Despite this fear she couldn’t help herself. She held on tight to Tom as she asked Mirabelle the question that had been plaguing her since she’d first set eyes on Piglet.
‘What is he?’
There was just the gentle sound of a breeze rustling through leaves in the dark before Mirabelle eventually answered.
‘He’s family,’ she said.
Tom coughed, and Jem caught sight of the small, dark creature stirring and, despite what Mirabelle had just said, she squeezed her eyes shut for a second and prayed that Piglet wouldn’t wake up.
They walked in silence the rest of the way. It seemed that nothing lay ahead of them but forest, but then Mirabelle put her hand out for Jem and with two more steps there was a sensation of passing through something. Jem was dimly aware of a slight shimmering as they stepped through the Glamour and suddenly they were within the walls of the estate. They walked through the main gate and up the driveway and now the silence was suffocating, all-encompassing, and Jem felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as she saw the shadowy figures waiting for them on the steps up ahead.
Enoch stood there in his familiar pose, chin up, hands clasped behind his back. Odd, Eliza, Bertram, Dotty and Daisy all stood beside him.
‘A serious crime has been committed,’ said Enoch, his voice ringing out in the night.
Jem didn’t like his tone, and she liked the look of disdain in his eyes even less as he glanced at Tom.
‘Yes, yes it has, Uncle,’ said Mirabelle flatly.
‘Well then, something must be done about it,’ said Enoch, glaring at Jem. ‘A crime cannot go unpunished.’
‘No, a crime cannot go unpunished,’ agreed Mirabelle quietly.
Jem felt a fluttering sensation in her chest, and a growing sense of panic, as if the ground were sliding out from under her feet.
Enoch nodded. ‘Good, I see that you agree. Well then, with that in mind—’
‘What punishment is it you think you deserve, Uncle?’ said Mirabelle, a little louder now.
Jem sensed a ripple of unease in the dark. The members of the Family seemed somehow smaller to her now. She couldn’t help but think about the terrified cows they’d encountered earlier in the field.
Enoch gave a quick bark of laughter, but Mirabelle was not deterred. She kept looking at him, unblinking, as if waiting for something.
‘What if I just woke Piglet up again? How would that suit as punishment?’ Mirabelle said, looking pointedly at the small furry creature asleep in her arms.
Bertram was whimpering, and Jem was convinced the others had become even paler.
‘He is very dangerous, as you’ve often said. And now I know why,’ said Mirabelle through clenched teeth, her eyes shadowed with weariness.
Enoch shook his head and sighed, but Jem could tell by the way his shoulders slumped that he knew he was beaten.
‘Mirabelle, please . . .’
‘Where did I come from?’
Enoch looked at the ground.
‘Who was she? Who was that woman I saw?’
Enoch rubbed his forehead and refused to look at Mirabelle.
‘I saw you at the window holding a baby. Why were you crying, Enoch?’
Enoch’s eyes widened in shock.
He looked helpless, and Jem felt a sudden pity for him that took her by surprise. He seemed lost, like a man who has suddenly entered a strange new world and has no idea where he is. She knew how that felt.
‘Mirabelle . . .’
‘Enoch, just tell me. Who was she?’
Enoch sighed and closed his eyes.
Eliza stepped forward. ‘She was your mother.’
Enoch looked furious with her, but Eliza simply ignored him and continued speaking to Mirabelle.
‘She was your mother, and I’m sorry we hid that from you, and that you had to find out this way. We all thought it was for the best. We thought . . .’ She shook her head, unable to continue.
It seemed as if the whole night exhaled. All eyes were on Mirabelle. She looked at a point in the middle distance, as if no one else were there. Eventually she nodded.
‘Right, I see.’ She started up the steps. ‘I need to get Piglet back to his room.’
The Family parted and watched her enter the house.
Jem took Tom up the steps, but he stopped her when they reached the top and shook his head. He pushed her hand away gently as she reached out to him, then made his way over to Enoch. A shocked Enoch could only stare as Tom gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.
‘You shouldn’t blame yourself. You did your best for her,’ said Tom.
He turned and stumbled slightly. Jem grabbed hold of him and walked him into the house. She took him upstairs and his strength seemed to rally a little. He removed his bloody shirt before clambering into bed. Jem watched him as he looked up at the ceiling. He seemed calm despite everything that had happened.
‘You should find Mirabelle,’ he said.
‘How do you feel?’
‘I’m fine. I’ll be fine,’ he said, smiling weakly at her now. ‘Go and find Mirabelle.’
Mirabelle was locking the great iron door to Piglet’s room when Jem found her. For some reason she didn’t feel afraid about venturing down into this part of the house any more.
Mirabelle leaned her forehead against the door and took a moment. ‘You were right, you know.’
‘About what?’ asked Jem.
Mirabelle turned and looked at her. Her grey eyes were clouded over with pain. She laid a hand on her chest.
‘It hurts. It hurts everywhere.’
Freddie
The panicked hammering on the front door came in the early hours of the morning. Freddie jolted awake with his heart pounding. He’d been dreaming of James again. They’d been driving past some fields with their father, and James was smiling and laughing and telling him a story. Freddie was laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. He turned to see his father at the wheel. He was laughing also, and the green fields whizzed by and the world was bright and filled with promise and Freddie wanted it to last forever . . .
But then came that panicked knocking. Freddie hopped out of bed, immediately slathered in sweat. He opened his bedroom window, which was above the butcher’s shop and faced right out onto the main street.
‘Hello?’ he said.
A short portly figure stepped back from the door. It was Mr Carswell, one of the local farmers.
‘Freddie! Get your dad. Something’s happened.’
Freddie woke his father. It was like watching a great balding giant lumbering out of the bed in the dark. Freddie’s mother stirred and his father assured her that there was nothing to worry about.
Freddie let Mr Carswell in while his father got dressed. Mr Carswell had a bushy lion’s mane of a beard while what was left of his grey hair stood out from the top of his head in corkscrews. Today his agitation had made his hair even more askew. He looked out of the window, patting the knuckles of one hand fretfully against the palm of the other while Freddie watched him.
‘What is it, Bill?’
Freddie’s father loomed in the doorway, like a great hulking shadow hewn from the very night. Freddie hadn’t even heard him approach. Mr Carswell looked at him and licked his lips.
‘Something terrible’s happened, Frank.’
Mr Fletcher took the farmer aside for a moment. They had a whispered conversation out of earshot, but Freddie could tell by his father’s whole demeanour that something very serious was going on. The only words he caught were ‘They wouldn’t! We have an agreement!’ from his father. Freddie’s mind was suddenly a whirl as he considered what those words meant.
They drove to the farm in silence, following Mr Carswell’s car. Freddie’s father planned one day for his son to take over his seat on the council. That meant Freddie needed to go with him whenever there was a crisis of ‘this sort’. ‘For experience,’ his father had said. ‘This sort’ usually meant something that was linked to the House of Rookhav
en. After all, that was the council’s main reason for existing, to deal with all matters pertaining to their agreement with the Family. It was a thought that made Freddie feel uneasy about what now lay ahead.
As the road slipped by, he found himself thinking about that dream again, and how they’d been driving down a similar country road blessed with sunlight, and how James had been laughing and his father had been smiling . . .
‘What are you smiling about?’ his father said sharply. He’d asked the question without taking his eyes off the road.
Freddie shook his head. ‘Nothing, Dad.’ He turned and looked at the space on the seat between him and the van door. The space where James would have been sitting.
Freddie had seen plenty of dead cows before. But they’d been slabs of meat prepared for sale. He’d never seen anything like this.
A light drizzle was pattering on the leaves of the trees around them. Mr Carswell was wringing his hands together, and Freddie felt a flush of embarrassment when he realized that the poor man was crying.
‘What happened ain’t natural, Frank. It ain’t.’
Freddie’s father squinted at the remains of the cow. ‘Dogs, maybe. A pack of them. That’s what I’m thinking.’
Mr Carswell shook his head furiously, and even in the dark Freddie could see the red glow of fury on his face.
‘Not dogs. Not ever. This was unnatural. Unnatural. We know who done this. It was them up in the house.’
Freddie’s father ran a hand over his head and sighed.
Mr Carswell continued, his fury building. ‘Think of all we’ve done for them. Think of all we’ve gone without during the war because of them and that agreement that was made. And what do we get in return? Nothing! That’s what. Just . . .’ He gestured helplessly at the remains of the cow. ‘We need to call the council together, Frank. This won’t stand. It can’t stand.’
As Freddie and his father drove back home, Freddie could feel the tension almost crackling in the air. He’d seen the panic and anger in his father’s eyes at the sight of the dead cow. He could tell by the way his father was gripping the steering wheel that he was unnerved.
‘Dogs.’ His father nodded to himself, then looked at Freddie. ‘Dogs. That’s most likely it. A pack of dogs gone feral.’
Freddie nodded, but he knew his father was only trying to convince himself. There was something more to this incident, but he didn’t dare question his father about it. He didn’t want to rock the boat by agreeing with Mr Carswell. He felt too absurdly grateful for being included in what was an all too rare conversation with his father.
Freddie turned to look out of the window, and their headlights illuminated something on the side of the road.
For a moment, Freddie felt a sudden electric charge envelop his whole body.
‘Dad?’
His father had seen the same thing. He put the car into reverse and moved slowly back along the road.
Freddie’s heart started thumping. It was all right. He was with his father. Everything would be okay. Whatever it was they’d seen, his father could deal with it.
But it was only a man.
The man waved at them from the side of the road. He wore a wide-brimmed leather hat and a leather coat so large it looked almost like a tent. Freddie felt relief wash over him. He was certain he’d seen something else.
They pulled up alongside, and the man picked up a battered old holdall and stepped towards the passenger window. He looked to be in his fifties, with a lined face and a broad smile. Brown hair streaked with grey spilled out from beneath the brim of his hat.
Freddie rolled down the window on his father’s instruction, and the man leaned in, his impossibly large smile broadening even more.
‘Well, what a nice surprise on a night so filled with unpleasantness.’ He nodded down the road. ‘I was travelling myself. Alas, my own poor car gave up the ghost quite a way back.’ He looked contrite. ‘I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a lift to the nearest village?’
‘Hop in,’ said Mr Fletcher.
The man climbed in beside Freddie and placed his holdall in the footwell. There was a constant clinking from it as if it contained lots of empty milk bottles.
He leaned across Freddie to shake Mr Fletcher’s hand and Freddie instinctively leaned back to avoid touching him. The man’s coat smelt musty and old. It had grey patches of what looked like mildew on it.
‘Arnold Pheeps,’ said the man, shaking Mr Fletcher’s hand vigorously.
‘Frank Fletcher, and this is my son Freddie.’
Mr Pheeps smiled at Freddie. ‘How pleasantly alliterative. I’m very pleased to meet you, Freddie.’
The man’s hand felt dry and papery. His grip was limp, and Freddie didn’t like the way he looked at him with those wide dark-blue eyes.
Mr Pheeps settled back in his seat and sighed with satisfaction.
‘And where, pray tell, are we going?’ asked Mr Pheeps.
Freddie didn’t like his tone. There was something slightly mocking in it, and Freddie felt as if his father were now being treated like the man’s personal chauffeur. But it didn’t seem to bother his father.
‘The village of Rookhaven.’
Mr Pheeps nodded. ‘A village. How nice. And what a lovely name.’ He suddenly clenched his fists and thrust his head forward, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘Is there anything on this earth quite like a village? Is there anything to compare to the rigour and strength of its bonds of community and fellowship, particularly after a time of great darkness? I think not, Mr Fletcher. I think not. What say you?’
Mr Fletcher nodded. ‘I suppose not, Mr Pheeps.’
Mr Pheeps pursed his lips and looked rather pleased with himself. ‘You are a kindred spirit, then.’
The car rumbled along through the dark. Freddie tried to concentrate on its rhythms, hoping they might lull him into drowsiness the way they had when he was younger and they’d all be driving home at night after a family outing, but it was difficult. He could sense Mr Pheeps looking at him.
‘And you, young Freddie? Do you have any siblings?’
Freddie felt his chest tighten. He looked at his hands.
‘No, sir, my brother . . .’
There was a pause. Mr Fletcher cleared his throat.
‘I had an older son, Mr Pheeps. He fought in the war.’
Had. Freddie suddenly hated that word so much.
‘My condolences to you and your family,’ said Mr Pheeps, closing his eyes in sympathy. ‘Although it must be some small consolation to you that he fought for noble ideals against a great evil and won.’
‘It is,’ said Mr Fletcher, his voice tight and small in the narrow confines of the cab.
‘You’ll need somewhere to stay until your car’s fixed,’ said Mr Fletcher, trying to brighten his tone. ‘You’re welcome to lodge with us. We have an extra room.’
Freddie felt his stomach plummet.
‘I wouldn’t want to impose, Mr Fletcher. Surely you have enough on your plate.’
‘It’s no trouble at all, Mr Pheeps. What kind of people would we be if we didn’t welcome strangers? It’s no trouble.’
‘Well I am humbled by your offer and I accept.’ He wagged his finger. ‘But I don’t intend on becoming an incumbrance, even for a short stay.’
Mr Pheeps chuckled, and Freddie was surprised to see his father almost smile.
They arrived at the village and Mr Pheeps oohed and ahhed at how ‘singular and charming’ it all was. Freddie could sense the man looking at him again, as if trying to draw him into the conversation, but Freddie ignored him and kept his eyes fixed firmly in front.
They parked outside their shop and Mr Pheeps apologized for the clinking his bag made. He spotted Freddie looking at the bag and he patted it.
‘Various medicinals and concoctions which keep me sustained. I am no longer in my prime, after all.’
That big broad smile again. A smile with too many teeth. Freddie found it difficult to look at.
<
br /> His father opened the door at the side of the shop that led into the house. He motioned for Mr Pheeps to enter, but the man paused for a moment to take in a deep lungful of night air. The rain had stopped now, and the air was clear and sweet.
‘How lovely,’ he said, then stepped over the threshold, followed by Mr Fletcher.
That was the moment when Freddie felt sickest of all. The man was strange, and he didn’t like his smile, or his attitude. He didn’t entirely trust him. But what bothered Freddie most was what he’d seen at first back on the road.
Because what he’d seen wasn’t a man.
Freddie was convinced it had been something else. Something skeletal with flesh barely clinging to its bones. Something with a long face and a dark gash of a mouth stretched perpetually down in what looked like a silent howl. That howling mouth was packed with impossibly long, yellowed teeth. Then there were the eyes. Two slimy grey meaty marbles that flicked back and forth agitatedly.
Eyes that seemed to be searching for something.
Piglet
Piglet feels guilty here in the dark.
He didn’t mean to do any harm. He only wanted to play. Now he can sense the confusion in the house, a babble of thoughts and voices that has a keen edge to it, and something running through it all that he has never understood before, but feels he understands now . . .
Piglet doesn’t want to think about it. He shakes his head and makes himself as small as possible in a quiet corner in the dark. Makes himself so small that surely no one will see him ever again.
Or find him.
And that’s the most important thing of all. Piglet does not want to be found. Something new has stirred inside him since his adventure, something he has never previously felt.
He can sense the change in the house and even further away. The sense of something shifting, like an ancient stone moved from its foundation and now rolling inexorably downhill.
The Monsters of Rookhaven Page 11