The living nightmare that was Boggy Bill missed the door completely, smashing in through the wall. Rubble flew like cardboard.
It stood before Danny; huge, wide, monstrous, unimaginably horrible, a malevolent shadow clad in darkness, its animal bellowing again setting the room rumbling.
On the bed, the terrified boy grabbed the rabbits, who were still fighting over his T-shirt, and clutched them close, to protect them – as though there were anything he could do to protect them.
Boggy Bill skulked around the foot of his bed, red glowing eyes never leaving the boy. Growling, it slightly nudged the bed – at arms’ length, like a chimpanzee with a stick prodding a cobra, hostile but wary of approach beyond a certain point.
Then, it started to draw closer.
The trembling Danny shut his eyes, and hugged the rabbits tighter, awaiting its one deadly blow.
It never arrived.
Instead, Boggy Bill emitted an anguished wail and charged, flailing-armed, through the outer wall. It disappeared into the night.
Silence.
Relieved silence.
The silence of a last-minute reprieve from a hangman’s noose.
A loose brick fell from the outer wall’s new hole, hitting the carpet.
Still shaking, Danny sat staring out at the city lights, traffic noise rumbling distantly. He looked down at the rabbits. The rabbits looked up at him.
Clatter. Whirr. Clatter clatter.
He looked at the floor.
The false leg emerged from beneath the bed, juddered across to the hole and, four times, kicked the adjoining plaster, as though warning the Wheatley Bigfoot, ‘And don’t you come back.’
But it would be back.
It knew where he lived.
Folded jeans hit already packed underwear. Danny had learned his lesson, learned it big time, learned it so big you’d need a periscope to see round it to the grass on the other side of the light at the end of the tunnel. And even that light was two trains on collision course, him tied to the track midway between them.
Always settle for the worst in life, his mother had told him. Girls, the uglier the better. Houses, the smaller the better. Pets, the more inert the better; ‘After all, I settled for you and Brian.’ Simple rules for simple folk. From now on, he’d follow them to the letter.
As soon as the monster had gone, Danny had leapt from bed, hurriedly dressed and begun packing. He’d crossed to the wardrobe, opened its doors and yanked the rabbit-gnawed remnants of two T-shirts from their hangers. The hangers had swung wildly on a horizontal rod. He didn’t care. Danny Yates didn’t care about hangers. He evicted his spare trainers onto the floor, little patience for either. Kicking shut the doors, he toe-poked trainers across carpet.
The shirt remnants joined his other possessions in the opened suitcase on the bed.
Beside the case, Proton and Neutron fought over his final T-shirt. Let them, the mad rabbits whose only interest in life was eating his clothing even when threatened by monsters.
He slammed shut the bag, fastening twin straps as quickly as shaking fingers would allow. He gathered his luggage under one arm and prepared to escape before the monster’s return.
A voice stopped him. ‘What’s this, Gary? Planning on leaving?’
‘Been doing a spot of late night DIY, Gary?’ Flat voiced, dark eyed, Teena Rama stood on the landing, looking in through a monster-shaped hole. She held a small syringe.
‘DIY?’ he protested, clutching suitcase to chest. ‘Do you know what’s just happened to me?’
Barefoot she stepped over rubble, into the room, and gazed around at the damage. ‘I’m more concerned about what’s happened to this place. I come up early to investigate a commotion, and find a disaster area.’
‘It’s nothing compared to the disaster area that could’ve been me.’
‘So, what happened? I think I have a right to know.’
‘Don’t ask.’ Brushing past her, he headed for the door. opened it and held it there. He turned to her, saying, ‘I’m leaving. I still like you – and I’d like you to visit me in my next home, every chance you get – but it’s too dangerous for me to live here. And I’m sorry about your room. And if I can ever afford to, I’ll pay you back for its repair, but it wasn’t my fault.’
‘And do you have somewhere to go?’
‘No.’ And he left, walking along the landing, toward the distant stairs, angry and bewildered that life could do this to him just as it had seemed he might finally get everything he wanted from it.
Despite what he’d said, he knew precisely where he was going – back to Sister Tes and her rotten accordion.
Reaching the stairs, he placed his hand on the banister and began to descend them for the last time.
Teena called after him. ‘I can’t stop you leaving, Gary, but if you intend to see me again, I’ll still have to administer your injection.’
‘What injection?’ asked Danny. He and Teena now stood at his bedroom’s centre.
‘This injection.’ She squeezed her syringe’s base. A clear liquid spurted out before hitting the carpet. ‘We discussed it earlier; “Be in your room, at ten-thirty, with your trousers down.” A good strong dose of sodium bromide up your backside, plus other mixed items, should cure your problem. Not that there are any guarantees, your hormones do seem rather …’ she gazed around at the carnage, ‘… rampant.’
‘Injection.’ He sat on the bed, feeling stupid.
She looked down at him. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘I thought you wanted sex.’
‘Sex?’ She blinked twice. ‘With whom?’
‘Why should you think that?’
‘You said you knew an obvious way to release my sexual tensions.’
‘Yes; injections. I’d hardly call sexual intercourse with you an obvious option. I’m sure most people’s first fallback would be the needle, leaving intercourse very much as a last, desperate act. At the risk of sounding conceited, my sexual performances are outstanding. You might become addicted. I’d hate to be responsible for that.’
‘You don’t find me irresistible?’
‘Should I?’
He collected the battered aerosol from the floor, handing it to her. She handed him the syringe.
Fist on hip, unimpressed, she studied the can’s label. BONK. MIT THEREMINS.
‘That’s Spanish.’
‘German,’ she corrected.
‘No one can resist theremins. Not even you.’
‘Not even me? You make me sound frigid. Doors?’
‘Yes, Miss Rama?’
‘Am I frigid?’
‘Oh, no. Miss Rama. You’re a woman of remarkable passion.’
Her gaze didn’t leave the label. ‘Do you read German, Gary?’
‘Why?’ he shuffled uneasily.
Pacing back and forth, she translated the instructions. ‘Keep away from livestock. Keep away from people. Keep away from skin. Keep away from flames. Keep away! Do not inhale spray. When empty, dispose of can at registered disposal centre. May cause paranoid delusion. Do not mix with public water supply. If water supply becomes contaminated, contact health authorities. If stupid, do not use. If keen on legal action, do not use. Not to be used as a deodorant. Do not use!’
She stopped pacing. Her back to him, she popped the lid off then gave the can a shake. Tsssssssssssssst, she fired a spray into the air then watched vapour droplets fall. ‘Bonk is a former East German pesticide banned in a hundred and eight countries for its marbles-loosening qualities. If you’ve been spraying this stuff on yourself I’m not surprised you went weird.’
‘But it has theremins.’
‘The theremin was an early synthesizer used in “B” movies. It provided “spooky” music whenever rubber aliens approached necking teenagers in Lovers’ Lane. Its finest moment was the whistling intro to the Beach Boys’ Good Vibrations. Gary, why should canned synthesizer waste make me come over all Meg Ryan?’
He deflated with a silent hiss.
She replaced the lid then tossed the can aside. ‘You’re a strange boy, aren’t you, Gary?’
He said nothing, too busy blaming himself, and ‘Armando’.
Back still turned to him, knuckles on hips, she gazed around, taking a more complete overview of the damage. From the floor she retrieved a bedside lamp. She blew dust from it and dropped it on the bed. ‘I assume this destruction was a physical manifestation of lust?’
‘It was a physical manifestation of Boggy Bill.’
She looked at him. ‘Is that a friend of yours?’
‘He’s the Wheatley Bigfoot.’
‘The …?’
‘The Wheatley Bigfoot.’
She squinted at him. ‘You don’t mean the thing that idiot claimed to have filmed in the woods?’
‘That idiot was my brother.’
‘You have my commiserations. But I don’t see why that’d make you want to destroy my house.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ he insisted, amazed by her sudden stupidity when faced with the obvious. ‘That’s what I’m saying. I’m saying it was Boggy Bill. He burst into my room then wrecked it. And if I stay here, he’ll be back for me.’
‘Gary, there is no Boggy Bill. I’ve been in those woods, frequently, scouting for junk. The only danger comes from morons with guns. There’s nothing like the variety, nor quality, of fauna to support a large carnivore.’
‘But he’s not a real creature. That’s the point. He’s paranormal. When you shoot him, the bullets go right through. That’s how you can tell him from the hospital’s financial director.’
‘Gary, now you’re making no sense at all.’
‘Look. There’s two great gaping holes in my walls, and in walls throughout the surrounding streets. How do you explain that?’
She strode over rubble, to the outer wall, and inspected its monster-shaped hole. Her index finger crumbled loose plaster fragments. Small masonry chunks hit the carpet.
‘Well?’ he asked, arms folded, confident he had her.
Hands clapping free of dust, she turned her attention to the bed where Proton and Neutron were finishing off the remnants of Danny’s T-shirt. One hand on hip, she wagged a finger at them; ‘Naughty rabbits.’
And then she left.
‘Teena, there’s no way rabbits could’ve done that to the walls.’
‘On the contrary.’ Hand on doorknob, she was about to enter her own bedroom when Danny caught up with her on the landing. She said, ‘The chewing powers of rodent teeth are well documented. A pair of healthy lepi, such as Proton and Neutron, could perform the feat within seconds.’
‘And do it in the shape of a monster?’
‘The average rabbit’s creative gifts are often underestimated by the public. Many fine works have been created by rabbits.’
‘Like what?’ he challenged.
‘The Mona Lisa.’
‘The Mona Lisa?’
‘I have strong evidence that Leonardo’s entire canon was a hoax perpetrated to discredit the Renaissance, as hoaxers have used chimpanzee daubings to discredit Modern Art.’
‘Teena, the Mona Lisa wasn’t painted by rabbits.’
‘Figurative Self-Expression in Rodent Nibblings, I have a degree in it.’
‘I thought you might.’
‘If you like you can study my thesis on the subject.’
‘When?’
‘First thing in the morning.’
‘First thing in the morning, after you’ve written it?’
‘Gary.’ Her eyelids lowered to half mast. ‘Cynicism ill becomes a boy as sweet as you.’
And she pecked his cheek, retreating into her room before he could react.
‘Mr Daniel?’
He answered without enthusiasm. ‘Yes, Doors?’
‘To put your mind at ease Miss Rama has just ordered I erect force fields over all the house. Now, if there were any monsters on the prowl, they’d be unable to gain access.’
‘And will I be able to leave the building?’ He already knew the answer.
‘Ooh no, Mr Daniel. You’d be fried like a sausage. Not that Miss Rama approves of sausages, nor any fried foods.’
‘What about fried guests?’
‘She didn’t say.’
Danny stood on the landing, cheek still burning from her kiss, nostrils still drinking her banana milkshake aroma. His eyes still stared at her locked door. She was using him. Even he could see that. The kiss was just her little bribe, something to keep him quiet. All the same, he wished she’d use him some more.
From her room came the scrape of chair across floor – and the hurried clacking of a typewriter.
Danny returned to the remnants of his room, collected his bag and rabbits then moved into the next room along the landing.
He didn’t sleep a wink