The Monsters of Rookhaven

by Padraig Kenny

  And all the time she saw Bertram turning to dust.

  And that thing.

  Its face. She’d seen it before.

  ‘What was it?’ she whispered to herself, and Gideon gave her a puzzled look.

  Mirabelle reached out and held Odd’s hand. She willed him to squeeze her fingers, but he was completely still.

  The bedroom door opened behind her, and Jem stepped back into the room, followed by Tom.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Jem.

  ‘Still sleeping,’ said Mirabelle.

  There was an awkward silence for a moment. Mirabelle looked at Jem.

  ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Jem. ‘I understand.’ She reached into her cardigan pocket and took something out. ‘Here, I picked it up just before . . .’

  Mirabelle took it from her. It was Uncle Bertram’s notebook. Battered and slightly muddy, the corners of its pages curled up with age and damp, to Mirabelle it was now the most precious treasure in the world. She read the title he had scrawled on the cover.

  ‘Bertram’s Investigations into the Tastes, Sights, Scents, Sounds and Various Experiences of the World.’ Despite everything, it made her smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Will he be all right?’ asked Tom, nodding at Odd.

  Mirabelle wasn’t sure what to say. ‘I don’t know. This hasn’t happened before, well, not that I know of.’ She frowned. ‘It seems there are lots of things that I don’t know about.’

  The door opened again, and Eliza re-entered. She walked over to Odd’s bedside.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Better, I think,’ said Mirabelle, knowing she was trying to convince herself as much as Eliza.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Tom, giving her a reassuring nod.

  ‘Maybe, but for how long?’ said Mirabelle.

  She could see by the look in their eyes that they all knew what she really meant.

  That thing is coming, she thought to herself. And nothing can stop it.

  ‘Enoch is in the library,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Well, we shouldn’t keep him waiting, then,’ said Mirabelle, standing up.

  She gently lifted a protesting Gideon from her shoulders.

  ‘Go to your room, Gideon.’

  Gideon squawked at her and swiped the air in anger.

  Mirabelle shook her head at him. ‘Gideon.’

  Gideon snarled one more time, then vanished into thin air. There was a rattling, scampering sound, and the door opened and then slammed shut.

  Tom whistled, looking impressed. ‘I wouldn’t mind being able to do that.’

  Jem nudged him with her elbow. Tom looked suitably contrite, but there was still a trace of admiration in his eyes.

  The library was bathed in candlelight and filled with the smell of wax and smoke. Enoch stood at the top of an oak table with a large black leather-bound book in front of him. Eliza went to stand with him. Dotty and Daisy stood to the side, both of them clasping their hands in front of them, their heads bowed. Sacred and peaceful as it felt, Mirabelle couldn’t rid herself of the terrible ache when she remembered her mother and Bertram.

  No one said anything for a moment. Mirabelle mentally dared Enoch to object to the presence of Jem and Tom, but he looked too tired to protest.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Mirabelle wouldn’t let him. She had a question for him.

  ‘That creature, the creature that . . .’ She struggled to say the words. ‘I’ve seen its face before. It’s carved on the door to Piglet’s room. What is it?’

  Enoch nodded, as if quietly conceding there was no point in hiding the truth any more.

  ‘We call it the Malice,’ he said.

  There was a subtle change in the air, as if something had tainted it. Mirabelle noticed that Dotty had scrunched her eyes shut and was trying not to cry. Daisy stroked her arm and whispered gently to her.

  Enoch opened the book and Mirabelle stepped forward to look at it. The language was old and unfamiliar to her, the letters jagged and strange, as if someone had cut them into the yellowing pages in rage and pain.

  ‘It is an ancient creature that has hunted our kind since we can remember.’

  Enoch turned the pages one by one. There were drawings of the same howling skeletal creature with long claws and sharp teeth pictured on the door to Piglet’s room. One picture showed a man cowering in the foreground as the creature reared up before him against the night sky.

  ‘For years the Glamour has hidden us not only from the humans, but also from the Malice. Alas, it now seems we have been discovered,’ said Eliza. Mirabelle could see that she was close to tears.

  ‘The Glamour protected us, but with it damaged we were left vulnerable and open to discovery. The creature would have sensed Piglet when he escaped. Piglet has a very powerful essence and aura. To the Malice it would have been like a wolf catching the scent of its prey,’ said Enoch.

  ‘How do we stop it?’ asked Mirabelle.

  Enoch wiped a hand across his brow and closed the book with a whumping sound.

  ‘We can’t,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Mirabelle was incredulous. ‘Of course we can. That’s just . . .’

  ‘We can hide,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Hide?’ Mirabelle roared. ‘Hide?’

  Her anger was sudden and volcanic. It twisted up and through her until she could barely see.

  ‘We’re not hiding any more! This thing killed Uncle Bertram. It killed Aunt Rula. It nearly killed Odd!’ she shouted, pointing at the door.

  She was panting hard, but all she got in response from Enoch and Eliza were sorrowful looks. They looked pathetic to her now. Pathetic and weak. She could see Bertram’s face in her mind. She wiped a hand angrily across her eyes.

  ‘This thing is a monster, and I say we kill it,’ she hissed through teeth so tightly clenched it felt to her as if her jaw would break.

  Enoch sighed. ‘We can only hide. The wound in the Glamour is almost healed. Once it’s completely sealed, only the Family can pass through it. The only other way in is through the hidden entrance to the Path of Flowers. Even if the Malice does get in that way, the flowers are poison to him. There is no way he can withstand them.’

  ‘Then we send the flowers after him,’ said Mirabelle, slamming her fist against the table.

  Enoch looked pained. ‘We can’t command the flowers that way and you know it. They are bound to their promise to protect the Family and the House. They provide a defence here, but no more than that.’

  ‘So that’s it, then? We just wait for the Malice to come to us?’

  Enoch nodded.

  The agony of it all seared into Mirabelle’s bones. The darkness seemed clammy and suffocating. She could hear the guttering of the candles and even that seemed to cause her pain.

  ‘Everybody get out,’ she said.

  Dotty and Daisy looked at each other. Jem took a step towards Mirabelle.

  ‘Everybody except my beloved uncle, get out,’ Mirabelle growled.

  Jem hesitated, then she and Tom both headed for the door. Eliza and the twins looked at Enoch, who sighed and waved a hand at them in dismissal, then the three of them followed suit and left the room.

  Mirabelle stared at Enoch. He seemed so much smaller to her now, and while she was angry with him there was also a nagging hint of pity.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she asked.

  ‘The Malice wasn’t something we thought you needed to know about.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the Malice. I’m talking about my mother. Why didn’t you tell me about her?’

  Enoch lowered his eyes and picked at a corner of the book.

  ‘Enoch?’

  He looked her in the eye again. ‘I had my reasons.’

  ‘Then tell me your oh-so-special reasons.’

  ‘I’m your guardian, Mirabelle.’

  ‘Of which you’re so fond of telling me.’

  ‘As your guardian—’

>   ‘It was as good as a lie!’

  Enoch looked suddenly furious. ‘I have never lied to you!’

  ‘Only done much worse,’ Mirabelle shouted, shaking her head with contempt.

  Enoch headed for the door. ‘I need to repair the Glamour. The incantation is almost complete, and there isn’t much time.’

  ‘How often do you think about her?’ Mirabelle asked, her voice suddenly surprisingly calm.

  Enoch stopped in his tracks. He stood up straight and took in a deep breath.

  ‘Uncle?’

  He looked at her now, his eyes filled with sorrow. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Every day,’ he said, then left the room.

  Mirabelle found Jem on the steps outside the front door. The night seemed darker than ever, while on the Path of Flowers the occasional burst of gold lit up the sky, then faded as if it had never existed in the first place.

  ‘What is that light?’ asked Jem.

  Mirabelle sat beside Jem and nodded as another sliver of gold flared briefly then disappeared.

  ‘That’s traces of magic, apparently. I think Uncle Enoch finally found the right incantation and he’s healing the tear. It should be mended soon,’ she said. She bit her lip. ‘It had better be mended soon. With the Malice out there . . .’ She shook her head, unwilling to finish the thought. She decided to change the subject. ‘Where’s Tom?’

  ‘He went to talk to Piglet.’

  Mirabelle frowned at this.

  ‘He heard him crying earlier and he wanted to comfort him,’ said Jem.

  ‘That’s nice of him,’ said Mirabelle.

  Jem laughed. ‘Nice. That’s one word I never thought I’d hear being used about Tom.’

  ‘He’s always looked out for you,’ said Mirabelle.

  Jem lowered her head. ‘I know. And I look out for him.’

  The one-eyed raven swooped down and landed on a pillar at the end of the steps. It cawed at them and fluttered its wings.

  ‘I don’t like you either,’ Mirabelle shouted.

  The raven gave an almost dismissive flick of a wing and flew away towards the wall.

  ‘There are more of them,’ said Jem quietly. ‘A lot more.’

  There were hundreds of ravens now, like a great liquid line of midnight black along the walls.

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Jem.

  ‘Waiting,’ said Mirabelle.

  ‘What for?’

  Jem looked almost sorry that she’d asked the question.

  ‘Odd says that ravens are a dread portent of things to come. He says he’s only seen flocks of them like that a few times before.’

  ‘Where?’

  Now it was Mirabelle’s turn to look perturbed.

  ‘On battlefields,’ she said.

  Freddie

  Freddie had watched as more and more people had come out onto the street. So many friends and neighbours. So many people who now looked unfamiliar to him. Mr and Mrs Carswell were deep in discussion with the Smiths, their whispers hushed and intense. Mr Pheeps moved among them, nodding and patting each on the back or an arm. Pheeps had even spoken to Alfie Parkin, and the cold dread Freddie felt became even worse when he saw Alfie’s face darken with anger. Now Alfie was standing there gripping his cane so fiercely his knuckles were white and sharp. Freddie waved at him in an effort to get his attention, but Alfie’s eyes blazed as he stared out into the night, and it seemed his mind was elsewhere. For a while Freddie held tight to the hope that maybe the tide might be turned and people would shake themselves of the insidious influence of Mr Pheeps, but that hope was extinguished when he saw someone wielding a makeshift club, and someone else cradling a rifle. Then he saw another gun.

  And another.

  It took him two minutes to get to Dr Ellenby’s house. As he pounded on the door, he could still hear the low angry hum of people behind him, followed by a sudden eerie silence that terrified him even more.

  He fell over the threshold when Dr Ellenby opened the door.

  ‘Freddie? What’s wrong?’

  Freddie pushed his way in past him. ‘You have to go!’ he shouted. ‘They’ll be coming here.’

  ‘Who will?’ asked Dr Ellenby.

  ‘Almost everyone in the village,’ said Freddie. ‘You must have heard them.’

  Putting his fear into words brought home to Freddie how dangerous the situation was. Dr Ellenby frowned at him. Freddie grabbed his arm.

  Freddie tried to catch his breath. ‘I think they’re going to Mirabelle’s house. I think they’re going to do something terrible.’

  Dr Ellenby considered all this for a moment, then nodded gravely when he heard the approaching sound. It was distant, but there was no mistaking its rumbling, angry quality. He went into his study and took a set of keys from his desk drawer while Freddie watched him from the doorway.

  Freddie couldn’t speak now. He was shuddering too hard. Dr Ellenby came back to him and held him firmly by the shoulders.

  ‘It’ll be all right, Freddie. I know these people.’

  Freddie looked at him. Not any more you don’t, he thought.

  Dr Ellenby took him gently by the arm and guided him outside. He locked the front door behind them. Freddie could see the crowd approaching, spilling over onto the green. Mr Pheeps was leading them, Freddie’s father standing by his side. Freddie felt sick all over again.

  The crowd squeezed into the laneway, Mr Pheeps looking extremely pleased with himself. Freddie’s father stepped forward.

  ‘We don’t want any trouble, Marcus. We just came for one thing. If you can hand it over, we’ll leave quietly,’ he said.

  Dr Ellenby frowned. ‘Trouble? There won’t be any trouble here, Frank.’

  Mr Pheeps put a hand on Freddie’s father’s arm and smiled at the doctor:

  ‘Dr Ellenby, I presume.’

  ‘At your service,’ said Dr Ellenby. He started to address the crowd. ‘I know it’s outside office hours, but if you could all just form an orderly queue . . .’

  ‘Give us what we came here for,’ someone shouted from the crowd. More shouts followed, but they were silenced as Mr Pheeps raised his hand.

  ‘If you would be so kind as to do what’s requested of you, Doctor, then we’ll leave you in peace.’

  ‘And what is requested of me?’ said Dr Ellenby.

  Mr Pheeps stepped towards him, his hands held out in a gesture of placation. Freddie recognized the look on his face, the tone of his voice. It was the same hypnotic tone he’d used on his father. Freddie gripped the doctor by the arm.

  ‘That’s close enough,’ said Dr Ellenby.

  Mr Pheeps looked surprised, and Freddie almost punched the air with delight.

  ‘If you’d like to tell me what it is you came here for, well, then maybe I can oblige,’ said the doctor.

  Mr Pheeps closed his eyes and gave a long hard sniff of the air. ‘It seems this house has had quite a few visitors from a certain so-called family.’ At the mention of this a murmur of unease went through the crowd. When Pheeps opened his eyes again, the look he directed towards the doctor was one of pure malevolence.

  ‘It would also appear that the way that was once open to a local property has now been closed. To gain entry to said estate would now necessitate the use of a certain key.’

  Mr Pheeps held his hand out:

  ‘If you would be so kind.’

  Dr Ellenby pointed at the door of his house. ‘The key you seek is in there.’ He took a set of keys from his pocket. ‘And to gain entry to the key that is in there you’ll need one of these.’

  He held the set of keys out, and Freddie’s heart did a little flip. Mr Pheeps stepped nearer, his eyes wide.

  Dr Ellenby brought his arm back and flung the keys with all his might across the laneway and into the darkness of the hedge beyond.

  There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

  Dr Ellenby looked mildly at Mr Pheeps, whose face was now contorted with rage. For a moment Freddie felt a li
ttle twinge of joy.

  Then something flew out of the crowd and hit Dr Ellenby in the temple.

  The doctor staggered backwards, using the windowsill behind him for support, but another stone hit him square in the forehead, and he crumpled to the ground, a hand going to his head and coming away covered in blood.

  The crowd were on him in seconds.

  Freddie tried his best to shield the doctor, but he was pushed out of the way and then there was a flurry of fists and feet as the stricken man was pummelled by the crowd. Meanwhile, another group was battering the doctor’s front door down. They rushed it in waves, and about half a dozen men collapsed into the hallway as the hinges gave way. A great cheer went up, and people flooded into the house, which mercifully meant that they stopped attacking Dr Ellenby.

  Freddie tended to the doctor on the ground while the screaming crowd ignored them. Items were thrown from upstairs windows: shirts, shoes, books – all showering down around the doctor and Freddie. After a few minutes there was a frantic shrieking from the house, and someone came to door, shouting:

  ‘I have it!’

  Freddie saw something golden held aloft, then the heaving crowd moved off as one, coursing like a river round the bend as they exited the laneway. The silence they left behind almost hurt Freddie’s ears. He helped Dr Ellenby up into a sitting position, noting the blood by his temple and on his forehead. One of the handles of his glasses was bent out of shape. The doctor tried to fix his glasses back in place with a trembling hand.

  ‘They’re just scratches, nothing to worry about. Take it from me. I’m a doctor.’

  ‘What pitiable wretches you are,’ said Mr Pheeps, regarding them from the darkness.

  ‘Is that your professional opinion?’ asked Dr Ellenby as Freddie helped him to his feet.

  ‘What good did it do you to resist?’ asked Mr Pheeps, shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘Good was done by the act of resistance, as futile as it might have been. That’s all that matters,’ said Dr Ellenby, pulling briskly at the hem of his waistcoat as he straightened himself up.

  Mr Pheeps shook his head in disgust then walked after the crowd.

  ‘You’ll get what’s coming to you!’ Freddie roared after him.