Interlopers From Hell E-Book

Stuart G. Yates

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

There's something wrong about Edwin, the new kid at school. After Richard befriends him, strange things begin to happen.

When Edwin disappears, Richard starts digging into the history of the family, and unearths something that should have been left buried.

Can Richard figure out the mystery in time, or will a sinister, dark force from the past claim everyone he holds dear?

Leseprobe

INTERLOPERS FROM HELL

A STORY OF TERROR

STUART G. YATES

CONTENTS

Re-awakening…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Awakened…

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2019 Stuart G. Yates

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Edited by Elizabeth N. Love

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

RE-AWAKENING…

A darkness spread across the open ground like an oil spill – thick, putrid, and dangerous – soaking into the earth to poison and contaminate. At its heart, as black as the night, a twisted shape writhed. Inhuman, yet possessing identifiable human aspects, legs, torso, arms as thick as any python’s body. Within the congealed ooze, the body gyrated as if to some unheard music, a macabre dance, at once spasmodic yet strangely hypnotic. Nearby, white-clad spectators stared in wide-eyed disbelief as the thing moved and grew before them.

Its massive head, featuring a mass of white, bloated, writhing worms, expanded fastest. From its wide, slack mouth, a lolling blue-black tongue wriggled and slurped, an overwhelming stench of decay drizzling from its cavernous centre. Between its teeth hung the source of this reek – shreds of torn flesh, still dripping with blood. Its feast the feast of death.

“Come to us,” cried out a tall figure appearing from amongst the crowd. “Let us bow down before you and offer you tribute!”

Falling to his knees, he pressed his forehead to the ground, arms spread out before him. Others followed, dropping like stone, some in awe, most in shock.

A tremor rippled through the onlookers as the enormity of what they witnessed took hold. Had this truly happened? How? What curious mechanisms conspired to conjure up this demon? From where had it come? Those who asked such questions, daring only to form them in their minds, knew any such utterances would result in their certain death, a terrible death at that. So they watched and they stared, but none spoke. None dared.

A scream pierced the night air, shrill enough to shatter glass. A girl, a flimsy nightdress unable to disguise her nakedness, was borne through the press of onlookers, held aloft by six men, two beneath her, the others gripping each of her four limbs. She struggled but could not free herself, begging for mercy, calling out to her mother, her lover, anyone who could hear.

But no one did.

They brought her into the swirling darkness where, in the middle, a curious manikin stood, made from straw, rags and paper. It was large, perhaps eight feet in height. Arms aloft, legs splayed, its shape formed a crude cross. The head, if it could be called such, was plain with no features, a mask of woven straw.

The men bore the girl towards this curious statue and paraded her before the crowd, all holding blazing torches aloft, baying for blood, or perhaps something else. Twisting her body from side to side, the girl kicked out, struggling in a vain attempt to escape. Nothing worked. Those who held her were too strong, and they bundled her into the manikin through an opening in its back. When she was inside, they secured the entrance with wooden poles and stepped back to admire what they had achieved.

“Raise her up and place her above the pit!”

The pit, some half-dozen steps away, was a large gash in the earth. In its centre, a thick post, sharpened at the tip. Perhaps twelve or more feet high, due to the depth of the pit, its point barely protruded above ground.

“Impale her!”

The girl inside lashed out, her initial shock at being incarcerated in this macabre mimicry of a man subsiding as she kicked and pushed against the fastened hatch. There was little space for her to move and, unable to apply enough leverage to make her blows effective, she crumpled and sat, weeping.

The hatch held firm. And now, the bearers, joined by many more, lifted the manikin and took it to the dugout. Around them, the spectators gasped as the men slowly lowered the structure onto the sharpened post. The weight of the structure meant it slipped onto the sharpened pole with little difficulty. A great howl came from within as the point pierced the rough floor of the mannikin and sliced through her flesh. The men lifted her and lowered her again. And again, repeating their exertions until the blood seeped through the straw and paper and dripped thick and slow into the depths of the pit.

Her screams continued. She was not yet dead, despite the shaft perforating her body, haemorrhaging muscle and sinew.

Without a word, the tall, thin man strode forward, gesturing for the bearers to step away. An unspoken command and a woman stepped forward to place a lighted torch into his hand. He held it high. “For you, oh great one!” He then tossed it, with almost dismissive ease, into the pit. Instantly it erupted into flame, igniting a mass of previously prepared bundles of straw, soaked in oil. Within a blink, the flames lapped upwards to engulf the blood-soaked manikin.

The girl within cried out in a last, pathetic attempt to ward off any more harm to her already corrupted body, whilst behind, silhouetted against the glow, the form of the demon reared, and it screeched in exultation as it fed. Sated, it drew away, the girl’s screams now silenced. The flames took hold, circling the manikin, its entire hideous form swallowed up in the heat and intensity of the blaze.

Hours later, with many of them returning to their homes, a few of the elders remained behind, warming their hands over the dying embers sizzling amongst the debris of the pit. The crackling and spitting of the smouldering remnants sounded impossibly loud in the stillness of the night.

“You’ll be moving on soon,” said one of the men, fixing the one who had lit the fire with unblinking, searching eyes. “Now that it is done.”

“Aye. As far away from here as is possible. We all should lie low until we are summoned.”

“Summoned to do what this time, do you think?”

“Whatever we are asked.”

“When will that be?” asked another, unable to disguise the trembling in his voice.

“Soon enough.”

“You talk in riddles. Do we have to wait an entire lifetime?”

“Maybe more than one. We will know when we are summoned.”

“You’re elevated now, into the very highest of states. I envy you.”

“I’ve lost much.”

“But gained far more. Unending life.”

“Aye.”

They fell into silence, thoughts lost amongst the swirling worms of smoke. Nothing of the girl remained, only the memory of her screams.

“And where will you go?”

“Our gracious master has given me the tools to avenge the wrongs done to my family.”

“To all of our families.”

The thin man narrowed his eyes. “Soon, we will see them suffer, and I shall extinguish their line. Forever. Then our master shall feast on their souls.”

“So,” asked another, voice uncertain, afraid, “where shall this begin?”

“Where we once were. England. The middle parts of that land.”

“And when will you leave?”

A small snigger. “I am already there.”

1

The press of boys surrounded the newcomer, jeering and baying loudly like a pack of dogs out on the hunt. One of them, a big, burly lad of around fifteen, looked to his gang of acolytes, licking drooling lips in expectation, and jabbed the much more slightly built boy in front of him in the chest with a meaty finger.

“Edwin? What sort of a name is that?”

Edwin held the other’s hard stare, unflinching, even a little defiant. He looked from one contorted boy’s face to the next. “It’s my name,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”

A louder chorus of laughter. The big lad shook his head, pulled a face, and chimed in a mocking, sing-song tone, “Poor little Edwin – far from home and all alone!”

“Leave him alone, Stanmore.”

The new voice cracked like a whip, causing all of them to turn and gape.

The big lad’s face registered anger at having his fun interrupted, but his snarl caught in his throat when he recognised the boy stepping up close to Edwin.

“This has got nothing to do with you, Lawler,” said Stanmore, confidence leaking away.

“It’s none of your business,” piped up one of the gang, doing his best to show support but failing. Fear sizzled in the air.

“I’m making it my business,” said Lawler, the older boy, hands on hips, daring them to challenge him further, “so back off.”

For a moment, the atmosphere crackled with tension, nobody moving, all waiting for something to happen. Even the noise and mayhem of the playground faded away into the background. For now, this was the centre of the world.

Shaking his head, Lawler put a friendly arm around Edwin’s shoulder and steered him away from the grumbling and very disappointed group of thugs who gradually wandered away, muttering angrily to one another.

“Thank you,” breathed Edwin when they were safely out of earshot.

“Try and keep away from that lot. I don’t think they’ll bother you again, not now they think you’re my friend.” Lawler smiled. “I’m Brian Lawler. You’re new here, aren’t you?” Edwin nodded. “Have you met anyone yet?”

“No, it’s only my first day. Don’t know a soul.”

“Okay. Let me introduce you to some decent kids.” He stopped and looked down at the considerably smaller Edwin. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude or anything …but don’t tell them your name is Edwin …Try Eddy. Honestly, you’ll get on much better that way.”

Edwin beamed and nodded in agreement, seeming to realize immediately the sense of Brian’s words. “Eddy it is.”

The boy given the task of befriending Eddy angrily kicked at the ground and watched Brian Lawler disappear amongst the melee of school break time. He noted the half-amused expressions on the faces of his two friends standing close by and glared at them.

“He is very kind,” said Eddy.

The boy turned and regarded Eddy, as he was introduced, and shrugged. “He’s Brian Lawler, toughest boy in school as well as one of the kindest. But he’s not someone you can easily say no to. But most of us owe him for helping us out with bullies such as Stanmore.”

“Stanmore. Yes, not a nice person that one.”

“He’s a turd.”

“Oh. Yes. Well …”

“And Stanmore despises Brian because of the way he sticks up for us. Ruining his fun.” He cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. “I’m Richard or Ritchie as some call me. Ritchie Rich.” One of the friends nearby chuckled. Richard ignored him, and Eddy gripped his hand and shook it firmly.

“Richard Rich. The man who betrayed Thomas More,” said Edwin, a slight smile creasing his mouth. Richard frowned.

“Weird to start in the middle of term,” said one of the others, who sat on the playground floor with his head down, rolling poker dice.

“Yes,” replied Eddy. But he offered nothing more.

The poker player looked up. “How come?”

“Just one of those things, I suppose.”

Richard’s frown grew deeper as he and the others waited. With no explanation offered, Richard simply shrugged. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell us anything. You’re here now, so … what do you know?”

“Know?” Eddy seemed to fall into deep thought for a moment. “I don’t ‘know’ anything very much. Like I said, I’ve only just arrived.”

The others exchanged perplexed looks before turning away to join their other friend at playing dice. Richard took Eddy by the arm and led him a few steps away.

“Listen, Eddy, you’ve made a bad start, okay, but not everyone is a dickhead like Stanmore.”

“A dick-what?”

“You’re weird, Eddy. Where are you from?”

Nothing again. Just that look. Closed. He wasn’t going to let anyone in.

“Okay, listen, getting on the wrong side of Stanmore was not the brightest thing to have done, you understand?”

“I didn’t get on the wrong side of him. He got on the wrong side of me.”

“Eh?” Richard scratched his head. “Look, Eddy, I don’t really know what to say, but just watch it, okay. If Stanmore hears you talking like that, he’ll make your life a misery. Stanmore’s a nasty piece of work.”

“I have noticed, Richard.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, but I don’t think you really get it, Eddy. He can hurt you. He’s done it before, to most of us. And Brian isn’t always going to be around.”

“Richard, you mustn’t underestimate me. I am not afraid of this Stanmore person. I understand your concern, but you must trust me when I say, I can control the situation.”

“Okay…” Richard’s voice trailed away. “You talk as if you’ve stepped out of another century, Eddy.” He silently cursed Brian Lawler for choosing him to act as Eddy’s guide and mentor. “Look, I'll stay with you for the next few days, show you around, introduce you to some people. You’ll soon fit in.”

“Fit in? You mean become accepted?”

“Do I? Yeah, well, I suppose I do.” Richard pursed his lips. “I’d really like to know where you come from, Eddy. You don’t have to tell me, but you’re interesting.” He chuckled. “Your accent, it’s—”

“Strange?” Eddy nodded. “Most people say that. It’s because I’ve moved around so much. My family hardly ever settles in any place for long. My grandfather’s work means he often gets called away to different places across the country, often at very short notice. Then we have to pack up and move on.”

“What does your dad do?”

“Dad?” A pained expression crossed his face, as if he had never heard the word before. Slowly, his face cleared. “Ah, yes, I understand. Dad. No, I have no father, Richard, if that is what you mean. He died. My grandfather is head of the household, and it is he who decides when and where we move.” He looked out across the playground, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I have been to many schools in many places. Always the children have been distant to me. Some have been kind, most indifferent. One or two, like Stanmore, violent. Aggressive. Almost as if they see in me a threat of some kind.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned again to face Richard. “I have encountered the various facets of society, some attractive, some not so, but I have always strived to maintain my decorum. It is essential if one is to remain true to one’s self. That, for me, is the most valuable trait of all. I am who I am, Richard. People can accept or reject me as they so wish. It is all the same to me.”

Richard paused in the act of scratching his head again. It was the only response he could give to Eddy’s old-fashioned, clipped tone. “The way you talk … Eddy, have you come from a public school or something?”

“Ah, yes, some of my schools have been public. Independent, I believe, is the correct terminology.”

“There you go again. Terminology? Nobody speaks like you, Eddy. Nobody I know, anyway.”

“I see. Does it bother you? Do I make you feel uncomfortable, Richard? Or do I intrigue you?”

“I …” Richard, deftly avoiding the question, forced a laugh. “Eddy, you need to be careful. The way you are, it’s going to get you into trouble.”

“The way I am? I’m nothing special, Richard. I’m just alone and afraid, that’s all.”

“Afraid? God, Eddy, you don’t have to be afraid.” Standing there, blond hair flopping over his eyes, looking so pathetic, so small, Richard couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “I’m guessing that moving around from place to place, making friends can’t be easy.”

“I don’t have any friends, Richard. As you have intimated, I’ve never been in one place long enough. I’m hoping that this time …” His eyes became distant again, and he looked down at his feet, shuffling them.

Intimated? Richard eyed him carefully, struck again by the oddness of this new boy. The way Eddy spoke, his manner, the way he constantly looked into the distance. He seemed to be looking at something. Richard couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but this kid would forever be a perfect target for bullies such as Stanmore. Anyone different, or weird, they were bound to attract attention. And Eddy had certainly done that because he acted very weird indeed. Perhaps because of this very oddness, Richard warmed to him. Eddy was interesting, the way he spoke about stuff: mysterious, a little bit exciting. A sudden thought struck him. “Tell you what, why don’t we meet up after school and I'll take you down to Bradshaw’s. Buy you an ice-cream, or something.”

This invitation brought a curious reaction from the newcomer. He grew agitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the next before taking to chewing his fingernails. “I’m not sure, Richard.”

Richard snorted. “Look,” he said, awkwardness turning to anger, “I’ve held out the hand of friendship, but if you’re not bothered, then we won’t go.”

“No, it’s not that!” Eddy’s face took on a wild, desperate look, and he squeezed Richard’s left arm. “I'll have to tell my folks. Perhaps you could come home with me, and I will ask if it would be appropriate for me to accompany you to the – the ice-cream parlour.”

Richard managed a single nod, which proved enough for Eddy to react as if he’d just won a prize. Beaming brightly, he steered a bemused Richard back to join his friends. He pointed to the dice on the ground. “Now, tell me all about this interesting game.”

2

Waiting outside Eddy’s house, Richard had the feeling that he stood on the brink of a very different, very strange world. The building itself was a huge, sprawling monstrosity of three floors. Red-bricked, austere, it could easily have formed the centrepiece for a ghoulish and grim horror film from the nineteen-thirties. An ancient, crumbling facade, windows black with grime, layers of thickly applied paint peeling from the woodwork. A sad, lonely place, a coldness emanating from every crack and broken piece of masonry. If this was night time, he would steer well clear, but even now, in the weak sun of early evening, it sent a cold chill running through him.

“It could be described as a tribute to the garish and outlandish ideals of those Victorian rich, who built these houses,” said Eddy, sounding like a guide on a museum visit. “Intent on making their mark on posterity, they had already made their fortune from the Slave Trade. This was their status symbol, their declaration to everyone that they had made it, secured their place. Many such rambling mansions stood upon this promenade. In days gone by, the owners could look out across the river to the Liverpool docks at the comings and goings of the great black ships that plied their obscene trade during the period when Britannia ruled the waves. They owned those ships, and these buildings were their symbols of success. Now, many of them have fallen into disrepair, sad reflections of their former, resplendent selves.”

Richard listened in awe, amazed at Eddy’s descriptive use of language, the way he recounted this potted history with expert insight. He had some knowledge of it himself, having studied the Slave Trade at school, but Eddy’s explanation went far deeper than anything he’d read in textbooks. He looked up, noting the grimy net curtains masking the very top, attic room and could clearly see that the house had long since passed its prime. Along with its neighbours, it was dull and drab, windows blackened with the dust of ages, brickwork chipped and cracked, roof sagging. If these houses were people, Richard mused, they would be receiving medication to help with depression.

Eddy seemed to be reading his thoughts. “Inside, it really is very different, Richard. It has many original features. I think you’ll like it.”

Richard grunted. He doubted that very much. He went to speak when suddenly the front door opened and a bright, cheery-looking woman appeared, her full, open face beaming broadly. She rushed out and threw her arms around Eddy and hugged him. “Welcome home, my darling!”

Richard couldn’t help but smile. The woman, perhaps relieved at Eddy making it through his first day, acted as if she was welcoming him home after a prolonged absence, not merely a day at school. Not wishing to cause any concerns, Richard thought it best if he made no mention of Eddy’s dealings with Stanmore.

The woman’s gaze now latched onto Richard and a forced, unnatural smile set on her mouth. “And who is this, pray tell?”

“This is Richard, Mama,” said Eddy, snuggling into his mother as she put her arm protectively around his shoulder. “He’s my friend.”

Richard was about to step forward to introduce himself when an ominous, brooding shadow fell over everyone. Dropping her arm as if scalded, the woman gave a tiny, strangulated cry whilst Eddy, clinging to her, shied away as the atmosphere grew chilly.

From within the gloom of the house, a man, endlessly tall and dressed in a charcoal-coloured suit, emerged. A hard-looking, angular shaped head jutted from out of his starched collars, skin the colour of death. Huge eyes surveyed those before him, but it was the nose which held most of Richard’s attention. A great, hooked beak, it cast its own shadow over the lower part of his face, almost obscuring a thin, cruel-looking mouth. Great bear-like hands dangled limply from out of his cuffs, and his shoulders were square, solid and strong. If Richard had been able, he may have estimated the man’s height at somewhere near six foot six inches. But he was not able. Under some sort of hypnotic state from sheer terror created by the intensity of the man’s bulging eyes, Richard was seized by a peculiar sensation. Frozen rigid, he felt as if all his thoughts were being analysed, his secrets revealed. Powerless to resist, his eyelids grew heavy, desperate for sleep.

“Richard?” the man said from a long way off, voice a dull rumble.

Richard, lost in a seductive, warm, enticing daze, smiled meekly.

The woman, her own voice a welcome cry of angels amidst the dark and foreboding presence of the long man, cried, “Richard, yes, do please come inside, and tell us all about yourself.”

Blinking himself back into the present, Richard gazed and saw the woman’s smiling face. All at once, spirits lifted, he moved closer. The long man barely moved to allow Richard access into the hallway. Richard didn’t dare match the man’s gaze, but he could feel those eyes boring into him, so deep, opening up his hidden self, laying everything bare and vulnerable.

An unbearable desire to turn and flee consumed him. Fighting against it, the woman’s soft, reassuring voice, helped him to somehow find the strength to go inside. Towering over him, his presence a dark shroud of loathing, the long man’s eyes never moved. Richard had never experienced such resentment from another human being, such suspicion. For reasons Richard could not fathom, the man had taken an instant dislike to him. Perhaps he saw him as a threat, but a threat to what?

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, Richard gagged as the pungent smell of damp and wet dogs caught the back of his throat. Feeling suddenly giddy, he pressed his left hand against the hallway wall and waited, breathing shallow, eyes battling to find something solid to focus on in the all-pervading gloom. With his free hand stretched out before him, he groped his way slowly forward. He turned to look again at the way he had come, but there was nothing there. The man, together with the grey daylight beyond, had gone. He stifled a cry and snapped his head towards a slight creaking sound. A door, further along the hallway, inched open, and a sickly yellow light oozed from within, aiding him to navigate his way down the remaining few feet.

Relieved, he stepped into a vast, open sitting room, the sunlight managing to penetrate the fog of smoky air through a large bay window. The grey smudge of the river dominated the view, the Liver Buildings drawing his gaze. Solid and black. Black? Richard squeezed his eyes shut. It must be the smoke. Pipe smoke, coal smoke. Too much smoke. The Liver Buildings were not black. They were cleaned some years back now, the grime of the years sand-blasted into memory. He opened his eyes and saw the building gleaming grey-white, pristine, and he smiled.

“Please sit, Richard.”

The room was crammed with furniture, so much of it there was barely room to squeeze past each item. Eddy stood beaming in the centre, motioning Richard to take a place on a sumptuous chintz sofa. As he carefully lowered himself into the plump cushions, the woman busied herself rearranging various tea cups and saucers on a table already prepared for afternoon tea. She smiled across at Richard.

“Richard? You will take tea?”

“Er – yes, please.”

She smiled again. “I shall go and fetch it. Please, try and relax, Richard.” She then glided out of the room, and Richard allowed himself a long sigh. “She seems nice, your mum.”

“Thank you, Richard. Mama always keeps a well-ordered household.”

Richard sat back in his seat and watched Eddy pull down a large book from the bookcase in the corner.

“Eddy, who was that man, the very tall one?”

Eddy smiled. “That is my grandfather, Richard.”

“Your…” Richard shook his head. “Sorry, I thought he might be—”

“Might be what? Servant, butler?” He shook his head. “We do not keep servants, not now. My grandfather tends to everything other than the domestic chores. Did he frighten you? He usually does frighten people.”

“He seems a bit, you know, intense.”

“He is very suspicious of strangers, Richard. But he is a good man.”

Richard ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’m sure. He didn’t seem to like me very much.”

“Like I say, he is suspicious of strangers, but he will come round. Once he accepts that you are my friend, grandfather will reveal his true personality.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Richard. I’d like you to know something of my family history, if I may. It will help you to understand us a little more.” Hefting the book in his hands, Eddy came and sat down next to Richard.

The book, like everything else, was very grand and looked expensive. Bound in red leather, its pages were edged in gold leaf, the front cover dominated by an intricately designed crest. As Eddy handed it over, Richard felt the great weight of the volume and blinked in surprise. “Wow, this is some book, Eddy.”

“It’s our family bible, Richard, as well as our history. We are a very old and very proud family. Some people think of us as strange, and that is why we often find ourselves in trouble.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

Eddy shrugged. “It comes in all sorts, usually borne out of people’s ignorance and mistrust. They see us and they think they know who we are, without ever taking the trouble to discover the truth.”

“Yeah, well, just like your grandad, people are often suspicious of strangers.”

“But grandfather’s suspicions are almost always justified. Those who meet us, Richard, they develop more than mere suspicion. People dislike us. Intensely.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“Like that braggard at school. He never so much as spent a single minute to find out who I am before he took it upon himself to belittle me.”

“Stanmore? But Stanmore’s a prat, Eddy. You don’t want to take any notice of him.”

“Oh, I don’t, Richard. I have already forgotten his name.”

Richard looked around the room. “People just need to get to know you, like you said. I mean, look at this – you have a beautiful home; it’s full of amazing things.” He pointed to a painting on the far wall. It showed a scene from what looked like the Scottish Highlands, a tiny boat moored against a rickety jetty with a backdrop of snow-covered mountains. A man in shirt sleeves was bending across the far gunwale, placing a bundle in the bottom of the boat. “It’s very, you know, different.”

“But that is because you’re different, Richard.” Eddy sat down beside him. “I realized that about you almost as soon as we met. When you offered to be my friend, I was so happy!”

“Well…” The heat rose up over his cheeks, finding such praise difficult to respond to. He gave a brief, strangulated laugh. “I thought you looked as though you needed a friend, that’s all. I know I did when I started there.”

“Yes. You haven’t been at the school for very long, have you?”

Richard stopped. How did Eddy know that? He didn’t press the point but continued in a slower, more cautious tone. “Just over a year. My family’s always moving around. A bit like yours, I guess.”

Eddy smiled knowingly. “Oh, I doubt that your family is anything like mine, Richard. I doubt that very much.”

Richard was about to continue when the woman returned bearing a tray stacked with sandwiches, cakes, and biscuits. In the centre sat a stout teapot encased in a woollen tea cosy. She placed it on the dining table and turned to the two boys. “I’ve been very rude, Richard,” she gushed. “I’m Edwin’s mother. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

She held out her hand, and Richard took it and shook gently. Her eyes settled on the bible in his lap and she stiffened slightly, pulling her hand away from his grip. “Edwin. Can you put the family bible back in its proper place, please?”

“But mother, I was hoping that Richard might be interested―”

A deep growl made them all jump, but no animal had made the sound. The long man, Eddy’s grandfather, strode into the room and snatched up the great book as if it weighed no more than a single sheet of paper. “Do as your mother tells you, Edwin!”

Richard sat rigid with shock, hardly daring to breathe. The man, so abrasive, so angry, stood, holding out the book towards his grandson. Eddy quietly did as he was ordered and replaced the great volume in its allotted place in the book shelf. The charged tension in the atmosphere lessened, but only slightly.

Eddy’s mother brushed away a lock of hair, her face reddening, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Richard. We are somewhat jealous of our privacy. It is nothing personal.”

Richard forced a smile, aware of the grandfather’s looming presence, the open hostility. He chanced a quick glance and saw the latent, simmering fury lurking in the man’s face. He seemed to be struggling to contain his temper, and Richard turned away from those blazing eyes. Eddy stood, wringing his hands, clearly uncomfortable and not daring to meet his friend’s stare. But Richard needed no explanation for what was going on – the grandfather did not want him in the house.

The mother, bizarrely, seemed the complete opposite, anxious for Richard to stay and relax. She poured him a cup of tea and passed it over, then offered him a plate from the tray. “Cucumber sandwiches, Richard. No crusts!”

Richard took a sandwich and sipped at the tea, forcing himself not to react to there being no sugar. His discomfort grew as all three of them stood and stared at him in silence, studying him as if he were an exhibit in a museum … or a zoo. The mother, with her set smile, Eddy’s eyes wide with admiration, and the grandfather standing in silence, scowling, each of them so unsettling, the scene tinged with an indescribable weirdness. Nothing in this house, this family, their reactions, their manner, none of it struck him as normal, more like something he’d see in a creepy film. An old black-and-white horror, images flickering, jerky, making him sit on edge, eyes now clamped on the cup of tea in his hand, hardly daring to eat his sandwich.

Richard had a burning desire to check the time on his watch, make the necessary excuses, and get out as quickly as he could. Friday night, the weekend to look forward to – he should be relaxed, grateful for no school the next day. Instead, he felt awkward, uncomfortable, an exhibit. But then, as Richard went to move, as if by some secret signal the grandfather left the room. Immediately, the oppressive atmosphere lifted. Everyone relaxed and Richard took a tentative bite, found the sandwich delicious, and quickly wolfed it down. Clapping her hands in glee, Eddy’s mother used a set of silver serving tongs to place two more on Richard’s plate. If anything, she at least wanted him to stay. And Eddy. Well, as he came forward and squeezed Richard’s shoulder, he seemed to insist on his friend remaining where he was.

The minutes trawled by with no one speaking until, at last, with a second cup of tea and more sandwiches finished, Richard looked around expectedly, clapped his hands down on his knees and announced he had to leave. “Thank you very much for the tea and everything. It was lovely to meet you, but I’d better be going now.”

He made to stand up, but Eddy’s mother beat him to it, hand coming down on his shoulder, pressing him back down. She beamed broadly. “Why don’t you take Richard to your room, Edwin? Show him your collection. I’m sure he’d be interested.”

Richard, despite his curiosity being roused, would have much preferred to have made a hasty exit. “I really must be—”

But already Eddy, without a word, started walking out of the room, and Richard, gripped by a strong, unfathomable urge, felt compelled to follow.

He dared not glance back into the room, knowing the mother’s eyes would be boring into him, so he stepped in behind Eddy and mounted the stairs.

“The house is on three floors,” said Eddy, voice echoing through the expanse of the building. “You won’t be surprised to know that my room is right at the very top!”

Eddy took the stairs two at a time, never flagging. Richard wondered how long it would take. Everything about the house was big, including the staircase, and every step creaked, sometimes alarmingly. On reaching the first floor, Richard chanced a glance down the dark, unwelcoming hallway. He thought he caught a glimpse of a light trickling under a doorway, but he couldn’t be sure. He stared at the walls. No paintings to hyphenate the austere feel, and no bulbs in the lights to give any chance of lifting the gloom.

He pulled up short and considered the implication of there being no bulbs in the…

“Come along, Richard, do not tarry. There is only one more flight to go!”

Richard looked up to see Eddy grinning down at him. Sighing, Richard continued with the climb, taking his time, fearful that at any moment the stairs would give way and he would find himself in freefall.

“This way, Richard,” said Eddy, beckoning to him from an open door at the far end of the hall.

Not knowing what he would find when he crossed the threshold, Richard gasped. The room was enormous and well-lit thanks to the large bay window. But what astonished him more than the sheer size of the space was what Eddy stood next to, arms folded, a proud grin splitting his face.

Running the length of walls were shelving units, like bookshelves, only deeper and higher. Enormous, gleaming white display cabinets. No books graced these shelves, each filled with toy soldiers, rank upon rank of them, painted and resplendent in a variety of colourful uniforms.

All thoughts of escape were now banished, and Richard stood in awe, his eyes running across the magnificent display. He went straight to the nearest display case and gaped at the wonders that lay within. “My God,” he whispered. He looked to his left and did a quick calculation. “There are thousands of them.”

“They’re made from lead mainly,” said Eddy, voice confident, proud. “Some of them come from Germany. All of them are accurately painted in authentic, historical colours, depicting the armies of the Seven Years War. Prussians, Austrians, French. Even English.” He moved next to Richard, eased open the glass door, and picked out a group of four blue-clad infantrymen marching boldly forward. “It used to be my father’s collection, which passed down to me when…” He shrugged, turning the group of figures over in his fingers. “He collected and painted each of these miniatures over a period of many, many years. My father was a remarkable man, Richard. I shall tell you about him one day.” Without a word, he handed Richard the little group.

Heart pumping fast, Richard’s mouth went slack as he gazed at the model soldiers in his palm. To be so close to so many models brought such a thrill that he could hardly speak for a moment. When he did, his voice barely rose above a whisper. “But, these must be worth a fortune, Eddy. I’ve never seen so many soldiers in one place.”

“Yes.” He gently took the figures back from Richard’s grasp and returned them to their shelf. “They are worth many thousands of pounds, but I would never sell them. Their value far transcends mere monetary concerns.”

“Eh?”

“They mean more to me than what they’re worth in money, Richard. I am not interested in financial gain.”

“How old are they?”

“Some are fairly new, some very old, well over a hundred years old in fact. Many of them are Britain’s originals. Others were made by Elastolin. They are not lead but are still immensely valuable. Around twenty or so years ago, my father started collecting smaller-sized miniatures. Most of what you see here are made from alloys and are based according to rules, which my father wrote. You know about military history, Richard?”

“English history? A little. Battle of Hastings. We did that last year in my previous school. Not much else. Battle of Britain, I’ve heard about. Oh, and D-Day. We had a presentation at school about that. Some guy came in on Remembrance Day to talk to us.” He was about to go into further detail, but something told him Eddy would not be interested in anything that was not centred on himself or his father. He shrugged. “But not much else.”

“Most of these soldiers, as I said, are from the conflict known as the Seven Years War. Here.” He pointed to a mass of red-coated soldiers adorned in tricornes. Most, like the ones Richard had held, were modelled marching, but one or two held massive flags whilst others lugged huge drums. “These are British. British Redcoats.” Eddy gently opened another glass door and brought out a group of the Redcoats. Richard peered at them. They were exquisite, the paint gleaming as if brand new.

“It must be great to know all about this stuff, Eddy.”

“I know a great deal as my father would regale me with his tales. It was immensely fascinating.”

“Regale?” Richard scratched his head. Talking to Eddy was always like stepping back in time. And now, with these soldiers, it felt like history and the past had come to life.

“We could play with them, perhaps? I will prepare the terrain, and we can refight some battles. Would you enjoy that, Richard?”

Frowning, Richard shrugged. “Yeah, of course I would.”

“Splendid. I shall—”

“But not now, Eddy,” said Richard quickly. “I’ve got get back home.” His heart sank when he saw Eddy’s crestfallen expression. He took another look along the arrayed mass of little men. “This has been great, Eddy. Really. They are incredible. Perhaps I could call again, and we could play that battle?”

“Yes!” Eddy’s grin widened as he carefully replaced the figures to their shelf and closed the door. He turned to Richard, eyes wide with excitement. “Tomorrow, you can call again, have tea. I'll let Mother know.”

Before Richard could offer any sort of fumbled excuse, Eddy took him by the arm and escorted him back down the stairs at a quick pace. Eddy jabbered away, words tumbling out in one long, breathless sentence. Richard caught some mention of Minden but not much else. Reaching the front door, Richard found Eddy’s mother waiting, hands clasped together, beaming. “Oh, Richard, say you’ll come for tea – Edwin will be so pleased.”

Before he could give anything but a smile for a reply, she guided him out into the open air. It seemed that his visit was over. He saw Eddy raising his hand. “Thank you, Richard. I know we’re going to be great friends. You’ve made my first day here truly memorable. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you so very much, Richard,” said the mother, and she closed the door before anyone could say anything more.

Richard stood, not knowing what to do. The whole visit had been so bizarre, almost as if he’d been allowed a glimpse into a bygone world – a virtual reality tour of the Edwardian age. And now, all of a sudden, here he was, bang up to date. Confused, he checked the trees and the road. Everything appeared normal enough. There were a few cars parked opposite. Up-to-date models, so this was clearly the present. A man was pottering about in his front garden opposite, saw Richard staring and smiled. Richard returned it and turned to study Eddy’s house one more time. The windows were black. No sign of life. It was almost as if it had gone to sleep, but that was a stupid notion.

“Owned by the nouveau riche of the Victorian era,” said a voice. Startled, Richard turned to see the man from opposite admiring Eddy’s house for himself. He’d drifted up in almost total silence but seemed oblivious to Richard’s alarm. “Interesting architecture. I had mine fully modernised, but I’m not so sure whether that was the right thing to do. Beautiful architraves there, above the door and windows.” He stared to the upper storey, a wistful look on his face. “Nobody has lived there for ages.” Chuckling, he moved back across the road, leaving Richard confused and a little uneasy. Did he not know Eddy and his family had just moved in? Surely, in such a quiet street, he would have seen them? Looking again at the windows, Richard’s unease grew. Everything about this place seemed bizarre and, thinking about it now, the entire visit felt as if it had been choreographed and planned. The sandwiches, the tea, the toy soldiers. And how did Eddy’s mother know Eddy had invited him to tea tomorrow? Was she listening? From the downstairs hallway? It didn’t make sense, and neither did the grandfather snatching away the family bible the way he did. What was he afraid of?

Deep in thought, it took Richard a long time to wander home.

3

Later that evening, Richard sat at the kitchen table, absently poking through his mother’s stir-fry, not in the least bit hungry.

“Are you feeling all right, Rich?”

Richard shrugged his shoulders, pushed his plate away and sat back, staring into space. “I’m okay, it’s just, I met this boy in school. New boy. He invited me back to his house, and I met his folks. But they were odd. And him, he’s …weird.”

“Weird?” His dad stood up, crossed to the cooker, and helped himself to more food. “This is really good, Rich. You should try it.”

“Why’s he weird?” asked Mum.

“Dunno. The way he talks. Like he’s a character in a book.”

“Well, what’s so wrong with that?” Dad slumped down again and shovelled noodles and vegetables into his mouth.

Richard sighed. “It’s not normal – like he’s from a different age or something.”

“Different age?” His dad sucked in a particularly long piece of noodle, making a loud slurping noise as he did so. “What does that mean?”

“You know – from the past. The words he uses and the way he uses them…weird.”

“You keep saying that, but it takes all sorts.” Smacking his lips, his dad ran his tongue around them one more time. “That was delicious, Gail. What’s for afters?”

“A cup of tea,” Richard’s mum said and leaned forward. “Look, Rich, if you’re not sure, well, just leave him alone. You don’t have to be his friend.”

“Yeah, but he’s invited me round tomorrow – for tea.”

“You don’t have to go, not if you don’t want to. Just come up with an excuse.”

“Well…that’s it…he’s strange and stuff, but he’s got these soldiers. Thousands of them. And…I don’t know how to explain it, but…he’s nice. And his mum is nice too. Friendly, you know.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Richard held his head in his hands. “I don’t know. Just…just a feeling, that’s all.”

His dad clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Why not just go round tomorrow, see how it goes? Then, if you’re still feeling unhappy, just…don’t go there again. You don’t have to be rude about it, but it’s your decision, Rich.”

For one of the first times in his life, Richard felt grateful for his dad’s advice. It mirrored his own thoughts almost exactly, but to hear it from someone else made it more reassuring. He pulled his hands away. “Yeah. I think you’re right. Can’t do any harm, can it?”

Mum shook her head. “No, Rich, it can’t do any harm.”

Richard decided to visit the local library the following day. He’d tried the Internet, but the information there was either too vague or referred him to books and magazines. At the library, he found some catalogues, but it was the librarian herself who used online guides to help him. “It’s just a matter of knowing what keywords to put in,” she explained, leaving Richard to look through what appeared on the screen. There were enough photographs and descriptions to verify what Eddy had said. His toy soldiers were immensely valuable and incredibly rare.

He sat back and mulled over his day. Eddy had a manner which was at once engaging and mysterious. Clearly intelligent, his knowledge of history was broad, and his vocabulary hinted at him being well read. There was more, too. When he’d involved himself in the Poker Dice game, he instantly worked out what he had to do in order to win. And he did win. Constantly. Then there was his attitude towards Stanmore. Assured. Almost arrogant. As if he were used to that sort of confrontation and knew how to handle them. Eddy’s words confirmed it: ‘You must trust me when I say, I can control the situation.’ What did that mean, exactly? Control the situation…

And now he seemed to have latched onto Richard, almost in a desperate sort of way. Desperate for what? Friends? Sighing, Richard thought back to the visit at the house and the reaction of Eddy’s grandfather. So unlike that of his mother. One antagonistic, the other openly welcoming. Weird.

Perhaps he was reading too much into it, he mused, trying to find reasons why not to be Eddy’s friend. He may be weird, but he was nice. Kind. Friendly. And those soldiers … and yet, no matter how hard he tried to push all his concerns aside, niggling doubts remained. Eddy’s manner, his speech. It just didn’t seem right.

Closing down the workstation, Richard wandered over to the fiction section. He pulled out a few copies of Dickens and went over to the receptionist.

“Are there other Victorian authors?”

The man looked at him over the rim of his spectacles. “Quite a few, yes.”

“I just need a selection. Three or four, just to get an idea of how people spoke in those times.”

“How they spoke? You mean accents?” Richard nodded. “That’s quite difficult. Most novels from that period describe scenes and the like, records of how people, mainly from middle-classes, lived their lives.”

“What about Fagin and all that lot.”

“Yes. Dickens isn’t bad. But the others won’t really tell you very much unless it is how middle-class people acted; is that the sort of thing you want to know about?”

“I think I am. Yeah. Middle-class. Rich were they, big houses and the like?”

The man frowned. “Not exactly…Look, I'll pick out a selection of books. See how you get on. You can always come back for more.” He came around the desk and smiled. “Actually, they’re darn good books as it is – classics. You won’t get much better than these.”

Some twenty or so minutes later, Richard struggled home with an armful of books. Two about model soldiers, and a further eight more from authors who wrote throughout the Victorian period. He also had a social history of Britain in the Victorian period. By the time he reached his house, he was out of breath and not feeling at all sure if any of his research would prove to be of any help. What would any of it reveal to him anyway? Could he use any of it to help him understand Eddy’s curious ways? Well, even if nothing proved useful, it might teach him something of an era he knew little about. All his delving into the past made him excited, like a real scholar. He laughed at that. If he wasn’t at the bottom of his class, he must be close to it, but at least the thought of unearthing historical details gave him a sense of purpose. So, pushing any remaining doubts about the usefulness of what he was doing to the back of his mind, he fumbled his way through the front door and instantly stopped. Suddenly, his thoughts and feelings became more confused than ever as he gaped in total surprise.

Smiling, waiting in the lounge, sat Edwin.

4

“Oh, I love Hardy,” cried Eddy, jumping off his chair and crossing to Richard with uncontained enthusiasm. He took the books and sifted through them, a broad grin splitting his face. “And Trollope! Richard, I never suspected you had such an interest in our literature.”

“Eddy, what are you doing here?” Richard retrieved the books, stacked them on the coffee table, and stood with hands on hips, frowning at his new friend.

“I wanted to apologise, Richard.”

“Apologise? About what?”

“My grandfather. Mama was so terribly upset after you’d gone. She felt that perhaps my grandfather’s rather curt manner would cause you to question the profitability of our burgeoning friendship. So,” he thrust out his right hand, “I hope you accept my apology.”

Richard, confused, took Eddy’s hand and shook it. “But you’ve nothing to apologise for, Eddy.”