Death in Stockdale (part Three)

Previously on Death in Stockdale:

Henry Hut has travelled back in time (by 1 hour) to save the life of his Friend Lemiwell Jones. He has teamed up with Chub, a young girl who knows Henry has travelled back in time and also has the ability to predict the future. To complicate matters (especially for the author) Henry has just discovered that the killer of Mr Jones is in fact … Mr Jones himself…

“I don’t believe it!” repeated Henry from last weeks episode.

Chub Shrugged for the sake of continuity.

Mr Jones dusted himself down and spoke.

“Henry. I knew it would be you. You have to let me in there. I have to kill that version of me before it’s too late.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” barked Henry, his arms outstretched to highlight his rage. “I’ve not travelled a hour back in time just to watch you die again. You are too important to this town to die twice. WE NEED YOU!” He pleaded.

Mr Jones shook his head sadly.

“No Henry. I have to die. It’s the only way to stop the madness that’s coming. Everything that happens… it’s all on me…it’s my fault.” Lemiwells face lost its determination and sagged a little.

It was at this point that Henry realised just how different the man in front of him looked to the one that he had wished good luck to just a few hours before.

“A year from now – today in fact – I used Professor Proctos time machine to come back here and stop myself from winning the election. All the things I wanted to do, all those people I promised to help. They were all dead. It was all my fault….” His voice drifted a little.

Henry frowned. “What? How can you be responsible for anything bad happening. You were... will be going to save the town from that rat bag Dr Malevolent. He’s the bad guy I all this.” He bargained.

“That’s what we all thought Henry.” Lemiwell choked back the pain of memory. “But it turns out that he is the only one capable of doing what is going to be necessary to save us all.”

“Bollocks!” swore Henry. “He’s a nutter. He want’s to stop my mum from making me dry Weetabix – he’s a fruit cake!”

“If only Dry Weetabix were the worst of our problems..” Said Lemiwell as he explained what the past/ coming year would have/had/did in store for Stockdale.

Chub listened impatiently as the two men jibber-jabbered about Zombies, dinosaurs, alien abductions and a mad old lady turned serial killer.

After a couple of minutes Chub stood between the two.

She pointed a dirty finger at Lemiwell Jones and said “You. Do what you came to do. Once it’s done you are coming with us.”

“but..” started Henry.

“Shut yer gob!” growled Chub. “Find a car for us to escape in. Once Mr Jones has killed…um .. himself(?) then we are all going to same Gus. Anybody has a problem with that then you can discuss it with my mates Lefty and Righty” She held up two sets of very sharp knuckles that may not have done much damage were it not for the fact they were coated in months of dirt and muck and for all their adventures neither Henry Hut nor Lemiwell Jones wished to get a tetanus jab.

Three short minutes passed before Henry heard the muffled BANG of a gun. His body twitched at the memory but he did not have time to react before the hooded figure he now knew as Mr Jones ran out of the town hall and toward the car Henry had procured for their get a way.

“Nice wheels” Said Mr jones.

“It’s Dr Malevolent’s.” noted Henry. “Seemed appropriate. I don’t trust him, but if he’s going to be in charge of this town he can start by walking the streets for a while. Where to Chub?”

Chub directed Henry to the edge of town. The car weaved in and out of traffic and before long it was clear where they were headed.

There was a sign by the road.

THE TOP SECRET HIDEOUT OF DR MALEVOLENT: NEXT LEFT – no salesmen.

Chub explained. “Mr Malevolent took Gus a few months ago. I was supposed to find the Professor but when I got to his house, you fell over me Henry. I thought you would be able to help me.”

“Why not ask for the Prof?” asked Henry.

“He’ll be there.” She said quietly.

The car pulled up in the car park.

The three of them ran inside the warehouse that was the (not so) secret HQ of the Doctor and his devilish plans of domination.

They were met inside by a large amount of darkness. Darkness that was broken by small flashing lights. Scientific lights on scientific machines that had large cables running out of them in all directions.

Henry, Chub and Lemiwell allowed their eyes to adjust and follow the path of the cables as they ran down the length of the warehouse.

That was until they came to a pair of feet.

Eyes stopped. Throats gulped in fear and dread.

Then ears popped at the single most glorious word they had ever heard.

“SCIENCE!”

It was Professor Procto. His arms filled the darkness as he spun in wonderment at the amount of technical gizmos and gadgets around him. “Isn’t it wonderful?” He asked nobody in particular.

“Where’s Gus?” Pleaded Chub.

“How did you get here?” Asked Henry at the same time.

“Over here.” Said the Prof, followed by “SCIENCE!” The latter response being aimed at Henry.

Lemiwell Jones followed in silence. It was just hitting him that he had caused his own death to save the future but something didn’t feel right.

The foursome followed the line of cables until they across a large metallic tube. The tube had a large glass window and inside was the body of Gus, Chubs mentor and only friend.

“Get him out quick!” Screamed Chub.

The professor unlocked the door to the large tube and together with Henry and Chub they helped the half naked man out of his strange prison.

Lemiwell stood back and noticed other lines of tubes reaching further into the warehouse. 

He followed the trail while the others fussed over Gus.

As he disappeared into the darkness his voice echoed back to the group.

“My God! Look at this!” said called back.

The group followed Lemiwells voice until they all stood together and viewed their worst nightmare.

They hadn’t known their real nightmares until this moment, as before them stood dozens of similar tubes to the one that held Gus.

Gus lifted his head to look upon the fate of Stockdale.

“My God!” repeated Lemiwell. “That’s Shabby… and his dog.”

“yes..” croaked Gus. “Dr Malevolent has been experimenting with cadavers. He planned on using my mind to reanimate these corpses and unleash them on the town.”

“The filthy bast….” Henry stopped mid-sentence as one of the many bodies in front of them twitched.

It was only a small movement, but when a dead body moves – nobody with any sense of self-preservation stands still long enough to see if it will do anything else.

“EVERYBODY OUT!” Exclaimed the Professor.

And out, everybody went.

The Professor joined them as they clambered into the stolen car.

“Let’s go before…” Started the Professor but he cut off by a huge explosion that cost most of the budget. (it really was a fantastic explosion, with fire of red and orange and flames and smoke and sparks and everything!!)

It didn’t take long for everyone to arrive back at Mrs Featheringays for tea and illicit Weetabix of the dry variety.

Mrs Featheringay listened, in that way that old ladies do, to the story of Henry’s time travelling, Gus and Chubs abilities and how the Professor blew up his nemesises…es(?) HQ and the troubling confusion of Mr Jones killing himself even though he was  still here to tell the tale.

“So we won’t be having zombies knocking on the door then?” She asked.

“No.” Said The Professor triumphantly.

“But the horrible Dr Malevolent is now in charge of things?” She continued.

“ah.. yes.” Mused Henry.

“But not for long!” Chirped Gus, who was feeling much better after his ordeal now he had eaten a bowl of irradiated wheat crumbs and had a nice cup of tea.

“What do you mean?” said Lemiwell, worriedly.

Chub shrugged in reply.

And Mrs Featheringay slapped Henry on the legs when he swore. “I don’t BLOODY believe it!”

And everybody laughed because it was the end of the story.

Death in Stockdale (part two).

Previously on Death in Stockdale:

Henry Hut has travelled back in order to stop the murder of his friend Lemiwell Jones who was shot whilst giving an election speech in front of the whole town. He has one hour to save the day....


"I don't believe it!" Said Henry, making sure to get his catchphrase in before he forgot about it again.

He bolted out of the professors room and flew down the stairs of Mrs Feathingays and out of the front door.

He didn't really have time to ponder the intricate nature of physics (specifically what happens when a moving object meets a stationary object) but nature being the fickle mistress that it is, Henry fulfilled that part of his destiny when found himself - face down in the pavement - having fallen over the crumpled figure that was....

"Chub." Said Chub, dusting herself down and raising to her feet.

"Eh?" Asked Henry, about as confused as confused can be.

"Me. My name is Chub and you are Henry Hut. No?" She shrugged. It was a thing she did.

"Yes... but..." Henry realised that he still sat on the ground and decided it would be best to get up.

"I followed you here. I need your help."

"How could you have followed me HERE?" Henry became slightly more confused that he was previously, which not an easy thing to accomplish.

"I know you can from the future. I lots of things. LOTS." Chub offered a small smile. It was not in her nature to smile. Life had not been the best of friends to this wandering vagrant. 

Having been kicked out of her home, Lenny Henry Tower, chased through the streets of Stockdale by hoodies and having her one and only friend kidnapped by a mad man was not really the best start in life for young girl (we won't even talk about the witnessing of a double homicide at the old abandoned fun fair).

Chub explained her predicament to Henry. She told him how she was taught to see the patterns in the world around her and this lead her to Mrs Featheringays front door in time for Henry to barge through.

"If all that's true," Blasted Henry. "Why didn't you bloody well move if you knew I coming through the door?" 

"I'm not an expert...yet." Chub look slightly embarrassed. "Anyway, I'll help you if you promise to help me free Gus."

"Who the chuffing flip is GUS?" Henry was running out of expletives and was forced to improvise.

"Gus is my friend. He showed me how to see the world as it really is. The patterns - everything is tied together Henry. Everything."

Henry Frowned. The clock was ticking and he didn't have time to argue with this little weirdo, instead he took her hand and together they ran to the town hall to save Lemiwell Jones.


Henry was not the only time traveller to visit Stockdale. The first traveller, who had come from Henry's future BEFORE he travelled back in time (very confusing but logical all the same) was hiding in Mrs Featheringays kitchen as Henry had stomped down the stairs just moments before.

He stood quietly in the shadows as Henry opened the door and fell on his face. Whislt all the commotion was occuring in front our unknown visitor, Mrs Featheringay herself shuffled into the kitchen from the front room.

Too old and frail to stand in a big drafty hall all day, she instead opted to stay at home and prepare some sandwiches and a pot of tea for everyones return.

"Ooh what are you doi...uurgk" She gargled as the shadowy figure grabbed mrs F and covered her mouth, dragging her in the living room where they could not be seen.


Time ticked and tocked, as it tends to do, as Henry and Chub neared the town hall.

Dozens of people were stood outside, finishing off their woodbines and stocking up on cough sweets (the kind that audiences always take before an important meeting to ensure that a fit of hacking up their lungs always starts just as something exciting is about to happen).

"Right." Whispered Henry from around the corner. "If you know everything - which one of these scumbags killed Mr Jones?"

Chub shrugged, as was her want. "I don't know EVERYTHING Henry."

"Then what DO you know?" He shook her, as if the answer would fall out of her pocket.

Something fell out of Chubs pocket.

Henry picked up a piece of paper.

"What's this?" he asked.

Chub didn't say anything. It was important that Henry figured it out for himself.

Looking at the piece of paper made Henry's face contort and wrinkle. "I don't get it. It's just a picture of a rabbit. What does that mean?"

Chub carefully lifted the picture from Henry's hands and turned it around before handing it back.

"Oh... it's one of those optical illusions... it's not a rabbit... it's a duck."

Chub raised her eyebrows expecting the soft of glow of enlightenment to hit any second.

"a duck....a duck?" mumbled Henry.

...any second now....

"Duck. oh DUCK!" and Henry ducked just as he saw his past self walk past with Lemiwell Jones.

Henry (the future NOW Henry that is) put his hand over his mouth. Even he knew that he couldn't interfere with his past self in case of causing one of those universe destroying events the Professor had told him about before he left.

"Good Luck Mr Jones." Previous Henry said. "Knock 'em dead!"

"Thank you Henry. This is were it all starts for us. Stockdale deserves a new beginning, a new future, a new..." Henry cut him off mid sentence.

"Save it for the podium Mr J." He said.

Mr Jones walked off to his spot inside the town hall.

"What do we do now?" Whispered Chub.

"What?" Questioned Henry. "You're the one who knows the future. You tell me!"

"I may know the future Henry, but you LIVE there!" She replied.

"Damn." she had him there. there was no arguing with logic like that.

Henry had to think on his feet.

"Erm..." he said "Give me a minute to think about it."

Back at Mrs Feathingays, the shadowy figure from the future-future had left Mrs F a little shook up but none the worse for wear. Having explained everything to her she made him a cheese sandwich and wished her visitor good luck and would he back for tea.
Her visitor had no reply.
Instead he had leaped over the back wall and made his way to the town hall to meet with fate.

Henry had a plan. He would not have said it was a good plan, but it was a plan and that better than no plan at all.

Chub was not convinced that Henry was coping very well with time travel but she needed him and she had to help Henry in order to save Gus.

"We will wait outside here" Said Henry. "When I see the killer I'll grab him before he goes inside. That way, Mr Jones won't die and I won't make the mistake of meeting my past self and everything will work out. Then we can go home." Henry nodded trying to convince himself that the plan didn't have more holes than a rusty sieve.

"but.." Chub was cut off before she could start. 

"Then... we can ALL GO HOME!" He repeated through gritted teeth.

"We just need to keep our eyes peeled for a man in a hooded toumphbloodyhell!" and Henry found himself on the floor again.

In a humpled, crumpled heap three bodies entangled themselves in knots before Chub managed to wriggle free.

Before her she saw Henry, his arms flailing and waving like a drowning spider. Surrounding him and equally failing to free themselves from the heap was the hooded man Henry has told her to look out for.

"HENRY THAT'S HIM!!" She screamed.

"Who, wha..." Said Henry before noticing the grey hooded top. Instinct took over and Henry threw a punch into the assailants head.

"Bastard." said Henry defiantly.

Henry jumped up, full of adrenaline and fear and rage and hope that he had saved the day!

"That's no way to speak to a friend now is it Henry..." said the killer standing up slowly. He turned to face Henry and Chub. 

Pulling down the hood of his top dramatically to reveal...

Mr Lemiwell Jones.

"But... I don't.... What the...." Mouthed Henry.

Mr Jones wiped a small smear of blood from his lip.

"We have to save the future Henry." Said Mr Jones.

"I don't believe it." Said henry....

Chub shrugged.


To be continued...

Death in Stockdale (part one)

The election was drawing nearer and the good folks of Stockdale had crammed themselves inside the town hall for last of the candidates speeches.

There had been lots of talk about who would turn up to speak. Rumours had spread like peanut butter about how the three main parties had all pulled out over confusions and arguments about the TV rights, but it seemed that nobody had bothered to inform any of them that tonights event would not actually be on the tele.

As a result there was not one single representative from the Cuntservatives, Blabour, or the Miserbale Lemoncrates.

This meant left just two men left to battle it out. Lemiwell Jones and Dr Malevolent.

The latter had won the toss before the night started and was currently finishing off his opening speech as our story enters it’s fifth paragraph.

 “..and is how I – Dr Malevolent will ensure jobs for all with my henchmen scheme, Free anti-aging cream for all over 65’s and a complete ban of people eating dry Weetabix! Thankyou Stockdale. The future is MINE… I mean.. OURS!”

Cheers ran out through the damp hall as the feckless sheep collectively remembered only the bits they wanted to here.

Lemiwell Jones stepped from behind his podium and gave a little nervous cough as he took his place before the microphone. “This is it.” He thought to himself. Followed by “…dry Weetabix? Why didn’t I think of that? Filthy buggers.”

A dry swallow and quick tug at his collar and Lemiwell began his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen… Friends… Uuurrghh!”

A loud BANG had shot through the ears of all in attendance caused at least one person to faint and another to loosen their bowels.

Everyone looked around a little confused. This wasn’t the kind of speech they were expecting.

Lemiwell Jones fell to the floor in a heavy heap.

One of the floor managers ran up to him and checked his pulse.

“He’s DEAD!”

Gasps echoed around the room and somebody else fainted.

At the back of the room Henry Hut (truth wizard) staggered back in disbelief. “I don’t believe it!” He said.

A strange figure in a grey hooded jacket ran past him and through the door. Henry immediately ran after him knowing that this must be the killer and Henry had to catch the murderer of his friend and mentor.

“STOP!” Henry screamed as he gave chase but the killer had disappeared into the shadows.

Security had gathered around Dr Malevolent and ushered him through the back door and back to his secret HQ at the top of the moors.

“My god!” he wheezed, out of breath. “What the hell was that?”

His number one henchman, Barnabus, said nothing and continued driving at high speed.

The net hour was a blur. Henry had run until he got a stitch (it didn’t take long as, like most conspiracy theorists, exercise only ever got in the way of searching for the truth) and found himself walking aimlessly through the dark and empty streets. He hadn’t even noticed it had started raining.

He soon found himself outside of Mrs Featheringays house for wandering gentleman of which Mr Jones have resided for the past year or so.

He knocked on the door and was greeted lovingly by the lady of the house herself.

“Come in love.” She whispered, putting her arm around the now sodden Henry. “The kettle’s on… I’ll fetch a towel.”

Henry walked into the common room and found the imposing figure of Professor Procto stood motionless, his hands held on his hips. “It’s about time you got here. We have work to do.”

Henry flew into a furious rage. “There must be something you can do Professor!” He pleaded. “Don’t you have some sort of machine that can bring Mr Jones back to life… or …or … a time machine or murderer finder-o-tron or something?!?!”

Henry had never gotten a fix on the Professor. He never understood how a man of SCIENCE could be so dismissive of Henry’s theories and thoughts about aliens and chem-trails and “big pharma”.

The Professor said nothing but ushered Henry up to his part time room on the first floor.

Professor Procto usually slept in his laboratory at the University and only used a room at Mrs Featheringays in order to perform some of his more “experimental” experiments. (it had something to do with the University’s insurance against high explosives and multi-dimensional creatures on the rampage).

“Funny you should mention a time machine Henry. I have at least one in here. I only finished building it last week and not had a chance to use it.” He said plainly.

“?” questioned Henry.

Through the door of the Profs room they both entered and the Professor pulled an old dust sheet off a large shapeless shape in the corner of the room.

“I’m going to send you back in time to find out who killed Lemiwell Jones.”

Sobriety hit Henry in the face like a wet sock.

Questions had to be answered.

“But.. won’t travelling through time cause y’know consequences?” He nervously asked.

Procto Shrugged. “Could do.” He said.

“There are three main possibilities. First of all, by travelling back in time you may cause something to happen that wasn’t going to have already happened in the past (you now future) and this will result in a time split, creating two parallel time at the same point in space/time may cause the universe to implode due to the weight of it’s own impossibility.”

Henry stared blankly as the words washed over him.

“Secondly, there is the grandfather paradox. You may end up doing something that will stop you wanting to travel back in time in your own future (the now/present or then/past depending on your point of view) and the total impossibility of this will cause the universe to implode.”

Henry still stared..

“Thirdly, there is the theory of predestination. You always will be/were going to travel back in time. You won’t/have not been able to stop the killer as it has/will be going to have already happened. Even if I send you back to before the murder, it will already have will be going to have happened. So there is that to consider as well.” He shrugged again.

Henry remembered to breathe.

“It’s why I don’t really bother with Time travel.” Concluded the Professor. “It just gives you a massive headache.”

The prof flicked a switch by the plug socket and the machine turned on with an ominous hum.

He machine itself looked just like a poorly made door frame but with some blue and red wires sticking out of the sides and some very futuristic neon lights flickering up and down the edges.

The Professor frowned. "That's odd. It's looks like somebody has already travelled back in time."

"How can that be?" said Henry. "You said you had only just made the machine."

The Prof tapped on the keyboard of the strange machine and concluded thusly:

"It looks like somebody from OUR future has already gone back in time to before the murder. We are locked out of that time frame."

It was now Henry's turn to frown. "But if they are in the future and have not travelled back in time yet, why can't we travel back there first?"

Procto mused on this logical retort and replied "Even though they are in our future, they actually travelled back into our shared past. This means that they are already there. If they are already there in the past they must have already time travelled in the future. This means that we are unable to travel between those two points."

"eh?" (that was Henry)

"It's quite simple. Time is locked out by the travelling of somebody from the future(point A) into the past (point B) any time between those two points is locked by that journey. Because we exist inside those two points we can only travel back to point B and no further... I suppose this cause a fourth time travel consequence. Extrodinary."

Henry was getting a bit fed up of being confused. "So what do we do then?"

“ Carry on as normal... But remember Henry, whatever happens don't…” and with that, the Professor pushed henry through the time machine ….

And BACK.

Henry awoke to find himself trapped in the past facing a mirror image that was not his own. Fearing that he may be infringing of the copyright of other time travellers opening credits, 

Henry quickly realised he was actually looking at a poster of Albert Einstein.

Grateful of not having to get a lawyer (just yet) Henry looked around the Professors empty room (Henry had travelled in time but not space) and decided to utter his famous catchphrase:

“I don’t believe it…..”

But Henry did not have the time to not believe anything. He had to save Lemiwell Jones from a fate worse than death… well from death anyway.

TBC…..

TWWBM - the beginning (part two)

“You have a brother?” said everyone in the room apart from Professor Procto.

“No?” said the Prof. “Wait.. Did I say brother?”

“Hell yes!” Said Henry.

“Henry!” Mrs Featheringay snapped. She was not one for swearing even though she had very nearly become a victim of her own mouth earlier on.

“Sorry Mrs F.”

“I didn’t mean brother.” Continued the Professor. “I meant to say nemesis. Dr Malevolent is my nemesis.”

The professor went on “Back when I was studying SCIENCE at the UNIVERSITY I shared a room with Malevolent. We were both top of our respected fields, although we differing views on how science should be used to help humanity.

Where I concluded that science should be used as a tool to shape mankind, making it stronger, smarter and more robust, he had the idiotic idea that science  and technology should be used solely to make life easier for everyone…. The fool!”

It was Henrys turn to frown. “I don’t understand Prof. What’s wrong with making life easier with machines and stuff?”

The professor pointed an accusing finger straight at Henry and said “See! My point proven yet again.”

“Machines make life easier. You don’t have to think anymore. Machines do all the thinking for you.  Until the day they stop. And then what will you do?” His rhetorical question hung in the air daring somebody to try and answer.

“What happened to him?” Mrs Featheringay could always be counted on to push a conversation toward its conclusion.

“It wasn’t long before He was thrown out of the UNIVERSITY for inventing a working perpetual engine.” Said the Prof.

“A what-what?” asked Henry, who was now showing himself to the idiot in the room (not that was any doubt from the others already there).

“Put simply a perpetual engine creates more energy than is needed to run it.” Interjected Lemiwell, who was the sort of person would could interject properly.

“Yes.” Agreed the Professor. “His engines output so only slightly greater than that need to run it, but still – that energy had to go somewhere. The longer it ran, the more energy needed to be released. If I hadn’t used my destroy-o-matic to ..y’know.. destroy it, it would have caused an incredible amount of damage”

“Is that what happened at the Orphanage?” Henry was now officially pushing his luck.

“I don’t want to talk about the Orphanage.” Said the Professor, blankly.

“So what is this mad man doing back in Stockdale?” Mrs Featheringay pondered.

Lemiwell and the Professor looked at each other knowingly.

It was Lemiwell who spoke first. “If he has sent one of his lackeys to spy on us, as Henry saw earlier, then it can only mean he wants to stop me from being elected next year!”

Henry huffed. “Maybe he’s not after you. Maybe he is after revenge on the professor for destroying his machine…”

“Could be.” Agreed the Professor very VERY reluctantly.

“Whatever the reason,” said Lemiwell “We have to be on the ball. Anyone of us could be in his firing line…. Even you Henry.”

 “Either way. Plans must be made. This is why group 8-10 was created. We have to stop Malevolent before he can put his plans into action….Mrs F?” Lemiwell pointed to the housekeeper in question. “Put the kettle on. We’re going to pull an all nighter!”

“I have one last question.” Said Henry.

“Go on.” Said Lemiwell.

“What does TWWBM mean?” he asked.

The professor took a deep breath and told him.

“Really?” Said Henry. “That’s a bit cocky isn’t it?”

Outside Mrs Featheringays house, The tall stranger known as Dr Malevolents assistant Barnabus, finished writing in his pad and walked back to the secret hideout on the edge of town.

Protruding from his pocket the top of his notepad could just be seen. As an imaginary movie camera zooms in slowly to the sound of ominous music some words could be seen.

Zoom even closer…..

There it is…

Malevolent's mantra: The World Will Be Mine.

to be continued.....

TWWBM - The Beginning (part one)....

The home of Mrs Featheringay was used to the intrusion of many a man.

It was not one of “those houses”. A house of ill repute. 

No.

It was in fact a house for wandering gentlemen who found themselves between bouts of fortune.

From travelling salesmen, to lost souls they all past through the doors of Mrs Featheringay and her warm welcome of a cup of tea and a quiet room of their own where they could weep in silent solitude.

Some visitors were made of sterner stuff. One such man went by the name of Lemiwell Jones.

Lemiwell Jones was not a weeper. He was a doer. A man made of manly stuff. Strong, thoughtful and  determined were the three words that described him best.

Big hands.

That was the thing Mrs Featheringay noticed the most. Big manly hands like Mr Featheringay had before he …. Well, that’s another story for another time.

Lemiwell Jones had a personal l history that was one of many a mystery (rhyming always makes things better) but while his future offered a glimmer of hope to all in the town of Stockdale, his present state was one of concern to the lady of the house, as we are about to discover.

Whilst sat surrounded by a mountain of paperwork, Lemiwell Jones scribbled furiously at his notes, attempting to write the most amazing speech of his new career as a potential local politician.

He had spent the past week knocking on doors, canvasing, hoping to drum up support for his campaign.

Shaking hands and listening to people was a big part of the job and it was something Lemiwell was rather good at.

He had the kind of face that put people at ease and a stature that conveyed confidence and honour and in no way made him look weak, ill and pasty, like most other Stockdalians.

The large grey cloud that hung over the town ensured that all who lived there received just under the recommended amount of natural light required to look “healthy”.

Clammy, dull flesh was the fashion in this town.

Mrs Featheringay walked through from the kitchen carrying a pot of tea and a tin of biscuits that were reserved for paying guests only.

“Here we go deary..” she chirped careful not to spill the tea pot. “A nice pot of tea to….What the fu…”

Her blushes were spared by the convenient cough of Mr Jones, who had good manners running through his veins.

“Ah.. yes. Sorry Mrs F. I’ll have all this cleared up in a moment.”

Mrs Featheringay composed herself and sat the tea tray on a corner of the table, trying her best not to topple over one of the many piles of paper.

“What’s all this then?” she spluttered, upset that her collection of doilies and place mats with printed pictures of cats and river scenes had been replaced with what looked like an OCD sufferers recycling collection.

“It’s flyers and posters for Henry to deliver around town.” Confessed Lemiwell. “He should have been here 15 minutes ago to collect them. I don’t know where he is.” He offered as an apology.

With serendipitous crash and fall, the very Henry in question came bounding through the front door and fell in an unceremonious heap in front of Mrs Featheringays slippers, just as she was wearing them.

“Henry HUT!” snapped Mrs F. “What I have I told you about running? You’re not Insane Bolt you know…” Said barked.

It took a lot for Mrs Featheringay to get upset, but things were getting out of hand recently.

Ever since she was introduced to the secret society that had tasked itself from keeping the citizens of Stockdale safe from unknown terrors, there seemed to be more un-paying guests wearing out her hallway mat than paying guests.

Mr Featherinay would never had stood for it.

Henry got to his knees and pushed himself upright.

His plump face was red cheeked and his streaming from running in the cold November air.

“I’m…. I’m sorry…. Mrs F….bu….. but I had to tell you….” He wheezed and panted.

Lemiwell stood up from the table and turned to face Henry.

“What is it boy?” He asked, resisting the urge to follow it with 

“Did Timmy fall down the well?” as this was no laughing matter – he could tell.

Henry gulped at the air as if it were made from chocolate. 

“it’s…. it’s…”

“Sit down lad… come on.” Mrs Featheringay cupped Henry’s arm and sat him down on one of the dining room chairs. 

“What’s the matter?”

Henry composed himself and said, “There was a large man checking out the house.”

“What sort of man?” Lemiwell said, quite alarmed.

“Well… large. He was making notes in a notebook and …” his voice trailed.

“What is it?” Said Mrs Featheringay, who although guilty of it herself, was not a fan of half finished sentences.

“His coat had writing on it…like a logo or something.”

Lemiwell frowned worriedly. “What did it say Henry?”

“Something like… TW something something…”

“TWWBM?” He asked.

“Yea, that’s it. How did you know?” Henry asked.

At this point of the conversation Professor Procto walked in the room from his part time lodgings upstairs.

“I believe I can answer that.” He proclaimed.

All eyes turned the super scientist.

Lemiwell jumped in first and said “It’s Malevolent isn’t it? He’s back.”

The Professor nodded.

“Indeed. My Brother has returned to Stockdale.”

Silence shoved itself into every nook and cranny as that last statement was processed by all in the room.

“I don’t believe it!” gasped Henry who was determined to kick start his ill-fated catchphrase.

To be continued.......

Mrs Featheringay's Handy Household Hints.

Hello dearies. 

I'm Mrs Featheringay.

I run a B&B in Stockdale, home to gentlemen of employment of many fields who crave a home cooked meal and room available at reasonable prices.

Over the years I have collected many helpful tips and tricks as part of my role as surrogate mother to the many men who have crossed my threshold.

Today I wish to share some of these with you, the public.

Please wipe your feet and don't touch the Toby jugs....

Mrs Featheringay.

• Make the most of the internet by using a computer

• Enjoy that coveted millionaire lifestyle by winning the lottery

• Keep cool in the summer by unbuttoning your top cardigan.

• Keep warm in the winter by adding an extra cardigan

• Reduce the strain of dusting the sideboards by filling them with Toby jugs and pictures of grandchildren that don’t call or write.

• Keep active in your later years by writing letters of complaint to the BBC,council, garden centre.

• Ensure carpets stay at the best by not letting anybody in your house.

• Post office queues are an excellent place to share news on your grandchildren, who never write or call, to complete strangers.

• Turning the volume up on the TV is a preferred method of letting your neighbours know your are hard of hearing.

• Don’t be afraid to break wind in company, it can sometimes be the only way to let visitors know when it’s time to leave.

So there you go readers, Just a small selection of proactive activities YOU TOO can try out to ensure a happy and healthy life.

These tips and many more will soon be available in my new book "You Can't Teach Your Grandmother To Suck Eggs (because you never visit or call) VOL:1" 

Thanks for reading.... Cheerio!