The Monsters of Rookhaven

by Padraig Kenny

  Dr Ellenby said goodbye to them at the front door. He asked Bertram if the brandy had had any effect. Bertram shrugged. He looked clear-eyed and well aware of where he was. Dr Ellenby made a remark about his ‘unique constitution’ then wished them all goodnight. When the door closed, Jem and Bertram looked at Mirabelle.

  ‘I’m going to talk to Enoch,’ she said. ‘I’m going to find out the full story once and for all.’

  ‘He owes you that much,’ said Jem.

  ‘We should go,’ said Bertram.

  They headed for the end of the lane that opened out on to the green. A raven looked down at them, and Jem could see the moon glinting in its one good eye.

  ‘Stop,’ Bertram hissed.

  They all stopped while Bertram pointed at a figure sitting on a bench at the edge of the green. They would have to try to pass by whoever it was unseen, and Jem knew that was impossible.

  She looked at Bertram. ‘Is there another—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Mirabelle.

  Jem felt her heart lurch when Mirabelle stepped out of the laneway, but she followed her, along with Bertram, trusting Mirabelle’s instinct.

  ‘Freddie?’ said Mirabelle.

  Freddie looked startled. He’d been concentrating on something he was holding between his hands. He wiped his eyes, and it was clear to Jem that he’d been crying.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be here. It’s forbidden,’ he said to them, but Jem could tell he said it more out of fear for their safety than as a warning.

  ‘We’re going back home straight away, Freddie. We promise. You won’t tell anyone we were here, will you?’ said Bertram.

  Freddie shook his head and sniffed. ‘Course not.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Freddie?’ asked Jem.

  She was startled when his face crumpled. ‘There’s a man in . . . there’s a man . . .’

  Jem felt a sudden hot prickling panic. They were standing in full view on the green, and she wanted to shush Freddie, but she didn’t want to be unsympathetic.

  ‘What man?’ asked Bertram.

  ‘A man who isn’t a man,’ said Freddie. ‘He’s some kind of . . . some kind of monster. My dad let him in. It’s like he has him under a spell. He can’t see that he’s . . .’

  Freddie’s voice trailed off as he fought to compose himself.

  ‘What’s that you’re holding?’ asked Bertram.

  Freddie held the object up. ‘It’s a jar. He ate something from it. He said it was a soul.’

  Bertram tottered backwards on his feet. For a moment Jem thought it was because he was drunk, but she remembered the brandy had had no effect on him whatsoever. This was something else.

  ‘A what?’ he whispered.

  ‘A soul. He ate it. It was alive. She was alive. I’m sure of it. She was alive and he ate her. And he says he hunts for these souls and he’s been hunting them for hundreds of years.’

  Bertram came towards him, his face twisted in fear. Jem exchanged a worried glance with Mirabelle. She could see she was disturbed too. The air was tingly, electric, and Jem felt the overpowering urge to run for cover.

  ‘Give it to me,’ said Bertram, reaching out a hand towards Freddie. ‘Let me see it. Please.’

  The ‘please’ was like something a child might say, an agonized plea, a yearning for protection just before the advent of some dire punishment. Jem’s mouth felt dry.

  ‘Uncle?’ said Mirabelle, but Bertram didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were fixed on the jar.

  ‘The jar. Please?’ he said.

  Freddie too looked concerned as he gazed up at Bertram, and he handed over the jar without taking his eyes off his face. Bertram took the jar and examined it. He turned it over in his hands and caught sight of the label.

  That was when he scrunched his eyes shut and started keening.

  Jem could see the terror in Mirabelle’s eyes.

  ‘Uncle? What is it? What’s wrong?’

  Bertram shook his head. ‘No, no, no!’ he cried.

  ‘Uncle? Please tell me.’

  He started to pound the jar against his forehead. ‘It has her name on it. It has her name on it,’ he moaned.

  ‘Uncle, give it to me, please. Give it to me now,’ said Mirabelle, holding her hand out, trying her best to look in charge, but Jem could see the trembling in her legs that matched the trembling of her own.

  Bertram went down on one knee, groaning like a wounded animal. He handed the jar to Mirabelle. Mirabelle looked at it, and Jem tried to read her face.

  ‘What is it? What does it say?’ she asked.

  Mirabelle held the jar up for her to see. The letters were faded a little with age, but there was no mistaking what they said.

  ‘Rula. It says Rula,’ said Mirabelle.

  Bertram gave a hoarse, angry howl, and he punched the earth with his fist. Mirabelle let the jar slip from her fingers onto the grass.

  Bertram sprang up and grabbed both Mirabelle and Jem by the shoulders.

  ‘We have to go. We have to go now. It isn’t safe here,’ he said.

  He started to push them along.

  It wasn’t safe to begin with, Jem thought. What makes it any less safe now?

  Freddie followed them. Bertram twisted his head round to look at him, his eyes wild.

  ‘Where is he? Where is he now?’ he barked.

  ‘In my house,’ said Freddie, his face pale as they entered the second laneway.

  ‘Good,’ said Bertram, pushing both the girls in front of him.

  There was a short, slightly portly figure heading towards them from the other end of the lane.

  ‘Mr Teasdale,’ said Freddie.

  Mr Teasdale blinked in shock as he beheld them.

  ‘What is this? What’s going on?’ he said, looking indignant.

  Mirabelle stepped towards him. ‘We can explain, Mr Teasdale, we—’

  ‘You! You again! You’re a troublemaker,’ he shouted, pointing his finger at her. ‘You’re not supposed to be here. You know it’s forbidden. I will report this grievous infraction to the council, and when they hear of it your punishment will be doubled.’

  Mirabelle was standing right in front of him. ‘Please, Mr Teasdale, you have to listen to us.’

  Mr Teasdale pushed her out of the way with such force that Mirabelle collided with a wall. Jem felt a spark of anger, and she was just stepping forward when two black scraps of darkness plummeted from the night sky and launched themselves at Mr Teasdale.

  Ravens.

  Mr Teasdale squealed as they raked at his face. He batted at them with h hands, tripping over himself before crashing to the ground. Just as suddenly as the ravens had started their onslaught they stopped and flew off. Mr Teasdale lay there, panting hard, righting his spectacles with a trembling hand.

  ‘This will not stand! This will not stand!’ he wheezed.

  ‘No, it most certainly will not, Mr Teasdale.’

  The voice came from a figure at the other end of the laneway. It was a mellifluous voice, rich and melodic, y an d his hing seductive and powerful, but tinged with hate. Jem could recognize these undertones.

  The man stepped into view. He was wearing a battered old coat and had hair that was greyish brown. The most vivid thing about him was his smile. It was a smile that seemed a little too big and contained too many teeth. A smile of utter malevolence.

  The man helped pull Mr Teasdale up to standing.

  ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ said Mr Teasdale, blinking again, but now his eyes seemed slightly glazed.

  ‘Not at all,’ said the man. ‘But take my advice for now.’

  ‘Advice?’ said Mr Teasdale almost dreamily.

  ‘Yes, why not rest for a bit?’

  The man clamped a hand to the back of Mr Teasdale’s head. Mr Teasdale’s eyes rolled up, and the man lowered him gently back to the ground as he fainted dead away.

  Then the man turned back to Jem and the others, that smile still on his face. Jem had been frightened earlier, but n
ow she was sick with fear. Her temples pounded, and she could feel her stomach roiling. She wondered if she had the strength in her legs to run. Mirabelle was by her side, and she could see that she too was terrified.

  The man threw his head back and gave a great big sniff of the air.

  ‘Oh my, oh my, what a wonderful scent that is. Heady and sweet. You never told me about your friends, Freddie. You’ve been keeping secrets.’ He wagged his finger.

  ‘Who are you?’ Mirabelle demanded.

  The man pretended to be shocked. ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘I know,’ growled Bertram. ‘I know what you are.’

  Bertram was clenching and unclenching his fists. Jem could see he was clearly angry – angry and frightened. He was grinding his teeth. He was barely containing himself.

  ‘I know what you did to Rula,’ he growled, his voice becoming deeper, his eyes darkening to a ruby red.

  The man raised his hands in a gesture of innocence and shrugged. ‘But I was hungry.’

  It happened in less than a second. One moment there was Bertram. The next a ton of fur and claws exploded and hurled itself towards the man. Jem felt like roaring him on. In her mind’s eye the man would become pulp.

  In reality he sidestepped Bertram in his bear form, grabbed him by the haunches, and hurled him against the side of a house. There was the thud of brick, the tinkle of glass, the splinter of wood. Bertram slid down the wall, but was up on his haunches in seconds, shaking his shoulders and throwing his head back and roaring, baring his fangs to the night. He twisted round and launched himself at the man again.

  This time the man didn’t move. This time he simply caught Bertram by the scruff of the neck. Bertram twisted and roared, but he couldn’t shake himself free.

  A stunned Jem was vaguely aware that Mirabelle was gripping her arm.

  The man turned Bertram round as if he weighed less than a kitten. Bertram’s bear aspect started to melt and shimmer. His human form re-established itself. He was sweating and twisting, trying to free himself, but the man held him in place with ease, an arm tight round his neck.

  And now the man himself was changing form. His eyes became grey, his mouth widened. His fingers became talons. Jem was shocked, not just by the transformation, but by the terrible feeling that she had seen this creature somewhere before.

  ‘I’ve been so hungry for so long,’ he said, his voice moist and bubbling.

  Jem couldn’t move. Freddie was backing away from the creature, shaking his head like someone desperately trying to rouse himself from a nightmare.

  ‘Uncle?’ Mirabelle cried.

  Bertram tried his best to smile, but there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘Run,’ he said.

  The creature bit down on his neck. Light bled from him, purple, red, fiery with life. The creature started to devour it and, as it fed, Bertram started to turn to dust.

  Jem grabbed Mirabelle by the hand and they ran.

  The laneway seemed to last forever. Jem stumbled, and Mirabelle pulled her up. They could hear the creature pounding after them. Jem could feel a terrible heat at her back, she couldn’t help herself. She turned round.

  The creature slashed its claws through the air. Jem screamed.

  She turned just in time to see Odd standing right in front of her, his face a mask of furious intent. He grabbed both her and Mirabelle and shoved them through a portal.

  There was that rushing sensation again, and something else before that, as if something had raked the air behind her. Something hot and sharp. Jem fell onto grass. She looked up to see the house looming before her, Mirabelle on her knees by her side.

  They both turned to see Odd walking towards them, the portal now a tiny black speck behind him. He smiled.

  ‘Well now, that was . . . that was . . .’

  His smile faltered, and the colour drained from his face. He reached behind him as if trying to scratch his back, then fell face-first onto the ground.

  Piglet

  Piglet screams.

  He screams when he senses Bertram’s essence leave his body. The moment is like a knife in his heart. Piglet screams and twists his head and thrashes around to escape the pain, but, try as he might, he can’t. The pain finds him. It fastens his teeth into him. The pain is raw and burning, and part of him knows he will never, ever escape it.

  And, after that moment, that horrible pain-filled moment, there is something else. Piglet sees Mirabelle, the girl and Odd appear in front of the house. He sees Odd stumble and fall. Mirabelle goes to him and holds him, and when she takes her hands away they are wet and black, covered with Odd’s blood. And now it is Mirabelle’s turn to scream.

  Piglet hides in a corner. And he weeps. He sobs. The hot, scalding tears come freely, and it feels as if they will never stop.

  And now Piglet knows what grief is.

  Freddie

  Freddie ran.

  He ran to escape the horror of what he’d just seen. He ran and he ran, but he was also running away from his own shame. He’d never felt so utterly helpless.

  He arrived back at his house. He was just about to bang on the front door when he heard a voice.

  ‘Freddie? What are you doing up and about at this hour?’

  Constable Griggs was standing behind him. Freddie was panting. He tried to get the words out, but a shout of ‘Help!’ distracted both of them.

  Mr Teasdale was limping up the street, supported by Mr Pheeps.

  Pheeps waved his hand. ‘Constable, please. This man needs assistance.’

  Griggs ran towards him.

  ‘What happened?’ the constable demanded.

  ‘I was . . . I was . . .’

  Mr Teasdale looked confused. Freddie saw Pheeps whisper something to him. Only he saw the man’s grin.

  ‘I was attacked!’ Mr Teasdale wailed.

  His wail was enough to wake the rest of the street. Lights came on in bedroom windows. Freddie saw Kevin Bennett look out of his window, while Kevin’s father came to his front door wearing pyjama bottoms and a vest. His wife stood behind him in a fluffy blue dressing gown, her hair in curlers.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mr Bennett shouted.

  Constable Griggs went to Mr Teasdale.

  ‘Mirabelle of the House of Rookhaven attacked me!’ Mr Teasdale shouted.

  ‘Is this true?’ Constable Griggs asked Mr Pheeps.

  Mr Pheeps nodded gravely. An enraged Freddie stepped forward, but a hand on his shoulder grabbed him and pulled him back. It was his father. He strode towards the constable and the two men, demanding to know what had happened. Mr and Mrs Smith were on the street now, and at least a dozen more people were venturing out of their houses, blinking and looking dazed.

  ‘I was attacked!’ Mr Teasdale shouted again, and Freddie noticed how Mr Pheeps kept a hand clamped on his shoulder, still whispering in his ear.

  A crowd had gathered around Mr Teasdale now, and they were all jostling for position, demanding to know what all the fuss was about.

  ‘She transformed into a hideous monster, and she was in league with creatures who sought to injure me,’ Mr Teasdale shouted, his eyes wide and strangely glassy, cheeks flushed.

  ‘That’s not what happened!’ Freddie shouted, but no one heard him. The hubbub of the crowd had increased in volume, and now people were shouting. Freddie tried his best to be heard over the noise.

  ‘I was there. That’s not what . . .’

  It was no use. No one was listening. Freddie watched in horror as Mr Pheeps made his way among the people, touching some on the shoulder, whispering to others, and everyone he touched or spoke to seemed to cock their head as if listening to a far-off voice. Their eyes would first glaze over, and then their faces would harden with anger.

  Freddie felt utterly powerless. Mr Teasdale was still shouting, Freddie’s father by his side. There were so many people yelling now it was hard for Freddie to hear exactly what was being said, but he caught snatches:

  ‘. . . mons
ters . . .’

  ‘. . . after all we’ve suffered . . .’

  ‘. . . the ingratitude . . .’

  ‘. . . they need to be taught a lesson . . .’

  And in the midst of it all Mr Pheeps smiling, cajoling, nodding sympathetically, patting people on the shoulder, working his strange subtle magic, and to a helpless Freddie it seemed as if the people who were gathered there became one bristling, rage-filled entity, and all Freddie could think of was Mr Pheeps’s earlier words to him.

  I’m just waiting for the right moment.

  Part 4

  Signs and Portents

  Mirabelle

  Mirabelle tried to focus on Odd’s face as he lay in the bed, because she found that if she didn’t the image of Bertram’s face caving in presented itself to her instead. She couldn’t start crying again, not in front of Gideon, who had wrapped himself round her shoulders and refused to let go as soon as she’d entered the house.

  Piglet had finally stopped screaming half an hour ago. She thought he was going to scream all night. Mirabelle would have gone to him, but she was too worried about Odd.

  Odd’s face was even more preternaturally pale than usual, paler than the sliver of moonlight that stretched from the window to the bed in which he now lay. At least his eyelids were flickering, she consoled herself. The time since their arrival back at the house had been a panicked blur for Mirabelle. Eliza had met them at the door and helped carry Odd to a room, then dressed his wounds. Jem had suggested calling Dr Ellenby, but Mirabelle had shouted, ‘What good would that do?’ and immediately felt guilty when she’d seen the stunned look on Jem’s face. Eliza had left the room, muttering something about talking to Enoch. Jem left moments later to go and look for Tom. Mirabelle wanted to call after her, but she felt as if she were choking.

  She wanted to shout at Enoch, who still hadn’t made an appearance. She wanted to scream at Eliza for seemingly running away. Round and round her anger went, until she thought her skull might explode.

  Gideon squeezed himself against her neck. Mirabelle patted his arm and tried her best to smile, but it hurt. Everything hurt.