The Beasts of Upton Puddle by Simon West-Bulford

mouth. A cacophony of clattering pans, accompanied by a thunder of falling boxes, stopped him. He shut his eyes again as twin screams followed.
    â€œSunday staff,” he whispered apologetically to Joe. “I’ll be back in a moment. Don’t go anywhere. I’m sure there’s—”
    Crash!
    â€œSome other—”
    Boom!
    â€œItems on—”
    More screams.
    â€œThat list I can help you with.”
    Mr. Bacon rushed out the back, yelling as he went.
    Joe took another look at the crumpled paper in his hand.
    3 bottles of Irish whiskey
    4 bottles of red wine (preferably Chilean)
    3 kilograms of finest steak
    1 bag of sugar
    1 large church candle
    1 lightbulb (filament removed)
    1 pocket mirror
    â€œA lightbulb without a filament?” Joe mused. “Why?”
    Mr. Bacon’s voice exploded from the stockroom. “Are you holding what I think you’re holding? Because if you are, Angus, you’d better get rid of it right now before I—”
    â€œDon’t shout at him,” protested the girl’s voice. “You know how it affects his acne.”
    â€œNot there, boy! In the bin outside!”
    Joe flinched as the sound of smashing crockery drowned out the boy’s whining response.
    The shopkeeper returned to the counter, shaking his head. “So sorry. Been a bit of a stressful morning, andAngus has a habit of bringing out the worst in me at times like this.”
    â€œShould I come back a bit later?”
    â€œNo, no! There’s not much more they can break out back, so it’ll probably all calm down in a couple of minutes anyway.”
    â€œSo what happened? Was there an accident or something? Angus was talking about a monster.”
    â€œMonster, me granny!” Mr. Bacon scoffed. “Everyone’s been blaming the Beast of Upton Puddle for everything these past few weeks. Nope, I reckon it was a breakin—a rather bad one too. We got here this morning to open up shop, and the stockroom was a right mess—like a tornado had hit the place. Door was ripped clean off its hinges.”
    â€œThey must have been pretty strong to do that.”
    â€œWell, Angus swears blind he saw the Beast. Says a huge hairy man or a bear was running up the path toward the forest with a big lamb chop in its mouth, and then it jumped into a big hole. Got a big imagination, that boy, and he’s as thick as a duck plucker’s wick. Last summer he thought he saw aliens in the oven, until he remembered he was baking gingerbread men in there.”
    â€œEasy mistake to make.” Joe chuckled.
    Mr. Bacon rolled his eyes. “Well, let’s take another look at that list of yours, shall we? I’m sure you don’t want to hear me jabbering on all day.”
    Joe passed the list to Mr. Bacon.
    The shopkeeper flattened out the creases and examined the words. “The sugar, wine, whiskey, and mirror are no problem, and I have one candle left in stock, but what the devil does she want with a lightbulb that doesn’t have a filament?”
    â€œSearch me.”
    â€œWell, I can sell you a lightbulb, but good luck with getting the workings out of it without breaking it.”
    â€œI’ll figure something out.”
    Mr. Bacon nodded thoughtfully. “I bet you will too. You’re a bright little spark, aren’t you?”
    With the commotion in the stockroom and the arrival of the police ten minutes early, Mr. Bacon took quite a while to work his way through the list, so Joe returned to Merrynether Mansion much later than he expected.
    Back in the vault, he found Mrs. Merrynether inside the manticore’s enclosure. She was stroking the creature gently along its side. A purr gargled from its cavernous chest.
    â€œIs he any better?” asked Joe, struggling with several carrier bags.
    â€œNo change, I’m afraid. Did you manage to get everything?”
    â€œMr. Bacon’s totally out of meat. I got everything