John Halkin: Squelch

Kit gasped aloud when he spotted it. Not from fear; not at that stage. Fear came later.

The caterpillar was the most gorgeous he had ever seen. It was also the largest, measuring at least six inches from tip to tail. Possibly more. Kit stood on tiptoe to examine it closely through the glass wall of the tank and it rewarded him by rearing up to stare back with dark, baleful eyes. It was plump and hairy, too; a brilliant green with diagonal purple markings along its sides and a distinctive yellow stripe down the full length of its belly.

He was fascinated by it. ‘Real beauty, y’are!’ he murmured, unable to drag himself away.

The glass tanks, around a dozen of them, were set out in line along the high laboratory bench. They were clearly incubators of some kind. Each contained a different breed of caterpillar, but not one in the same class as this beauty. He had to have it for himself. No way was he going to leave this place without it.

Anyway, that would be his proof that he had been inside the ‘Research’. None of the kids in the village would doubt him once he produced that caterpillar.

But first he needed something to stand on.

Kit was small for his age. Always had been, and the others had never let him forget it. But sometimes — as today — it had its advantages. Had they known where to find the gap under the high security fence, one or two of them might have been able to worm their way through. Jacko perhaps, though not Lenny. Lenny was far too big, most of it muscle too. Then, he was almost thirteen.

Once inside the fence, only Kit was small enough to squeeze between the bars over the open basement window and get into the building. That was worth some credit.

No use going back without evidence, though. They’d never believe him just on his say-so. He struggled over to the bench carrying a high lab-stool which he positioned carefully, trying not to make a noise.

‘Out of the way, cat!’ he breathed in annoyance.

Ever since he’d climbed in, that black cat had followed him around, rubbing itself against his legs to demand attention. Now it decided to sit and lick itself just where he needed to place the stool. He steered it away with the side of his foot. The building was quiet. No sound even of distant voices, though he knew there must be people about somewhere.

Standing precariously on the stool he slowly shifted the tank’s close-fitting plastic cover to one side. Filling much of the space in the tank was a potato plant, its roots in a thick layer of soil at the bottom; among its profuse leaves he now saw several caterpillars of the same type, though none quite as big as the first. The emerald green of their long-haired fur coats stood out against the darker background.

It eased Kit’s troubled conscience a little to know there were more. With all those to play with, the scientists weren’t going to miss just one. From his jeans pocket he produced the empty cassette box he’d found one day in the high grass near the village bus-stop. A bit small perhaps for the very big caterpillar, but it would do till he got home.

He leaned over the tank, his left arm inside up to the elbow, and gently grasped his prize between finger and thumb.

‘Jesus!’

The pain was like hot, sharp needles plunging into him, forcing him to drop the caterpillar. In a reflex action his hand jerked upwards towards his mouth, but before he could suck the agony out of his fingers his weight shifted and the stool on which he was standing began to tip over. To steady himself he clung to the tank, only to bring the whole thing down with him as he fell. It shattered on the hard floor.

Half-stunned, he must have lain there for quite a few seconds before recovering his wits sufficiently to realise that he had to make his escape before someone came to investigate. That crash must have been heard all over the building.

What was worse, the cat suddenly started dashing zanily round the lab like some mad creature in a horror movie, letting out strangled screams of terror as it skidded along the benches knocking over the racks of test-tubes, beakers, pipettes, flasks and all the other various apparatus.

‘Must get out,’ Kit was muttering to himself, his finger and thumb smarting viciously as if they were on fire. Strands of pain spread up his hand, too, as far as his wrist. ‘Must move. Now. Stand up first… careful… careful…’

On the floor beside him he noticed the caterpillar, swaying as though hypnotised by some Indian snake-charmer’s music, inviting him to touch it again.

To stretch out his hand and stroke it.

On his knees — preparing to get up — he hesitated, spotting the empty cassette box among the splinters of broken glass. He reached out with his good hand to pick it up. Then, in one quick movement, he scooped the caterpillar into it and snapped it shut.

‘Gotcha!’ he grinned in triumph. ‘I bloody gotcha!’

Through the scratched perspex he could see the long green caterpillar curled up inside making no effort to escape.

Pushing the box into his jeans pocket, Kit scrambled to his feet and ran to the door, almost colliding with that crazy cat as he reached the corridor. Somewhere in the background he thought he heard a woman calling, but he neither paused nor looked back. He took the steps two at a time down to the basement boiler room which was the way he’d come in. The window was still open. With difficulty he climbed on to the sill.

Irrationally, the bars of that steel grille seemed set much closer together than before. First his hips stuck; then his shoulders refused to go through. He knocked his injured left hand; the pain was so intense he almost fainted. But at last, somehow, he found himself on the outside, sprinting towards the fence.

To worm his way under the wire he had to lie flat on his back and push with his feet to propel himself along that shallow rain gully he’d discovered less than an hour earlier. By the time he emerged on the far side he definitely heard voices from the building he’d just left. But he didn’t wait to see what was going on. He plunged into the thick undergrowth which at that point grew right up to the fence.

Within seconds he had reached the protection of the trees. He had made it! He’d succeeded in penetrating the ‘Research’ and he now knew what went on there, which no one else did. Now Lenny and the rest of the gang would have to treat him with some respect. They’d be green!

He pressed on through the woods, pushing through patches of high fern, stepping over thick, gnarled roots, and from time to time fingering that plastic cassette box in his jeans pocket. Just wait till he showed them the caterpillar.

That King Caterpillar!

That Super-caterpillar, the greatest yet!

That Superpillar!

At last he stopped for breath. He was deep in the woods now, well clear of the ‘Research’. The only sounds were a vague rustling among the leaves and the sudden buzz of an insect close to his ear. His fingers had settled to a sort of raw numbness; so long as he didn’t bend them the pain was bearable.

It was then he became aware of an odd tickling sensation against his thigh as though something were scratching about inside his pocket. His left pocket, the same side as his injured hand.

The caterpillar?

The thought flashed through his mind. To make certain, he retrieved the cassette box from his right-hand pocket but the captive was still visible inside, curled up contentedly. So what could it be?

It bit into him sharply, a quick pin-point of pain at the very top of his leg which caused him to stagger back, dropping the cassette box.

‘Bloody hell!’ he swore as the pain continued, growing in intensity. He doubled up, gasping.