by Derek Reid
I began to think something had happened to her - she was always at home at that time of day.
I decided to try Mrs Kilby’s house again. After knocking harder than I had earlier, I realised she was definitely out. I went back to our house.
In the corner of the front-room cupboard Mum kept what food we had. I began to distribute some of the food.
“Some meat rolls for Boxer,” I said to myself out loud, “two mince pies for me, and some of this beef on the meat dish for Tonka.”
Tonka gave a little whine then a couple of barks.
“No, you can’t have anything yet, my boy.” I ruffled his fur and gave him a hug. “All right, you can have a little now. I don’t think Mum would mind.”
I wrapped up the rest of the food in some newspaper and made for the back door.
‘Mum’s cooking is so yummy,’ I thought to myself, ‘I could eat it right now.’
I shouted upstairs again: “Mum! Mum!”
No answer.
I put down the food I carried on to the bottom step of the stairs. The house seemed very empty and lonely without Dad there, and now, not knowing where my mum was, I began to panic. I looked through all the rooms. The bathroom, which was on the left at the top of the first flight of stairs, was very large. It contained an old white cast-iron bath, and a sink in the far corner. Water for the bath was pumped up from the copper in the corner of the kitchen. Mum would pump by hand until there was enough water. I used to put my ear to the tube of the pump so that I could listen to what was being said downstairs.
On the right at the top of the first staircase, with an old double bed and single gas lamp, was my bedroom. In the far corner there was another staircase. The door to this staircase my dad kept locked. I had never seen it open, and I didn’t know what was up there. I decided to have a look just in case Mum was up there. As I made towards the door I stopped. A sudden fear went through my body. I was very scared. I crept past my double bed towards the staircase door. I froze. The door was slightly ajar.
“Who’s there?” I shouted.
Hearing a whine, I turned to see Tonka was cowering in the far corner. He was shaking and appeared to be terrified. Turning back towards the door, I put my nose through the crack.
“Hello?” I called gingerly.
No answer came.
I decided to be brave and flung open the door. I recoiled, screaming. Something had moved on the staircase. I ran downstairs three steps at a time, out of the back door and through our back gate, nearly hitting a Bedford lorry and an Austin Seven. I crossed the main road and ran down a side road past the old huts which were the Chivers factory canteens, and past the railway station, where the tender was billowing smoke and alighting passengers were unaware of my plight. I reached the wooden five-bar gate of the common and clambered over. Catching my foot on the top bar, I fell to the ground. My face facing downwards to one side, I clutched the grass. I felt on my ear the welcome feeling of Tonka licking me.
I cried out aloud, “Dad! Dad! Where are you?” I lay there for a few moments, still clutching the grass. I stood up, brushing down my clothes.
I thought, ‘You wimp! What would Dad say - or Boxer, come to that? Talking of Boxer, let’s go, Tonka - we have a balloon to catch.”
Chapter 23 - Little Johnny Walker
As I made way towards the common I could see a small figure half hopping and half running and then climbing on to the pillbox roof. I walked quickly forward as the thought of anyone standing on the Big Five’s meeting house was not on. It was little Johnny Walker.
“Wait!” I shouted, but it was too late - he had already jumped off. I got to his side and could see he was hurt badly.
“What the blazes are you doing, Johnny boy? What are you doing with these pigeon wings tied to your ankles?” I said, turning his ankles from left to right to inspect them.
“Some evil men were in a punt shooting the pigeons off the hosiery-mill roof, Matty.”
“Yeah, but what’s with the wings tied to your ankles, mate?”
“I thought if I could fly, I could go on to the mill roof and save them.”
I helped him stand up and took him into the pillbox. I told him all was secret inside. I also cooked him a spud. He was starving hungry and ate the whole spud in no time at all. He sat there with his chubby legs crossed, looking up at me every two minutes.
“I’m not going to take it from you, you know,” I said with a grin. He chewed the skin of the spud till it was all gone, then wiped his fingers on his grey jumper and said thanks in between gulps of satisfaction.
“You’re in the bottom class at school, Johnny, aren’t you?”
I started to brush down his grey school trousers.
“Yes,” he replied, beginning to snivel a bit.
“And you should take care of the clothes your mum’s worked hard to get you.”
“OK,” he replied, wiping his nose across with his forefinger.
“Tell you what, Johnny boy: how would you like to come on board our Roman gladiator ship at the regatta?”
His face lit up. It was a pleasure to see it.
“Yeah, great! Thanks.”
“I should bury the wings and say nothing to any other kid if I were you.”
I watched him as he limped across the common to the five-bar gate then disappeared.
Only a short time later I was standing on the narrow parapet of the Norman bridge watching the pigeons. They were mostly racing pigeons. They were beautiful birds - all different colours. They had travelled hundreds of miles while their owners patiently waited for them to return. The hot sun, I remember, glistened on the river as they chased one another playfully, cooing and nuzzling one another. I wonder if they were talking to one another about their travels, not knowing that soon they would be murdered just for some evil human sport.
Suddenly I spotted the front end of a punt slowly coming out of the tunnel beneath the old mill. The end of a twelve-bore gun also appeared, followed by two men, one holding the gun and the other paddling. As the punt glided to the middle of the river I tried to frighten the pigeons by throwing stones at them, but they were too far away. The man wearing the flat cap - the one holding the gun - pointed to the roof of the mill. The birds were still cooing at each other as they were hit. I saw a pure-white racer rolling down the peg-tiled roof. I could see it twitching and covered in blood. The poor thing fell into the river below. I was sick, I can say. I hated those men with the gun.
Chapter 24 - Horror in Brampton Wood
I still had the food I had taken from the cupboard at home. I started to sing as I made towards the kilns in the far corner of the common.
“About time too,” called out Boxer loudly as I approached him.
“Tonka ran after you, Matty,” said Boxer, holding out his hand to take the food.
“I know, but it was OK.” I handed the bag of food to him. “There you are, my friend.” I sat down on the log. “The meat is for Tonka. I think he must be hungry,” I said, patting him on the head. “He was very frightened in our front room, Boxer; so was I.” I told Boxer in detail about my experience at the staircase in the empty house as I watched Tonka eat.
He stopped chewing when I reached the point where I saw the thing on the stairs. It was as if he knew something wasn’t right.
“Next time I will go with you, Matty, and we’ll solve the mystery of them stairs.”
Boxer had eaten his portion of the food I brought along.
“You can have mine, Boxer - I don’t feel hungry now.”
He tucked in to my share of Mum’s cakes as if he hadn’t eaten for days.
“I had better give Tonka the last bit to eat, Boxer,” I said, looking for something to put fresh water in as well.
A few minutes later he had eaten everything I had given him, and was
lapping up the water from an old pie dish I found.
“I’m going for a lie-down, Matty. I’m full up now,” said Boxer, belching loudly.
Tonka looked up at him, ears pricked.
“Sorry, old boy.” He stroked Tonka’s head and ruffled his fur at the same time. “I didn’t mean to belch - it just came out. When I get up we’ll go back to your house and pick up the pigeons.”
I knew he wasn’t a well lad and I worried about it. I was wondering whether he would reach my house, or whether he would make it back.
Within minutes I too dropped off. I started dreaming of home when Dad was there with Mum and me.
“Get the pram, then go to Brampton Woods and fill it with fir cones,” Mum called out as she stood prodding with an old stick the inside of the copper boiler full of washing.
“Yes, Mum. OK, Mum. I’m going, Mum.”
“No need for sarcasm, young man.” She stopped at that point, turned round and said, “Now.”
“Yes, do as your Mum tells you,” Dad added as he read the newspaper. His head then peeped around the paper and he chuckled behind Mum’s back.
“And you can be quiet too,” she said to him.
Sometimes my cousin Tom came with me on the journey to Brampton Wood. Tom, fifteen years old, was a big lad for his age. He had jet-black hair and his dark-blue eyes were very startling. He was also a very good friend to me. I felt a bit sorry for him because he had just been told his parents were not his real parents and the whereabouts of his real parents was unknown. This made him an orphan boy, I thought.
From my house Brampton Wood was about six miles there and back. With the old pram I had collected the fir cones many times. The pram was kept in our backyard. A buckle in the wheel made it hard to push. The whole day was taken up collecting those fir cones, which Mum used to stoke up the fire. As it took so long to collect the cones, going out to play when I came back was out of the question.
I found Tom playing on the swings. He was surrounded by girls, as usual.
“My mum says can you help me to collect fir cones, Tom?”
“Why can’t you go on your own?” He carried on swinging up and down. “Anyway, I’ve gotta clean my mum’s grate yet.”
I pleaded again: “Please, Tom.”
“OK, I’ll go and get my coat. It’s on the island of the big house.”
“What were you doing there, Tom? It’s an evil place, and evil people live there.”
“Don’t tell yer mum, Matty - she might tell my mum.”
“Tell me, Tom: what were you doing there and how did you get back off the island?”
“I’ll tell you later - it’s a secret, the way to the island.”
Reaching Brampton Wood, Tom suddenly decided not to go where we had always gone in the past. We took a different path, but we both soon found that the ground was too rough for the pram.
“It’s better we leave the pram here and pick it up again later, don’t you agree?” said Tom.
“It was your idea, Tom,” I pointed out. “On our normal route we have a proper path to walk on.” I said as I began to cover the pram over with leaves to hide it.
I was slowly getting annoyed. Poor Tonka put his paws over his ears as the air began to thicken with our arguments.
“Why bother to hide that old pram? Nobody’s going to pinch an old thing like that,” said Tom.
I finished covering the pram. Fuming, I turned to face him.
“The only reason you’ve got a new pram in your family, Tom Parker,” - I raised my voice - “is because you have a new baby sister.”
“I won’t help you any more, Matty.”
He started to walk away in the direction we had come from, leaving me on my own to collect the cones.
“I don’t care if you leave me,” I shouted.
I walked towards the centre of the wood on my own. Tom made for home. I watched him disappear out of sight. Suddenly I realised I was on my own.
“I don’t care if you leave me! I don’t care if you leave me!” I shouted after him, but he was out of earshot. I really was on my own. Picking up a dead stick, I started to thrash the undergrowth. “I don’t care if you’re gone, Tom Parker! Who needs you? I don’t. I’ll tell on you for going on to the evil island of the big house. I don’t give a damn about you, and I’ll tell your mum you were with someone on that evil place. You wait and see - I don’t care.” Turning round once more, I shouted out, “I don’t care.”
I had already strayed far into the dense wood and I suddenly realised I didn’t know the way out. I didn’t like it - it gave me the creeps. I stopped for a moment to rub my legs with some dock leaves, having been stung with nettles, and I noticed two small deer feeding hungrily on some bushes. It unnerved me a bit to realise that dusk was falling, but two deer eating leaves, their antlers prodding the small bushes, was such a pretty sight that my fear started to leave me. I plucked up courage again. The deer were partly concealed from me. Slowly I crouched down to watch them and became fascinated. They looked at me while eating, but were not frightened.
‘I never knew deer roamed these woods,’ I thought. ‘Wait till I see Tom and tell him what he’s missed. He’ll be gutted - ha ha!’
I moved slowly forward, then stopped as I thought I heard a howling, screaming noise. My heart beat a thousand times a minute and it felt as though there were eyes watching me from the darkness of the thicket. Approaching a clearing in the wood, I noticed what appeared to be burrows. I was astonished at the size of the burrows. They were in keeping with the size of a large dog. I felt alarmed now. The atmosphere of the wood had started to change from friendly, as it seemed when I was watching the deer. It now took on a sinister feeling. I turned to look for the two deer. They had gone.
Only a few feet away from my foot, and the size of a dog, was an animal the like of which I had never before seen. The animal was caught in what appeared at first to be a trap. As I moved forward to help the stricken beast, it opened its huge mouth, revealing its large jagged teeth, and emitted a haunting, echoing scream. It was evil - something which would never leave me. It was hideous. I froze in terror, unable to move. The beast lurched forward to attack me. Rigid with fear, I was unable to move. I had frozen solid to the ground where I stood. The beast strained forward on the chain that held it, and its snapping jaws seemed to come closer. More of the creatures began to emerge.
At that moment a strong hand clutched me under the elbow and pulled me clear. It was Tom. He took me back along the track to the main path.
“How do you feel now, Matty?”
I could hardly speak. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there, Tom,” I said, still shaking from the experience. “There was something else inside those burrows, Tom. I could see something, I am sure. Whatever it was, that something was standing up and had arms and legs - skinny arms and legs - and horrible eyes, and it melted into the darkness of the tunnel.”
“The screaming rat,” he said in a chilling tone. “The scream echoes through woods and forests. You won’t find another animal for miles around when it’s about.”
“I am still shaking. I feel delirious and sick.”
“There’s more to the evil they bring, Matty. You mustn’t come here on your own again - I mean, never.”
“How evil are they, Tom?”
“I can’t say.”
“You must - you must tell me, Tom.”
“It was on the island of the big house where they were first discovered.” Tom stopped and put his hand up. “One moment, Matty,” he said, turning around and going back the way we had just come. Then he brought back the pram full of fir cones behind him.
With a broad smile he said, “I thought this might help you.” He had filled the pram with cones.
“Tom, Tom - about the island?”
“An old, old man lived on the island on his own. He drank a lot. One morning as no person had seen him about they went in search. Sure enough, they found him - or what was left of him.”
Tom went to step forward, to go, when I said again, “Tell me. I’m not scared now.”
“His legs were eaten away and most of his face. Only one eye hadn’t been eaten, they reckon.”
“Who’s ‘they’, Tom?” I had to ask.
“Those in the big house.”
“What else, Tom?”
“The bad bit: what the screaming rat does is eat you when you’re alive.”
“Eat you when you’re alive! Hell!” I said. “Hell!”
“Anyway, Matty, let’s get these cones back to your mum’s. She’ll need them for the fire.”
“Do you think one day we won’t need these cones to light our fires, Tom?” I said, relaxed now after the ordeal.
“They don’t cost anything, Matty. Our house would be lost without them. Anyway, we should sort out the coke from the gas station now.”
“I just wish Mum could have coal for once - or logs.”
“What do you use to clean your mum’s grate, Matty?” said Tom.
He shook a tin of Zebra Grate Polish he took from his pocket.
“Same as what you’ve got, Tom.”
“Zebra, Mum says, is the best - it shines the best.”
“It takes about half an hour. Do you do your mum’s now, Tom?”
“Nah, I’m past that now. I’m working at the Huntingdon Brewery with my dad.”
“I’m going to scrounge some coke for Mum now, Tom. Thanks.”
Tom headed off to clean his mum’s grate, shaking his Zebra tin and whistling.
“Could I have some of the coke lying on the floor, please?”
“No,” said the gas-station foreman. “Pay like everyone else does.” He pointed to a small shed in the corner of the gas station yard.