The Creeps: A Samuel Johnson Tale (23 page)

He had not entered the Kingdom of Shadows because to do so would have been the end of him: the Shadows had no loyalty to the Great Malevolence, and would have snuffed out
Hell itself if they could. He had stayed away from Earth simply because he had detected no sign of Mrs. Abernathy there, but now he began to wonder if he might not have been mistaken. Just because he could pick up no trace of her did not mean that she was not there, and it was only recently that he had begun to detect the telltale beating of her heart. Mrs. Abernathy was cunning and wicked. Her dark heart, he realized, must be filled with hatred. And what or, more correctly, who did she hate more than anything else in the Multiverse?

Samuel Johnson.

Crudford snapped his fingers. A small blob of gloop was flicked away by the action and landed on something in the darkness.

“Hey!” said the something.

“Sorry,” said Crudford.

Could it be true? There was only one way to find out.

In Which Efforts Are Made to Console Constable Peel

A
QUESTION THAT IS SOMETIMES
asked by human beings is why bad things happen to good people. It doesn’t seem entirely fair that folk who try to make the world a better, nicer place, who don’t go around scowling at puppies or frightening kittens, or trying to set someone’s shoes on fire when he’s asleep, should suddenly find themselves having a run of bad luck including, but not limited to, feeling a bit poorly, running out of money, having heavy objects fall on their heads, or stumbling off cliffs in the dark.

Equally, one might ask why bad things don’t happen to bad people, which was just what Constable Peel was asking himself at that precise moment. Somehow, against all the odds, the dwarfs had survived in a basement filled with carnivorous eyeballs, bald vampires, and at least one monster with bladder-control issues. If Constable Peel had been stuck in that basement he’d have been food for something within seconds, but Jolly, Angry, Dozy, and Mumbles had waltzed
safely through it all as if it were nothing more dangerous than a field of daisies.

“We appear to have upset him,” said Angry as Constable Peel continued to weep and curse the gods from his position on the floor.

“He’s very sensitive for a policeman,” said Jolly. “I think he’s just relieved that nothing bad happened to us.”

“He’s swearing a lot for someone who’s relieved,” said Angry. “He seems to be doing a lot of fist-shaking as well.”

“He’s getting rid of tension, that’s all,” said Jolly. “It can be a very emotional experience when you find out that someone you care about has been in danger. Imagine how much worse he must feel knowing that the four of us—and Dan—were almost killed.”

Constable Peel’s wailing grew louder.

“I mean, think about it: just one little bit of bad luck and we might not have been here at all.”

Constable Peel began banging his head on the floor.

“Constable Peel,” Jolly concluded solemnly, “would never have seen us again.”

Jolly shed a tear at the near tragedy of it all. It fell on Constable Peel’s neck. As it trickled down his back Constable Peel reached for his truncheon, and he might have done to Jolly what the eyeballs and vampires and monster had failed to do had not Sergeant Rowan stepped in and ushered Dan and the dwarfs away.

“Give him a little space, lads,” he said. “Poor old Constable Peel has had a bit of a shock.”

He knelt by his fellow policeman, who was taking deep breaths to try to calm himself.

“Are you going to be okay?” asked Sergeant Rowan.

“It’s not right, Sarge,” said Constable Peel. “Even Hell couldn’t get rid of them fast enough. Every time it looks like we might be about to see the last of them, something terrible happens and they survive.”

“I know, son, I know, but we can’t have you beating them to death with your truncheon. We’d have to find somewhere to hide the bodies, and right now we’re stuck in a toy shop with all kinds of nasties, so we don’t have the time to go stuffing the bodies of dwarfs into closets or under floorboards.”

He handed Constable Peel a handkerchief. Constable Peel blew his nose loudly and wetly in it and tried to hand it back to the sergeant.

“No, you keep it,” said Sergeant Rowan.

“Very kind of you, Sarge.”

“Not really,” said Sergeant Rowan.

Constable Peel folded the handkerchief, stuffed it in his pocket, and got to his feet.

“When all this is finished . . .” said Constable Peel.

“Yes?”

“And if we survive . . .”

“It’s a big ‘if.’ ”

“But if we do . . .”

“Yes?”

“Can I kill them then?”

Sergeant Peel handed Constable Peel his hat.

“We’ll see, Constable, we’ll see . . .”

• • •

High above the Earth, within sneezing distance of the moon, a small hole appeared in the fabric of space and time, and Crudford squeezed through it. He gazed down at the small blue planet below. It was, as planets went, nothing to write home about. It didn’t have spectacular rings. It wasn’t made of diamond. It did not, unlike the planet Cerberus IV in the Dragon Dimensions, have jaws and teeth, and move around the galaxy chewing up smaller worlds. It was just kind of pretty in a blue, watery way.

Crudford floated closer to the Earth. He hovered over England. He narrowed his focus, concentrating on the area around Biddlecombe. He saw that it was there but not there, as if he were seeing the town in a dream. Black smoke swirled around it, great columns of it like tornadoes.

No, not smoke: shadows.

And not shadows, but
Shadows
.

“Oh, the Great Malevolence is not going to like that,” said Crudford. “It’s not going to like that at all.”

In Which Help Arrives, Wearing a Very Fetching Hat

T
HE STREETS OF
B
IDDLECOMBE
’
S
town center were largely deserted as Maria and the scientists drew closer to Wreckit & Sons. Most of Biddlecombe’s citizens had barricaded themselves in their homes and businesses, or were off battling elves and reindeer elsewhere. A small crowd had taken refuge inside the Town Hall, where the forces of darkness were being kept at bay by the singing of BoyStarz, as it turned out that even demonic elves and reindeer had a limited tolerance for infinite variations on “Love Is Like . . .” Some of those trapped inside with BoyStarz had tried to make a break for freedom to take their chances with the forces of darkness, but common sense had prevailed, helped by earplugs and the contents of the mayor’s drinks cabinet.

Professor Hilbert parked the car outside Mr. Tuppenny’s Ice Cream Parlor, where a quartet of abominable snowmen had made the mistake of breaking in and eating some of the stock. Mr. Tuppenny’s ice cream had a reputation for being
heavy on the ice and light on the cream. It was said of his Lemon Surprise that the only surprising thing about it was the fact that it eventually melted at all, and lumps of coal had more lemon in them. There were people who swore that they had eaten one of Mr. Tuppenny’s Special Ice Cream Sundaes in May and still had an icy ball moving slowly and painfully through their lower intestine come September. Mr. Tuppenny had stayed in business only because of tourists and mad people. The abominable snowmen had eaten so much Strawberry Swirl that it had made them very unwell, and they were now unable to do anything more threatening than wave their claws in frail “kill me now and make the icy pain go away” gestures.

It was Professor Stefan who spotted the two figures picking their way through the broken glass and ruined Christmas decorations.

“They’re a bit tall for elves, aren’t they?” he said. “Seems to defeat the purpose, having tall elves.”

“They’re not elves,” said Maria. “They’re demons! Unlock the car doors, please. I want to get out.”

Professor Hilbert did as he was told, even though it didn’t seem like a good idea to go after two large demonic elves. The small ones were bad enough.

Maria leaned over Reginald, opened the door, and clambered out.

“Nurd! Wormwood! It’s me!”

Nurd and Wormwood were just as pleased to see Maria as she was to see them. They hugged, and were soon joined by
Professors Stefan and Hilbert, and Brian and Reginald, who kept a cautious distance from them.

“When you say ‘demons,’ that usually implies a degree of badness,” said Professor Hilbert to Maria.

Maria tried to explain.

“Look, not all demons are demonic,” she said.

“I did try for a while,” said Nurd. “I just wasn’t very good at it.”

“He was useless,” Wormwood added, unhelpfully.

“I wasn’t useless, I was just . . .”

Nurd tried to find the right word.

“Rotten?” Wormwood suggested. “Incompetent? Gormless?”

Nurd settled for “different.”

“Differently useless,” muttered Wormwood.

The scientists were examining Nurd and Wormwood with some curiosity. Professor Stefan poked Wormwood with a pen, which came back with something unpleasant stuck to its tip. As Professor Stefan watched, his pen began to dissolve.

“That does happen if you’re not careful,” said Nurd. “It’s best to avoid touching him without gloves, or even with them if you fancy wearing them a second time.”

“You’d better explain how you got here,” said Maria. “After all that’s happened, I don’t think it matters much if they know the truth about you now.”

So Nurd did. He covered his banishment in the wilderness, the way he’d been pulled from Hell to Earth, and how he had managed to foil the invasion of Biddlecombe by the forces of Hell using only a borrowed/stolen car. He then explained how
Samuel had ended up in Hell, along with two policemen, some dwarfs, and an ice cream salesman,
⁵⁰
and the manner in which they had all returned to Earth together.
⁵¹

There was a chorus of questions from the scientists when he had finished. They wanted to know about other dimensions, and reverse wormholes, and what the weather was like in Hell. Nurd tried to answer, but each answer seemed to invite ten more questions. Eventually it was left to Maria to call a halt.

“We don’t have time for this now,” she said. “We need to find Samuel. If there are demons, and problems with reality, he has to be involved somehow. And, if I’m right, he’s probably trapped somewhere in there.”

They all took in the great mass of Wreckit & Sons. There was a field of energy surrounding the store, but it was different from the one separating Biddlecombe from the rest of the country. When Maria threw a stone at it, the stone simply bounced off, although it was hot to the touch afterward.

“Do you know what’s happening?” she asked Nurd.

“The stars are going out,” he said. “There’s a darkness approaching. Don’t you feel it? It’s as though the shadows are becoming deeper.”

“Not just that,” said Brian. “They’ve developed a life of their own. I should know. I was chased by one.”

“Who is that, and why is he shaking?” said Nurd.

“His name is Brian,” said Maria. “He made the tea, so according to Professor Hilbert this is all his fault.”

“Hello, Brian,” said Nurd. “Perhaps you should stop making tea. You should probably stop drinking it, too. You might not shake so much.”

He returned his attention to Maria.

“Where were we?”

“The darkness, and the shadows. Is it the Great Malevolence?”

“No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel like his work. It’s
blacker
.”

“Whatever is causing it, it lives in the shop,” said Maria. “Wreckit & Sons is at the heart of some kind of supernatural engine designed by the architect Hilary Mould.”

“It’s also a trap,” said Nurd. “It drew in Samuel, and I know that Dan and the dwarfs were given jobs there. It would have taken Wormwood and me as well, but Samuel told us not to go. He didn’t think it would be safe for us.”

“So it wanted Samuel, and Dan and the dwarfs,” said Maria. “It also wanted you and Wormwood, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Sergeant Rowan and Constable Peel are in there, too. Someone springs to mind.”

“Mrs. Abernathy,” said Nurd. “But I saw her being torn apart. I felt it happen. We all did. She’s just atoms scattered throughout the Multiverse now. And even if she was involved, she doesn’t have this kind of power. She can’t darken universes.”

From somewhere at the level of Nurd’s knee, something went
glop
.

“Evening, all,” said a small gelatinous being, raising his hat in
greeting. “My name is Crudford, Esq., and I think I may be able to answer some questions for you.

“And by the way, is it just me, or can everyone else hear what sounds like a big heart beating?”

• • •

Crudford had not headed directly to Earth. After he’d glimpsed the Shadows above Biddlecombe, his first act had been to take a closer look at them. What he saw confirmed his worst fears: there were faces in the gloom, faces that had never been glimpsed before because the place from which the Shadows came was a kingdom of utter darkness. The Shadows were blind—what good were eyes when there was nothing to see?—but like so many other creatures that lived without light, their hearing was very, very sensitive. They had been listening to the sounds of the Multiverse for almost as long as it had been in existence. They believed that they were the true owners of the Multiverse, for before the Multiverse there was nothing, and they were as close to nothing as one could find. They hated the light, and all that dwelt in it. They even hated the Great Malevolence, and all who resided in Hell, for in Hell, too, there was light, even if it was the light of red fires. The only thing that had saved the Multiverse from the Shadows was the fact that their realm was sealed off from every other: they were prisoners inside their own Kingdom, for the Multiverse had ways of protecting itself.
⁵²

The Great Malevolence had once thought about trying to recruit the Shadows as its allies, but the messengers it sent to their kingdom had never returned. They had been absorbed into the blackness, their eyes taken from them, and eventually they had become Shadows themselves. The Great Malevolence had learned that the Shadows could not be used, and it was better if they were not allowed to pollute the Multiverse or interfere with Hell’s efforts to dominate it.