“That’s not what Jugge and I think,” Lanthorne chimed in. “We know the truth about you. You’re ordinary people like us, who happen to be a bit different.”
Jugge clearly hated being interrupted when he was showing off about his research. He gave Lanthorne a look which made this clear.
“When you have tracked the books down,” Jugge continued, “what they say is never clear. There are hints and all sorts of false clues, but I was able to read between the lines.”
“Yes, Jug—” Lanthorne was silenced with another look.
“Lanthorne was my great experiment. I made a list of all the special words I could find and said them in enough different ways, until I managed to push him through that first door.”
How brave, Edwin thought to himself. Trying it out on a kid first.
“We tried door after door before I ended up in your garden,” said Lanthorne. “It has to be the right door with the right words. That’s ever so hard. The first time we nearly managed it, you were afraid and didn’t like to open the door. I was afraid too. I wondered if you’d turn me to cinders. The second time, I only opened the door a little, because it was so bright outside. I closed it again, but somehow I’d managed to come through anyway. Didn’t we have a good time in your garden house?”
“It wasn’t a house. It was a mucky shed,” Edwin said gruffly.
“The doors appear because you want them,” said Jugge, who looked irritated at being ignored. “But not always when and where you want them. I think I might be building up a kind of relationship with them. I’m getting a feel, you could say. If I can earn their trust, perhaps they’ll let me open them whenever I want. That would make me really special.”
“For some reason I don’t understand, they seem to be interested in you.”
Edwin didn’t like the sound of this. He made a harrumphing sound and renewed his glower.
“Why don’t I get us something to eat?” said Lanthorne.
Jugge laughed mockingly. “Shall we prepare your new friend a feast, Lanthorne? I think he’ll find our food very interesting.”
I’m not going to be sidetracked into a discussion about food. “I’m not hungry,” said Edwin.
Jugge laughed more loudly.
Once someone starts cackling, thought Edwin, it’s time to move. He’d had all he could take of this world where he was surrounded by the constant smell of things his own world flushed away.
“Jugge could show you some of his precious books about Shiners,” Lanthorne began, but Edwin was off.
He rushed to the door leading into the corridor. “Jugge says let me go home!” he shouted at whatever power it was that seemed to be in control of the doors. Hoping that they had heard, he wrenched the door open.
On the other side, there was the same gloomy corridor as earlier. Edwin turned to face Lanthorne and Jugge. The expression on their faces showed that they were wondering what he was going to do next. Edwin was wondering this too. All he could think of was to pull off his coat and whirl it round his head, which he did. Lanthorne and Jugge flinched, but didn’t otherwise move. Edwin threw the coat in Jugge’s direction and rushed towards a second door.
“Jugge says let me please go home!” The door-controllers still weren’t listening. Edwin was faced with a second, darker corridor. Down this to yet another door. He was now in the kitchen, or what passed for the kitchen.
A single, faint candle hardly revealed a table, two chairs and a shelf with a few jars and plates. Edwin was convinced that if he stood still for a moment, he would break down. He needed to keep rushing about and pulling open doors. How could the door home not appear, when every molecule inside him was screaming for it to happen?
Two doors led off the kitchen. These were his last hope. The first let out into a yard at the back of the house. Edwin pulled back from a wall of utter darkness and left the door swinging on its hinges. That left only the narrow door made of two long planks. On the verge of tears, Edwin wrenched it open and was knocked backwards by the most aggressive and putrid smell he could ever imagine. It was as if the essence of every rotten thing in the world had been bottled and stored in that cupboard, ready for him to open the door and let it out. He was smacked in the face so hard by the smell that it took him a moment or two to recover his balance and slam the door shut. The stink went right up into his head, like fingers being pushed up his nose and into his brain. Who on earth could bear to have such nastiness in their house?
Once the smell was released, it congealed in the air to a kind of sheet that draped itself over every part of Edwin. He felt himself drowning in the sheer disgustingness of it. His arms flapped without co-ordination, as if he were trying to swim up to a surface he couldn’t reach. Each gasp took more of the smell into his lungs, but as he was on the verge of fainting, he was hauled out of the kitchen and back into Jugge’s living room, where he collapsed to his knees.
“A good thing I followed you,” said Lanthorne.
Edwin looked up at his friend. He didn’t have enough control of his breathing to speak.
“Fetch him a drink of water,” said Jugge.
Edwin shook his head violently. He didn’t want anything from that kitchen, because it would be tainted by the stink to end all stinks. He slumped down further and lay for some time with his face buried in his arms. The touch and smell of his own skin was reassuring. Lanthorne prodded him occasionally, and eventually Edwin sat up and found he had part of his voice back.
“What was in that cupboard? It all looked rotten. You know, liquid rotten. The most disgusting-looking things you could ever imagine.”
“Jugge’s even better at ripening food than my mum,” Lanthorne said cheerfully.
“That wasn’t ripe,” said Edwin in disbelief. “It had all gone totally bad.”
Even these few sentences brought back a vivid picture of the interior of Jugge’s pantry: dishes that were oozing, wriggling, mouldering; plates on which slabs of food were turning to putrescent mush or green and black gardens of fur. Every item was months beyond its burying date. You could have poisoned an entire town with them.
“If you’re sure you don’t like our food,” said Lanthorne helpfully, “you could bring some of your squashed-fly biscuits with you, next time you come.”
Next time? Lanthorne had to be joking.
“I couldn’t find a door. Why not?” Edwin asked, as he was led back to his chair.
“I don’t know,” replied Jugge. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the doors were just enjoying playing about with you.”
Edwin closed his eyes. He was beginning to think he must have died and not noticed it. Perhaps he had fallen down the stairs at home and broken his neck. This was his punishment for not welcoming Mandoline into the family. Hell was eternal, wasn’t it? Such a long punishment for such a little crime. If he were forced to stay here, would there come a time when he had no option but to scoop up the putrid liquids in the pantry and tell himself they were delicious?
“You’ve got to help me find some more doors, Lanthorne.” A note of serious anger entered Edwin’s voice. “You said your wise friend Jugge would get me home. He’s been useless.”
“I’m giving my full attention to the problem, Edwin,” said Jugge. “So stop being so rude to me.”
“Sorry.”
“If you really are a natural door-opener, there are more doors upstairs. Let’s try those. If we all concentrate hard, we might be lucky. You mustn’t look as if you’re trying to bully them, though. Doors expect politeness.”
Edwin stood up. “Let’s start now.”
Suddenly there was a tremendous crash against Jugge’s front door, making all three of them jump. The crash was followed by violent knocking punctuated by loud, angry scratches.
“Lanthorne, I know you’re in there. And I know what you’re up to. Open this door. Now!”
“Auntie Necra,” whimpered Lanthorne.
Jugge tried to control the trembling in his voice. “I’ll speak to her through the door
,” he said. “I’ll tell her you went to visit another friend half an hour ago.”
“Lanthorne! I know who you’ve got in there. I’ve read your letters.” There was more scratching than knocking now.
Lanthorne emitted a continuous low moaning, and Jugge’s fingers wrapped themselves around each other. Neither he nor Lanthorne moved a single step.
If they couldn’t deal with the situation, then Edwin would. He set off towards the front door too suddenly for them to stop him. By the time he grasped the door handle, the word “No!” was only just beginning to form on their horrified lips.
Edwin flung the door open and jumped out. He was mostly expecting to collide with Lanthorne’s terrifying Auntie Necra. If he could manage it, he hoped to brush her aside and run down the street, opening every door he could find.
Instead of encountering a furious woman, he found himself standing in a landscape over which night had fallen.
7
The Worst Thing Imaginable
Edwin suspected that he was home, or, at least, back in his own world.
It was dark and cold, but there were stars—sharp, bright points of light that told him he could stand still and collect himself, because things were all right now. His eyes wandered across the sky, half recognizing the larger constellations. He took a deep breath, and then another. The air smelt clean, with undertones of leaves and frost. His own world, it didn’t matter where.
Well, perhaps it did. He was wearing Swarme’s sandals, and his toes soon felt pinched by the cold. He had left the coat in Jugge’s house, and the shirt Lanthorne gave him wasn’t exactly fleece-lined. Edwin hoped he hadn’t come through the door into Scotland, say, or anywhere miles from his house.
He was in a wide area, surrounded by dark, irregular shapes—shapes that showed no sign of movement, so it was unlikely they were alive and waiting to pounce on him. Unlikely, but not impossible.
Edwin moved backwards a couple of steps, until he bumped into the edge of the small building whose door had provided his passage home. He jumped away again. There was no point in escaping from Lanthorne’s rotten world only to fall back into it by mistake. It didn’t require any effort to recall the dangerous eyes and frightening mouth of the woman he had swept past as he escaped. Auntie Necra. Her long-fingered hands had reached out to snatch at him. The door behind him belonged to a small building no bigger than the shed in his own garden. To think that something so insignificant could take you so far…
In the distance, streetlights shone yellow and huge, further proof he was in a world where the people didn’t shrink away from brightness. From time to time, Edwin heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine. If he moved a few paces in any direction and flapped his arms, he encountered plants, some with leaves as broad as those on a cabbage. There were worse places to pop up in than a vegetable garden. Suddenly, a violent, thundering sound, close at hand and yet up in the air, made him jump and cry out. He fell to his knees and put his hands over his ears. For a second or two he thought a monstrous, glowing caterpillar had launched itself through the air towards him. Then he fell sideways onto the ground, chuckling with relief. It was nothing more than a commuter train rattling along the top of its embankment, taking people home from work or Christmas shopping.
As the train raced by, its light had swept over the landscape below the track. Edwin chuckled again, because he’d caught a glimpse of other sheds dotted here and there and rows of winter greens. He had crossed over into the allotment only a few streets from his house.
Once the train had gone, the details around Edwin merged into the darkness again. He couldn’t see a direct path to the roadway, with its oh-so-welcome streetlights, but, if he looked about him until he found the beginning of any path, he could walk carefully along it, taking every turning that led in the direction he wanted.
Ten minutes later, Mrs Robbins was asking, “Edwin, what on earth are you doing outside so late? It’s nearly seven.”
He had been trying to creep back into the house unnoticed and didn’t immediately have an answer for his mother.
“Your radio’s been playing all afternoon. Were you trying to trick me?” Mrs Robbins’s voice was not a pleased one.
“I called out to you when I went out. You were probably talking to Mandoline and didn’t notice.”
This was a familiar tactic of Edwin’s: when you’re in the wrong, try to make your accuser feel guilty.
“You should have made sure I heard you. It’s pitch dark out there. You know how much I worry.” His mother threw the guilt straight back at him. Edwin didn’t feel he could walk away, with her on the verge of being seriously angry.
“Sorry, Mum. I did call out to you. Honest. I must have forgotten to switch off the radio.”
As he stood hesitantly by the back door, Edwin couldn’t help being very aware of how odd he looked. The kitchen spotlights glared at him and picked out all the peculiarities in his borrowed clothes. In a room sweet with the smell of freshly tumbled laundry and the spicy casserole in the oven, he was acutely aware of stinking like nothing on earth—literally. Edwin knew just how much the smell of the contents of Jugge’s pantry had stuck to him. There was no way his mother wouldn’t notice and pass comment.
“Where did you get those awful clothes?”
“I borrowed them from my friend.”
“What’s wrong with your own clothes? These smell as if he found them at the bottom of a very old dustbin.”
“I didn’t want to ruin what I was wearing. We’ve been crawling about under the hedges round the playing field.”
“Why, in heaven’s name?”
“My friend…”
“Who is this friend?”
“Code name L. I’m E. He’s got a book about the SAS. We were copying their techniques. You can’t let the enemy spot you.”
“SAS? That’s a bit outside your comfort zone, isn’t it?”
“I have previously undiscovered talents.”
Edwin’s mouth seemed to be working on automatic pilot. He was surprised how quickly his answers came out.
“Can’t you smell yourself?” his mother asked.
“SAS operatives don’t care about personal comfort.”
“Or personal hygiene, apparently. Where were you being an operative? Down a sewer?”
“Sorry, that’s classified information.”
“For heaven’s sake, get those clothes off. They’re infecting my kitchen. You can tell your friend codenamed L to collect them first thing tomorrow. He can bring your clothes back at the same time. I notice you don’t have them with you. How can you bear to wear such an appalling outfit?”
“I’d do anything for my country.”
“Stop trying to be smart, Edwin. I’ve a good mind to ask Dad to scrub you.”
“Mum, I’m twelve years old. I don’t do bath time any more. I can scrub myself.”
Edwin was made to drape himself in a couple of old towels and undress by the back door. He had to put every item of clothing, including his own underpants and T shirt, into a bucket his mother filled with boiling water and half a packet of detergent. She swirled the clothes vigorously with the mop handle and then told Edwin to drop the sandals into the bucket too, for good measure. The bucket was deposited yards away from the house.
Edwin didn’t actually care what happened to Lanthorne’s clothes. They could be used for next year’s Guy Fawkes dummy or to wipe grease from the car engine. He would never be able to return them to Lanthorne, anyway, because he was never going back to that world. Sometime tomorrow he would need to concoct a story which explained why his friend could no longer be contacted and why it was impossible to get his own clothes back.
Edwin went up to the bathroom and enjoyed the longest soak of his entire life. He used so much of his mother’s bubble bath that he disappeared under several feet of foam. Everything about the bathroom was wonderful. It was bright and scented and CLEAN.
Although Edwin was eventually snow-white on the outside, t
he smell of Jugge’s putrid food still clung to the inside of his nose. He tried inhaling the rose-scented bubbles, which simply made him sneeze and didn’t wash away the smell. He was desperately hungry, but he wasn’t sure when he would be able to face food again.
Mrs Robbins knocked on the bathroom door and asked, “Is the senior SAS operative ready for his dinner?”
“Not sure I’m hungry.”
“I can offer you something better than bark and insects.”
If only she knew how queasy that remark made him feel.
When Edwin came downstairs, he was pleased to find that hunger was stronger than queasiness, although the custard with the apple pie was a step too far. It might have been hot and rich with vanilla, but its runniness was a horrible reminder of the unspeakable pools into which many of Jugge’s items of food had decayed.
Edwin felt dog-tired. After one of his many yawns, his father joked, “You’ll need a bit more stamina before the SAS sign you up to save the country.”
“They’re thinking of sending me to a parallel universe,” Edwin joked back and wished he hadn’t, because those few words reminded him of how much he never wanted to have anything more to do with Lanthorne’s world.
A good night’s sleep might make it all disappear, like one of those busy and detailed dreams that dissolve for ever only minutes after you wake up. Edwin was sound asleep by nine o’clock, something unheard of in a school holiday, but such peace of mind was not to last.
The night was blustery and all its sounds could be explained by the wind being up to its usual tricks. Swishing noises were branches struggling as they were wrenched this way and that. Bangs were gates protesting at how poorly they had been fastened, and the wind even seemed to sneak indoors, causing Edwin’s bedroom door to swing open and close softly. A breath of night air blew across his cheek and through his hair with the light touch of careful fingers. Edwin was lulled by it all, until the moment Mrs Robbins shrieked, “Someone’s taken Mandoline!”
The Dead World of Lanthorne Ghules Page 6
