The Creeps: A Samuel Johnson Tale

XVI

In Which a Scientist Tries to Be Cleverer than Maria, and Fails

THE BELL ABOVE THE sweetshop door jangled. It was Professor Hilbert’s turn to sell sweets for a couple of hours, but then it always seemed to be Professor Hilbert’s turn. Professor Stefan didn’t like dealing with children and, on the two occasions Dorothy had been left in charge, she had eaten so many caramel chews that her jaw had swollen on one side, making her look as though she was concealing a golf ball in her mouth. As for Brian, his hands continued to tremble so much that he inevitably poured more sweets on the floor than he managed to put into bags. If Brian and Dorothy had been left in charge, Mr. Pennyfarthinge’s would have gone out of business in a week.

Professor Hilbert was engaged in mapping reported sightings of strange phenomena in and around Biddlecombe, which was no simple task, as everything about Biddlecombe seemed strange, even the stuff that people had begun to regard as comparatively normal. For example, it was widely accepted that something unusual was living at the bottom of Miggin’s Pond, but attempts to discover precisely what it was had been hampered by the ducks, which were very protective of their new resident and tended to attack anyone who attempted anything more threatening than throwing bread at them. The long-dead, and very unpleasant, Bishop Bernard the Bad, who had popped back to life for a while with the sole intention of sticking hot pokers up people’s bottoms, had been reduced to bits of broken bone and mummified flesh, but on quiet evenings his remains could still be heard rattling angrily in the crypt beneath the church. It had been suggested that someone should go down and examine them, but since the person who had made the suggestion was Professor Stefan, and the someone he had in mind was anyone but himself, that suggestion had been put on hold.

Nevertheless, Professor Hilbert had still managed to pinpoint at least five areas of Biddlecombe in which unusual numbers of residents had recently complained of seeing spectral figures. Professor Hilbert shared Professor Stefan’s view that these were glimpses of parallel universes, although he also believed that there were other dimensions as yet unknown existing alongside these universes. From his interviews with the boy named Samuel Johnson, Professor Hilbert had come to some understanding of how beings from these other dimensions had entered our own, and had even managed to abduct humans from our world to theirs. Professor Hilbert suspected that Samuel Johnson wasn’t telling the scientists everything he knew, but Professor Hilbert didn’t mind. Like many adults, he believed that he was cleverer than any child and, quite possibly, most other adults. In this, of course, he was wrong. Being clever is not just about how much you know, but about knowing that you really don’t know very much at all.

Professor Hilbert’s model of the Multiverse looked something like Professor Stefan’s, except that the bubbles³⁰ weren’t all pressed quite so tightly together. There were little gaps between them, and there was life in those gaps. Creatures, intelligent creatures, existed in those spaces—and, yes, they were dangerous and evil and wanted to consume humanity, but that didn’t make them any less interesting. Somehow, the little town of Biddlecombe had become a focal point for these creatures. Professor Hilbert was very curious to find out why.

But now he was about to be distracted from his important thoughts by a small child’s need for a bag of bull’s-eyes³¹ or a quarter pound of acid drops.³² Putting in place his false beard, which itched something awful, Professor Hilbert walked from his desk to the sweetshop. A young girl, who looked slightly familiar, was waiting at the counter. Professor Hilbert tried to recall where he had seen her before. He thought that she might be a friend of Samuel Johnson’s.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“My name is Maria Mayer and I’d like to talk to whoever is in charge, please,” said the girl.

“Of the sweet factory?”

“No, of the scientists.”

Professor Hilbert coughed and straightened his false beard.

“No scientists here, young lady, not unless you count the science of making great sweeties!”

Maria stared hard at him.

“Seriously?” she said.

“Seriously what?”

“Seriously, is that the best you can do? I know you’re scientists. The whole town knows that you’re scientists. I have a pet rabbit named Mr. Fluffytail. Even Mr. Fluffytail knows that you’re scientists, and Mr. Fluffytail eats his own poo.”

Professor Hilbert wasn’t sure what poo had to do with anything, although he vaguely recalled that Mr. Pennyfarthinge’s basement had contained a number of boxes of Uncle Dabney’s “Rabbit Droppings.” They appeared to be pieces of chocolate-covered fondant but they’d smelled a bit funny and nobody had been in any hurry to try them out. They’d simply thrown them away, but now Professor Hilbert was wondering if they hadn’t missed a trick by not selling them as Christmas treats to the Mr. Fluffytails of the world.

“If there were scientists here, which there aren’t, what would you want to ask them?” said Professor Hilbert.

“I wouldn’t want to ‘ask’ them anything,” said Maria. “I’d want to tell them something.”

“And what would that be?” said Professor Hilbert, only just resisting the urge to add “little girl” to the end of the question. Even though he managed not to say it aloud, he did speak it in his head, and he got the impression that Maria had somehow heard him say it.

Maria’s eyes narrowed. Her scowl deepened.

“Actually, now it’s two things. The first thing I’d tell them is that at least one of them needs a lesson in not being a smarty-pants.”

“Yes, and the second?”

Maria placed a map of Biddlecombe on the desk, a map marked with an inverted pentagram.

“That he’s a smarty-pants in a whole lot of trouble.”

• • •

Brian was watching the not-ghost carefully. Its back was to him, but he could tell that it was a woman. She wore a red robe that reminded Brian uncomfortably of a fountain of blood, its sleeves so wide that they concealed her hands, and her long black hair trailed down her back. It was moving slightly, as though buffeted by an unseen breeze, but as Brian continued to stare, it began to fan out from her head, and her robes started to billow. Brian realized that, rather than glimpsing someone standing in a breeze, he was looking at a woman somehow suspended underwater, an impression strengthened by the fact that the end of her robe was not touching the ground.

Brian’s hands, which now tended to tremble at the best of times, began to shake harder. The mugs clinked together. The spoons jangled. The tea slopped. Together, they made what sounded to Brian’s ears like the most awful racket.

The not-ghost’s head twisted slightly. She seemed to be listening to the sounds coming from the tray, but that couldn’t be right. Professor Stefan had said that it was all one-way traffic. We could see them, but they couldn’t see us. On the other hand, Professor Stefan had said nothing about hearing, but when Brian had seen his first not-ghost he’d dropped his tray in fright, and on that occasion the not-ghost hadn’t reacted at all. Perhaps, Brian thought, the not-ghost was listening to something in her own universe. Yes, that was it. She wasn’t listening to the noises coming from the tea tray. She couldn’t be. Everything was fine. Happy thoughts, Brian, happy thoughts.

Still, just to reassure himself Brian decided to put the tray down on the small table in the kitchen. It was probably for the best. If he didn’t he’d end up covered in tea and milk.

Carefully, Brian set the tray on the table to his right. He tried to do it as quietly as possible, but it still made a noticeable sound as it touched the wood.

The not-ghost’s head inclined slightly to the right. This time, though, the rest of her body began to follow in the same direction.

Oops, thought Brian. Oops, oops, oops.

The not-ghost slowly turned 180 degrees in the air until she was facing Brian, except that facing was probably not the word Brian would have used. To face someone, the first thing you need is a face, and the not-ghost had no face at all. There was only darkness, and now Brian saw that what he had believed was hair was not hair at all but tendrils of shadow extending from the blackness where her face should have been.

Brian did what any sensible person would do.

Brian fled.

30. Or twigs. Or police stations.

31. Formerly Uncle Dabney’s Special Brand Bull’s-Eyes, until it was discovered that the chewy centers were, in fact, actual bulls’ eyes.

32. Again, formerly Uncle Dabney’s Unusually Fiery Acid Drops, until, well, you can work it out for yourself . . .