The Hen House





By Martin Alexander

© March 2001



Chapter 3

Sludge

Victoria dashed into the shelter of the first trees, nearly knocking over the silver fox, which stood in the centre of the half circle that the other foxes made. Their fat sides heaved with the unaccustomed effort, and Victoria was panting too.

The big red fox tipped its head to one side and looked past Victoria's silhouette at the figures on the other side of the fence. Its voice filled her head, deeper than the silver fox's, and now anxious rather than threatening. "Did they see us? Are they coming?"

They all looked terrified, ready to bolt straight off into the forest's depths. Victoria didn't say anything, but turned and gazed back from the darkness of the forest at the bright, cold world from which she'd come. The air was frosty-still and she could hear every word.

All three were standing in the doorway of the henhouse with their backs to her. Turnip again almost filled the gap, and The Hag and Sludge leaned around his bulging bulk to peer at all that silent desolation.

Behind them, the sludge-pits steamed, and the lorry with its grimy tank wrapped round with fat and spattered coils of corrugated sucker-pipes sat silent, waiting patiently to slurp the soggy sludge-pits dry.

"Bloody hell!" said Sludge. "Well, that's a mess! I'll have to get my other truck! It'll take all day to shovel all that up! And I'm supposed to get around to Slaughter's place. He called me up this morning, shouting down the phone. There's something up - I couldn't make out half of what he said. Ranting on about that bloody fence and all them bloody foxes gone berserk. I expect he's fed them bits of all them cows they had to shoot when Brinton had that fallout thing because them bloody pipes blew up that Slaughter's brother Mick put in the power station what he'd got from when the steelworks had to close." He stopped to breathe.

Turnip swung round. Victoria could see his unshaven face, all red and blotched with fury. "That bloody girl!" He pushed Sludge aside. "I'll murder her!" Victoria flinched and she could hear the foxes moving uneasily behind her. Turnip swiveled wildly round. "Where is she? What's she up to? What's she done? I'll bet she's gone bananas like her mum and chopped them chickens up! There'll be hell to pay when I get my fingers round her neck!" He roared and squeezed his eyes tight shut and his fat fingers found his sister's skinny neck. She squawked and choked.

"Here! Steady on!" said Sludge. "Get a grip!"

Turnip opened his eyes. He blinked and shook his head from side to side. Vic could see his cheeks wobble. He looked down at the Hag, who dangled helpless, clawing at his hairy wrists, and blinked again. And then he let her go.

"It's all right," said Victoria. She turned. The foxes stood tense and waiting. "They've no idea where we are."

She looked back out again into the light. The Hag had staggered limp against the wall, and Turnip strode purposefully out along the narrow path. His eyes were on the fence and Victoria shrank back into the darkness of the wood as though his little piggy eyes could see her standing there beside the ancient trunk of that big tree.

"Go back into the house and see if that bloody child has hidden there!" he yelled at The Hag. Sludge had leapt to catch her as she fell and they stumbled, Sludge slipping on the damp ground as he tried to hold her up.

The sticky bit of eggshell glowed bright orange like the sun against the dull, dark red of the red-brick path. Turnip didn't see it and never knew that it was there. His boot crunched down and then slid suddenly sideways. His arms flew out and Victoria's hands rose to her mouth. She pressed her fingers hard against her lips and she leaned sideways, willing him to fall with all her heart.

His arms were windmills and she saw with joy his gleaming boot slip off the path and dive into that awful steaming pool.

The Hag and Sludge stood, frozen, aghast, their fingers pressed like hers against their lips, eyes wide with horror as his enormous bulk sent a thick brown wave across the pond to splash great gouts of gunge against the truck's back wheels.

Victoria stood on tiptoe: he was gone. There was a delicious, still moment that seemed to stretch for hours. And then something horrible rose up up into the air. It was as though the shallow pond had come alive and risen in a human shape. The Hag and Sludge cowered against the henhouse wall as Turnip staggered to his feet. His mouth was wide and red against the brown; his great paws slapped against his face and tried in vain to drag the filth from off his eyes. He roared. His tongue stuck out and in the morning sun Victoria clearly saw a drop of sludge plop off his upper lip onto that fat raw slab of flesh.

Turnip spluttered, spat and pawed his eyes and staggered blindly to the side. Neither of the two against the wall could bear to help.

Victoria grinned and brought her body straight again. She felt against her leg the fur of foxes and their sharp scent rose. She was glad she wasn't in the yard to smell the Turnip's stench as he struggled in the pool.

He roared again: "I can't see! Get me out of here, you stupid cow! I'll murder you as well!" He slumped against the edge of the pond and his fingers scrabbled, trying in vain to drag his heavy bulk out of the pond.

Sludge reached out his hand and closed his eyes as the Turnip's fat fingers squelched against his own. He leaned back against the weight and Turnip came up out of the pond with a terrible slurping sound.

And then the voice was there again, between Victoria's ears, warm and urgent. "Come on! Let's go!" She saw the foxes move like silence into the darkness of the wood, looked briefly back at three filthy forms that staggered round the yard, and then she too was gone among the trees.



Back to the Contents Page

Back to the Previous Chapter

On to the Next Chapter



E-mail: Martin Alexander