Boo Boo is laughing. The reverend screams. The young gentleman keeps walking across the path and into the forest on the other side. The blood trail of the severed head is splattered on the path like rose petals.
“Why does the funny man have a head?” laughs Boo Boo.
“He’s a madman! We’re all to be murdered!” screams the hysterical Reverend Plum.
“I think we’re safe. He’s gone,” I say.
Reverend Plum makes us run the rest of the way.
My Uncle’s house is surrounded by a spiked iron fence and is gloomy looking and run-down. The house is a dirty grey colour with a small herb garden in the back which leads into a tumbling expanse of more woodland. Outside the gates sits an enormous black hound which growls at Reverend Plum.
“My heart can’t take much more of this,” he says, clutching his chest. Boo Boo lets go of his hand and strokes the dog, who seems very pleased and then rolls over and gets his tummy tickled. I unlock the latch on the gate, which creaks open rather theatrically. The Reverend Plum composes himself and knocks on the door, dizzy with relief.
(the same day)
Aberystwyth station
Detective White & Constable Walnut
Walnut and I are on a train pulling out of Aberystwyth station, for the third time. A solitary sheep, who I’m sure recognizes us, stares and bleats, while rain pounds the roof of the train carriage, splattering the windows. The sky is a dismal shade of purgatory-porridge.
Walnut waves at the sheep.
“What did I tell you, Walnut?” I say, exasperated.
“Um…” He stops waving and looks at me shamefacedly. “You said ‘Don’t touch it or we’ll end up in Wales again’.”
“SO WHY DID YOU DO IT?”
“I just thought I’d give it a little polish, make it look nice for Inspector Badger.”
The curse of this particular jewel transports not only the idiot who touches it but anyone standing within a few feet.
I sink back into my seat. I sigh, exhaling all the air from my lungs. Hopefully, I may pass out. We aren’t alone in this embarrassment. Constable Luck and the tea lady, Mrs Sultana, had both been stupid enough to fiddle with that accursed sapphire. Mrs Sultana, having made the most of her surprise day out, had visited her nephew. Apparently he’s a locksmith who lives up the road.
“What do you think Chief Inspector Badger will do with the sapphire?” Walnut takes a cheese and pickle sandwich out of his jacket and takes an enthusiastic bite.
“If he has any sense, he’ll throw it into the Thames.” I look out of the carriage window at the all too familiar swell and dip of vegetable green. The grey drizzle of skyline.
Walnut munches on his sandwich.
The ticket inspector appears with a wide grin. “Well, well,” he says, sliding the carriage door open. “You two again. You just can’t keep away from our beautiful land.” And he starts singing, his eyes glistening over with Welsh mists.
I take my pistol out and aim it at his head. “Stop that at once or I’ll shoot you.”
Heads on Trees
Mr Loveheart Decapitates his Wicked Neighbours
I’m hiding in a bush, observing Fangus Oil, the local drunk who exposes himself to women and random sheep. He’s urinating against a tree singing “Scarborough Fair”, which alone is an excellent reason for his imminent demise.
I stand behind him and cough politely. “Ahem.”
“What do you want?” He turns, peering at me, wobbling, strawberry nosed, smelling like a decomposing corpse.
“My name is John Loveheart and I would like your head. If you would place it in the bag please,” and I open the black velvet sack (with trademark love heart) that I’ve brought with me.
“Are you a little bit funny in the head?” he says, and breaks into song: “Parsleeeey, saaaaage, rosemary and thyme… la la la.”
I cut his head off immediately and sling it in the sack.
I creep further into the woods and find Daisy Dungbeetle picking poisonous mushrooms and placing them in her wicker basket. School mistress, avid reader of vampire novels – and part-time murderess.
“Madam,” I step out amidst the toadstool ring, “I am here to stop your wicked ways,” and I aim my sword at her.
She hisses at me. Bares her teeth, flickers her tongue. Holds a black mushroom up and thrusts it at me. “I curse you with this fungus of the Dark Master.”
“Are you threatening me with a mushroom?”
CHOP
I toss her head in the sack.
Lastly, after plucking some wild strawberries from the woodland path, I find Judge Thumpus Zop snoozing in his garden, a copy of the Times folded neatly on his lap. He has a reputation for cruelty. I tap his leg with my ancestral sword.
“WHAT THE DEVIL?” he shouts, awakening from his slumber.
“You have been a very bad boy, Judge.”
“What are you?”
“The Demon Lord of the Underworld… Ooh, now I’ve said it aloud it sounds rather impressive.”
“Oh crap.”
He tries to sprint across the lawn and trips up over a basket of courgettes. Picks one up and tries to stab me with it.
I hang their heads from red ribbons in my gardens. What pretty dingle dangly things. Poke them and they wobble about.