Authors: Chris Mould

The Icy Hand (3 page)

BOOK: The Icy Hand

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“Damn it,” said Stanley to himself. He'd thought he'd got away with it. He made his excuses and skulked off upstairs to straighten his hair.

“We need firewood, young Buggles, before you disappear again!” Mrs. Carelli shouted after him.

“He's a good lad,” she whispered to Daisy. “He's just â¦ well. He's just a boy, isn't he. And, well â¦ boys is boys, you know.”

Stanley was outside filling the basket when Daisy wandered out through the back door.

“I'll be seeing you later then, Stanley,” she said. “It was good to meet you. You've got a great place here.” And she wandered down the path with her hands tucked neatly into her pockets.

“Oh, yes. Ouch. Good to meet you, Daisy. Aahhhhhh! Ouch. Ouch!” Stanley had dropped a log on his foot, and then the whole basket, and now the logs were rolling down the path toward his newfound friend.

“Are you okay, Stanley?” Daisy asked politely, turning and picking up the wood.

“Erm, yes, I'm fine,” he smiled and they shared a shy chuckle.

“I like you, Stanley,” she said. “You're funny.” And she trotted off down to the harbor, toward the lighthouse.

An hour later, Stanley was stoking the fire. The wood he had collected was burning away nicely, and his memory of the previous night was now far enough away for him to tell himself he had been dreaming.

That was, until he turned to the window and realized he was not alone in the room. Great-uncle Bart was standing with his arms folded, tapping his foot impatiently.

The spirit could not speak a word, of course. Instead he pointed his finger to the writing that could still be seen on the window.

I need my head

Admiral Swift's headless figure would send Mrs. Carelli into a screaming fit, he was sure. She had hit the roof when she'd seen a
spider
.

Admiral Swift lurched restlessly around the room. He found a patch of dust on top of the mantelpiece and wrote it again with his finger:

I need my head

Stanley was reminded of the fingerless pirates from the summer who had forced him to shoot the werewolf.

“You know what? Can I say something?” said Stanley, hands on hips. “The trouble with you bloomin' pirates is that you've always got
something missing!” He slammed another log into the fireplace.

His dead relative held his arms aloft and shrugged his shoulders. He stepped back, tripped up, and as he began to fall, he started to fade again.

In a short while, Admiral Swift was gone.

A Walk Along the Harbour

Stanley was meandering around down at the harbor. It was somewhere he always liked to be. He'd thought he was alone, when he turned to see a bony half-dead fish dangling in his faceâand behind it a mischievous Daisy, grinning at him.

“Hungry?” she laughed.

“No thanks, I've eaten,” he said, straightfaced.

She threw the fish over the wall onto the sand.

“You look serious today!” she said, eyeing him closely. “What's wrong?”

“How well did you know Admiral Swift?” he returned.

“Quite well,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Would you like to meet him again?”

“Well, I guess so. But that's a fairly odd question, if you don't mind me saying so. After all, it's not really likely, is it?” she quizzed.

“Not as unlikely as you think, Daisy. There is something I need to tell you.”

Daisy stared at him expectantly.

“I have had a visit â¦ from Admiral Swift.”

Daisy narrowed her eyes, half-expecting
that he was joking. But, studying his expression, she knew he was serious.

“I've seen some strange goings-on up at the Hall, Stanley, but I haven't ever seen anything I could describe as a ghost.”

“Well, I've seen one, and it belongs to Admiral Swift,” he insisted.

“What does he
want
, then?” she asked. Stanley noticed that she was trembling slightly, but Daisy insisted that she was frozen, not frightened.

“They say that ghosts only appear when their souls are restless!” she continued. “He must want something, Stanley.”

“He does. He wants his head.”

Daisy stared harder still, and before he knew it Stanley had told her everything he knew.

“That's a lot to take in,” she admitted. “But
if you need my help, it's yours.”

Stanley thanked her, smiling swiftly then looking down at the sand. They carried on walking. The seabirds scattered as they drew nearer, and they watched a handful of fishermen dismantling a large sail from a boat.

“There's never a dull moment here, is there?” said Stanley with a grin, breaking the silence.

“Not when you're here!” she laughed, breaking into a run.

They spent a happy afternoon on the beach, splashing each other in the rock pools. Stanley chased Daisy with scrag-ends of seaweed. Then they headed to the lighthouse, and Stanley called in to say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Grouse. When he left he was supplied with a
box full of fish, a present for Mrs. Carelli.

Daisy followed him to the lighthouse door and they stood outside together, looking over the harbor.

Stanley put on his best funny voice and pulled his face into a strange grimace. He placed the lid of the box on his head and wore it like a hat, saluting Daisy.

“Very well, captain,” he began, “I shall return home. I will report back within twenty-four hours. Permission to leave, sir?”

“You may leave now, Corporal Buggles,” she announced, giggling uncontrollably as Stanley marched away, dropping fish as he went and being pounded by the seagulls.

The warriors marched onward, knee-deep in snow, down into the sinister darkness of the icy valleys. The harsh winter weather bit at their craggy faces and the wind whipped up the tails of their long coats, but they felt nothing. Nothing except the need to take what they felt was theirs, and take it soon.

A Dreadful Task

When Stanley returned to the house, Mrs. Carelli was in the corridor where the pike hung on the wall.

“This place is filthy! There's so much to dust and clean around here I can't get near the place. You make the meal tonight, young man, and I'll go about my jobs. Thank you.” She bobbed around the pike's glass case with
a long feather implement, making funny little movements as she removed the layers of dust.

She stood back from it and gave it a scowl. “You know something, lad, I think it's time we got rid of some of these old ornamentations and decorations.”

Stanley stopped and stared at her in a panic.

“I mean, will you take a look at that. Did you ever see such an ugly, useless, baggy old lifeless lump of a fish in all your days? If ever a beast was in need of an early retirement it's this one. What do you say, Stanley? Shall we give him a swim in the drink?”

“AHH, NO. NO WAY. Err, I mean â¦ well, actually, I do like it â¦ a lot,” Stanley squeaked.

“My goodness, Stanley. Touched a nerve
there, didn't I? Had no idea you were so keen on the old trout.”

“Pike.”

“Begging your pardon, young man?”

“It's a
pike
, Mrs. Carelli. And a very beautiful example at that, and I should be happy to keep it, thank you very much,” he insisted.

“All right, all right,” she said. “Now get down from your high horse and go put your apron on.”

It was much, much later when Stanley had the chance to be alone with the pike again, and he had waited anxiously for the opportunity. He was standing in front of it and admiring the freshly dusted case when the fish finally spoke.

“Aaahh, young Master Buggles. I see you have found it necessary to seek out my help
again. Or perhaps, like your housekeeper, you simply wish to insult my appearance,” he began.

“Ah â¦ I'm sorry about that. Mrs. Carelli means no harm, I'm sure,” Stanley explained.

“Never mind. She has dusted my window and improved the view, so I shall forgive her.”

“I need your help,” started Stanley. “I have had two visits from Admiral Swift, whom I know you sent to help meâbut he is without his head.”

“Yes, of course. First things first, my dear boy, first things first. I sense a little excursion for myself in all of this.

“Let me explain. Poor old Admiral Swift found out how it felt to be the victim of a predatorâmuch as I did when he pulled me out of the lake and had me gutted. Still, I bear no grudge and I am here to help you, Stanley. You need your Great-uncle badly, and he needs his head. But his poor old noggin lies at the bottom of Crampton Springs. They are very deep and dangerous, I'm afraidâbut I know an excellent swimmer who could spear down into the darkness and retrieve that watery lump.”

“You mean â¦ yourself?”

“Ahhh, Stanley. You have the mind of a genius. Always thinking ahead.”

Stanley scratched his head. How could the pike swim, since he wasn't alive? But then again, how did the pike speak, since he wasn't alive? He did not like to ask an impertinent question; the poor old pike had heard enough insults for one day.

“And you said that I should be fearful because the Stormbringers are coming?” Stanley asked instead, taking his opportunity to put more questions to the pike while he could.

“So you should, Stanley. So you should, for still they come. Through icy winds and rain and over hills and valleys they move. For many miles they have trekked, without
stopping or resting. Through night and day they press on fearlessly.”

“But what does that
mean?”
asked Stanley. “Who are these people?”

“I think your deceased Great-uncle is the best person to explain all that, Stanley. Let us first deal with the retrieval of his head. I prefer to swim in the morning. Tomorrow will be fine. Thank you, Stanley. I shall see you then.”

The pike had made his mind up, and Stanley dared not challenge him.

Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

BOOK: The Icy Hand

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