Authors: Chris Mould
The Wooden Mile (4 page)
A Slice of Cake
Stanley longed to quiz Mrs. Carelli about the pike and its strange, mystical warnings, but he could not bring himself to tell her it had spoken to him. She would think him mad. Perhaps she knewâshe had lived here all these years looking after Admiral Swift's home. On second thought, maybe he should just forget the whole thing! He had
already told himself he was daydreaming.
already told himself he was daydreaming.
In an attempt to rid himself of these thoughts, he decided to spend some time away from the house and get to know Crampton Rock a little more.
Mrs. Carelli had promised to arrange for him to spend a day soon with Lionel Grouse, out in his boat. Stanley had discovered that Lionel's grand title of Keeper of the Rock simply meant that he lived in the lighthouse. He had twice brought fresh fish to the house since Stanley's arrival and seemed a friendly sort.
Stanley felt he was going to need as many friends as he could get.
He was already missing home. He had spent that morning describing everything in a long letter to his parents. It contained a wonderfully detailed drawing of the house, and a map of Crampton Rock.
With the letter in his pocket, he set off to find the mailbox. He wandered down to the harbor on his way. The tide was back and he had taken an interest in the sea birds since he had arrived. He sat and watched the oystercatchers sweeping the beach for shellfish. Farther out, the plovers searched hungrily in the rock pools.
“Pass me them there lobster traps, young lad,” came a voice. A white-haired old fisherman looked up from the bottom of his boat. The traps were laid in rows along the harbor wall. Stanley passed down the strange basket contraptions, and before long he was talking to the rest of the men in the harbor and had spent a good hour or so helping them ready their boats with nets and rods.
When the tide meandered in and lifted the boats, they sailed off and he made his way alone along the streets.
It was the first time Stanley had wandered into the village, and when he saw the maze of alleyways and crooked shops and houses he wondered why he hadn't ventured farther from the house much earlier. Soon he found himself outside a sweet shop. A wooden sign hung on an old iron bracket:
The sign was old and weathered, which made the teeth look yellowed and rotten. He stared through the glass at the window display.
A small, round mechanical boy in glasses fed sweets into his mouth from a paper bag. He could see the cogs winding back and forth. There was something spooky about it. Perhaps it was the movement, or maybe the strange face of the child, which seemed to look right through him. But he could not resist stepping inside the shop.
An old bell tinkled as he pushed the door. Once inside, he was faced with shelf upon shelf and jar upon jar of every kind of treat. Candy sticks were laid row upon row across the long counter. Jelly beans, cinnamon sticks, licorice, lollipops, bubble gum, and mint balls stared at him through their glass containers.
Suddenly a small hunched man appeared. “Can I help yooouuuu?” he asked in a funny voice, then disappeared again just as quickly, without waiting for a reply.
“Errr ⦠yes,” Stanley began.
The man appeared again as if from nowhere and leered over the counter.
“Yesss, what is it, lad? What do you want?”
He was dressed in a long coat, wore tinted glasses, and was bald with wisps of hair shooting out at the sides. His huge hands were turned out flat on the counter. Stanley noticed that they were hairy and that his fingernails looked long and sharp.
The man removed his glasses and came closer to Stanley. The pupils of his eyes weren't circular. They were long slits that ran from side to side like sheep's eyes, and the colored part was a scary yellow.
Stanley was so shocked he jumped back and knocked a display of toffees crashing across the floor. The man remained very still and looked on silently until Stanley had cleared up the mess.
“I'm very sorry,” Stanley said, picking them up as fast as he could and bundling them back into the basket. He felt obliged to buy something, so he spent a little longer eyeing the contents of the shop before he picked something and left.
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On his return to the house, Stanley wandered into the kitchen and greeted Mrs. Carelli, who was in her usual spot preparing something.
“You've been out all day, lad,” she said. “Have you not eaten?” And before he could
answer she looked at the bag of sweets in his hand.
answer she looked at the bag of sweets in his hand.
“Don't tell me you've been in that sweet shop, Stanley?”
“Well, yes,” he began, “in fact something strange happened and Iâ”
But she cut him off. “Listen to me, Stanley Buggles, and listen good.” She paused as if she was preparing what to say in her head. “Sweets is bad for you. I don't want you in that place again. You hear me?”
“They're only jelly beans,” he muttered. “They won't kill me.”
“STANLEY.” Her voice became louder. “You has two ears and one mouth. Use them in the same proportions, will you?”
“Well, OK,” he said calmly. “I was none too keen on the place anyway.”
“Here,” she said, “You'll do better to get this down you.” She threw an apple in his direction. He cupped it in both hands and took a bite.
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After tea he sat by the fire and pondered over Mrs. Carelli, trying to make up his mind about her. That was twice she had blown her lid. He was going to have to tread more carefully in the future.
Now Stanley was not the type to go ignoring strict orders. Oh no, he was no fool. As his stepfather would have said, he knew on which side his bread was buttered. But there was a slight problem. What with helping the fishermen and the incident in the sweet shop, Stanley had forgotten to drop his letter into the mail box. Trouble was, the mail was collected only once a fortnight. It would be collected at six o'clock promptly the next morning and be on the boat by half past. The chances of Stanley getting out of bed in time were zero, and he had promised to get in touch with home as soon as he could.
He would have to go back. He looked outside: darkness had fallen. There was no chance of being let out, not at this time.
“We're a bit low on firewood,” he shouted upstairs to Mrs. Carelli. “I'll just nip out to the
garden.” He took the full basket with him so he could return with it. By the time she had opened her mouth to remind him it was the middle of summer, he was already out of the door.
garden.” He took the full basket with him so he could return with it. By the time she had opened her mouth to remind him it was the middle of summer, he was already out of the door.
In less than two minutes, Stanley was standing in the dark village. The light was on in the sweet shop window and he realized the mechanical boy was still working. It was quite a sight in the darkness of the street and he stood entranced, watching it repeat its sequence over and over.
Then he was distracted by something behind him. He froze. He could feel something at his heels but almost didn't dare turn around.
He gasped a sigh of relief. It was just a stray dog, lank and skinny and missing a back leg.
And then, for the first time, Stanley noticed the name over the shop door.
It said,
Proprietor: WILLIAM CAKE
A distant howl drifted through the air and the dog scampered off into the gloom. Stanley felt a chill rattle through him.
The noise of a loud bugle came from overhead. Out in the dark, someone from the harbor watchtower had spotted him and was sounding the alarm. A voice shouted at Stanley but he couldn't hear what was being said.
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