Invasion of the Normals

by Tommy Donbavand

  “I didn’t know he was still here,” grumbled Resus under his breath.

  “There was much to be discussed with your landlord,” said Zeal, giving the young vampire a steely look. He took the unconscious boy from Niles and turned to Luke’s mum. “You know where the boy lives?”

  “Yes, it’s not too far,” replied Mrs Watson. “Half an hour’s walk at most. I had to go round there once to get Luke’s football boots back.”

  Luke’s cheeks reddened as he recalled the incident.

  “Then we should leave now,” announced the Tracker sharply, and without another word he carried the slumbering bully through the doorway and out of Scream Street.

  Mrs Watson took a deep breath. “We’re leaving now, apparently.” She smiled briefly at her husband and followed Zeal through the shimmering portal.

  “Well, at least that’s sorted out,” said Alston.

  “Let’s get back to the party,” suggested Mr Watson. “It’s my turn on the bucking banshee!”

  “Don’t you think we’d better wait here, just in case?” Luke asked.

  “In case of what?” smiled Fool Spectre. “In case the boy overpowers G.H.O.U.L.’s leading Tracker and makes his way back here?” The other adults laughed.

  “It’ll be fine,” said Mr Watson, ruffling his son’s hair. “But stay here if it makes you feel better.” Talking among themselves, he and the others wandered back to the party.

  “How come the doorway stayed open even though we took the relics away?” said Resus once the trio were on their own.

  “I’ve no idea,” replied Luke. “But I know someone who might be able to help us.” He pulled a gold-coloured book from the back pocket of his jeans. The title — The G.H.O.U.L. Guide — was embossed on the spine, and from the front protruded the face of its author, Samuel Skipstone.

  “Did you hear what happened, Mr Skipstone?” Luke asked.

  The face on the cover of the book opened its eyes. “Indeed I did,” confirmed the author, “and I have to admit that I do not know why the doorway has remained open. But I think you are wise to maintain an air of caution.”

  Samuel Skipstone was one of Scream Street’s founding fathers, and he had spent his life researching and cataloguing the community and its residents. At the time of his death he had cast a spell to merge his spirit with the pages of his book, Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street, where he had resided until only yesterday, when he had moved into his new home, The G.H.O.U.L. Guide.

  “You know, now I come to think of it, there is a bit of a family resemblance!” grinned Resus, looking from Luke to the book and back again. Only the day before, Luke had been amazed to learn that Samuel Skipstone was actually his great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. The werewolf gene, although present in Skipstone, had remained dormant for several generations until Luke had started to transform.

  “We don’t know why the doorway is still working even though the relics have been separated,” Cleo explained. “We split them up among ourselves as souvenirs.”

  “My guess is that it is to do with self-preservation,” said the author. “The relics may have increased their magical potential since the doorway was formed.”

  Resus pulled the vampire’s fang from his cloak and stared at it. “You mean these things are alive?”

  “They are now each saturated with the combined power of Scream Street’s founding fathers,” explained Skipstone. “I would suggest they have developed the ability to adapt to new challenges.”

  Luke breathed a sigh of relief. “So that means we don’t have to keep the relics here to make sure the doorway stays open for my mum.”

  “Very true,” responded Skipstone, “but it does raise another pressing question… How will you close the doorway once your mother has returned?”

  Luke paused, then looked to Resus and Cleo for an answer. They both shrugged.

  “You mean there’s a possibility that other people could come through the doorway and into Scream Street, just like Steven Black did?” asked the mummy.

  “It is more of a likelihood than a possibility,” replied the face on the book solemnly.

  “That’s not good,” said Resus. “I don’t like the idea of anyone from Luke’s world being able to just wander in and out of Scream Street whenever they like.”

  “Then we’ll have to find a way to deactivate the relics and close the doorway,” said Cleo. “And soon!”

  Resus sighed. “Just when I was looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet…”

  “Would there be anything in your research that could show us how to do that, Mr Skipstone?” Luke asked. “How to switch off the power of the relics?”

  “It is possible,” said Skipstone. “Although do not forget, my life’s work turned to ash when I left it to provide you with the final relic in your quest.”

  This was true. When the trio had reversed the author’s spell and returned Samuel Skipstone’s spirit to his rotting body, Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street, the book in which he had spent the previous two centuries, had disintegrated in front of their eyes.

  “You must have made notes, though,” said Cleo in a flash of inspiration. “Your old house is filled with stacks and stacks of paper and notebooks — maybe something there could help us!”

  “The answer to our problem could possibly be found there,” agreed Samuel Skipstone, “but I would be unable to undertake the task alone. Perhaps I could impose upon the three of you to assist me in my research.”

  “Will we get time off to nip to Everwell’s to buy sweets?” asked Resus.

  Skipstone smiled. “I am sure that could be arranged.”

  “Then count me in!”

  Luke glanced nervously at the shimmering doorway leading to his old street. “Are you sure we can leave this unguarded?” he asked.

  “The sooner we find a way to close it, the less likely it is that normals will stumble upon it and find their way into Scream Street,” Cleo pointed out.

  “I suppose so,” Luke agreed reluctantly. “Although I can’t say I’m looking forward to sifting through all that paperwork!” He slipped The G.H.O.U.L. Guide back into his pocket and followed Resus and Cleo across the square towards Samuel Skipstone’s old house.

  Had they looked back, the trio would have noticed the glowing tip of a cigar in the shadows of a nearby garden. Someone had been listening in.

  Chapter Three

  The Problem

  Luke sat upright as the first rays of morning sunshine streamed through the windows of 1 Scream Street and woke him. He had been curled up on the floor among stacks of papers, and someone must have thrown an old blanket over him while he slept. As he pushed the blanket away, he was enveloped in a thick cloud of dust. He sneezed.

  “Sorry,” said Cleo, appearing beside him. “They were the only blankets I could find. Mr Skipstone’s bed was pretty filthy.”

  Resus was sitting at Samuel Skipstone’s desk, his head resting on his arms, his eyes closed and his cape wrapped around his shoulders. “At least he got a blanket,” he grumbled.

  “I thought you were still asleep,” observed Cleo.

  The young vampire sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I was until Luke started sneezing!” The G.H.O.U.L. Guide lay silently on the desk in front of him.

  “Did we find out how to close the doorway?” asked Luke, climbing to his feet and beginning to sift through the notes on the desk.

  “We?” snorted Resus with a laugh. “ We didn’t do anything. You crashed out before midnight, you lightweight!”

  “Well, you were snoring away twenty minutes later,” Cleo teased. She turned back to Luke and shook her head. “Nothing yet.”

  “So it can’t be closed?” said Luke.

  “There is one possible course of action…” began Samuel Skipstone, opening his eyes. “But I doubt you’ll want to take it.”

  Luke picked up the golden book from the desk. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “The doorway was opened for one reason o
nly,” explained the author. “To allow you and your parents to pass through and return to your former lives. Once that has happened, it will cease to exist.”

  “But we’re staying in Scream Street now,” said Luke. “We don’t want to go back to our old lives.”

  “Then we must discover a way to disable the magic in the relics and force the doorway closed,” said Skipstone. “It will not be an easy task, however; if the relics can now be separated from each other and the doorway, their power must be increasing.”

  Luke slumped into a chair, raising another cloud of dust as he did so. He coughed. “The founding fathers must have planned for something like this, surely,” he said.

  “Unfortunately not,” replied Skipstone. “We believed the relics would be gathered together, then their power activated. We did not consider the outcome of the magic remaining unused.”

  “What about transforming one of the relics into something else?” suggested Resus. “The doorway closed when Count Negatov’s fang was accidentally changed into a pair of glasses, remember.”

  “Trapping us in Luke’s world,” added Cleo with a shudder.

  “I suspect the relics will have already evolved past the stage where that would work,” replied Skipstone. “Although at present it is the only option we have — and therefore worth a try.”

  “Right,” said Luke, standing up again and grabbing The G.H.O.U.L. Guide from the desk. “We’ll need Eefa to do that for us. Will Everwell’s Emporium be open yet?”

  Resus pulled his watch from his cloak and held it up to see. “Just about,” he said. “And a good thing too — I can feel a rat sausage sandwich coming on. Let’s go!”

  “Is there ever a time when you’re not desperate to stuff your face with the remains of some poor, defenceless animal?” demanded Cleo, following the boys out into the hallway.

  “Poor, delicious animal,” corrected Resus, opening the front door and stepping outside. “And it’s all right for you: you keep your stomach in the fridge—”

  “There’s some of them!” shouted a voice. A series of bright, white flashes forced Resus to shield his eyes. When he looked up again, he was amazed to find a dozen or more people crowded around the front gate, taking photographs.

  “It’s a vampire!” cried one.

  “Show us your fangs!”

  “Drink some blood!”

  More flashes exploded around them.

  “There’s another one there, too — wrapped in bandages.”

  “It must be a mummy! Get a picture of it, Dave.”

  Cleo cowered as another flash almost blinded her.

  Luke pushed his friends aside and stormed down the garden path towards the group. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Who are you people?”

  A large, middle-aged man in a checked suit turned a video camera on Luke. “Who are you supposed to be, then? The one the vampire bites?”

  Luke pressed his hand up against the lens. “Get that thing out of my face!”

  A surly woman who looked as though she might be the man’s wife grabbed Luke’s wrist and pulled it away. “Don’t you touch that,” she snarled. “We’ve paid to get in, so we’ll film what we like!”

  Luke paled. “Paid?” he asked quietly. “But…”

  Resus joined him and there was another volley of flashes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Are there more like you?” asked a skinny teenager.

  “Where are they?”

  “Have you got monsters here, too?”

  Resus opened the gate and pushed Luke through the jostling crowd, clutching Cleo’s hand and dragging her clear with him. As they headed for the central square, further comments rang in their ears:

  “They weren’t very good, were they?”

  “I hope the rest of this place is better.”

  When the trio reached the edge of the square, they froze, hardly able to believe their eyes. It was packed with men, women and children; noisy sightseeing families everywhere, taking photographs and shooting video.

  “They’re… They’re all normals!” gasped Cleo.

  An angry shout echoed across the square as the door to 11 Scream Street crashed open. Twinkle the fairy, his pot belly bulging over the top of his frilly, pink tutu, emerged carrying a scrawny man under his thick, tattooed arm. “Get out of my ’ouse and stay out!” he shouted, tossing him bodily onto the lawn.

  The man leapt to his feet and began rubbing the grass stains from his trousers. “You can’t stop me. I’ve bought a season ticket!”

  “Don’t make me angry,” growled the fairy, stomping back into the house and slamming the door behind him.

  A bat whipped over Cleo’s head, screeching wildly. “Isn’t that the bat from the emporium?” she asked.

  The trio turned just in time to see Eefa Everwell push a handful of people out of her shop. “You are not allowed to touch anything in there!” she yelled, forcing the door closed against them.

  Dr Skully’s skeletal dog, Scapula, appeared at Resus’s feet, trembling and whining miserably. “Where’s his tail?” asked the vampire.

  “Those kids have got it!” exclaimed Cleo, spotting a group of giggling boys playing with a piece of bone. She marched over and snatched it from their hands. “I’ll take that.”

  She turned to return the tail, and as she did so, one of the boys grabbed hold of a loose bandage and pulled hard. “You look like you’ve had an accident,” he taunted.

  Cleo stepped up to him. “It’ll be you who has the accident if you don’t shove off,” she growled.

  Laughing, the boys ran away just as Doug lurched into view, pursued by a young man, shouting, “At least let me give you some money for a cup of tea…”

  “This is bad,” said Resus as the chaos continued around them. “Very bad.”

  Suddenly they spotted a familiar face among the crowds. Scream Street’s landlord, Sir Otto Sneer, was ushering people through the rainbow-coloured doorway. At the head of the line was his nephew, Dixon, wearing a sandwich board that read: Follow me to visit the greatest freak show on earth.

  “This way to the freaks!” Sir Otto bellowed as he collected payment from the new arrivals. “Ghosts and ghouls on every corner! Scares and screams guaranteed!”

  “What’s he talking about?” asked Cleo. “What’s going on?”

  Luke felt a knot tighten in his stomach. “We’re being invaded!”

  Chapter Four

  The Confrontation

  Luke pushed through the groups of tourists and strode towards the landlord, Resus and Cleo hot on his heels.

  “Roll up! Roll up!” chanted Sir Otto as yet more visitors stepped through the shimmering archway. “Just thirty pounds each to visit the greatest freak show on earth!”

  “You can’t do this, Sneer,” called Luke as the trio approached.

  Sir Otto bit down on his cigar and grinned at them. “Oh, but I can,” he beamed, stroking the white silk scarf around his throat. “These are my houses, and if I want to charge people to come and see them, that’s what I’ll do.”

  He paused to accept a bundle of notes from an eager family that had just appeared through the doorway, then stuffed the money into a leather bag hanging from his belt. “Welcome to Scream Street, where the entertainment never ends!” he announced.

  Sir Otto’s nephew slid out of his sandwich board and hopped excitedly from foot to foot. “Entertainment?” he exclaimed. “Will there be a show, Uncle Otto?”

  “You idiot, Dixon,” barked the landlord. “And it’s Sir Otto…”

  “Sorry, Sir Uncle Otto,” said Dixon. “But will it be a musical, or a play? I hope it’s a play — I like to think of myself as the cultured type.”

  The landlord slapped his nephew across the back of the head. “And I like to think of you as the injured type!” he smirked, turning back to the queue of visitors. “Thirty pounds each, folks,” he called, accepting payment from yet another family and pushing it into his money bag. “The resi
dents are in good form today. In fact, you could say they’re dying to meet you!”

  Luke fumed as this latest group set off to explore. “You won’t get away with this!”

  “Get away with what?” chortled the landlord. “It was you who opened the doorway, boy.” He grinned widely and blew cigar smoke in Luke’s face. “All I’m doing is capitalizing on your hard work!”

  Unable to hold himself back, Luke lunged for Sir Otto, lashing out with his hand to knock the cigar from his mouth. Instead, his fingers caught the scarf around his throat and pulled it away, revealing scarred skin and ripped tissue underneath. This was the result of an attack on Sir Otto during his childhood, and, self-conscious of the wound, the landlord quickly pulled his jacket closed to conceal it. “You’ve just earnt your family a spot on the guided tour,” he growled.

  Resus snatched the scarf from Luke and threw it back at the landlord. “Come on,” he said to his friend. “Let’s go.”

  “But I can’t let him…” began Luke.

  “Resus is right,” said Cleo. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

  “I’ll surround you with paying customers night and day,” Sir Otto threatened as the trio walked away. “If I can’t rid this street of freaks, I’ll put you to good use and earn a fortune from you.”

  “Well, my money won’t be a part of it,” declared a voice. “This place is boring — I demand a full refund!”

  Luke, Resus and Cleo turned to see the surly woman march up to Sir Otto as he hurriedly replaced the silk scarf around his throat.

  “Madam,” said the landlord, “perhaps you didn’t read the fine print on the back of your ticket. Refunds cannot be given under any circumstances.”

  “I don’t read anything I don’t have to, finely printed or not!” snapped the woman. “You promised me a street full of freaks, and all I’ve seen so far are a few cheap costumes and some lame special effects.”