Tales From The Wyrd Museum 1: The Woven Path

by Robin Jarvis

  A deadly cold, more biting and intense than the night's frost, flowed out from the grim-countenanced apparitions and the boy felt his crawling flesh turn to ice as they pressed ever closer.

  With twitching fingers, they stooped over him.

  ‘Get off!’ Neil screamed.

  ‘You were warned,’’ one of them hissed, ‘why did you not listen?

  ‘No!’ he bawled, throwing his hands before his face.

  The echoing cold began to burn into his bones and Neil thought that he was lost for ever.

  ‘All right! All right? barked a dismal voice, pushing through the crushing throng. ‘Stand back, stand back—what the bloomin’ ‘’ell’s goin’ on here, then?’

  Neil recognised the voice immediately and he stared wildly up at the phantoms that were already lumbering forlornly to one side.

  Cutting a swathe through the misty figures, the boy saw the ghost of Arnold Porter stumble to a standstill as he gazed down at him in confusion.

  ‘I know you’ the warden's shade muttered, his fat face quivering with doubt and stupefaction as he battled to remember, ‘there was something above—it... it?

  But the chaos of his mind was not to be stilled, for at that moment the phantoms around him gasped sorrowfully and pointed into the gloom behind.

  ‘She is coming? they sobbed. ‘You were to guard her, why did you abandon the child? If she is harmed then we are all doomed to the dark, and oblivion shall take us. Without her spark, we are nothing.’’

  Arnold's troubled spirit turned his face from the perplexing boy lying in the rubble and stared into the night.

  ‘Go back.' the others chanted as a new figure came barging between them. ‘It is not safe, you must return.’

  To Neil's astonishment, a young girl thrust her way into the centre of the ghostly circle and glared down at him.

  Both children regarded one another suspiciously. The girl knew the boy at once as the one who had emerged from the fiery window and, though he had never clapped eyes on her before, he guessed her identity.

  ‘You—you're Edie Dorkins, aren't you?’

  The girl made no reply but continued to glower at him, narrowing her almond eyes into the meanest slits.

  ‘I've heard about you,’ the boy rambled anxiously, ‘aren't you afraid of these things?’

  An unpleasant smile flickered on the girl's grimy face and she shook her head with slow pride.

  “What are they?’ Neil asked. What do they want?’

  The smile vanished and was replaced by the familiar scowl.

  ‘Come now, Miss Edie,’ Arnold Porter began, looking around them in a fluster, ‘you know what we said. It ain't safe out here this night. Downright dangerous it is.’

  Irritated and annoyed by his interruption, the girl turned on him and screeched shrilly.

  ‘I'm sorry, Miss,’ Arnold cried, ‘but there's summink not right.’

  Edie stared up at the ridge Neil had fallen from, then glanced back at their frightened and alarmed faces.

  ‘It is out there,' the shimmering figure of an old man warned, pointing a trembling finger over the steep hill, ‘the fiend! It has claimed that corner as its very own. We dare not tread there. And it is growing—inch by inch its territory increases. That lad was headin’ straight for it. Oh, Miss Edie, can't you feel the evil? It's stronger now than it was before, you must go—before it smells you out and comes huntin’. We know what it feeds on, you must run.’’

  Edie's eyes grew large with defiance and she bared her teeth like a possessive dog protecting a bone.

  ‘No, Miss,' Arnold called as she paced towards the mountain of debris. ‘There's nowt you can do! You can't control the thing, it's stronger than any of us ever were. You ain't got that kind of power, no one has?

  Upon the bitter night air, from the other side of the steep ruins, the faintest ripple of a distant, hideous laugh was wafted across to them and the sound cut through Neil like a jagged knife.

  “What was that?’ he cried. ‘It didn't sound human.’

  ‘That were it,’ Arnold whimpered, ‘hark at it, I doesn't like that one little bit. Oh my Lor’, pretty soon it'll know we're here.’’

  A flash of understanding jolted into Edie's meandering thoughts and a cry of dismay issued from her mouth. Pulling her pixie hood down low over her forehead, she made a grab at Neil's hand and dragged him to his feet.

  The boy stared around at the empty, imploring faces.

  ‘Go with her,’ they urged, ‘flee whilst you can.'

  Frantically, Edie tugged at Neil's arm and he was forced to follow her, back the way he had come, back to where it was safe—away from the hungry darkness that lurked in the bomb site.

  ‘’Hurry,' Arnold's woeful voice called out to them. ‘Get out before it's too late.'

  Swiftly Edie ran, like a hare darting over a field. It was difficult for Neil to try and keep up with her and a hundred questions were spinning in his head.

  ‘I don't understand,’ he panted, ‘what's going on?’

  Capering over the ruins, the girl hurried to the far edge of the bomb site and only when she was standing within sight of the road did she stop. Pirouetting upon a fallen section of fence, she danced on tiptoe until Neil came puffing alongside her.

  'That... that shape in there,’ he wheezed, not wishing to say the word ghost, ‘I saw him killed, he was a warden. He's dead, I saw him!’

  Edie covered her mouth with her filthy hand and laughed into it.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Neil persisted. “Why is he... why are all of them... ?’

  The girl lowered her hand and smugly pointed at herself.

  ‘You?’ Neil asked. ‘You mean, you're the reason?’

  Edie nodded and pranced up and down the fence.

  ‘Can't you talk?’

  Not appearing to have heard the question, or choosing to ignore it, she performed a cartwheel, then gazed back into the devastated acres of the bomb site.

  Neil stared at her—the girl was certainly peculiar—the shadowy figures that had pursued him were less ethereal and peculiar than she was. Then he noticed the incendiary device hung about her neck.

  ‘Is that live?’ he gasped. ‘Edie, it could go off at any second. Take if off!’

  Anxiously, the boy rushed forward to take it from her but she gave a fierce squeal and leaped away from him.

  ‘Don't go!’ he shouted. ‘I won't hurt you, I only wanted to remove that—it isn't a toy, Edie.’

  Fearlessly, the girl lifted the bomb in both hands and nuzzled her cheek against it. Then, half closing her eyes, she stroked the tail fins and rocked from side to side—crooning to the lethal instrument as though it were a baby.

  ‘Everyone was right,’ Neil said, ‘You are mad.’

  Edie opened one eye and gave an enchanted chuckle, as if in confirmation, then she skipped to the end of the fence. In two nimble bounds she jumped on to a collapsed lintel and up to a lofty wall where she twirled dreamily and looked down upon the boy below.

  “Wait!’ Neil called. ‘Don't go. You can't go back in there. Think about what those things were saying. It's not safe.’

  Laughing, she pointed in the opposite direction, then gambolled sprightly along the wall, disappearing behind a tall, plaster-dusted hedge.

  Unnerved by his experience, Neil hastened back to the road. If the girl wanted to stay then he wasn't going to go back in there to fetch her—besides, he still had to get to the museum.

  That place is my only chance of getting out of this madness,’ he told himself. ‘If I don't get back home pretty soon, I'll end up as cracked as she is. She's like a younger version of Miss Celandine Webster.’

  Since he hadn't the slightest desire to attempt the short cut a second time, Neil was compelled to skirt around the bomb site and, hoping he didn't run into anyone else that night, he hurried on as fast as he could.

  The high street was deserted when he reached it. Looking cautiously from right to left, he scurried across to con
tinue the journey hidden beneath the deep shadow of the shuttered shops.

  He hadn't gone far, when a faint whirring made him turn and, seeing a weak, hooded lamp sailing towards him, Neil ran to the nearest shop doorway and hoped he hadn't been spotted.

  Pedalling leisurely, Michael Harmon was gliding down the street on his rickety delivery bicycle. A tin hat was jammed on to the adolescent's head and he was wearing a pair of dark overalls. Inside the large basket fixed to the handle bars, a stirrup pump and a bucket clattered and crashed together as the machine bumped over the road.

  So far it had been a disappointing night for firewatching; Mickey hated these phoney raids that either took ages to arrive or didn't begin at all. If the German planes took any longer it would be too late and the embarrassing eleven o'clock curfew his mother had imposed on his duties would come into force.

  Listening out for the drone of the Luftwaffe overhead, Mickey saw a movement caught in the dimmed beam of his bicycle lamp and was pretty certain that the retreating figure nipping into the doorway was the mysterious, amnesiac Chapman boy.

  ‘Hoy!’ the firewatcher yelled, stepping harder on the pedals, ‘Neil—that you? What you doin’ out here? I know it's you, so you can stop hidin’.’

  With a groan, Neil stepped out from the shadows—the last person he wanted to see was the chattering baker's son.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ he called back dismissively, hoping he would get the hint.

  Mickey heaved on the pedals as Neil began to run and wished the bicycle wasn't so old. Clanking and jangling, the machine bounced along and Mickey had to let go of one handle bar to keep the pump and bucket from falling out of the basket.

  As he did this, Neil disappeared into an alleyway and when the cyclist next looked up he was nowhere to be seen

  ‘Neil?’ he shouted, applying the brakes—and shining the lamp down the street. ‘Where did you... ?’

  Nearby, his friend suddenly gave a frightened cry.

  ‘NO!’ Neil's voice shrieked. ‘Oh, God!’

  In a rattling instant, Mickey had found the alleyway and he rapidly angled the lamp around.

  There was Neil, standing stiffly in the narrow dead end. Slowly, with an odd, jerky movement, he shifted around to stare at Mickey—the colour draining from his face.

  Puzzled, the baker's son hoisted the bicycle on to the pavement and glanced down at the bedraggled bundle that lay on the ground.

  There was the bloody corpse of Doris Meacham. The eyes were still wide with horror and her open mouth was locked in a hideous, petrified scream.

  Morbidly, Mickey pushed his machine closer for a better look, as Neil turned away in revulsion.

  ‘Wow!’ the firewatcher gleefully drawled. ‘What a corker!’

  'Who was that wise g-guy anyway?’ Frank asked as he and Kath dawdled behind Jean and Angelo. ‘He sure had some nerve hollerin’ at you the way he did, why I ought've slugged him on the jaw. Pity Voo stopped me.’

  Kath snuggled against him and in an innocent voice replied, ‘I told you, I never saw that chap before, I never heard of no Larry. He was upset because his friend was dead, he got me mixed up with someone else that's all. Happens all the time, we English girls look the same to you Yanks.’

  ‘D—don't say that, Kathy,’ the airman said, sounding wounded. ‘I ain't one o'them no-g-good rats. Aw, he was just bellyachin’ ‘cos I was dancin’ with the prettiest girl there.’

  ‘Charmer,’ she giggled. ‘I wish we could've stayed till the end, I'd liked to have had another go at jitterbugging.’

  Frank scratched his head awkwardly. Well, I weren't no g—good at it, anyways,’ he admitted. ‘Angelo's the expert, he can d—do all that kinda stuff, real pop'lar with the land g-girls near the base, he is.’

  ‘At least him and Jean aren't at each other's throats all the time now,’ she said. ‘Oh, I wish you didn't have to go back to camp tomorrow.’

  That g—goes fer me, too, but don't you worry none, soon as I get my next leave I'll be knockin’ on your d—door.’

  ‘I hope that'll be soon,’ she murmured. ‘I had a grand time tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, well here's hopin’ I make it through the n—next mission. Heck, I ain't lookin’ forward to it—not one bit. Hope I can handle a raid over the Big B.’

  'They won't send you over Berlin, will they?’ the girl cried, staring at him in alarm. They wouldn't think of doin’ that, surely?’

  Frank popped a stick of gum into his mouth and chewed pensively.

  ‘I said too much already,’ he answered. What do them posters say—about careless talk?’

  ‘Be like Dad, keep Mum,’ Kath added with a titter. Well, if they do send you out there I hope it won't be for a very long time—if ever.’

  ‘How's the d-day after tomorrow grab you?’ he muttered.

  Kath stared at him in shocked surprise. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Not so soon—that isn't fair.’

  ‘Forg-get I said that,’ he quickly told her. ‘I could be thrown into the slammer for lettin’ that slip.’

  ‘But how can you be certain?’ she pressed him.

  ‘I got a buddy in Intelligence,’ he murmured in a hushed voice. ‘Come Monday mornin’, we'll be halfways over Germany. I sure hope I d—don't let the rest of the guys d-down.’

  ‘A fine, strappin’ bloke like you?’ Kath exclaimed, as they turned into Barker's Row. ‘Not on your life! Here—give us a kiss.’

  Outside number twenty-three, Jean was saying goodnight to Angelo and thanking him for a pleasant evening.

  'There's one thing I never did find out,’ she told him.

  ‘What's that?’

  ‘Why does Frank keep calling you Voo? You didn't tell me last time.’

  Angelo dug into his flying jacket and brought out his toy dog. ‘Jean,’ he began importantly, ‘I'd like to introduce you to a real good pal of mine—meet Tex.’

  The woman laughed. ‘Hello, Tex,’ she said.

  ‘Likewise,’ Angelo barked out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I got him the first night I was in England. Boy, was that dame a hot tomato!’

  ‘What has that to do ... ?’

  ‘Hold on,’ he declared, pulling a silver chain from under his collar. This is a St Christopher's medal, and in this pocket I got me a bottle top, a watchstrap, a broken lighter, a picture of the Empire State—kinda crumpled by now but that don't matter.’

  ‘What's it all for?’ she asked, bemused.

  ‘Hey, I ain't finished, there's three more pockets yet.’

  ‘Don't tell me,’ Jean said, ‘they're more lucky pieces?’

  Angelo winked in affirmation.

  ‘Most people are usually content with a rabbit's foot, you know.’

  ‘Ain't that kooky?’ the American replied. ‘What luck did it ever bring the rabbit? Naw, I'll stick to what I got already, every one of these charms has been with me since the first mission. I done flown out on twelve now and I'm still here, so one of them's gotta be doin’ somethin’.’

  ‘Ah,’ she muttered in mock solemnity, ‘but what’ll happen on the next one? That'll be number thirteen.’

  Angelo's face changed dramatically and he crossed himself at once. ‘You tryin’ to put a hex on me or what?’ he cried. ‘Don't fool around like that! It ain't funny.’

  ‘I'm sorry,’ she apologised, distressed to see the effect her words had had on him.

  Sullenly, the airman looked away from her but he recovered quickly and even managed to turn on his mischievous grin.

  ‘My fault,’ he said, ‘it's just that I'm kinda jumpy about the whole set up. Still, I got me the two most potent hocus-pocuses a dope could wish for. One is Tex, I put him up there above my radio when I'm in the bomber an’ he keeps an eye on me, the other is the jacket—I told ya’, nothin’ but nothin’ can happen to me while it's on my back. You wait an’ see, I'm gonna come through this war— I might get put straight into the bughutch but who cares?’

  Jean folded her arms and tutted. ‘I'm none the
wiser,’ she said. ‘Voo—remember?’

  ‘I was just comin’ to that. Don't you get it? All the guys call me Voo, it's short for Voodini—as in a mix of voodoo and Houdini. Some joke, huh?’

  ‘Actually, I think it suits you.’

  That's the shame of it, I reckon I deserve it.’

  The amusement faded from Jean's eyes as an almost imperceptible whine sounded in the moonlit sky.

  ‘Here they are,’ she moaned, ‘I better get to the Anderson. I really did have a nice time, Angelo, thank you.’

  ‘You just gonna turf me out in the middle of an air raid?’ he taunted. ‘Real cruel, that's what you are. When they find iddy bits of me from here to London Bridge, I hope you'll be happy. Don't I even get a cup of coffee?’

  Jean considered him uncertainly. ‘I really don't know,’ she said.

  ‘Here,’ Angelo declared, thrusting his toy dog into her hands, ‘to demonstrate that I have only honourable intentions, you can keep Tex hostage the entire time, but I gotta have him back, OK? Don't want you two fallin’ for each other.’

  Relenting, the woman accepted the mascot and tucked him in her belt whilst she took a key from her purse. ‘Just one cup,’ she warned, ‘and it'll have to be tea.’

  ‘Hey, any more than that an’ I'll be yawnin’ in Technicolor,’ he assured her.

  Inside the house, a small, furry figure stood upon the stairs with both ears cocked towards the front door. Listening to the light-hearted conversation taking place out on the doorstep, Ted chortled to himself and prepared to clamber back up to the boxroom.

  Suddenly, the door opened and before the bear could take cover, Jean and Angelo entered.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ the woman said, walking to the kitchen.

  ‘You do that,’ Angelo answered, gazing with interest about the hall.

  Upon the floor, where Mrs Stokes had discarded it, was Daniel's off-white teddy and there, lying inert on the stairs, was Ted.

  ‘What d'you know?’ Angelo sniggered, picking both of them up and following Jean into the kitchen. ‘I guess this means my oath ain't valid no more.’

  Filling the kettle from a spluttering tap, the young woman turned around when he entered. ‘Didn't catch that,’ she said.