Mr Mumbles (15 page)

My hands caught the top of the fence separating the two gardens, and I threw myself over. The grass on the other side was long and thick. It tangled around my feet as I ran, like a
million grabbing hands, reminding me of the forest from my nightmare in the church. I kicked through it and focused on what I was about to do. What I
had
to do – no longer just for my sake, but for my family’s too.

When I was close to the house I risked a backwards glance. The driving downpour made it difficult to see, but I could pick out the shape of Mr Mumbles. He was this side of the fence, movingly slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Boy, did I have a surprise in store for him!

The wooden door practically crumbled as soon as I put my shoulder to it. I swallowed hard, fighting back an almost overwhelming urge to turn from this place and run. Years of suppressed terror bubbled to the surface as I stepped over the threshold, and into the place where Mr Mumbles had first tried to kill me.

Why had I come here? I wasn’t completely sure. Partly it was because I wanted to draw him away from Mum and Nan. More than that, though, I could think of no better place for our final battle. He’d lain in wait for me here when I was five, preparing to kill me. Now it was time to turn the tables.

Cracked and wet rubber tiles squeaked underfoot as I crossed to the edge of the pool. At any other time it would be nothing more than a big rectangular hole in the floor, but weeks of rain pouring in through a dozen or more holes in the roof had almost filled the thing to the top. The water was dirty and dank, full of dark shapes and darker memories I’d give anything to forget.

I backed away and hid down in the shadows by the door, waiting. As I squeezed myself against the wall something pressed against my back. I turned and studied it. It was a life ring, tied with a long rope to a bracket on the wall.

I set my old school bag down on the tiles, then slipped the life ring over my head and pushed it down to my waist. The orange plastic had been stained shades of brown by years of neglect, but it seemed sturdy enough. I wasn’t planning on going near the water,
but just in case,
I told myself. Just in case.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the tiny plastic bow and one arrow, then zipped the bag tight shut again and slung it back over my shoulders. The toys still felt pathetic and
flimsy in my grip, but I tried not to think about that. They had worked before – I had
made
them work before – and I was staking everything on them working now too.

The light in the garage. The axe. The shield. I had done that, I was sure of it. Somehow I made it happen. And if I had – if I could do that – I could do anything.

Silently, I notched one of the arrows against the thin string of the bow, took aim at a space a pace or two inside the door, and waited.

Lightning danced across the sky and turned the next few seconds into a series of freeze-frame images. I felt cut off from my body, like an onlooker inside my own head, as the door was thrown wide open.

I saw the hulking shape of Mr Mumbles step through, watched my fingers release their grip on the string, heard the
boing
and followed the arc of the arrow as it whizzed in agonising slow motion through the air towards its target.

The arrow struck him on the arm. I watched the rubber tip thud against his coat, followed by the thin plastic rod as it rebounded harmlessly off. A second later, the arrow clattered
on the tiled floor. A second after that, the world lurched back into full throttle.

With a throaty roar, Mr Mumbles turned and leapt for me. His fingers were in my hair before I could react, yanking so hard I thought my scalp would be ripped in two. I hurled my body weight against him as he dragged me over to the pool. It must’ve caught him off guard and knocked his balance, because almost at once he began to stumble.

Still holding me by the hair, he slipped on the tiles and we both tumbled down into the pool.

Freezing water stabbed at me as we crashed below the surface, sending shockwaves through my whole body.
So cold.
Hadn’t been ready for the cold. It forced me to gasp, to open my mouth, and I spluttered as the murky grey liquid seeped down my throat.

The plastic ring bobbed me back up and I coughed up most of what I’d swallowed. The cold was overwhelming. It filled every thought – a pain like nothing I’ve ever known.

I still held the plastic bow in my hand. This had been a stupid idea. Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid.
I thrashed in the water,
but my limbs were already beginning to go stiff. Fingers burning with cold now. Breathing impossible. Stupid. So cold. Had to get out.

My hands didn’t feel like they were connected to the rest of me, but with some effort, I got them to follow orders. Trembling, and with the toy bow hooked by its string over my wrist, I took hold of the rope which tethered me to the wall. My muscles spasmed in protest as I began to pull myself back towards the edge.

Behind me, Mr Mumbles clawed up from below the murk. He shrieked an unholy shriek, filled with frustration and hatred and rage. The sound rebounded off the tiled walls. Round and round the room it went, growing gradually fainter with every rebound. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I heaved against the rope, and began to drift closer to the side of the pool.

My body was trembling too much to feel the fingers around my neck. The first I knew of them was when they forced me under. Down, down into the silent darkness of the water I went. The chill liquid wrapped around me, searching
for some way in. I screwed up my eyes and clamped my lips together, denying the water its victory. For the moment, at least.

I turned sharply and felt the hands on my shoulders slip loose. Kicking hard, I shot for the surface, my lungs already on fire from the effort of keeping my breath in. As soon as my head cleared the water I opened my mouth, gulping in huge mouthfuls of air.

Twisting round I came face to face with Mr Mumbles. His hat was off – floating somewhere in the pool – and for the first time I saw him in all his horror. The thin, papery skin on his head was almost grey, and broken only by the occasional clump of thick, wiry hair. Each clump had been flattened by the wet, plastered down against his skull.

He looked grotesque. Diseased. Like a discoloured corpse brought back from the grave. I tried to swim away, but my stiff arms and heavy clothes made it impossible to move. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. I couldn’t swim a stroke.

With a short splash the smell of rotting meat was all around me once again, as Mr Mumbles moved in for the kill.
I lashed out, throwing slow-moving fists wildly in front of me, trying to drive him back. Each punch bounced harmlessly off him as he wrapped his hands around my throat for the final time.

There was no slow build-up this time. His fingers tightened instantly around my throat, almost crushing my windpipe. I tried to swallow down air, but his grip blocked the flow. Wildly I swung, hitting him as hard as I could on the head, the arms – anywhere I thought might hurt him. He didn’t seem to feel a thing. We’d hit him with a car, and it hadn’t hurt him. We’d smashed him into a wall. It hadn’t hurt him.

If only I was stronger, like I’d been back in the garage with Ameena. If only I was strong enough to hurt him. The world rippled around me as my brain began to run out of oxygen. Limply I swung another punch. I don’t even know if it hit the target.

Why wasn’t I stronger? Why couldn’t I fight him? I had beaten him when I was five, so why not now?

No time to figure it out. No time to do anything. No time left. No time.

My mind began to drift as the darkness closed in. Weird, random images flashed across it, like a slide-show presentation at a home for the criminally insane.

Click
.

Mr Keller sticking a needle in a mutant child.

Click
.

Nan screaming at me. Where’s Albert? Where’s Albert?

Click
.

Mum in a tutu, twirling and spinning, around and around and around and around.

Click
.

Me, floating in the pool –
this
pool – long ago. Motionless. Still. Arm bands tight on my arms. Like muscles. Big muscles. I am Superman. I am the Hulk!

The next punch caught Mr Mumbles under the chin and almost lifted him clear out of the water. He squealed as he flew backwards, falling just short of the edge. His head hit the corner of the tiled floor with a sickening
crack
.

In disbelief I stared down at my clenched fist. Had I really done that? For a brief moment I’d seen those blue and white
sparks again, and felt an incredible sense of raw power pulsing through my body – even more than at the garage.

Now it was gone, and I was back to feeling nothing but the cold and the pain in my throat where Mr Mumbles’ hands had been. But I’d hurt him. I’d become strong enough to hurt him because – just for a moment – I’d
believed
I was strong enough.

I looked down at the plastic bow wrapped around my wrist. The arrow had bounced harmlessly off him, but had I been surprised? Not really. I hadn’t been surprised because I hadn’t believed it would hurt him. That was where I’d gone wrong.

A low, mumbled groan drifted over the surface of the pool, as my friend-turned-foe righted himself in the water. We locked eyes, and for the first time I could see real pain in his. I saw blood begin to seep from his face, and for a moment I thought I’d done him serious damage.

Thick, dark, trickles of the stuff began to pour from the area around his lips. I gave a start, quickly realising the bleeding wasn’t anything to do with me. Mr Mumbles was
doing something he’d never done before. He was opening his mouth.

The first stitch tore through his top lip with a faint ripping sound. Soon another popped free, and another, and another, until the filthy pool was awash with red. I stared, unable to move, my gaze fixed on his eyes. Sunken eyes. Dead eyes. What was he doing? Why was he–

No!
Oh, no!

With one final effort he tore open his mouth. Immediately, he began to retch, as if he was going to throw up. I turned and frantically tugged on the rope, dragging myself away from him – towards the edge, towards safety. It was no use, though. I was too late.

Behind me, Mr Mumbles roared in triumph, as gallon after gallon of filthy water spewed out of his mouth and down into the pool.

T
he water hit the pool like a torrent, and was already rising fast. Everything was hidden below the scum-coated surface now: the doors, the windows, even Mr Mumbles himself. Still the water level kept moving upwards at an incredible rate, carrying me with it up towards the ceiling.

I yelped in shock as the rope which moored me to the wall went tight. Around me, the water continued to swell upwards past my chest. I barely had time for one big breath before the rising tide covered my head, and I once more found myself engulfed by a cold and bitter blackness.

My frozen fingers fiddled with the life ring, trying to force it off, but my clothes had become bloated in the water, and the plastic hoop was now wedged tight around me. No
matter how hard I kicked and struggled, I couldn’t get any higher; couldn’t reach the precious, life-giving air just a few metres above.

A rush of panic washed over me as the dark depths brought vivid memories of the last time I was here flooding back. He had failed to kill me last time, but it looked like this time he was finishing the job.

I was drowning. My worst fear was about to be realised. I had seconds of air left in my lungs. The rope held me suspended in the cold, unable to move up. The swell of the water below made it impossible to move down. I hung there, suspended. Trapped. Dying.

A shape suddenly lurched at me from the dingy depths, and I kicked out weakly with my uninjured leg. A slender hand deflected the foot with ease, as a familiar figure swum into view.

Ameena gripped the plastic ring around my waist and tugged hard. She gestured wildly for me to help, and together we pushed and wrestled until, with one big, final heave, I was free. Clutching my arm, she swam up, kicking
and pulling us through the water.

We hit the ceiling before we saw it. The water was all the way to the top of the room, and there was no surface for us to reach. Frantic with panic, we clawed at the crumbling plaster, desperately trying to find a way out. Ameena punched up at the ceiling, before recoiling in pain as her fist found the solid wood of the roof.

My instinct to breathe screamed at me, demanding I open my mouth, but I knew to do that would be certain death. Instead I peered up through the gaps in the plaster, searching for some way of escape. There had to be holes big enough to let in all the rain that had filled the pool. I knew there had to be one close by somewhere. I could almost picture it.

And suddenly there it was – a wide split in the roof just a little bigger than my fist. I reached my hand in, gripped the jagged edge, and pushed with every ounce of energy I had left. At first very little happened, but as I pushed, the timber began to bend in my grip. Almost. Almost there!

Snap!
Even below the water we heard the wood break. The gap it left in the planks was just big enough for us to
squeeze our heads through. We coughed and spluttered in unison as we filled our aching lungs.

‘I t-thought it w-wasn’t your f-fight,’ I managed, my whole body shivering uncontrollably with cold.

‘It’s n-not,’ Ameena trembled, ‘b-but I thought m-maybe you could use a s-sidekick.’ She tried to smile, but the cold wouldn’t let her. Instead, she ducked down, making room for me to move. ‘Now g-get out,’ she stammered, just before her head disappeared below the surface.

It took several tries before my aching arms managed to drag me out of the water and on to the roof. The plastic bow slipped off my wrist and hit the roof with a faint clatter.

Shaking, I rolled over on to my back and watched the rain falling down on me. I was no longer able to feel it, my body already being soaked from head to toe.