the air as he lumbered along.

  Oz ducked back behind the rear of the first garage. He kept low and crossed the gap to behind the third building in the block, keeping it between him and the newcomers. They would be through and into the lane in a moment. Oz picked up a stone and ran it along the corrugated metal wall of the garage he was now behind. The harsh clatter reverberated into the quiet morning air like a machine-gun burst. Oz held his breath and, in the ringing quiet that followed, strained to listen. He heard something growl on his left. Praying that the boy and the woman would backtrack and take the direct route to the rear of the garages, Oz went back around the front of the garage, careful to again keep the buildings between himself and Gerber’s Puffers—because that was what he was sure they were.

  Taking one deep gulp of air, Oz made a
dash for the first garage, crept around, and peeked back towards the rear of the garages.

  Empty.

  The woman and boy must have got to the end and walked around to where the noise had come from. He had no time to lose. Quickly, Oz got down on his hands and knees to inspect the old-fashioned wooden door of the first garage. It hung awry on rusty hinges, the halves joined in the middle by a padlocked chain. He felt a surge of relief for it not being one of the newer types of doors that opened from above.

  There was a gap at the bottom, and Oz used both hands to pry it open. The wood was warped and half-rotten, and he was able to yank it forward a few inches, though the bottom scraped alarmingly on the tarmac and the chain clanked loudly as it resisted Oz’s strenuous efforts. There was just enough of a gap for Oz to get his head through.

  Twisting sideways, his shoulders chafing against the splintering wood, and straining with every ounce of strength he had, Oz squeezed the rest of his body inside.

  There was no window. The only light came from the small triangle of daylight at floor level that he’d squeezed through. A tarpaulin-covered shape in the centre of the garage felt like a vehicle of some sort. His foot met something solid, and he reached down to feel a boxy metal jerry can that sploshed heavily as he picked it up. He put it in front of the triangular gap at the centre of the doors, put his foot against it, and moved one step to the side, into the darkness behind the door.

  His breath sounded harsh and loud from his efforts, and he could feel sweat trickling down his neck. He inhaled a heavy mixture of diesel, dust, and old wood, and brushed cobwebs from his hair as he tried to calm his breathing. Once more, he found himself straining to listen in the thick darkness of the airless space, and then caught his breath.

  A strange snuffling noise was approaching, muffled but very close. Reflexively, he moved back another step just as a hand shot through the gap and tried to push the jerry can away. Pins prickled his neck and shot down his arms into his fingers as he quashed a yell of surprise, but he had enough gumption to keep his foot where it was. The hand withdrew, to be replaced by a dumpling face, which sniffed and growled into the gap. Oz moved deeper into shadow and put his hand to his mouth to dampen the sound of his panting.