Shane Hegarty - Chaos Descends

Broonie pulled a locket from the rags at his neck. “Because of this.”

“Oh look, you’ve one just like ours,” said Emmie.

“It’s not like yours at all. Yours isn’t welded on to your neck, is it? It’s not locked tightly in place,” said Broonie. “And it isn’t being used to track your every move, like this is.”

“Oh, that’s very clever,” said Emmie.

“It’s very sore,” corrected Broonie.

Another car went by. Again Broonie stayed upright as if in protest.

“What’s that dirt on you?” Emmie asked, after the bright lights had passed on. “It’s like you slept in a skip.”

Neither Finn nor Broonie said anything, and Emmie realised why.

“You slept in a skip?”

“It makes him feel at home,” explained Finn.

“What’s the worst that could happen to me?” Broonie asked, but had no interest in waiting for a reply. “Nothing. Because the worst thing has already happened. Being here. Trapped in this world, with its people and smells and smells of people and its utter lack of scaldgrubs. These earthworms are passable, but they don’t taste nearly as putrid as I would like.”

Finn opened his mouth to say something, but Broonie raised a green, knuckly finger to let it be known he hadn’t yet finished ranting.

“And as if that’s not bad enough,” added the Hogboon, “I have no freedom. And the little bit of life I do have is bound entirely by the clock here, when I must return as planned to be subjected to a lengthy period of torture in your house.”

“Torture?” asked Emmie.

“My dad listens to country music when he’s working in the library,” explained Finn.

“It makes my earwax bleed,” snorted Broonie.

“Make sure to be on time, Broonie,” said Finn, sorry to bring it up. “You were a few minutes late last time and Dad was ready to put you in a biscuit tin for all eternity.”

“I don’t know if I care any more, such is the anguish of my life here,” said Broonie, dismissive.

“You’re so funny, Broonie,” said Emmie.

Broonie grunted, then thrust his face in the hole at the top of the wormery and began chomping again. Finn and Emmie lingered briefly before backing away and leaving through the gap in the fence.

Evening was drawing in. As Finn and Emmie crossed a couple of alleyways that ran off the strand, Finn thought he saw something move in the twilight. He stopped and peered towards it.

“What is it, Finn?” asked Emmie.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you remember when we were on the Infested Side and felt we were being watched by Legends?”

“Which we were. By a lot of them.”

“I just have that sense again. As if there’s somebody out there.”

They waited, watched. There was nothing but settling darkness.

“This is why I love Darkmouth,” said Emmie. “Always something odd going on.” She shoved him in the shoulder playfully and ran off. “Race you!”

Finn hesitated just a moment, then followed, belting after her.

Across the lane, a succession of shadows skittered across the dim alleyway.

Kenzo the Japanese Half-Hunter rang the rusted doorbell on the house, hummed its cheery tune as he waited.

The letterbox opened, fingers propping it open from inside, and a man’s voice asked gruffly, “What?”

“Excuse me,” said Kenzo as politely as he could, and yet loud enough to speak over the rattle of his metal skirt as he stepped back. “Your sign says this is a bed and breakfast?”

“Go away,” said the man. “We’re shut. We’re always shut. And we’re especially shut now.”

Kenzo bent down level with the letterbox, and could see nothing but those splayed fingers and a single bloodshot eye. “I require only bed. No breakfast. In fact, a floor will do fine—”

A walking stick thrust through the letterbox, forcing Kenzo to retreat sharply. Its owner waggled it from side to side in a manner that was not likely to cause any damage, but still managed to very neatly get across the message that no Half-Hunters were wanted here. And, in case it didn’t, the man in the house shouted, “Shoo!” for extra effect.

Kenzo had spent what now felt like half a lifetime travelling to Darkmouth, and the other half wandering about the town. He had long wished that he would one day get to visit this, the only true Blighted Village left on Earth. It was not quite turning out how he had imagined.

He could ask the other Half-Hunters for help, but that would require, well, asking for help. And he didn’t like to do that. A true Legend Hunter should not require assistance. They must be self-sufficient. Quick-witted. And, every now and again, a bit uncomfortable wherever they lay their head.

So, Kenzo left, deciding to make his way towards where the houses crowded in on the rocky beach. He heard voices ahead of him in the fading light. A boy. Then a girl. She was laughing, and he could make out two small figures breaking into a sprint up a laneway that led back to the main street of Darkmouth.

Away up the strand, he could see the scaffold being set up for the Completion Ceremony, what would be a stage for the big event. Even now, as it grew late, there was life, lights, busy Half-Hunters, tasked with setting up the platform, preparing to work through the night. Shivering as the chilly breeze moved across the stones, Kenzo saw the skeleton of an old boat, upturned and washed up on the beach, its hull rotten but holding on to enough wood to offer some shelter for the night.

The crescent of the moon had been blanketed by cloud. There was a flicker of lightning. No thunder followed.

The wreck’s hull had rotted away so that it looked like a giant’s ribcage half buried in the beach. Kenzo stooped to enter it, then smoothed out the shingle at his feet, pulled the coat from his shoulders and placed it across the flattened spot. He lay down. Kenzo would stay here tonight. It was not perfect, but he was always one to keep his spirits up. He would treat this as an adventure. It was the best he could do.

Something stirred in his bag. Kenzo sat upright and undid its rope to reach in with both hands. He gently removed a white rabbit, and immediately began snuggling at its soft neck with his nose, shushing it to keep it calm. He took a head of lettuce from his pocket and let the rabbit eat it while it sat on his chest.

“Good Nibbles,” Kenzo said. “Nice Nibbles.” His fluffy pal was the big star of his magic tricks at children’s parties.

There was the scrunch of stone. Something was moving around the wreck.

“Hello?” he said. “Who is there?”

The stones scrunch ed again, footsteps forcing the beach aside.

“Hello?”

A presence moved in front of him, darkening the decaying wreck, disappearing again. Kenzo leaped to his feet, sending the rabbit hopping to the ground while he scrabbled for his sword, which was wooden because no parent wants a real samurai sword at a kids’ party.

“Come out and show yourself.”

The shadow moved behind him. He turned and arced the sword until it quivered at the nose of his stalker.

A little boy gasped, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Behind him, two other kids gasped with fright.

Kenzo exhaled, withdrew the weapon.

“You must stop following me,” he said, but the children were already running away, scrambling across the stony beach, carried by the fright of nearly losing a nose.

A little stunned, Kenzo watched them leave, shaking his head in bemusement before returning to his temporary bed, where Nibbles was already resting.