Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) by Wilkie Martin Read Free Book Online

set out for a recce.
    Still
no one else had arrived and we slipped and squelched through mud that would
have been ideal for a First World War movie, searching with increasing
desperation by the flickering light of a match for a signpost, or anything to
direct us to the facilities. I’d begun to get a very bad feeling by the time we
were forced to pee in a hedge.
    The
downpour started as we groped our way back to the tent, where we discovered
what a flysheet was for, how badly we’d put up the tent and how thin were our
sleeping bags. That night had been the longest, the most uncomfortable and the most
miserable of my life, up to that point.
    Having
finally got to sleep in the dawn’s grey light, we were woken by a grinning
farmhand who, roaring up in a tractor, told us, through tears of laughter, that
we were a month too early. By the time Baz and I managed to get a lift home, a
tedious process in the days before mobile phones, we were no longer on speaking
terms.
    I sighed. I’ve never been very good at
keeping friends, or making them for that matter. In fact, by then, my best
friend was either Hobbes, or Dregs, something I didn’t like to dwell on. Nevertheless,
hope was prevailing over experience and, having recently seen a film clip on
telly about Woodstock, the idea of sitting in a sunny field with a few beers
amidst friendly, peace-loving fans appealed and, maybe, my lovely woman would turn
up.
    Waking
next morning, after a sweaty night of broken sleep and hot dreams, I washed,
dressed and strolled down to the kitchen. Hobbes was already up. His eyes had
lost their strawberry look, though they still retained a delicate pink tinge.
He was growling to himself, eating Sugar Puffs straight from a large bowl with ‘DOG’
written on the side. Sometimes I wondered how much of his weird stuff was done
for effect.
    ‘Morning,’
he said, still snuffling.
    I
felt some guilt at my relief when he didn’t mention the stink of smoke or fly spray
or bleach. ‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Did you sleep well?’
    ‘Yes,
thank you and thanks for helping out yesterday. I really should take more care
with camels.’
    ‘You
should.’ I nodded. ‘Umm … what was in the vial? It seemed to have a terrible
effect.’
    ‘Mysterious
herbs from the East: Norfolk, I think. The lass makes it, and it does me a
power of good, though it tastes vile.’
    ‘It
didn’t appear to do much good.’
    ‘You
haven’t seen what I’m like without it. You should see what happens to my …’ He
paused.
    ‘To
your what?’
    ‘You’re
sure you want to know?’
    ‘Yes
… umm … probably.’
    He
shook his head. ‘I think it best that you don’t.’
    After
breakfast, he led Dregs and me to the car. I’d climbed into the back and put on
my seat belt before it struck me that it shouldn’t have been there.
    ‘How
did this get back?’ I asked
    ‘I
expect the car fairy brought it,’ he said, with a strange grin.
    I
think he was joking but I wasn’t entirely sure. One day, I probably would meet
a car fairy and many things would become clear. The thought had occurred more
than once that I was stuck in a dream, for there was no way someone like Hobbes
could exist and, yet, there he sat, as solid as a pile of bricks.
    We
left town, heading roughly in the direction of Skeleton Bob’s place, but Hobbes
said he was planning to ask around some of the farms and cottages in that area
and see if they’d noticed anything out of the ordinary.
    ‘Are
you still worried about the panther?’ I asked.
    ‘I’m
not worried. I want to know if there is any truth in Bob’s story – and I still
need to find out what happened to those missing pheasants.’
    The
odd thing was that, though he was driving, I could talk with him, look about and
enjoy the ride since he was driving safely, within the speed limit, keeping an
eye on the road. In a way, I almost found it more disconcerting than his usual
maniac style.
    We
stopped at several farms and homes in the