Candy Canes and Buckets of Blood Page 12

  “I think you made an impression on him,” said Newton and pulled the little elf’s hat down to hide its face.

  ***

  43

  Duncan roared as the juicer gave up its fight against hard-to-blend elf bits. The motor gave a loud electric bang and died. The lights went out completely for a long moment and then came back to life, accompanied by a dangerous-sounding fizzing noise. Appliances across the kitchen sparked.

  Duncan whirled on the elves, near blind and deranged. “Who’s next?” he screamed. “I took on the Bridlington chamber of commerce and won, you little bastards. You think I’m frightened of some bloody pixies? Eh?!”

  Guin knew the power of words. When girls in the playground banished her from their circles with harsh language, it hurt deep. She and Tinfoil Tavistock had had deep conversations about how she felt when the other students at quadruped school called her a “Spaccy alpaca”. Guin reckoned the elves didn’t take kindly to the use of the p word at all.

  As the first one leapt at Duncan he grabbed at the lined up Molotov cocktails on the counter, swept one up and smashed it powerfully into the side of the elf’s head, dashing it to the ground. Another elf, another bottle. A third. A fourth. In the strobing light of fusing electrics, they fought, man and elves, like the weirdest and most violent silent comedy ever.

  Guin wanted to angrily point out that she and Esther had spent ages making those cocktails.

  “You’re meant to light them!” Esther shouted.

  Duncan grunted and fumbled with the hob. He twisted knobs to turn on the gas but couldn’t see how to ignite them through his bloodied vision. He grabbed up a big bottle of clear spirits and tried to feel around in his pocket, presumably for a lighter (but who carried a lighter in their dressing gown pocket? Guin didn’t know).

  “Come on – pfff! – come on!” he spat. “Try take me down! Bridlington tried and look what happened to them!”

  He tossed the barricade against the door aside with pain-fuelled adrenalin and backed out of the swing doors. Spirit-soaked elves picked themselves up and chased after him.

  ***

  44

  Esther stared at the mess in the kitchen. The spilt drink, the smashed glass, the trail of blood Duncan Catheter had left in his whirlwind passage through the room.

  “I don’t know about you,” said Esther, picking up the two remaining alcohol bombs, “but I am fed up of waiting around for someone to kill us. I say it’s time to go on the offensive.”

  “What about understanding their point of view?” asked Guin. “Like the orangutans.”

  “You’ve tried to tell me these things are evil,” said Esther, “but I don’t usually see the world in that way.” She looked at the two bottles. She kept the brandy and passed the certainly non-flammable Malibu rum bottle to Guin. “But I know I hate these bloody things.”

  “Good,” said Guin.

  There came the sounds of distant shouts and struggles. Esther picked up a disposable lighter from beside the oven. “With me,” she said and led the way.

  They ran, crouching low. Esther wondered if they ought to be moving alternately, shouting “Clear!” at every doorway. There was a crashing further off.

  “Heppe! Now!” came a plaintive cry from the guest lounge.

  Esther gestured to the side of the door. Guin flattened herself against the wall, in the classic buddy cop pose, while Esther squared up to the doorway, Molotov cocktail at the ready, lighter ready to strike.

  The room was empty. The only light came from the fairy lights on the Christmas tree wedged between two sofas. They, like every other light in the place, were flickering. Something just out of sight sparked dangerously.

  “Heppe! Now!” called the parrot from his cage.

  “Damn,” said Esther, passing her brandy bottle to Guin. She tried to unhook the cage from its stand but it was far too heavy.

  “Gerramovon yum idjit!”

  “I’m trying!” yelled Esther.

  “Esther!” warned Guin.

  Esther turned. Duncan Catheter came stumbling through the door, locking in a deadly embrace with two elves. The three of them were slick with blood and alcohol, struggling to get a purchase on each other.

  Duncan tore off one that had its teeth clamped onto his throat. It came away with more of his neck than was healthy.

  “Gn-argh!” yelled Duncan and hurled it away. The vodka-soaked elf arced into the Christmas tree; both crashed to the floor. There was the sound of dozens of popping baubles, followed by a fiery whump. Electrical fire plus accelerant plus wood. Sap filled pine needles exploded like a million tiny firecrackers.

  Esther raised her arm protectively against the blooming fireball.

  “Sddn hlll!” squawked King Leopold of Belgium.

  Duncan staggered back. The elf on his chest took the opportunity to leap higher and bury its bone handled knife up the hilt in Duncan’s eye.

  “Is that all you’ve got, Bridlington?” Duncan mumbled and dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

  “Sodding hell,” said Esther.

  She yanked open the bird cage door. The huge fat parrot barrelled out, dipped momentarily and flew straight out the door. Esther was only a second behind it. The elf swung at her as she passed but she hurdled over it and out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

  “Can you smell gas?” said Guin.

  ***

  45

  As he and Dave ran downstairs, Newton snatched up the most solid looking elf cross from the mess of sheets and stuffed cat remnants. There were shouts and thumps from downstairs and a dull background roar that might have been the snowstorm outside. Newton suspected it wasn’t.

  A shape flew up into their faces. Dave gave a startled yelp.

  “Shttn lil bfftrds!” squawked King Leopold, banking at the top of the stairs and turning.

  Dave put a hand to his chest and gave the bird an evil glare.

  “Did I mention it was a very rude parrot?” said Newton.

  “I can smell smoke,” said Dave. “We need to get out.”

  “Bout brurrytime. Pairra gommin iddits.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Newton made immediately for the front door.

  “What do you think you are doing?” came a strident voice.

  Mrs Scruples stood by the little reception desk. She was wearing something like a lightweight turquoise coat made of quilted polyester. A flannel nightdress peeked out at the hem.

  “Mrs Scruples!” gasped Newton. “We’ve got to get out of here! You won’t believe it but there’s elves in the house!”

  She strode forward. “I heard a good deal of noise for the middle of the night. Why are you up and causing so much disruption?” She took in the mess and wreckage littering stairs and hallway. “Breakages must be paid for.”

  “But Christmas elves!” said Newton. “Real ones! And—” He stopped, seeing the shotgun in the old woman’s hand.

  “I think Mrs Scruples knows all about Christmas elves,” said Dave softly.

  She raised the shotgun. “Nobody is leaving unless I say so.”

  She called over her shoulder. “Wee folks! Come here!”

  “Wee folks?” said Newton, terrified and incredulous. “Why are you trying to make them sound cute? They kill people. Mr Catheter. He…” He shook his head. “But wee folks? Really? Shall we get the china cups out and make a little tea party for them?”

  Newton caught Dave’s gaze and the little shushing motion that he was making.

  “But they’re murderers,” said Newton.

  “I’ve seen no evidence of that,” said Mrs Scruples. “I see plenty of violence perpetrated by the two of you, mind. Right here under my roof and staining my carpet to boot.”

  “Where’s Mr Scruples?” asked Dave. It was an odd question and Newton couldn’t quite see the relevance.

  Mrs Scruples’ head jerked. Her face twitched unhappily. “He’s still around. I’ve seen him in the distance a couple of times.”

  �
�Have you? Really?”

  “I’d know his waistcoats anywhere. He was always good with his hands, was Mr Scruples. He’s valuable to them. That’s why they want to keep hold of him.”

  “They?” said Newton and then understood.

  “And you?” said Dave. “Is your role to lure us in? Is that why you’re ‘valuable’ to them?”

  Newton wasn’t sure why Dave was so keen to chat when there was some serious escaping to be done. Then he realised Dave was trying to keep Mrs Scruples talking because he’d spotted Newton’s mum, dirty and bedraggled, creeping up behind the woman.

  “Mum!” It came out in a blurt of shock and delight.

  “Mum?” said Mrs Scruples.

  Esther grasped the massive pottery horse from the reception desk and smashed it over Mrs Scruple’s head. The woman flopped lifelessly to the floor.

  “Oh, poor horsey,” said Newton.

  Guin ran forward to her dad. “We put an elf in a blender!”

  “Um, trouser press,” Dave replied.

  Esther planted a smooshy kiss on Newton’s forehead. “We need to get out of here.” She pulled open the inner door, squeezed past the monstrous vacuum cleaner in the porch and battled futilely with the outer door. “Locked!”

  Keys,” said Dave, whirling to look at Mrs Scruples.

  “Uh-oh,” said Newton quietly. A small band of elves was advancing towards them down the hallway. Each carried a weapon. One looked as though it had a carving set, a matching fork and knife with horn handles. Another had something like a small garden tool with a clawed end. Another held a hammer. They each had a face that was scrunched up with determined malice, expressions deepened by the fact they had been variously thumped, cut, burned or trampled.

  “Yrrr scrrwwed!” screeched King Leopold, flapping around the ceiling.

  “I’ve got this,” said Newton, grabbing the hose of the vacuum cleaner. It was already plugged in. As he brought it to bear, the wheeled body trundled behind him, like a baby Dalek. He stabbed the switch; nothing happened.

  “The body needs to be shut,” said Esther and leaned heavily on the wobbly casing. She had to sit on top to force it shut.

  The vacuum cleaner’s head bucked in Newton’s hands. He thrust the pipe at the nearest elf. It disappeared up the fat pipe and into the body of the vacuum cleaner with a series of thumps. Newton swept it round and bagged another.

  ***

  46

  Dave had run forward and put his fingertips to Mrs Scruples’ neck. “She’s still alive,” he said.

  “Yeah?” said Esther. “Try focusing on the lives of the four people who aren’t in league with evil elves!”

  It was perhaps a little callous but Dave took the hint. He went through the pockets of her housecoat.

  “Watch out! Elf on the shelf!” yelled Guin.

  “On it,” said Newton.

  An elf dropped down with a lusty war cry. Newton sucked it up the pipe with a snarl of fury.

  “Hey, suckers!” called Newton. He hoovered up the last two elves. The last one got caught up somewhere in the hose and the motor hesitated. A lump in the hose wriggled. Esther gave it a sharp kick and it vanished with a hollow thwump!.

  “Here!” said Dave as he pulled out a key ring, triumphant.

  He tossed it to Esther and then hooked a hand under Mrs Scruples’ armpits and hauled her along the hallway.

  “What are you doing?” said Esther.

  “I am not leaving her in a burning building.”

  “I can definitely smell gas now,” said Guin. “Did that man leave the hob on in the kitchen?”

  Newton took the keys from Esther and hurriedly unlocked the outer front door.

  “Out. Now!” said Dave.

  King Leopold was first out, flapping into the night sky with a cry of “Bggrit! S’frrrzzing!”

  Newton and Guin followed. Esther took hold of the evil old lady’s legs and helped her far too public-spirited man carry her out into the snow. They laid her down in the centre of the road.

  “I should go back for that shotgun,” said Esther.

  “Why?” said Dave.

  “What if there’s more of them?”

  “You do know that people who carry guns are more likely to be shot than people who don’t carry guns.”

  “It’s true,” said Guin.

  “Behyoo,” squawked the parrot.

  “I don’t think those statistics include people who’ve had to fight off bloody Christmas elves,” said Esther.

  “Be-HY-oo!” said the parrot, loudly.

  “What did it say?” said Newton.

  “I think it was saying, ‘Behind y—’” Esther looked back. Through the open doorway she saw a knife with a horn handle sliding through the gap between the body and lid of the vacuum cleaner. It flipped the catch aside and the top burst open. Dusty elves flopped out in varying states of alertness. The elf with the horn-handled knife was first to recover: it turned towards them. His companions seemed disorientated: they reeled and fell over as they emerged from the vacuum.

  “Molotov cocktails,” said Esther. Guin reacted fastest. She passed over one of the bottles as Esther fumbled for the lighter in her pocket. She flicked it once, twice and managed to set light to the torn-up tea towel with a shaking hand.

  “Burn you pixie scumbags!” she howled and threw the bottle. It smashed into the hoover, but the spirits failed to ignite.

  “Was that Malibu?” said Dave.

  “Shut up.”

  The knife-wielding elf, soaked, made a show of licking its finger in a mocking display. Esther lit the remaining bottle’s cloth and lobbed it at them.

  It smashed with a satisfying and very final sound against the body of the hoover, but the flame did not take hold. Except one of the elves stamped its boots, which were definitely burning. It was hardly an impressive conflagration.

  The elf laughed, a high and cruel giggle.

  “I should have gone back for that shotgun,” said Esther.

  The gas explosion blew the four standing humans off their feet, and the front door entirely off its hinges. Elves, caught in its path, were hurled out of the door. One flew through an upstairs window on the opposite side of the street. The vacuum cleaner tumbled into the road. It would have crushed someone if it had landed on them.

  Esther sat up and stretched her jaw, trying to shake off the high-pitched whine in her deafened ears. Shattered glass was everywhere. She found Newton and Guin laid out in the drifting snow, essentially unharmed but clearly shocked. As she pulled them up, Dave was beside her, helping. They scrabbled across to the far side of the road and huddled together.

  “Are you all right?” Esther asked Newton, realising she couldn’t hear her voice. He couldn’t either. They all sat in dumbfounded silence and watched the house burn.

  It was a few moments before any of them wanted to move. Esther looked at the others. Their faces all reflected the same exhausted shock as they crouched on the pavement.

  Dave was the first to stagger to his feet. Esther could hear some of his words, which was excellent because she wasn’t ready to be deaf, although it was good to be reminded what a blessing it really was to have all of her senses.

  “We need to get the neighbours out, in case it spreads!” she was sure Dave was saying.

  “Oh, God, yes!” Esther had been looking forward to putting this very much behind her, rather than continuing the nightmare, but she couldn’t be selfish. Dave was right. “We’ll do that and then get out of this place.”

  “Why didn’t the neighbours hear all the screaming?” wondered Newton, his voice clearer. “Or notice the massive fire? Or the gas explosion that blew off the front of the house?”

  He had a point.

  There was a groaning sound from nearby. Mrs Scruples was lying on the pavement, her body twisted and her clothes shredded.

  “Oh goodness me. Dave, we must help her!”

  Dave started to run checks on Mrs Scruples’ vital signs.

&nb
sp; “There’s a broken bench over there,” said Guin, pointing at a high backed wooden seat. “That top part would work for carrying her, like a stretcher.”

  Esther dragged the broken furniture over. It must have been thrown out of the house by the gas explosion. “It’s like an old pew. Look at the carving on it, beautiful piece.”

  “Careful lifting her onto it,” said Dave, arranging them all around Mrs Scruples. “All together on my count. One, two, three.”

  He stamped out some scraps of smouldering curtain and used them to cover her against the falling snow and secure her onto the board. “Right, the adults will drag her along using the top corners, as if it’s a sled.”

  “But the carvings will get scratched—” said Esther before stopping herself. “—Which is fine, obviously, given the circumstances.”

  ***

  47

  Newton knocked on several nearby doors, but there was no response from any of them. An eerie stillness filled the town, compound by the still falling snow and his receding deafness. It felt like mufflers had been placed over the world, that they were now the only people in it.

  “Which way should we go?” his mum asked, picking up her corner of Mrs Scruples’ stretcher.

  Dave looked across the marketplace, towards the hill which led down to the river and where they’d left the car. “The car is unusable.”

  “Is there another way out of town?” Newton asked.

  Dave shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  They walked slowly, the adults dragging the stretcher. The snow was slippery underfoot, yet somehow didn’t make it any easier to drag the heavy board.