Mirabelle smiled at him. She couldn’t help herself. There was something amusing about the studied seriousness of Odd’s face that contrasted so sharply with his boyish appearance. But, most of all, Mirabelle was delighted to see him. Of all the inhabitants of the house, Mirabelle’s bond with Odd was the strongest, though Piglet was a very close second in her affections.
As if on cue, there was a low, mournful howl in the distance.
‘He’s hungry,’ said Odd.
‘Isn’t he always?’ sighed Mirabelle.
She pulled the cart out of the larder, and it trundled and squeaked all the way along the hallway while Odd fell into step with her.
‘Morocco,’ said Odd suddenly.
‘What’s that?’ said Mirabelle.
‘I was in Morocco, and Tunisia, and a place that might have been Greenland, somewhere by the Russian steppes, and an island,’ said Odd, counting the places off on his fingers.
‘Sounds lovely,’ said Mirabelle.
‘Oh, and Gateshead,’ said Odd.
‘Why Gateshead?’ Mirabelle whispered.
Odd just shrugged. He reached into his pocket and took out a smooth black arrowhead.
‘I found this.’ He rummaged again. ‘And this,’ he said, taking out a lump of something yellowish and grey.
‘What is it?’ Mirabelle asked.
‘Soap,’ Odd said brightly.
‘You go around collecting soap now?’ said Mirabelle.
‘Only old soap,’ said Odd.
‘I see,’ said Mirabelle, smiling and shaking her head.
‘I don’t think I’ve anything else of interest,’ he said, doing another rummage. He took his hand out of his pocket and there was a delicate gold chain in his palm. ‘How did that get in there?’ he muttered. He frowned as he put it back in his pocket.
They walked in silence for a moment, then Odd said, ‘Do you think we should eat the visitors?’
She knew he was only teasing, but Mirabelle gave him a pained look.
‘I mean surely it’s a valid question,’ said Odd.
‘Do you want to eat them?’
Odd chuckled. ‘Not particularly.’
‘On principle?’
‘Oh, but of course,’ said Odd.
Mirabelle smiled.
Odd seemed to consider something for a moment. ‘I mean, we have vowed never to eat them, and, in truth, having spent some time among them during my many travels, I do rather feel a certain sort of benevolence towards them.’
They were quiet again for a moment, and then Mirabelle felt a rushing sensation, a sense of rightness.
‘We should help them,’ she said.
Odd pursed his lips and looked thoughtful.
‘We should, Odd. They’re not from the village, but that doesn’t mean we turn people away. Family or not, they deserve our help.’
Odd nodded.
They continued along the hallway with only the sound of the rumbling wheels and the squeaking of the cart punctuating the silence.
‘How is Enoch?’ asked Odd after a while.
‘Enoch is Enoch,’ sighed Mirabelle.
‘And you’ve been out and about,’ he said.
‘I have.’
‘Seen anything interesting?’
‘The outside of the house. The inside of the main wall. The garden.’
‘And you haven’t been tempted to go further afield?’
‘I’m not like you, Odd. I don’t have a special talent like yours that has to be indulged just because Enoch says it would be unnecessarily cruel to limit it. The rules actually apply to me.’
‘I see you didn’t answer my question,’ he sighed.
‘I’m not allowed to go further afield.’
‘Again, not an answer to the actual question I asked.’
They arrived at the long wide corridor lit by two dim yellow lights. Piglet’s deep moans floated down the passageway towards them. They reached the iron door moments later. It towered above them, twenty feet by twenty feet. It was decorated with various monstrous figures. Tentacled, horned, many-winged, several-eyed. All twisted and turning in a maelstrom of claws and teeth. Jagged runes were scratched in the spaces between the monstrous figures. No one really knew who had created the door. No one knew how old it truly was. But everyone knew its importance. Sometimes Mirabelle just liked to stand and look at it and try to take all the images in, as if attempting to interpret an ancient language.
She pointed at it. ‘I like to think this is a story of sorts. All these pictures.’
Odd tilted his head and looked at the door. ‘So you’ve mentioned before. Perhaps it is.’
Mirabelle whispered to herself. ‘But what the story is I can’t really say.’
She squinted at the images again. There was a particular figure that she always felt compelled to look at, though she hated it. Amidst all the teeth and claws was what looked like a bony creature with its flesh sloughing off, right at the centre of the chaos. It had a long face and empty eyes, and it seemed to be howling as it held smaller creatures in its claws. Its mouth was jammed with dozens of long sharp teeth. It looked as if it were bringing the smaller creatures towards its shrieking mouth. It was strange. It was the only image on the door that never failed to make Mirabelle’s skin crawl.
She pointed at the creature. ‘I wonder what that is. It looks horrible.’
‘Indeed it does,’ said Odd, looking both repulsed and thoughtful.
Mirabelle laid her hand gently on the cold metal.
‘Piglet?’ she whispered.
There was a sudden pounding from behind the door as something heavy drummed the earth, getting closer and closer. It was followed by an almighty clang and a deafening roar as the door shuddered.
Mirabelle smiled. ‘Piglet.’
She turned towards the cart, ignoring the howling and snuffling that came from behind the door, and spotted Odd motioning with his hand. A black hole started to open in the air beside him.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Mirabelle, a little exasperated.
‘I don’t know,’ said Odd casually.
‘Will you be gone long?’
Odd stepped into the dark portal, turned round to her and shrugged. Both he and the portal winked out of existence.
Mirabelle groaned in frustration. Behind her, the door vibrated as Piglet hurled himself against it, claws scraping the other side, howling and bellowing.
Mirabelle tipped the meat out of the cart and towards the panel at the bottom of the door. She turned the keys sticking out at both ends and flipped the panel down. Immediately there came a horrendous snuffling at the gap, and the frantic expulsion of Piglet’s hot, short, almost panicked breaths.
Mirabelle rolled the meat onto the panel, then flipped it back into place and locked it. She sat down and leaned against the door, listening to Piglet’s loud whimpers of pleasure, the smacking of lips, teeth tearing meat, splintering ribs.
‘How are you, Piglet?’
There was a response, like a dismissive groan, as Piglet concentrated on his meal. The snuffling and gobbling recommenced.
‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Mirabelle. She usually gave Piglet a moment as he ate, but today she felt a strange pressure in her chest, and the words were out before she knew she’d said them.