“Tea?” Daphne asked with a nervous smile
“Yep. Tea makes everything better. Everyone knows that.”
“So the… the demon?” Ed said. “It's gone?”
“Yep.” Chris smiled. “It's totally safe.”
Ed pulling Tippi into his arms. “And its fine to leave the room now, right?”
Chris swalked across to the door and opened it. A wave of fresh air rushed in, quickly replacing the stuffy and vomit-scented air. Chris stepped aside. “After you.”
That was when Chris noticed Pete looking around the room, his eyes scanning every shadow and cupboard.
“Shut the door!” Pete shouted, standing up quickly, shotgun in hand. “Shut the door right now!”
Everyone froze. Chris made no move to shut the door. He just stared at his brother, who was aiming the shotgun at the bed, or rather the gap beneath the bed. He worried for a moment that Pete had gone mad.
Suddenly, Pete fired the shotgun again, chunks of the floor flying through the air. The room filled with smoke again.
The McBains screamed.
Chris looked at his brother in shock. “What the hell, Pete?! Have you gone mad?”
Just then, a large green hamster ball suddenly rattled out from under the bed and skittered across the floor. It was completely untouched by the shotgun blast. Chris' eyes widened when he caught sight of it.
“Oh fuck!” he said.
Pete struggled to reload the shotgun, popping the empty shells out of the barrel and fishing through his pockets for a new set. He was too slow, though, they were all too slow, and before anyone could stop it or close the bedroom door, the hamster ball rolled through it and down the hallway. They could hear it banging and crashing against the skirting boards of the house. Chris shot the parents an exasperated look.
Father Rhodes groaned and slowly sat up. He pulled splinters of wood from his hair and looked at them in confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
No one answered.
Pete and Chris rushed from the room. They raced after the ball, catching a flash of bright green just going around the corner and down the stairs. They stumbled together, slamming into the wall and crashing against each other hard as they tried to follow it. They went down, splitting up when they got to the ground floor, one racing through the living room and the other dashing through the dining room. Both were looking for the green hamster ball and the demon that potentially lay within it.
“I found it!” Chris shouted from the kitchen. It was rolling around beneath kitchen table and chairs. Suddenly the ball darted off, back through the door that Chris had so recently come through, and into the living room. Chris shot to his feet, sending the kitchen table crashing hard against the fridge. He raced into the other room.
“Living room!” Chris shouted.
From the dining room came the sound of angry swearing and stumbling rapid footsteps as Pete quickly reversed his direction and raced back to the front of the house. Chris saw the hamster ball disappear behind a huge stuffed armchair, slipping into a gap between its legs and the bookcase behind. He grabbed the back of the armchair and tossed it aside, eyes fixed on the ball and the demon inside. Leaping forwards, he slammed against the bookcase as he tried to catch the ball.
Too quickly, though, the hamster inside darted the ball away from his grip, heading straight towards hallway. Books rained down on Chris’ head. He held his arms aloft, crying out as the books began to draw blood.
Pete skidded to a stop in the doorway between the hallway and the living room, legs spread and newly-reloaded shotgun aimed at the approaching ball.
Another shotgun blast and more flooring became history.
Unfortunately, the hamster darted out of the way, narrowly dodging the shotgun blast and slipping behind the sofa. Pete snapped the shotgun open, removed the spent shells and searched for replacements. Realising he had none, he cursed under his breath. He snapped the gun shut with another loud snap and rushed over to his brother. He pulled Chris to his feet, saw the crimson running down his forehead.
“Shit, bro, he got you good and proper,” Pete said,
Chris' faced reddened. “This little fucker is going down,” he said.
They turned to the sofa. Within seconds they had it turned over on its front; cushions spilled across the floor in all directions. They both grabbed for the hamster ball, but only ended up jumbled together, limbs wrapped around each other as they slammed into the wall, sending pictures tumbling down onto their heads. The hamster ball meanwhile rolled right past them as they sat there panting for breath against the wall. Another photograph fell from the wall and bounced off Pete’s knee before it crashed against the hamster ball. This time it was his turn to curse loudly.
They stared at the ball for a moment, collective breaths held as it spun in place.
Just then, the ball split open, the two sides falling apart like a freshly cracked egg. The hamster sat staring at them, its eyes glowing red. Then it dashed for the front door, which was now somehow open. Pete and Chris hurtled after it. As it reached the door, it turned, squeaked once, and—
And that was when a growling filled the air. They wondered for a moment where it was coming from. It sounded nothing like any demon they had ever faced. It sounded like a dog.
In fact, it was a dog. A large black Labrador wearing a bright pink collar appeared behind the possessed hamster. It snarled, its hackles rising up, a vicious growl spilling from between pulled back lips that revealed sharp dangerous teeth.
The hamster made to run past the dog, but its jaws clamped down on the rodent, pulling it up from the floor. The hamster squeaked for a second or two, as the dog shook the hamster hard and chewed it a couple of times. Then it let go, and the hamster flew across the room. It slammed into the wall with a wet splat, before sliding down, leaving a red bloody smear down the length of the wall.
It was no longer moving.
Pete and Chris stared at each other in shock.
The dog barked at them, panting heavily, its tail wagging, and then it turned and trotted off down the path towards its owner, an elderly man who stood at the front gate, trying to look in through the open door.
“Everything alright in there?” the man called out.
Chris and Pete got to their feet and stepped into the doorway, raising their hands to the inquisitive neighbour.
“Yeah, everything's fine, thank you” Chris called out in reply.
The old man looked confused for a moment. It was probably the coveralls. It was always the coveralls.
“Just been sorting out a vermin infestation. Ants. Pesky little buggers!” Pete shouted.
The old man didn't look convinced, but turned on his heels, grumbling something to himself, before moving on.
Chris and Pete laughed together as they watched the man and his dog move along the road. They were exhausted, but finally the beast had been dealt with. And in such an unexpected, ridiculous way that they couldnt help but laugh.
Their mirth quickly faded, though, as they heard a sobbing from the top of the stairs.
“Pippin!” Tippi’s little voice said.
The brothers turned and saw the family at the top of the stairs, gathered together and holding each other tightly, staring at the dead hamster in shock.
Chris grimaced and turned, kneeling next to the dead rodent. He poked it a couple of times but it didn’t move, and so he produced a small bag from his pocket. Wincing, he picked up the dripping red corpse and placed it carefully into the bag. After sealing it, he held it at arm’s length and headed up the stairs, brushing past the family. Tippi reached out to take the bag from him, but he held it out of reach.
“I’m afraid not, sweetie,” he said softly. “It's too dangerous. We'll have to keep hold of Pippin for now”
“Will you look after him?” Tippi asked, tears in her voice “Will you make sure he’s okay?”
“Of course,” Chris said as he headed in to Tippi’s bedroom. Pete followed.
He shut the door behind him and noticed that his brother had begun to clear up their equipment.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Pete cried. “I’m doing that! You’ve got to deal with Grumps this time. I brought him in, you get to take him out.”
Chris sighed and knelt down beside Father Rhodes, who was still looking around himself in confusion.
Pete placed Pippin in their toolbox, taping the top with duct tape first. Then he turned and began to take the crossfires down and folded them up.
Chris helped Father Rhodes to his feet and led him down the stairs and back to his chair, which had somehow managed to avoid being damaged in the melee. Father Rhodes slumped down into his chair with a heavy sigh and held out his hand, expectantly. Just then, Pete stumbled past them, toolbox and bags in his hands. He went into the toolbox and pulled out a flask of alcohol, shoved it into Father Rhodes’ hand.
“Here you go, you great lush,” Chris muttered.
Pete went to load their equipment back into the van.
Chris, meanwhile, wheeled Rhodes outside before stepping back in to the house. He had to make this quick.
“We're ever so sorry about the mess,” he told to the family staring around their ground floor in horror. “Someone will be in touch over the next couple of days about fixing all the damages. But the demon’s gone! That’s good news! Yes?”
Silence. The McBains were traumatised by the mess.
Chris shifted uncomfortably in his waterproofs and started to slowly back out of the house.
“I can safely say that this house is now completely clean. Well, of evil I mean. Again, sorry about the mess.”
He reached into his utility belt and pulled out a business card, complete with its very own grinning red devil. He placed the card upon a broken table.
“If you have any questions, just call us at our office and we will be more than happy to help.”
The table creaked, and then suddenly collapsed.
Chris got out of there. He grabbed Father Rhodes’ wheelchair and steered him back to the van as speedily as he could.
Pete had just finished throwing their equipment into the back.
“Go! Go! Go!” Chris whispered, the urgency palpable in his voice.
Pete didn’t need to be told twice, and with military precision the brothers rolled the priest up the ramp into the back of the van, strapped the chair into place, slammed the back doors shut, and hurried to the front seats.
Chris fumbled for the keys as Pete kept watch on the front of the house.
Ed McBain stepped out of the house and headed for the van.
“We should probably go now,” Pete said
Chris successfully found the van keys, slid them effortlessly into the ignition, and brought the van to rumbling life. With one swift movement, he slammed the van into reverse and spun it backwards. It crunched over the small fence in front of the McBain house, pushed it completely over, before the wheels skidded in the mud and the van surged forward, away from the destruction it had caused.
As the van sped away, Pete decided to roll down the window and give the McBains a little cheeky wave..
CHAPTER FOUR
IDOL HANDS CLEANING
The journey back to the offices of Idol Hands Cleaning was a long one. Shortly after leaving the McBains, the skies had opened up and unleashed a torrent of rain that made driving the winding country roads perilous. The van coughed and spluttered as it hurtled through them, splashing through puddles with increasing frequency. The already difficult journey was made even more difficult for Chris when Pete switched on the radio and began humming along to the golden oldies.
“Do we have to have the radio on?” he grumbled
“Don't be hating on the classics, dude. I'll take this stuff over some over-hyped autotuned bollocks, any day,” he responded, before breaking into the chorus of All Day and All of the Night.
“You'll wake Rhodes up,” Chris said
Pete glanced into the back of the van, before returning his gaze to his brother with a cheeky grin.
“No chance of that. He's completely out of it. Those wine gums obviously went to his head. Well, those and the booze, of course.”
“He's still asleep?”
“Yep. Out cold and dribbling like a pro,” Pete replied, launching into a small-scale air guitar solo. His imaginary crowd-pleasing performance was cut short when Chris switched the radio off.
“Hey!” Pete whined
“We've still got a couple of hours to go, it's absolutely pissing it down, and, after the day I've had, the last thing I need is for this van to go skidding off the road and through a brick wall because you put me off with your air-guitar.”
“You're just jealous of my gift” Pete replied, sulkily.
“Do you want to drive?” Chris said.
Pete said nothing, just stared out the passenger window in silence.
Chris focused on the road ahead as the windscreen wipers moved left to right, right to left….
***
After a few hours on the road, they eventually reached their destination and turned left onto a narrow gravel lane, the stones crunching under the tyres as it trundled onwards, arriving at what they liked to call their 'headquarters'.
It was at the back of a field in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t an actual building, not in the real sense, just a mobile office nestled on a patch of gravel, with enough parking for a couple of vehicles. If anyone passed it, or happened to see it from the road as they drove by, they would not even know what it was. It was nondescript. It was beige, somewhat draughty, and swayed slightly in the wind. There was no decoration in sight, not a single window box or garden gnome like other mobile offices seemed to have. It had two signes, both reading Idol Hands Clean Services, both in need of a good clean. Not that they had many on-site visitors.
Not that they wanted any.
As the Idol Hands Cleaning van pulled up in its usual parking spot, next to the light blue Ford Fiesta from the early 2000s, the brothers noticed something completely out of place.
For sitting on the other side of that charming little Ford Fiesta was a large, expensive-looking black Sedan, complete with tinted windows. It looked like something from a spy movie.
The brothers stared at the vehicle for a moment, before glancing at each other.
“We're not being audited, are we?” Pete said
“God, I hope not,” Chris replied.
They stepped out of the van, both keeping their eyes on the large, intimidating black vehicle. There were definitely people moving around inside.
“Perhaps we won the postcode lottery,” Pete mumbled.
“We don't have a postcode, Pete,” Chris replied. “Let’s get inside. I'm sure Sally will tell us what’s going on.”
Pete's eyes widened. “Perhaps she won the postcode lottery.” He followed his brother to the cabin. Chris pushed open the door, shaking water from his jacket as he stepped inside.
“Get that kettle on, Sally, we're back!” he exclaimed. “And who is that parked out—”
“I'VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU TWO!” boomed a loud, authoritative voice.
***
Sally Horrace stood up from her desk, her eyes burning holes into the brothers from behind her thin-rimmed reading glasses. To an outsider, she looked to be in her late fifties, just over five feet tall with a mid-length crop of hair turned silver way before its time. She had an ample figure. To an outsider, she looked like a very cheerful mother figure. She was a mother figure to the Idol brothers, too, in a 'you had better finish all of your greens or you don't leave the table' kind of way. Her desk was littered with files and papers, along with a simple computer and a phone that looked like it had seen better days. There were minor personal belongings dotted here and there, but pride of place was a framed photo of an elderly gentleman wearing a wax jacket and a flat cap, smiling at the camera as he walked a black and white sheepdog. This was Sally's battle station and, by the way she was looking at the brothers, she was ready fo
r a fight.
“Oh no,” the brothers mumbled in unison.
“Don't you 'oh no' me boys. I've just gotten off the phone with a distraught Mrs McBain. She said you managed to blow half their house to smithereens, killed the family pet, and let Father Rhodes punch their daughter in the face.”
“Did she mention that we managed to save his daughter’s soul from the clutches of a dark power?” Pete chirped defiantly
Sally shot him a look that silenced him on the spot, and he stepped back slightly, leaving his brother in the path of her wrath.
“Do you know how hard it is having to clean up after you two when something like this happens? There’s insurance claims, expenses forms, formal apologies to write, psychotherapists to organise and lawyers to deal with. The paperwork alone is a nightmare. And you two swan in here like nothing’s happened, and the first thing you say is put the bloody kettle on! I swear if I wasn't behind this desk I'd clip you both round the ear.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose as if she was suffering from a migraine. Then she composed herself. “What the bloody hell happened this time?”
Chris stepped forward and gave her an embarrassed smile. “It was more difficult than we initially thought. This one was a stubborn one.” He paused, a sad look in his eyes. “It almost broke Rhodes.”
Sally’s eyes softened, the anger in them replaced with one of gentle concern.
“Where is he? Is he alright?” she said.
“Yeah. He's fine. He's asleep in the van,” Pete said.
“Was he—?”
“Drunk? When is he not? It didn't affect him when it came to the crunch, but next time he might not be so lucky. I don't think it’s a good idea we take him with us anymore,” Chris said.
“Ah,” Sally replied. “Okay then.”
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