The Dentist of Darkness

by David O'Connell

  ‘You’re not the only one with magical food,’ said Archie fiercely, as they backed away. Sherbet dropped Cogswallop and barked protectively. The man gave a dismissive laugh.

  ‘Gingerbread dragons? Unfortunate fool! I think you’ll find there are none left in the entire town. My campaign has seen to it.’

  ‘No, there aren’t,’ said Archie, reaching for the bag of Fizzfires at his neck, ‘but we’ve got something better.’ He scoffed one of the sweets and yelled to the others. ‘Eat the Fizzfires! They’ll protect you from Preen’s magic!’

  Billy took a sweet from his bag and stuffed it into his mouth. ‘Hmmm, they’re tasty …’ he said, eagerly chewing the Fizzfire. Then his eyes went wide. ‘And fizzy – my mouth is tingling like I’ve a mouthful of glow-worms! And you weren’t wrong about the extra ginger. They’re super-fiery! That’s quite an upgrade on the gingerbread.’

  For the first time, Edward Preen was not smiling. He glowered at them.

  ‘Yes – that’s something else you don’t like,’ said Archie. ‘Fire. I saw you at the twins’ party, when Portia incinerated your cake – goodness knows how many people you were planning to bewitch with that – you were hiding from the fire! And we’ve got our own source!’

  Fliss knew immediately what she had to do and pulled at the bag which contained Blossom. ‘I can’t open it,’ she said desperately. ‘Blossom – are you all right?’

  Preen swung around, his eyes filled with malice, just as a blast of flames scorched a hole through the bag from the inside and the little dragon’s indignant face poked out. The man cried out as Blossom wriggled free and soared in circles around the shop, firing bursts of embers and smoke. Preen sank to the floor, shielding his head with his arms. Then he lay very still. Too still.

  ‘Is he … dead?’ said Billy. ‘Because if he is, I know where he can get a coffin for free.’

  ‘The coffins!’ said Fliss suddenly, as the little dragon landed on her shoulder and stroked her cheek with its nose. ‘I remember everything! Oh, Archie! Miss Clabbity …’

  Archie was crouched over the unmoving dentist. There was something odd about him. He still had his smooth features – his dark hair, his smile and his cold eyes – but he was … changed. His face looked more chiselled, more polished …

  ‘He looks like he’s made of wood,’ says Archie. ‘He looks like –’

  ‘Archie,’ said Fliss. ‘Listen to me! Miss Clabbity –’

  ‘A puppet,’ said Miss Clabbity, appearing from the back of the shop, through a door they hadn’t noticed. ‘He looks like a puppet. Because that is what he is – carved from wood and magically brought to life.’

  ‘So that’s why he was afraid of fire!’ said Billy.

  ‘How do you know all this, Miss Clabbity?’ said Archie.

  ‘How do I know?’ said the old lady, smiling. ‘Fliss knows. She was trying to tell you. I know because I made him, of course …’

  ‘You made him,’ repeated Archie, turning very pale. His head was suddenly rocked with pain. ‘You’re behind all this – you’re the Mirk!’

  Miss Clabbity kept smiling, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It wasn’t a human smile.

  ‘I’ve waited five hundred years for tonight. Five hundred years, to fully regain my power. Hiding inside this shop, using my puppets, human or wooden, to do my bidding.’

  ‘But you can’t be the Mirk!’ said Fliss, close to tears. ‘Miss Clabbity’s a nice old lady. She makes toys. I’ve seen her outside the shop, everyone has!’

  ‘That was the real Miss Clabbity,’ the monster said, its eyes turning pure white. It walked to the display of puppets and picked up Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, who Archie had noticed looked so much like the old toymaker. ‘And here she is. I turned her into one of her own toys when I assumed her identity. I wanted her to know what it felt like, after she carved the last bit of Mirkthorn, my home, into one of her playthings.’

  Miss Clabbity’s voice had turned into a growl, and her teeth were now pointed and glistening. She dropped the grandmother and picked up the Mirkthorn puppet, eyeing its spiky, black surface with affection.

  ‘She found the last surviving piece of Mirkthorn wood in the forest, all that was left after the dragons thought they had destroyed it. Something told her what shape to carve – a wicked plant that binds and strangles.’ She laughed. The laugh was dark and cruel. ‘Little did she know.’

  Miss Clabbity began to grow, her shadow filling the shop. Her back arched and her woolly old-lady clothes merged into a twisted monstrous body. It was as black as the night, covered in needle-sharp spines which moved unnervingly. Archie screwed up his eyes and could see the creature’s hide was covered in jet-coloured earwigs, woodlice, centipedes and spiders, their constant silent wriggling making the spines writhe as if they were alive. They dripped on to the floor like boiling oil. Her hands twisted into claws and her smile transformed into a hungry, drooling snarl. Then she raised her head and let out a cry that, despite the heat, turned their blood to ice. It was a cry of triumph.

  The children huddled together in a corner, as the monster that had been Miss Clabbity towered over them, glaring at them with its white eyes, its spines bristling. Archie clutched Sherbet to his chest, whilst Blossom seethed quietly from Fliss’s shoulder, holding the Mirk with her golden-eyed stare.

  ‘Why would you do all this?’ said Archie, his fear momentarily giving way to anger. ‘With Preen, and the N.I.C.E. campaign? Was it just to get rid of the Gingerbread Dragons?’

  ‘I feed on the dark magic that is set free every Unquiet Night, and my strength grows,’ said the Mirk. As it stepped forward, black fungus and toadstools grew where its claws trod. ‘But only after five hundred years do I have enough to take my true form and act. Preen was my instrument, whilst I was not fully powered. Crafted from enchanted trees that I cut from the forest, he had a useful sorcery of his own that I could manipulate. And the bark became the magic ingredient in his wafers. As well as removing the cursed biscuits, he distracted and dispirited you, weakening your resolve. I am a creature of darkness and decay. I rot people’s souls, corrode their fortitude and consume their happiness. Just like I did with your ancestor.’

  ‘But Belle McBudge beat you!’

  ‘At what cost? Her beloved dragon burned itself out defending her. It broke her heart!’

  ‘You really are not very nice at all,’ said Billy, with some understatement. Archie was raging.

  ‘But you failed in the end!’ he said. ‘You thought you’d stop her from protecting the Tree, but she did it! And she made the Gingerbread Dragons, as a memento and a warning to the future. It worked, and it’s not too late. We have the Treeheart and we’re going to the Wyrdie Tree, right now.’

  He went to grab Cogswallop but the Mirk pointed a bony claw at the toy and it came to life once more, flying to the monster’s feet. The Mirk extracted the jewel from its jaws, then cast the toy aside, where it smashed to pieces against the wall.

  ‘Now that I have the Treeheart,’ the Mirk said, throwing the jewel on to its back, where it was caught amongst the spines, ‘the Wyrdie Tree is powerless against me. The Dance of the Wyrd shall not take place.’

  From all corners of the shop, hundreds of little wooden toys rolled forward – soldiers, trucks and animals, gathering around the evil spirit. They carried saws and axes, ropes and hammers, their clockwork whirring and clicking as they moved. It was the insect-like sound that Archie remembered from their encounter with the Mirk in the forest!

  ‘My army of helpers,’ explained the Mirk. ‘Useful for cutting down trees, particularly very large trees, so I can get to their roots. And you cannot stop me. You may be protected from my magic by your sweets, but I have ways of keeping you busy.’ It unleased another horrible cry.

  THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Billy, looking out on to the foggy street. Three lumpy outlines were crowded around the shop window. ‘The coffin creepers are here, and they look like they mean business
.’

  ‘We will stop you!’ called Archie, as the snarling monster turned and squeezed its massive bulk out of the shop door, attended by the clockwork army. ‘There has to be a way.’

  ‘We’d better think of it soon,’ said Billy. ‘As we’re about to be boxed up like a batch of McBudge Fudge – a human-flavoured special edition.’

  THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

  The coffin creepers plodded up the steps to the door, ducking clumsily to enter the shop. The children and dog backed away, desperately looking around for a means of escape. Fliss had a grim look on her face. Then she stopped suddenly.

  ‘That’s it!’ she announced. ‘I’ve had enough. I’ve been bewitched, made to argue with my friends, tricked into helping a jewel thief and chased around town by some fancy wooden crates. It’s time to kick some magical-tree butt! Let’s see what these guys can do with a bit of fire, Blossom!’

  The little dragon soared up to the ceiling. Dragon-fire was unleashed on the first of the creepers, singeing the rough wood of its body, and sending curls of smoke into the air. But the monster kept on coming.

  ‘Try a Fizzfire, Blossom,’ said Archie, throwing the creature a sweet from his bag. ‘It might give you a boost.’ Blossom caught the sweet mid-air and gulped it down, before sending a second burst of fire at the smouldering coffin-man. This time the flames were an electric blue, exploding with a power they had not seen coming from a honey dragon before. The creeper was engulfed in the magical inferno, collapsing to its spindly knees, before falling to the ground with a final THUMP.

  ‘That’s my coffin taken care of,’ said Fliss, folding her arms and looking at the boys. ‘What are you going to do about yours?’

  THUMP. THUMP.

  The remaining coffin creepers stepped over the smouldering body of their fallen comrade, closing in on the children. Blossom readied another burst of flame just as Sherbet let out a bark of warning. Archie thought it was aimed at the monsters but the dog was looking beyond them, to a figure in the doorway. A blade of bright silver ripped through air towards them and sliced across the front of both coffin creepers, scoring through the names carved on the lids. Instantly, their arms and legs shrivelled away to nothing, and the coffins dropped to the floor with a harmless clatter. The blade boomeranged back to the figure, who caught it with an arrogance Archie recognised.

  ‘It seems I’ve arrived just in time,’ said the figure. It was Mrs Puddingham-Pye.

  Despite the heat, she was dressed in a long black coat that swirled about her like the fog that was creeping into the room. In one hand, she held the silver knife. In the other, a skinny broom. Garstigan sat on her shoulder, leering at the fallen coffin creepers. He was still wearing the yellow doll-hair, Archie noticed.

  ‘If that’s your Unquiet Night costume, it’s very authentic,’ said Billy. ‘Eight out of ten on the Macabre Creepy Scale.’

  ‘I prefer the traditional look, at times like this,’ said Mrs Puddingham-Pye, with a smile that was almost warm. ‘I just saved your lives, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Archie said, and he meant it. He’d been more scared than he realised. ‘How did you know we’d be here?’

  ‘I sensed the Taciturnitas Hex had been lifted,’ she said, tucking the knife into her belt. ‘Presumably when Preen was … deactivated.’ She cast a glance at the wooden ex-dentist, crumpled on the floor.

  ‘Then Garstigan spied the boxy men in the street,’ hissed the mobgoblin, fussily plumping his ringlets. ‘Told his mistress, and we followed their clumpy footsteps. So noisy!’

  ‘The coffin creepers are wood golems,’ his keeper finished. ‘They’re enchanted by a simple spell and easy to neutralise. All you need to do to is strike through the name on the lid and they don’t know who to chase.’

  ‘Or you can use your own personal magical flamethrower,’ said Fliss, smugly patting Blossom’s head.

  ‘A tactic of which my own dear daughter would approve.’

  ‘Does this mean you’re helping us?’ said Archie.

  ‘As I said before, Urchin, we’ve a common enemy. I’ve no wish to see the end of magic in Dundoodle any more than you. So, yes, we have a temporary truce. But if you were in possession of your wyrdworking powers, you wouldn’t need my help.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For example, just like Preen, these coffin creatures were made from timber taken from trees of the old forest, enchanted trees. The same enchantment is at the root of your powers. Your powers come from the forest itself – you could easily have commanded the golems to stop, if you’d known how.’

  ‘That would have saved us a lot of trouble,’ said Billy.

  ‘I don’t have time for lessons, right now,’ said Archie. ‘Or any more talking. We need to get to the Wyrdie Tree. The Mirk is on its way to destroy it. And I may not be able to wyrdwork, but I’ve got to do something!’

  ‘I said the coffins were yours to command,’ Mrs Puddingham-Pye impatiently. ‘Make use of them, boy!’

  ‘We’ve already got a boat to get us across the loch,’ said Billy.

  ‘I don’t mean anything so dull.’ The woman marched over to one of the coffins, and stepped into it. She rapped the handle end of her broom on to the floor of the wooden box. Blue lightning rippled down the broom and the coffin rose off the ground, hovering steadily.

  ‘You, Bilbo!’ barked Mrs Puddingham-Pye, pointing at Billy. ‘Get in!’

  He was too stunned to argue. He scrambled inside the coffin and sat down, nervously.

  ‘Now, boy,’ said the woman, looking at Archie. ‘It’s your turn. The coffin is your servant. Command it, make it do your bidding. Order it to fly.’

  Archie felt confused. He didn’t like the idea of commanding anything. He wasn’t like Mrs Puddingham-Pye. Her way wasn’t his way.

  ‘Do it now, boy!’ the woman snapped. ‘There isn’t any time to lose!’

  Archie stepped into the other coffin. He touched its chiselled sides gently, remembering how the tree stumps had felt when they had found them in the old forest, the painful sense of destruction he’d experienced. It was time for this wood to return to the place where it had grown from a seed, and lived for so many years, before it was cut and cruelly manipulated by the Mirk. He felt the coffin’s surface grow warm. A breeze blew through the town, sweeping in through the door, and the fog retreated. The air suddenly began to cool, and as it did the smell of fir trees, birch and oaks, bracken, heather and cool streams swirled around him – the same scent of the forest which he had smelled the day he met the Wyrdie Tree. He felt its strength flow through him.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said softly. The coffin wobbled, then lifted shakily off the floor.

  ‘You’re doing it!’ squealed Fliss, ‘Archie, you’re doing it!’ She jumped into the coffin and sat down. Sherbet dived in after her and sat himself in her lap.

  ‘Good, boy!’ snarled Mrs Puddingham-Pye. ‘Think of the destination – focus on it in your mind.’

  The coffins sailed out of the shop and climbed above the alleyway, Billy and Fliss hanging on to their sides for dear life. The fog was now being scoured from the town, as cooler air swept across the loch and pushed the unpleasant heat away. It was as if nature were joining them in the battle against the Mirk. Archie had to concentrate to keep the coffin airborne in the breeze, and not tip them out over the rooftops, but after a couple of wobbly moments he began to feel more confident. Mrs Puddingham-Pye stood regally as the wind rippled around her, her black coat flying out behind like a raven’s tail.

  ‘Onward, boy!’ she yelled across to Archie. ‘Onward!’

  ‘If she had a whip,’ muttered Fliss, ‘she would be cracking it. I reckon you’ve got the hang of your magical powers.’

  ‘I think they’ve got the hang of me,’ said Archie. ‘It’s like they’re a pair of shoes that have put themselves on my feet and after a few days of hobbling around, finally they’re starting to fit.’

  The strange flying-craft sped out over the loch. The lo
w sun poured orange light across it, turning the water the colour of fire.

  ‘We need to go to Pookiecrag Island,’ Archie called. ‘Jings said the honey dragons would help us!’

  Mrs Puddingham-Pye nodded, and the coffins steered towards the ruins of the castle. As they approached, gliding over the tumbledown turrets, they could see something was wrong.

  ‘What’s that plant growing everywhere?’ said Billy, leaning dangerously over the top of the coffin, making it wobble so much that Mrs Puddingham-Pye had to poke him with her broomstick. ‘It wasn’t there before. And I have to say it’s more Creeping Beauty than Sleeping Beauty.’

  The whole castle was covered in a black, prickly vine that had wrapped itself tightly around the stonework.

  ‘Is it Mirkthorn?’ said Archie, jumping out of the coffin as it landed in the centre of the ruins. ‘Careful of these spikes, they look deadly!’

  ‘It’s not a plant,’ said Billy. ‘It’s metal. A net of barbed wire.’

  The web-like net appeared to spread out from a single point: the fireplace that hid the tunnel to the Cavern of Honeystone. Blossom flew to the fireplace and vainly tried to burn the metal away.

  ‘This isn’t just the Mirk’s handiwork,’ said Fliss miserably. ‘It had help.’ She pointed to a black wooden star that was fixed to the trapdoor in the hearth. The web had grown from its points, spreading outwards over the castle, and sealing the trapdoor with its stranglehold. There was no way to get the door open – the dragons were trapped!

  ‘That’s the toy Miss Clabbity gave you,’ said Archie. ‘The puzzle. You said you’d lost it.’

  ‘I had,’ said Fliss. ‘Or at least, I thought I had, but I must have left it here on purpose, after we visited the dragons. It wasn’t a toy at all, it was another bit of nasty magic! When Miss Clabbity said the lady and the dragon were her favourite puppets, she was talking about me and Cogswallop! We were her puppets. Archie, what have I done?’ Fliss sank to her knees. She looked distraught. Blossom landed softly on her shoulder and licked her cheek.