One by one, Bialystock’s blooms swivelled to bring their attention to Brenda and Effie, shrinking back into the shadows as best they could, but seemingly rooted to the spot as much as the plant was. The flowers did not actually have eyes, but they acted as though they did, looking the women up and down, sizing up their opposition.
Even in the half-light, Brenda could see that Karswell’s mocking sneer had also grown back.
“What are you waiting for,” he said, “A song?”
Brenda clutched at Effie’s hand, trying to rouse her from her stupor, but she remained statue-like, as Karswell turned his full attention to them.
He started towards them, but remained tangled in the vines. He tugged at them irritably, but if he expected them to obey his bidding this time, he was disappointed. The vines yanked him back against the lip of the font. Fronds that had been soothing and delicate upon his face before, were now rough and invasive. Karswell cried out as fronds sandpapered fresh blood from his cheek. They sucked hungrily at the wound, while Karswell strained and wrenched his head to the side. More vines snaked their way across to join the feast, each of them drawing red lines over Karswell’s skin, their suckers loud and lip-smacking. They avoided the areas already transformed in favour of untouched flesh, pulling away at his tailored finery to burrow into the meat beneath.
They pulled Karswell between them, dunking the by-now panicking man into the font again, before hauling him out. Sap poured from his ruined suit, mingling with the blood flowing freely from his many bites into the font. Swallowing a mouthful of the benediction made him gag. Bialystock was basting him!
The creepers struck at him like cobras, eliciting new howls with each bite. As they dragged him down into the font again, Karswell managed to steal a breath, but the creepers held him below the surface for longer this time. Brenda saw the air bubbles hit the sap’s surface, and Karswell’s struggles grow less frantic. To her shame, she did nothing.
As Bialystock finished his meal, Brenda tried to use the distraction to lead Effie back the way they’d come, but Effie would not be led. Brenda had always been the strong one, but every time she tried to pull Effie away, she became so distressed, Brenda thought she might do herself a mischief.
Looking behind her, Brenda eyed the bead curtain that led back into the shop with suspicion. There was no way she would be able to fight Effie and a curtain full of evil vines at the same time. For possibly the first time in her extremely long life, she found herself wishing for a flaming torch wielding mob.
There was a slightly disappointed tone to Bialystock’s howl, signalling to Brenda that the feeding was over. The rumbling grew in intensity, shaking everything that was not nailed down. Brenda struggled to keep her own footing, while Effie dropped to her knees. The ground around Bialystock cracked and crumbled away as the monster shrugged off its shackles. Great roots smashed through like rudimentary feet, and Bialystock exulted at its newfound freedom. It tore free of the font, as much use to it as a placenta to a newborn now. One swipe of a root overturned the font, sending sap gushing over the floor in all directions.
Rushing out on the wave of sap was the gruesome semi-digested remains of Karswell. His foliage-matted skull, equal parts bone and bark, detached from the body and tumbled forward. It bounced a couple of times before it came to a stop at Brenda’s feet, sightless eye sockets staring hatefully up at her one last time.
If only Brenda had known what to expect, she chided herself. This habit they had of bustling into who knew what danger would be the end of them one day. What she wouldn’t have given for a vat of industrial strength weed killer. Or a chainsaw! She would be happy for an opportunity to cut Bialystock down to size. She’d settle for a couple of dry sticks to rub together, and put aside a longstanding aversion to fire. Bonsai or bonfire.
Bialystock was on the move, shuffling impatiently from root to root, inching ever nearer to them. Brenda was able to stop Effie from getting any closer to the plant, but could not drag her any further away. In desperation, Brenda drew out her snuffbox, taking another protective pinch for herself before planting herself in Effie’s path. She stifled the sneeze that was brewing, took a deep breath and blew what remained of the powder straight into Effie’s face. The cloud engulfed Effie’s head, and mesmerised as she was, she still had to breathe. Once she did, her nostrils hoovered up enough dust to take the war to her pollen-coated nasal passages.
“Haaatch… Haaaaatch… Haaatch-haatch!” Effie began, haltingly. “CHOWW!” She did not even attempt to cover her mouth with a hand. The explosive sneeze echoed around the chamber. Even Bialystock’s rumbling fell silent momentarily.
Brenda looked hopefully into Effie’s eyes, relieved to see them clear and alert.
“What a palaver! You can tell me about it later, Brenda. Let’s get out of here, shall we?”
Testing its new mobility, Bialystock reached towards Effie with a branch, causing its trunk to creak alarmingly and the blooms to chatter. Snapping open and shut like over-stimulated Venus flytraps, they agitated as they strained to reach for Effie.
Looking for anything she could put to use as a makeshift weapon, Brenda grabbed an overhanging chunk of root, which she was able to pull away from the wall without much effort. A decent enough club, although attacking Bialystock with it would be like brandishing a straw against a haystack. She tried not to think about it, but drew confidence from the heft of the wood in her hands.
Barging her friend aside with scant regard for bruising – Effie would recover a damn sight sooner from a scraped knee and a dead arm than she would from a carnivorous plant attack – Brenda took up a fighting stance, brandishing the club two-handed, like a sword. Tall as she was for a woman, she was David to Bialystock’s Goliath.
Speed was on her side. Bialystock moved at the lumbering speed of a tree, telegraphing any movement it made. She swatted away the speedier agents of Bialystock’s will, the vines, with their vampiric fronds. But her arms were growing tired, and she had no obvious target to strike at. No actual eyes to blind. No heart to impale.
One of the fronds broke through her defences and caught her sharply across the face, drawing blood and causing Brenda to wince. The frond latched onto her cheek, lamprey-like, and began to suck noisily. Brenda grabbed hold and attempted to pull it away, but the thing held on for dear life. And yet… Suddenly, the vampiric vine began to emit a high pitched whine, its barbs retracting at once. The green of its foliage became autumnal in seconds as it shook and spasmed. The vine fell to earth, obviously dying. Brenda took advantage and stepped on its head, grinding it beneath her heel.
Lacking the means to create an actual fire, Brenda’s growing anger lit a fire within her instead. The furious flame of righteous indignation. Getting a second wind, she raged at Bialystock like a Valkyrie, swinging her makeshift club. Bludgeoning any vine that came close enough, she advanced towards the tree man, putting Bialystock on the back root.
Once Brenda made it inside Bialystock’s grasp, he was unable to strike out at her with his branches. Bialystock howled his disapproval, booming and gravel-filled.
Up close, Brenda felt a sudden panic. She had not expected to make it that far, and was unsure what to do now she had got there. When in doubt, break something. She took the ragged point of her club and thrust it into the nearest knothole in Bialystock’s hide. Hammering the other end with the heel of her palm, she was able to use it as a lever, forcing away a section of bark to reveal the smooth pale wood beneath. As the bark came away, Bialystock’s grumbling grew shriller.
“Good,” Brenda thought, “You do feel pain, then.”
Bialystock shuffled back, trying to move away from the source of discomfort, but Brenda clambered onto one of its roots, and was carried with it as she continued her grizzly work. She stopped briefly, to urge Effie to get away. Even the vines masquerading as a curtain between the inner sanctum and the shop were otherwise engaged. They were writhing along the walls, attempting to pull themselves towards the mammal attacking their master,
but held back by their very root system. The doorway was unguarded.
The last thing Brenda saw before turning back to hacking anew, was Effie’s haunted face at the doorway, wanting to help, but with no way to do so. Brenda turned her back first, and hoped that Effie did the same.
Still unable to pick the human tick from its skin, Bialystock settled for hammering the ground with one of its branches.
Brenda clung on tenaciously. Having uncovered the softwood at Bialystock’s core, once the sharp end of her club had dulled and come apart, she was able to dig her own fingers in, pulling handfuls of splintered wood pulp away. She burrowed her way into the trunk, slowly but surely.
She felt the monster spasm as she struck a nerve – whatever it was that hooked up to the root she was standing on. Bialystock staggered, nearly overbalancing without the use of one of its primary limbs. It managed to compensate soon enough, shuffling on the spot as though pinned, but Brenda pressed her advantage. Her hands were slick with sap, pulped innards under her nails. She would definitely have to treat herself to the full works at the Nail Bar if she got out of this one.
A sudden shift in direction from Bialystock, and Brenda was forced to throw a hand out to steady herself. The tree gore caused her hand to slide over the bark, unable to give her purchase, and she was bucked off and onto the ground. She landed heavily, and winced as she attempted to rise.
As Bialystock backed away, Brenda crawled toward it, trying to stay inside the safe zone. She could not crawl as fast as the creature could shuffle, and it soon outpaced her. The pendulous branch swung closer. Brenda was exhausted. She ached all over. It would be so easy just to stop. Effie had got out, at least. Let her and her Aunties settle Bialystock’s hash. She could rest. It would only hurt for an instant.
The branch swung over her head again. She felt it catch her wig that time. She pulled herself forward another few inches through the dirt. Brenda felt something rattle along the ground past her, but unable to turn her head to see.
“Deep breath, ducky!”
Brenda barely had time to recognise Effie’s voice and do as she said before something went ‘whoomph!’ ahead of her. She looked up at Bialystock, to see it engulfed in thick acrid smoke, billowing up from a canister at the base of its trunk. Its branches waved in the air now, all thought of Brenda gone as it tried to disperse the cloud.
Everywhere the smoke touched, Bialystock’s bark grew mottled and purple. Its veggie afro was a shadow of its former glory. Bialystock bellowed its frustration, enough to shake the foundations of the chamber. Brenda rolled away from the angry creature. She saw Effie heading purposefully towards her, pulling the pins on two more grenades. She threw them, underarm of course, and twin whoomphs added to the mayhem.
“Effie?” Brenda said weakly before gulping for another breath of air before the cloud reached them. Effie did her best to help Brenda towards the exit. She was built for comfort, not bodybuilding, but found she had hidden reserves, giving Brenda the push to stumble to her feet at last.
Once they had made it to the doorway, they both sucked down fresh lungfuls of air from the outside. Brenda coughed, having inhaled some of whatever it was in the smoke bombs as she got to her feet.
“What…” she coughed.
“WeedBegone Bombs,” Effie said, “They sell everything in pound shops these days.”
Brenda chuckled, but it turned into another throaty rasp.
“I say sell…” Effie continued, “But they weren’t actually open as such. I think I’m getting into this breaking and entering lark, Brenda.”
Behind them, Bialystock’s tantrum was coming to a head. It sounded shriller that before, but the walls were beginning to come apart. The foliage purpled and went black. Leaves fell to the ground, and the luminous moss shrank away into darkness.
“Give us a hand, Brenda,” Effie said, nudging her with a shopping trolley. Inside was all the remaining stock of WeedBegone Bombs that the 48 Pee Continuum had in stock.
Between them, they pushed the trolley into the chamber, giving it a final shove after they had pulled the pins. They heard the trolley impact against the monster and tip over, dispensing its deadly cargo with a megawhoomph. Brenda took the brunt of the blast, pushing Effie out into the shop before her.
Bialystock let out a high-pitched siren squeal, shrivelling down, down, down. The sound did not cease, reliant upon no vocal cords or lungs.
“We got it, Effie!” Brenda said from the doorway, leaning heavily against it and favouring her injured arm. She smiled, but it quickly faded as she felt a familiar snaking around her wrist, wrapping fast around it. It began to reel her back inside the chamber. Brenda grabbed onto the doorframe with her injured arm, trying to ignore the pain lancing through her shoulder. Effie grabbed onto her, fighting to keep her from being dragged away.
Already weakened by her last go-around with the venomous vines, Brenda felt her stitches stretching. If Bialystock was dying, it seemed intent on taking everything else with it too. Brenda, being a bit busy holding onto the doorframe, had to ask Effie to help.
“You’re sure?”
“No choice, duck”
Effie picked at one end of the stitching on Brenda’s arm, and once she was able to get it between finger and thumb, she gave it a sharp tug, pulling it clean in one smooth motion.
Just like a magic trick, Brenda’s arm from just below the elbow shot into the darkness, along with the vine.
“Abracadabra.” Brenda said as Bialystock let out one last squeal of frustration and fell silent. She allowed Effie to help her out of Bialystock’s Blooms before the whole place began to fold in on itself. The walls grew paper-thin, purpled and cracked like dry leaves.
Once they were safely out in the courtyard, they saw that either side of the florist, its neighbouring shops seemed to take up the fight, pushing back against the interloper at last. They made an uneasy pact, coming to a stop in an archway, while the florist shrivelled and shrank into the ground between them.
It attempted to slither down through the cracks in the foundations, like a typical weed. But wherever it was trying to get to, its purple shoots followed.
Brenda wished they had held onto a couple more WeedBegone Bombs just in case.
“I was quite attached to that arm,” she said sadly.
In the days that followed the battle of Makeshift Court, everything had changed. The shops that had not already closed down or fell down had limped along, waiting on an insurance company settlement before moving onto pastures new. Barriers stood between the shopfronts and the inner courtyard. The Tea/Cake tables and chairs had been dragged into the central square, out of harm’s way. One of the unused tables, wonkier than the others, bore a number of dents and scrapes from its impromptu use as a battering ram.
Debs had decided to throw a farewell shindig for her fellow outgoing shop owners and her regular customers, all two of them. Curly popped his head round for a few minutes, and she managed to drag Ron back from his latest endeavour – The Milky Way Multiverse Bar. Brenda and Effie promised they would not miss it.
“Yeah, I’m shipping off back to Te Awamutu. See the rellies for a bit, you know?”
Brenda did not blame her. Looking across at the space where the florists had sprouted up, there was just a hole. Not even a very big hole. For all its evil scheming, Bialystock at least tidied up after itself.
The council were at a loss to explain the subsidence that had beset the shopping arcade. An emergency session was held, and it had been quickly decided to bulldoze the lot and pay off the tenants to help them relocate. It seemed best all round.
“Ooh,” Effie said, “Before you go, you should give Brenda your éclair recipe.”
Debs whipped out her order pad from her pinny pocket, but Brenda shook her head.
“That’s very kind of you, dear. But I’m really not much of a baker. Too many fingers and thumbs, that’s my problem.” Brenda looked down at her newly re-stitched arm. A little longer than she would have pre
ferred it, but there you go.
“It’s no trouble, Brenda. It’s all in the wrist action.”
“No, it’s fine. Really,” Brenda said, “I think I should stick to what I’m good at.”
“Like killing plants?” Effie said with a smile.
“Oh, you know… When it comes to gardening, I’ve always had a bit of a black thumb.” Brenda said, “No idea whose it was originally.”
Brenda and Effie: Many Happy Returns
Tony Jones
“Will you have some more Victoria Sponge?” Effie asked, her plate now empty barring the few crumbs from a rather small slice of ginger cake.
I considered for a moment. We were sat at a corner table in the Grand Tea Rooms. It was a Tuesday afternoon in early February and as far as I could tell the only grand thing about the location was the pricing. Fortunately for me it was Effie’s treat. She’d got it into her head I should have a birthday just like other people do. I wasn’t so sure, but when she’d insisted in paying it was the least I could do to take her up on her invitation. She’d also bought me a rather fetching Paisley patterned scarf. Not the kind of thing I’d buy for myself, you understand, but not unattractive.
The Grand was one of those tea rooms one sees opening full of expectation at the start of a tourist season, limping into the following year and then prices rise, the staff leave and the menu moves from home cooked delicacies to those readily available at the discount supermarket. The Grand had been open for three weeks and the occasion gave Effie a chance to try it for herself.
“Or perhaps more tea?” Effie asked.
I stirred myself in my not uncomfortable chair.
“Perhaps a small slice,” I said. “And yes, some fresh tea wouldn’t go amiss.”
While we waited for our second round of refreshments, Effie and I talked about recent goings-on.
“So,” I said, “another sighting of the mysterious ghost?”
Effie leaned forward so we wouldn’t be overheard. Not that the Grand Tea Rooms was particularly busy. I glanced at the other tables. In the far corner by the door a retired couple were sharing a rather small scone and a single large pot of tea. Standing proud on the table beside their plates were two pairs of weather-proof binoculars next to a small pile of notebooks and what seemed to be maps. No doubt they were bird-watchers, I thought. Their binoculars were of differing sizes, his a few inches larger than hers. Funny how folks are, I thought.
[Brenda & Effie 00] - A Treasury of Brenda and Effie Page 6