The Beasts of Upton Puddle

by Simon West-Bulford

  “But that isn’t . . . That wasn’t Mrs. Merrynether’s list. I swear! There was a . . . a bag of apples, a muzzle, and . . .”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. You are never to go to that place again. I mean it. Never again.”

  “But—”

  “No! Now go to your room.”

  Cold despondency dragged all his dreams into the pit of his stomach when he saw the resolve in her eyes. Reluctantly, he left the living room and headed upstairs.

  Mr. Huffney pressed down his pin-striped suit, smoothing out creases as he stood before Argoyle Redwar, wishing he had a chair to sit in. He fixed his gaze directly upward, waiting for his employer to speak, the plain white of the ceiling being the least uncomfortable place to look. If he were to focus any lower, the ugly stuffed animal heads would be staring right back at him. Looking to his right would place him firmly under the scrutiny of Ms. Burrowdown and her fearsome notebook, but the worst place to look would be into Redwar’s beady eyes. The fat director had been kept waiting for much longer than he would have liked, but after fleeing from Merrynether Mansion resembling a human cow pie, Huffney needed time to freshen up, calm down, and change into a new suit before facing his employer.

  Redwar leaned across his desk, interlaced his fingers, and scowled. “I trust this delay means you have a profitable report for me, Mr. Huffney?”

  Huffney shuffled. “I regret that my report will not be as profitable as you might have hoped, sir. In fact—”

  “What do you mean ‘will not be,’ Huffney? What have you been doing since you left Merrynether Mansion? I expected a report on my desk an hour ago.”

  “There was . . . an incident involving—”

  “Incident? What sort of incident? Did you get into the vault? Did you see any of the animals?”

  “No, sir, but there may have been a . . . pygmy.”

  “A pygmy?”

  “Yes, sir. It was quite dark, but I thought it may have been an Irish pygmy wearing a little blue—”

  “Never mind. My informant has told me exactly what she has in that vault, but that’s not what I need.” Redwar leaned farther over his desk, his piggy eyes scrunching in what might have been discomfort from the hard edge of the wood cutting into his voluminous stomach but was more likely avarice. He licked his lips. “I’ll forgive the report, Huffney, if you provide me with the files I asked for.”

  Huffney found the courage to look at Redwar. “I am afraid I was unable to confiscate anything. I was attacked, sir.”

  Redwar’s hands shot up, throttling an invisible neck. “I gave you explicit orders to bring back every piece of documentation she has in her possession, and you’re telling me you came back with nothing?”

  Huffney took a step back. “Sir, didn’t you hear me? I said I was—”

  “Nothing?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to—”

  “You actually got into her vault and came back empty-handed? No map? Nothing?”

  All Huffney could do was blink.

  Redwar stood and slammed his palms on the desk. “Get out of my office, Huffney. As of tomorrow you can look for employment elsewhere. I am not in the habit of employing people who are unable to deliver upon a simple request.”

  “You’re . . . you’re firing me?” Huffney blinked some more.

  “Ms. Burrowdown,” he bellowed, “I’ve tried patience, kindness, bribery, infiltration, threats, and even sending this imbecile to get the information I need, but still I don’t have it. Do I have to fire every single employee to get the location of that island?”

  “I’m fired?” Huffney stood frozen like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  “Yes! Get out!”

  Ms. Burrowdown garbled something.

  “What? Speak up, woman.”

  “Sepshun?” she mumbled a little louder.

  “Reception? Why would I want to call reception?”

  “Fired?” Huffney was still mesmerized.

  “Security. That’s what I need. Not reception.” Redwar stabbed a thumb at his phone while drilling a hateful look into his ex-employee.

  “You need someone escorted off-site, sir?” came a drab voice over the speakerphone.

  “Don’t preempt me, young man. People have been sacked for less.”

  “Sorry, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “I need someone escorted off-site.”

  “On our way, sir.”

  Huffney straightened his tie and made for the door. “You will be hearing from my—”

  “Oh, save your breath, Huffney. A word or two in the right place, and I’ll have your lawyers fired too.”

  “Not sepshun,” Ms. Burrowdown muttered, “Sepshun.”

  Redwar frowned at her. His eyebrows raised as enlightenment followed. “Ah! Deception! Yes, indeed, but what?”

  Ms. Burrowdown’s face twitched into a new pattern of wrinkles as her lips curved into a wicked smile.

  “Now I know why you’ve been in my service for so long, Ms. Burrowdown. You have an idea, don’t you?”

  As curious as Huffney was to hear the end of their conversation, he had no desire to suffer the indignity of being dragged off-site by security guards. He slammed the door on his way out.

  THIRTEEN

  The toughest question in the world ached in Joe’s head for two whole days and nights. Should he defy his mother? He had never done that before. Not to the extent he considered now. To ignore her order to never go to Merrynether Mansion again, to betray her trust and hurt her like that, would change everything between them. When his father had died, Joe had decided he would never let his mum down but would always obey and trust her. Until now, he had never needed to question that.

  But he had been chosen, hadn’t he? Danariel said he would be a champion among champions, fighting a great enemy. Could he really turn his back on such a destiny? Could he walk away from this newly discovered world of wondrous beasts and adventure?

  Agony! Joe pressed his palms into his forehead and tried to stare holes through his bedroom ceiling. If only he could see into the future and know which decision was right. With a deep sigh, Joe flopped his arms by his sides and glimpsed the red numbers of his alarm clock: 03:17. If only he could sleep.

  Joe closed his eyes tight, wishing he could doze off, but the sounds of night denied him that relief. The refrigerator downstairs gurgled, then clicked. The boiler in the cupboard hissed. The weather vane on the roof groaned as the light rain tapped its rhythm on the window, excited briefly by each gust. Every sound reminded Joe of a different animal hidden away in Mrs. Merrynether’s vault.

  Ten more minutes and he could stand the torture no more. Half past three in the morning or not, sensible or not, Joe decided not to turn his back on destiny. He would go there now, risk a trip through Ringwood Forest, and deal with the consequences later.

  By the time Joe reached Merrynether Mansion, it was four thirty in the morning. The ocean blue of early light washed the sky through the trees, and soft rain pattered against their leaves. The gothic silhouette of Mrs. Merrynether’s home was a welcome sight, especially after Joe had trudged through the woods in the early hours, terrified the Beast of Upton Puddle may be lurking behind any tree.

  Joe pulled his hood tighter around his head and squinted up at the mansion through the rain. What was he supposed to do now? Ringing the doorbell at this hour wouldn’t do him any favors.

  Scolding himself for yet another stupid decision, Joe headed toward the side of the mansion. Perhaps he’d be lucky with the trapdoor again. But as he approached and saw the padlock fastened securely against the wooden boards, Joe knew there was no way of sneaking inside. The dead weight of decision tormented him once again as he imagined pulling the bell cord.

  “Pssst!”

  Joe ducked and glanced around.

  “Pssst! Oi! Spam fer brains, over here!” The harsh Irish whisper came from an open window on the first floor, and the tiny man in his pale blue waistcoat stood with his stubby han
ds splayed against the panes.

  “Lilly?” Joe whispered back.

  “Oi can’t believe ya came! Did ya bring da booze, boy?”

  “Booze?”

  “Me list! Why else would ya be sneakin’ around in da wee hours? Ya saw me list and tort ya’d take pity on a poor tirsty cluricaun. I didn’t tink ya’d actually get da stoff, but here ya are!”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  As if in answer to his question, an enormous eyeball squidged against the window next to Lilly, pressing so hard to get out that Joe could see every vein flattened against the glass.

  “Dis ting is me new best friend. Flarp can see troo walls, ya knor! I saw him get excoited dat someone was comin’, so I followed him. Dat’s when I saw ya, boy.”

  “Wow! He could see me from in there?”

  Lilly pushed the window open a little wider and threw something shiny onto the driveway near Joe’s feet: a copper key.

  “Dat’s da key to da padlock, so stop yackin’ and get yaself insoide widdat drink. Oim on me last dregs of Jameson and gettin moity tirsty.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Lilly left the window, dragging the reluctant Flarp by his snotty edges.

  Joe picked up the key and stared at it. It may as well have been a crowbar or a brick. Joe was about to break in to the Merrynether vaults for the second time. But surely if he explained everything to Mrs. Merrynether, she would understand, wouldn’t she? What would he tell his mum? Sickening guilt and worry anchored Joe to the spot.

  “I can’t do it,” he whispered. He squeezed the key and took one final look at the mansion before turning back to the forest.

  “Where d’ya tink you’re goin’?” It was more of a screech than a whisper.

  Though startled, Joe hesitated and then turned around.

  Still accompanied by Flarp, the cluricaun had returned to the window, leaning into the rain while shaking his fist. The globble looked a lot less excited than it had a few minutes before, and Joe wondered if it was actually disappointed to see him leave, or perhaps it could see the look of dejection in his face.

  “I’m going home.”

  “Home? But ya can’t. What about me whiskey?”

  “I didn’t bring your stupid whiskey,” Joe shouted back, the hurt obvious in his voice. Flarp turned to stare at Lilly, and it was the first time Joe had seen the great eyeball look annoyed. It quivered in irritation and then drifted off somewhere out of sight as if in disgust. The cluricaun seemed unconcerned by Flarp’s protest.

  “No booze?”

  Joe shook his head, his shoulders slumping as he sulked into the forest. He chose to ignore the frustrated curse that Lilly fired into the wind behind him.

  “A witch’s itch on ya bum, and may ya have no nails ta scratch it with!”

  Joe’s alarm clock read 05:34, which meant he had a mere twenty-six minutes before his mum came in with tea and cereal. Joe lay on his bed again, staring at the ceiling again, thinking about the creatures he would never see . . . again.

  Bright Friday morning sunlight invaded the room through the ruffled gaps in his curtains, and Joe watched the slow twirl of tiny dust particles in the light. Usually that would fascinate him. He’d calculate the subtle fractal patterns, count the visible specs, and imagine what it would be like to be a microscopic bacterium swept along in the currents. But today all the magic had gone.

  Nothing compared to Merrynether Mansion. The same choice tormented him, and now he faced a new temptation to disobey his mum: the key. He’d resisted the first urge to use it, but how long would he be able to keep that up?

  Joe lifted it into the light and stared at it, feeling numb. Free entry to a world of wonder that so few others would see, and he could do nothing about it. Still, he’d keep the key with him all the time . . . just in case.

  At six o’clock, Joe’s mum came in with a tray and a smile. “I made you something special today.”

  Joe looked at the tray as she placed it on the bed and sat next to him. “I made this last night. I know how much you like it.”

  The scents of toasted fruit bread lightly buttered and spread with damson jam wafted under Joe’s nose. “But I thought I was being punished.”

  “I saw that look in your eyes when I sent you to your room yesterday, and I realized just how important that place is to you.”

  Joe sat upright with the speed of someone who had been woken with a cattle prod. “I’m allowed to go back?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Joe slumped.

  “I just want you to know I’m not doing this to upset you.” She touched his shoulder. “And I need you to understand I’m stopping these visits to Mrs. Merrynether’s for your own good.”

  Joe nodded but avoided eye contact. “I know.”

  “Will you tell me what’s really going on? We don’t usually keep secrets from each other, do we?”

  Joe stayed silent, frowning at his breakfast, sifting through ideas. He wanted to tell his mum about all of it, even confess the pointless trip in the middle of the night, but surely she would think him a liar. At least she wasn’t mad at him, which meant he still had a chance to turn things around.

  “If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you, Joe. Is it something to do with bullying at school? Is that why you haven’t been switching on your mobile?”

  Joe couldn’t believe his luck. She’d served him the answer right alongside his breakfast. All he had to do was take the truth and sprinkle it with a little seasoning—just to make it more palatable. A second or two of silence and a brief but timorous glimpse into his mum’s eyes were all he needed.

  “I knew it!” she said. “Someone’s been picking on you, haven’t they?”

  Joe held his silence a little longer.

  “You don’t have to tell me who it is, but if that’s what’s happening, I can have a word with Mr. Henderson and he can do something about it.”

  “Well”—Joe lifted his head—“I was chased into the woods, but I didn’t actually get beaten up. I didn’t mean to stay away from school. It’s just that I was a bit . . . frightened.”

  Joe’s mum nodded. “That explains a lot.”

  “And that’s when I ran to Merrynether Mansion. I knew I’d be safe there and that there’d be a phone. I busted mine when I was trying to get away. I had to know if the others were okay.”

  “So you really did see the Beast?”

  “Yes.” Joe nodded furiously.

  His mum sighed. “I believe you, but I’m still concerned about this Merrynether woman. That list was hardly the sort of thing she should be getting a young boy to collect for her.”

  “But it really wasn’t her list. That was somebody’s idea of a joke. Why would an old lady want a calendar full of Belfast’s Best Buxom—?”

  “Yes, I remember what it said. No, I don’t think she would have put that on a shopping list.” She stared at Joe thoughtfully.

  “Please, Mum. Don’t stop me going there. I’ve learned so much. Please?”

  A smile formed on her lips. “All right, but on one condition,” she said, raising her voice above Joe’s whoop of joy. “I want to see a marked improvement at school in the next few weeks. Understood?”

  “Understood.” Joe grinned.

  She stroked his hair and stood. “Enjoy your fruit bread. Don’t let me down.” She left the room, still smiling.

  Throughout the next week at school, Joe became the new center of attention but not in a good way. The teachers acted the same, apart from a noticeable suspicion in their eyes when they spoke to him, but the others in his class taunted him with growls and impressions of the Beast in the woods. Predictably, Duggan was the worst, and Joe found it impossible to resist a cutting remark every time the bully targeted him.

  By Friday, it was obvious to everyone that Duggan had had enough. When the final bell sounded, a hungry group of spectators gawped at Joe as he endured a week’s worth of frustration in the form of a severe pounding outside the school
gates. It didn’t last long—Duggan clearly knew a crowd would draw unwanted attention from any number of nosy teachers—but it was, nevertheless, a thorough battering.

  As the sneering bully wandered off with the dispersing mob, Joe staggered into Ringwood Forest. Bruised by Duggan’s knuckles and feeling sick to his socks with the hammering in his head, he collapsed at his favorite tree stump, not caring about how long he’d have to sit there. At home his mum would press a pack of frozen peas against his eye and try to comfort him, but Joe wanted the soft sway of leafy branches and the open air. He wanted the healing warmth of nature.

  “I’ll be missing my kicking fix for Saturday and Sunday, won’t I, brain boy?”

  Joe opened his eyes to see his nemesis standing over him, holding a thick branch. Apparently, Duggan wasn’t satisfied with his brief clash outside the school and had followed Joe into the woods. He hoped Duggan couldn’t read the surprise or fear in his face, but it would make little difference anyway. The whites of the bully’s eyes contained the usual psychotic excitement that told Joe he was about to feel a sting of bark on his skin. He may as well make Duggan earn it.

  “That’s a nice stick,” Joe said. “Why don’t you throw it and go play fetch with yourself?”

  Then came the angry smile and a whoosh of stick across the side of Joe’s head. His ears rang.

  “Think you’re really clever, don’t you?”

  Whump! The stick connected with the other side of Joe’s head. He scrambled away on hands and knees.

  “Think you can keep it up if I break your jaw?”

  The stick fell across his back, followed by a boot to the ribs. Joe groaned and turned over, looking into the sunlight, wishing someone somewhere would intervene, wishing he’d decided to go home instead. Images blurred and swam as if he’d put on a pair of water-filled goggles.

  Duggan’s figure darkened Joe’s view as he stooped over him like a gorilla about to swat a chimp from his den.

  “What’s that?” Duggan stopped moving.

  For a second, Joe hoped they’d been disturbed by the Beast of Upton Puddle, but Duggan was staring at the ground a few feet away from the tree stump. “This yours?” he said, picking up a shiny object and showing it to Joe.