The Creeps: A Samuel Johnson Tale

XXIII

In Which the Cracks in the Relationship Between Samuel and Lucy Become Greater

ALL WAS STILL AND silent on the ground floor of Wreckit & Sons. The darkness had cleared to reveal the store. It was as if they had passed through a tunnel in order to enter. Samuel, Lucy, and the two policemen could now see out of the windows perfectly well, and so could take in the unusual sight of the people of Biddlecombe fleeing from elves, abominable snowmen, and various fairy-tale villains that seemed more smoke than substance, but they could hear nothing. When they tried to leave through the door they met only resistance from the air, and ripples like waves on water ran through it from floor to ceiling. Of Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley there was no sign.

“Well, this isn’t much fun,” said Lucy. “What kind of date is this?”

She glared at Samuel accusingly.

“It’s not my fault,” said Samuel.

“Oh, really? And who invited me to this rotten opening in the first place?” said Lucy.

“I didn’t invite you,” said Samuel. “You saw the invitation and sort of invited yourself!”

“So it’s all my fault, is it? That’s typical, just typical!”

There then followed a long speech blaming Samuel for every unfortunate event that had blighted Lucy Highmore’s young life so far, most of which Samuel was fairly certain were not his fault, along with a lot of others that he was absolutely certain weren’t his fault because he hadn’t been born when any of them happened or, if he had been, then they were out of his control, including a number of wars, world hunger, global warming, and the business with the apple in the Garden of Eden. When she had finished, Lucy folded her arms and looked away. Her bottom lip trembled. After a great deal of effort, she managed to force a single small tear from one eye. It hung on her cheek for a second, decided that it wasn’t about to have company anytime soon, and promptly dried up somewhere around her chin.

Sergeant Rowan and Constable Peel, who had been doing their best not to get involved, or to attract Lucy’s attention for fear that they might catch an earful as well, watched her from a distance. When it became apparent that the storm had calmed itself for now, Constable Peel sidled up to Samuel.

“Are you going out with her?”

“I am,” said Samuel. “Or I was.”

Constable Peel gaped at him.

“Why?” he asked.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time to ask, and she said yes,” said Samuel.

“You live and learn,” said Constable Peel. “Now you know why some people become monks.”

Sergeant Rowan coughed deliberately.

“None of this is helping,” he said. “There’s some bad business going on here, and it’s up to us to get to the bottom of it. Come along now, Constable. You, too, Samuel. And you, young lady, suck in your bottom lip. It looks like someone has built a shelf over your chin.”

Lucy gave Sergeant Rowan her best glare of rage.

“I shall tell my father what you said. He’ll have your job!”

“He can have it if he wants it, miss, although why he would, I don’t know. Constable Peel, are you crying?”

“No, Sarge. Why do you ask?”

“Because I heard crying and simply assumed it was you.”

“Not me, Sarge. I can’t say that I’m not tempted, but I’m holding it in.”

“Very brave of you, Constable.”

“Thank you, Sarge.”

“That said, I can still hear someone crying for mummy. I think there may be a child in here with us.”

Constable Peel listened.

“More than one, Sarge. I can hear lots of them.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” said Lucy. “They’re dolls! We’re in a toy shop. They’re probably demonstration models left out for children to play with.”

To their left was the entrance to the doll section of the store. It was clear that the sounds were coming from there.

“That’s a relief,” said Constable Peel just as a doll waddled into view and blinked at them. It was about eighteen inches tall, with dark hair. It wore a blue dress and blue shoes. Its eyes were entirely black.

“Mummy,” said the doll, its lips moving to form the word.

“That’s very impressive,” said Constable Peel. “In a creepy way. And it has quite big teeth for a doll.”

“It has quite big teeth for a shark,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Constable, I’d take a step or two back from it if I were you.”

Constable Peel didn’t need to be told twice. More dolls were joining the first. Some walked and some crawled. One doll pushed another doll in a pram. A number of them were armed with knives. The ones that couldn’t talk just cried, but the ones that could talk said things like “Mummy,” and “Bottle,” and “Change me.”

And “Kill!”

• • •

Mr. Karloff had managed to stop running for long enough to call the police. Constables Wayne and Hay, who were out in a patrol car, were now aware that Biddlecombe was in trouble again. There were rumors of eerie noises from the old prison, and strange lights in the abandoned asylum. They had tried to contact Sergeant Rowan and Constable Peel, with no result, so they had locked up the police station and headed out to investigate.

As it happened, their route back to the center of town took them by the battlefield. They paused for a moment and took in the sight of dozens of undead Vikings and Saxons merrily attempting to kill one another and, when that didn’t work due to the fact that they were already dead, contenting themselves with lopping off limbs and heads.

“Let’s just leave them to it, shall we?” said Constable Hay.

“That seems like the best thing,” said Constable Wayne.

They drove away, and did not look back.