The Beasts of Upton Puddle by Simon West-Bulford Page A

by the loud alert of a new abusive text from Duggan. These days he hardly ever switched it on. He tried to keep his breathing as shallow as possible, not just to avoid detection but also to minimize the stench. The tang of rotting fruit and a month’s worth of soured milk clung to the back of his throat, but that wasn’t as bad as the cold dampness soaked intothe backside of his trousers. Joe had no interest in finding out what he’d sat in.
    Pressed against his chest was the thing that had brought down the wrath of the school bully upon him. Had he not taken it, Duggan would have forgotten about the incident in the playground eventually, but there was no way Joe was going to get away with this one.
    Desperation and a fanciful idea had forced Joe to retrace the steps he’d memorized to get into the bully’s lair. He’d sneaked out of his history lesson to find the burnt-out chemistry section, pried off some of the boards from one of the windows, and clambered inside. It wasn’t long before he had the dartboard in his hands and was running to the school gates.
    But he’d been spotted. It had been a mistake to assume everyone would be in lessons—especially Kurt Duggan. Duggan had screamed at him across the school yard before sprinting toward him in blind rage. Joe knew it wasn’t really the dartboard that had incensed his enemy but the fact that the hideout had been compromised. There’d be a royal battering if Joe got caught. With a healthy dose of panic boosting him, he’d run like a ferret down a rabbit hole and out of sight.
    Joe looked at the dartboard and set it down beside him, shaking his head at his own stupidity. From Monday through Wednesday, he had suffered the usual torture of wanting to break away from school to go back toMerrynether Mansion. By Thursday, he could bear to wait no longer. He had to know if Cornelius was still alive.
    In an impulsive flash of misguided heroism and inspiration, Joe decided to pit himself against the evil Kurt Duggan, break into his hideout, take the dartboard, rush to Mrs. Merrynether, and hand over the one item that would bring salvation to the manticore. Joe’s determination had been galvanized by thoughts that if the creature opened a sleepy eye and saw the bright colors of the dartboard, it would feel compelled to fire its quills at the target and recover.
    Feeling tears welling in his eyes, Joe stared at the dartboard. It was a ridiculous fantasy. But sitting behind the bins and hoping to escape a pummelling was not a fantasy. That was very real.
    Joe punched the tarmac. Even if the dartboard
was
a realistic idea, he could’ve just bought one with all the money he’d been earning recently. He didn’t have to be sitting here now, hiding among the black banana skins and sticky sweet wrappers.
    A rustling came from underneath one of the silos, and a hedgehog snuffled into view, poking at an empty carton.
    Joe heaved a sigh and smiled as he watched the animal. “It’s no good me sitting here feeling sorry for myself,” he said absently to the creature. “I’ll just have to face up to things.”
    Grimacing at the ache in his legs from sitting in acramped position for too long, Joe struggled up and felt the damp back of his trousers. With a jolt, he remembered what was in his back pocket—the next shopping list for Mrs. Merrynether. As carefully as he could, he pulled out the soggy paper and unfolded it. Thankfully, though the ink had run slightly, he could still read what was on it.
    2 bot tles of Irish whiskey
    1 perfume atomizer or spray can
    4 bot tles of decongestant syrup
    2 bot tles of window cleaner
    He hadn’t been to see Mr. Bacon for these items yet. They were closed for the week for a stock check and refurbishment following the break-in, but Joe had planned on getting it all Saturday. He folded the paper, put it in his front pocket, and with a last glance at the discarded