Wychetts

by William Holley

11 Inglenook

  “Drink this,” said Bill, pressing a mug of lukewarm tea to Jane’s quivering lips.

  “Thanks,” murmured Jane, slurping a mouthful and smiling gratefully at her husband. She lay on the kitchen floor, head resting on a rolled up sleeping bag. She had come round half an hour ago, but was still in a state of shock. Mind you, Bryony wasn’t feeling one hundred percent either.

  Giant spiders were freaky enough. But dog-sized mice? That talked?

  Not that she’d mentioned any of that to her father. Bill had only just returned, and although his concern for Jane was evident, it was equally obvious that he didn’t believe her story about giant spiders and mice the size of Labradors.

  Which suited Bryony fine.

  “You’ve been overdoing it,” crooned Bill, placing a hand on Jane’s forehead. “What you need is a nice lie down.”

  “But the giant spider…”

  Bill shook his head and brushed a wisp of ginger hair from Jane’s cheek. “There aren’t any giant spiders, sweetie-pops. You must have imagined it.”

  “I didn’t imagine it.” Jane’s voice was unusually forceful. “I saw it. And that mouse. The children saw them, too.”

  Bill looked up and met his daughter’s gaze. Bryony shook her head and shrugged. She expected Edwin to speak out in defence of his mother, but he too remained silent.

  “But I saw them,” went on Jane, her cheeks flushing. “I’m not making this up. Why won’t you believe me?”

  Bryony’s heart quickened. Were they going to have an argument? Please…

  “Of course I believe you,” said Bill, in a way that suggested he didn’t believe her in the slightest. “Now you take a nice long rest. I’ve got to start renovation work.”

  He pulled a blanket over Jane’s shoulders, kissed her forehead, then stood up and left the room. Bryony followed, tugging at his arm as they entered the hallway.

  “She’s crazy, Dad. Off her rocker. I think you should get a doctor to look at her. She might have to go into a special hospital, and wear one of those funny jackets with no arms. She should probably have to stay there quite a long time. Ten years, maybe longer.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Bill. “She’s just a bit stressed with all the excitement of the move. She’ll get over it. Now I must get on. The house won’t repair itself you know. Thought I’d start with that hole in your bedroom ceiling.”

  Bill strode purposefully up the stairs. Moments later Bryony heard the sound of hammering from above, punctuated by the odd clank and the occasional “Ow!”

  Finding herself at something of a loose end, she wandered into the lounge to view the damage caused by the collapsed ceiling. But instead she found her attention drawn to something at the end of the room.

  She had forgotten all about the face behind the wall, and felt curious about it all of a sudden.

  Bryony picked her way across the rubble-strewn floor to stand in front of the fireplace. In daylight those carved features didn’t seem so menacing. Cautiously, she reached up and rapped her knuckles on its wooden nose.

  There was a dull knocking sound, but no other reaction.

  Bryony breathed a relieved sigh. The face wasn’t alive. It couldn’t have been. It was all just her imagination.

  “Why did you do it?” squealed a voice in her ear. “Mum’s petrified of spiders. She could have had a nervous breakdown.”

  Bryony jumped, and spun round to see another set of ugly features staring at her.

  “Well?” demanded Edwin. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” said Bryony. “It wasn’t my fault those spiders appeared from nowhere.”

  “Oh but it was,” said the mouse (now thankfully returned to normal size) that emerged from Edwin’s pocket. “It was you who summoned those creatures.”

  Bryony gave the rodent one of her hardest stares. “What are you talking about, big ears?”

  “My ears are quite petit for a mouse. Yours are much bigger.”

  “My ears are perfect,” said Bryony. “Just like my mother’s.”

  The mouse stared back at her with shiny black button eyes. “Your mother is an elephant?”

  “My mother is very beautiful,” seethed Bryony. “And I have inherited all her looks.”

  “Oh I see,” said Stubby. “And there was me thinking you must have been chewing a wasp when the wind changed direction.”

  Edwin laughed. Bryony gritted her teeth and put her hands on her hips. “So just what,” she enquired, “is this weird little freak of nature?”

  “This is Edwin,” said the mouse. “I thought you knew that.”

  Edwin stopped laughing, and glared at the mouse. “Hey, that’s not very…”

  “I didn’t mean him,” sighed Bryony. “I meant you.”

  “This is Stubby,” said Edwin, before the mouse could speak again. “He’s my friend.”

  “Associate,” said Stubby. “There are parasitic worms in my stomach with which I share a greater sense of companionship.”

  Edwin frowned at the mouse before continuing his explanation. “I found him in a dustbin. He was injured, so I nursed him back to health.”

  “Is what you call it?” snorted Stubby. “Force feeding me mouldy left-overs, and making me listen to all your whining?”

  “He doesn’t mean it,” said Edwin, hurriedly.

  Bryony wrinkled her nose. “So you taught him to speak, too?”

  “Don’t be silly,” sneered Edwin. “How could anyone teach a mouse to speak?”

  “Let alone this idiot,” added Stubby. “The boy couldn’t teach a limpet to suck.”

  “But Stubby can speak,” said Bryony. “So how come?”

  “Because Edwin wished it,” said Stubby. “And what he wished came true. In the same way you summoned those spiders.”

  “It’s magic,” said Edwin, in response to a puzzled look from Bryony. “At least that’s what Stubby thinks. He reckons Wychetts has some secret power. A power we can both tap into. I used it to make Stubby speak and grow, and you used it to conjure the spiders.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with the spiders,” insisted Bryony. “They just appeared.”

  “That’s right,” said Stubby. “But only because you wanted them to. Think back. Didn’t you wish for it to happen?”

  Bryony couldn’t deny that. “But I still don’t get it. This power, where does it come from?”

  “It’s all around us,” explained Stubby, swivelling his bulbous ears. “It’s in every brick and every timber. Locked up in the very fabric of the building, as it has been for hundreds of years.”

  “How did it get here?” asked Bryony.

  “That I don’t know. But I think there may be someone here who does.”

  “Who?” asked Bryony and Edwin together.

  “Me,” said a voice from behind them. “I know the secret of the ancient power.”

  The children turned in the direction of the voice. Bryony saw nobody, but a shrill squeal from Edwin made her notice the carved wooden face above the hearth.

  Its eyes had opened, and they were staring right back at her.

  “Who are you?” she asked, backing away.

  The wooden mouth curved into a beaming smile. “I am Inglenook, Keeper of Magic. And your wish is my command.”