The Pied Piper: A Modern Fairy Story

As soon as I saw the quaint little village I knew it was perfect. It nestled hidden in a valley high in the north country hills, almost completely cut off from the rest of civilisation. One road in and one road out. A Church, a small school, a pub and a shop cum post office. Country folk set in their ways. It was ripe for the taking, and I was the man to do it.

My first port of call was at the home of the councillor that had placed the advert. The cottage was typical of the area, that is to say square and squat with leaded mullioned windows. The door was wooden and very old. Without seeing a bell, I knocked loudly and waited. The door creaked as it opened.

“Good morning sir. My name’s Beamish, Joseph Beamish of Beamish Pest Control,” I pointed at my van with my name written on the side. “Would you be Councillor Snell?” My question was addressed to a tall elderly man with half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He was dressed almost entirely in corduroy and looked quite the country gentleman. His attitude however was less than gentlemanly.

“Aye I’m Snell, what do you want?” He spat the words at me, clearly the councillor was a man of little patience with a lot on his mind.

“I’ve come to assist with your rat problem,” I smiled as sincerely I could manage whilst waving the advert that had been posted in the local paper.

“Oh, right you are. Best come in then.” He was reluctant but I had piqued enough of his curiosity to be admitted.

I followed Snell into a sitting room with a low beamed ceiling. A fire was smouldering in a dusty grate. The place was shabby. When built it would have been marketed by a canny estate agent, if such a profession had existed in the 1700’s, as a Hovel for the upwardly mobile. In the twenty-first century it had at least gained electricity and indoor plumbing, but it had probably not been decorated since the early 1980’s. The wallpaper was peeling and old papers were strewn about the room. It was a typical bachelor pad. No self-respecting lady would have tolerated such a mess or for that matter Councillor Snell. I knew though that this kind of surface poverty concealed the depth of wealth of a successful miser. It was the kind of wealth I was interested in acquiring.

Snell explained that the village centre was overrun with rats. They had suddenly appeared about six weeks ago and now they were out of control. They were in people’s larders; they were chewing through beer barrels at the pub. The children were frightened to go to school as the rodents were running riot through the classrooms. It was putting off the tourists and something had to be done. They’d tried traps, poison, even men with terriers but it had done no good. The rats were becoming more numerous and the people of the village demanded action. In desperation the parish council had advertised for a pest controller to save the village.

The advert had mentioned a sizeable reward for success. I had a sizeable figure in mind.

“I’m sure I can help,” I said. “No need to pay me the £10,000 now, I’ll dispose of the rats and then you can pay me so you’re sure I’ve solved the problem. If I fail then no charge.” Snell was dubious.

“Ten grand what will you do to the blighters, paint them in gold?” I tried another sincere smile to try and reassure him.

“Standard fee for my patent method Mr Snell. It has been developed over many years and is scientifically proven.” If he was impressed he didn’t show it. “I offer you a guarantee of total satisfaction. No-one else in the country offers such generous terms. If there’s a single rat left in the village once I’m done you’ll pay nothing.” His eyes widened when I explained that he might not have to pay. He scratched his chin, weighing up my offer, balancing the no win, no fee guarantee, against the not inconsiderable financial cost of success.

“Alright on you go then, get started.”

I drove down to the village green. It was located in the centre of the old community. The medieval coaching inn was on one side with the impressive gothic church and school on the other. I unloaded my mini digger and set to work. In the centre of the green I began to dig. It took a few hours, by the time I had finished the sun was low in the sky and the shadows stretched across the green. For my efforts I had a hole ten feet deep and of twenty feet diameter. At the bottom of the hole I carefully placed my special device. It was a small silver box with a speaker in its centre. It looked nondescript but was very powerful. It was the solution to their problems, or the start of a whole lot of new ones. They would ultimately decide which and I chuckled to myself at the thought.

All this activity had attracted quite a crowd, it seemed most of the village had turned out to watch. They created a low hum as they chatted amongst themselves, confused at what I was doing, but curious, nonetheless.

I was climbing out of the hole as I came face to feet with Councillor Snell. I looked from his green Hunter wellingtons up to his confused face.

“What’s all this malarkey then?” I climbed to meet him face to face before explaining what he would be getting for his money.

“Simple Mr Snell, very simple. I place my special patented device at the bottom of the hole there,” I pointed to the bottom of the hole. “I activate it using this remote control here.” I pulled a small control pad from my pocket and showed him. “The rats are then attracted to the device; they just can’t help themselves. When they’re in the hole, we turn on the water and hey presto they drown.” Snell was not convinced the solution could be so simple after all they had tried before, but before he could protest I activated the device.

At first nothing happened. The crowd looked at each other and whispered, Councillor Snell folded his arms.

“Well Beamish?”

As the words left his mouth rats suddenly appeared from all directions. They scurried out of every building racing across the grass. Soon the green was a heaving mass of tiny four-legged grey bodies. The crowd scattered screaming as the rats raced headlong into the hole. I picked up the hose pipe and whistling a jolly tune, began to fill the hole with water. The device floated but the rats did not. In a matter of minutes every one of them was dead, their squeaks forever silenced. I switched off the device and turned to Councillor Snell. He was opened mouthed, completely in shock at what he had just witnessed. He wasn’t the only one, the rest of the villagers were amazed as well. Then they began to clap and cheer. Expressing relief as their rodent infestation nightmare was over.

“There we are, I’ll dispose of the corpses humanely and then I’ll take your payment. Cash is preferred.”

“Hold on a minute,” replied Snell. “Is that it? Dig a hole and drown them!”

“Yes, it’s very effective don’t you agree?”

“That’s not worth ten grand!” Snell was red in the face. Maybe he felt I’d humiliated him, tricked him in some way by getting rid of the rat problem so easily. “We won’t pay ten grand, £50 quid that’s our final offer.” I was taken aback. I turned slowly to face him.

“I don’t think you understand Mr Snell.”

“Oh I understand very well Beamish.” Snell was now playing to his crowd. “These rodents suddenly appear out of nowhere, and then you conveniently show up and get rid of them in five minutes charging the Earth!” The crowd murmured their approval, they’d forgotten the days digging apparently. “You’ll not get ten thousand off us. How do we know you didn’t bring the rats here in the first place?” The crowd was getting restless. There was a danger of the situation getting ugly. They were all siding with Snell. I tried to placate him.

“Look we had an agreement councillor. I’ve solved your rat problem. I asked for nothing in advance, just payment on completion of the job.” I kept very calm wary of provoking the crowd. I wondered if to bargain, accept a lower price. On reflection I thought not. Stepping closer I whispered in a low voice. “I’ll warn you just the once Mr Snell. If you decide not to pay me the agreed price there will be unfortunate consequences.”

“Do what you like, here’s your £50.” He threw some notes at me and they fluttered to the floor. He turned on his heel and walked away. The crowd dispersed, chatting laughing and pointing, enjoying my humiliation in the late evening sunshine. I crouched to pick up the notes and as they walked away I smiled to myself. Time for a little revenge then. I actually preferred it this way. They had made their choice. I gazed towards the school next to the church.

The following day the children arrived in dribs and drabs for Sunday School. I watched from my van as they waved goodbye to their parents. The adults went into the church, the good god-fearing country folk they were. I laughed aloud at my good fortune. The feast of St John and St. Paul. This was a 26th June they would not forget for a long time.

Before I could complete my plans I made a tour of the village.  I let myself into a number of homes, helping myself to a few valuables to cover my costs.  Councillor Snell had a number of very valuable items of gold jewellery that would leave me a tidy profit once sold.  I smiled as I returned to my van.

At 11am precisely the children tumbled out into the playground. They laughed and shouted with joy as they played, waiting for the church service to finish and their parents to return. The bells of the church began their peal. It was time.

On the passenger seat was my device. I chose a new setting and switched it on. Immediately the children stopped frozen to the spot. Expressions wiped from their faces, they gazed into the distance unseeing.

At that moment, the congregation poured out of the church. It took them a moment to take in the scene before them. There were a few moments silence before the shouting began. Cries of concern rippled from the crowd. Parents tried to run towards their zombie like children. I pressed another button on my control and they suddenly became glued to the spot.

I climbed down from the van and walked towards the church gate. It opened with a creak. I stared at the frightened faces of the congregation. I picked out Snell, desperately pulling at his legs, trying to free them from the invisible force holding them fast. I called to him.

"Last chance Snell. I am a fair man. If you pay up now, I will release you all and you'll never see me again. If not, then the consequences are on your head."

"Go to hell you B£$%&*%d."

These types were all the same. Lords of their tiny manors, too proud to back down, unwilling to make any compromise to save face. Their pride always cost them in the end. It was the secret of my success.

"So be it."

I pressed another button on the control pad. The children turned and began to walk towards my van. I climbed back into the cab, started the engine and began to drive slowly up the hill towards the moor above the village. The children followed marching in silence, immune to the cries of their anguished parents that faded into the distance.

Up the hill we went, a silent army marching to an unknown fate. Further ever further onto the moor, into the wilderness. I imagined the scene in the village. Desperate parents slowly freeing themselves from their paralysis, hunting for their children. Shouts and screams, hysterical tears when they couldn’t be found. The realisation when suddenly recall the arrogance of the unfortunate Councillor Snell. The arguments, the retribution and the sickening realisation that they were powerless. The children had gone. My smile was broad.

Miles from anywhere we reached our destination. In this remote and forgotten spot high on the moor there was a cave entrance. It was almost totally obscured by nettles and long grass. This did not stop my army. In they went one after another, marching into oblivion. As the last child entered I used my digger to push a huge stone across the entrance trapping them forever. I pressed a button on the control.

The spell was suddenly broken. I heard the screams as the hungry rats began their meal. Thirty children would last them quite a while. I have to keep my own children fed after all.

I studied my map looking for the next village to have a sudden rodent infestation. Always make sure to select one with a school and church.

Anyway, remember my friends, don’t be selfish and don’t be greedy. Always keep your promises.

The Key - A Short Story

The Jiffy Bag was A5 size. It looked as if it had been stuck in the Post Offices possession for a long time. It was dog eared and water stains had made the ink used to write the address run in several places. The postmark said South Kensington SW7 23rd November 1963, the day Dr Who first aired on BBCTV. The postman was really apologetic.

“Must have got stuck in the sorting machine mate, happens all the time.” He smiled. “You don’t look old enough to have been alive back then though. What’s your secret?”

“I think its addressed to my late father, he lived here in the 60’s.” The package was addressed to Mr F W Warner Esq. 2a Bina Gardens, South Kensington. My father was also called Fredrick William. The curse of an old family name.

“Oh well I guess that explains it.” The postman was slightly crestfallen not to have stumbled on the secret of eternal youth, and headed off around the corner into Old Brompton Road.

“What have you ordered now?” Cat asked from the kitchen as I shut the front door of the flat. The smell of fresh coffee and burning toast was drifting through to the hall.

“Not me, it’s an old package addressed to Dad I think, it’s from the 60’s.”

“Really?” She snatched the package from my hand whilst taking a huge bite from a freshly buttered slice of toast. “Oh, ok. Wonder what Dad was buying mail order, do you think it’s a rare Beatles record?” She handed it back to me.

“Looks a bit small for that sis, maybe it’s a letter from mum, they’d have been courting then.” I turned the envelope over. There was no return address.

“Well open it, I’ve got to get to work and I can’t hang around waiting for you to make your mind up.”

“Ok, ok.” I tore open the top and shook out the contents. A large brass ornate key fell onto the counter with a clang, followed by a folded note. The note was short and hand written in flowing copper plate.

Dear Frederick,

My work is complete and I am finally ready to search for Catherine. I pray that I will find success.

I entrust you with the key to the laboratory. You must keep it safe. I do not know if Joseph or the girls will try to stop me, but without the key it will be impossible for them.

Keep safe my boy and thank you for all your help.

Love as always,

Grandpa Samuel

“Ooh I wonder what it opens.” Cat was really excited.

“Don’t you think that whatever it was is long gone? There isn’t one property round here that’s not been gutted and remodelled in the last forty-five years.” Cat looked crestfallen. “Look, get going to work will you. We can take a look into this Grandpa Samuel later on.” I put the key and note back in the envelope and left them on the counter.

Cat went off to work in the West End. I sat down with my laptop and logged onto a genealogy website. After some searching I found my father Fred Warner. His Father and Grandfather were also Fredrick William but his Great Grandfather was Samuel Alfred Warner, born Heathfield Sussex 1793, died London 1853. So, Grandpa Samuel was a real person, but he wasn’t around in 1963. A bit more digging showed Samuel had been an inventor of Naval weapons, but there had been some doubt about whether they actually worked. He died in what were described as mysterious circumstances. He had been buried in an unmarked paupers grave in Brompton Cemetery, just up the road. He also seemed to be linked to an Egyptologist named Joseph Bonomi and the design of the Tomb of Hannah Courtoy a rich widow. It was a mystery that he should have died with nothing to his name.

None the wiser I went off to my job pulling pints in the Anglesey Arms. At closing time, I said my goodbyes and began to walk the half a mile back home. Half way along Onslow Gardens I heard the footsteps behind me. As I quickened my step, the steps behind quickened in unison. I could see the traffic lights ahead, a busy road and safety. I reached the corner at a run, glancing behind I saw a figure in a cape and top hat rushing towards me with walking cane in hand. I panicked and sprinted towards home. Crossing Cranley Gardens, I stole another look behind, the figure had gone. I dared not stop. I found my keys in my jacket pocket, shaking I opened the front door of the flat and burst in slamming the door behind.

The flat was dark save for a light coming from the lounge. Usually Cat would be asleep by now, I wondered if she’d left the light on for me, though it wasn’t usual. I pushed the door open and found her sitting opposite a man that appeared to have come from the pages of a Dickens novel. His Top Hat, Cane and Cape were on his lap. His Mutton Chops were grey and his drawn face had an air of bitter sadness. Cat held the key and note in her hand.

“Will, this is Grandpa Samuel.” I was staggered. “It’s really weird but you need to hear his story.”

“What! How can this guy be our great-great grandfather? He’d be 200 years old by now!”

“Two hundred and twenty-nine to be precise.” His voice was soft yet full of authority. “Do sit down William, I need your help.” I sat down slowly.

“Did you just chase me home from work?” He was alarmed by the accusation.

“You were chased? My boy what did the man chasing you look like? This is very important.” Samuel became quite animated, shifting his position on the sofa to look intently at me.

“I only caught a glimpse. Cape, Top Hat, Walking Cane…”

“Forgive me, I must have been followed here, I don’t know how, but I have. I’m sorry both of you, I should never have come, I have put you both in grave danger.” He began to pick up his things.

“Look will someone tell me what’s going on. Please?” I looked at both Samuel and Cat in turn. Samuel recovered his composure and spoke.

He explained that Cat and I were his direct decedent's.  In the 1960's our father had helped Samuel with his scientific work but unfortunately he had been unsuccessful.  He wanted our help to try again.

“How can you be here? This is a joke surely.” I spoke partly in jest but mostly with rising panic. How was this possible?

“I know this appears, unusual. My work was in Time Travel.” I was speechless. Time Travel, really? This was like an interactive episode of Dr Who. I pinched myself but I wasn’t dreaming.

Samuel explained he had built a Time Machine.  He had been asked to do so by a man named Joseph Bonomi who had been an Egyptologist of some fame. Samuel claimed to have found the secret of Time Travel whilst studying ancient hieroglyphs.

“I built it, but when I tested it I was thrown into the future and it took me some time to get home again. In that time Bonomi and his assistants kidnapped my seven-year-old daughter Catherine and had me declared dead, leaving our family with nothing. I must go back and rescue Catherine from her prison.”

“You think Joseph Bonomi was the man that followed me home?” I asked.

“Yes, he wants the key to control the Time Machine. I must go back to my own time and destroy it.”

“How can you be alive? If as you say you are over 200 years old?” Cat asked out loud before I could ask the same.

“The machines curse is that it slows down the natural aging process. That is why Joseph and his disciples want the machine. They want to live forever.” This was pretty heavy. Time travel, the secret of eternal life. I still didn’t really believe it.

“Where do we find this, machine?” Samuel stared at me and blinked as if I hadn’t been listening to his tale.

“My boy, it’s in the cemetery. The Tomb of Hannah Courtoy. She was Bonomi’s patron. Her daughters are the ones that want immortality.”

Cat took out her phone and ordered an Uber. 

Suddenly we aware of the rain.  It beat down and blew against the windows, whipped up by a strong blustery wind. I packed some tools into a backpack in case we needed them, some screwdrivers and a crowbar. We waited for our taxi.

The journey to the cemetery was short, just five minutes and half a mile.

The large imposing gates were padlocked. The rain blew along Lillie Road from the direction of West Brompton Station. Being 2am on a winters Sunday morning, all was quiet.

Samuel walked up to the gates and produced an object from his pocket. There was a clang as the chain around the gates fell to the floor, and a creak as he pushed the gate open.

“Come.” He whispered to us and walked into the dark cemetery. Cat and I followed, shivering slightly, perhaps because of the weather, but more likely from entering one of London’s most famous cemeteries in the dark with a 200-year-old ancestor. Samuel walked briskly. First to the right and then down the second path on the left. Ahead was an imposing granite tomb. Standing by itself on an island between the paths. Its bronze doors, adorned by Egyptian symbols were weathered green, with parts of the parapet looking cracked and unkempt.

“The key Catherine my dear.” Samuel held out his hand and took the ornate key from Cat. He placed it carefully in the lock, turned it slowly and pushed. The door was stiff and both Cat and I stepped up to help push. With difficulty the door moved and we tumbled inside.

“Look Mary, Joseph told us they would come.” Two women in Victorian dress stood over us. They both looked pleased to see us, but as I glanced toward Samuel I could see he certainly was not. “Come now Mr Warner will you not you introduce us to your companions?” Samuel struggled to his feet using his walking cane.

“William, Catherine, may I introduce Elizabeth and Mary Courtoy.” We struggled to our feet. Behind us another figure entered the tomb. Another Victorian gentleman, however he was holding a revolver and it was pointed at us.

“Well Samuel old man, you are quite difficult to track down.” Joseph Bonomi spoke with a high-pitched voice.

“We have to stop this Joseph, its unnatural, none of us belong in this world.” Samuel was pleading with him. “We must destroy the machine.”

“Destroy it? My dear fellow we must improve it! With the technology of this age we could do marvellous things!” He walked towards us. “Just think Samuel, the lives we could save, the events we could shape. The Empire and Her Majesty would live forever.”

“What about your children Joseph? Is this affair not about saving them and Jessie? The medicines of this century would save them all.” Samuel had hit a nerve. Joseph was suddenly uneasy.

“Joseph you told us this was for us, for mother. Are we not to rescue her from the Cholera?” asked Mary.

“Of course, my dear. All in good time. We must first have Mr Warner recalibrate the machine.” Joseph had recovered his composure and was pointing his gun more menacingly.

“What about little Catherine Warner? What have you done with her?” Cat’s question was brave considering the circumstances.

“We did nothing to her, she died as Joseph’s children did of The Whooping Cough. Her father had disappeared. We arranged for her to have a Christian burial, in this place. Why what did he tell you?” Mary was confused. She looked towards Samuel Warner.

“He told us you’d kidnapped her to force him to do your work.” I replied.

“Samuel, is this true?” Mary was angry. “We gave you everything, money for your projects. Mother spoke to Wellington personally on your behalf. After you disappeared your family felt betrayed. We arranged for your fake death so that they could remember you fondly and not as the rogue you clearly are.”

“Catherine was heartbroken, she never recovered from your absence.” Elizabeth added. “Now you bring your descendants here to destroy everything? How could you?” She began to sob. Samuel used the distraction to dive towards Bonomi and wrestle him to the ground. They fought over the gun until the inevitable happened. The shot killed Joseph outright. Samuel pushed the lifeless corpse from him and turned to face the Courtoy sisters.

“You fools are all the same.” Samuel advanced towards them and they cowered together. “A genius they called me, a maverick genius!” He was almost hysterical. His eyes were wild, having committed one murder it looked as if he was prepared to commit at least two more. “I will control the machine, I will travel time and live forever. You shall all have nothing.” He raised the revolver and I hit him with the crowbar. He slumped and dropped the revolver, Cat picked it up.

“I am deeply sorry that you both have become involved in this affair.” Mary Courtoy spoke with the courage of the British stiff upper lip. “This rogue has brought our family and his own nothing but misery. We must take our leave and return home to our own time.” She and her sister each took an arm of the unconscious Samuel and dragged him towards a trapdoor in the centre of the floor. “We will lock the tomb from the inside before we leave, then no one can meddle with this machine again. Good evening to you both, and thank you.”

We were ushered out of the tomb by the sisters and the door slammed shut behind us. There was a creak of the key being turned and then a bright flash from deep within the building.

We were left standing in the November rain.

First Day on the Job for Eloise - A (very) Short Story.

 

“They’ve sent us another one,” said Terry.  “I don’t think she’s much of a looker.” 

Terry was staring through the glass door of the Science staff room.  He was almost salivating.  He was like this with every new member of staff.  New meat for the grinder. 

Walking up the corridor was a very nervous looking young woman, accompanied by Denise from personnel.

The girl looked petrified.  She stared down at her new black Mary Janes as she scurried along next to the confident striding Denise.  She hid behind her long mousey brown hair, her gaze darting from one side to the other avoiding eye contact with anyone she passed.  Her Primark suit looked shiny new and unnatural.  In her arms she carried a small leather satchel, like a refugee carrying a precious baby from a warzone.

“Lay off Terry, we need all the help we can get.” 

In any other school Terry Butler would have been “managed” out years ago. His views on women and ethnic minorities were best described as “outspoken.”  It was his total arrogance that helped him survive in this tough school.  The kids were actually scared of him and indeed so were most of the staff.

“Bet she’s had enough by lunch time, especially if she’s got year 11 before break.”  Terry walked back to his desk, picked up his coffee cup and walked out, making sure to beam his creepy smile in the direction of the newcomer as she entered.

“Eloise this is Andy Smith, Head of Science.” said Denise.  “He’ll be able to answer any queries you have.  Come and find me in the office at the end of the day.”

“Hi, grab a seat.”  I offered my hand, as Denise left and Eloise shook it tentatively.  Her eyes briefly met mine and darted away to the floor.  “Have you been teaching for long?”

“Just qualified.” Her voice was gentle and she sounded terrified.  She was a rabbit in the headlights.  Terry was being optimistic about her, if she went into a class like this she’d be done by break.

“Ok, this place might be a bit tougher than your PGCE.  Just be confident and don’t take any nonsense from the kids.”  I tried to reassure her, but I wasn’t convinced myself.  “I’ve got some lesson plans for you and a timetable.  I’ll be in the room next door so if there’s trouble just call me.” I passed a folder across the table.  “I have to go to assembly so if you wait here until the bell, your classroom will be free to get setup then.”

“Thanks.”  She seemed to be a lady of few words.  I made for the door.

“Help yourself to a brew,” I pointed towards the collection of cups and the staff kettle.  “If you need anything, just ask.”  She nodded in reply and turned away.  I headed off to the hall.

I was really worried.  We had been through half a dozen supply teachers in the past fortnight.  The kids smelt weakness and were happy to bully any new teachers they came across.  Supply agencies were now refusing to send anyone to the school.  Even those career changers from the army wouldn’t come.  This left me as Head of Department struggling to keep classes learning, especially my own.

On returning to the department for the first lesson I expected to find the usual chaos.  Kids messing about rather than lining up to enter class.  I was ready for my morning shouting session.  I could not have been more surprised.

All the classes were lined up in the corridor.  Uniform was perfect.  The unruly pupils I had become so used to were in stunned silence.  Standing in the middle of it all was Eloise, or rather Eloise 2.0.  The nervous character I had seen just ten minutes earlier had been replaced with someone else.

No longer hiding, her hair was tightly drawn back, giving her the look of total authority.  She stood up straight commanding all before her.  In her hand was a metre rule, which she pointed at any child that was not following her clear and unambiguous instructions.

“Mr Smith’s class enter the room quietly.”  She spoke with such quiet authority, no one would dare disobey.  “Mr Butler’s class wait for him to arrive.  My class enter now in silence.”

It was as if a magic spell had been cast across the school.  The day passed without any behaviour incidents.  Every class worked hard in silence.  At the end of each lesson each pupil thanked me.  Science was an oasis of calm, unnerving and unnatural but unexpectedly welcome.  The catalyst seemed to be Eloise.  At lunchtime some pupils volunteered to stay behind to do extra work.

At the end of the day I sought her out.  To thank her, and hope that she would return for a repeat performance tomorrow.  I opened the door of her classroom and was horrified.

Eloise was nowhere to be seen.  There was a large pool of blood in the centre of the floor.  Directly above, hanging from the ceiling was the twitching corpse of Terry Butler.  On the whiteboard was scrawled just one word, “Revenge.”