To Extract a Scoundrel

I viewed the portal with some suspicion. I was familiar with Faery in a vague sense from Ada's tales of her extended visits there but I'd never actually been. Faery has a disturbing effect on demons – it reveals their true natures. Can you blame us for not wanting that?* Besides, the Fae don't like us and attempt to slaughter demons wholesale. Angels, too, if any angels believed in Faery.

It was clear that someone was going to have to go into Faery and retrieve this rotten scoundrel Thorburn. Someone expendable, preferably. Someone who wouldn't be missed if they were suddenly removed from existence and never came back.

Someone like Harold.

I turned to Winston. "Pack up the portal, old chap," I said. "We're off to see the wizard."





*Exactly! I'd be revealed for the fluffy, fun-loving bundle of amiability and altruism I am!



Happy Birthday, Lucy Waterman! One year old today.

Hell for Children

"What will happen to them?" asked Meinwen when the portal had closed behind the two children.

I shrugged. "Who can tell?" I said. "The younger one will go to the place formally known as Limbo and the older one will be assigned a circle according to his sins. It'll be a mild punishment. What can a ten year old have done to merit more?"

"Does that go for all children?" asked Meinwen. "It seems a bit rough to punish children in Hell."

"That's Christianity for you," I said. "Original Sin did wonders for our admissions policy."

"Still..."

"Look at it this way," I said. "Lizzy Borden chopped up her parents with an axe but because she was so young all we had her do was tend trees for eternity. Her parents, mind, they got eternal torment for unrepented sins. Missing church, blasphemy and not reading the Bible every day."

"Does anybody do that?"

"No, but they were supposed to. They didn't have a television."

Liverpudlian Traps

"Where's Daddy?"

The girl, who had probably been seven or eight when she died, clutched a doll to her chest. I know from past experience how difficult it is to obtain phantom projections of toys and surmised the doll must have been with her when she died and been invested with some considerable emotion from the child. She stepped forward slightly, as if she expected us to furnish her with answers.

"Who's your daddy?" said Meinwen, gently. "Is he here?"

"He's gone, all right?" The boy clutched at her free arm and dragged her away from us. "He told us we'd be together for ever and then he just went away."

"Yeah, man, he upped and left you in this shithole." Winston said. "I bet that makes you feel loved all right."

Spectral tears sprang from the corner of the boys eyes. "He's coming back for us! He said so!"

"What's your name, lad?" I asked. "And your sisters?"

"Billy," he said. "And she's Lucy."

I had a momentary shiver of comparison. We were here because of Harold's Lucy and here was another Lucy who had died before her prime. Such a waste. I took out my bloodberry and connected to the missing spirits database. William Thorburn was supposed to die in a motorcycle accident in 1984, aged 19, yet here he was having died at around ten or eleven. There was no mention of a Lucy Thorburn. She would still have been alive.

I took a long sigh and opened a portal. "Step inside, love," I said. "Let me find you a place where cares of the day will be carried away by the smile on your face."

Billy frowned and clutched his sister's arm. "We are together," he said. "Now and forever."

I nodded. "Come my way."

Whatever Happened to Mary Jane?

Devious dealt with, I took a quick look around the rest of the room . There was little to interest me. Our esteemed client must have already escaped through the portal into the craggy wasteland beyond which I was quite certain was Faery. What to do? I couldn't follow the wastrel in there since he clearly had assistance from the boy in the photograph. Similarly, I couldn't actually present his soul to the overdue accounts department of Hell as a fait accompli. I could either get one of the others to go in after him, I could bring some influence to bear (Ada is Fae royalty, after all), I could close and break the portal altogether or I could take the darned thing back to the manor and work on the problem at my leisure.

One thing was certain at least. As soon as I removed the connection between Faery and the house, the doll's house would be safe to give to Lucy for her birthday. I could them leave an anonymous tip to the police about this house and the bodies therin.

Meinwen was poking about in the crates of loose bones. I was only alerted to the problem when she gave a sort of strangled shriek and backed right into me.

"Look," she said, pointing.

"Ah," I replied. "I wondered what had happened to the two children."

Screechin to a Halt

Devious continued screeching despite his missing tongue. Fortunately, Meinwen was quite quick-thinking and grabbed the bucket out of Winston's hands, thundered down the stairs and braved the bathroom long enough to half-fill it with fresh water. Her return was prompt enough to stop the holy water from eating through the imp's skull though he was in considerable pain. Bone showed clearly through several of the areas of ruptured flesh.

"Why couldn't he just open one of his little gates?" Winston asked. "Poor little bugger." He turned to Devious. "Sorry, mate. It was instinct to lob the holy water at whatever looked scary."

"You're not convincing him, you know," I said. "Since when has an imp looked scary? He'll be fine once we open the cage and let him out. Iron bars, see, no doubt layered with spells to stop any portal use."

"How about right now?" said Meinwen. "He looks like a half-decayed zombie. One look at that and I'd be legging it through the graveyard."

"I suppose." I cast about for something to break the lock with. "Can you see a hammer or something?"

"No worries." Winston pulled out what looked like jeweller's screwdrivers and squatted in front of the cell door. A moment later the lock popped open and he stood back to let Devious shuffle out. One foot had been completely eaten down to the bone along with one arm and the side and top of his head. He looked a bit sorry for himself.

"Devious?" I said. "Go home and get cleaned up, then bring some more tea."



Image: Patricia Quinn - Down to the Bone

A Dousing

Winston kicked open the door and threw it at the first thing to move which happened to be a small creature in a cage. It screamed as the water hit it and the room was filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh. That was as much notice as we took as we leaped in to scour the room.

It was a bit run down for a necromancer's studio, I have to say. Faded, scraggy carpets and walls painted in cabbalistic symbols do not a dungeon make. There were iron bars on the windows and several boxes of assorted skulls and the regulation throne of bones. There was also the companion mirror to the one in the cellar and a larger open portal showing the craggy landscape of a mountainous region.

With no immediate threat I turned to the screaming creature.

It was locked inside an iron-barred cage containing the companion mirror, and it took a moment for me to realise what the ghastly thing was.

"Devious, old chap," I said, though half his skin had been burned away by the holy water. "I was beginning to worry that we'd lost you."

Alas that he must have had his mouth open when Winston had thrown the water, perhaps to call out to us in warning or greeting. Now his tongue had gone. Fear not, though, for imps are all but indestructible. To actually kill one you have to douse the bugger in holy water.

Oh, wait...

Underhanded

Winston wiped away the visible portion of the pentacle while I kept well away from the dripping holy water. he wore a sort of fixed grimace and scrubbed so hard at the wood I thought his hands would bleed. Meinwen tried to help but he pushed her away. "I have to do this," he said through clenched teeth. "I want this evil son-of-a... gone from my town."

Meinwen nodded and stood back, watching. It didn't need to be completely arranged – we all knew that the slightest gap in a pentacle nullifies it. I recall Harold being horrified when I stepped out of a circle he'd made with salt, once, because I could see a path trough the grains.

By the time Winston had finished he still had half a bucket of the holy water left. "Save it," I said. "lob it at Thorburn if he's behind this door."

"It won't do any good, will it?" he said. "He's not a demon, nor have we seen any instances of unholy magic. Throwing holy water on his charms will be a bit crap."

"True," I said, "but you try casting a fireball when you get a bucket of water in the face half-way through the incantation."

"Ha!" Winston nodded and held the bucket ready for an underhand throw. "When you're ready then, squire. He must know we're here by now so I suggest rushing him."

I took a deep breath. "You know," I said, "this is the first time I've wished we had Julie with us. She can throw a mean spell when she wants to."

"I remember," said Winston. "Not just spells, either. Remember the balloon filled with urine?"

Practical Jokes

Not daring to use a portal (since portals can be redirected if someone expects their appearance) I twisted the handle and pushed open the door, Winston and Meinwen behind me straining to see past. Just in time I looked up and managed to spot the second-oldest practical joke in the book: a bucket of water over the door.

I lifted it down with exceptional care, slicing through the rope with a razor-sharp finger nail. Meinwen looked askance at the bucket. "Is this guy a practical joker?"

"In a manner of speaking." I dipped the very end of a fingernail in and the liquid bubbled and frothed and ate it clean away.

"Acid?"

"Worse," I said. "Holy water. Doesn't harm the innocent but destroys demons"

"He knew you were coming?"

"The racket we've been making he probably knew what we had for breakfast. We haven't been entirely circumspect, have we?"

"I suppose."

Winston looked upward, checking for further diabolical traps. "What's this painted arc?" he said. "It was hidden under the bones but with them gone you can just about make out the brown paint against the wood."

"Not paint," I said. "Blood. A pentacle painted level with the floor. By walking into the attic we'd find ourselves trapped inside a magic circle."

Winston smiled. "It's handy he left us a bucket of water to scrub it off with, then."




*The oldest? "Hey, Able, look! I've got wood!"

At the Top of the Stairs

The door at the top of the stairs posed significant problems, most of which involved us not knowing what was behind it. Nothing good, that was for certain. Edward Jose Thorburn was evil even by my definition. Soul traps and necromancy were abominations from the year dot and hasn't changed no matter what societies have come and gone. In the eyes of the world below, there is no excuse for interrupting the natural cycle of birth and death*

"I'll go first," I said.

"Wait," said Meinwen. "What about all that stuff you said in the cellar? All that 'you go first, Meinwen, then I can still rescue you'?"

"This is different," I said. "If you went first up here the chances are you'd have your soul sucked out quick as a tortoise and I'd be left having to deal with your animated corpse as well as whatever else Thourburn has up his sleeve."

"Oh." Meinwen bit her lip. "I suppose that makes sense.." She held out her hand. "It was nice knowing you, Mr. Jasfoup. Perhaps I'll see you again on the other side."

"I'm not discorporated yet," I said.

"No, but you might be soon."

"In that case," said Winston. "Can I have my money now?"




*even Heaven has never been ecstatic about the phrase 'born again' since it generally comes with a declaration of 'all the previous sinning doesn't count, then').

The Bone Staircase

We went with some degree of trepidation up the stairs and with good reason. Just above half way the stair changed from the traditional oak planks to bone. Hundreds of bones. So many, in fact, that it began to resemble the bone cathedrals of Poland and Laverstone (though I suspect without the well-meaning artistic licence behind those places) or the graphic art of Swiss technomancers.

I pointed out two small skulls. "There's the answer to what happened to the children."

Meinwen looked faintly sick and Winston's face took on a grim set. It was almost humbling the way these bags of earth and water cared for each other. They were genuinely upset about the fates of two children who may well have grown up – given their father's disposition – into serial killers or politicians.

"Onward and upward," I murmured.

"I can't," said Meinwen, modulating her voice from its usual high squeaking. "I don't want to walk on their bones."

"Nor I." Winston shook his head. "It's not right."

"I can't do anything about it," I said. "We don't have the time to dismantle it piece by bone."

"Then allow me." Winston opened a gate to the dead again and the dry wind whipped Meinwen's hair about her face, giving her the appearance of a reluctant gorgon. Several of the Elven spirits appeared at the gate and he said something to them in their dark, guttural language. Spectral hands reached out and within moments the stairs were bare on bone. He closed the gate and the tempest ceased abruptly, leaving Meinwen's hair looking like a used bog brush.

"Right," I said, somewhat cheered. "Who has a needle to sew up that rip in the fabric of reality?"

Like a Knife Through Butter

If the ground floor had been deadly and the second floor relatively safe (I'm not counting the ancient cough sweets Winston was sucking as entirely safe) then the staircase leading to the attic was a different situation again. Only by the light of Winston's dwarf sun could we see the tendrils of spirit vine curled around each step and wavering in the still air, dust motes clinging to each leaf and curling stem.

"Well spotted, old bean," I said. "Those thing would have whipped out your soul and fed it to goodness knows what."

"How do we get past?" asked Meinwen, "And do we really want to?"

"Of course we want to," said Winston. "That's the whole point, innit? To get the bad guy and send his arse to Hell in a handcart?"

"But with the amount of violence here," said Meinwen, "couldn't we just call in the police?"

"We could," I said, "but what would happen when they charged up these steps?"

"They'd all die," said Winston.

"Exactly." I nodded to Winston who took a silver blade from inside his jacket. "Fortunately, we know a way to deal with spirit vines." I frowned. "Wait, isn't that the butter knife from Harold's best tea service?"

But Where are the Children?

The last door was the back bedroom overlooking the rather sad garden we'd already hacked our way through. Meinwen moved slowly through the room taking in the bunkbeds, the discarded toys, the mildewed walls.... She opened the wardrobe and looked at the flares, the striped dresses and lurid pullovers "They never grew up did they?" she said. "The two children in the photograph."

I looked at the room with new eyes* and saw what she meant. This was the bedroom of two children. Children who were born in the seventies. By rights there shouldn't be any children's things at all. They should be in their thirties now and this room should be decorated with teen idols and pop stars at least.

"I've not seen any evidence of their deaths," I said. "Perhaps they were taken into care before whatever happened here happened."

"Maybe," she said, "but I have a bad feeling about it." She rubbed at the dirt on the window to look down upon the overgrown garden. "It's as if the house stopped living," she said. "There should be more here to account for the passage of thirty years and there isn't. Even abandoned houses show some signs of modernity. Why haven't squatters moved in?"

"All the traps we found downstairs?"

"True, but they haven't even tried. You'd think there would be tales about this house. Kids always deem at least one house in the neighbourhood haunted. Why not this one. There's no signs of vandalism at all. No broken windows, no graffiti..."

"And no traps on this floor at all," said Winston, entering the room, "But just look at the stairs to the attic..."

Crunchy

The bathroom was a testament to bodily function. The only reason Meinwen and Winston weren't driven out by the smell was that it was so old it had hardened to a dry crust over every surface.

Blood, faeces, sputum, vomit and lumps of flayed flesh made a crust over ever part of the room. It looked like the kerb outside a kebab shop when the nightclubs closed on a Saturday night. Meinwen turned green and left the room in a moment. Winston stood surveying the area.

"Aren't you sickened by the sight of this?" I said. "I've seen the depravity of the torture pits and I'm a little queasy about it."

Winston shrugged. "I had a mate who went to Oxford," he said. "His dormitory bathroom looked worse than this."

"Ah." I nodded. It was rare but I occasionally picked up a suicide from the University and had had seen sights you'd never imagine by going to a comprehensive. The graduates were generally destined to follow a path of damnation.

I leaned over the sink. Clinging to the plughole, amidst a small quarry of extracted teeth, was a small spider. I lifted him out and tucked him into a pocket. The poor chap deserved better than this.

Winston had prised open the bathroom cabinet. "Sweet!" he said, pulling out slightly rusty tin. "Old fashioned cough drops."

"Not just old fashioned," I said. "Best before June 1954."

He opened the tin and popped one in his mouth. "They taste a bit fusty."

Dried Blood

I got thumped by Meinwen.

She didn't take kindly, she said, to the teasing about the curry house putting dog in their vindaloo. I just nodded and laughed along with her, not really sure why either of us thought it was funny. At least they didn't use cats. They had, once, until I arranged to have the Goddess Bast drop them a visit and they never used cat meat again. Oddly, there doesn't appear to be a dog god. Wolves, jackles and coyotes, yes, but no dog. Perhaps the Ancients didn't think the people would take Tricksiebelle, the Poodle-Headed-Warrior-God seriously. I can't think why not.

Anyway, it's not everyone who can thump a demon on the arm and get away with it. Most would get burned to a crisp on served to their loved ones on a bed of crispy seaweed* She's grown some balls since she arrived in Laverstone for whatever backwater village she came from.

The first door on the landing led to the master bedroom. Winston used his light to show us there were no traps and a layer of dust over everything indicated that the room hadn't been used in a long time.

"What's that?" asked Meinwen, pointing to a large stain on the wall and floorboards. I didn't need CSI to tell me.

"Blood," I said. "Someone died there. An adult, by the height of the spray and the arc of the arterial spurt. It would have been quick, at least."

"The woman in the cellar?"

"Maybe. Who can tell."

"Whoever it was, they were kept here against their will," said Winston. "Look at the bed. The end rails are worn to a different colour. Someone was tied by the wrists for a long time."

Meinwen shuddered and pulled open the curtains to let some light into the room. Her feet crunched as if she were walking on gravel but when she looked down she saw thousands of fly carcasses.

"Let's get this done and go," she said. "The whole place is creepy."

"Still want to buy it?"



Image: Principles of Bloodstain Analysis: Theory and Practice (Practical Aspects of Criminal and Forensic Investigations)

A Good Curry

At the top of the stairs was a short landing with three doors off and a small window set into the front of the hose, slightly open to allow the evening air to filter in. The scent of jasmine and lavender from the garden below brought a contrast to the darkness and misery of the house, a contrast we were all a little grateful for.

"According to the model," I said, "these should be two bedrooms, a bathroom and the stairs to the attic. I think I can guess where our wannabe wizard is going to be holed up and it's not in the bathroom"

"An attic makes a nice change from a cellar," said Meinwen. "Though my brother always wanted a dungeon himself."

"What, for sado-masochistic sex?"

"No, for his role playing games. The pub kicked him out for waving his rubber sword about."

"Ah! Sniff that" Winston held his head near the window, his eyes closed. "Beautiful, that is."

"The jasmine?" Meinwen smiled and closed her eyes as well. "It reminds me of the woods at night. There's wild jasmine all over the path near Park Road."

"Nah, love. The curry. That's the Kapoor Curry house on Paget Road. I've not had any dinner yet." His stomach rumbled to prove the point.

"Neither have any of us," I said. "Though I'll join you in a Dachshund Vindaloo when we finish up here."

"Sure." Winston grinned.

"They don't really make curry out of dachshunds, do they?" said Meinwen.

Winston laughed and nudged her with his elbow. "Nah," he said. "You really are gullible sometimes."

"Yes," I said. "Dachshunds are tiny. They prefer Labradors or German Shepherds."

Stair rods

The stairs were decorated in a similar fashion to the rest of the house. A threadbare runner covered the central portion, held in place by Bakelite riser grips. "Blimey," said Winston, squatting to look at them. "I looked at the price of these when I was doing up my house. They cost a small fortune."

"I'm sure the house will come on the market very shortly," I said. "Like, tomorrow. He's well past his due date, is our Edward Thorburn."

"Does he have any relatives?" Meinwen. "Someone to leave the house to?

"I've no idea," I said. "He obviously did once, to judge by the photographs but whether they're still alive is anybody's guess. I could do the research but I can't be bothered. Why? You don't want to live here, surely?

"Not really. I was just wondering how much it'd go for. The shop's not making much and if I could buy it as a doer-upper I might make enough to float me for a bit."

Winston gave a brief yelp and we both turned to look at him. "These runner grips and tight," he said. "I've just had my fingers nipped." He showed us his hand, where a pair of blood blisters were already forming."

"You're lucky," I said. "If you'd cut yourself you might be doomed to stay here forever."

"A fate worse than death," he said.

I nodded. "Especially if Meinwen buys it."

Strange Things Happen

I plucked the letter from Meinwen's hands and tossed it back on the mountain of post. "He doesn't need a million quid," I said, "and he certainly doesn't have the time to read any books, condensed or otherwise. He's going down."

"Dahhhnnn," said Winston. "That's a phrase you can only ever say wif a sarf Lunnon accent, innit? You're goin' dahhhnnnn."

"That only applies to His Majesties Metropolitan Police," I said. "Excepting of course the Chief Constable who is only ever chosen from the alumni of Cambridge."

"Don't you talk to me about the Police," said Meinwen. "I read the drummer-boy's biography last week and it was disgusting. So full of profanities I had to pretend I'd lost it when my Mam asked to borrow it. It would have cost her a fortune in swear box money."

"Why's that?" Winston kicked about the post looking for any personal letters that might reveal a clue to what happened here. "You can't help the swearing if you're reading something, surely?"

"Well my mam's an enthusiastic but slow reader," said Meinwen, "and her trouble is she reads aloud and every time she hears a swear word she puts tenpence in the poor box."

"That's easy to cure," I said.

"How's that?"

"Send her some earplugs."

Meinwen scowled. "Oh very funny, I don't think."

"It was, actually," said Winston, grinning. "I'll have to remember that one."

"Anyway," I said. "Forget going dahhnn." I looked into the dark stairwell. "We're going up."


Image: "Strange Things Happen" by Stewart Copeland

The Bible in 100 words

"Anyway," I said. "Stop messing about and get this door open. I've got better things to do than banter about books, you know."

"Like what?" Winston readied his eldritch sunshine. I say sunshine but it was more of a sepia than a yellow, as if the world was perpetually viewed in daguerreotype. Which, being the Dead Line, was quite appropriate, really.

"Like sending this bloke to Hell and getting back to the Manor for dinner," I said

Meinwen opened the door and Winston shone his sunlight into the room beyond, except it wasn't a room but a small vestibule with front door and stairs to the first floor. A pile of letters, bills and circulars filled the space to a depth of three feet, spilling over into the room now that we'd opened the door."

"By Harry and St. George," I said. "Why hasn't this bloke been evicted for non-payment of bills?"

Meinwen pulled some random envelopes off the top of the pile. "Direct Debit?" she said. "These bills are all marked 'For Information Only."

"Dame the elusive soul who makes such detailed plans," I said.

"The stained glass is pretty, though," said Meinwen, "and look! Here's a letter that says he might have won a million pounds already."

"Funny," I said. "I thought Reader's Digest had gone bust."

"Nah." Winston grinned. "They've just gone ultra slim. They sent me '100 Best Novels in 100 words last month." He frowned. "It still cost me thirty quid, but I can discuss Virgil with the best now."


Image: The Aeneid (Penguin Classics)

Scientology Elves

Meinwen pulled a few grubby paperbacks from the sideboard and looked at them. "Pulp science fiction?" she said. "That would explain the old man's descent into murder and madness"

"Ah, Lovecraft," I said. "Your pages were always my favourite reading."

"Yeah?" Winston shrugged. "I could never understand the fascination, myself. They were supposed to be horror stories, right? But Cthuluh, the main scary dude, was always asleep. It's hard to be scared of a monster that's always asleep and even if you manage to wake him up he's so slow you can drive a boat through his head which sends him back to sleep. Better to be scared of the things that are awake, that's what I say."

"But Ada wouldn't have his books in the house," I pointed out. "That's why we kept them in the outside loo." I frowned. "Which was fine until Frederick ran out of toilet paper. I never did find out what happened to the Priest of Dagon when he went to Florida."

"They're not by Lovecraft anyway," said Meinwen. "They're L Ron Hubbard."

"Elron Hubbard?" Winston laughed. "I remember him. Wasn't he the guy who liked Lord of the Rings so much he made up a religion based on going to Middle Earth when you die?"

"Something like that." I smiled. " Lafayette Ronald Hubbard. I liked him. He openly admitted in 1948 that the fastest way to make money was to invent a new psychiatric doctrine or a new religion. He chose the latter, of course. I wish he'd been in my region when he died. I'd have collected his soul and shook his hand."

"You really liked him?" said Meinwen. "What happened to all the 'Thou shalt worship no other god stuff?"

"Nothing," I said. "That's the point, isn't it? There's nothing quite like a screwy religion based on money and sex to drag its fans to Hell."



Image: Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health

Triple Time, Doubled

I opened the door to the front of the room while Winston opened up a small portal to the Dead Line to highlight any Fae magic. Curiously, not only were there no traps inside, but the room was brightly lit by the early evening sunshine. A large bay window overlooked Offley Street and through the grime we could see a few people on their way to St. Pity's for Sunday evening mass.

"What time is it?" said Meinwen. "It looks late."

"Ten past six," said Winston, checking his mobile phone.

"Have we really been here three hours?" she said. "This was supposed to be my day off."

Winston sniffed. "We'd better wrap this up soon else I'm charging overtime on top of Sunday time."

"You do surprise me," I said. "Can you honestly tell me exploring a haunted, be-trapped house doesn't excite you and get the blood pounding through your veins?"

Winston shrugged. "Not really," he said. "But the prospect of meeting my mortgage payment this month does."

"Mortgage? I thought you inherited the house from your parents?" Meinwen pulled opened the sideboard doors and looked inside.

"I did." Winston looked at a photograph on the wall that displayed the two older children from the other photograph. "But I remortgaged it to finance the garage."

"Ah." I nodded. "You should have come to me. I could have given you a better rate."

"Possibly," he said, "but the bank didn't make me sign in blood."

The Scent of Old Sock Races

With another room magic-free and all of us relatively intact (though I caught Meinwen sucking her thumb once or twice) our attention turned to the remaining doors. "Left or straight on? I asked.

Meinwen flung open the curtains and weak evening light filtered through years of grime highlighted the dust and yellowing wallpaper. Using a corner of the moth-eaten velvet, she rubbed a circle of glass clean enough to see through. "That's the front of the house," she said, pointing to the door opposite the kitchen, "so the other door must be the stairs."

"I'll check." Winston opened the latter to find himself confronted with an ancient vacuum cleaner and other cleaning sundries. "Nugget's Furniture Polish," he said, picking up a tin. "I haven't seen that in years. Our mam used to use it all the time." He smiled with the memory. "Latitia and I used to have sock races down the hall." He opened the tin and sniffed. "Sniff that," he said. "That takes me right back."

"It'll take you somewhere else if you're not a bit more careful about opening tins," I said. "This house is too full of traps to take anything for granted."

"You're probably right." Winston pocketed the tin and closed the door. "Let's have a shufty at the front parlour, then.

A Family Man

I retrieved the picture and stared at the image. It looked odd , after viewing it though the silver tray mirror but the smallest child was no longer there. Though I knew it was stupid, I couldn't stop myself from looking at the back of the picture to see if he was there.

"Where's he gone?" I said.

"Who?"

"The fae child, The smallest." I tapped the photograph with my finger, pointing out the obvious gap. "There were three children before I threw it at the television. Two normal kids and a fae child. Where did he go?"

Winston shrugged. "Search me," he said. I was almost tempted, but such an action is best left until we had somewhere more private.

"Any sign of Devious yet?" I asked Meinwen.

"How should I know? I've been with you all the time."

"Devious?" Winston frowned. "The little chap?"

"Yes," I said. "We found a portal in the cellar and since it was potentially dangerous to go through it I sent an imp. Useless little took has probably got himself killed just to spite me."

"Ha," said Winston. "They're just like kids, imps are."

Meinwen patted his arm. "Promise me you'll never be a father," she said.

Bad Taste is Always in Style

Meinwen was understandably put-out when Winston and I explained she had been acting like a child (though I dearly wish I'd thought to take a picture of her sucking her thumb – I could have done much with that around the town). She pulled the picture out of the remains of the television and I half expected her to get sucked inside it. Edward Jose Thorburn was far too fond of his soul traps for my liking, though the specialisation did point to a lack of skills in other areas. Perhaps we'd be lucky and find him totally inept at feeding himself, for example.

Whatever magic the picture held had dissipated with the television. There were deep gouges across the photograph (though it could only improve the jumpers) and the little fae boy was missing entirely.

"I remember those V-necked jumpers," said Meinwen. Well, she would, wouldn't she? "They used to be part of our school uniform. I wonder why they went out of fashion?"

I frowned. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Should it be?" She looked to Winston for support and he coughed.

"Lovely," he said, as if he had a flip top head and someone had removed his good taste. "I'll look out for one in Dante and Gehenna's."



Image: Elizabeth Scott Blue Striped V-Neck Jumper

Blatant Plug

A little stonecast Devious, made by Becky

Childhood Pleasures

"I can't snap her out of it," said Winston from the settee. Meinwen was curled up, her head on his lap. I raised an eyebrow.

"Aw, come on," he said. "It's like she's six years old. I wouldn't take advantage of her like that. If she was her normal self, maybe, but I can't get her to snap out of it. It's not even a decent show. Who thought it was a good idea to set a kids show in Halifax?"

"I think it was supposed to be Brixham," I said. "Before the riots, obviously, though there was an episode where Mary was lobbing bricks from her tower block balcony. It was very popular in its day. Mary was a child who came from a broken family and lived with a dog and a mouse. She fends for herself and still has time to help out local residents and jack Ford Cortinas."

"Stupid," said Winston. "As if they were ever worth the trouble." He stroked Meinwen's hair. "What are we going to do about this? "

Still using the tray as a looking-glass, I unhooked the picture from the wall and threw it through the television screen. There was a muffled pop as the tube imploded and the picture died.

Meinwen blinked. "What's going on?" she said, rising to a seated position. "Why do I have the taste of blood in my mouth and why does my thumb look like a prune ?"


Image: Gender in Early Childhood

Family Photograph

Using the reflective surface of the tea tray I was able to view the picture in reverse. This is a reasonably safe, although not infallible, way of looking at ensorcelled objects. It depicted a family scene – a typical seventies family shot in V-neck pullovers. I remember Harold wearing one as a boy.

On the left (or right in the actual picture) was what appeared to be the father of the group – a left-wing intellectual in horn-rimmed glasses and pipe and a corduroy jacket with patches on the sleeves. Despite looking out at the camera his body was posed at a three-quarter view, providing an end stop for the other members of the family.

His wife – for that could only be his wife making the other side of the family frame – was dressed in slacks and housecoat leaving me to wonder why someone would pay a professional photographer to take a portrait and yet wear everyday work clothes to pose in it. She too stared out at the camera though the smile she wore looked plastered on and would have taken a year to reach her eyes. Her bouffant hair gave her the appearance of an inverted exclamation point.

Between these two parents were the three children, arranged in a triangle. Two boys and a little girl, The elder boy, at the back, was the image of his father, though he wore wire-rimmed glasses that in those days were free from the NHS. The girl wore a gingham dress and pinafore, standing stiffly to attention with a dilapidated teddy trailing by the paw. The younger boy, though, was the most disturbing. Teeth bared, he stared out at the camera with glittering eyes and a knowledge behind them that was far older than his five-year old frame suggested.

He was fae.

Image: Photo Jigsaw - Portrait of a family in an interior, Russian, c1840.

The Delight of Innocence

"Why doesn't it affect us?" Winston gripped Jasfoup's shoulder, wrinkling the delicate fabric. "I can feel the spell trying to pry its way into my mind but slipping away like motorbike tyres on ice."

"Look at the program she's watching," said Jasfoup, prying the fingers off his suit, crestfallen at the light patches of oil left behind. "It preys on the innocence of youth and the desire for a simpler life."

"Are you saying I'm not innocent?"

"I could give you a list. What I'm actually implying, though, is that Meinwen, having chosen an alternative lifestyle and refusing to take stimulants, has become an innocent. It probably helps that she doesn't have a television, either, so her mind is not filled with horror and advertising jingles."

Winston grimaced. "I can relate to that!"

"Quite. Can you see any other traps?"

"Hold on." Winston sent his ball of eldritch light into the room. The television glowed in response, as did a framed photograph on the wall.

"See if you can turn the television off," said Jasfoup. "I'll look at the picture."

"Careful you don't get sucked inside." Winston grinned

"That's really not funny. The power of objects is not to be sneered at. Wait here for a moment." He went back into the cellar and returned bearing the silver tea tray Delirious had delivered. "I won't look at it directly, just in case."

"What shall I do if I can't turn the television off?"

"See if you can get The Herbs instead."


Image: The Herbs/Parsley The Lion - Complete Collection [1968] [DVD]

Big Blue Demon

Hurrah! The last stop of the Blog tour for 'An Ungodly Child' is at Aims' Big Blue Barn West

Go and say hello!

Seventies Spells

While Winston took a few minutes to get his breath back, Meinwen and I took a poke around the room where the soul trap had been.

Considering the viciousness of the spell protecting it, it was a fairly nondescript room. Worn leather armchairs and a dilapidated sofa made a vague semicircle around a old television on a seventies style sideboard next to a fireplace. An old roll-top desk and chair occupied the opposite corner and two doors led off. Heavy curtains occluded the window, though a small amount of light leaked in through the edges.

Meinwen walked in before I could stop her. She didn't seem to grasp that just because one spell has been nullified it doesn't mean there aren't any more. She flicked the light switch a couple of times but like the cellar the bulb had blown. She squeezed between the sofa and one of the chairs to reach the television and tried that. It flickered into life, showing an animated image in monochrome of a young girl, a dog and a mouse, all waving at the camera.

"Mary, Mungo and Midge," said Meinwen, sitting on the sofa and picking up a cushion to hug. "Look, Jasfoup."

"I see it," I said. "How very odd."

"Please can I have a biscuit, Jasfoup? And a milkshake?"

Winston looked over my shoulder. "What's up with her?" he said.

"Look at her expression," I said, nodding to Meinwen's slack jaw. "She's been caught in the spell of television."


Image: The Complete Mary, Mungo And Midge [DVD]

Missing Ink

Winston had managed to deactivate the soul trap and was now happily ensconced in a personal protective circle. He'd opened a gate to the Plane of the Dead (we call it the Unjudged) the vortex of which was sucking up the stray spirits like cocaine through a hundred dollar bill.

He was humming and nodding his head and for a moment I wondered if he was either possessed or preparing to cast another spell. is skin was still glowing through the cracks and the tattoos on his arms and shoulders were writhing like the Great God Cthulhu had finally woken up and was demanding a fried breakfast and grapefruit juice.

What he hadn't noticed, since he was concentrating on the room beyond the kitchen, were the stray spirits attacking Meinwen. She had enough strength of will and personal charmed jewellery to form a basic shield around herself but it was very weak. She wouldn't last long before it disintegrated like a tea bag in a blender. I made a grab for the nearest and opened a small portal into Hell, shoving the spirit inside regardless of whether it deserved to go there. "Sort out the paperwork later," I thought, though it's a nightmare since you have to allow the soul legal representation from The Other Side.

The portal closed and I reached for another, clicking my fingers for an imp. Meinwen was doing quite well with the second one; her charms and necklaces combined with her ear-rings and bracelets to create a cacophony of conflicting faiths and ideals and made the spirit's head spin, metaphorically speaking. Unable to distinguish God from Brahma from Chuang-Tzu it shrivelled to the size of a tennis ball and lost cohesion. There'd be shouting in the temple over that one and no mistake.

Delirious arrived just as I caught hold of the last one and climbed out of his gate just in time for me to stuff the spirit in. If you've ever watched a science fiction film where someone gets sucked out of a spacecraft through a three-inch hole you get the picture.

Delirious watched it go. "That's better not get stuck in the U-bend," he said.



Image: The Call of Cthulhu: The Celebrated Story of H.P. Lovecraft [DVD] [2005] [US Import]

Gulping Tea

I followed Meinwen up the stairs. I had to, really. Although there was a slight chance of Winston being sucked into a magical vortex and having his soul siphoned through the sphincter of an alternate plane of reality. Imagine passing a kettle and you'll get the idea of how excruciatingly painful that is.

Nevertheless, there was a significantly greater chance that Meinwen interrupting him would make the spell backfire altogether and redecorate the house and several other dimensions with their liquidised bodies. It was with some haste, then that I finished my tea and followed.

"Meinwen," I said, weaving through the stacks of empty bottles on the steps, "Don't interrupt him, I don't have enough buckets to clear up your entrails."

The ghoulish scene that greeted me as I entered the kitchen was one I won't forget in a hurry – not for a day or two at least. There were ghosts and spirits being dragged around like sides of beef on hooks at a butcher's warehouse. Winston's looked like the orange fellow from The Fantastic Four except there was light glowing through the cracks in his skin. Special effects bods would hire him on the spot if they saw that.

Meinwen turned to me, her eyes almost popping out of her skull as if she had the back of her head in a vice. "What's happening?" she mouthed.

I stepped back. I was too late.


Image: Fantastic Four Visionaries: John Byrne v. 7 (Fantastic Four Visionaries)

The Magic Soufflé

The mirror had been backed and mounted on the wall, as I checked while sipping a cup of English Breakfast under the bare bulb of the cellar while the withered (and salted) corpse of a young woman looked on. And Meinwen, though she was standing half way up the stairs watching Winston while she sipped her Japanese Green Tea with Rice.

"Nothing's happening," she called down.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "The world revolves, the moon rises, the worms turn and women continue to prattle idly on."

"I mean with Winston," she said. "He's been chanting for an hour now and everything looks exactly the same as when he started."

"That's the trouble with magic," I said. "There are no results until the last moment. Think of magic as a soufflé. It takes hours to prepare but only in that single moment when you take it out of the oven do you know if all the effort has born fruit. What Winston is doing is weaving a safety net so that when he utters the words to banish the soul trap it won't flip his brains out through his back passage when it goes wrong."

"Will it go wrong?" She looked worried.

"Of course not," I said, draining the teacup. "Probably." I tried to smile but I'm not sure how it came out. It may have looked more grimace. "Seventy percent chance it'll work first time. Sixty at least."

"Does that mean there's a chance he'll get sucked into it and forfeit his soul?"

"A slight one," I admitted.

"We have to stop him," she said. "We can't replace him."

"No," I said, watching her ascend the stairs. "He's the best coachpainter for fifty miles."

Image: The Art of the Signwriters

To Taunt a Demon

"Oh." I frowned. It did make a lot of sense. "But Ada has a mirror in her hallway."

"Not a silvered one." Delirious poked me playfully on the leg. It took the accumulated willpower of half a century not to tear him limb from limb just for that. "It's polished copper behind it. In the olden days it would have taken elbow grease every day to keep it shiny but now we can give thanks for the benefits of varnish."

"I see," I said, because I did. "But there's one thing I don't understand."

"What is it?" said Delirious. "You only have to ask and I shall endeavour to explain." It could almost be sweet, this four-year old imp offering wisdom and advice to a five hundred year old demon. Almost.

"I don't understand why I don't yet have the tea I ordered," I said. "I'm sure it was requested a good ten minutes ago and you know what they say about tardy imps."

Delirious frowned. "I don't think I do, actually," he said. "What do they say about tardy imps?"

"A tardy imp is an imp in excruciating agony," I said.

"Oh? I hadn't heard that."

"Hadn't you?" I twisted two of his nipples until his shrieks passed the mortal audible range. "You have now."

Delirious opened a gate and was gone before his nipples even went red. "What did you do that for?" said Meinwen. "He's really sweet."

I shrugged. "That's what you get for cheeking a demon," I said.

She nodded, a wistful smile on her face. "yes," she said, "I remember from that time I dated Azazel."


Image: Taunts: Webster's Timeline History, 423 BC - 2007