The Beasts of Upton Puddle

by Simon West-Bulford

  Joe looked around him. All the lamps and ceiling lights were off, and the skylights had shutters bolted across them, yet for a radius of at least fifteen feet, everything was bathed in light.

  “There’s no artificial light in here,” said Mrs. Merrynether, “and no daylight either. She’s providing the illumination, and she even shines straight through solid objects just as X-rays do. If you were unable to see her, you wouldn’t be able to see anything at all in here today.”

  “So that means if I can see her, anyone can see her? There’s no way to hide her unless she stays down here?”

  “That’s why we have this lightbulb. It may be the only way to disguise her. I admit that her light isn’t exactly normal, but at least if it’s seen to be coming from a lightbulb it might not warrant a second look. We don’t expect anyone down here, but we like to be prepared—just in case.”

  Joe shrugged and watched the seraph. She had worked her way up to the manticore’s mane, wading through the fur like an excited butterfly hunter walking through long grass. Then with an elegant sweep of her four wings, the seraph launched into the air, bursting with blue-white brilliance.

  “He is proud and beautiful,” she said, flittering in circles around Mrs. Merrynether’s head. “Why doesn’t he sing as a manticore should?”

  “Cornelius is very ill, Danariel,” Mrs. Merrynether replied.

  Heinrich slapped his forehead and then shot a pained look at her. “Did you really want Joe to know her name? Now even if we cure her, Joe will still be able to see her.”

  “Oh, goodness!” Mrs. Merrynether clapped her hands to her mouth.

  “Danariel? That’s a lovely name,” Joe said.

  The seraph drifted in a spiral motion toward Joe, smiling and beaming rays of white. “I know,” she said. “Someone lovely named me.”

  “Your mother?”

  “We seraphim do not have mothers and fathers. We are . . . thought into being by—”

  “Danariel.” Mrs. Merrynether stepped forward. “It would be best if young Joseph does not know everything. He—”

  “Nonsense. In fact, would you both please leave us alone for a few minutes? Joe and I have things to discuss, and I would rather not have either of you interrupt.”

  Mrs. Merrynether and Heinrich shot astonished glances at each other. Joe was equally astounded when they agreed and headed for the door. They stopped before leaving the vault and looked at Danariel, who had settled on the edge of Heinrich’s desk, smiling sweetly and swinging her legs. She lifted a hand to shoo them off, and both of them left.

  “Sit down, Joe.” She nodded at the chair Lilly had made.

  Joe sat obediently, and Danariel wiggled her fingers at him, beckoning him to drag the chair closer.

  The sound of the wood scraping the stone floor was louder than Joe expected, and from the back of the vault, strange gurglings and rumblings sang out in reply. He peered into the darkness, wondering whether the other creatures could see Danariel too and if any of them were as ill as Cornelius. He looked at the sleeping red giant. There was no change. Joe frowned.

  A gentle tap on the side of his face, like the pattering of rain, caught his attention. He turned to see Danariel, floating inches from his head, staring intently at him.

  “You are worried about the manticore?”

  Joe nodded. “Mrs. Merrynether thinks he might—”

  “He may die, yes.”

  Joe fell silent and stared at the floor. Danariel glided downward, intercepting his line of sight, making it impossible for him to avoid her eyes.

  “There are many who fear death, but most are afraid of how they will die, not of death itself. Yet I sense you are different. You are a happy soul. Why does it trouble you so?”

  “That’s just it. I’m happy, and I don’t want it to ever end. There are so many things to see,” he said, waving both hands. “I’m afraid of what I might miss out on once I’m dead. All the discoveries. All the crazy inventions. People landing on Mars or . . . or being able to watch holographic movies.”

  “Dream recorders or telescopic contact lenses,” Danariel added with a wide smile.

  “Yes, or what about teleportation?” Joe grinned as he allowed his imagination to run riot.

  Danariel was caught up in Joe’s momentary thrill too. The light in the vault had intensified, and her sparkling eyes shone.

  They stared at each other for almost a full minute, sharing a quiet joy.

  Joe sighed, the brief excitement melting away. “I can’t bear the thought of missing so many amazing things. One day I’ll be gone. I won’t see any of it.”

  A quiet settled in the vault.

  “Tell me, Joe,” Danariel mused, “what was it like for you before you were born?”

  “Before?”

  “Yes.”

  Joe thought for a moment. “It wasn’t like anything. I didn’t know anything, and I couldn’t feel anything.”

  “Just like how it will be after you die.”

  “I suppose so,” Joe nodded slowly, “but I still can’t help thinking about the things I’ll miss.”

  “Then weep for today also.”

  The second deep frown of the day knitted Joe’s brow.

  The tiny creature closed her eyes, apparently concentrating, and the aura of light surrounding her softened into a calmer hue. “At this very moment,” she whispered, as if careful not to disturb something delicate in the air, “there is an old man in Bulgaria who has heard the funniest joke ever told. He has been laughing for over three hours now.

  “In Japan a young woman is crying. Two hours ago she finished composing a piece of music, and it was the most beautiful symphony ever crafted. Ten minutes ago it was accidentally destroyed by a candle flame.

  “Right now, there are ten people living in different parts of the world, gasping in awe at revelations most will never understand. There are two hundred seventy people breaking world records, fifty thousand people being reunited with loved ones they believed were dead, twenty-eight million people laughing hysterically at something unexpected.

  “And, Joe, you had no idea any of it was happening at this moment. You will never experience those things yourself.”

  Joe was listening intently, entranced by her words.

  “We are always missing out on amazing things,” she continued. “Dead or alive, it is the same. What matters is that you hold on tightly to the miracles that belong to you. Learn to find value in those things that exist now.”

  Joe opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “But there is more to this than you say.” Danariel left the desk and hovered closer to Joe. “Death is a greater burden to your heart than it is for most boys your age. I wonder if it has touched you in a deeper way.”

  The seraph’s diamond eyes were suddenly all Joe could see, and a yearning to pour out every trouble and fear swept through him. But in equal measure, Joe felt the need to stay silent, to resist this longing that somehow did not feel real. He rubbed his eyes, as though waking from a heavy daydream.

  “Not only happy but strong.” She smiled. “You will confide in me when you’re ready. I cannot pry where I am not allowed to go.” She danced through the air to find her place on the desk.

  Joe drew a long breath. “Did Mrs. Merrynether teach you her technique too?”

  At that, the seraph laughed, sending out a pulse of light between each breath.

  “Veronica learned it from me many years ago. Of course, she cannot read minds, as the seraphim can, but she has embraced the simple skills of a novice. She can impress feelings upon man or beast, and she can discern the feelings of a troubled mind, but she is still only a human. She will never go further.”

  “You can read minds?”

  “Only if I am given permission,” Danariel said, “and even then, there can often be barriers.”

  “Can you teach me what you taught Mrs. Merrynether?”

  “If I wished to, but I have another purpose for you. A greater pu
rpose.”

  A fresh skin-prickling excitement accompanied the seraph’s words and Joe clutched at the chair in anticipation. “Mrs. Merrynether said my purpose was to meet you, to see if I could . . . see you.”

  “Just a little fib on my part.” She tilted her head. “I did not come here wishing for a cure, though it would not be unwelcome. I came here because I’ve picked you out as someone special. I impressed on Veronica’s mind what to look for, and when you came, she knew you were the one, but she is unaware that this is my idea.”

  “Oh!” Joe scratched his head. “I see . . . I think. So why do you need me?”

  “Not just you. There will be a gathering of champions. A group that will play a vital role in a struggle against a great enemy. When all are assembled, I will reveal everything. But until then, I will say nothing more.”

  Questions erupted in Joe’s mind. “Tell me now!”

  “No,” she snapped playfully. “Now go to the door and call Veronica and Heinrich back to the vault. I imagine our hosts are becoming quite restless by now.”

  Biting his bottom lip, Joe obeyed. He had to go home soon. With an inward groan, he opened the door.

  Waiting for Sunday would be even harder this week.

  NINE

  Joe didn’t feel much like a champion. Champions were not in the habit of crouching behind school dustbins to evade a good beating. Despite the seraph’s inspiring words of destiny, Joe did not feel any compulsion to face Kurt Duggan and his thug friends. Half an hour had passed since he’d tucked himself behind the bins, knees clutched to his chest. The three silver silos were large enough to hide a horse, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be discovered.

  He’d switched off his mobile phone again for fear of being given away by the loud alert of a new abusive text from Duggan. These days he hardly ever switched it on. He tried to keep his breathing as shallow as possible, not just to avoid detection but also to minimize the stench. The tang of rotting fruit and a month’s worth of soured milk clung to the back of his throat, but that wasn’t as bad as the cold dampness soaked into the backside of his trousers. Joe had no interest in finding out what he’d sat in.

  Pressed against his chest was the thing that had brought down the wrath of the school bully upon him. Had he not taken it, Duggan would have forgotten about the incident in the playground eventually, but there was no way Joe was going to get away with this one.

  Desperation and a fanciful idea had forced Joe to retrace the steps he’d memorized to get into the bully’s lair. He’d sneaked out of his history lesson to find the burnt-out chemistry section, pried off some of the boards from one of the windows, and clambered inside. It wasn’t long before he had the dartboard in his hands and was running to the school gates.

  But he’d been spotted. It had been a mistake to assume everyone would be in lessons—especially Kurt Duggan. Duggan had screamed at him across the school yard before sprinting toward him in blind rage. Joe knew it wasn’t really the dartboard that had incensed his enemy but the fact that the hideout had been compromised. There’d be a royal battering if Joe got caught. With a healthy dose of panic boosting him, he’d run like a ferret down a rabbit hole and out of sight.

  Joe looked at the dartboard and set it down beside him, shaking his head at his own stupidity. From Monday through Wednesday, he had suffered the usual torture of wanting to break away from school to go back to Merrynether Mansion. By Thursday, he could bear to wait no longer. He had to know if Cornelius was still alive.

  In an impulsive flash of misguided heroism and inspiration, Joe decided to pit himself against the evil Kurt Duggan, break into his hideout, take the dartboard, rush to Mrs. Merrynether, and hand over the one item that would bring salvation to the manticore. Joe’s determination had been galvanized by thoughts that if the creature opened a sleepy eye and saw the bright colors of the dartboard, it would feel compelled to fire its quills at the target and recover.

  Feeling tears welling in his eyes, Joe stared at the dartboard. It was a ridiculous fantasy. But sitting behind the bins and hoping to escape a pummelling was not a fantasy. That was very real.

  Joe punched the tarmac. Even if the dartboard was a realistic idea, he could’ve just bought one with all the money he’d been earning recently. He didn’t have to be sitting here now, hiding among the black banana skins and sticky sweet wrappers.

  A rustling came from underneath one of the silos, and a hedgehog snuffled into view, poking at an empty carton.

  Joe heaved a sigh and smiled as he watched the animal. “It’s no good me sitting here feeling sorry for myself,” he said absently to the creature. “I’ll just have to face up to things.”

  Grimacing at the ache in his legs from sitting in a cramped position for too long, Joe struggled up and felt the damp back of his trousers. With a jolt, he remembered what was in his back pocket—the next shopping list for Mrs. Merrynether. As carefully as he could, he pulled out the soggy paper and unfolded it. Thankfully, though the ink had run slightly, he could still read what was on it.

  2 bot tles of Irish whiskey

  1 perfume atomizer or spray can

  4 bot tles of decongestant syrup

  2 bot tles of window cleaner

  He hadn’t been to see Mr. Bacon for these items yet. They were closed for the week for a stock check and refurbishment following the break-in, but Joe had planned on getting it all Saturday. He folded the paper, put it in his front pocket, and with a last glance at the discarded dartboard, Joe stepped out from behind the bins to accept his fate.

  To his great relief, there were no fists waiting for him. Break had come and gone, and the rest of his class had probably left for their next lesson, Duggan with them, he hoped. It was too late to sneak into class now, and turning up in this state wasn’t a good idea. No, he’d at least do some of what he planned. Even if he didn’t use the dartboard, he could go to Merrynether Mansion and find out how Cornelius was doing.

  Ringwood Forest bordered the edge of the playing fields. If Joe was lucky, he could run in there without being spotted.

  He waited, mustering up courage, and took off past the music block, across the field, over the fence, and into the woods. Once he was far enough inside, he slumped against an oak tree and checked his watch. Ten forty-seven. He’d have enough time to get to Merrynether Mansion, check on Cornelius, rush home to change, and get back in time for the day’s final lesson. The only problem would be Duggan. His stomach lurched, and he caught his breath at the sound of crunching footsteps nearby.

  “Perhaps he’s turned commando and camouflaged himself under one of those blanket things they cover with dirt and leaves.” One laughed.

  “Yeah, or maybe he’s got all the brainy boys trained and they’re gonna throw sharp pencils at us from the trees,” said another.

  “Just shut it.” That was Duggan. “The little turd’s caused us a lot of . . .”

  The bully’s voice trailed off as the crackling of foliage became softer and slower.

  Joe stiffened.

  From behind the tree on both sides came four boys, three with openmouthed grins and Duggan with his bottom lip twitching.

  For an endless silence, Joe stared into his enemy’s eyes, waiting for the thrashing of his life.

  When Duggan eventually spoke, it was loud enough to make one of his friends jump, though Joe managed to keep his cool. “D’you know how long it took me to get that chemistry room, Copper?”

  Joe shrugged.

  His nemesis crossed his arms, maximizing his bulging biceps. “I’ve got connections, see? My dad knows people in the school. And that means I get special privileges, but it won’t stay that way if little prats like you keep interfering.”

  “So?” It slipped out.

  One of the boys grinned even bigger and was swiftly jabbed.

  Another inhaled through his teeth, as though he’d just witnessed a hideous accident, which wasn’t far from reality.

  Duggan snarled, and a guttural rumble sharpen
ed into an ominous growl. “You think that’ll scare me off, brainiac?”

  “What?” Joe said.

  “Growling like a dog. What, you gonna give me rabies or something?”

  “I thought that was you.”

  The throaty warning came closer, and Joe was suddenly aware Duggan was not the only predator at large in the woods. One of the boys tugged at their leader’s arm, muttering and staring at something Joe could not see.

  There was a mad flurry as the other two almost fell over themselves to sprint away. Duggan’s expression changed from irritation to horror as a hulking black shape came out of the dark depths of the trees.

  Stalking forward on piston-like legs, the Beast of Upton Puddle fixed its gleaming green eyes on the fleeing boys. Fangs bared, it launched after the floundering runners. Joe could almost feel the thud of its paws matching the hammering of his heart.

  All was screaming confusion as Joe took off into the woods, fearing for not only his own life but also Duggan’s and the others’. Branches, sky, and dirt became a blur of motion as he raced through the forest, crashing through leaf and twig, slamming into trees, screaming and tripping. Joe risked a backward glance, expecting to see bloody yellow fangs close on him, but there was no sign that the Beast was on his trail.

  Fifteen minutes of running took Joe to the drive of Merrynether Mansion, and with pain stabbing his lungs, he collapsed against the main doors, yanking the bellpull. Joe leaned against the door, gulping air, waiting for an answer. None came. He pried his phone from his pocket and suppressed a cry of despair when he saw a crack across the display. Another tug at the rope drew no response. Joe, now desperate to find a working phone to call the police, decided there was only one other thing he could do—make for the cellar entrance again.

  With the air still coarse in his throat, Joe tore around the side of the house, wondering how he would get inside if the cellar trapdoor was padlocked properly this time. But today he was in luck. It was wide open, and parked beside it was the same white van he had seen when he’d first found the mansion.

  As Joe skidded to a halt by the cellar entrance, Heinrich’s panicked voice sounded from inside the back of the vehicle. The whole van shook.