Clovenhoof 05 Beelzebelle Page 18

  “That was a genuine lay-z-boy!”

  Ben propelled Clovenhoof back across the hall, shaking his head.

  “What did you do? If you’d wanted to have a go at taxidermy, I’d have been happy to show you what’s what.”

  “This is not my work,” said Clovenhoof. “I think Gorky made it.”

  Ben scrutinised him carefully.

  “Have you been drinking this early in the morning? Seriously, Jeremy, there’s no way that a monkey did this. That music’s very loud by the way. You know how much Nerys hates heavy metal.”

  Clovenhoof didn’t have time to tell him that the music had also been put on by Gorky, as they both jumped at the sudden shriek from above them in Clovenhoof’s living room. Gorky swung across the room on the lightshade and grabbed the taxidermy baby with his free arm. He perched on the curtain rail and glared at them with eyes full of malice, stroking the baby tenderly.

  “You dressed him up in clothes?” whispered Ben.

  “I did no such thing,” said Clovenhoof. “Don’t you think I’d have chosen something a bit cooler than a baby’s dress? I think that’s one of Belle’s outfits.”

  They both turned back to watch Gorky as he lifted the side of the dress to expose a satsuma breast. He held the baby carefully in place and supported its head as he nuzzled it against him. Small noises of simian contentment came to Clovenhoof’s ears.

  “I think your monkey’s got a problem,” said Ben.

  “I think you’re right,” said Clovenhoof.

  Nerys was quite certain that something was amiss.

  The photo of Aunt Molly had been the latest thing to disappear, and the odd noises and disturbances continued. She’d heard them previously, when Clovenhoof was locked up in the police station, so, for once, she couldn’t blame him. The internet had been no help at all, suggesting that modern-day hauntings were nothing more than the projection of a person’s own troubles. Was she seriously supposed to believe that these were manifestations of her own ‘sinful’ lifestyle? Even if they were, what she wasn’t prepared to entertain was the notion that clean living was the way to put a stop to it. There must be an alternative.

  She lingered over a website that had a helpful grid. It cross-referenced different types of possession and hauntings with the best strategies for tackling them. She pulled a notepad towards her and started to make a shopping list.

  Ben anxiously watched Clovenhoof preparing to enter the bathroom with his makeshift lasso. Gorky had closed the door on them a few minutes earlier, and was, apparently, changing the baby’s nappy.

  “Watch this,” whispered Clovenhoof. “I need to get him somewhere I can reason with him. “Stand by that chair and you can help me hold him down when I’ve caught him.”

  Clovenhoof opened the door and plunged forward. Ben heard the briefest sound of a scuffle, then a thump, and then the repeated flushing of a toilet. He could barely bring himself to look, but eventually peeked around the bathroom door.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking around at the empty bathroom.

  Clovenhoof flushed the toilet again, peering down.

  “Oh, well, Gorky shot into the airing cupboard again. He’s got some sort of escape route through the wall. I was just dealing with his... thing. Did you know that it’s almost impossible to flush a Spanish onion down the toilet? Almost.”

  Ben peered into the bowl and saw a paw circling below the surface and get flushed away. He recoiled in horror.

  “Do you think that Gorky might be a little bit upset by you doing that?” he ventured.

  “Well, it was for his own good,” said Clovenhoof. “Anyway, he’s just a tiny little monkey. What’s he gonna do to us?”

  A well-aimed bar of soap flew out of the airing cupboard and hit Clovenhoof in the face.

  “Ow! Fucking boll…”

  A second bar struck him in exactly the same place.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Ben. “Stuff like that, maybe.”

  A nailbrush whistled past Ben’s head. Ben heard Gorky move past them inside the wall, more purposeful this time, as if he had somewhere important to be.

  “Come on,” said Clovenhoof. “We need to keep track of him. It’s time to teach that hairy little sod who’s the boss.”

  They moved through the flat, trying to discover which section of wall held the angry monkey. All was still. They stood back to back in the living room, circling slowly so they wouldn’t miss the sound of him moving. The sound of heavy metal from elsewhere in the flat wasn’t helping.

  “Jeremy,” whispered Ben. “Look at the light switch.”

  The plastic cover swung outwards, and a pair of eyes stared out at them, malevolent, cold, and calculating.

  “Has your monkey gone over to the dark side?” said Ben, and shivered involuntarily.

  A long brown finger hooked the plastic cover back into place, and they heard the faint sounds of Gorky moving away.

  “We’ve got him,” crowed Clovenhoof in triumph. “That section over there is a dead end. There’s nothing in that recess apart from the electricity meter. We can get him now!”

  “What’s that?” Ben cocked his head to listen.

  A brief thumping noise, followed by an electrical sizzling. All of the lights went out and the music stopped abruptly. As they stood there dumbstruck, the noise of a monkey running across the ceiling space above them barely registered.

  Nerys opened her door to Reverend Zack with a smile of relief. She led him inside her flat.

  “Thanks for coming. I really wasn’t sure if the modern church would take this sort of request seriously.”

  Zack smiled and touched Nerys on the arm.

  “I take any form of crisis seriously, Nerys,” he said.

  She nodded and went to make tea, pointing out the place where the photograph had gone missing just hours before.

  “So how does this work?” she asked. “Do you need any special equipment to do an exorcism? I’m surprised you work alone, to be honest. I thought it would be like policemen patrolling in twos when they expect trouble. I’ve got a crucifix, if that helps.”

  She took out the diamante cross pendant she had taken to wearing since the ghostly shenanigans had started.

  “I’m not sure if it’s an ‘official’ crucifix. It’s really just disco bling, and I didn’t know if a proper crucifix has the Pope’s seal of approval stamped on it or something.”

  Zack smiled politely.

  “That’s a cross, not a crucifix. There’s no Jesus on it. And, um, I’m an Anglican priest. We don’t have a Pope.”

  “You see? That’s the kind of technical know-how I need right now.”

  “Nerys, I really want to see what I can do to help you,” said Zack, “and I’m not sure yet what that will be, but it won’t be an exorcism.”

  Nerys’s smile faded.

  “An exorcism can only be carried out with the authorisation of the diocesan bishop,” said Zack. “And the church has priests who specialise in deliverance ministry.”

  “I told you on the phone. I was very specific. I said that I needed an exorcism.”

  “And guidelines state, quite rightly, that a mutli-disciplinary approach is required, involving doctors, psychiatrists, and any other healthcare professionals.”

  “I’m not mad, you dingbat. Why have you changed your mind? Did you at least bring the holy water that I asked you for?”

  “Nerys, I can bless some water for you, but I’m really not sure …”

  “Here,” said Nerys, thrusting a bottle of water at him. “Do this then. Do it now!”

  He sighed and muttered a hasty blessing over the water.

  “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? You lost your dog recently, I understand. Let’s sit down with a nice cup of tea. I’d like to hear all about your dog. Why don’t you tell me about him?”

  One part of Nerys was infuriated by the insipid cliché of the soppy-eyed, tea-swilling vicar who just wanted a nice chat, but it was quashed by the oth
er part of her that really, really wanted to talk about Twinkle. She sat down with a sigh.

  “He was a miniature Yorkshire terrier. Lovely dog. You know the ones, about this big?”

  Nerys indicated a Twinkle-sized space on her lap. She still had the stuffed one, but he was in such a terrible state now that she’d shut him away in a cupboard.

  “Ah, yes, I do. I believe Michael mentioned that he’d got one in the lab where he works. Perhaps they could be from the same litter?”

  “Err yes.” Nerys’s mind was racing. Why would Michael have a dog in his lab? Surely he wouldn’t be performing experiments on animals? She had no real clue what he did for a living, but Michael didn’t strike her as someone who would condone that sort of behaviour. Or would he? That supercilious attitude of his, the arrogance that she knew lay beneath his soft and caring exterior. But animal experimenter? Vivisectionist? Could Michael really be callous enough to toy with and destroy innocent lives? He was an angel; it was likely that nothing that served ‘the greater good’ was beneath him.

  Nerys’s mind came back to the conversation, and she realised that the Reverend Zack was suggesting that she might find some solace in a special thanksgiving service for pets that was coming up. She promised him that she’d come along in an effort to accelerate his departure. She needed some time to think.

  “Right, we can’t fail now,” said Clovenhoof.

  He and Ben had both strapped on head torches and were clustered around the green glow of the tablet that showed the whereabouts of Gorky’s GPS collar. “We can see which part of the house he’s in. Look, he’s over by the kitchen now, so if we move quickly, we can get things all set up in here.”

  Clovenhoof had called Ed and told him that there was a fox in the garden that they needed to trap. Ed had given him the number of a local wildlife trust, and an earnest young man had spent a long time asking Ben difficult questions about how much distress the animal had been in while he set up the humane trap in the garden. It had given Clovenhoof plenty of time to break into the man’s van and remove various traps and useful-looking cages. He and Ben were now trying to set them up at strategic points around the flat.

  “Looking good,” whispered Clovenhoof. “When he comes out of the airing cupboard, there’s a trap covering each of his exits. I’ve put oranges in them. He loves oranges.”

  “He seems pretty smart to me,” said Ben. “Won’t he just run up the wall like he did before?”

  “I’m there ahead of you!” said Clovenhoof, slapping Ben on the shoulder. “I have created an inspired backup plan for that exact purpose. You’ve heard of glue traps for rats?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Fly papers then? Yes. Well, I got that tin of super strong adhesive that you use for your emergency taxidermy repairs so that we can turn the rest of the room into monkey-strength fly paper!”

  “Jeremy, that glue is really expensive - wait, where have you put it?”

  “On the walls, the door, the floor. Everywhere we haven’t got a cage, basically.”

  There was a pause.

  Clovenhoof focussed his head torch on Ben, who was struggling to move either of his feet. He winced at the light in his eyes, his head immobile, and Clovenhoof realised that his back and hair was also stuck to the bathroom door.

  “Lucky I thought to bring scissors,” said Clovenhoof, with a roll of his eyes.

  Nerys entered the ARC laboratory building and saw the young man at a reception desk. His hair, his clothes, and his desk were as immaculate as ever. He smiled at her, flashing teeth so white that it made her blink.

  “Good morning, madam. How can Freddy help you today?”

  “I need to talk to Michael. Can you let me in?”

  Freddy gave her a sorrowful look.

  “It’s a carefully controlled environment. Very limited access, I’m afraid. Let me call Michael for you. Nerys, isn’t it?”

  Nerys nodded, and Freddy dabbed a button on his console.

  “Michael, Nerys is here to see you.”

  Freddy paused, listening, and then dabbed the button again to end the call.

  “Michael tells me he’s very deep in his current task. Apparently, he might pop round and see you later with a small gift. He’s certain you’ll understand.”

  Freddy flashed his megawatt smile again.

  “Oh, right,” said Nerys. “I’ll look forward to seeing him later on. Love your calendar, by the way. Are you a fan of designer shoes?”

  “A design classic is a design classic, whether it’s a shoe or anything else,” said Freddy, pushing the little perspex box towards Nerys so that she could look more closely. “But yes, Freddy does love his shoes. Check out these Manolos. They’re my favourites.”

  Nerys made genuine noises of appreciation and leaned over to take a proper look. As Freddy pointed out some other pictures, she reached round and took an electronic entry pass from his desk.

  Clovenhoof and Ben both jumped as they heard the first trap activate. Their eyes met and Clovenhoof punched the air. A small frown appeared on Ben’s face as another trap clattered shut, and another.

  “We win,” said Clovenhoof. “Let’s go and see what sorry state the young reprobate’s in after his time inside the walls.”

  Clovenhoof jogged towards the bathroom.

  “Err Jeremy,” said Ben from behind. “Are we perhaps going about this the wrong way? Maybe we should be addressing the root cause of Gorky’s behaviour.”

  “Come on. Don’t you want to see the little git’s expression?”

  Clovenhoof opened the door and saw that none of the traps contained a monkey. They did all contain toothbrushes, combs, and other paraphernalia that had been used to trigger them.

  “He’s taken all of the oranges!” said Clovenhoof. “All of them! And look, he’s used toilet roll to make pathways across the glue.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” said Ben, holding up the tablet. “Look, he’s on the move again.”

  “Well, where is our furry friend?”

  “He must be just outside the door.”

  Ben and Clovenhoof looked at each other in puzzlement, edging towards the door which was slightly ajar. There was a sound from outside. Clovenhoof lunged for the door handle, but at that moment the door slammed shut. He wrestled with it, grunting and twisting. Eventually, he sighed.

  “Kitchen, I have two things to report.”

  “Is one of them that we’re now stuck in the bathroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is the other that you’ve got this half of the door handle glued to your hand?”

  “Yes.”

  Michael wheeled a stylish trolley case containing his Bibles along Boldmere High Street. He’d concluded that there were many people who were happy to take his Bibles as free gifts, but not so many who were interested in the contents. Technically, it wasn’t a problem, as he would still get the points for buying them in the first place, but what he really needed were some new recruits.

  He had discovered that the frontrunners on Consecr8’s leader board had earned most of their points by bringing new people along. One was a hairdresser, and had reduced the price of a cut and blow dry for those customers who signed up under her name. Michael was quietly furious at someone gaining the upper hand in such a devious way, but was determined that his free Bible scheme would change all that. He just had to get them into the hands of people who might read them. There was currently one propping up a wonky table in the Boldmere Oak, and another that had been deployed to squash a fly. The problem was that everyone was distracted. Trying to insert a serious religious conversation into the lives of people who were busy discussing last night’s television wasn’t easy. Michael needed a captive audience. He toured the park, looking for likely candidates. A man snoozing on a bench caught his eye. The man had an unkempt beard and wore a jacket with holes where the wadding poked out. Michael slowed his pace. He might be able to kill two birds with one stone if he took it slowly.


  “Hello, sir, how are you?”

  The man mumbled groggily, stirring from his nap. Michael sat beside him on the bench.

  “My name is Michael and I’d really like to know if I can help you out. Would you like a meal and a new jacket perhaps?”

  The man eyed him suspiciously, but eventually gave a small nod.

  “Perfect. We’ll get going in a moment, but first of all I’d like to take a picture of the two of us. A little memento of the sorry state you’re in now, so that I can show the difference once we’ve been shopping. And smile...”

  “What we need to do is to get inside his head,” said Clovenhoof to Ben. “We’ll never catch him otherwise.”

  Ben stared at the orange in his hand.

  “Fine, I can eat an orange, but I’m not at all sure how it’s going to help.”

  “Oranges first, then grooming,” said Clovenhoof. “Gorky loves a grooming session.”

  “Yes, but Gorky’s not here,” complained Ben, “and I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but there’s a door handle stuck to your hand.”

  “To catch a monkey, we need to think like a monkey,” said Clovenhoof, gesturing emphatically with the door handle. “Now, remember not to smile at me. I might take it as a sign of aggression.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of me smiling,” said Ben, peeling his orange.

  Nerys watched the ARC lab building all afternoon. Actually, it hadn’t been quite all afternoon, because Nerys had popped to the shops to pick up a few items she suspected she might need. Actually, it wasn’t really a building either, more of a set of extremely expensive interlinked portakabins. It looked like the kind of thing astronauts would live in if they ever got round to setting up a base on the moon. The lab was situated between the scrubby wasteland of a building site that added to the lunar feel and a block of boarded up flats that did not.

  In fact, one of the flats was still occupied. A woman with lank grey hair peered out at her a couple of times, so Nerys held her eye and hitched up her skirt, flashing her thigh as suggestively as she was able. Nerys liked to think that if she was ever called upon to impersonate a prostitute that she could turn in a good performance, so she was gratified to see that the woman quickly retreated. Nerys was fearful that she might be calling the police, but it stayed quiet.