Tales From The Wyrd Museum 1: The Woven Path Page 18

  Twiddling his eyebrows, Angelo dangled the two teddy bears in his hands. ‘Look what I found,’ he proclaimed.

  That one belongs to my son,’ she laughed, ‘and a poor bombed-out boy my dad brought home owns that one.’

  ‘Kinda scruffy lookin’, ain't he?’ the American scoffed, failing to notice the insulted frown now furrowing the bear's fleecy forehead. ‘Still, you know what it means, don't you?’

  Jean smiled doubtfully. ‘What does what mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I got me two hostages of my own!’ he cried, placing the toys on the cupboard and moving towards her with outstretched arms.

  ‘Don't be silly,’ she said, ‘the kettle won't take long.’

  ‘Just one tiny kiss, Jean,’ Angelo pleaded. ‘You wouldn't deny a man about to leave on his thirteenth mission that, would you?’

  Sitting alongside a chipped cup and saucer, Ted grimaced at the man's crass stupidity. ‘Bozo!’ he whispered scornfully.

  ‘I think you'd better leave,’ Jean said, dodging Angelo's arms for the third time.

  ‘Listen to the lady,’ Ted muttered. ‘Eech! I can't watch.’

  Sitting on the cupboard, the bear pulled a face and looked away as the airman kissed her.

  ‘Stop!’ Jean cried suddenly, pushing Angelo away. ‘I can't—get out. Go on!’

  Grabbing a saucepan, she threw it at him and the airman leaped back in surprise.

  ‘What's the matter?’ he yelped. ‘I didn't do nothin’ you didn't want. You gotta face it, Jean, the guy you married ain't never comin’ home, you're too young an’ pretty to waste your life on somethin’ that ain't never gonna happen.’

  ‘I've got three more pans here,’ Jean snapped vehemently, as she reached for another. ‘If you don —’

  At that moment, there came a tremendous thud and clatter from the garden and, ignoring the blackout regulations, Jean drew the curtain aside.

  On the roof of the outside toilet, a small, rod-like object had landed and already tongues of blueish-white, phosphorous flame were lapping over it.

  ‘Incendiary!’ she yelled, flinging open the back door and running outside. From his position on the cupboard, Ted watched as she vainly tried to extinguish the device with a bucket of water. But it was no use and the flames grew ever brighter on the toilet roof.

  ‘Just look at that guy,’ the bear mumbled as Angelo raced out to help, ‘What a hero.’

  With the aid of a garden rake, Angelo manoeuvred the incendiary into the empty bucket and threw fistfuls of soil on top of it.

  ‘Poor sap don't realise that the big brushoff is coming,’ Ted groaned. 'Well, what’d he expect?’

  Standing by the smouldering bucket, Jean thanked the lieutenant and said that he had better leave.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just do it!’ she demanded.

  Angelo wavered, not understanding what he had done wrong and he took a step closer to her.

  ‘No!’ Jean cried, suddenly desperate to be left on her own and searching for a way to make him see that she was serious. Taking Tex from her belt, she held the dog in her hand and lowered it dangerously close to the fizzing and crackling bucket.

  ‘If you don't go now,’ she threatened, ‘then I'll drop him right inside.’

  ‘You wouldn't.’

  The woman nodded earnestly. ‘Yes I would,’ she told him. ‘Please, Angelo, my life is too complicated already, the last thing I need is to make it worse. Just go, I know how much Tex means to you.’

  ‘That li'l fella's my lucky piece,’ Angelo said, confident that she was bluffing. ‘He's gonna see me through this war—without him, I'm finished. You ain't gonna do nothin’ to old Tex, you wouldn't be so cruel.’

  Jean stared at him, hating his conceited arrogance. The American grinned, but too late realised that he'd pushed her too far.

  Sobbing with emotion, Jean threw the dog on the charred, glowing soil within the bucket, where it immediately began to smoulder.

  ‘Hey!’ Angelo roared, lunging forward, but it was too late—eager flames were racing up Tex's body.

  ‘Get back!’ Jean cried. ‘Just get out!’

  Horrified at what she had done, Angelo stared at the flickering bucket and watched helplessly as the fire consumed his mascot's body.

  ‘You—you got a real problem, lady,’ he uttered huskily. ‘I never meant no...’

  With the sleeve of his flying jacket, he roughly wiped away the tears that sprang to his eyes. Without Tex to protect him, he was certain his thirteenth mission would be his last and the horror of that crushed him absolutely. Unable to say another word, Angelo turned on his heel and stormed back into the house.

  Shortly, Jean heard the front door slam, then she pushed the rake into the bucket and fished out the burning toy dog which she hastily smothered with earth to quench the flames.

  Gingerly, she picked the blackened remains of Tex off the ground and ran back into the kitchen with them.

  Only the large glass eyes were worth salvaging, the rest of the unfortunate mascot was blackened and incinerated beyond redemption.

  ‘You can be a right cow when you want to be, can't you?’ she chastized herself. ‘What'll he hang above his radio now? What's wrong with me tonight?’

  Then she noticed that the place where Angelo had put Neil and Daniel's teddy bears was empty.

  ‘He couldn't,’ she cried, ‘he wouldn't do that!’

  Still clasping the remains of Tex, the young woman hurried to the front door and peered down the street, where she saw Angelo's figure already disappearing in the dark distance.

  Standing in the porch of Mrs Meacham's house, Frank stared across at her.

  “What d—did you do to him?’ he yelled.

  Jean made no reply—she was too ashamed and ran tearfully back into the house feeling wretched and despicable—wondering how on earth she could face both Neil and her son.

  Frank hugged Kath tightly. ‘I gotta g—get after Voo,’ he said, ‘I ain't never seen him like that before. Listen, Kathy, I'm gonna write as soon as I get back to base an’ you just wait till I get my next pass!’

  Giving her one last kiss and pressing a pair of nylons in her hands, the tall American leaped over the gate and vanished into the night after Angelo.

  When she could no longer see him, Kath gave a curious smile and stepped into the house.

  ‘Mrs Meacham?’ she called. ‘You in?’

  Assuming her landlady had retired into the Anderson, Kath trudged upstairs to the room that had been allotted to her and threw her coat on to the bed. Then she walked over to the wardrobe and unlocked it. Kneeling on the carpet, the dark-haired girl pulled open a drawer and snorted with mirth at its silky contents.

  ‘Crammed to overflowing,’ she observed.

  Taking her newest pair of nylons in her hands, she stuffed them roughly in amongst the dozens of others as an ugly sneer transformed her features.

  The sneer spread into a smirk, as she pulled out from under a pile of clothes a large wooden box which she treated with extreme care and gentleness—she lifted it out and placed it delicately upon the dressing table.

  Chapter 14 Those Three Of Mortal Destiny

  In the early hours of the morning, heavy clouds crept over the clear sky and, when the daylight finally glimmered over the horizon, a dismal and steady rain was drizzling over the East End.

  The news of Mrs Meacham's murder shocked and horrified everyone and the local constabulary lost no time in interviewing all those present at the Make-do-and-Mend class.

  Arriving back from the Underground slightly later than usual, Mrs Stokes was aggravated to find a po-faced police inspector with spiky eyebrows and a constable who looked more like an all-in wrestler, complete with cauliflower ear and broken nose, standing in her front room, waiting to take a statement from her.

  When she first heard the distressing news, not a twitch nor a blink betrayed the old woman's thoughts—she merely peered at the two men through her spectacles and, with a face
like a gargoyle, ruminated over what they had just told her.

  ‘Did you understand what I said, Mrs Stokes?’ the inspector asked unwisely. ‘Your neighbour, Doris Meacham...’

  ‘I heard!’ she rapped sharply. ‘Don't you talk to me as though I was ripe for putting in a home!’

  ‘Er... I'm sorry,’ the poor man replied, gazing round at Peter Stokes for support.

  That morning the warden looked unusually stubbly as he hadn't had a chance to shave. It had been a bewildering night, having first returned to his post to discover that Neil was missing, then learning that the boy was at the police station, describing how he had stumbled across a dead body.

  Unwilling to sit down whilst so upsetting an incident required the presence of the police in the house, Peter stood tense and rigid in his braces in front of the fireplace and looked across the room to where Neil was now sitting.

  Dark circles ringed the boy's eyes. He was incredibly tired and his head kept nodding on to his chest.

  ‘Why don't you go to bed, lad?’ Peter suggested kindly. ‘You've finished with him now, ‘aven't you?’ he asked the inspector.

  ‘Yes,’ the policeman replied, leafing through his notebook and licking the end of his pencil. ‘The boy was most helpful, very concise—unlike the baker's lad. Ghoulish flippin’ vampire he is, and kept rambling on about everything under the sun, used up most of my pad taking down his statement. Do him a world of good, the army will—ah, beg your pardon, sir. No, no, Neil's done his bit for now, I can always pop back if there's anything else I need to know, but it's more or less routine now.’

  ‘I’ll get Jean to bring you up an Ovaltine,’ Peter said, as the boy hauled himself from the chair and plodded out of the room.

  Mrs Stokes gave a sniff and pursed her lips. ‘So,’ she chirped, her eyes gleaming and hungry for luscious details, ‘how did it happen? How did Doris get it? A fine state of affairs isn't it when a body ain't safe in the streets at night? Where were your boys when all this happened? Not doin’ their job, obviously.’

  The inspector coughed uncomfortably and stuck out his bottom lip which was striped by the pencil lead. ‘If you could just begin by telling me...’

  ‘Was it murder, then?’ the old woman broke in. ‘How was she done in—were it strang'lation or were she stabbed and hacked at, like a scrag end o’ mutton? Were it a vicious, cruel, lingering end? Did the stuck-up old fool suffer with it?’

  ‘Madam,’ the inspector declared, ‘an extremely serious crime has been perpetrated, I need to know what time you left the church hall last night and if the deceased happened to mention...’

  Typical!’ Mrs Stokes uttered in disgust. ‘All this fuss, even when she's dead that Doris has to swank!’

  ‘Mother,’ Peter murmured.

  ‘What'll happen about her house and things then?’ she demanded. ‘She didn't have no relatives, you know.’

  Suddenly, a loud thumping resounded through the house as Neil stomped down the stairs and came running back amongst them.

  ‘Where is he?’ he cried racing around the room, scattering cushions everywhere. ‘I can't find him!’

  Peter gently caught his arm. ‘What's the matter, lad?’ he asked, ‘What’ve you lost?’

  'Ted!’ the boy shouted back, ignoring the astonished faces of the policemen. ‘He isn't upstairs—what's happened to him?’

  ‘Perhaps Jean knows,’ Peter suggested, ‘she's in the kitchen giving Daniel his breakfast.’

  But his daughter had heard Neil's outburst and was already standing in the doorway. ‘Neil,’ she guiltily began, ‘I’m so sorry...’

  “What's happened?’ he cried, alarmed at her shameful tone, ‘What've you done with him?’

  ‘It's all my fault,’ she said, ‘if I hadn't burned that stupid toy dog!’

  Neil gaped at her. “What are you trying to say? Ted's all right, isn't he? I mean, he isn't hurt or anything?’

  ‘Hurt?’ Mrs Stokes squawked. ‘What's the beggar talking about? It's only a tatty old bear!’

  ‘I’m afraid it isn't here,’ Jean explained, ‘someone took both yours and Daniel's teddy away—I couldn't stop him.’

  A look of fear fixed itself on Neil's face and he felt twice as sick as when he had found Doris Meacham. ‘Who took him?’ he shrieked manically. ‘Where'd he go? Jean—you've got to tell me. Please, you don't realise how important this is!’

  ‘It was an American,’ she answered, feeling her grandmother's eyes bore disparagingly into her. ‘I think he must have taken it back to his airbase—I don't know where that is, I think he mentioned Essex but I couldn't say for certain. Oh, Neil, I'm sorry, I'll make you another one, I promise!’

  The boy's face had turned white and he staggered away from her, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I've got to get Ted back!’ he whimpered. ‘Don't you understand? I'll never get home without him—in two days’ time the gateway’ll appear but he's the only one who knows exactly when and where! I'll never see Josh again! How could you let it happen? How could you?’

  Peter put his arm around the boy's shoulders. ‘There now,’ he said coaxingly, ‘what's all this then? Who's Josh? Is it starting to come back? Do you remember where you're from, lad?’

  Neil stared up at the bald man in consternation. ‘Josh is my brother!’ he muttered before turning wildly to the two policemen who, by this time, were totally baffled.

  ‘You can find him for me, can't you?’ he babbled desperately.

  The inspector glanced nervously at Peter before answering. ‘Do you mean your brother?’ he inquired, wetting the pencil again. ‘What does he look like? Is he older or younger than you?’

  ‘Not Josh!’ Neil bellowed. 'Ted! Find Ted! Get everyone on the radio and tell them what's happened. I've simply got to get him back—oh God, you don't have radios do you?’

  Pushing past Jean, he ran from the room crying, ‘I don't want to be trapped here for ever!’

  The inspector raised his spiky eyebrows. ‘Should've grown out of teddy bears at his age,’ he remarked firmly, as though Peter was to blame.

  ‘He's as doolally as that Dorkins girl!’ Mrs Stokes commented. ‘I warned you about bringing him into this house, Peter. The boy's insane, well, I shan't be taking him to the Underground with me no more—I might wake up with my throat cut. Wouldn't surprise me if he was the one who done old Doris in. I'd think about that very seriously, Inspector. Loonies like him need locking up where they can't harm no one. Shame that madhouse ain't open no more.’

  Licking his pencil yet again, the policeman dutifully jotted down what she had said.

  With his nose pressed against the window beside his bunk, Angelo gazed dolefully out at the mizzling rain. Under the slate-grey sky, the airfield was lit by depressing, almost funereal light, mirroring the cheerless depths his spirits foundered in.

  ‘Hey, Voodini!’ his captain called. ‘You're missin’ one hell of a poker game, you sure you don't want in?’

  Angelo moved away from the window and stared blankly around the barracks to where a group of other officers were sitting at a table immersed in the card game.

  ‘Count me out,’ he replied, flopping back on to his bunk and staring up at the hut's curved ceiling.

  ‘What's eatin’ him?’ Captain Jimmy Resnick asked, nudging one of the other men.

  ‘He's just sore ‘cos he struck out with some dame,’ came the cynical response, ‘some Romeo—I lost ten bucks on him.’

  ‘Musta been some doll,’ one of the men whistled, ‘I never seen him so riled up before.’

  A timid rap sounded on the barracks’ door and the captain called out when the visitor failed to enter.

  ‘You gonna catch a death out there,’ he shouted.

  His head and shoulders dripping with rain, Frank Jeffries fumbled with the handle and stepped inside the officers’ hut.

  ‘Beggin’ your p-pardon, sirs,’ he said formally, ‘would it be OK to have a word with Lieutenant Signorelli?’

  ‘Dammit, Frank,
’ the captain drawled, ‘when you gonna start callin’ me Jimmy? Ain't no top brass round here to hear you. A bomb crew ain't like no other outfit, you gotta loosen up.’

  Frank nodded and looked over to where Angelo was sitting on the bunk.

  ‘Pay no attention to them,’ he said, ‘What can I do for you?’

  “B—bout them toys, Voo,’ the man finally muttered, ‘the ones you told me you took from Jean's house? I know why you did it, but that don't make it right. I think you oughta send ‘em back. Don't you care what them kids'll be thinkin’?’

  Angelo leaned forward and in a low growl said, ‘If you know why I did it, then get off my case. I figure my need is greater than some kid's. Twelve missions I been on, Frank, nearly all daylight raids, an’ I ain't had so much as a scratch. That's no coincidence, farm boy, and the more times I come through, the more luck I'm gonna need. Now, tomorrow is an important run fer me—thirteen. You know how many saps make it that far? Well, this goon ain't takin’ no chances. I ain't goin’ up in that Fortress without protection. I'm gonna be decked out like a Christmas tree on that mission; the flak is gonna bounce off my lucky pieces.’

  ‘But you don't need both toys...’

  ‘You leave it to me to decide what I need. Them boogers are stayin’ in my kitbag till the morning and don't you say nuthin’ to the rest of the guys!’

  ‘What have we here?’ one of the men cried, having sneaked up behind them and listened to what was said.

  ‘Gimme that!’ Angelo snapped as the man wrenched his kitbag from beside the locker.

  ‘Hey, lookee here!’ he taunted, pulling out one of the teddy bears. ‘Our Voodini's Santa Claus in reverse: he visits kids and takes their toys offa them. That's a rotten thing to do.’

  Angelo flew at him, but the man tossed Daniel's stuffed bear across to the captain, who in turn threw it to another.

  ‘Stop it!’ Angelo ranted, leaping in the air as he darted to and fro, trying to catch the flying toy. ‘Let me have it!’

  Baiting him, they raced around the hut brandishing Daniel's bear in their hands, until Angelo could stand it no longer. Thundering to his locker, he snatched up a bottle of beer and stormed from the barracks.