by Jeff Mills
“What!” A tremendous voice came from the back of the cavern at the mention of her name and the witch came storming up to the pair. “You stupid creatures. Can’t I leave you to do anything?” She tried to kick the small defenceless miscreant in front of her but the little person was too quick and dodged to one side, which made the witch curse loudly.
“Come, sister. Let’s go and sort out this mess that these pathetic creatures seem to have got themselves into. You too!” glancing at Snatch, who whimpered and took a step back.
She went over to the bent figure, took hold of her arm, then, grabbing a handful of fur at the back of Snatch’s neck, the three melted into the floor. Turly stood in awe and amazement and refused to accept what she had seen, for several minutes. There was a loud crack from the remains of the fire which brought her out of her stupor. She looked around, seeing she was now totally alone. Wearily she lifted herself off the floor and reluctantly jogged out of the cave and slowly made her way back to the fray.
The battle was certainly going against the goblins and many were gathered in a small hollow, surrounded by a whole contingent of gnomes waving their makeshift weapons. They were on the verge of surrender when there was an almighty scream and Morgana, her sister and Snatch appeared behind the gnomes. Morgana started to slash at them with a large stick she was carrying. The gnomes scattered and the goblins, their courage and determination suddenly boosted by the appearance of their leader, charged, whooping and screaming, bringing down a great many of the opposition.
Bird was about twenty yards away and the sudden high-pitched scream made him look around. He saw the witches there, beating and swishing with their sticks, sending gnome after gnome high into the air only to land with a sickening thud on the ground or a splintering of wood as they were thrown high into the trees. He gave an enormous back kick to a group of goblins that were desperately trying to bring him down, sending five of their number flying to over twenty feet away, then with long strides he came face to face with his chief adversaries.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s here! It’s our funny chicken friend,” cackled the black-cloaked witch. “I see that you haven’t brought your little protector with you this time?”
For a moment Bird was confused as to what she meant, then it suddenly dawned on him and his wing went instinctively to his chest, but the amulet was not there.
“What have you done with our inheritance?” screamed Morgana, making her sister look up for the first time and look into Bird’s eyes. Although the figure in front of him was small and apparently harmless, the look that came from the sunken hollows in her face made a shiver run down his spine. It was the look of pure hatred and evil, much more than he had ever seen from either Morgana or even Kadavera. In an effort to try to regain the upper hand he chuckled and said sarcastically,
“And who’s your little friend or should I say bundle of rags?”
The voice that came back at him was so loud and strong that at first he thought that there was someone else around. It was filled with venom and hatred.
“I am Putricia. Where is our inheritance? Give it to us before I kill you!”
Bird stepped back in surprise, amazed that such a small figure could speak so powerfully.
“I don’t have it at the moment!” he blurted out.
“But I do,” came a voice from behind the witches. They spun round and Bird looked up. Standing there, looking very red faced and out of breath, stood Hugo and his father.
The boy was holding the amulet in his out-stretched hand and thrust it at the two haunting figures in front of him. The witches instinctively backed away but gazed intently at the sparkling pendant hanging from Hugo’s hand. Putricia stretched out her hand to grab it but, when only inches from it, she screamed and pulled her arm back, rubbing her hand as if it had been injured.”
“Give me that amulet!” she ordered firmly and ominously, raising her head and pulling the cowl from her cloak. Her appearance made everyone, except Morgana, step back and Hugo almost let go of the chain.
The small witch looked around and her eyes fell on Hugo’s father. As she looked him in the face she gasped and took a step backwards. She was silent for several seconds as everyone watched her intently. Slowly, raising her arm to point at him, she suddenly screamed,
“Murderer! Murderer!” and started to advance towards him. Hugo immediately stepped between them both and held the swinging amulet out as far as he could in front of him, making Putricia step back again but repeating “Murderer, murderer!” glancing at her sister, and still pointing at his father.
“I am not a murderer!” Mr Bennett shouted, but the small black figure kept on chanting the same words, “Murderer, murderer.”
The sound of footsteps came from behind Hugo and his father. A very breathless Mrs Bennett and Stephanie came running up, with Jake jumping and barking ahead of them, obviously thinking that this activity was fun and a game. The animal stopped as he came up to Hugo but then gave a great bark and ran towards the two witches and Snatch who, up to that point, had been skulking in the shadows behind Morgana. She smiled and bent down and patted the jumping dog who was obviously very pleased to see her.
“Hello again,” she cooed in a very friendly way. Snatch came forward and nuzzled against him.
The Bennett family were gobsmacked at seeing their pet dog being so friendly with their adversary. Putricia looked decidedly angry at the animal and the friendliness which her sister showed towards it. She was about to admonish her sister when she looked up and saw Mrs Bennett. Putricia’s withered hand went to her mouth and she gasped. Morgana looked at her sister, concerned that something was wrong. Following her gaze, she also looked first at Mrs Bennett and then at Stephanie. Her whole demeanour suddenly changed and the only words that she said were,
“No, no, no! It’s not possible.” She looked at Putricia and both stood still, gazing at each other in total shock and surprise.
Mrs Bennett, taken aback at their reaction, looked at the two, and then at Morgana.
“You’re that missing reporter, aren’t you?” she shouted in surprise. “I recognise you from your description. Sue something isn’t it? The police and everyone are trying to find you.”
Morgana looked at Hugo’s mother and then again at Stephanie but before she could answer, a mighty scream came from behind them and the owner of the reserve came running up as fast as she could, swinging her broom in front of her, scattering a swathe of grey goblins who were trying to escape and running in every direction.
The distraction broke the tension and Hugo lunged forward, swinging the pendant in front of him. The two witches stepped back to avoid it, then, holding hands and grabbing Snatch by his fur, they gave a final strange look at the family standing in front of them and seemed to evaporate.
For several moments Bird, the Bennetts and the owner stood there, transfixed by what they had seen, until another shout brought them back to the present. A large contingent of goblins was bearing down on them, each one waving their arms with the small weapons they carried. Mr Bennett was the first to react. Bending down, he picked up the stick that Morgana had carried but dropped before she disappeared. Turning to face the oncoming hoard he ran at them, shouting as loudly as he could. The enemy were unprepared for the attack on them by a full size adult big person and scattered at his approach. His action also spurred Hugo and Bird to charge and goblins could be seen scattering and fleeing as they fought their way up to the main house.
The disappearance of the two witches quickly demoralised the remaining goblins and, with a cry from one of them, who wore a red bandana around its neck and who seemed to have taken charge, the remaining hoard took flight and headed for their homes, and safety.
The Gnome Reserve suddenly seemed silent except for the cries and groaning that came from both injured gnomes and goblins. The whole of the Bennett family hugged each other. Mrs Bennett even gave Bird a h
ug and everyone around could see by the reddening of his neck that he was very embarrassed at this. Jake was jumping around and barking and looking for Snatch but he also was obviously confused by the sudden disappearance of his friend.
After looking around to make sure that there were no further attacks were likely, they headed back to the house where they found the owner sitting on a step and sobbing.
“Look what they’ve done to my garden,” she cried, pointing at the devastation that was before them. Mrs Bennett went up to her, sat on the step and put her arm around her to comfort her. Both women looked at each other and smiled sympathetically.
“Quick, come quick!” a tiny voice called and Chipper exploded onto the scene. He stopped suddenly, seeing so many big people gathered there but then ran up to Bird and pulled hard on his leg, which was the only part of Bird he could reach.
“Come quick, come quick!” he kept repeating, trying to pull Bird’s leg. Bird looked at everybody, shrugged and followed the small gnome. Everyone else followed.
In a small clearing stood a circle of gnomes, each looking at the floor. Bird approached, with Chipper still pulling at his leg. The circle parted.
Lying on the ground, spread-eagled and with a large gash in his neck, lay Barguff. He was surrounded by at least eight dead or injured goblins of both grey and blue. A small knife blade was still buried deep into the gnome’s neck and he was engulfed by a pool of orange blood. Bird dropped to his haunches and he bent down to look at his friend. Barguff’s eyes flickered at his touch and he whispered,
“Did we win?”
Bird tried to answer but his voice came out as a choke. He coughed a little and simply said,
“You bet.” The little man, still wearing his bright blue cap, smiled and closed his eyes. Mr Bennett came forward to see if there was anything he could do but after a brief examination he looked into Bird’s eyes and gently shook his head. Hugo, his mother and even Stephanie started to cry silently. They were quickly joined by the other gnomes around them, with little Chipper being inconsolable. The reserve’s owner appeared breathless on the scene, still distraught at the destruction of her estate but on seeing the little corpse in front of her, she fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, covering her face with her hands.
Two of the gnomes went away and came back with a makeshift stretcher made from two branches and a blanket. Mr Bennett gently picked up the limp body of the gnome, placed it carefully on the stretcher and the two bearers picked it up and carried it back to Barguff’s house.
The door had been broken down but they kicked what was left of it out of the way and went inside, laying their burden down on the table in front of the fireplace. They pulled a red spotted blanket off the small bed in the corner and covered the body of their friend.
Hugo and his family were too big to go inside and could only stand helplessly as the gnomes performed their unpleasant task. By now the whole of the house was surrounded by crowds of the other gnomes who were reverently looking through the windows, bowing their heads and slowly walking away, all with tears in their eyes.
The owner went over to Chipper, who was still crying loudly, stroked his head, knocking his little cap off as she did so, which she immediately picked up and with as much care as she could, lifted him up and put him in her apron pocket. The sound of both of them sobbing could be heard as she turned and walked slowly back to her house.
Chapter 36
The Phone
“I think we’ve found it!” Sergeant Phil Cummings exclaimed, as he waved a yellow piece of paper above his head.
“What are you on about?” Detective Inspector Hyde retorted, his mouth full of a cake he was eating. “Can’t a man have his lunch in peace anymore?”
“The location of that missing reporter’s phone,” his sergeant said, throwing the paper down on the table in front of him and pushing a cup of coffee to one side to make space. He was so eager that the coffee splashed over the side of the cup and soaked one half of the sheet.
“Careful! That’s my coffee you’re spilling! Right, what was that you were saying about that phone?”
The sergeant pulled out the chair next to his superior and sat down, grabbing a tissue from the pile in the centre of the table to mop up the spilt drink and dry off the table as much as possible. When he had done the best he could, he opened the yellow sheet and laid it in front of them both. The paper was a large-scale map of the Westward Ho! area. Near the bottom of the right hand corner was a large red cross.
“It’s there!” the eager officer said loudly, stabbing his finger on the point indicated on the map.
“What are we waiting for then?” announced the inspector and pushed himself away from the table, spilling more of the coffee again but this time just leaving it to puddle in the centre of the table. The two policemen sped through the canteen and out to a waiting patrol car.
With lights and sirens blazing, they sped off to Westward Ho!, optimistic of finding the missing girl, or at least some clue as to her whereabouts.
* * *
A constable had already arrived by the time they had pulled up at the location and he was busy running a white plastic barrier tape with the words, ‘Police Line Do Not Cross’ emblazoned in blue along its length, around the entrance to the cave not far from Hugo’s house. The officers climbed down the bank and onto the beach and stood in front of the cave entrance.
“I thought that this area was already supposed to have been checked?” The inspector questioned the young constable, who just shrugged.
“Get me a torch,” he ordered the young officer, who had anticipated his request and held one out, smiling broadly.
“Smart ass!” the inspector muttered under his breath.
Holding the illuminated torch in front of him, he and the other two policemen advanced into the entrance of the tunnel. Ducking, to avoid banging their heads, they slowly moved forwards. The inspector, using the light from the torch, examined every nook and cranny looking for anything that might give a clue as to the whereabouts of the phone but, more importantly, the missing reporter.
“I see a light,” the constable whispered as they neared the end of the tunnel.
Sure enough, after a few more yards, the three entered the first cave. Flashing the torch beam in front of them, it came to rest on the two wooden coffins. They moved towards them and the inspector, who was carrying the torch, swung it back and forth, closely investigating every detail, especially the initials engraved on the lids,
“Make a note of those,” he ordered his sergeant, “but don’t touch anything. We want the forensic boys to have a look at these.”
“Yes sir,” he replied but with a little sarcasm in his voice, which did not go unnoticed by his superior.
“There’s another light coming from up there!” the constable said enthusiastically and pointed to the other small tunnel leading off the cavern they were in. The inspector flashed his torch randomly around the cave and then, seeing nothing more of interest said,
“Okay, constable, lead the way.”
Gingerly they started forwards but this time they had to crouch down, as this tunnel was much lower than the first. The sergeant, especially, found the going difficult, as he was a good three inches taller than his colleagues and complained loudly every time he banged his head, which was frequently.
All three stopped and stretched as they emerged into the main cave.
“What the...” the inspector was stunned into silence.
A small lamp was still burning brightly close to the entrance and the constable went over and took it from the spike in the wall on which it hung. With the combined light of the torch and that given out from the few sputtering lamps and candles plus the glow from the fire, the whole cavern had a very eerie feeling and the sergeant felt a cold shiver go down his back.
“Who or what’s been living here?” the inspector mumble
d, much more to himself than his colleagues. The sergeant bent over to pick up a candle from a crevice but it fell and went out. Slowly the three worked their way around, wondering who had lived there and what they could have possibly been doing with so many bottles and jars that were left scattered around.
The sergeant went up to the still-steaming cauldron and, after looking inside at the swirling contents, he said in mocking jest,
“Hey sir! This just reminds me of the scene from that play by Bill Shakespeare. You know, the one with the witches.” And he gave a nervous chuckle.
“I reckon that this is the hideaway of smugglers and that reporter lass stumbled on them and they’ve done something with her. If that’s the case, then from what I see here, it must have been a very organised gang and I don’t give much hope for her chances!” commented the constable but to no one in particular.
Suddenly the sergeant cried out,
“I’ve found it, sir. Look!” Pulling a rubber glove out of his pocket, he bent down and picked up a small flat rectangular object. Turning it over in his hands he looked down at the pink mobile phone. The other two policemen came over and looked at it. The sergeant pressed the power button but there were no signs of life. “I think it’s broken sir; the front is smashed.”
“Bag it and we’ll let the forensic boys see if they can breathe any life into it,” responded the inspector. “Look, there’s far too much here for us to investigate. I can see no signs of the girl, so we’ll call it a day for now and let the forensics get their hands on it. They’ll have a field day. Pack up and let’s get out of here; this place gives me the creeps.”
“You’re not the only one,” the constable said under his breath.
“What about that tunnel there?” the sergeant enquired.
Turning round to the direction the officer was pointing, the inspector was surprised to see the other tunnel leading out of the cave. He had not noticed it before.
