by James Erith
‘Good,’ the Blabisterberry Jelly said. ‘You’re a smart bunch, aren’t you? Grandpa must be so proud.’
‘But what if I really can’t eat—’
‘Then, my dear, you’ll get a little ... overwhelmed.’ A high-pitched cackle echoed around them, and then, as before, the sweet tones resumed. ‘This is why my portions always start so small. It’s terribly easy. Just believe what you want to believe. You have only yourself to fear.’
Isabella’s stomach churned. Portions? Portions of what, exactly?
In the marrow of her bones something told her that this absolutely, definitely, wasn’t going to be a piece of Mrs. Pye’s cake.
ONE HUNDRED SEVEN
TO THE COTTAGE
Dickinson had seen enough.
Taken from her. That’s all she’d said – three times. When pressed about where they had gone, she’d stared at him with sadness in her eyes and returned to staring at the wall.
He waited for Stone to pick up.
‘Sir,’ Dickinson said, as his phone clicked. ‘We’ve searched everywhere. The woman told us the children have been taken and I’m afraid we can’t get any more out of her. To be honest, I doubt if she knows any more –she’s in a terrible state.’
‘Did you use other methods?’ Stone asked.
‘Absolutely,’ Dickinson lied. ‘If anything, it made her worse.’
For a moment the line remained quiet as Stone thought it through. ‘You reckon the house has been ransacked and the children abducted?’
‘That’s one theory,’ Dickinson replied. ‘We’ve been round the house and buildings twice and not a squeak of life. All I can tell you is one hell of a struggle took place upstairs and downstairs. Some of the children’s clothes we found were covered with bloodstains and torn to bits. Even the generator hasn’t been on for a while. I hate to say it, sir, but there’s a strong chance they’re already dead.’
Stone cussed into the radio. ‘I’ve got Solomon and Sue here. Is there anything they can salvage?’
Dickinson rubbed his chin. ‘Whoever it is must be a step ahead of us. If Solomon can find any links to the chapel that’ll be something. You’ve got nothing to lose, and it might not be a bad idea to have Sue look after the woman. She might loosen-up if she sees a friendly face. I’ll fix up a camera in her room so we can see if she’s faking it or not.’
‘Nice idea,’ Stone replied. ‘When you’ve done that, get down to where you left your boat. Meet the RIB coming over from our side with the headmaster and girl. You’ll need to guide them in.’
‘Heading down now, sir. Thickest fog you’ve ever seen.’
‘Fine, but I need you back here. We had a perimeter break last night. This place must be secure while we begin the evacuation. I think word about the American’s intention has sneaked out.’
‘OK, Roger that,’ Dickinson said. ‘We’ll be there as soon as we can.’
STONE TURNED TO SOLOMON. ‘Eden Cottage is empty. From what Dickinson said, the children have been abducted, so you’re on, cousin. Find out all you can. Take Sue, she can look after that caretaker woman and we’ll ask her to see if she can figure out what happened. The RIB leaves as soon as you’ve got your things together. You’ll find supplies for several days and I’m giving you a radio. Touch base the moment you’re in the house, and then at four hourly intervals during daylight hours. Is that clear? I’ll also give you some fuel – see if you can’t start up that generator.’
‘Good, thank you,’ Solomon said. ‘What if there’s nothing after a day or so?’
Stone understood what he meant. ‘I’ll do what I can to get you out of there,’ he said. He stood up and looked his elder cousin in the eye. ‘If we’ve not got you out after three days, take provisions and seal yourselves in the cellar. Understand? Go deep and you should be alright.’
Solomon nodded.
‘The clock is ticking and we need results.’
‘Indeed, Charlie. You know I’ll do my utmost to get to the bottom of this.’
SUE STRODE DOWN THE PATH, hoping like mad Gus had managed to get down there before her. In no time, she was swallowed up by a blanket of fog and, had it not been for the familiarity of where to go and the hard tarmac beneath her feet, she wondered if she would have got lost. Her fears were short lived. Despite the protective suite, she recognised Gus before he noticed her for, even though Gus was tall for his age, he was undoubtedly smaller in build than the other men and women who scurried around the small RIB.
Sue slipped on the protective helmet. She moved in closer.
‘Hi,’ she said, winking at Gus through the plastic mask. ‘I’m Sue. Is Mr. Solomon here yet?’
Gus raised his hand. ‘He’s over there,’ he said, his voice a little lower than usual.
Sue followed his gaze and just managed to make out the headmaster heading towards them.
‘Hello, sir,’ Sue said, as he approached.
‘Ah. There you are Sue. Jolly good. Have you got everything you need?’ He turned to the man next to him. ‘These two are with me.’
The man, squat, with jet black hair and a matching bushy beard, eyed them up. ‘I was told only one.’ He checked his pad.
‘No, both are coming,’ Solomon said. ‘Top level researchers. And we need to get a move on.’
The man scratched his beard. ‘Better check with security,’ he said, and he reached wearily into his pocket.
‘Can I ask your name?’ Solomon asked directly.
‘Sergeant Lambert.’
‘You are aware, Sergeant, that I have been given carte blanche on this operation by Commissioner Stone? I also happen to be his cousin and head of this investigation.’
The Sergeant stiffened. Solomon noted his hollow eyes and scarred face. He probably wasn’t someone to mess with. ‘Perhaps I can persuade you otherwise – we’re in such a terrible hurry. Perhaps this might help a little...’
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a few notes. They shook, Lambert accepting the money with a sly smile.
‘Alright,’ Lambert said, slipping the cash into his back pocket, ‘you’ve paid the ferryman, but I’ll still need names. There were two incidents last night, one involving people breaking out, the other with people breaking in. One of them was the kid who survived in a boat. Apparently he’s got the disease – that’s what they’re saying. If security’s breached apparently we’ve ‘ad it.’
‘Very good, Sergeant,’ Solomon said, hardly daring to catch Sue or Gus’ eye. ‘Can I suggest we get going – I’ll fill you in as we go? It’s quite a distance in these conditions and Dickinson is needed back here pronto.’
Lambert weighed up the suggestion before helping each of them into the twelve-foot RIB and pointing to where he wanted them to perch on the thick, air-filled sides.
Solomon sat on one side, Sue and Gus, the other.
After balancing out the additional weight of fuel and provisions, Lambert gave the boat a shove and hoisted himself up and over the side.
Moments later the engine throbbed into life.
‘How can you tell where to go?’ Sue asked, looking around. ‘It’s a total white-out.’
Lambert smiled, showing off a silver capped tooth. He then produced a small electronic device from the inside pocket of his coat. ‘This clever navigation system, darlin’,’ he said. ‘Links up to a tracer on the other side. That’s them – the red dot.’ He showed her, clearly pleased with himself. ‘We’re the green flashing one. All we’ve got to do is aim for it. So long as we don’t smash into anything too chunky or the light disappears, we’ll be there in a couple of hours. Slow goin’ in this stuff.’
Sue shivered as the cold, damp, fog leached into her. Apart from the mechanical throb of the engine and the gentle thump of water on the prow, the eeriness and quiet of the water filled her with unease.
Every so often the boat clunked or biffed on something and, holding on extra tight to the safety rope around the edge, she peeked out into the endless, still, white veil.
Before long, she slid down the inflated rubber edge and leant on Gus’ leg. More than anything, all she wanted to do was snuggle up next to him, just as they had done on “The Joan Of”.
Soon, every hair on her body stood to attention. She imagined hands reaching out and grappling at the boat, grotesque, zombie-like bodies hauling themselves in, or pulling them overboard. They were in a corridor of death, and a dark, terror filled her.
Eventually, she shrank down and lowered her head to her chest so that she couldn’t see, grateful for the throbbing heartbeat of the engine. The fog’s stench was a heady combination of stale water and devastation and it permeated every particle of air.
Lambert peered into the gloom, adjusting the rudder every once in a while and slowing if he saw larger objects looming out of the fog at them. ‘Who’s the lad then?’ he said at long last, pulling out a pad and pen.
Solomon coughed, relieved someone had broken the silence. ‘My technical assistant, you mean?’
‘Don’t he speak?’
Solomon flashed a look towards Gus. ‘His name, if that’s what you mean, is—’
‘Kemp,’ Gus answered.
‘Absolutely,’ Solomon added, raising his eyebrows at the boy. ‘Kemp,’ he repeated.
‘University of Durham, second year student studying religious artefacts,’ Gus continued. ‘Specialising on the stained glass windows of the churches of Northern Britain.’
It took all her concentration for Sue not to explode with laughter. Was his voice lower and slightly posher?
Lambert nodded, impressed. ‘You reckon there’s some kinda link then, do ya? That’s what I’ve been hearing, Kemp. Some spooky thing from hundreds of years back, come back to punish us. You know, like in them old times, when the Gods sent plagues and stuff to kill everyone.’
Gus turned towards Sue, his huge, toothy smile evident through the clear plastic hood. ‘Um ...’
‘That’s exactly the sort of thing we’re going to see if we can find out, Sergeant,’ Solomon butted in. ‘You see, Kemp has an almost unique perspective on these matters. He was born in a house bang next to York Minster, where he was fortunate to have access to some of the rarest forms of ecclesiastical artworks in the world, weren’t you, Kemp?’
Gus stared at the headmaster for a while. ‘Indeed,’ he said coolly. ‘A very unique ... childhood.’
Solomon was enjoying himself. ‘Didn’t you write a thesis on it?’
Gus spluttered. ‘Yeah. Er ... about triptych stained glass window arrangements and other things,’ he said hurriedly.
‘Gothic?’ Solomon said.
‘Absolutely,’ Gus replied, wondering what had got into the man. ‘90’s Gothic-revival kind-of-thing.’
’90’s Gothic revival?’ Lambert said. ‘You’re pulling my leg.’
Solomon chuckled. ‘My dear old thing we’re talking about the Thirteenth century—
‘1290’s, to be precise,’ Gus added. ‘An important time in—‘
Sue shrieked, ‘How long before we arrive?’
Lambert looked down at the screen. ‘About fifteen minutes. You lot had better keep look out. I’m told there’s loads of stuff lying round the edges – you know, cars, trees – maybe a rotting cat or two.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe a few human corpses.’
When the RIB brushed on the bare tops of willow tree clumps submerged beneath the water, they knew they must be close. Lambert negotiated through piles of metal, plastic and wooden debris until, eventually, Gus spotted a faint circular ring of bright light glowing out of the fog not too far away.
Lambert aimed for it, cut the engine, and let the boat drift in.
Shortly, instructions came from the bank, and while Lambert guided the rudder, Gus grabbed the nylon painter and tossed it to one of the talking figures on the side of the water who pulled the boat further in. Then he jumped off the prow into the mud, where a blond-haired man helped him regain his legs.
As Sue did the same, Gus moved to the fringes, tested the weight of a rucksack and hauled it up onto his back. With his head kept low, he waited while the others gathered their provisions and, in no time, they began the tricky, slippery climb up the hillside towards Eden Cottage.
ONE HUNDRED EIGHT
STARLIGHT APPLE CRUMBLE
Without warning, a fountain of sparkling dust blew out of the goblet of goo, like a firework. Streams of bright, vibrant colours creating a dazzling, glittery cloud that soon hovered over the table.
The children and Old Man Wood smiled at one other, wide-eyed in amazement. Then, the dust parted and formed swirling circles above them, like coloured halos.
These halos descended down over their heads, spinning in front of their eyes and over their ears, a noise tingling like miniature bells.
The children instinctively shut their eyes, as the strange particles swept into their heads through all available holes and tickled their brains.
When the noise reappeared, they opened their eyes to find the halos in front of them, each one moving towards the middle of the table like fat bagels flying in slow-motion.
As they met, another explosion of glitter spewed into the air with the sound of broken glass.
In front of the children’s astonished eyes the dust divided and descended in equal parts onto their plates.
When the children and Old Man Wood looked down, the colourful glitter had gone. They stared at their stone plates with mouths open, their eyes on stalks.
A second later, screams of horror and shouts of absolute disgust erupted in the small chamber.
OLD MAN WOOD REELED.
On his plate a miniature dreamspinner crawled on long, opaque legs around the rim of the stone platter, it’s translucent, jellyfish-like body with a hole where its abdomen should have been, pulsating with mini forks of blue lightning.
Old Man Wood sat quite still with his mouth open, staring at the creature, while all around him the children screamed and hollered and wailed and gagged at the sights in front of them.
Apples alive, I did this, he thought. These things are our worst fears. It is a trial of will. At least that’s what the Willows said. It had to be true, but how in all the apples on all the planets in all the universes had he done it?
Shocked, he stared at the creature moving around the plate, trying to think. But the longer he stared and the children screamed, the larger the strange, spidery creature grew.
When Daisy came over and threw her arm round him wailing, he snapped out of it, and remembered where he was and what he had to do.
‘SILENCE!’ he roared. ‘Listen to me, and listen hard. Look at me, Isabella – you too Daisy. Look me right in the eye.’ The children did as he asked. ‘Whatever you do, DO NOT look at your plates until I tell you. Right, good.’
Old Man Wood took a deep breath. ‘All of this is not real, my littluns,’ he said, his tone softer. ‘What you have to imagine is that this plateful is your favourite food, your most favourite meal in the world.’
‘That’s impossible—’
‘No, little Bells, it is not,’ he said. ‘WE HAVE TO DO THIS or Blabisterberry Jelly will overwhelm us. Keep looking at me, girls, and you, Archie.’ He held each pair of the children’s terrified eyes.
‘You have to believe me,’ he said, as he picked up a spoon and fork.
‘Keep looking at me. Good. Now, I’m going to prove how easy this is. I’m imagining, with all my heart and soul, that this is my favourite food...’
‘Starlight apple crumble?’ Archie said.
‘Exactly!’ Old Man Wood said. ‘It’s a thick slice of warm, yumptious, starlight apple crumble on my plate where the apple is sweet and juicy and the crumble crunches. How it melts in the mouth.’
The Old Man shut his eyes and concentrated hard on a mouthful of starlight apple crumble helped along with a huge dollop of thick, creamy custard.
He opened his eyes and looked down. For him, the strange, thin, spidery creature began to recede into apple crumble covered in yummy custard. The others looke
d on, riveted by the repulsive scene of Old Man Wood about to eat an alien-like spider.
‘You see,’ he said, cutting into the dreamspinner, ‘you have to believe that what you are about to eat is what you truly want to eat. It doesn’t have to be big or clever, but Blabisterberry Jelly will know if you mean it. I promise you this, my littluns, you must not be found wanting.’
Old Man Wood shut his eyes and helped himself to the mouthful, pushing the pulsating spoonful with a long leg hanging out into his open mouth.
All the children could see was the quivering electrical abdomen of the dreamspinner flashing, electrifying his stubby teeth as he bit down.
‘Cor! That is utterly fan-tab-ulistic!’ Old Man Wood spluttered, helping himself to another spoonful. ‘This has ... mmm ... to be the greatest ... yummiest ... sweetest, starlight apple crumble I’ve ever had in all my life.’
He piled in again. ‘And I should know,’ he enthused as he chewed, electric blue crackles of lightning washing round his mouth, ‘Coz I’ve been making it for an awfully long time.’
ONE HUNDRED NINE
A DISGUSTING WAY TO DIE
Daisy shook with fear.
She simply couldn’t believe Old Man Wood was eating the most horrific, weird, spidery-alien-thing she’d ever seen. The sight filled her with dread and she noted how Isabella and Archie’s faces were pale and green.
No books, no schooling, nothing could prepare them for this kind of experience. Daisy shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Holding onto her nose she sucked in a huge lungful of air, exhaling slowly before repeating the process two or three times.
How did the goo know?
The incident had happened three years ago. They’d been playing football and some of the boys started getting rough, kicking her and tripping and making dangerous tackles. She smiled now she thought about it, how similar it had been to the match against Chitbury.
