The Creeps: A Samuel Johnson Tale

XXIX

In Which Efforts Are Made to Console Constable Peel

A QUESTION THAT IS SOMETIMES asked by human beings is why bad things happen to good people. It doesn’t seem entirely fair that folk who try to make the world a better, nicer place, who don’t go around scowling at puppies or frightening kittens, or trying to set someone’s shoes on fire when he’s asleep, should suddenly find themselves having a run of bad luck including, but not limited to, feeling a bit poorly, running out of money, having heavy objects fall on their heads, or stumbling off cliffs in the dark.

Equally, one might ask why bad things don’t happen to bad people, which was just what Constable Peel was asking himself at that precise moment. Somehow, against all the odds, the dwarfs had survived in a basement filled with carnivorous eyeballs, bald vampires, and at least one monster with bladder-control issues. If Constable Peel had been stuck in that basement he’d have been food for something within seconds, but Jolly, Angry, Dozy, and Mumbles had waltzed safely through it all as if it were nothing more dangerous than a field of daisies.

“We appear to have upset him,” said Angry as Constable Peel continued to weep and curse the gods from his position on the floor.

“He’s very sensitive for a policeman,” said Jolly. “I think he’s just relieved that nothing bad happened to us.”

“He’s swearing a lot for someone who’s relieved,” said Angry. “He seems to be doing a lot of fist-shaking as well.”

“He’s getting rid of tension, that’s all,” said Jolly. “It can be a very emotional experience when you find out that someone you care about has been in danger. Imagine how much worse he must feel knowing that the four of us—and Dan—were almost killed.”

Constable Peel’s wailing grew louder.

“I mean, think about it: just one little bit of bad luck and we might not have been here at all.”

Constable Peel began banging his head on the floor.

“Constable Peel,” Jolly concluded solemnly, “would never have seen us again.”

Jolly shed a tear at the near tragedy of it all. It fell on Constable Peel’s neck. As it trickled down his back Constable Peel reached for his truncheon, and he might have done to Jolly what the eyeballs and vampires and monster had failed to do had not Sergeant Rowan stepped in and ushered Dan and the dwarfs away.

“Give him a little space, lads,” he said. “Poor old Constable Peel has had a bit of a shock.”

He knelt by his fellow policeman, who was taking deep breaths to try to calm himself.

“Are you going to be okay?” asked Sergeant Rowan.

“It’s not right, Sarge,” said Constable Peel. “Even Hell couldn’t get rid of them fast enough. Every time it looks like we might be about to see the last of them, something terrible happens and they survive.”

“I know, son, I know, but we can’t have you beating them to death with your truncheon. We’d have to find somewhere to hide the bodies, and right now we’re stuck in a toy shop with all kinds of nasties, so we don’t have the time to go stuffing the bodies of dwarfs into closets or under floorboards.”

He handed Constable Peel a handkerchief. Constable Peel blew his nose loudly and wetly in it and tried to hand it back to the sergeant.

“No, you keep it,” said Sergeant Rowan.

“Very kind of you, Sarge.”

“Not really,” said Sergeant Rowan.

Constable Peel folded the handkerchief, stuffed it in his pocket, and got to his feet.

“When all this is finished . . .” said Constable Peel.

“Yes?”

“And if we survive . . .”

“It’s a big ‘if.’ ”

“But if we do . . .”

“Yes?”

“Can I kill them then?”

Sergeant Peel handed Constable Peel his hat.

“We’ll see, Constable, we’ll see . . .”

• • •

High above the Earth, within sneezing distance of the moon, a small hole appeared in the fabric of space and time, and Crudford squeezed through it. He gazed down at the small blue planet below. It was, as planets went, nothing to write home about. It didn’t have spectacular rings. It wasn’t made of diamond. It did not, unlike the planet Cerberus IV in the Dragon Dimensions, have jaws and teeth, and move around the galaxy chewing up smaller worlds. It was just kind of pretty in a blue, watery way.

Crudford floated closer to the Earth. He hovered over England. He narrowed his focus, concentrating on the area around Biddlecombe. He saw that it was there but not there, as if he were seeing the town in a dream. Black smoke swirled around it, great columns of it like tornadoes.

No, not smoke: shadows.

And not shadows, but Shadows.

“Oh, the Great Malevolence is not going to like that,” said Crudford. “It’s not going to like that at all.”