Tales From The Wyrd Museum 1: The Woven Path (31 page)

Huge lamps that blazed with undiluted malice, their garish, baleful glare burned into him, steeping the bear in a glow of pure evil. Dangling forlornly by his paw, he could feel the virulent stare penetrating his soul, slicing right into the very essence of him.

‘Give thanks unto the profane glory that is Belial,’
the repellent mouth thundered, ‘
for by his impenitent grace the trials of your unhappy existence are over.’

To Ted's terror, the frightful jaws lolled open and, deep in the echoing throat, a ruddy light welled up as the fiery caverns of his gullet rumbled to be fed.

‘All souls are my nourishment,’
the demon gloated,
‘and upon your tender succulence shall I sup most readily.’

Cackling, Belial put forth his malevolent power and the bear, suspended from his claws, shivered uncontrollably, racked by fierce, rifling spasms.

From Ted's fleecy skin, seeping with painful inevitability through the grubby fur, threads of glimmering shadow were gradually drawn towards the waiting maw.

Out from the stuffed toy, the shade of Angelo Signorelli was dragged and ripped whilst, behind it, the battling bear abruptly went limp and lifeless.

A trickle of flame splashed from Belial's outstretched tongue as it flicked out to receive this delectable, and most sustaining of souls.

Into Belial's monstrous jaws the shimmering wisps of the airman's spirit were drawn—down into the enormous, hell-reeking throat.

Suddenly the demon was pelted with a flurry of stones and bricks and, to his irritation, something was striking against one of his huge, cockroach-like legs.

His concentration broken, Belial glowered down and there was Neil, with a length of railing in his hands, hammering furiously upon the steel-strong, segmented limb.

Immediately, Angelo's soul snapped back into the bear's body and Ted shook himself—feeling horribly sick.

Defying the booming roars above him, Neil continued to smash the railing against the squander bug's powerful leg, oblivious to the claw that was reaching down to seize him.

‘Kid!’ Ted yelled. ‘Get out from there!’

The boy glanced up and flung himself aside as the talon cleaved through the air.

‘Not without you!’ he bawled back.

Swinging from the demon's grasp, Ted thought frantically for a way to free himself- but there was only one thing he could do.

As Belial stooped to try and snatch the boy again, the bear fumbled with the stitches in his shoulder and with a wrench, pulled them out.

Warbling, Ted tumbled down, narrowly avoiding the cascading spouts of flame that flowed from the demon's mouth. With a jarring bump, he landed on the ground and the force of the impact catapulted a wad of stuffing from the ragged tear in his shoulder.

Not pausing to retrieve it, he flipped himself to his feet and at once Neil's fingers closed round his middle.

With Belial pounding after them, the boy fled as fast as he could, through the ruined entrance and back to the Jeep.

'Take us outta here!’ the one-armed bear yelled.

Neil hesitated, turning to see the towering horror of the squander bug come lurching over the wreckage, the forked tail switching angrily behind his vast and loathsome body.

To Ted's amazement, a grim smile appeared on the boy's face.

‘What you waiting fer?’ he hollered.

His eyes shining, Neil delayed a moment longer. Then, just as Belial's flailing claws came reaching for them, the Jeep screeched out of his grasp.

Bellowing in thwarted rage, the demon tore after, the violence of his wrathful pursuit shaking the surrounding rubble.

Bouncing on the passenger seat, Ted tugged at Neil's clothes. ‘Where you takin’ us?’ he cried. This ain't the way we came.’

The boy only laughed in reply, even when the road burst into flames behind them and the heat scalded their backs.

Veering recklessly round fog-hidden bends, the Jeep careered and bounced—crashing through a garden hedge when Neil misjudged a particularly sharp corner.

‘You ain't gonna lose him!’ Ted cried, staring fearfully back.

‘What makes you think I want to?’ the boy replied wildly.

Into a narrow street the Jeep sped, until at last it spun to a halt—at the end of Well Lane.

Ted stared up at the fastness of the Wyrd Museum, its darkened windows gazing morosely out of the war-torn world.

‘You're crazy!’ he shouted at Neil. “What'd you bring us here fer? This ain't gonna help us, kid! Them daffy sisters won't be here!’

Within the blacked-out panes of the museum's Georgian windows an infernal glare welled up as Belial came rampaging around the buildings behind them.

‘It's not the Websters I'm thinking of,’ the boy answered, scooping Ted up in his hands and tearing into the dingy, fog-filled road that lay behind the museum. ‘Besides, you and me don't need them, do we?’

Waiting a moment to make certain the demon had seen him, Neil hurried to the large gate that barred the entrance to the cramped yard and pushed it wide.

Over the top of the encircling wall the hellish glow rose and the grotesque monstrosity of the squander bug lumbered into view.

The dismal yard was flooded with a bloody light as the demon's eyes hunted for its prey and, with a deep gurgle of treacherous joy, it saw that they were trapped.

Staring up into the venom-filled, merciless face, Neil stumbled back until the museum wall prevented him going any further.

‘Hope you know what you're doing,’ Ted muttered, sitting on his shoulder.

As Belial came crashing through the entrance, battering the gates off their hinges, his claws gouging into the concrete, Neil whispered, ‘So do I.’

Into the courtyard the indomitable demon came, the tempest of his boiling fury screaming around the walls, rattling the windows and gushing destroying flame over the ground.

The chase was over and, as he glowered down at the puny creatures cringing below, his accursed spirit squalled with supremacy and doom.

From this point on, his blasphemous glory would spread over the land. Into the hearts of mankind would he sow yet more hatred and aggression, until a new Pandemonium would be borne from the burning desolation. The true age of war was only just beginning—mother would slay son and child spill the blood of the parent. Horror and chaos would overmantle his death-drenched realm and he, Beli Ya'al—mightiest of the fallen host—would cruelly govern all despairing souls. The time that was prophesied had come at last.

The titan's odious, braying laughter tore malignantly into the night as he bent his baneful anger upon Neil and Ted.

Staring up at the pestilential face, the bear cowered back. ‘Nice while it lasted, kid,’ he burbled.

Neil shivered as three malformed talons came plunging through Belial's fiery breath to kill him.

‘Hope I guessed right,’ he murmured.

With a yell, the boy leaped away as the vicious claws came grinding and slicing.

Even as they swooped after, he dashed to the place where the drinking fountain stood and, using all his strength, kicked and battered the pipe which fed it from the wall.

At once a deluge of rushing, icy water shot into the sky as the liquid blasted out under pressure.

Grabbing the broken pipe with his hands, soak- ing himself and Ted to the skin, Neil wrenched it down and directed the deluge straight at Belial.

The demon roared in mockery as the splashing jet hissed towards him. Too late, his repugnant mind crowded with doubt. Then the fierce flood struck him full in the face.

With a deafening peal of anguish, Belial recoiled from the maelstrom that devoured and burned him. Black smoke flooded the air as the hideous face started to melt and the squander bug's enormous limbs flailed insanely before him in a futile attempt to ward the deadly liquid off.

But the segmented legs dissolved in the streaming spray, withering like wax in a flame.

Screeching, the demon was wreathed in a noxious cloud, whipped by his massive horns which pounded with such agonised force upon the walls of the museum that the building rocked and the slates rattled from the roof.

Dripping with water, Ted punched the air with his paw and gave a whooping cheer. ‘You did it, kid!’ he crowed. ‘He's shrinking!’

Racked with blistering torments, the towering squander bug was diminishing. Down into the engulfing smoke, his liquifying head plummeted and the tremendous shrieks lost their thunderous resonance.

Pushing the pipe still lower, Neil followed the demon's descent and Ted leaped from his shoulder, to scamper closer to the churning plume of poisonous fumes.

Writhing within the stinging, choking smoke, Belial felt his might and strength flood from his being. With a rush of shimmering shadow, the many souls he had ingested flew from his bubbling, molten mouth—rising through the billowing black reek. Scintillating like dim stars, they soared upwards, free at last of the living world and without them the demon was nothing.

Unable to maintain it, he cast aside the shape of the squander bug as down he dwindled, snorting and squealing like a stuck pig. All his splendour, all his foul majesty was ripped away, yet even as the sacred water tortured and consumed him, his vile mind knew that there was still a slender chance.

Looking away from the curling pall of smoke, Neil saw that the water pressure was dropping.

'That's all there is!’ he cried in disappointment.

Ted watched as the powerful jet swiftly became an erratic, spurting spout before it spluttered into a dribbling trickle.

Glancing back at the dark, swirling smoke the bear saw that it too was failing.

'That oughta have done it!’ he said.

Through the damaged gateway a strong breeze suddenly gusted and the reek was borne away leaving only dark shadows in the waterlogged courtyard.

‘Is it over?’ Neil murmured. ‘Is the demon dead?’

Ted paddled into the gloom, rubbing his ears thoughtfully. ‘I don't get it,’ he said, ‘they told me it weren't possible!’

At that moment, with a yammering squeal, a stunted, bristly shape came leaping from the shadows.

The gnashing, deformed imp was only as tall as Ted's shoulder, but its unexpected appearance startled him and he gave a cry of alarm.

‘Jeez!’ he wailed.

Splashing through the wide puddles, the peevish little demon scampered round the yard, trilling a high-pitched, angry cheep like a frightened gerbil. The shrill skriking was so ridiculous that Neil almost laughed.

Belial's beady red eyes hunted for a way to escape them, alighting finally upon the gaping entrance. Quacking sharply, he scudded through the tainted waters towards the battered gates.

‘Don't just stand there, kid!’ Ted shouted. ‘Catch the little varmint!’

To the frenzied, grunting demon's dismay, the bear lunged across his path and, careening over the slippy concrete, it was impossible to stop himself.

Squealing, Belial cannoned straight into Ted's sopping body and the two went tumbling head over heels in the muddy puddle.

Angrily, the bear sprang to his feet, showering a spray of water all around as he shook himself and cast about for the imp.

The bristle-covered demon was retching and spitting out the mire he had swallowed, when Ted came stomping up to him.

‘I might only have one paw left,’ he snapped, ‘but it sure makes a helluva fist!’

Spinning on his legs and swinging his body round, the bear slugged Belial right on his quivering jaw.

With a piercing yowl, the demon toppled backwards into the water again.

‘Boy, that felt good!’ Ted jeered.

Simmering with impotent fury, the imp glared past the obstructing body of the bear and prepared to spring.

‘Always did have a mean left hook,’ Ted called over to Neil.

Spitting with rage, Belial launched himself from the puddle and catapulted past the one-armed bear.

Ted whirled around in surprise.

‘Stop him!’ he cried.

Neil watched the jabbering imp race towards the entrance and shook his head. ‘Let him go,’ he said, “what harm can he do now!’

‘You outta your mind?’ Ted yelled crashing through the water. ‘If he gets loose, then it'll start all over.’

Fearfully, Neil darted after him but it was no use. Belial scrabbled over the broken gates and leaped into the street beyond.

‘NO!’ Ted wailed.

Seething with glee the imp danced in the gloom. Soon he would be mighty again.

Even as he jigged and capered, out of the darkness a child's hand came swooping down and Belial was captured.

Lifting her wriggling pixie hood before her face, Edie Dorkins grinned. Tiny claws were already ripping at the wool, tearing it to shreds, but she was prepared for that.

Champing his needle-like teeth, the pugnacious imp finally ripped through the woolly hat and hurled himself out.

Into a wooden box he fell and, as soon as the demon was inside, the girl slammed the lid down tightly.

Taking the Casket of Belial in her hands, she-raised it and laughed out loud.

Standing in the entrance to the courtyard, Neil and Ted stared in bewilderment at poor, mad, little Edie Dorkins.

Then a cold horror crept over the bear and he gazed despairingly up at Neil.

‘Jean,’ he cried.

Neil's hand flew to his mouth. ‘Josh!’ he howled. We're too late!’

Not wasting any more time, the boy grabbed Ted and they tore from the yard and into Well Lane.

Into the Jeep they leaped and the vehicle went scorching out of the narrow street.

The time was nine forty-five, the parachute mine, which had previously killed Jean Evans and her young son, had fallen from the skies nine minutes ago.

Into Barker's Row the Jeep roared, ploughing through the fog which still covered the houses.

With a quaking heart, Neil stamped on the brake and the vehicle screeched to a tyre-melting halt.

In dreadful silence, the boy and Ted gazed up at number twenty-three.

‘It's still here,’ Neil whispered.

‘Not for much longer,’ the bear yelled, hopping from the Jeep and running to the front door.

A sheet of milky mist was spread over the Stokes's garden. Slowly shifting and curdling, it was like the calm surface of a silver lake from a romance of the middle ages. The woody stalks of last year's Brussels sprouts which rose from the tranquil, ghostly pool, were the towers of wizards and the tangle of strawberry plants that crowned the Anderson shelter, was an island forest, inhabited by the wild folk of faerie.