Wednesday, 11 June 2014

8-10: Henry Hut and The secret of Truth (part 2)


Henry frowned at the stranger sat opposite him. "Just who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Lemiwell Jones. I work for a mutual friend.. of sorts." Said the stranger (who shall be named Lemiwell or Mr Jones from now on).

"We need to leave here. there are things we need to discuss as a matter of urgency." He continued.

At that point Mabel came over and popped Henry's plate on the table.

"I think I might need this to go Mabel." Said Henry.

Without saying a word, Mabel picked up his Full English All Day Breakfast (served until 11:30am) and scrapped it into a Morrisons shopping bag.

Henry and Lemiwell took their leave (and Henry's breakfast) and ventured outside.

A trail of bean juice dripped on the floor from the little hole in the plastic bag and marked their path for any rats, cats, stray dogs and/or spies that might want to follow them.

Fortunately, there were none around on this particular Wednesday and so no more shall be made of it.

The pair walked through Stockdale town centre and away from the hustle and bustle of market traders and shoppers.

Henry followed his new companion along the streets and was finding it a struggle to keep up.

Having lived his whole life in the town Henry always thought he knew the best shortcuts, but this odd man, who had captured his curiosity, was ducking and diving through alley ways and side streets, ginnels, back streets and side alleys and as Henry would recall later on, over a small wall made of used tryes. It was all very confusion and hard to follow, but Henry wnet with it. It was his own self inflicted destiny as a Truth Wizard to find the truth at all costs.

It didn't help that Henry didn't know exactly where they going apart from the fact that Lemiwell told him they were heading to a safe house.

The only 'Safe House' Henry knew off was the pub his Uncle used to drink way back, before smoking was bad for you, before the council knocked it down to make a car park.

"We're here!" Said Lemiwell, stood outside a row of terraced houses.

"Where?" huffed Henry still holding the plastic bag full of mushy breakfast... which was quickly turning into a lunch.

Lemiwell Jones beamed proudly. "Mrs Featheringays Half way House for the Discombobulated."

"oh...." Henry mused his eyebrow raised.

Lemiwell knocked on the door of the unassuming mid terrace house and waited. "You'd best get rid of that bag." He said nodding toward Henrys bag of mush. "Mrs F. Isn't keen on people bringing their own food in."

"YOU COULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING BEFO...." Henry stopped dead in his tracks as the door opened to reveal a very small grey figure.

It was Mrs Featheringay herself. "Ooh, hello there Mr Jones. I've been expecting you...." The little old lady stood before them adjusted her thick spectacles."The kettles just boiled..Come in, come in." 

Despite her small stature, Mrs Featheringay shoved the two of them inside with urgency. A quick look up and down the street and Mrs F slammed the door shut.

It was dark inside. Henry struggled to adjust to the dim light and failed to take any notice of the dust ridden photographs that hung on the wall. He did, however, hear the dull thuds and a strange humming noise coming from up the stairs.

He didn't have time to ask before Lemiwell ushered Henry into the lounge followed by the old lady housekeeper.

"Ooh... Mr Hut, you look famished." she said. "You look like you need a full English inside of you. I've got some sausages on the go... wait there deary." And no sooner had she entered the room, she left.

Henry sat on a small chair and scratched his head in confusion. 

"I'm confused." He confirmed. "Just what is going on? Why have you brought me here?" He asked.

Lemiwell Jones poured himself a cup of tea from the set on display and explained thus.

"Henry, we had to stop you from revealing a secret so huge that it would change everything..." Lemiwell was interrupted by Henry with this:

"You said this before. Just get to the point." Henry was getting rather frustrated.

Lemiwell sighed. 

It was just then that Mrs Fetheringay re-entered the room with a huge plate of sausages, beans, runny eggs, fried bread and a small mountain of crispy bacon.
"Here we go dearies..." She said chirped. "Tuck in."

Henry forgot all about any life changing world crushing secrets for a brief second and began to shovel various meats onto his plate. 

"I'm starving. Thanks." He said pouring beans all over his egg.

Henry hurriedly threw his fork into a sausage and held it aloft. The light from the window highlighted the block and half of lard, that was Mrs F's family recipe, and ... dropped the banger on the floor!

"God lord!" Exclaimed Henry (it is at this point it should be pointed out that there was a large explosion from above them all) "What the flipping heck was THAT?!?!?"

Thick brown smoke billowed down the stairs and through into the dining where Henry Mr Jones and Mrs F were now all stood in fright.

The smoke was quickly followed by the sound of rushing feet. The feet of someone who may (or may not) have caused a small explosion and/or fire in his rented accommodation upstairs.

"I think now may be a good time to exercise a fire evacuation Mrs Featheringay!" Came an unknown voice from beyond the toxic fumes.

"Bloody hell!" mumbled a now very hungry Henry.

Who is this mysterious arsonist who has stopped the flow of the plot of this story? What does Mrs Featheringay know about THE SECRET, Where did I leave my glasses? When will this story end? Why are all spiral galaxies shown to be moving clockwise? How will any of these random questions fit into the next episode of HENRY HUT AND THE SECRET OF TRUTH? Find out in the next episode  HENRY HUT AND THE SECRET OF TRUTH!!!

#TWWBM part three

1 comment:

  1. I am worried that Henry is getting very hungry, even a Truth Wizard needs food. Third time lucky maybe with the Full English Breakfast. . . .although who can tell.

    Great story I think it has all the makings of a classic novel and a British cult movie in black and white from the early nineteen sixties.

    Keep up the good work one and all.


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