Arnie Jenks and the House of Strangers by Tim Bradley Read Free Book Online Page B

deeper into the sofa he could still hear her murmuring while she gently fanned the flames.

    *
    He had no idea how long he had been asleep before something caused him to wake. He sat bolt upright – his eyes shining bright.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    The Wounded Soldier
    â€˜Emily, where are you?’ Arnie searched about but there seemed no sign of her.
    Adjusting to the hazy light he walked tentatively towards where she had been kneeling. There was no fire burning and the grate had been swept clean. Everything around him looked similar though slightly rearranged. A bunch of red and pink roses in full bloom stood proud out of a tall fluted vase on the mantelpiece. He wondered if they had always been there.
    Bracing himself for the unexpected, he crossed over to the ornate glass French windows and gingerly peered out. Thoughts of Emily evaporated as he saw the snow had gone. A full moon was sliding effortlessly across the sky bathing the freshly cut lawn in a soft minty glow. Time had changed again.
    A sudden movement caught his eye. Was it his imagination or was there really something on the run, rapidly, under cover of darkness? Did he see it turn? Was it coming for him? He lost sight of it. And then it was there. Creeping out from the shadows – watching him. Moving slowly at first and then into a sprint directly in line to where he was standing. Faster and faster, gaining ground quickly – it was almost on top of him.
    He saw that the doors leading into the garden had slipped open. Gripping the double handles, he pulled them tight. They clicked securely shut.
    â€˜Whoa!’ he uttered, as he saw the fox on the grass – panting heavily, saliva dripping from its jaws. It looked at him slyly for just a moment. Then it was gone. Arnie relaxed and sighed.
    A face melted into the window, staring from over his shoulder. He spun round and came face to face with a knife.
    â€˜Don’t cry out,’ hushed the boy, pushing the serrated blade hard up against Arnie’s throat.
    â€˜You’re hurting me!’ Arnie’s voice rose as his attacker moved in closer.
    â€˜Then say nothin’ and I might let you go – but shout out and I’ll cut yer dead,’ he said, his soft country burr mellowing the harsh words.
    The intruder, pale and spindly, not much older looking than Arnie, struggled to keep his hands from being swallowed up inside his cuffs, as he stood there in a ripped and torn heavy leather coat and thin flannel trousers which overlapped workman-like boots. His short back and sides haircut revealed a vertical scar on his right temple.
    â€˜You live ‘ere?’
    â€˜Sort of,’ said Arnie, sensing the knife press deeper into his skin. His pulse thumped defiantly against the cold steel as he struggled not to retch.
    â€˜Don’t make a sound!’
    â€˜I won’t – I promise!’ Arnie choked.
    â€˜I mean it!’ said the boy. ‘One squeak and you’ll regret it.’
    â€˜I believe you!’ he said, his voice trembling.
    A second later, the knife relaxed and Arnie sagged and buckled backwards.
    â€˜Come away from the window! No one must see us!’
    â€˜What are you frightened of?’ gasped Arnie, rubbing his neck feverishly.
    â€˜Whoever be ‘bout,’ the boy said. Studying Arnie carefully he moved in closer, gripping the knife tight once again and pointed it at him threateningly. ‘Who
are
you?’
    â€˜Arnie Jenks,’ he blurted.
    â€˜Never ‘eard of yer,’ the boy declared. ‘What you doin’ down ‘ere?’
    â€˜Couldn’t sleep, that’s allowed isn’t it?’
    â€˜S’pose’ so – just ‘adn’t expected anyone to still be up. Being dark like, I thought they’d all be in bed.’
    â€˜Who?’ said Arnie.
    â€˜His Lordship and his Lady of course. Who else?’
    â€˜What are their names?’ Arnie said without thinking.
    â€˜Are you