The Beast of Seabourne

by Rhys A. Jones

  “Camping out on a moor in April? Okay, I’ll give it some thought.” Miss Arkwright looked pensively at the ceiling for all of two seconds before adding, “Right, thought about it, and the answer is still no.”

  All of 2C laughed. Okay, Hippie Arkwright was a bit flaky, and a tad too earnest for Oz’s liking, but she’d stood up for him when a gonk of a maths teacher had accused him of cheating in year seven exams. That, in Oz’s book, made her definitely one of the good guys.

  Mr Skelton stiffened. He looked like he was about to protest but thought better of it and, pink-faced, turned to leave just as the bell went.

  “I thought Skelton was going to throw a hissy fit,” Ruff said as the three of them headed for geography a short time later.

  “It’s obvious he fancies Hippie Arkwright rotten,” Ellie said.

  “I thought she and Mr Gingell had a thing going.” Ruff said.

  “They do. Have had for months. Skelton’s got no chance.”

  “Still, it would have been great if Miss Arkwright could have come with us. Now it’s going to be Miss Ladrop.” Ruff shook his head. “That’s two seats on the bus gone already. One and a half for her and the other half for the Krispy Kreme donuts she’s always stuffing in her face.”

  Miss Ladrop taught business studies and was built, as Ruff had so aptly put it, like a “bowling ball on legs.” She also fancied Mr Skelton, judging by the way she fanned her face whenever he passed her in the corridor.

  But Oz didn’t really mind who supervised them on the field trip. He just looked forward to it, because it meant Ellie, Ruff, and he would be together, away from school, and away from idiots like Jenks and Skinner, who had about as much chance of being in the science top twenty as next door’s cat had of winning Crufts. It was going to be great and he, for one, was looking forward to it immensely.

  The one thing detracting from the pleasant tingle of anticipation he felt nagged at him as he followed the others to geography.

  “What’s up with you?” Ellie asked, seeing the worry lines on his forehead.

  “I don’t like the thought of Heeps and Gerber having their paws in this.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily mean that it has anything to do with”—Ellie dropped her voice as a gaggle of students passed—“Soph or the artefacts or anything.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Well, yeah, but I mean Heeps is the vice chancellor of the Uni, and it’s natural for him to show an interest in something educational,” she said. “And as for Gerber… well, he’s trying to get as much publicity as possible for his business, isn’t he? After all, we’re exactly the people who’ll be buying his games and stuff.”

  Oz nodded grudgingly. JG Industries, Gerber’s business, was developing a revolutionary new game console called SPEXIT, which was set to change the way people played video games. Oz had given these games a go once or twice, through his friends the Fanshaw twins, and had to admit they were pretty amazing.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Oz said, at the same time wishing he had even a quarter of Ellie’s optimism.

  “And maybe she’s wrong,” Ruff said. “I’m with you, Oz. Heeps is a smarmy gonk. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit.”

  “Three yards, then,” Ellie said, and Oz knew she was trying to make him feel better.

  It didn’t work.

  All through geography, the clenched knot of anxiety remained, and was still there when Oz said goodbye to Ellie and Ruff and boarded the school bus. He found a seat and let his mind examine the threads of his concern in detail.

  Okay, there was a chance Ellie was right. Perhaps there were good and genuine reasons why Heeps and Gerber were now part of the science project. Nevertheless, they were Puffers, false alchemists who desperately wanted to get their hands on Soph and the other artefacts for their own greedy and despicable reasons. Oz had been warned about these men and how they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.

  It was a bright, breezy afternoon. Oz stared out at the streets and houses as he trundled homewards, tuned out the noisy year sevens behind him, and tried to think good thoughts. The one that usually helped was remembering the night Soph first appeared to him. The stormy night, Christmas before last, when Soph had come to life and given him the best Christmas present he had ever had. In the library at Penwurt, Soph had shown him a vivid 3D holotrack of how Oz’s dad had found the obsidian pebble in the bazaar in Cairo, the day before he died. Since Dr Michael Chambers had been dead for over two years by then, seeing him walking and talking in 3D had been nothing short of miraculous.

  The obsidian pebble, the black dor, the ceramic ring, and the pendant were the names given to the four artefacts comprising Soph by the people who first found them. Understandably so, since in 1761 no one had ever seen anything at all like them, and it was assumed that such artefacts were nothing but ornaments. Then Oz remembered Ellie’s suggestion of going back to where they’d found the dor—to the shopkeeper, Mr Eldred—to ask about the other artefacts. For too many months, Oz had put off the search. Because…because the truth was, the quest was difficult. It was hard and it was scary, and he’d lulled himself into believing that maybe Gerber and his Puffers weren’t going to try and get to him anymore.

  Yet, all along he’d had a sneaking suspicion that, by not doing anything, he’d been playing into their hands. Giving them time to plan and scheme.

  But what exactly had they been planning and scheming about? Surely nothing as meaningless as a year eight science project! He knew what Ellie would have said if he’d shared these thoughts with her: “Stop being so paranoid and think about winning the damn thing instead.” Ellie absolutely hated losing, and she was probably dead right about him being paranoid, too.

  So Oz sat back in his seat and imagined the look on Jenks’ face when he, Ellie, and Ruff won. Half a minute later his lips formed into a secret little smile, and he felt a lot better.

  Chapter Two

  Exiled

  Oz jumped off the bus at his usual stop and headed for the vast and crumbling house he shared with his mother at the top end of Magnus Street. Spring had well and truly arrived on the street that afternoon; its trees were alive with buzzing insects and pink with blossom. Above him, gulls wheeled and bugled, on the hunt for food as usual. His dad had told him that, when the gulls came inland, it usually meant a change in the weather. Judging from the way the lumpy, pigeon-coloured clouds from earlier were breaking up, he was right. Oz paused at Number 11 to let the friendly dog lick his fingers through the gate. When he’d done that, he took a deep breath and felt the reassuring tingle that inhaling Magnus Street air always triggered in him. He never failed to enjoy the walk along the once-grand avenue, and this afternoon, with rare spring sunshine warming his back, he welcomed the chance to clear his head.

  By the time he reached Number 5, where he normally crossed the street, the dark thoughts that had preoccupied him on the journey home were fading fast. However, there was one way to get them properly out of his system. He needed to talk to someone who shared his concerns.

  Waiting to let traffic pass before crossing, Oz looked across at Penwurt and felt a smile creep over his face. It was a solid sandstone building with mullioned windows, crenellated parapets, amazing bartizans, and three spindly chimneys pointing crookedly upwards, like arthritic fingers, at some invisible wonder in the increasingly blue April sky. Despite its temperamental plumbing, its leaky roof, and its creaking doors, Oz thought it was the best house in the whole world. The sort of place where anything could happen, as he, Ellie, and Ruff had already discovered. Whenever he opened the iron-studded oak door and crossed the threshold, he still felt a little ripple of excitement as to what fresh mystery Penwurt was waiting to reveal to him.

  The newest bit of the house had been built on the burnt-out site of Bunthorpe barn, a building that had featured in countless ghost-story books. The Bunthorpe Encounter was still classified as one of the few authenticated supernatural occurrences in Britain.
Oz, Ellie, and Ruff now knew the apparition that had appeared there in 1761 had really been their very own Soph. But they weren’t about to tell the world that.

  Oz crossed the street and glanced at the scaffolding still up around the chimneys. It did not appear much progress in the way of repairs had taken place since he’d left that morning. He let himself in and hung his backpack on a coat hook. At the end of the hallway, the door that led through to the old orphanage was open. Oz frowned. Left unlocked during the daytime recently to allow the decorators access, it was never, ever left wide open like this because of the dust and the smell. Indeed, the reek of fresh paint was obvious in the hallway and made Oz wrinkle his nose.

  He headed for the kitchen and a much-needed glass of cold milk but, after just three steps, caught himself. He heard voices, and one of them was mentioning his name.

  “And Oscar? I expect he knows all about the old place, doesn’t he?” It was a woman’s voice, throaty and unfamiliar.

  “World expert,” said a second voice that Oscar immediately recognized as his mother’s.

  “Then I’ll just have to grill him for the nitty-gritty.”

  Intrigued, Oz stepped forward to show himself. Gwen Chambers, Oz’s mum, sat at the kitchen table. She had a flop of untamed blonde hair above pale blue eyes, and her pretty face was tainted only by the expression of constant worry that dragged at the corners of her mouth. It was the face of someone engaged in constant battle to make ends meet in a house that was ten times too big for just the two of them.

  The owner of the other voice sat opposite Oz’s mother. The woman was remarkable for several reasons, not the least of which the way her heavily made-up eyes scanned Oz from head to foot as he stood on the threshold. He had a sudden urge to twitch his nose and sprint for cover, like a rabbit confronted with a hungry fox. He knew it was rude to stare back, but there was a lot to take in, what with waist-length feathery black hair tinged with red streaks, trowelled-on mascara, bright green eye shadow, and lips painted aubergine. Not to mention a long, black dress with tight sleeves and an electric-green crystal necklace glinting around her neck.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Mrs Chambers said, and tapped her uplifted cheek for a kiss.

  Oz felt his face rearrange itself into a wry scowl; she didn’t usually call him “sweetie.” But he kissed her obediently while the streak-haired lady watched and gave an approving smile.

  “Oz, I want you to meet Rowena Hilditch,” Mrs Chambers announced.

  Oz reached across and shook Rowena Hilditch’s cool, limp hand.

  “Hello, Oz,” she said gruffly. He guessed Rowena Hilditch was trying for a Narcissa/Bellatrix look. Unfortunately, it ended up being more swamp witch. Her voice reminded him of his school bus driver, Mr Blacenko, a constantly humming man who stank of tobacco smoke, sweat, and cooked meat and spoke as if he gargled every night with gravel.

  “Someone from the book club told her about us, and she’s come to Penwurt to do some research. There’s a possibility she may even rent some rooms. Isn’t that great?” Mrs Chambers said, bringing Oz back from his Mr Blacenko reverie with a start. “What an amazing place this is. Aren’t you lucky to live here?” Rowena Hilditch gushed. “Yeah, I am,” Oz said, latching on to something his mother had said that bothered him almost as much as the words rent some rooms. “What sort of research?”

  Rowena Hilditch leaned forward and dropped her voice to a dramatic half-whisper. “I’m a student of the arcane, Oz. I believe firmly there are many more things in heaven and earth than that which we can perceive with our blunt senses. There is another world all around us, one that remains hidden except to a few. I am happy to say that I am one of those few.” She half-shut her eyes when she spoke, so her eyelids flickered constantly, as if she were in a trance. Oz felt he ought to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

  “Rowena is writing a book about local legends, called Supernatural Seabourne,” Mrs Chambers explained in reverential tones. “I’ve already given her the quick tour.”

  That explained the open door to the orphanage.

  “What sort of local legends?” Oz asked.

  “Hauntings, famous ghostly sightings. Like the one-armed boy in the old hat factory and the Beast of Seabourne, that kind of thing.”

  “Beast of Seabourne?” Oz said, unable to hide the scoffing note in his voice. “That’s just an old wives’ tale, isn’t it?”

  “I beg to differ.” Rowena Hilditch’s long eyelashes fluttered madly. “In the mid-eighteenth century, people were scared to leave their houses for fear of being torn to pieces.”

  After a pause, Oz said, “Wow.”

  “And,” Mrs Chambers went on, “Rowena knows a lot about alternative therapies. She’s going to try and help me with my headaches.”

  “Alternative therapies? What, like foot massages and that sort of stuff?”

  “Oh, but it is so much more than that,” Rowena Hilditch said with a throaty laugh that revealed quite a lot of pink gum above her teeth. “Horsey” was the adjective that sprang into Oz’s head. And though she tried to sound airy, Oz thought he saw her eyes harden as she fixed him with a defiant stare. “I’m a naturopath, Oz. I like to reach into a person’s inner self to root out the cause of ill health and allow the body’s natural, innate wisdom to heal it.”

  “Right,” Oz said, not having the faintest idea what she was talking about.

  “Rowena says we should think about turning the orphanage into a spiritual retreat,” Mrs Chambers said with a nervous giggle.

  “A what?”

  “There’s a huge demand for the real thing. Places where there have been real documented hauntings,” Rowena explained. “This sort of place has its own energy. I can feel it.” She grinned. It was not a pretty sight. Oz half-wondered if she’d like a lump of sugar or a carrot. “I could help draw people in, do some readings from my books, and offer holistic counselling. I’ve been searching for the right place for ages. I’m telling you, Gwen, we”—she smiled and corrected herself—“you could make a small fortune.”

  “But, Mum…” Oz interjected.

  “It would be a real boost for us,” said Mrs Chambers, a little too quickly for Oz’s liking. “Since we haven’t had any tenants apart from Caleb for over six months.”

  “Yeah, but now that the basement is done and the leaks in the roof—”

  “Continue to leak,” she interrupted. “The roofers didn’t come again today. Besides, it’s too late for this academic year even if everything did, by some miracle, get finished this week. This year’s students have all got somewhere to stay already. So, I thought we’d take advantage of the situation and get the rooms in the old servants’ wing decorated too. Rowena has some great ideas.”

  “Purple and green are really in at the moment. Colours are so important to the well-being of the mind, you know.” Rowena tilted her head and batted her eyelashes.

  Oz turned towards the fridge. He poured some milk and tried not to listen to his mother becoming enthusiastic about Rowena Hilditch’s suggestions for which aromatherapy candle to put in what corner to get the “maximum holistic effect.” It was like he’d been parachuted into another country where they spoke a different language. He waited patiently for a lull in the conversation and said, “Uh, I’m just going to get on with my homework, okay, Mum?”

  “Ooh, anything interesting?” Rowena Hilditch asked.

  “Bit of geography and some science—”

  “Science,” she repeated in a voice dripping with contempt. “They still teaching that old con?”

  Once again, Oz was lost for a reply. Mrs Chambers, sensing that the waters of this conversation were becoming a little choppy, cleared her throat and said in an unnecessarily chirpy tone, “Off you go, Oz. You and Rowena can have a good long chat the next time.”

  “Absolutely,” Rowena Hilditch said. “I want to know all about this special library of yours.”

  There wasn’t much Oz could think of to say that wasn’t rude, so he
smiled his best toothless smile and left.

  A stone staircase led from the kitchen up to Oz’s bedroom on the second floor. He’d reached the first floor landing when a scream from below made him almost spill his milk. He quickly balanced the glass on a step and hurtled back to the kitchen. Rowena Hilditch had her back against the wall, arms splayed out, pinioned to it by some invisible force. She was staring wild-eyed at the window, where Mrs Chambers was stretching up with a tea towel and swatting at something that fluttered just out of her reach.

  “What is it?” Oz asked.

  “Daddy longlegs,” squealed Rowena Hilditch.

  “Rowena is arachnophobic,” said Mrs Chambers without looking around.

  Oz looked up and saw the spindly-legged insect trying to escape through the window.

  “Flying spiders, ugh,” Rowena Hilditch said.

  “It’s not a spider,” Oz said. “Technically, it’s a fly.”

  “They say it has the most deadly poison of all spiders,” she said with horror, flashing him a desperate glance.

  Oz shook his head. “It’s not a spider. It’s a crane fly. And all that stuff about poison is rubbish, anyway. It’s just a myth. It said so on Mad Dan the Science Man on TV.”

  His mother threw the tea towel up at the insect. It missed by a foot. Oz couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Mum, how about if I do it?”

  He grabbed a chair, stood on it, and captured the daddy longlegs gently in his fist. He walked past a cowering Rowena Hilditch and out into the back garden, where he let the wispy insect go. As he stepped back into the kitchen, he felt two arms engulf him in a hug, and suddenly he was almost choking in a haze of strong perfume.

  “Thank you. Thank you,” Rowena Hilditch said.

  “Any time,” Oz said, disentangling himself quickly and offering her a stunted smile.

  “Another cup of tea, Rowena?” Mrs Chambers asked.

  “No, I must be off. Now that Oz here has rid the room of the deadly creature, I think it’s safe for me to leave. I don’t want to be late for my ear candling class.”