The Monsters of Rookhaven

by Padraig Kenny

  ‘All right, Jemima?’ he said. Jem nodded briskly. He only called her by her full name when he wanted to lighten the mood. Tom tapped the steering wheel and tried to smile encouragingly. ‘It’s just petrol. We need more petrol.’

  Tom was a year older than her, and tall for his age. He looked quite a bit older than his thirteen years, and he carried himself with the swagger of an adult. Even the way he now beat a solid rhythm on the steering wheel reminded her of their father.

  His reddish-brown hair was flopping down in front of his eyes, giving him a look that served him well. It was a look that fooled strangers, a beguiling charming look, but it didn’t fool Jem. She could see the truth in his eyes. The pain, like hers, that he always carried with him.

  Jem rummaged in the satchel at her feet and took out a battered petrol rationing book. There was one coupon left in it, but it was no use to them here in the middle of nowhere. She showed it to Tom and he gave a resigned shrug.

  He squinted out through the windscreen into the night. ‘We probably should have got some in the last village—’ He suddenly gave a great hacking cough, a cough so violent he had to clench the steering wheel with both hands. Jem leaned across to him, but Tom waved her away. The cough subsided. He wiped his mouth with the top of his hand. Jem saw the light sheen of sweat on his pale face, and his eyes seemed to be burning with a feverish light. She remembered the rattling she’d heard in his chest when they’d slept in the car the night before, and just thinking about it made her wince.

  ‘You’ve had that cough too lo—’

  ‘Too long, I know, I know, so you keep saying, but I’m fine, Jem,’ he said, trying his best to hide his irritation.

  ‘What now, then?’ asked Jem.

  ‘You get out for a bit and stretch your legs. I’ll have a rummage in the boot. There might be some petrol in a can buried under all that rubbish. We only need a little bit. We’ll be up and running in no time.’

  Jem nodded, but she knew one of Tom’s lies when she heard it. She stepped out of the car while he went round to the back.

  They had stopped on a country road bounded on both sides by forest. The road felt too wide and dark. They were too exposed out here. Jem could feel the familiar nagging sense that someone might pounce on them at any moment. There was no cloud cover, and she had to pull her moth-eaten cardigan around her to ward off the slight chill. They’d been on the move nearly six months now since they’d run away from Uncle George. Uncle. That was hardly a title he deserved. An uncle was supposed to look after you, not treat you like a dog and thump you for the smallest infraction, and certainly not hit you with . . .

  She stopped herself. She shook her head, trying to blot out the memory, but there it was again. Uncle George looming over Tom with a blackthorn stick in his hand, the one that he used to keep his dogs in line. Tom standing straight and defiant, between George and Jem.

  ‘Stop it, Jem,’ she whispered to herself. She thought about being on the road, about moving on, getting as much distance between them and their old life as possible.

  They’d left their lodgings in Southampton three weeks ago under cover of darkness. Tom had woken her from sleep, and they’d crept out of the house while Mrs Braithwaite the landlady snored upstairs. They’d run out of money again, and Mrs Braithwaite’s suspicions about Tom being younger than he claimed to be were hardening. No amount of swinging his arms and talking gruffly was going to fool her for long.

  They’d moved from town to town, cadging food where they could, with Tom pickpocketing. Jem always played a little mental trick with herself when it came to Tom’s pickpocketing. She pushed it away into a corner of her mind where she kept the things she didn’t want to think about. Things like her dad not coming back from the war, and her mum dying a year ago.

  But she was thinking about them both now, and she could feel a hotness in her eyes as the tears began to sting.

  That was when she saw it.

  Something glittered at the edge of her vision to her right. She wiped her eyes and looked into the forest. There was darkness there, but within the darkness she caught sight of a brief shimmer.

  Jem forgot all her woes, and started to walk towards the source of the light. She squinted and caught it again.

  She called Tom. She felt frightened but curious. She had to make a concerted effort to stop her teeth chattering. Tom came towards her, muttering something about having to sleep in the car, but Jem ignored him. She pointed into the forest, her hand trembling slightly.

  ‘There’s something in there.’

  Tom narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t see—’

  ‘There!’ Jem shouted.

  They saw a brief flickering brightness, like a net curtain blowing in a breeze.

  ‘Do you think we should—’

  Tom was already off into the trees, beckoning Jem onwards. Jem followed, grateful for the bit of moonlight that lit the way. She was so busy concentrating on where she was putting her feet that she collided with Tom, who’d stopped suddenly. He was too stunned by what he was looking at to notice.

  ‘What is that?’ he gasped.

  Jem stared, but couldn’t get her head round what she was seeing.

  They were surrounded by forest, but in the middle of the trees was a tall oval-shaped opening that hovered a few inches off the ground. When Jem walked to either side of it, she could clearly see that there was forest behind. Yet looking through the opening she could see a chalk path bordered by brambles and stunted-looking trees. The long path led towards a large five-storey house surrounded by a wall. The whole image was slightly hazy, as if covered in opaque cloth. Jem had only ever been to the cinema once in her life. She’d marvelled at the black-and-white images on the screen, even if the wartime story had been a little boring. This thing before her looked something like that cinema screen, but the images were in colour not black and white, and it all looked very real. There was no projector here, no dust motes swirling in smoky light.

  There’s a hole in the world, she thought.

  Something else caught her eye. To the right of this strange opening was a squat grey tor poking up from the earth. It came almost to her shoulder, and its stone surface was surprisingly smooth and rounded. Various lines and symbols criss-crossed its surface, and the tip of the rock was slanted with several concentric circles carved into it.

  She turned her attention back to the gap. The edges of it shimmered white and glowed, flapping and rippling as if blown by a breeze.

  Jem blinked and felt a strange wave of dizziness. The dizziness only got worse when Tom stepped through the opening and onto the path beyond.

  ‘Tom, what are you doing? Please come back. I don’t think it’s safe,’ Jem pleaded.

  Tom waved a hand dismissively while he looked around him. Jem clenched her fists, feeling a mixture of fear and annoyance. As usual, Tom was plunging headlong into something without thinking.

  ‘We should go back to the car,’ said Jem.

  Tom shook his head and beckoned her forward.

  Jem felt she had no choice. She steeled herself then followed him, lifting her feet gingerly as she stepped over the lip of the hole. Her heart was racing.

  The first thing she noticed was the air on the other side. It felt cleaner. She looked back at the way they’d come, through the shimmering oval tear, its edges on this side rippling with rainbow colours. She could see the forest, but when she turned round there was no forest, just what looked like a large country estate. There was also another stone tor on this side that looked exactly the same size and shape as the one in the forest.

  Tom rubbed his chin. ‘All right, all right,’ he said quietly, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘What is that?’ Jem asked, gesturing at the hole.

  Tom shook his head. His cheek twitched, and he gave a nervous little laugh followed by another bout of coughing.

  ‘What do we do?’ asked Jem.

  ‘There’s a house up there,’ he said, pointing towards the end of the chalk path.<
br />
  Jem shook her head, sorry she’d asked the question.

  ‘Come on, Jem. If there are people in the house, we can ask them if we can stay the night.’ He grinned. ‘And if there aren’t . . .’

  Jem shook her head even more vigorously. ‘No, we can’t.’

  ‘I don’t see any lights.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll be polite and knock first.’

  Jem shivered and looked back at the dark forest behind them. She supposed anything was better than sleeping in the car again. Also, she thought there might be the prospect of food. They hadn’t eaten a decent meal in two days. Just thinking about it made her belly grumble.

  She followed Tom up the path. There were brambles tightly packed on either side of them, and at least a dozen strange leafless trees arranged neatly along the path’s borders, almost as if they were standing sentry to the house.

  Tom chatted brightly about the house that lay ahead, and how some day they would live in a place just like it. A mansion, in fact. She knew his animated talk was all just an act for her benefit, something to distract her from the eeriness of what they’d just discovered, so she only half listened as she stared around her.

  Tom stopped suddenly.

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  Jem held her breath. For a moment there was nothing.

  Then she heard it.

  A soft rustling followed by a hiss.

  The hissing became louder, and Jem caught movement to her right.

  All the trees had drooping crowns like snowdrops. Yet they had very few branches. If anything, they looked like oversized flowers.

  And now one of them was straightening up. Slowly.

  ‘What’s it . . .’ Tom began.

  Jem was frozen to the spot. She watched in horrified fascination as what looked like several leathery petals slowly peeled away from each other to reveal row upon row of razor-sharp teeth.

  Tom grabbed her arm.

  ‘Run!’ he shouted.

  Jem turned to run, but Tom was pulling her too hard, and she lost her balance. She fell to the ground. Tom tried to lift her, but one minute he was upright, then he too was on the ground as another plant moved onto the path and wrapped one of its roots round his leg. Jem just managed to reach out and grab his hand before it could drag him away.

  She heard a squealing sound and looked up to see the first plant moving towards her, its mouth wide open, a saliva-like substance dripping from its maw, roots wriggling frantically as it made its way over the path.

  ‘They’re everywhere!’ Tom shouted.

  Jem looked around to see that the rest of the plants had moved from the fringes of the path too and were now surrounding them. Their roots were thumping against the ground, and they were shrieking and snapping at one another as each of them tried to be the first to reach the children.

  Tom was kicking furiously at the root tightening round his leg.

  ‘No!’ Jem screamed as she tried to pull her brother away from the creature that had him in its grip.

  She looked up. A plant loomed over her, then dipped its head, jaws wide. Jem lashed out at it with her free hand and landed a satisfying smack. It reeled back, squealing, shaking its head, and Jem experienced a moment of both elation and utter revulsion.

  A root wrapped itself round her leg now. She held tight to Tom’s hand. She punched with her free hand, flailed and screamed, but the more she fought back the more she felt Tom’s fingers slip from hers.

  She exchanged a look with him. He somehow managed to shake his head. This is it, he seemed to be saying.

  And then something roared and blotted out the moon.

  Jem looked up to see a huge bear towering above her. It roared again. She had never seen a bear in real life before, but she couldn’t imagine any bear in existence being as large as this one. It crashed down on its forepaws and bellowed at the plants before taking a swipe at them with one of its paws. The creatures recoiled and shrieked angrily. The bear roared again. They started to retreat towards the edges of the path, and Jem saw the root uncoil from Tom’s leg, then felt the one holding her release her almost gently. Tom’s captor gave a last defiant hiss before it retreated.

  The plants took up their sentry positions again. Heads bowed, petals closed, they looked as if they’d never even moved in the first place.

  Jem and Tom got back to their feet. Jem felt her throat tighten as the bear turned and bellowed at them, panting furiously, its eyes ruby red, its teeth like yellowed tusks. Jem felt the hot stinking blast of its breath, and as it padded forward she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that it would all soon be over.

  Then a voice shouted, ‘Uncle! No!’

  Jem opened her eyes. There was a girl standing in front of the bear. She was about Jem’s age and impossibly pale, with curly black hair. She wore a short black velvet dress with a grey collar. She tilted her head at them, frowning, looking both curious and angry.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Jem, and this is Tom, my brother.’ Jem was surprised that she managed to blurt out any words at all.

  The girl took a few steps towards them.

  ‘My name is Mirabelle, and you shouldn’t be here.’

  Mirabelle

  The girl was extremely quiet, and the boy talked too much.

  That was the conclusion Mirabelle drew as they made their way to the house. Despite all that had happened to them, the boy seemed a little too confident and chatty for her liking. Even as he talked, she could see him looking around, as if trying to take everything in. It made her suspicious.

  The girl, on the other hand, seemed a lot more reserved. She constantly rubbed the cuff of her moth-eaten cardigan between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes flitting nervously between Mirabelle and Uncle Bertram in his bear form. She was still trembling a little, and her clothes were plainly old hand-me-downs. Mirabelle wondered where her parents were. Both of the children looked famished. The boy in particular looked a little sickly and seemed to be relying solely on nervous energy to keep him going.

  ‘We’re very grateful to you and your pet bear for rescuing us from those things,’ said the boy.

  Pet bear? Those things?

  ‘Those things, as you call them, are the Flowers of Divine Lapsidy,’ said Mirabelle.

  ‘Flowers? Interesting. I’ve never come across flowers like that before. What are they exactly? And what is this place? It all seems very—’

  ‘How did you get in?’ asked Mirabelle.

  ‘There’s a hole in the world,’ said the girl before her brother could say anything.

  Mirabelle locked eyes with her. ‘A hole?’

  The girl nodded, looking almost apologetic.

  ‘Yes, a great big rip in the air. We saw your house through it.’

  Mirabelle felt a flicker of unease. ‘Where did you see this opening?’

  ‘At the top of the path where those . . . those flowers were,’ said Jem.

  ‘Our car ran out of petrol near the spot in the forest where we found it,’ said Tom.

  ‘So, nobody else from the village opened the way for you?’ said Mirabelle.

  ‘What village?’ asked Tom.

  Bertram gave a little panicked snort, and Mirabelle could feel her own disquiet about the whole situation growing. These two clearly knew nothing about the village of Rookhaven, and the fact that they had somehow passed through the Glamour without the use of a key was not normal.

  Uncle Bertram slipped round the side of the house while Mirabelle led Jem and Tom up the steps towards the front door. A small flurry of ravens wheeled around the roof, their cawing strange and hollow in the night air. Mirabelle caught sight of their one-eyed leader glowering down from a cornice, then he seemed to lose interest in them and flew up to be with his brethren as they flitted through the holes in the roof at the far corner of the house.

  ‘This is a very nice place,’ said Tom, coughing into his hand. ‘Who lives here?’

  ‘My family and I,’ said Mirabelle, opening the front door
and ignoring his gaze.

  They stepped into the cool dark of the hallway. Mirabelle noted the way the two children looked at their surroundings: Jem blinking in disbelief, her mouth widening in astonishment as she took in the vastness of the house before her; Tom looking almost hungry. He wiped a hand across his sweaty brow and seemed to drink everything in. His eyes roved over the staircase’s ornate alabaster settings, and the convolutions of the chandelier above, its barbed iron arms twisting in and around each other like the branches of a tree.

  ‘That looks heavy,’ he said.

  Mirabelle knew full well that he meant ‘expensive’.

  A shadow unpeeled from the murk and the two children took a step backwards as Uncle Enoch revealed himself.

  ‘And who, may I ask, do we have here, Mirabelle?’ he said, his voice sonorous but with a hint of steel.

  Tom cleared his throat and tapped his chest. ‘I’m Tom Griffin, and this is my little sister Jem.’ He fought back another cough.

  Enoch ignored him and instead glared at Mirabelle. ‘They’re not from the village.’

  ‘No, Uncle,’ said Mirabelle. She noted the brief flicker of concern on his face, which only added to the disquiet she’d been feeling since encountering the two children.

  She was about to tell him more, but she was taken by surprise when Tom took a step towards Enoch and held out his hand.

  ‘Tom, no,’ gasped Jem.

  Tom ignored her and looked cheekily at Enoch. ‘And who might you be?’

  Enoch raised his head back and looked down his nose at Tom while continuing to speak to Mirabelle.

  ‘How did they get in?’

  ‘They came through the Glamour. I found them on the Path of Flowers.’

  Enoch looked horrified. ‘Impossible!’

  ‘That’s where I found them,’ said Mirabelle.

  Mirabelle had never seen Enoch like this before. He looked angry and confused, and perhaps even a little bit frightened. The sight made Mirabelle feel suddenly cold.

  ‘Strangers,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘Perhaps they could stay, just for a little while,’ said Mirabelle. ‘Their car has run out of petrol . . .’