The Monsters of Rookhaven, стр. 33
‘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.
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.
Piglet sees things. In the Room of Knives the ravens sit silently among the rafters between the shafts of moonlight, their watchful eyes glittering in the dark. Somewhere a boy stands with his father at the door of their home. A man who is not a man pauses at the threshold of the same door and sniffs night air and smiles.
To Piglet that smile is as sharp as a scythe.
And for the first time in his life Piglet is afraid.
Part 3
Comes the Malice
Mirabelle
The images that came to Mirabelle after that fateful night were like blackened and burnt wisps of paper floating on a breeze. Piglet had somehow pieced together a near complete history of the house and its inhabitants, even from the depths of his room. Mirabelle sensed this in the images that had been seared into her mind through their encounter – the comings and goings of the Family down through the generations. Piglet hadn’t revealed everything, but he’d revealed enough.
When she was least expecting it, an image would appear. There was no rhyme or reason to their order. She had a vision of Enoch looking