Billy Angel

by Sam Hay

‘Thelma’s at home,’ she went on. ‘Grant told me. And I checked the phone book, so now I know where she lives…’

  She was beginning to sound like one of those scary stalkers you read about.

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Well, as soon as I’ve had my shower, I’ll go round there and tell her I’m her guardian angel, ready to save the day – and stop her killing her ex-boyfriend.’

  Gaby scowled. ‘You can’t do that!’ she snapped. ‘But maybe we could go round there together and sort of keep a lookout. Make sure she isn’t up to anything.’

  ‘We?’ I said.

  ‘Well, two of us won’t look so suspicious. No offence, Billy, but if I saw you hanging around outside my house, I think I’d call someone.’

  She sort of had a point. I sighed. I wished I had an excuse not to go. But I didn’t. Dad had been called out on an emergency plumbing job in the early hours and was now snoozing it off. I was surplus to requirements.

  ‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ I said.

  While I got dressed, Gaby scribbled her aunt’s number on a piece of (pink) paper, which I gave to my mum, along with a cock-and-bull story about going around to Gaby’s with a gang of kids from school to watch a DVD.

  Mum smirked a strange smirk that I hadn’t seen before. And, annoyingly, I felt my face turn red. I grabbed my coat and escaped.

  ‘Have you got your tool bag?’ asked Gaby.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it might come in handy – you know, a cover for why we might be in Thelma’s neighbourhood. You could pretend you’re doing a plumbing job.’

  I stared at her. My tool bag weighed a ton. There was no way I wanted to lug it around. But then again, I might actually feel safer around Thelma if I had several heavy tools within reach. A few moments later, I reappeared with my bag. And we were off.

  Gaby was smaller than me (which is saying something), but she was much faster. It was like going for a walk with a whippet. She powered alongside me, every so often getting so far ahead she’d have to stop and wait. It was actually quite annoying. Then, suddenly, she stopped.

  ‘This is it,’ she said, peering at a bit of (pink) paper. ‘Number four – the big house over there.’

  There’s obviously a lot of dosh in pies, because we’d arrived at a pretty posh neighbourhood. The cars were all shiny and new, and the gardens were stuffed full of those adventure play centres that only truly rich kids own. Some of them were bigger than my house.

  ‘Let’s take a closer look,’ whispered Gaby. She grabbed my arm and we went towards the house.

  But a moment later, she suddenly shoved me sideways, really hard. (For someone so small she had iron-man arms.) We landed in a thorny bush.

  ‘OWWWWWWWWWW!’ I screamed, or I would have done, if Gaby hadn’t clamped her small, sweaty hand over my mouth.

  ‘I think she’s coming,’ she whispered.

  I wriggled a bit. It was hard not to with a giant thorn stuck in my behind.

  Gaby pinched my arm. ‘Ssh!’

  And then I saw her. It was Thelma all right. She was walking briskly down the road, pulling one of those old-lady shopping trolleys behind her, and she had a determined look on her face.

  Chapter 10

  I felt my heart pounding, and I wondered whether it was from fear of Thelma, or the fact that I was struggling to breathe with Gaby’s hand over my face.

  A few moments later, Gaby let go, and I collapsed back onto the pavement.

  ‘Don’t ever do that again!’ I yowled.

  But Gaby wasn’t listening. ‘Come on, she’s getting on that bus.’

  Thelma had reached the end of the street, and as if by magic, a bus had just appeared.

  ‘We can’t follow her,’ I gasped, as Gaby dragged me towards the bus stop. ‘She’ll recognise me.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Gaby fumbled in the pocket of her leather trench coat. ‘Here put this on.’

  ‘I’m not wearing that!’

  It was disgusting. Like a robber’s balaclava. The type of thing the thugs wear on Crimewatch. And as disguises go it was pants, especially as I was carrying a bag full of tools.

  ‘I might as well hang a sign around my neck saying: Look at me, I’m on my way to rob your house,’ I muttered.

  But Gaby wasn’t listening. She just snatched the balaclava from me, and pulled it down over my face.

  ‘Two fares to town, please.’

  And that was that. She shoved me up the middle of the bus past Thelma, who was so busy reading a book, she didn’t even glance our way.

  ‘Macaverty and Lawson!’ whispered Gaby, as the bus moved off. ‘I knew it.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I pulled off the balaclava and sank into my seat.

  ‘She’s reading a really outdated witchcraft manual. She’s not even got the revised edition. Personally, I wouldn’t use it as bog paper.’

  I sighed. ‘Look, is there something you want to tell me, Gaby, because I really don’t like all this hocus-pocus wizardy stuff. It’s just not my bag. Are you a witch?’

  Gaby pouted. ‘Of course not. I’m just extremely well-read.’

  She folded her arms and went into a sulk. But it didn’t last long because just then Thelma stood up and rang the bell. Seconds later, the bus stopped and she and her trolley hurried away.

  ‘Come on!’ Gaby yelled.

  Then we leapt off the bus and chased after her.

  Thelma was heading for the hospital.

  ‘Well, that’s one place we can’t follow,’ I said, cheerfully. ‘We can’t exactly stalk her while she visits her sick granny.’

  ‘She isn’t going in,’ whispered Gaby.

  She wasn’t. Thelma walked straight past the hospital entrance and round the corner, where a sign was pointing to the medical school.

  We followed at a distance, trying not to look too conspicuous (which was almost impossible, what with me struggling with my giant tool bag that clanked and rattled every time I moved). But, miraculously, she didn’t notice us.

  ‘She’s not going to the medical school, either,’ said Gaby.

  She wasn’t. Thelma walked past the main medical school building, took a side path and then disappeared through a black doorway.

  ‘Hell’s bells,’ breathed Gaby, pointing to a sign:

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, somehow not quite wanting to know the answer.

  Gaby gasped. ‘That’s where they keep all the pickled people!’

  ‘What do you mean pickled people?’ I literally downed tools. My bag landed heavily on my toes but I didn’t care. I just couldn’t lug the thing any further.

  Gaby rolled her eyes. ‘An anatomy library is where they keep specimens – you know like feet and hands and skeletons… It’s where medical students learn about how the body works! Don’t they teach you anything at school?’

  I scowled. ‘And what school do you go to – Winnie the Witch comprehensive?’

  ‘I’m home-educated, actually,’ she spat back.

  We glared at each other, and then Gaby shrugged. ‘Look, now is not the time to fall out. We’ve got to get in there and see what Thelma’s doing.’

  I shook my head. ‘Whatever she’s doing in there, I don’t want to know.’

  As soon as I’d said it, I felt a nipping around my ears again. I jiggled uncomfortably on the spot.

  Gaby shot me a look that seemed to say: you are the oddest boy I’ve ever come across. Then she sighed. ‘Well, I’m going in.’

  And that’s when I got cross. I don’t know whether it was the nipping around my ears, the exhaustion from lugging my tool bag, or just Gaby’s grumpy face, but suddenly I reached the end of my fuse. And I sort of exploded.

  ‘Look! Wait one minute. If anyone is going in there, it’s me!’ (The nipping suddenly stopped.) ‘I mean, this is my story. I’m the angel here – OK?’

  Gaby froze. Her face turned pink and she looked like she was about to say something, but then thought better of it.

 
‘You’re right,’ she mumbled. ‘So, come on then. What are we waiting for?’

  ‘Exactly,’ I agreed.

  I hauled up my tool bag and we headed for the door.

  Despite my bravado, I was quaking in my steel toe caps (regulation plumber’s wear).

  ‘What’s that smell?’ I gasped, as we pushed through the first set of double doors.

  ‘Formaldehyde,’ whispered Gaby. ‘It’s the pickle juice.’

  Through the second set of doors, the smell got worse. We were now standing in a corridor in front of another set of double doors. Above was a sign:

  Underneath was a smaller sign:

  I checked my watch. It was only 11.30.

  ‘It should be locked,’ I whispered.

  Gaby gave the door a push. ‘Well, Thelma must have found the key.’

  With a pounding heart, we crept inside. I half expected Thelma to be waiting, pie slice in hand, ready to pop me straight into a pickle jar. But she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. In fact, there was no one there at all, at least no one alive…

  Chapter 11

  At first it just looked like a storeroom: there were wooden shelves, benches, filing cabinets. And then I looked more closely, and realised what was on the shelves – rows and rows of jars. A bit like the big ones you get in the chip shop. You know, with pickled onions and beetroot in them. But there were no onions or beetroot in these jars. There were feet and hands, fingers and ears… and bits I didn’t recognise at all.

  I shuddered, but it was strangely fascinating. Even to a big scaredy-cat like me, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  ‘I’ll go through to the next room,’ whispered Gaby, ‘and see if I can spot Thelma. You keep watch.’

  I nodded. But I didn’t really register what she said. I just stood there, slack-jawed, peering at the various parts of people in the jars. One particular pot caught my attention. It contained an eye. I gasped. There’s something about a sightless eye, with its raggedy edges, and milky-white surround, peering back at you from a small glass jar. My stomach lurched. Visions of bloodied fish eyes suddenly filled my brain. I felt another heave, and looked around desperately for something to barf into, but all I could find was my tool bag. Dad would disown me. I just couldn’t do it. So I clamped my hand over my mouth and tried to swallow instead.

  And then Gaby appeared.

  I coughed and shuffled my feet. The last thing in the world I wanted was for her to see how green I was feeling. I’d never hear the end of it. But luckily she didn’t notice.

  ‘Come on!’ she shrieked, pulling me away from all the jars. ‘Thelma’s coming!’

  We ran back through the doors and out along the path, ducking behind a large tree just in time to see Thelma walking briskly past, pulling her shopping trolley behind her. I noticed with a shiver that the trolley was obviously heavier than before, as she was using two hands. And what was that big bulge down one side?

  ‘Bones!’ whispered Gaby. ‘A whole trolley-load of them.’

  ‘What?’ I gasped.

  ‘She pinched a skeleton. I saw her do it. She just opened one of the cases, pulled out a skeleton, and stuffed all the bits in her trolley.’

  ‘What does she want a skeleton for?’

  Gaby frowned. ‘It’s all pointing to a zombie spell, if you ask me.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You know – bringing a body back to life. She’s got all the ingredients: fish eyes, pigs’ hair, newts’ feet, and a big bag of bones…’

  I laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! What would Thelma want with a zombie?’

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t want to get her hands dirty,’ said Gaby. ‘If she’s planning to kill this ex-boyfriend of hers – what’s he called, Charlie Pittam? – well, it would be much easier to get a zombie to do it…’

  ‘That’s just bonkers,’ I gasped. ‘People don’t go around getting zombies to murder their ex-boyfriends.’

  ‘Nor do they get visited by scary-looking angels in the middle of the night.’ Gaby folded her arms and put her nose in the air.

  She had a point. The world had gone mad. And one further step into la-la land, seemed quite reasonable.

  I shrugged. ‘Just supposing what you say is true. How can we stop her?’

  ‘Well, it might help if we know whose skeleton she’s just pinched. If he was a murderer or something, we would know what we’re up against.’

  ‘A murderer?’ I gasped.

  ‘Oh, yes – in the olden days, murderers’ bodies were often handed over to medical students, you know, after they’d been hung…’

  My throat suddenly started to tingle, and I was having trouble breathing.

  ‘All we need to do is look up his name,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There must be a records office in the medical school. They’ll be able to tell us what he was hung for.’

  ‘But we haven’t got a name,’ I grumbled.

  ‘Yes, we have,’ said Gaby smugly. ‘It was written on the glass case. I could see it clearly – Stan Spooner – which doesn’t sound much like a killer to me…’

  ‘Stan Spooner!’ I gasped. ‘It can’t be.’

  My heart started to race, and I felt that annoying nipping sensation again – except now it was even more intense. ‘That’s the name of the champion pie eater who choked to death at Potts’ Pies in 1956.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ said Gaby.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ I said shakily. ‘I’m just extremely well-read.’ I stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll tell you everything on the way home.’

  ‘Home?’ Gaby shook her head. ‘We can’t go home, Billy. Don’t you see what this means?’

  ‘No.’ I definitely did not.

  ‘If this Stan Spooner guy is some sort of competitive eater – and tonight’s the night of the big pie-eating competition, then there must be a link. Thelma’s clearly planning to turn Stan into a zombie and get him to bump off her ex-boyfriend at tonight’s competition. Come on. We’ve got to stop her!’ Gaby grabbed my arm. ‘We’ll take the bus,’ she said firmly. ‘And we’ll still beat Thelma home. Trust me, she’ll be walking. She won’t want to risk someone taking a close look at that shopping trolley.’

  I lugged my tool bag back to the bus stop and wished that I had just Dreamed the stupid Dream. Plumbing had to be easier than all this do-gooding.

  Chapter 12

  Once again, Gaby was right. When we got back to Thelma’s street there was no sign of her. I checked my watch. Four o’clock.

  ‘Two hours to go before the pie-eating competition,’ I said.

  ‘Two hours to stop Thelma,’ said Gaby.

  We climbed over her garden wall, me still with my big tool bag, and Gaby trying not to get mud on her boots. Then we took up position behind the compost heap. The fact that it stank and was covered in slugs and worms didn’t bother me. I was getting used to disgusting stuff.

  And then Thelma appeared, dragging the trolley with her. She didn’t even glance at the house, she just headed for the shed. When I say shed, you’re probably thinking small wooden hut for keeping your lawn mower in. But you’d be wrong. This shed looked like a Swiss chalet – you know, the type of place Heidi lived in. It was enormous, with fancy, fluted windows and a porch. I even found myself wondering whether it had its own loo. (Mental note: must stop thinking plumber-type thoughts: personally I blamed the bag – it seemed to be infecting me.) Anyway, Thelma and the trolley disappeared inside.

  ‘Let’s go and look in the window,’ whispered Gaby.

  But before we could move, Thelma shut the curtains.

  ‘Bother!’ snapped Gaby. ‘How are we going to find out what she’s doing now?’

  ‘Maybe we should just go home?’ I said hopefully.

  Gaby scowled at me. ‘You’re such a wimp.’

  ‘Me?’ I was taken aback – I thought I’d been pretty brave, all things considered. I suddenly felt cross. ‘Oh, shut up! Why don’t you get back on your broomstick and buzz off.’

  ‘No, you buzz off,�
� snapped Gaby.

  ‘All right then, I will,’ I hadn’t meant to say it, but now I had, I sort of had to carry it through. So I stood up, wiped the mud off my jeans and stalked off. Really, Gaby was the most infuriating girl I’d ever had the misfortune to meet. And if she wanted to spend her evening spying on Thelma Potts then that was her lookout. Personally, I was quite glad to be rid of them both. And my heart lifted at the thought that yes, I could actually just go home…

  I was halfway over the wall when I suddenly felt a hand on my ankle.

  ‘Get off, Gaby!’ I growled.

  But it wasn’t Gaby.

  ‘Hey, plumber boy. Where do you think you’re going?’

  I looked back, and was immediately blinded by the bright, white light.

  ‘I… er… well…’ Actually, I didn’t have an answer.

  The hoodie-angel hauled me back into the garden. And I landed with a bump in a particularly nasty bramble bush.

  ‘That hurt!’ I howled.

  ‘It was meant to,’ the hoodie-angel sneered. ‘Now, what do you think you’re doing legging it when Thelma is on the edge of oblivion?’

  What a drama queen! I plucked a thorn out of my thigh and tried not to get cross.

  ‘Look,’ I said, smiling as politely as I could. ‘Whatever Thelma’s up to, there’s nothing I can do to stop her.’ I shrugged. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am not Spiderman. Or Superman. Or any other bloke in silly tights you might have muddled me up with. I’m an eleven-year-old schoolboy…’

  The hoodie-angel scowled. ‘Well, if you want to stay being an eleven-year-old schoolboy, you’d better start following orders – otherwise you’ll be looking at a trip upstairs, permanently!’ He pointed skywards and had an exceedingly menacing look on his face.

  ‘What?’ I gasped. ‘But I don’t want to go to Heaven. Not yet. I’ve got sinks to unblock, toilets to fix…’ (What? What was I blethering about? I was completely losing it. I definitely had to ditch the tool bag at the earliest opportunity.)

  The hoodie-angel was unmoved. ‘Well, you should have thought about that before you signed the contract…’ He fished inside his pocket and withdrew a crumbled bit of white paper. ‘Look, it says here quite clearly: “Failure to comply with direct Heavenly orders will result in an Earthbound angel being reassigned to other duties, elsewhere, permanently”.’