The Puffin Book of Horror Stories

John Gordon Eels

Rosemary was ten when she was smothered by Aunt Jenny and fed to the eels.

Oh, dear me, how easy it was. Poor lamb, to go so sweetly. But I was very angry at the time. 'And the strange thing is,' said Miss Jenny Jervis aloud, 'I am a single lady without brothers or sisters, so I'm not really her aunt.'

'Everyone knows that,' said Mrs Berry. 'When's that blasted bus coming?' They were waiting at Church Bridge for the bingo bus to take them to Terrington out across the fens.

'But she always called me auntie — I can't think why.'

'And I can't think why you suddenly started to come to bingo. Gambling — that ain't like you, Jenny Jervis.'

Miss Jervis simpered. 'Maybe I'm feeling lucky, Phoebe.'

Heavens, yes. Very lucky. First Rosemary with the eels, and now Rosemary's mother has passed away. By accident. So she'll never come looking for her darling little Rosemary again. How very convenient. No need of eels for her.

'I feel fresh as a daisy today,' said Miss Jervis. 'Free as a bird.'

'Damned if you don't look it.' Mrs Berry cast an eye over the flowered dress, the gloves and the white hat with a hint of veil across Miss Jervis's brow. 'It's not a wedding, you know — only bloody bingo.'

'It pleases you to be blunt, Phoebe,' said Miss Jervis, 'but other people are not so unkind. Rosemary for one — although,' she added modestly, 'I still can't think why she has always been so nice to me.'

'Don't come that with me,' said Mrs Berry. 'You know well enough.' The bus came drifting along the waterside. 'And for God's sake help me up these blasted steps.'

Mrs Berry, unlike Miss Jervis, was fat and her hips were so bad she could hardly lift her feet. She handed over her stick before she grasped the handrail. 'And wipe that stupid expression off of your face, Jenny Jervis. The girl calls you auntie because she loves you, God knows why.'

Miss Jervis held the stick by the middle and kept it clear of the ground in case germs ran up it and into her gloves. 'I've only been doing my duty by the girl,' she said.

'Duty be blowed.' Mrs Berry's grunt was muffled in her fat bosom as she heaved her way upwards. 'Who cares about duty? — you don't, for one.'

'You are wrong there, Phoebe.' Miss Jervis regarded the broad rear end.

Quite wrong. My duty was to dispatch the child. She should never have been born, so it was her destiny, the darling.

'I have a strong sense of duty,' she said.

'Squit! You have a strong sense of looking after number one — like the rest of us.'

'Here's your stick, dear.' Miss Jervis handed it over, and dusted off the tips of her gloves.

'And don't call me dear!' Mrs Berry had found a seat and was peeling the wrapper from a pack of king size. 'I'm not in a bloody rest home yet.'

The bus began to move, and Miss Jervis looked down into the river as it slid by.

Silly to call it a river, but they all do. It's a drainage cut, as they very well know, because the water's quite still and not like a river at all. Fortunate, really, because I knew just where Rosemary was until the eels had finished with her. It was quite hygienic. All I had to do was wrap up the bones and put them in the dustbin a few at a time until there was nothing left. Nothing.

'What are you smiling at?'

'Just thoughts,' said Miss Jervis.

'Once a schoolteacher, always a bloody schoolteacher. You're just the same as you was when you was a kid, Jenny Jervis. Anyone could've seen you was never really going to put that school behind you.'

'Don't get so cross with me, Phoebe. There's nothing wrong with being a teacher.'

Headmistress, actually, when I retired. And what did you ever do, fat Phoebe?

'I love being with children,' she said.

'You never showed much sign of it.' Mrs Berry plugged a cigarette into her plump face and waved a flame at it. 'You never got married, did you? Never had no children of your own, never hardly got away from this village where you was born.'

'I was away at training college for three years, don't forget.'

'Training college.' Mrs Berry clicked her tongue. 'That must've been a riot.'

Phoebe, Phoebe, I had a baby.

The rhyme sprang to Miss Jervis's mind and made her smile.

I had a baby, and I don't mean maybe.

She looked out of the window.

Mrs Berry, who had been watching her from the corner of her eye, said, 'You can't tell me you girls didn't get up to some fun and games when you was away from home.'

Miss Jervis raised her eyebrows. 'We were training to be teachers, Phoebe, so nothing very terrible happened.'

Except, of course, I had a baby girl and couldn't come home for a while.

'And anyway,' she smiled, 'even if there had been something I was ashamed of I wouldn't have let anyone know, would I?'

'You're grinning like a cat that's had the cream,' said Mrs Berry.

'Am I? I wonder why.'

And you may well turn away with that disgusted expression on your face, fat Phoebe, because now there's no chance at all you'll ever find out anything.

Using both hands, Miss Jervis smoothed her dress firmly across her thighs and spoke to herself very clearly.

And wouldn't you just love to know that the daughter I had was adopted and grew up to have a daughter of her own? And that little girl was Rosemary — so I'm not her auntie; I'm her granny. I'm a granny, Phoebe, just like you.

'Anyway,' she said mischievously, 'I don't suppose my sins will ever come home to roost now.'

'Not that you ever had none.'

'Not that I ever had any,' said Miss Jervis primly, but she could not help a shiver, because her sin very nearly had come home to roost. Not long since.

But you don't know that, Phoebe. I had my baby adopted the day after she was born and I thought she was gone for ever.

Miss Jervis closed her eyes.

And then … after all those years… she found me!

'It was a terrible moment' — the words came out before she could stop them.

'What was?'

'I mean it must be a terrible moment when your sins catch up with you.' She gave a little grimace.

You'll never catch me out, Phoebe fatbum. Not now. Rosemary has gone, and now my dear daughter is also no longer with us.

'Did you read about that awful plane crash?' she asked.

'What about it?' Mrs Berry was annoyed at the sudden change of subject.

'Well, I was just wondering about those poor people. Their sins caught up with them, didn't they?'

My daughter, for one. She dumped that Rosemary on me, and threatened to give away my secret if I didn't take her, just so she could gad about with her boyfriend. Well, now she's gone, her and her boyfriend. Serve 'em both right.

Miss Jervis had read the passenger list. 'It's so sad,' she said.

'Not that you look it.'

'Well, it's such a lovely day.'

And I'm so lucky. Nobody left to ask questions about Rosemary; no more blackmail from Rosemary's mother.

'I can't never fathom you out.' Mrs Berry, because her fat legs pressed into the seat in front, let ash dribble into her lap. 'You was headmistress, with your own little house by the river, everything you ever wanted — and then you had to go and saddle yourself with that kid Rosemary. At your time of life.'

'It was because of a friend from the old days.'

A friend! I mean my dear daughter — happily no longer with us.

'And my little home was just perfect for the two of us.'

'Well, kids are kids — I wonder you could stand having your place messed up.'

'But it was no problem, Phoebe, no problem at all.'

Until the stupid child began to whine for the mother who didn't want her.

'Because she is such a sweet little girl,' said Miss Jervis.

Was a little girl. And sweet at the end. She drifted away so softly under her pillow she could hardly have felt its touch.

'So sweet,' sighed Miss Jervis.

'Sweet as a sugar plum, no doubt, but it was never your way to burden yourself.'

'You have a cruel tongue, Phoebe, but my deeds speak louder than words.'

'Hark at little Miss.„Prim. Never done a thing wrong in her whole life — I don't think.'

It was said so knowingly that Miss Jervis felt a touch of anxiety. 'I don't understand you,' she said.

'I know something you done, Jenny Jervis… something you was ashamed of.'

Mrs Berry's eyes suddenly had such a hard glint that Miss Jervis looked away.

But it couldn't be Rosemary. Everybody believed me when I said she'd gone home to her mother.

'You was a naughty girl once.' Mrs Berry was sly, and waited to see the effect. 'That's made you go pale, ain't it?'

'There's nothing on my conscience, Phoebe.'

'Well, there should be.'

Miss Jervis sat quite still.

'You gone white just like you did then. First you went white, then you went red and then you started to cry and said it wasn't your fault. You'd have done anything to stop other people knowing what you done. And I was the one who could've shamed you, Jenny Jervis.'

Miss Jervis made a tiny movement with her gloves.

'I see you remember it now — that day when we was kids and you snitched some sweets from a girl's desk.' Her eyes were on Miss Jervis. 'And I seen you do it.'

'Is that all?' Miss Jervis let out her breath.

'All, you say. All'

'I was only trying to put her books straight.' Miss Jervis was annoyed to find that her mouth had gone dry.

'Then why did you snivel and grovel and promise me anything so long as I wouldn't tell? Books my foot!'

'But…'

'No buts. You're still making excuses. You never did give a thought to that poor girl you was thieving from — all you cared about was that you shouldn't be shamed. That's what you was afraid of- shame.'

Miss Jervis took a handkerchief from her glove. 'I think you're trying to spoil my little outing, Phoebe.'

'And now it's tears. Just as it always was. You haven't changed one little bit.'

Miss Jervis blew her nose. 'I'm relieved that I haven't any worse skeletons in my cupboard,' she said. 'Perhaps I'm lucky.'

And she was. She won at bingo. She could do nothing wrong, and knew it in her bones. So when the old woman sitting next to her was careless with her purse, Miss Jervis dipped her fingers into it and came out with a note.

She was putting it into her handbag before she realized she had been spotted. A finger was pointed, and silence spread outwards from where she sat until the hall was full of waxworks with every head turned her way.

'But I was only helping her to buy her tickets,' she said, and the silence deepened.

Outside, Mrs Berry said, 'Get on the bus and shut up.' She made Miss Jervis sit next to the window and sat beside her to wedge her in and prevent her getting to the aisle. 'I don't want you flinging yourself off of this bus and making more trouble for everybody.'

Miss Jervis's voice had almost gone. 'I was only going to give her some change for her tickets,' she whispered. Her throat hurt.

'Just stay quiet.' Mrs Berry was smoking hard. 'Nobody wants to hear you.'

There had been a lot of chatter and laughter on the bus going out. Now the sound of voices barely rose above the rumble of the wheels, and all the women watched in silence when it drew up at the waterside and Mrs Berry and Miss Jervis got off.

'You look a bit tottery.' Mrs Berry, leaning on her stick, took pity on her. 'Would you like to have a cup of tea with me?'

'No thank you, Phoebe.'

It was dusk, but the air was still warm. Mrs Berry tried to make conversation. 'Lovely evening,' she said. 'Lots of midges, though.' They could just be seen above the pale surface of the water, dancing in congregations. Before long they would be invisible. Miss Jervis watched them but said nothing.

'Don't worry about it,' said Mrs Berry. 'It won't seem so bad in the morning.' She breathed heavily, as though kindliness cost her an effort. 'None of us is perfect.'

Miss Jervis murmured good night, and Mrs Berry watched until she had trailed slowly across the road to her front door, fumbled for her key and let herself in.

Mrs Berry walked painfully away. 'Stupid bloody woman,' she grunted. 'Looks as if she wants to do away with herself. Well, she shouldn't have done what she done in the first place.'

Miss Jervis did, in fact, have death in mind. How could she face anyone ever again? She put on her nightdress but did not go to bed. Instead she sat by the empty fireplace until the daylight had washed itself out of the sky, and then she opened her front door and went barefoot across the road to the waterside. She had unpinned her hair, and the grey strands hung loosely. It no longer mattered.

She went carefully, out of habit, down the grassy bank, and before her toes touched the water she leant over and looked down. The movement allowed her unpinned hair to brush her face, and saved her life.

The touch of her hair swinging against her face made her automatically lift her head to brush it away, and it was then she saw the midges. Phoebe Berry was right; there were clouds of them. As they gyrated they made shapes as wispy as bubbles on the point of bursting. If creatures so flimsy continued to exist, why should she die?

Miss Jervis turned away, and slipped. She should have known how treacherous the bank was because it was here she had weighted Rosemary for the eels. But now she had let both feet slide into the water, and she had to struggle before she managed to get a tight enough grip on the grass to crawl up the bank.

The edge of her nightgown was wet and clung to her ankles as she crossed the road, and as soon as she was indoors she changed it.

'Now a nice hot cup of tea, Miss Jervis,' she said, lecturing herself, 'and no more nonsense.'

The sound of her own voice made her feel stronger. She would go to bingo again and brazen it out. She would be generous, so generous that they would all be overwhelmed with guilt for accusing her. And then she would forgive them, and they would respect her even more.

'Because you stand for something in this village,' she told herself, 'and always will.' She dried her feet vigorously. 'Now off to bed with you.'

Despite the rubbing, her feet and ankles remained cold so she took a hot water bottle with her. The bed was soon luxuriously warm, and her mind was at rest.

She slept so soundly that she awoke with cramp down one side and nothing would ease the pain until she moved about her room. It was still dark, and she pulled aside the curtains, as she had so often done, to look at the water and be certain that nothing was disturbing Rosemary. That worry was done with forever.

It was a summer's night and enough light filtered from the sky to show the smooth face of the river, and even the track of bent grass she had left in the verge. And her wet footprints still led to the door.

'The sun will be my friend,' she said. 'All will be dry soon.'

She slid back into bed. The water bottle was cold and she pushed it to one side, but its coolness lingered. She thrust it further away and gasped with annoyance. It must have burst because a cold wetness was on her feet. She sat up and reached down. The chill rubber was clammy. Slimy. It slipped under her fingers as though it was moving. She flung it out of bed. It slapped the floor, but she had used too much violence because she heard it slither further.

'Damn!' Miss Jervis never swore, but she was angry. The water bottle would be leaking all over the floor, and she also had to change the bed. 'Damn!'

She threw aside the bedcover, but the damp sheet had twisted around her feet. She was reaching down to untangle herself when her heart thudded. She was not alone in the room. Silhouetted against the window was a shape.

Fear had made Miss Jervis cringe backwards, but suddenly she leant forward, and now her heart was pounding with anger. The silhouette was human. But it was neither tall nor broad. It was a child. One of her pupils. Some stupid prank.

'Get out!' It was a classroom order. 'Get out at once!'

The child, however, came forward, slowly and heavily. Its footsteps dragged as if with a great weight.

'I'll see you pay for this!'

Miss Jervis gathered herself to lunge, but her feet would not obey her. They would not move. She reached down. The bed was wet and cold, but it was not the sheet that had trapped her feet. Something slippery had coiled itself around her ankles. And it was moving. She felt something slide between her toes and tenderly begin to stroke her leg.

'No!' she cried. 'No!'

Feverishly, trying to pull back at the same time, she reached down. Her fingers plunged into a nest of eels.

Miss Jervis screamed. She flung her hands to the bedrail to haul herself free. She struggled. The cold grip tightened and held her legs still. She could not move.

She was whimpering as the child came closer. Its footsteps slithered and squelched and it brought the darkness of deep water into the room. It stopped by the bedside, and a hand reached out to hold hers. If it was a hand. Miss Jervis never knew.

The child's fingers writhed and were slimy. And the child's head, when it bent over her, had many damp tendrils of hair that, eager and slippery, reached out to busily caress her face, loving her.

When the sun came up and filled the room with warmth, Miss Jervis lay quite still. Her nightgown, however, heaved with a life of its own.