Tales From The Wyrd Museum 1: The Woven Path

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘Is it over?’ Neil murmured. ‘Is the demon dead?’

  Ted paddled into the gloom, rubbing his ears thoughtfully. ‘I don't get it,’ he said, ‘they told me it weren't possible!’

  At that moment, with a yammering squeal, a stunted, bristly shape came leaping from the shadows.

  The gnashing, deformed imp was only as tall as Ted's shoulder, but its unexpected appearance startled him and he gave a cry of alarm.

  ‘Jeez!’ he wailed.

  Splashing through the wide puddles, the peevish little demon scampered round the yard, trilling a high-pitched, angry cheep like a frightened gerbil. The shrill skriking was so ridiculous that Neil almost laughed.

  Belial's beady red eyes hunted for a way to escape them, alighting finally upon the gaping entrance. Quacking sharply, he scudded through the tainted waters towards the battered gates.

  ‘Don't just stand there, kid!’ Ted shouted. ‘Catch the little varmint!’

  To the frenzied, grunting demon's dismay, the bear lunged across his path and, careening over the slippy concrete, it was impossible to stop himself.

  Squealing, Belial cannoned straight into Ted's sopping body and the two went tumbling head over heels in the muddy puddle.

  Angrily, the bear sprang to his feet, showering a spray of water all around as he shook himself and cast about for the imp.

  The bristle-covered demon was retching and spitting out the mire he had swallowed, when Ted came stomping up to him.

  ‘I might only have one paw left,’ he snapped, ‘but it sure makes a helluva fist!’

  Spinning on his legs and swinging his body round, the bear slugged Belial right on his quivering jaw.

  With a piercing yowl, the demon toppled backwards into the water again.

  ‘Boy, that felt good!’ Ted jeered.

  Simmering with impotent fury, the imp glared past the obstructing body of the bear and prepared to spring.

  ‘Always did have a mean left hook,’ Ted called over to Neil.

  Spitting with rage, Belial launched himself from the puddle and catapulted past the one-armed bear.

  Ted whirled around in surprise.

  ‘Stop him!’ he cried.

  Neil watched the jabbering imp race towards the entrance and shook his head. ‘Let him go,’ he said, “what harm can he do now!’

  ‘You outta your mind?’ Ted yelled crashing through the water. ‘If he gets loose, then it'll start all over.’

  Fearfully, Neil darted after him but it was no use. Belial scrabbled over the broken gates and leaped into the street beyond.

  ‘NO!’ Ted wailed.

  Seething with glee the imp danced in the gloom. Soon he would be mighty again.

  Even as he jigged and capered, out of the darkness a child's hand came swooping down and Belial was captured.

  Lifting her wriggling pixie hood before her face, Edie Dorkins grinned. Tiny claws were already ripping at the wool, tearing it to shreds, but she was prepared for that.

  Champing his needle-like teeth, the pugnacious imp finally ripped through the woolly hat and hurled himself out.

  Into a wooden box he fell and, as soon as the demon was inside, the girl slammed the lid down tightly.

  Taking the Casket of Belial in her hands, she-raised it and laughed out loud.

  Standing in the entrance to the courtyard, Neil and Ted stared in bewilderment at poor, mad, little Edie Dorkins.

  Then a cold horror crept over the bear and he gazed despairingly up at Neil.

  ‘Jean,’ he cried.

  Neil's hand flew to his mouth. ‘Josh!’ he howled. We're too late!’

  Not wasting any more time, the boy grabbed Ted and they tore from the yard and into Well Lane.

  Into the Jeep they leaped and the vehicle went scorching out of the narrow street.

  The time was nine forty-five, the parachute mine, which had previously killed Jean Evans and her young son, had fallen from the skies nine minutes ago.

  Into Barker's Row the Jeep roared, ploughing through the fog which still covered the houses.

  With a quaking heart, Neil stamped on the brake and the vehicle screeched to a tyre-melting halt.

  In dreadful silence, the boy and Ted gazed up at number twenty-three.

  ‘It's still here,’ Neil whispered.

  ‘Not for much longer,’ the bear yelled, hopping from the Jeep and running to the front door.

  A sheet of milky mist was spread over the Stokes's garden. Slowly shifting and curdling, it was like the calm surface of a silver lake from a romance of the middle ages. The woody stalks of last year's Brussels sprouts which rose from the tranquil, ghostly pool, were the towers of wizards and the tangle of strawberry plants that crowned the Anderson shelter, was an island forest, inhabited by the wild folk of faerie.

  Such was the fluttering, merry fancy of the one who gazed on the harmonious scene. Then abruptly, both the peace and the pretty illusion were shattered.

  With a juddering slam, the back door flew open and the skeins of mist fled. A frightened clamour squawked out of the chicken house as into the garden burst Neil and Ted.

  Hurtling towards the shelter by the far wall, they suddenly stumbled and tripped over one another as they beheld the figure standing in the potato plot.

  ‘Good evening, dears,’ she chortled, ‘I was beginning to think you were never going to arrive.’

  Dressed in her shabby nightgown with an eager, expectant look on her crinkly, toothy face, was Miss Celandine Webster.

  Both Neil and the bear stared at her, but before either of them could utter a sound, they saw the large, sinister shape behind her.

  Suspended in the empty air, hanging impossibly in the ether, with the mist curling over its smooth metal surface, was a bomb.

  Lifting his gaze, Neil saw the unfurled parachute hovering over the garden, frozen in the final seconds of its descent.

  Miss Celandine followed their eyes and turned to the great sea mine, whilst she fiddled with the knitting in her hands.

  ‘Isn't it a big one?’ she observed. ‘Will it make such a very large hole? Ursula said it would—isn't it marvellous what they can do these days?’

  Ted gave an admiring whistle, which the elderly woman mistakenly thought was meant for her, and blushed coyly.

  ‘Oh, Mr Edward,’ she giggled, still pulling at her knitting, ‘you are a gallant and no mistake. No wonder you charmed old Ursula. I almost wept when she told me that she had decided to spare the woman and the little boy, really I nearly did. She can be so very mean and stingy most of the time, but I am so happy for you, I am, I am.’

  Neil took a pace closer to the suspended bomb as Miss Ursula prattled on.

  ‘Amazing,’ he breathed, ‘I mean... how?’

  ‘Still, you cut it awfully fine didn't you?’ she gabbled. “When ten minutes had gone by I nearly despaired. Oh, it was thrilling—I mean, there's so little of it left. How daring and rash you pair are.’

  Only then did Ted notice what she was doing. Miss Celandine had removed the needles from her knitting and was busily unravelling the stitches. On the soil about her feet she had already discarded a great snarl of twinkling wool and in her flickering fingers only about a foot of her once prodigious handiwork remained.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ the bear cried, ‘you mean that deadly can of beans a-dangling there can only stay up as long as that knitting holds out?’

  ‘Well, naturally,’ she tittered, “you are a silly, Mr Edward, why else would Ursula let me out of her sight?’

  Frantically, Ted ran to the shelter and called Neil over. ‘You better get Jean outta there and quick!’ he told him. ‘That screwball's web's nearly undone. Take her and Danny to the wardens’ post, they'll be fine there—you should have enough time.’

  As Neil clambered into the trench, Miss Celandine piped up behind him, ‘Hurry, hurry—the gateway will be here presently. Ursula was very strict that the woman should not see it!’

  ‘Go on,’ Ted urged, ‘and hey, Nei
l—I'm glad you tagged along. You did real good back there, I'm proud of you. If I'd ever had a son, I wish he'd been like you.’

  There wasn't time for the boy to question the finality that rang in Ted's voice when he said that. Hastening into the dank Anderson shelter, Neil found Jean and her son fast asleep.

  ‘Wake up!’ he cried, shaking them roughly.

  Grumbling, Daniel whinged drowsily, but Jean was soon wide awake and comforted him in her arms.

  ‘Neil?’ she muttered. ‘What's the matter—what is it? Is it Angelo?’

  ‘Yes,’ the boy found himself saying, ‘he wants you to go to him.’

  ‘But the raid's still on—where is he?’

  ‘In the wardens’ hut.’

  Worriedly, the woman looked at Daniel and shook her head. ‘I can't go now,’ she said, ‘it's too dangerous.’

  ‘But you have to!’ he ranted, desperate to get her out of there. ‘Angelo's been injured, if you don't go now then it might be too late!’

  Jean's face turned pale and she lifted her son to give him to Neil.

  Take him with you,’ he shouted, ‘hurry!’

  Anxiously, the woman left the shelter and climbed into the garden.

  Close on her heels, Neil stared round for Miss Celandine but both she and the parachute mine were completely hidden behind a curtain of thick fog.

  With Daniel in her arms, Jean ran into the house and the boy followed her.

  Down Barker's Row they hurried and through the little park, until finally, the sandbagged hut of the ARP wardens’ post emerged out of the swirling mist.

  Jean quickly ran inside.

  ‘Angelo!’ she cried. But the hut was empty.

  The woman turned around in confusion. ‘Neil?’ she called. ‘He isn't here! Neil? Neil—where are you?’

  The boy was nowhere to be seen and outside the wardens’ post she could see only the cold, flowing vapour.

  In the garden behind number twenty-three, Miss Celandine gave a ticklish cough and stepped from the choking fog that had concealed her.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ she said, welcoming Neil back as he came tearing from the kitchen, ‘look, only a few inches left. It's all spun out perfectly.’

  Resting her buck teeth on her lower lip she beamed at him as she continued to unravel the sparkling wool, then nodded towards the Anderson.

  Above the mound, where the straggly straw- berry plants hung limp and lifeless, the mist began to move.

  Gently at first the dense, milky haze rippled and turned, then it began to revolve more violently until the air itself was twisting and wheeling.

  Through the torn vapours a raging vortex whipped into existence, drilling and spiralling deep into the night.

  Wider stretched the reeling darkness at the centre of the tumult, and from its black heart vivid bolts of lightning came crackling over the garden.

  With a flash of purple light, the insanely spinning rim of the gateway blazed with fire and blinding sparks went hissing through the surrounding, whisking fog.

  'What a pretty thing!’ Miss Celandine declared. ‘It really is too mean of Ursula not to let us play with them more often but then all the water is gone and without it these will be no more. How sad.’

  As the violet glare played over Neil's face and the lightning erupted from its fathomless depths he heard, in the far distance, the piteous howls of a small child.

  ‘Josh!’ he shouted excitedly. ‘It's Josh!’

  Within the twisting helix, a pyjama-clad figure appeared, rocketing through the darkness at an incredible speed.

  Whirling above the Anderson shelter, the vortex churned thunderously and Neil gazed in wonder as his younger brother came shooting towards them.

  Josh's screams were now ringing out over the garden and then, with a terrific shower of sparks, he was flung over the fiery threshold.

  The four-year-old's screams were brusquely silenced when he landed softly amongst the strawberry plants and, with a trembling bottom lip, he surveyed the misty scene before him.

  ‘Josh!’ Neil cried, lurching forward.

  ‘Keep back!’ a harsh, savage voice suddenly snapped.

  Reaching from the shadows behind the shelter, a scratched and bloody hand made a grab for the youngster's arm and Josh screamed again when he was dragged backwards.

  ‘No!’ Neil bawled.

  Stooping over his brother's prostrate form, with her singed hair hanging in matted clumps about her cut and bleeding face—was Kathleen Hewett.

  Wrenching the boy to his feet, she crooked her bruised arm about his neck and held a jagged piece of broken glass to his throat.

  ‘If anyone makes a move,’ she warned, the garish purple flames of the gateway reflected in her mad, staring eyes, ‘then we all get to see what little boys are really made of!’

  Snarling, she glanced up at the twisting vortex and pressed the glass to Josh's skin.

  'What is that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Don't hurt him!’ Neil bawled. ‘I'll tell you! It's an entrance—a gateway to the future!’

  Kath bared her teeth like a rabid dog. ‘I'll ask you once more!’ she raged menacingly.

  ‘It's true!’ Neil cried. ‘I wouldn't take risks with my brother's life. Just look at it—have you ever seen anything like it before?’

  The girl stared at the whirling portal, then let out a horrible laugh. ‘A doorway!’ she hooted. 'Then I can escape!’

  ‘I do apologise!’ Miss Celandine urgently interrupted, having witnessed the girl's arrival with mounting alarm and astonishment. ‘But who are you? I'm afraid Ursula never mentioned anyone else would be here. I'm most certain she never. Oh, I hope I haven't gone and forgotten a piece of the pattern again. It's so difficult to remember, you see, it's all so intricate and complicated, that's why, when the loom was broken, Veronica and I were secretly relieved.’

  Holding up the remains of her knitting, she said, 'There are only six rows left!’

  Kathleen eyed the elderly woman uncertainly before fixing her hate-filled gaze on Neil.

  ‘I saw you!’ she spat. ‘I saw what you did to Him—to Beli Ya'al. It was you who ruined my one, fabulous chance. His magnificence was a blessing, a divine sign that the Reich would succeed. He was the embodiment of all our aspirations, all our dreams. A glorious vision revealed to me alone for the greater renown of the Fatherland. It was to me he came, I was the first one to worship him—but now all that is finished! Finished!’

  ‘Belial was very naughty!’ clucked Miss Celandine tersely. ‘He knew it wasn't time for him to be free. Oh dear, there are only four rows now.’

  Kath glared at Neil, then roughly pulled Josh over to the brink of the twisting gateway.

  ‘I'm afraid that I shan't be able to keep the bomb in the air for very much longer!’ Miss Celandine told them. 'This chatter is all very pleasant but don't you think you should all hurry up and jump through the gateway? We can talk later, over some sherry and a little cake if Ursula allows. Perhaps she will let us have a teeny party—won't that be nice?’

  Peering through the mist at the large parachute mine that hung in the air, Kath snorted. ‘You can stay here to die!’ she yelled venomously at Neil. ‘Here! Take your brother and make the most of his company—before you both get blown to pieces!’

  With a violent shove, she thrust Josh from her and lunged towards the churning gateway.

  A bolt of ferocious energy lashed from the portal's spiralling centre, snaking about Kath's waist and lifted her slowly from the ground.

  Laughing, she saw the fiery entrance rear over her and the yawning tunnel stretch way back into the whirling distance.

  Suddenly, on to the Anderson shelter, leaped a small figure that raced through the tangle of withered plants screaming shrilly.

  As the gateway dragged her into its depths, Kath turned at the shrieking interruption—and there was Edie Dorkins.

  Removing something from around her neck, the fey girl threw it at her and, without thinking, Kathleen
caught it automatically.

  Then it was her turn to scream.

  The incendiary burst into flame as white-hot phosphor splashed over the woman's arms and body. Hurling the spluttering device from her, she screeched and thrashed her burning hands—but it was no use. Her clothes ignited and as she began her journey down the wheeling tunnel, Kathleen Hewett became a living torch.

  Writhing in torment, her face and hair blazing with ravaging fire, she went spinning into the future—illuminating the dark depths of the gateway until she became only a bright, flickering speck in the immense distance.

  With her anguished screams still echoing from the crackling entrance, Neil ran over to Josh and hugged him tightly.

  ‘Quickly!’ Miss Celandine urged. ‘You must follow her. Both of you!’

  Neil took his brother's hand and prepared to leap—then he whisked around and stared fearfully at the old woman.

  ‘Where is he?’ the boy shouted. ‘Where's Ted?’

  Miss Celandine turned her toothy smile on him and sighed. ‘Edward is not fated to return with you,’ she said gently.

  That isn't fair!’ Neil cried. What have you done with him?’

  ‘Oh, I assure you it was his own idea,’ she replied. ‘Edward ran to the warden post before you took that pretty woman and her son there. He wants to stay. This is where he belongs now. His time of waiting is over, don't you see? There is nothing left for the poor dear to fulfil. He must rest now. This is all about who belongs where—didn't you know?’

  ‘But I didn't... I didn't say goodbye to him!’ Neil blurted, ‘I didn't tell him...’

  Miss Celandine peered at the meagre line of knitting in her fingers. 'The final row,’ she said.

  With tears brimming in his eyes, Neil turned back to the gateway. Suddenly, he and Josh were snatched by the lightning and went hurtling through the darkness.

  Leisurely unpicking the wool, Miss Celandine raised her eyebrows at the figure standing on the Anderson.

  ‘Will you come with us?’ she invited. ‘All of this, the gateway, my weaving, it was entirely for your benefit after all. You do know why, don't you? I can see that you do.’

  Edie Dorkins considered her for a moment, and her silvery-blue, almond eyes sparkled in the darkness. Suddenly, she ran to the chicken house and released the madly clucking birds, shooing them from the garden.