The Beast of Seabourne

by Rhys A. Jones

  “What was her name?”

  “Jane Beaufort. She was sixteen.”

  Oz paused. Giving the victims names somehow made it worse. “So, what do you think this thing was?” he asked eventually.

  “Such attacks are usually perpetrated by individuals, either for gain or as a result of criminal insanity. It is, however, understandable that the population of the time would interpret such attacks as supernatural. Superstition was a way of life then.”

  “And what about now? The rumours about Skinner?”

  “The same explanation might apply. His attack was carried out either for gain or by someone with a disturbed mind.”

  That made Oz think all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. To distract himself, he opened his great-great-uncle’s medal box and looked at the medals. He had no idea what they were for, but they looked impressive, and he toyed with the idea of looking them up. It was no good; Rowena Hilditch’s explanation of the Beast of Seabourne was all he could think about. Sighing, he closed the box and placed it on a shelf near the window, meaning to look at the contents later.

  The trouble was, he had no explanation at all for what had happened to Skinner, and although the Beast of Seabourne theory sounded like complete rubbish, until he found a better one it seemed about as good as any.

  When he thought about it though, it wasn’t only the wacky theory about the Beast that gnawed at him; it was what else Rowena Hilditch had hinted at. Knowing she was hatching plans made his insides quiver. The last thing he wanted was Penwurt’s secrets explored by people like…her.

  He looked at Soph calmly watching him, waiting patiently for instructions, and felt his chest swell with wonder. She was truly amazing. Seeing her there, constant and unflappable, put everything suddenly into perspective, and he felt a surge of determination grip him.

  He got up and went to the bathroom, where he splashed cold water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d made a solemn promise to his dead father to find out why Soph was here and to do what he could to help her. Those were his priorities, and he wasn’t going to let Rowena Hilditch or her wacky theories get in his way.

  Chapter 8

  Chivyon House

  The rest of the week dragged by, and Oz spent most of it racking his brains for a way to approach Bendle. It was lucky he had Soph to help him with that, because Rowena Hilditch, who was supposed to be advising his mother on colour schemes, kept distracting him. Or rather, she stuck her nose in wherever she could. Oz lost count of the times he bumped into her on the stairs or around the door to the old orphanage, peering in at the cavernous atrium longingly.

  “It’s sooo spooky,” she’d say, smiling and giving him a dramatic shiver.

  “Yeah,” Oz would answer with a forced smile, while his brain screamed, “mental.” So far, he’d always managed to find good excuses for not engaging her in conversation. In fact, it was the first time ever that he was actually grateful for having lots of homework to do. Even so, she was never far from his thoughts.

  On Saturday morning, Oz was still talking about his anxieties over her vague plans as he, Ellie, and Ruff rode on the free bus to Canal Street market.

  “She’s obviously round the twist, mate,” Ruff said when he’d finished.

  “Maybe,” Oz said, “but she’s cunning with it. She knows that all she has to do is mention money, and my mother will sit up like a dog expecting a bone. Mum thinks she’s the best thing since sliced Wonder Loaf.”

  “Still no lodgers, then?” Ellie asked.

  Oz shook his head.

  “Well, I wouldn’t trust her. She sounds a bit flaky pastry to me,” Ruff said. “Don’t think she’s a Puffer, do you?”

  “That’s a thought,” Ellie said. “Is she connected to Gerber?”

  “Soph says no, but I’ve still got her working on that,”

  Oz said.

  The bus trundled on towards the bustling Saturday market and pulled up in front of the entrance. “Tell me again, why are we here?” Ruff asked as they got up to disembark. Oz had looked for any sign of the churlishness he’d seen in Ruff after the science test, but there was none. Oz’s pact with Ellie not to talk about the science test unless Ruff brought it up had been a good strategy; Ruff seemed his old, easily distracted, constantly hungry self.

  “I told you; we need to find something that looks like the ceramic ring,” Oz said. “Bendle agreed to see me because I said I’d found a ring wrapped in a note with his name on it. If I turn up with nothing…”

  “But we’re hardly likely to find something that weird here,” Ruff said.

  “When was the last time you were at this market?” Ellie sent him a knowing grin as she set off briskly. “Most of the jewellery and stuff is down at the far end.”

  Ruff groaned but then brightened considerably.

  “What have you just remembered?” Ellie asked warily.

  “That they do wicked doughnuts at the café down that end.”

  Ellie gave him a withering look. “Do you ever think of anything but food?”

  Ruff frowned. “Can I answer that one after we’ve eaten?”

  Ellie huffed and kept walking. They threaded their way through the Saturday market crowds, and Oz explained what had happened when he’d rung Bendle up.

  “‘Course, he’s ex-directory, but Soph had no trouble finding his number.”

  “What was he like?” Ellie asked.

  Oz shrugged. “Bit weird to start with. Thought I was trying to sell him insurance or something. But when I explained that I was from Penwurt and what I’d found, he was all smarmy.”

  They passed a stall selling cheap sweets, and Ruff stopped to get some white chocolate mice, candy shrimps, and refreshers.

  “My dad loves this stuff,” Ruff explained. “They’ll cheer him up.”

  “So what happened next?” Ellie asked, turning down the offer of a shocking-pink sugary shrimp from Ruff as she matched Oz stride for stride,

  “Soph gave me a printout of what the ring looks like, so I described it in detail, and he got all excited and asked me to take it round to his place as soon as possible.”

  “Except there is no ring,” Ruff said, frowning.

  “Not yet. But we’ll buy something here and show that to him. Hopefully, it’ll get him talking about the real one.” Oz took out a much-folded A4 sheet and showed it to them. It revealed a gold-rimmed black ring. On both the inside and outside of the black band was a network of gold filigree that resembled lettering, but not in any language Oz recognized.

  “Wow,” Ellie said.

  “Buzzard,” Ruff added.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Oz said.

  They reached the jewellery section and Oz suggested they split up. “Give me a shout if you find anything remotely likely. Oh, and just in case we’re being followed, use your mobiles—text only. Remember I’m 1, Ellie’s 2, and Ruff ’s 3, okay?”

  In the end, it was Ellie who found the nearest match, on a stall that sold everything from battered dinky toys to headscarves. In one corner of a cluttered table was a yard-square tray full of black jewellery. Ellie’s text said simply, “Possible sighted, 2.”

  The stallholder was a wiry, cheerful woman with a red face and dark eyes that looked like she’d spent a lot of time in murky, and very smoky, rooms.

  “How much?” Oz asked, pointing to the ring Ellie had found.

  “For you, dear, ’cos you’ve got a lovely smile, a fiver.”

  Oz turned and consulted with Ruff and Ellie in a huddle. “That’s a lot of money to pay for tat,” Ruff said in a voice meant for just the three of them, but which caused the stallholder’s eyes to narrow.

  “But we need it to get You-Know-Who talking,” Oz whispered.

  “Still,” Ruff said.

  “Look, I’m not expecting either of you to pay. I’ve got a bit of birthday money left, so…”

  From behind the stall, the dark-eyed woman was watching. “Four quid, that’s my best offer,” she said.
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  Oz nodded but turned back to the other two for their opinion. “We could look around a bit more,” Ellie said.

  “All right, all right,” said the stallholder, shaking her head. “Three quid it is. But you’re taking the bread from my mouth, you know that?”

  Oz grinned and dug out the money from his pocket.

  It took them half an hour and a packet of doughnuts to get back to the bus station in town. Mindful of their jaunt to Mr Eldred, they split up, returned to the bus station separately, and waited until the very last moment before jumping on a Number 56 that would take them to Bog Sturgess, a sleepy little village nestling in the hills to the north of Seabourne. They sat in the back, and Oz was relieved to see no sign of any JG Telecom vans behind them.

  After half an hour, the bus dropped them off in Bog Sturgess; its main street was lined on the one side by honeycoloured cottages and on the other by the sluggish waters of a river. At the far end was a large coach house with a painted sign that read The White Swan. Immediately before it, a stone bridge led over the river to a park, in which sat a lake dotted with ducks. Beyond, a copse of trees swayed lazily in the breeze.

  “Wow,” Ruff said. “This looks just like the picture on the box of biscuits I bought my gran for Christmas.”

  “Hard to believe somewhere like this is a half-hour bus ride from Seabourne,” Ellie said.

  “But what do people do here?” Ruff asked, looking around at the crowds and the quaint shops.

  “Maybe they don’t do anything,” Oz said. “My mum says it’s a place that people come to when they retire.”

  “Is that why Bendle is here?” Ellie asked.

  “Why don’t we ask him?” Oz took out a bit of paper with an address. “Soph, where is Chivyon House?”

  Soph’s voice reached them from the direction of Oz’s right upper arm. “Over the bridge and north for a mile.”

  “Brilliant idea to slip the pebble into that MP3 pouch,” Ellie said, grinning.

  “Feel like a bit of a nerd,” Oz said.

  “That’s ’cos you are one, mate,” Ruff said, and dodged forward to avoid the kick Oz aimed at him.

  Although it wasn’t yet Easter, Bog Sturgess was busy with tourists. On the bridge, a group of backpackers posed for photographs. Ahead of them on the street, a bus disgorged a group of goggling Japanese, one of whom asked Ruff in halting English to take a photo of him, his wife, and his giggling daughters, much to Oz and Ellie’s amusement. They crossed the bridge and, following Soph’s instructions, headed across the park towards the low hills behind. After ten minutes’ walking, at last they came to a kissing gate that led to a canal towpath.

  “East along this towpath for half a mile,” Soph’s voice said from his arm, speaking out loud for the benefit of the other two.

  It was a tranquil little spot, with lush farmland behind them and gently undulating hills ahead. The towpath curved left until eventually they came to a road bridge that arched up and over their heads.

  “Take the steps up to the bridge and walk twenty yards north. Chivyon House will be on your right,” Soph’s even tone announced.

  “Soph’s voice is way better than my dad’s GPS,” Ruff said.

  “Thank you, Ruff,” Soph replied.

  Moments later, the trio found themselves at an entrance guarded by a wrought-iron gate. Written in iron letters on brick gateposts was “Chivyon House.” The gate, as well as the ten-foot wall that continued in both directions, was topped with razor wire.

  “Certainly likes his privacy, doesn’t he?” Ruff said.

  A square brass intercom was set into the pillar to the left of the gate. Oz pressed the black button at its centre. There was a buzz followed by a click, and a brusque-sounding voice answered.

  “No milk today. For goodness sake, I left a note.”

  Oz said, “Hello? Hello?”

  When no one answered, Oz tried the button again.

  “I said no milk—”

  “Mr Bendle,” Oz interjected. “It’s me. Oz Chambers? We talked on the phone, remember?”

  “Chambers? Never heard of you,” said the high, tetchy voice. There was a pause and then, “If we did speak on the phone, what are you doing impersonating the milkman?”

  “I wasn’t. I mean I’m not. I don’t know anything about a milkman.”

  “Blessed nuisance. I know I left him a note.”

  Oz, who felt caught in a conversational plughole that was rapidly sucking him down into its vortex, said slowly, “I spoke to you about a ring, remember?”

  “Ah, a ring. Yes, of course,” the voice said and then added, “Why didn’t you say so, instead of blathering on about the blasted milkman?”

  Oz looked across at Ruff, who was pointing his index finger at his own head and making circular motions with it.

  “So, can we come in?”

  “Of course. But you must remove your shoes, put on the gowns and masks in the porch area, and wash your hands thoroughly with the antibacterial gel. Do you understand?’

  “Uhh, yeah. Okay,” Oz said.

  “Gates open,” said the voice. There was a mechanical trundling sound and the heavy iron gates swung open. “Why is it that everyone we seem to meet when we’re with you is a Quarter Pounder with extra mayo and pickle short of a Happy Meal?” asked Ruff, shaking his head as they walked along the drive.

  “He sounds…crotchety,” Ellie ventured.

  “Maybe he is a bit eccentric,” Oz said. “I know he’s quite old, but…”

  Oz didn’t finish what he was about to say. They rounded a bend in the driveway and all three of them stopped in their tracks. The house now revealed to them didn’t look anything at all like the houses in the village of Bog Sturgess. It was three times as big, for a start. The walls were of a dark stone, with arched bay windows, elegant chimneys, and high gables, and the whole thing was draped in a green wrapping of Virginia creeper.

  “Sugar,” Ellie said.

  “Looks like the house in Gargoyle’s Revenge 3,” Ruff said.

  “Oh, wowee,” Ellie said under her breath.

  “But it does,” protested Ruff.

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Oz said and started walking again. When they got to the porch, there was no bell, just an acorn-shaped knocker, but when Oz lifted it, he heard a bell chime from deep within, and the front door buzzed open smoothly to reveal an antechamber. On the floor was a coir mat with the words ME FIRST written on it. This was swiftly followed by two more mats with ME SECOND and NOW TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES as messages. They did exactly as they were told and stood in their socks in front of another door, this one shiny steel, like the door of a lift. On either side, at eye level, were copper antibacterial hand wash dispensers gently hissing with steam, and a sign on the door which read NOW WASH YOUR HANDS. They did as instructed, and the door in front of them whispered open to let them inside. Like the building itself, this wasn’t exactly what Oz had expected.

  Penwurt was old on the outside and on the inside, but this was far from true here. Despite the gothic exterior, what the trio now saw was more in keeping with an ultramodern hospital than an ancient house. The walls were all white, and the floor was black rubber. A corridor led left to another metal door, next to a shelving unit containing white plastic aprons and elasticated white paper bonnets. On the door was a sign: PLEASE PUT ON APRON AND HAT.

  Oz, Ellie, and Ruff exchanged bemused glances, shrugged, and proceeded to dress appropriately. Above the door, a camera lens swivelled. When they were dressed, the door hissed open, and they went into another corridor. This time, one whole wall was clear glass. Through it, they looked into a white-painted room with white plastic furniture, just like Oz had in his garden. On the far wall, three flat-screen TVs played different channels all at once. Against another wall stood a white desk with a laptop and printer. A door led off the room in the third wall, and through it, they glimpsed a steel and white-plastic kitchen.

  “This is…different,” Ellie said. Oz could
n’t decide if she sounded genuinely interested or anxious. He had no time to ponder because suddenly someone else spoke.

  “Thank you for your cooperation. Your host will be with you shortly.”

  The voice came from a speaker in the ceiling and sounded exactly like one of those announcements in department-store lifts.

  Then, from out of the kitchen area, a man appeared. In keeping with the hospital-like environment, he was wearing blue-and-white-striped pyjamas and white paper shoes. His head looked like a pink billiard ball, devoid of any and all vestiges of eyebrows and eyelashes beneath a glossy dome. He was carrying a glass half-full of something green, which he was drinking through a long straw. Immediately on seeing Ellie, Ruff, and Oz in front of him, he stopped and stared at them.

  “Why are there three of you?” he asked in his odd, high-pitched voice.

  “These are my friends,” Oz said.

  The man snorted and looked cross. “That means three times as many germs in the air.”

  “Are you Mr Bendle?” Ellie asked.

  “Of course I am,” snapped the man. “Who else would be living here?”

  “I don’t know,” Ellie said, taken aback by his rudeness.

  “Exactly,” said Bendle, his brows beetling belligerently. “You don’t know, so why even ask, eh? Who is Chambers?”

  “Uh, I am,” Oz said, waving a hand.

  “Where is the ring?”

  Oz fumbled in his pocket and removed the black ring.

  “I will need to examine it,” Bendle said. “Step to your left.”

  Oz did as instructed and watched Bendle do the same on the other side of the glass.”

  “Here.” Bendle indicated a white plastic box structure built into the glass wall at waist height. “Wipe the ring in the antibacterial cloth and then place it in the ultrasonic sterilizer.”