Candleman

by Glenn Dakin

  A section of the wall slid back, revealing a concealed passage. All three stared in silence.

  ‘Well done,’ breathed old Foley finally. ‘That’s more like it.’

  A short, narrow passage led to a doorway, which was secured with a heavy lock and several bolts. There was a moment of professional reverence from the experienced burglars.

  ‘We’ve hit pay dirt!’ said Foley.

  Theo watched, scared and fascinated as the two crooks set to work with a combination of sly know-how and crude violence. Screws were eased out, locks oiled and hammered, and the bolts studied and shattered. The thick inner door creaked open, revealing a dark chamber beyond. Using a tiny torch, Foley located a light switch. They stepped into the room, and Theo gazed around him, astonished.

  The forbidden things. The room was littered with newspapers, magazines, photos – all the things that told you about the real world. Theo was not allowed to see such information. Dr Saint had always told him that knowledge of real-life events, news and history would only excite and confuse his mind.

  But Theo could not help looking. Yellowing old newspaper articles were pinned to boards on the wall. There were maps of London, snapshots of crumpled bodies, pictures of sinister figures with strange names. Theo peered at the dark, illustrated image of a monstrous, misshapen man: the Dodo, a caption read.

  ‘This can’t be right. It’s just a study or something …’ said Brady.

  Unnoticed, Theo was looking through a pile of pictorial newspapers. He looked at the dates. They were over a hundred years old. There was so much to see, read and drink in …

  Crime Ring broken by Unknown Crusader one magazine read. Another headline proclaimed: New Hero of the Night – but the picture with it had been removed.

  Foley was staring about him like a frightened rabbit. His graveyard teeth nibbled nervously on his lower lip.

  ‘Well, say something, you old fool!’ shouted Brady. Instead, Foley stepped towards a shadowy alcove at the far end of the room and switched on a lamp. They all stared. Theo’s jaw dropped.

  A pale, long-haired man in a smart cape was peering out at them from a sepia photograph in a golden frame. The man had a haunted, tragic face. Yet there was something strong and resolute in its lines too – the angular nose, tough chin and those unfathomable eyes. Beneath the portrait was the legend: The Candle Man.

  Theo stared. There was no mistake. For a moment time seemed to stand still. But there was no denying, his first startling impression had been correct. The man in the picture looked exactly like Theo.

  ‘Candle Man? Never heard of him!’ said Brady. ‘Have you?’

  Foley nodded. ‘We should get out of here!’ he whispered.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘It’s unlucky, you see …’ Foley was almost as white as a sheet. ‘Especially in our game,’ the old man said. ‘It goes a long way back. People hear about the Candle Man and not long after … they disappear.’

  ‘Then why haven’t I heard of him?’ Brady asked.

  ‘It was all covered up – made into a secret. It was too horrible …’ the old man was distracted, ferreting around nervously at the piles of papers. He looked at some random photos and blenched.

  ‘What a terrible way to go!’ he gasped, putting the photos back face down. He switched off the alcove light and tried frantically to replace everything they had touched.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here, now!’ he urged. He was no longer the hardened housebreaker, but more like a terrified child. ‘This is way over our heads! We came to the wrong house tonight.’

  The old man headed straight out of the room, and Brady followed.

  ‘This is crazy! Get a grip!’ the younger man roared, but Foley was bounding down the stairs now with a speed hard to believe for his age. Brady was slower, dragging Theo by the arm. In the downstairs hallway, Foley turned to stare at Theo.

  ‘We’re in dark waters,’ Foley said. ‘No one must know we’ve been here!’

  ‘That means offing the boy!’ shouted Brady, pulling a heavy metal wrench out of his kitbag.

  ‘I – I don’t like it,’ stammered Foley. ‘Kill the mad kid? That’s too much bad luck! We’ll have to take him with us!’

  Suddenly a police siren was heard in the Gore outside, followed by a rending crash from a side door and the bark of an Alsatian.

  ‘Police! We’ve got no choice now,’ Brady said, advancing on Theo. ‘We’ll never get away dragging him along. He’s heard us talk, knows our faces …’

  Brady swung the wrench back, ready to strike a fatal blow.

  ‘No!’ cried Theo. He raised a feeble hand in self-defence, grabbing at his attacker’s wrist.

  Then it happened.

  Brady’s arm stopped in mid-swing, as if frozen. His body glowed with a soft green light. And then, before their eyes, he melted.

  Chapter Three

  The Open Door

  It had not been a dream. Theo sat up in bed and saw the familiar shadows cast by the morning sun on the wall. He saw his bookcase of fairy tales and guides to manners. But when he closed his eyes he saw the robber, Brady, dissolving into a pool of oily slime and seeping into the deep hall carpet.

  The events of the night before, brought to so sudden an end by the arrival of his guardian and the police, had left his mind scarred forever.

  My rare disease, Theo thought. My special condition, which, by the way – sorry we didn’t mention it before – actually means that if you touch people they die.

  Theo shivered inside. He had melted someone. The killing had been in self-defence, of course, which Mr Nicely had once told him was all right. But it didn’t make Theo feel much better. Strange thoughts and doubts flitted through his mind, images he could not drive away. He recalled the picture he had seen of that hideous figure, the Dodo. How could a real man come to resemble an extinct bird? Suddenly his world was full of mysteries and misgivings.

  Theo ran through the events that had happened after Brady had melted. The old robber, Foley, had bolted – out through a side window – and hadn’t been seen again. Dr Saint had appeared and raced up the stairs without even checking to see if Mr Nicely was still alive. Not very saintly, Dr Saint, thought Theo. He didn’t know what his guardian had done upstairs, but he certainly hadn’t mentioned the secret room to the police. Theo didn’t mention it either.

  Clarice came in with a cup of hot water, Theo’s morning treat. Tea was apparently too stimulating for him and might lead to enjoyment – never a good thing for someone like Theo. She proceeded to check his temperature, blood pressure, the circumference of his head and the endless other measurements and readings that made his life a masterpiece of tedium.

  ‘The thing is, Clarice,’ Theo said, ‘I was always told by Dr Emmanuel Saint that I was a mystery baby – abandoned at one of the orphanages run by his Society of Good Works, with just a note saying my parents had died and could someone look after me.’

  Clarice searched for lice – or something – in Theo’s hair.

  ‘So what I want to know is,’ Theo continued, ‘why, hidden away in a secret room upstairs, is there a picture of a man who looks just like me?’

  Theo put on a dressing gown.

  ‘Secrets, Clarice. That’s what you’re good for. You can’t hear, so you can’t tell tales, I suppose. Is Dr Saint being kind by employing a deaf maid, or is he actually being … careful?’ Theo sipped his hot water thoughtfully. It was the only hot drink he would get all day.

  ‘Dr Saint has been keeping secrets from me, that’s for sure,’ Theo resumed. ‘I can’t help wondering about everything now …’

  Theo stopped. He was suddenly reminded of the mysterious gift he had received, the snow globe that covered a miniature London in black flakes. Had it been some kind of message? He needed to look at it again.

  ‘A special treat for you, Theobald!’ came the strident voice of Dr Saint from the doorway. Theo looked round. In came Mr Nicely, his head wrapped in bandages, beaming a big smile
– but his eyes looked rather glazed and he was moving stiffly.

  ‘Your butler and, dare-I-say-it, best friend, is back on the case!’ grinned Mr Nicely. ‘I mean, back on duty,’ he corrected himself. ‘In fact, what I ought to have said, is I’m back doing what I love best,’ he added finally.

  ‘You’re rambling,’ snapped Dr Saint. ‘Now, just a final couple of words about last night, if you can both bear it.’

  Theo looked around him. Here he was, in his room, back with the Three, the eternal trio that governed his life. But last night had been different. He had escaped the monotony – met new people. And killed one of them.

  It wasn’t my fault, he told himself. I warned them about my gloves and they wouldn’t listen. Terrible things happen to people who don’t listen – he had learnt that from his books of fairy tales.

  ‘Now, Theo – you told us you heard the intruders crashing around, but you stayed in your room the whole time.’

  Theo nodded. Yes, he had told Dr Saint that.

  ‘But you were awake from the first crash onwards, when they broke in and knocked out Mr Nicely?’

  ‘I tried to stop ’em, sir!’ Nicely protested. ‘Four or five of them overpowered me!’

  More lies, Theo noted.

  ‘I was frightened,’ Theo said. ‘They bashed the door of my room in and had a quick look inside. They didn’t spot me in the shadows. Suddenly the police turned up and they fled.’

  ‘So,’ summed up Dr Saint, ‘when I found you standing in the doorway of your room, that was as far as you went all night. Of their criminal activities you actually saw nothing. But didn’t you hear anything unusual?’

  ‘Banging, crashing, footsteps on the stairs,’ Theo replied. At the mention of the stairs, he couldn’t help giving his guardian a searching look. Dr Saint seemed unsatisfied, troubled.

  ‘Nothing that would explain a pool of revolting slime in the hallway?’ Dr Saint said.

  Theo shook his head. Just in time he remembered to show polite curiosity in other people’s interests. ‘It sounds fascinating. May I see it?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ blurted Mr Nicely. ‘Horrible slime is not for you, Theobald Saint. Disgusting oily substances are not a suitable sight for the ward of the most respectable gentleman in London. Slime indeed!’ Mr Nicely tutted. He turned to his employer. ‘Possibly some home-made explosive cocktail that went wrong, sir. They may have been planning to blast their way into a vault or safe on the premises.’

  ‘We may never know,’ muttered Dr Saint crossly. ‘But the Deep-Clean Team from Good-As-New Carpets have had a devil of a job shampooing it out.’

  ‘I’ve said a million times, sir,’ Mr Nicely observed, ‘we should have CCTV all over this place and my mate Doogie from the old Horse Guards Regiment watching screens all day.’

  ‘Empire Hall is the seat of a charity, Mr Nicely!’ replied Dr Saint, turning on his heel to leave the room. ‘Why on earth should we have to put up with oafish security guards and nosy television cameras …’

  Their voices died away. Clarice gave a funny bobbing curtsy and left too. Theo munched his morning bowl of seeds in thin milk. A long, empty day awaited him, while the Three went about their business. He would be left alone for hours. He went and found his mystery birthday present.

  Theo opened the box, where the globe lay in its shredded paper like a glass egg in a nest. Who could it be from? He shook it and watched, as once again the black flakes swarmed inside. Had it really been meant as a message? Had the sender known that a shadow was about to pass over Theo’s world? And if someone really cared about him, why hadn’t they included a simple note or something?

  Then it struck him. The shredded paper. Theo pulled the packing out of the box. He studied the strips closely by the light of the window. There it was – a glimmer of writing. The silver ink that had shown up so clearly on the black wrapping paper was barely visible at all on the white shreds.

  Long years of confinement had made Theo adept at methodical tasks. He laid out all the strips of crumpled paper, silver-line-side-up, and started to piece them together. It was a fiddly business, but he had an idea. He prised open the framed photo of Mr Nicely, slid out the glass and used it to flatten the strips. It wasn’t long before he had pieced together the words: Theo. You are in danger and must get out! Come to the graveyard alone!–A Friend.

  ‘What are you doing, young master?’ Mr Nicely shouted from the hallway. He had found Theo standing by the study window that looked out on the back lawn.

  ‘Just enjoying the view,’ Theo sighed. He hadn’t been surprised to find the window was securely locked.

  ‘You don’t want to go opening them windows,’ chuckled Mr Nicely, putting a firm hand on Theo’s shoulder. ‘What have I told you since you was a nipper? Keep away from the winders and never set foot in the garden … There’s something on the roof that wants to eat you!’

  The butler hadn’t wheeled out that old family legend for years. Maybe the bang on the head had shaken up the contents of his well-regimented brain a bit.

  When evening fell, and Theo had eaten his millet and greens, he was left alone to study his books and listen to the quiet flow of the traffic as it ceaselessly circumnavigated Hyde Park. He had been in the Mercy Tube and was now feeling suitably sick. That rotten feeling in your guts is us showing we care for you, Dr Saint had reminded him. Theo was no longer so sure.

  He pulled back the curtain and looked out into the night. His own reflection stared back at him in the tall windowpane. He looked at himself, considering his face in a new way. Up till now he had always been the invalid, the pathetic one, never someone who could be special or admired.

  But now, when he looked at his tall, gaunt reflection he didn’t see himself. He saw the Candle Man.

  There was a light tap at his door. Clarice was standing there, with a finger to her lips. She beckoned him. Theo was too surprised to act, but the maid grabbed him and pulled him into the corridor. She pointed down the hall, where two doors were open, one into the kitchen, and another beyond that into the garden. She pushed him towards the exit.

  With his heart pounding, Theo blundered through a dark scullery and stumbled outside. The cold night air hit him, as he found himself on a gravel path. Clarice gestured to the rear garden wall, where a gate was standing open. It led to the back of the cemetery.

  Theo was about to head down the garden when Mr Nicely emerged from a side passage. His smart waistcoat was unbuttoned, he was sipping from a brown bottle and humming a little song. Theo turned, but Clarice had disappeared and shut the back door.

  The butler hadn’t seen Theo yet, but he was drawing nearer. There was no way Theo could cross the lawn without Mr Nicely seeing him. Theo stepped into the shadows by the wall. Here he found a pile of crates. He climbed up on one, then on top of a big wheelie bin, and from there on to the low scullery roof. With luck, Mr Nicely would pass by beneath him without seeing him at all.

  Theo held his breath. Then something flew down off the roof and carried him away.

  Chapter Four

  The Society of Unrelenting Vigilance

  Mr Nicely stopped on his way up the main staircase of Empire Hall and paused on the top landing. Something caught his eye and he peered out of the window into the darkness beyond.

  There, glimpsed through the cage of branches that cut off the mansion from the graveyard, was a tiny light. It had the frail but bright presence of a single candle flame.

  Dr Saint sat in his plum-coloured dressing gown, and took his glass of evening sherry from the silver tray proffered by his butler. Mr Nicely lingered at the doorway.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ snapped Dr Saint.

  ‘It’s …’ the butler’s voice faltered. A strange light in the graveyard wasn’t worth troubling his master over.

  ‘It’s what?’

  ‘It’s – err, ten o’clock and all’s well,’ said Mr Nicely. ‘I’ve done my rounds and locked up for the night. Not a burglar in sight.’

  �
�Just as it should be,’ said Dr Saint, sipping his sherry. ‘Nice night, Mr Nicely.’

  ‘Saintly dreams, Dr Saint,’ said the butler, and headed off for bed.

  Theo was dropped over the cemetery wall and landed in a bank of wet nettles, his elbow cracking against a stone vase. A thumping of slow wings faded into the night air somewhere above him. He lay still in the cold and damp, his heart pounding, as the seconds passed.

  The Something on the Roof has decided not to eat me.

  Theo sat up and looked around. He saw a glowing candle on a tombstone in front of him. Suddenly, a dark figure stepped in front of it.

  ‘You’re … you’re him, aren’t you!’ the figure said. There was awe in his voice.

  Theo was so bewildered, all he could do was nod.

  ‘Did … did you see the garghoul that dropped you here?’ breathed the young man. From what Theo could tell, the stranger was barely older than him.

  ‘No,’ said Theo. His terrifying flight had been something of a blur.

  ‘We’d better move,’ the dark figure said. ‘Follow me!’

  They raced down an avenue of yew trees, then threaded their way through a thick woodland, slanting gravestones marking every twist and turn of their way. Theo was led, at a speed he had never moved before, into the obscure depths of the Condemned Cemetery. Here the statues grew more outlandish and giant mausoleums rose up among the trees. The starry, frosty night lent a half enchanted, half ghoulish light to the landscape.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the stranger as Theo paused to pant and overcome the urge to be sick. ‘Your captors won’t really expect you to be here. Still, we don’t want to take any chances.’

  They pressed on, along the narrowest of tracks, clutched at by thorny branches. Theo’s elbow was smarting and his legs ached horribly. He had never been on a journey this long before in his life, even on his tenth birthday, when Mr Nicely had taken him to see the city dump and they had briefly got lost among the mounds of seagull droppings.