Inspector Hobbes and the Blood: A Fast-paced Comedy Crime Fantasy (unhuman) by Wilkie Martin Page B
Authors: Wilkie Martin
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me back into my seat, we roared
through the rain to St Stephens, a Victorian churchyard on the Moorend edge of
town.
'It's
a thirty,' I squeaked, as Hobbes's buttress foot squashed the accelerator.
He
flashed his yellow teeth in what I supposed was a grin. 'What's a thirty?'
'The
speed limit.'
'Well,
I never.'
'And
wouldn't headlights be useful?' I asked, rechecking my seatbelt, clinging to
the passenger seat in front.
'If
we weren't on covert surveillance.' He was grinning like a maniac.
I
groaned, shutting my eyes, holding on, cursing myself for accepting the
assignment. If I'd just resigned on the spot, I'd be safe and warm back home in
bed.
The
car, stopping abruptly, I opened my eyes, blinked and tried again. It was just
as dark as when they'd been shut.
'Where
are we?' I whispered.
'Just
outside St Stephens in a derelict garage. No one comes here but derelicts. You
may find the aroma is rather … pungent. Now, let's move, we're supposed to be
on watch. Be quiet and follow me. And quickly.'
We
left the car and, he was right, it didn't half pong. Holding my breath, I
followed the sound of his footsteps until we were in the open air, where a
glimmer revealed the silhouette of a kneeling angel, marking the edge of the
churchyard. I could just about pick out Hobbes's hunched form.
I
wiped rain from my eyes. 'Shouldn't we have back-up?'
'I
don't normally require it. Anyway, I have you.' I caught a vague glint of
teeth.
'Mightn't
it be dangerous?'
'Let's
hope so.'
As
he slouched forward, a huge, creeping gargoyle, I shuffled after him. I didn't
want to be with him, yet daren't lose him.
Lights
flashed from behind a huddle of overgrown gravestones. I froze, heart pounding,
as the rumble of chanting male voices reached me, making the hairs on my neck
quiver, starting a dull ache in my stomach. Hobbes had melted into the
blackness. I blundered forward, close to panic, needing the reassurance of his
hulking presence and, unfortunately, he wasn't present. He'd left me, lost and
alone, in a churchyard at night and my head was filled with chanting that
chilled even more than the icy stab of the rain.
'Turn
the bleeding music off, you daft berk,' said a rough voice, like someone was
gargling with hot gravel. With a click, the chanting ceased and, at the same
instant, a light shone in my face.
Dazzled
and disoriented, I turned to run, my heart racing like a dog's at the vets. My
feet missing the ground, I dropped through blackness until something hard
transformed my gasp of terror into a groan of pain, leaving me to endure a few
seconds of stunned confusion.
My
groping hands touched wet, muddy walls. A sharp, earthy odour filled my
nostrils. I'd tumbled into an open grave. The next horror was discovering I had
an audience. As the grave filled with light, voices coming from above, I rolled
onto my back, blinking, temporarily blinded. After a few moments, I began to
make out two faces that, if I hadn't spent the past day with Inspector Hobbes,
would surely have given me an immediate cardiac arrest.
'Blimey,
this one's still moving. What we gonna do with it?' The gravel voice I'd heard
earlier sounded hesitant.
Another
voice, softer, yet creepy, replied. 'Dunno. Maybe if we fill it in again, it
won't be next time. Nuffing like this ever 'appened to me before. They've
always been still … and packed inside the box.'
'Good
evening,' I said, putting my hope in politeness and affability. At least I had
the satisfaction of making them jump.
'Wah!'
said Gravel Voice. 'It talks.'
'Certainly,
I talk. Look, I appear to have stumbled into this hole and I wonder if you
could see your way to giving me a hand out?'
'Give
you a 'andout?' said Creepy Voice. 'Do I look like I'm a charity? What are you?
A bleeding scrounger?'
'No,
sir, I mean, could you help me to get out?'
''elp
you to get out?' Creepy Voice sounded shocked. 'I'm not sure that's allowed.
What are you in for anyway?'
'It
was an accident. I slipped and fell. I
through the rain to St Stephens, a Victorian churchyard on the Moorend edge of
town.
'It's
a thirty,' I squeaked, as Hobbes's buttress foot squashed the accelerator.
He
flashed his yellow teeth in what I supposed was a grin. 'What's a thirty?'
'The
speed limit.'
'Well,
I never.'
'And
wouldn't headlights be useful?' I asked, rechecking my seatbelt, clinging to
the passenger seat in front.
'If
we weren't on covert surveillance.' He was grinning like a maniac.
I
groaned, shutting my eyes, holding on, cursing myself for accepting the
assignment. If I'd just resigned on the spot, I'd be safe and warm back home in
bed.
The
car, stopping abruptly, I opened my eyes, blinked and tried again. It was just
as dark as when they'd been shut.
'Where
are we?' I whispered.
'Just
outside St Stephens in a derelict garage. No one comes here but derelicts. You
may find the aroma is rather … pungent. Now, let's move, we're supposed to be
on watch. Be quiet and follow me. And quickly.'
We
left the car and, he was right, it didn't half pong. Holding my breath, I
followed the sound of his footsteps until we were in the open air, where a
glimmer revealed the silhouette of a kneeling angel, marking the edge of the
churchyard. I could just about pick out Hobbes's hunched form.
I
wiped rain from my eyes. 'Shouldn't we have back-up?'
'I
don't normally require it. Anyway, I have you.' I caught a vague glint of
teeth.
'Mightn't
it be dangerous?'
'Let's
hope so.'
As
he slouched forward, a huge, creeping gargoyle, I shuffled after him. I didn't
want to be with him, yet daren't lose him.
Lights
flashed from behind a huddle of overgrown gravestones. I froze, heart pounding,
as the rumble of chanting male voices reached me, making the hairs on my neck
quiver, starting a dull ache in my stomach. Hobbes had melted into the
blackness. I blundered forward, close to panic, needing the reassurance of his
hulking presence and, unfortunately, he wasn't present. He'd left me, lost and
alone, in a churchyard at night and my head was filled with chanting that
chilled even more than the icy stab of the rain.
'Turn
the bleeding music off, you daft berk,' said a rough voice, like someone was
gargling with hot gravel. With a click, the chanting ceased and, at the same
instant, a light shone in my face.
Dazzled
and disoriented, I turned to run, my heart racing like a dog's at the vets. My
feet missing the ground, I dropped through blackness until something hard
transformed my gasp of terror into a groan of pain, leaving me to endure a few
seconds of stunned confusion.
My
groping hands touched wet, muddy walls. A sharp, earthy odour filled my
nostrils. I'd tumbled into an open grave. The next horror was discovering I had
an audience. As the grave filled with light, voices coming from above, I rolled
onto my back, blinking, temporarily blinded. After a few moments, I began to
make out two faces that, if I hadn't spent the past day with Inspector Hobbes,
would surely have given me an immediate cardiac arrest.
'Blimey,
this one's still moving. What we gonna do with it?' The gravel voice I'd heard
earlier sounded hesitant.
Another
voice, softer, yet creepy, replied. 'Dunno. Maybe if we fill it in again, it
won't be next time. Nuffing like this ever 'appened to me before. They've
always been still … and packed inside the box.'
'Good
evening,' I said, putting my hope in politeness and affability. At least I had
the satisfaction of making them jump.
'Wah!'
said Gravel Voice. 'It talks.'
'Certainly,
I talk. Look, I appear to have stumbled into this hole and I wonder if you
could see your way to giving me a hand out?'
'Give
you a 'andout?' said Creepy Voice. 'Do I look like I'm a charity? What are you?
A bleeding scrounger?'
'No,
sir, I mean, could you help me to get out?'
''elp
you to get out?' Creepy Voice sounded shocked. 'I'm not sure that's allowed.
What are you in for anyway?'
'It
was an accident. I slipped and fell. I
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