Hugo and the Bird

by Jeff Mills

  “I’m sorry,” cried the hapless young woman, as she fought to free herself from the grip of her attacker. “I didn’t know that you lived here. I thought that the gnomes…”

  “The gnomes,” the witch interrupted, “you’ve been talking to those lying scum?”

  “Not exactly,” squealed Sue, tears beginning to seep from her eyes, partly in pain from her neck and partly in fear.

  “Not exactly what?” The witch wrenched Sue’s head back even further. Reluctantly the whole story was torn out of the tearful girl until, at last, with the facts revealed, the grip on her hair was released and she sat up, rubbing her aching neck and mopping her tears with the back of her hand.

  “Thank you, my dear, that is certainly very interesting.” The witch started to smooth down and pat her ruffled tresses.

  Now that the pain had stopped, Sue regained some of her composure and ventured to ask, “E…e…excuse me, but who exactly are you and why are living here in this….” She was going to say ‘hovel’ but thought better of it and rapidly substituted the word, ‘cave.’

  The old woman looked strangely at her young companion, unsure of whether to say anything or not but after several minutes she started hoarsely.

  “My name is Anne, Anne Trembles, though all those ‘creatures’ you see outside call me Morgana.” Slowly and sometimes quite animatedly, she explained the story of the hanging and murder of her mother, Mary, and her own subsequent hanging in 1697 but she failed to explain or reveal how she had survived being hanged and how she still existed after this time.

  By the end of the tale, both women were in tears and Sue was feeling angry at what had been done to Anne and sympathetic to her position. The witch shuffled off and returned minutes later with two cups, crudely carved out of drift wood, containing a steaming liquid. “You must be thirsty, my dear,” she said softly and handed Sue one of the cups.

  The reporter looked at it suspiciously but the warmth coming through the cup, the sweet aromatic smell of the liquid and the fact that Anne had already started to drink hers gave Sue confidence to take a sip. Immediately her lips touched the drink she felt a pleasurable warm glow pervade her body and the more she drank the more the comforting feeling grew. A strong feeling of warmth and contentment flowed over her and a deep desire to sleep. At first she tried to fight it but as the cup became emptier, the more relaxed she became until, just as the last drops passed down her throat, she fell into a deep contented sleep. The cup dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

  Chapter 20

  Chickenpox

  Hugo was woken by a hysterical scream from the bathroom, followed by his parents rushing to find what was wrong. Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his dressing gown and flung open his bedroom door. At the entrance to the bathroom, Stephanie was on her knees, sobbing violently and covering her face with her hands, while his parents knelt either side with their arms around her. The only words that Hugo could make out between the cries and snuffles were,

  “My face, my face. Look at my face.” He edged forward towards the three figures but despite his efforts could not see his sister’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked but he did not get an answer. “What’s wrong?” he shouted, but with a lot more concern.

  Stephanie pulled her hands away from her face and hysterically shouted,

  “My face! Look at my face!”

  He looked at his sister’s face and was shocked to see that it was covered in bright red spots that were even redder than the rest of her face, which itself was very flushed from all the crying.

  “I think that she has chickenpox,” his mother said, turning to look at him. “I suggest that you go back to your room and stay there for a while until we have called the doctor and confirmed it. It is quite contagious and we don’t want you to catch it.”

  The boy had heard about chickenpox but had never seen anybody with it, and was a little taken aback and, it must be said, a little frightened at the sight he had just witnessed. Backing up, he did as he was told and returned to his room, closing the door behind him. He heard his father go down the stairs and use the phone.

  Hugo didn’t know what to do and, although he never would admit to it, he was very concerned and worried for his sister. He sat on his bed not knowing what to do, then suddenly had a brainwave. Switching on his computer he googled ‘chickenpox’.

  After a few seconds’ delay, a screen popped up explaining that it was a disease caused by the ‘Herpes Varicella Zoster’ virus that, in children and young adults, was often presented as a severe rash over the body. Normally the rash is temporary and leaves no sign but in some cases it can result in scarring, especially if the pustules became infected or are scratched. It was very contagious and people in close proximity of the sufferers may act as carriers and should be quarantined. It went on, that it can also affect adults, but in a different way by causing a condition called ‘Shingles’ which could be very painful and dangerous.

  Hugo closed down the page and wished that he had never opened it. Suddenly he had a thought; if he was going to be quarantined, then that would mean that he would not be able to restart school for the new term in two days’ time. He realised that it would also mean he could not go out of the house, which would be extremely boring. Having realised this, he had another thought. If he was infected, then he also might end up with a face full of spots and be scarred himself for the rest of his life.

  Silence had settled outside his room and he poked his head round the door to see what was going on. He heard a car draw up outside and the front door bell ring. His father answered the door and Hugo heard him say to the visitor,

  “Oh hi Pete. Thanks for coming round so quickly but we think Steph’s got chickenpox. She was out with her boyfriend’s family last week and their youngest went down with it a couple of days ago. We think that Steph must have picked it up from them. She has been complaining of being a bit off colour over the last few days but now she has developed the full rash.”

  “Glad to be of service,” the visitor’s voice boomed and Hugo heard the two men start up the stairs. Quickly, he pushed his door ajar, leaving a small crack so that he could see what was going on. His mother met the two men at the top of the stairs and the three went into Stephanie’s room, closing the door behind them. The only sounds that Hugo could hear was a low mumble of voices and the occasional scream of pain.

  Getting dressed, he went into the bathroom and looked very carefully at his own face in the mirror. Not a spot in sight. He gave a big sigh and, since there were visitors, he decided that he had better make himself look more presentable. Having washed his face and cleaned his teeth, properly for the regulation two minutes his electric toothbrush timer indicated, he went downstairs into the kitchen, opened the cupboard and grabbed a packet of breakfast cereal. Jake wrapped himself around his legs and whimpered, for, as a result of the commotion, nobody had fed him yet. Hugo gave him a good look, especially around the mouth, to make sure that there were no red stains. Finding none, he took a packet from a large box in the corner and filled the dog’s bowl with food. With Jake settled, he went back to eat his own breakfast.

  Finally, his parents and the visitor came down and into the kitchen. While his mother busied herself making coffee and toast, his father said,

  “Oh, this is my son, Hugo. Hugo, this is my friend Dr Peter Goodfellow. He’s been looking at Steph and thinks she’s got chickenpox. He said that, because it is contagious, you will need to stay away from other people for a week, so you won’t be able to start school next week.” As he said this, he gave his son a big smile, knowing that he didn’t enjoy school that much anyway.

  “Don’t look so smug,” he went on, “because I’m going to arrange for the school to send you some homework so that you don’t get left behind. Oh, and I’m also going to call Emma’s mum to explain the situation to her because, since Emma has been over here so much, it is high
ly likely that she might be infected too.” The idea that he might have Emma’s company during his quarantine made Hugo feel better but having to do homework was not in his plan.

  The doctor turned to Hugo and shook his hand firmly.

  “Pleased to meet you, young man. Your sister is quite ill, so try not to disturb her and if you start to feel ill yourself then let your mum or dad know immediately. OK?” Hugo nodded and then after politely saying “Thank you,” and “Pleased to meet you,” he turned and went back to his room. He booted up his computer and emailed Emma to explain what had happened and to see if she could persuade her mum to bring her over because he was concerned about what Bird was doing and if he had managed to rescue the gnomes. At least, that is what he told her, but he was getting to enjoy Emma’s company because, with her, he didn’t have to pretend to be interested in the latest football match and such like which he had to with the other boys at school. It seemed to be the only thing they discussed, in every detail. He hated football.

  Chapter 21

  Orleg

  The euphoria of the rescue was beginning to subside, and Bird was deep in conference with several of the most senior gnomes, with Barguff taking the position of unelected chairman. Each aspect of the rescue was analysed and discussed, when a small voice from outside the house they had gathered in started to call,

  “Orleg! Orleg! Has anyone seen my daughter? Orleg!”

  Suddenly, Bird and Barguff simultaneously remembered seeing Morgana take the young gnome and feed her something, leaving her on the bench in the cave.

  “Did you rescue Orleg?” enquired Barguff, looking hopefully at Bird.

  “No. I thought that someone else had picked her up.”

  “We have to go back and get her,” Barguff said, raising himself out of his chair, as if to go at that very moment.

  “Stop!” insisted Bird. “It would be stupid to go back now. It would put us in even more danger than we are already in. No, what we must do is to make a proper plan of attack and hope that no further harm comes to her.” Adding in his own mind, ‘If she is still alive!’

  Barguff was about to argue but then thought better of it and sat back down in his seat.

  “What was that thing you used to fight off the goblins?” asked a fat gnome sitting at the far end of the table.

  “You mean this.”

  Bird pulled the amulet from the feathers around his neck. The flashing gold object brought a sigh of amazement from the assembly and Barrow, a small gnome in a green jacket and floppy red hat, put his hand out to touch it. He screamed in pain as his stubby fingers made contact and he stuffed them into his mouth to ease the pain. A great gasp went up from the others. Several pushed back their stools, as if to make a quick escape.

  Carefully, Bird lowered the pendant onto the table in front of them and explained what it was, as far as he knew. He gave a warning. Never, on any occasion, must they touch it and, what was even more important, it was imperative that it never falls into the hands of Morgana as it would give her untold power, from which they would never be able to defeat her.

  After a barrage of questions about the amulet, the conversation slowly turned back to planning the defeat of Morgana and those foreign intruders, not forgetting poor Orleg.

  Chapter 22

  The Police’s Surprise

  “What do you make of these?”

  D.I. Hyde asked the technician at the police lab as he handed him the plaster casts of the footprints that had been taken at the Gnome Reserve a few days previously. He had not yet dared to file a full report of his visit until he had had some expert help on what he had found. He was talking to Mike Faraday, the forensic technician who had been to the Gnome Reserve after investigating the break-in with his colleague, Bill Sutton. Neither of them had told anyone of their encounter with the small gnome that had appeared from the reserve’s owner’s pocket, as they did not want to make fools of themselves, knowing that no one would believe them.

  “Take a seat, Tony. There’s something you should know which you ain’t goin’ to believe.” The two men sat down at the table next to the door and Mike related everything that had occurred at the Gnome Reserve, stressing that, if he didn’t believe him, then he should go and ask Bill Sutton who would corroborate everything he said. To emphasise his point, the technician indicated every detail on the casts saying that, if he was having him on, then how did he explain the prints. Tony Hyde sat back in absolute disbelief and kept saying,

  “Aw, come on. You’re having me on.” At last he gave in, “Right! I’m going back there straight away and settle this once and for all.”

  His chair almost fell over as he rushed to find his sergeant, Phil Cummings. The sergeant had just settled down to a cup of tea in the canteen when, without any explanation, the detective inspector burst in, strode up to him and ordered him to follow him.

  They drove in silence around the narrow country lanes which led to the reserve. When almost there, the sergeant could bear it no longer and asked what was going on. The inspector stopped the car in a lay-by and told him the tale that Mike Faraday had related to him.

  “You’d better be right,” the sergeant said incredulously, “cos if you’re not, then we’re going to be the laughing stock of the whole station. No! The whole division. We’ll never live it down.”

  All the detective inspector could say was, “We’ll worry about that when we have to. Now, be about your wits and watch them carefully for tricks. They may be old fogies but don’t underestimate them.”

  Sliding the car back into gear, the two sped off to continue their journey, with a spray of small stones from the rear wheels.

  Ten minutes later they donned their caps and marched determinedly up the track that led to the office of the Gnome Reserve. Politely stating that they were, ‘continuing their investigations’, they tried to bring the subject round to the small gnome that the forensic technician, allegedly, had seen. The owner and the two women helpers carefully avoided the subject deliberately until, totally frustrated, the detective inspector said,

  “Now what’s this I’ve been hearing about a real gnome?”

  The three ladies looked at each other, feigning ignorance, and hunching up their shoulders. From behind them came a firm but small voice.

  “What do you want to know?”

  The policemen spun round and, standing in the doorway, was Barguff.

  “What the? Who? What? Who are you?” But before Barguff could answer, the owner of the reserve sprang forwards and picked him up, hugging and rocking him in her arms.

  “You’re back! You’re back!” she shouted and swung and hugged the small gnome even further.

  “Stop right there!” shouted the detective.

  The owner stopped, and rather embarrassedly sat down, but still hugging and rocking a very red-faced little gnome.

  “Right then,” the policeman went on. “What’s been going on, and who, and what, are you?”

  The gnome wriggled, eventually freeing himself from the embrace of the owner. After brushing himself down, straightening his clothes, and making sure his hat was on straight, he pulled himself up to his full height and announced,

  “Good afternoon. My name is Barguff, and I am the head of the Gnome community here.”

  “You mean there are more of you?” interrupted the sergeant.

  “Of course,” responded the little man. “We have communities all over the land.

  As I was saying, my name is Barguff and we have lived peacefully and privately in this area for generations. That is, until just before the year 1700, when several of our number at that time went missing with no explanation. We found out that there was a witch living in the Bideford region. She was capturing some of our community and using them in her devilish experiments. To avoid further losses, we moved from our village and by regularly relocating we were able to avoid becoming detected. F
or the last thirty years, we have found refuge under the protection of this wonderful lady here, who devised the idea of the Gnome Reserve, using concrete gnomes, to hide our existence.” He pointed to the owner who blushed. “That is until our hiding place was discovered by the witch who called herself Kadavera. She managed to capture me, and, by trickery, found out where I lived. I was rescued by a…, let’s just say a friend, and Puchy, the tooth fairy.”

  “The what?” the sergeant shouted out, almost choking. Everyone, including the inspector gave him a rueful stare and he fell silent, looking very red in the face.

  Regaining his composure, the small man went on,

  “To continue: fortunately, I was able to kill this witch.”

  He decided to take all the credit for, as he told himself, it would keep Bird and Hugo out of trouble but he also felt that it would give him greater credibility if he made himself the hero.

  “What we, I mean I, didn’t realise was that there was another witch called Morgana who recruited those pesky low-down goblins from Cornwall to come and help her.”

  Again the sergeant burst into laughter at the mention of goblins but was stopped by the stare of his superior officer.

  “Morgana and those scum came to our sanctuary one night, catching us unawares and captured everybody except me.” Barguff stretched, to make himself even taller, but not admitting that he happened to be away from the camp because he was fishing. and that was the real reason why he was not caught.

  “And me!” came a high-pitched voice.

  From the pocket in the pinafore of the owner popped the head of a very small gnome.

  “This is Chipper,” explained the owner, going very red in the face. Both policemen looked astonished at the appearance of yet another gnome.