Read The Wooden Mile Online

Authors: Chris Mould

The Wooden Mile (8 page)

BOOK: The Wooden Mile
2.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Slowly, he raised it to his keen eye and aimed toward the crooked building that was the sweet shop. The moonlight shone down on the upstairs windows at the back. They were barred. Surely this was a telltale sign. Maybe Cake had tried to stop himself from breaking out of the house when he turned into his midnight form.
All was quiet. Stanley moved his sight downward to see that Cake's doorway was smashed to pieces and lay in smithereens around the garbage can in the back alley. A howl whistled through the cold night air. Stanley's heart quickened in excitement—but it was too late. The wolf must have burst out through the door. It was hungry tonight, he thought.
After a while, he fell asleep with his face pressed against the window. He awoke to see a long black shadow disappearing up onto the moor. He'd missed it again!
He forced his eyes open and eventually, in the early hours of the morning, his patience was rewarded. The man in the harbor lookout was asleep with his head resting in his hands, as a formidable shape of black fur covering a sleek and slender body stood in the square, prowling like a majestic lion.
“That's no ordinary wolf,” whispered Stanley.
The arch of its huge back must have been nearly six feet from the ground. The creature snaked around the gable end of a building and dug its snout into a pile of empty boxes, seeking desperately for some source of nourishment.
Stanley quickly picked up the telescope. He could now see the wolf so closely, the scope shook in his hands and he lost sight several times out of sheer panic.
The shape headed into the harbor just as Flynn's dog trotted around the corner. Stanley held his hand over the end of the telescope … but it didn't stop him from hearing the distant helpless yelp that came from Silver as he breathed his last breath.
The wolf disappeared again and Stanley watched nervously. Where was it now? He heard a noise behind him. He looked around and in the darkness of his room he could pick out a huge shape with a mass of hair.
“Quite a sight, isn't it?” came a voice.
It was Mr. Grouse. Phew!
“Is it really him?” questioned Stanley.
“I'm afraid it is, lad. I've seen it too many times. Now you know the dark secret of Crampton Rock. You just make sure you stay in after dark, Stanley. That's all I ask of you. And don't go getting any fancy ideas. We don't need heroics.”
“I won't,” he answered, and the lie stuck in his throat.
Stanley climbed into bed to get what sleep he could and salvage what was left of the night.
 
In the morning, Stanley woke just before first light. He peered out the window.
To his surprise, he saw William Cake sneaking back down from the moor across the village square. He was naked and he darted quickly from one hiding place to another as he went. As he inspected the shattered rear door of the shop, he held his head in his hands. Then he shot inside, eager not to be seen.
Mrs. Grouse made Stanley the most amazing breakfast—but his nerves had got the better of him and hunger was the last thing on his mind. He pushed the food down.
An hour later he had grabbed his belongings and was making his way back to the hall.
As he reached the door, a piercing scream came from inside. It was Mrs. Carelli, he was sure. He tore through the front door; before he had reached the bottom of the staircase, he had imagined every possible kind of horror. Suddenly, before he could think of anything else, the scene unfolded before him.
Mrs. Carelli stood on a stool, her face white and a feather duster in her hand.
“Ooooh, Stanley, I'm sorry. I've never seen such a monstrous hairy beast in all my life. Could you kill it? You're not scared, are you? There, lad, in that corner. Hurry up, will you?”
It was a spider. A relatively
small
spider. Stanley cupped it in his hand, dropped it onto the step, and shut the door.
A Can of Worms
Stanley was staring at the gun with the silver bullet. It was mounted in a case with crisp blue cloth.
Mrs. Carelli was out and Stanley was free to spend a while pondering his plans. He felt Admiral Swift looking down at him from his portrait. He had a kind face, and Stanley knew he would have liked his Great-uncle Bart.
Scared as he was, he knew he must do the deed, not only for the sake of Crampton Rock, but also for his great-uncle.
Just then, Flynn's face appeared at the window and Stanley jumped out of his skin. Flynn rapped on the glass with his fist.
“Where's my dog, Buggles? I ain't seen it all night.”
Stanley felt terrible about what had happened to Silver, yet he was loath to admit what he knew. Why should he?
“No idea,” he squeaked.
“Tick tock, tick tock,” Flynn laughed. “No time to lose, Stanley. Get rid of the wolf and let the sheep live in peace.” He drew his forefinger across his throat, and left.
Stanley looked at the pistol again. He had never shot a gun before. He would need to be close: one silver bullet meant one chance.
Earlier, when he had been snooping around in the upstairs room that was filled with curiosities, he had found a small booklet. Inside were detailed instructions, from how to load the pistol and shoot it to how to dismantle and clean it. Stanley had not yet got his hands on the gun, but already he knew it inside out.
 
That night, Stanley ventured out again. Mrs. Carelli had been late to bed and it was well into the night before he could be sure she was asleep. And then he had to take the pistol from the case in the dark and load it before he left. So by the time he was outside it was later than he had hoped.
He stood in the back garden. Flynn had told him he should have a better chance of finding the wolf on the moor. It was two
o'clock and a chill wind sent a shiver rattling through him. He trembled uncontrollably and wasn't sure if it was because of cold or fear. Most likely it was both.
With the pistol tucked inside a small bag, Stanley vaulted over the gate that led out onto the moor. The night was clear and bright and Stanley couldn't help thinking how good it felt to be out at such an unearthly hour. As he ventured farther, the foliage grew more closely around him and he pushed on carefully through the silhouetted leaves and branches. With each step he became more careful. If he blew it that was it. No more Stanley. No more Crampton Rock.
In the distance he could hear the sea crashing against the rock on the far side of the island.
He could make out roughly where the
land ended. The sea bobbed on a purple blue horizon. All was peaceful. Perhaps tonight the wolf was resting and Stanley could live to fight another day. Stanley almost forgot why he was there, it was so beautifully peaceful.
“Not tonight,” he thought to himself, turning back toward home.
He hoped Mrs. Carelli hadn't been woken when he left; he didn't fancy an argument with her at three in the morning.
He was almost at the gate, safely back, when up ahead, he saw a light pointing its way across the moor. Who else was out? No one ventured onto the moor, not at this hour.
Moving swiftly, Stanley perched inside the dense growth of a nearby bush. His eyes
opened wide in the dark, but still he couldn't see who it was. His heart beat hard in his ears. Someone was wheezing and gasping, lantern in hand, onto the moor.
Suddenly it came clear. Stanley knew that limping stride and that hunched stoop. It was William Cake. Perhaps he escaped onto the moor when he knew what was coming, to put himself out of harm's way.
A drifting cloud gave way to a crescent moon and a silvery-blue light picked out Cake's pathetic figure. He was struggling, bent double in pain. Stanley was tempted to jump out and help him—but he stopped short when he realized what was happening.
Cake dropped onto all fours. A crunch and crack of bones echoed over the night as his limbs began to elongate into the monstrous legs of a formidable beast. His knees bent backward and his spine grew up in a huge arch.
Stanley recoiled in horror at the sight of Cake's jaw morphing into a great snout with huge teeth. It was an ungodly sight. Within a brief moment the hulking figure of a great wolf stood before him. It breathed heavily from its efforts and a pile of torn clothes lay at his feet. A spluttering of spittle dangled from its gasping jaw. And it was between Stanley and his home.
Stanley turned and fled the way he had come. Much as he had wanted to face the beast and fire the shot perfectly, somehow he couldn't. He shoved his way back through the foliage, tripping on stones and small humps of earth. He could hear the rush of the sea again as he neared the cliff. Looking back, he saw the wolf's evil eyes coming closer.
He raced through darkness, forcing his way past the blackened shapes of stalks and tendrils. Spiny roots and branches reached out like arms and legs to trip his feet. Behind him the monster chased hungrily, its hot breath now blowing at his ankles. Stanley scampered like a frightened rabbit, bobbing from left to right.
Then he tripped headlong and downward. Over the edge he went, in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly the sea came into view and he realized his body was careering over the cliffside.
Somehow, and with a strength that came out of desperation, he grabbed on to a tree root that jutted out from the sandy edge. His body jolted hard against the drop, suspended like a fly in a spider's web.
He looked up to see the wolf leering at him, its bright yellow eyes glowing ghostlike through the darkness. Its huge tongue dripped saliva onto his forehead and its head was so large that Stanley thought it might swallow him whole.
The beast pulled back its lips to reveal all of its powerful teeth. But it couldn't quite reach him! Just maybe Stanley could reach inside his bag and take out what he needed. With one free hand he fumbled and panicked, but at last he could feel the cold metal and knew that he held the pistol in his hand.
“Come to Daddy,” said Stanley. He raised the gun out of his bag and, holding it closer than close, he sent a bullet hurtling between the wolf's eyes.
KABOOOOM! The sound was deafening. Stanley's bony frame shook like a leaf on the branch that held him. The pistol recoiled violently and jumped from his hand, crashing to the rocks below.
In what seemed like slow motion, the beast was thrown backward. Its legs flailed aimlessly and a limp tongue hung from one side of its mouth. Stanley listened for its hefty weight to crash to the ground, but the sound of the sea crashing on the rocks drowned out the thud as it hurtled headfirst into a nearby thicket.
It was all over.
Well, almost. Stanley was still helpless, hanging from the cliff face.
 
He was there for what seemed like hours. Eventually, he heard Flynn and his men discussing what to do with the wolf. They must have been watching from a lookout post.
Stanley called out, and over the side of the cliff came three ugly faces.
“Well, well, well. If it isn't our pint-sized hero, Stanley Buggles.”
And with only sixteen fingers and five thumbs, they hoisted him up and dusted him down.
“That be a job well done, Stanley. You go on home now and get yer beauty sleep, it's growing light already. We'll finish up here.”
Stanley didn't need any more coaxing. He was gone. Over the moor he ran, half of him elated and the other half scared to death he was about to hit big trouble back home. How he would explain the missing gun he didn't know.
Finally home, he sneaked up the staircase, treading carefully over every board. When he got to his room, he climbed into his bed still clothed and gave a sigh of relief.
“Ahhh, look who's here. It's the return
of the midnight cowboy.”
Mrs. Carelli was sitting on his window seat. She was looking out to sea and didn't bother to turn around as she spoke to him.
“Been a long night for you, Stanley. You'll be needing some sleep, I guess.”
“Errr … I guess so,” answered Stanley, still in shock.
She turned to him, furious. “You've no idea what you've done, Stanley, no idea. Now the trouble will really start. You've opened a can of worms, you have. While that thing was still alive, those idiots was gripped in fear along with everyone else around here. Now it's gone they're free to roam around at night and do what pirates do. Loot and pillage and turn people's lives upside down. And do you know what they wants most of all? They wants what they think is in this house.
Your
house.”
BOOK: The Wooden Mile
2.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Alpha Call by BA Tortuga
La sombra sobre Innsmouth by H.P. Lovecraft
A Land to Call Home by Lauraine Snelling
The Horny Leprechaun 2 by King, Nikita
PHANTOM IN TIME by Riley, Eugenia
A Criminal Defense by Steven Gore
Ghosts on Board by Fleur Hitchcock
Haunting Rachel by Kay Hooper