2 If Only Mice Could Talk
Edwin sat in the parked car, chewing on a squashed ham sandwich and plotting revenge.
He had always hated girls, but until he’d met Bryony Platt (or Browny Splat, as he preferred to call her) Edwin hadn’t realised how much he could hate them. She had to be the most horrible, unbearable, and downright evil member of the female species ever to blight the face of the earth.
You might not have thought it to look at her, though. Some (but Edwin definitely wasn’t one of them) might even have called her pretty. But her heart shaped face, large dark eyes, and long black hair belied the monster that lurked beneath.
And she was a monster. Edwin had sensed this from the moment they’d met six months ago.
“This is Bryony,” Mum had announced. “She’s going to be your sister.”
Sister? Edwin didn’t want a sister, anymore than he wanted a new dad or a new home. He wanted things to be just like they were, in the old days. Before…
Edwin felt a sob coming on. He took a deep breath and almost choked on a lump of soggy sandwich. He coughed the offending morsel into his hand, and was about to throw it out of the window when he remembered Stubby.
The poor mite must be starving by now. Edwin dipped a hand into his jacket pocket and scooped up the bundle of brown fluff and whiskers that was his only true friend in the entire world.
He’d found the mouse in a dustbin three weeks ago. It looked like the poor creature had been attacked by a cat, because half his tail was missing (hence Edwin’s choice of name). Edwin had nursed the mouse back to health, and grown so attached that he couldn’t bear to let him go. Now Stubby lived in Edwin’s pocket, and he went everywhere Edwin went. When Edwin felt down he talked to Stubby; which meant he talked to Stubby quite a lot these days.
“Here you are,” he crooned, offering Stubby a lump of half chewed bread. Stubby sniffed, but seemed reluctant to sample the offering.
Edwin couldn’t blame him. “She sat on them,” he hissed. “On purpose. All the way here. But I’ll get her back, don’t you worry.”
Stubby stared at him with those shiny black button eyes. If only mice could talk, thought Edwin. Lately he’d been working on a method of communication based on squeaks and nose twitches (mice seemed to do this a lot), but so far his experiments with Stubby had yielded little in the way of results, except a few odd looks from people on the bus.
Edwin gazed out of the window, and sighed. The car was parked in a layby next to an open field, allowing an uninterrupted view of the landscape. On a fine day it probably would have been quite scenic; Edwin imagined the rolling hills draped in a patchwork of green fields shimmering in the sunshine. But today the sky was a sullen grey, and mist clung to the horizon like a drab, suffocating shroud.
He’d always liked the idea of living in the country, but right now Edwin would give anything to be back in their flat in the middle of town. It wasn’t very big (at least not as big as Bryony’s house), but it was home.
Or rather, it had been home. Because, as Mum kept telling him, they had a new home now. All of them.
Edwin’s thoughts turned once again to Bryony, and he pondered on ways to get even with her. He’d tried slugs and snails, and then there had been the Italian restaurant incident, which still made him chuckle (even though they’d all been banned from the restaurant for life, and had to pay to have the ceiling cleaned).
But Bryony was made of stern stuff. Creepy crawlies didn’t seem to freak her (not like they did Mum, anyhow), and Edwin knew he had to change tactics.
It might be time to play his trump card.
Grinning at the thought, Edwin stuffed another sliver of compressed sandwich into his mouth, only to cough it up again as a loud rapping noise sounded in his ear. He turned to see his mother banging on the car window.
“Edwin, what are you doing in there? Don’t you want to see our new home?”
Edwin told her he didn’t.
Jane tried to open the door, but luckily Edwin had locked it.
“But you must come,” she pleaded. “Unless you’d prefer to spend the rest of your life in the car?”
As it happened, the thought of spending the rest of his life in the car had already occurred to Edwin. It might be a bit cramped, and there were some basic sanitation issues to work around, but at least Bryony wouldn’t be there.
“What are you holding?” Jane’s frowning face came closer to the glass. “Have you still got that mouse? I told you to let him go. He’s recovered now and should be released back to the wild. He’ll be much better off in his natural environment.”
“So would I,” said Edwin, stuffing Stubby back into his pocket. “And that’s back in our flat, not living out here in some horrible new house with them.”
“You don’t know if the house is horrible,” said Jane. “You haven’t seen it yet.”
“Neither have you,” pointed out Edwin.
Jane pursed her lips, and Edwin saw an uneasy look in her eyes.
Edwin was right. Bill had arranged the purchase all by himself, and he wouldn’t let anyone see the house until today, the very day they moved in together. He said he wanted it to be ‘a surprise’.
But Edwin knew his mother didn’t like surprises; surprises made her jump and make screechy noises. Today she seemed quite nervous (even more than usual) and he wondered whether Bill might regret keeping their new home a secret.
That thought gave Edwin hope. Perhaps Mum might not like the house after all. Perhaps she might not want to move in with Bryony and Bill...
“Please darling.” Jane pressed her palms on the car window. “Come see the house with me.”
“All right,” sighed Edwin, licking the last remnants of sandwich from his fingers before prising the door open. “But I’m not talking to her.”
Jane took Edwin’s arm and helped him out of the car. “Bryony is a very nice girl,” she whispered, leading Edwin up the lane. “You’ll find out once you get to know her.”
“She hates you,” said Edwin.
“No she doesn’t.”
“Then how do you explain the fact that she wrote ‘I hate Jane’ in permanent red felt-tip all over your brand new handbag?”
Jane smiled a forced looking smile. “It was just a joke. Her way of bonding with me. You really should try and get to know Bill, too.”
“He’s a berk,” muttered Edwin, but when he saw Jane glaring at him he added, “You deserve a lot better.”
“You say that about every man who even looks at me.”
“I didn’t say Alan was a berk.”
“No. If I remember correctly you said he was a criminal.”
“No I didn’t. Tony was the criminal. Alan was an enemy spy.”
“Of course he wasn’t a spy.”
“Anyone could see it. Who wears dark glasses indoors, and carries a black suitcase wherever they go?”
“Alan had sensitive retina. And he used his briefcase for work. He was an accountant.”
“Aha! That’s even worse than a spy.”
“Edwin.” Jane drew her son close. “All I’m asking is that you give Bill a chance. I love him very much. He’s a decent, honest man. Not a criminal, a spy or an alien.”
“I never said he was,” insisted Edwin. “Jeremy was the alien. What with those slanty eyes, and that odd shaped bald head. And how he ate boiled eggs had to be seen to be believed…”
“Forget about Jeremy,” said Jane. “I’m married to Bill now. And I’d really appreciate if you made an effort to get on with him. Then you might realise what a wonderful person he is.”
Edwin grunted in response. There was, as far as he was concerned, no chance of that.
Bryony’s dad annoyed Edwin immensely; he reckoned he knew everything about everything, wore gaudy lumberjack shirts, and kept a pen in his breast pocket (Edwin had never met anyone else who did that, especially a pen that never had any ink in it).
Worse still, Bill treated Edwin like a child. A classic example wa
s that very morning, when Edwin had tried to lift a box onto the removal lorry. Bill had waved him away, saying he wasn’t strong enough to do ‘man’s work’.
That infuriated Edwin; at ten years old he was more than capable of doing man’s work. He had been the man of the house ever since his real dad had gone, doing all the manly jobs like putting out the rubbish, and disposing of creepy crawlies. But now, because Bill had turned up, Edwin had been deprived of his manly status and made to feel like a useless girl.
All of which was irritating enough, but Edwin would be prepared to overlook such character flaws if it wasn’t for the fact that Bill Platt was responsible (at least partly) for the awful creature that Edwin saw standing in the lane ahead.
Bryony’s dark eyes narrowed as they focussed on Edwin.
Bill smiled and waved. “We were wondering where you’d got to.”
“He was sitting in the car,” explained Jane, keeping a firm hold on Edwin as they reached Bill and Bryony. “Finishing off the sandwiches.”
“Hungry eh?” Bill grinned and slapped Edwin hard on the back (which was another annoying habit he had). “Good lad. Need to build up those muscles.”
“I’ve got muscles,” said Edwin, scowling at his step-father.
“Of course you have.” Bill planted another patronising slap on Edwin’s shoulders. “Just need building up a bit, that’s all.”
“Enjoy the sandwiches?” asked Bryony, with her usual self-satisfied smirk.
Edwin tried to remain calm, telling himself that revenge was a dish best served cold. In any case, he had other things to worry about right now.
He peered past Bryony at the overgrown garden, then aimed a pleading stare at his stepfather.
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s a little on the wild side,” admitted Bill.
Edwin thought that was a bit of an understatement. “There are probably uncharted regions of Amazonian rainforest better maintained than this.”
“Nonsense,” said Bill. “A quick going over with a lawnmower should do the trick. I’ll sort it first thing tomorrow. Now come on, everyone. Don’t you want to see the cottage?”
“We do,” said Jane, leading an unwilling Edwin into the garden.
His right foot struck something, and he looked down to see a chunk of demolished gate. There was writing on it, but he couldn’t quite make out the letters. Intrigued, Edwin reached down and wiped the grime from the wood to reveal the name of their new home.
“Why-ketts?” It was Bryony who spoke, her dark eyebrows puckering as she peered over Edwin’s shoulder.
“It’s pronounced ‘Witchitts’,” said Bill, taking the piece of gate from Edwin and pointing to each letter in turn. “W-Y-C-H-E-T-T-S. Witch-itts.”
“As in witch?” Bryony’s frown turned into a scowl.
Bill shrugged. “Probably just some silly nickname given by the previous owner.”
“I think it’s charming,” said Jane.
“I think it’s weird,” muttered Bryony. “Who would call a house a dumb name like that?”
“I don’t care about the name,” said Edwin. “It’s how weird the house is that worries me.”
Bill set off into the garden, but only managed a couple of strides before his path was blocked by a wall of weeds and briars. Unperturbed, he used a chunk of broken gate to hack at the rampant vegetation. It seemed to take ages, but eventually he managed to beat his way through.
Jane followed, taking an uneasy looking Edwin with her. Bryony hung back, pondering her options.
It was tempting to make a run for it, but she was in the middle of the country, and it wasn’t like she could jump on a passing bus. She could try walking, but had no idea how far it might be to the nearest town or village.
A chill breeze wafted through the garden. The dead tree creaked, its gnarled branches seeming to reach for her.
Bryony had that feeling of being watched again. Preferring not to be alone, she hurried through the gap in the weeds and found herself in a clearing alongside Bill, Jane and Edwin.
And there, right in front of them, was their new home.
Although, Bryony noted with horror, there was nothing particularly new about it…
3 Even Weirder House!
Bryony’s worst fears were realised.
Wychetts: weird name. Even weirder house!
The building was irregular in design, if it had any design at all. Nothing was square or aligned, and it seemed as though the hap-hazard construction was the result of some freak architectural accident.
The upper storey jutted out from the lower, making the whole structure appear precariously top-heavy. The imbalanced feel was exaggerated by a tall, steep-sided gable, which rose from one end of the building and reminded Bryony of a pointed witch’s hat.
But it wasn’t just the bizarre appearance of the house that worried Bryony. The whole place was in a terrible state of disrepair.
The timber-framed walls were cracked and crumbling. The narrow, arched windows didn’t have much glass left in them. The thatched roof had more holes in it than actual roof, and the crooked chimney seemed to defy the laws of gravity.
“Our very own country cottage,” said Bill, grinning from ear to ear. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Again, his question was directed at Jane, but this time she didn’t seem to know what to say.
“It’s a dump,” said Bryony, who had no problem expressing her opinion.
“It’s old,” said Bill. “It has character.”
“Yeah,” agreed Edwin. “The character of a dump.”
“At least it’s detached,” said Bill.
“More like detach-ing.” Bryony pointed to a section of wall that was in the process of crumbling away.
Bill dismissed his daughter’s concerns with a shrug. “So, it needs a bit of work doing here and there.”
Edwin snorted. “More like here, there and everywhere.”
Another shrug from Bill. “But it won’t take much to see an improvement.”
Bryony nodded. “Five minutes and a bulldozer should be more than enough.”
“Don’t need a bulldozer,” said Edwin. “May as well just wait for a strong breeze.”
Bill’s smile fell, and his gaze shifted to Jane. She gazed intently at the ruined house, her lips pursed thoughtfully, ginger head tilted sideways.
“Well, darling?” Bill clasped his hands as though in prayer. “Do you like your surprise?”
Bryony knew this was the first time Jane had seen the cottage. And she didn’t look overly impressed.
“I think it’s…”
Horrible, willed Bryony. Please say it’s horrible. Dad won’t listen to me. But if you don’t like it…
“Lovely,” trilled Jane, clapping her hands together. “I think it’s absolutely lovely!”
“I knew you would.” Bill grinned again. “We are going to be so happy here.”
“Speak for yourselves,” grumbled Bryony. “I’d be happier living in a bucket.”
“Me too,” said Edwin. “But not the same bucket. And it would have to be a very long way from Bryony’s.”
“You’ll change your mind once you see inside,” Bill assured them.
“We can see it already,” pointed out Bryony. “Through the gaps in the roof.”
“Just a bit of patching up required,” promised Bill. “I’ll sort it first thing tomorrow. Now come on in and take a look. I’m sure you’ll like the cottage once you’ve seen the whole of it.”
Bryony thought she had seen more than enough holes already.
Bill went up to the arched front door of the cottage. He took a large rusty key from his pocket, grinned at Jane, and then slid it into the lock.
He needn’t have bothered. Before the key was turned the door fell inwards, hitting the floor with a rap that echoed through the decaying structure.
“Just needs a few screws,” explained Bill. “I’ll sort it first thing tomorrow. Now in you come.”
Jane followed Bill through the cottage entrance, but Bryony remained outside. Her gaze wandered once again over the dilapidated building, and she shook her head as she pondered on the sorry condition of her father’s mind. She’d thought he was mad marrying a woman like Jane. But buying a house like Wychetts…
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.”
Edwin’s voice interrupted Bryony’s thoughts, and she turned to see that he was also studying the cottage.
“Me too,” she agreed. “Looks sort of… spooky.”
“Spooky, yeah.” Edwin glanced at Bryony. “I’m not scared, though.”
“Me neither,” said Bryony.
“You look it,” said Edwin.
“I don’t. But you look scared. And stupid.”
“Hurry up,” urged Bill, waving at them from the doorway.
Eager to prove herself braver than her stepbrother, Bryony charged towards the door. Edwin followed, breaking into a run to catch up. The two of them slammed into each other, and ended up getting jammed in the doorframe.
Bryony pushed and shoved. Edwin pushed and shoved back, and it needed a sly dig in the ribs before he gave way with an agonised yelp.
“Ow, that hurt!”
“Good,” smirked Bryony. But her smirk became a grimace when she saw the dingy, narrow hallway. The walls were stained with brown blotches, and there was a horrible smell that reminded her of mouldy mushrooms.
“Just a touch of damp,” said Bill, noting his daughter’s wrinkled nose. “I’ll sort it first thing tomorrow.”
Bryony puffed her cheeks. At this rate Dad was going to have a very busy tomorrow. Or an averagely busy tomorrow that lasted for about fifty years.
“Wait until you see this.” Bill took Jane’s hand and strode off into the gloom. He halted in front of a wonky door and wrenched it open with a flourish. “Ta dah!”
“What is it?” Bryony squeezed past Jane, and found herself in a room that was even dingier and smellier than the hall.
“The study,” said Bill, as though it should have been obvious.
“Looks more like a dungeon,” observed Bryony.
“And a pretty basic one at that,” added Edwin, peering from behind his mother.
“I think it might be better as a dining room,” said Jane.
Bill shook his head. “But it’s perfect for a study, darling.”
Jane frowned. “What do we need a study for?”
Bryony’s heartbeat quickened. Were they going to have an argument? At long last? Oh please let them have an argument!
“Perhaps,” said Bill, patting Jane’s arm, “a dining room might be more appropriate.”
Jane smiled again. “Oh thank you, Bill. You’re so accommodating.”
They kissed. Bryony’s stomach lurched. She looked away and saw that Edwin looked just as repulsed.
Why couldn’t they argue? Just for once? Why did they have to be so nice to each other all the time? It was so horrible.
Bill took Jane’s arm and led her from the room. Bryony was about to follow, when she caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye.
Startled, she instinctively grabbed the nearest human being; which unfortunately happened to be Edwin.
“Gerroff!” he growled, pushing her away.
Bryony was just as horrified at her actions.
“I saw something,” she explained, pointing into the corner of the room. “Something moved.”
Edwin’s expression changed from disgust to curiosity. “Could be a rat,” he pondered. “Must be a perfect breeding ground for them.”
Bryony knew what his little game was. “I’m not scared of rats. Wouldn’t be talking to you if I was. Anyway, this thing was bigger than a rat. More the size of a…”
Meeooow!
“A cat,” chuckled Edwin, pointing at the sleek feline form that emerged from the gloom. “That’s all it was, dumbo.”
But this was not ‘just’ a cat. It was a beautiful creature, with a silky cream coat, chocolate coloured paws, and eyes that sparkled like emeralds. It wore a gorgeous diamond-studded collar, and purred softly as it came mincing towards them.
“Oh, you’re divine!” An entranced Bryony crouched and beckoned to the cat. “Here kitty. Come and say hello.”
The cat by-passed Bryony, seeming more interested in Edwin. It reached his feet and reared up, clawing at his jacket pocket.
“Get away!” he hissed. “Scat!”
It was Bryony’s turn to laugh. “Now look who’s scared. Here, kitty. Come to Auntie Bryony.”
The cat left Edwin, and slinked towards Bryony’s outstretched hand. Bryony grinned at Edwin, savouring her moment of triumph.
“I’m very good with animals. They all seem to like me. Guess I have a natural affinity with...”
Suddenly the cat lunged at Bryony, raking its needle sharp claws across her palm.
“Ow!” Bryony jumped back, shaking her injured hand. “Ow, ow, oooooowwww!”
“Edwin, what’s happened? Are you all right?” Jane came running back into the room, her normally pale face even paler with anxiety.
Edwin was laughing so hard that he could hardly speak.
“Bryony… hah! Bryony was just showing me… hah! how good she is with animals. Haha!”
“I got attacked by a cat,” growled Bryony, struggling to ignore the pain in her hand.
Jane hurried towards her. “Let me see, darling.”
“I’m OK.” Bryony snatched her wounded hand away from Jane. “And I’m not your darling.”
“But it might be infected,” fussed Jane. “You could go down with something nasty.”
“I’d be more worried for the cat,” chortled Edwin.
“I’ll teach it a lesson,” vowed Bryony, scanning the room for her attacker. The cat sat on the window ledge, staring defiantly at her with its luminous emerald eyes. Bryony lunged, but the cat escaped through the broken pane before she could get within kicking range.
“What’s the hold up?” asked Bill, peering through the door.
“Nothing,” said Bryony, who didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of Edwin and Jane. She slipped her injured hand into her trouser pocket, and followed her father back through the hall and into another room that he called “the lounge”.
Bryony thought “the morgue” would be more fitting.
The lounge was much bigger than the dining room, but it was still gloomy and stank of mushrooms. There was no carpet, and the stone floor was cracked and uneven. Twisted wooden beams ran across the sagging ceiling, which looked like it could come crashing down at any second. And it was cold in here. Freezing, in fact.
As if reading her mind, Bill pointed to the far wall. “I think there’s a fireplace hidden behind the stonework. I’m going to open it up to provide some warmth.”
“A real fire would be lovely,” said Jane, nodding enthusiastically.
Bryony had another suggestion. “Why don’t we just burn the house?”
“Too damp,” chipped in Edwin.
“Now don’t be like that.” Bill gave both children an indignant look. “You’ll feel a lot better once I’ve got a nice log fire installed.”
“But what about central heating?” Bryony (like her real Mum) thought log fires a bit passé.
Bill chuckled at his daughter’s suggestion. “This is a very old house. When Wychetts was built people didn’t have central heating. Or electricity, for that matter.”
“No electricity?” Edwin reacted to this news with a look of sheer terror. “So we don’t have any lights?”
Bryony wondered why Edwin found this so upsetting. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Scared of the dark?”
“No.” Edwin’s freckles vanished as his cheeks flushed bright red. “It’s just… um… we won’t be able to watch TV.”
“No TV!” The sudden realisation made Bryony feel sick.
“Don’t worry,” said Bill. “I’ll get it sorted first thing tomorrow.”
>
“But there’s no TV,” whined Bryony, on the verge of hysterics. “I can’t last until tomorrow without TV.”
“We don’t need television,” said Jane. “We have each other for company.”
As far as Bryony was concerned, that was exactly why she needed television.
“But Mum,” bleated Edwin. “What about tonight?”
“Don’t worry,” whispered Jane, brushing Edwin’s ginger locks. “I’ve brought a supply of candles.”
“What about a water supply?” Another thought had just struck Bryony. “Is there hot running water?”
“The only things running around here are probably cockroaches,” said Edwin.
Jane shuddered. “Please don’t say things like that, darling. I’m sure the house has a water supply.”
Bill nodded, without appearing convinced. “Yeah. I’m almost sure it has. It has a kitchen, just down here.”
Bill left the lounge, with Jane following close behind. Bryony stood still, her attention suddenly drawn to the wall at the end of the room. Dad said there was a fireplace behind it, but Bryony sensed there was something else hidden there.
Something ancient. Something powerful.
Something that had been there a very long time.
Waiting.
Waiting for her.
Wychetts Page 2