Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom Read online

  ‘Sorry to intrude, but surely, with all this space you can spare one allotment. I mean, look at that one,’ Fergus pointed to a green mass of weeds and brambles, ‘No one has tended that plot for years. I could have it nice and tidy by the end of the week.’

  ‘That happens to be the best bramble patch in West Yorkshire. In any case, your views on the quality of cultivation, with regards these here allotments are irrelevant.’

  ‘You must have a bit of spare land somewhere in this huge allotment. I can pay rent, as long as you don’t mind waiting for it.’

  ‘Again irrelevant, we don’t charge rent. Nor do we have any rules about regular tending, or crops grown - .’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Fergus, earning a suspicious glare from Dave.

  ‘As I was saying, we don’t have rules on who holds these allotments – ‘.

  ‘Even better,’ said Fergus.

  ‘If you’d be so kind as to let me finish. As I was saying there are no rules, except one. What Mr Trellis says goes.’

  ‘So there’s nothing stopping Mr Trellis letting me have an allotment?’ asked Fergus.

  ‘True, there is nothing stopping him, but then there’s nowt persuading him either.’

  ‘Look, I’m desperate. I need money and somewhere to crash. If you let me have an allotment I can grow cash crops and sleep in the shed. I can sort my life out. Get things going again. This would be a fantastic opportunity for me and I’d be a good allotment holder.’

  ‘Look lad, I can understand your desperate horticultural need, but you can’t go growing the sort of crops that generate substantial amounts of cash on these allotments. And you certainly can’t sleep here.’

  ‘I thought you said there were no rules?’

  ‘Except one,’ said Dave.

  ‘I wouldn’t be any trouble. In fact, it would be good to have someone here at night. Keep an eye on things, stop petty theft and vandalism.’

  ‘We don’t have any of that. We have superlative security staff.’ Dave paused and looked at Fergus. ‘Any road, how did you get past the dogs?’

  ‘They seemed friendly enough, well-mannered I thought.’

  Dave muttered something and seemed about to speak, when a female voice started singing ‘Rule Britannia’. It was perfect and very loud. It ended abruptly and all was quiet until the dogs started barking.

  ‘Oh bugger!’ said Dave, ‘Listen lad, come up here. You can wait in the pavilion while I go and see if Mr Trellis is around. The steps are over there.’ Dave pointed to the steps set in the terrace wall.

  ‘Quickly lad, Dave will be off for his lunch soon. Don’t break into a sweat or nothing.’

  Fergus broke into a jog and started climbing the steps to the top terrace. Suddenly he noticed his shadow in front of him and a green light reflecting off the steps. He turned around. In the circular courtyard below a green haze glowed. It started to turn lilac and slowly brightened.

  ‘Never mind that lad,’ said Dave, ‘it’s a local mirage effect, caused by the warming effect of the terraces and movement of the magnetic poles. Come with me, come on, quickly now.’

  But Fergus just stood there and watched as the light turned violet and then another colour, which looked almost violet, but was ever so faint.

  ‘Are you deaf?’ shouted Dave. ‘You need to get a move -’

  There was a claustrophobic silence and the air was thick as a woollen blanket. Fergus’s fingers felt like huge sausages and there was a smell like the taste of copper. He seemed to float; it was hard to tell as the strange light dazzled his eyes.

  Everything stopped then started again, Fergus’s head jerked, as if he missed a step and normality, of a sort, returned.

  In the courtyard were twelve very large men in dull black uniforms and round helmets. They stood at attention.

  Fergus’s brain boggled. He drew a deep breath and looked again. They were still there. The twelve figures moved; they ran fast, spreading out, turning somersaults, and leaping onto the first terrace in huge, unbelievable jumps twenty feet in the air.

  They started shouting.

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘Dave’s not here!’

  ‘Dave, Dave, Dave, Davey, Dave, Dave?’

  Dave sighed and said ‘Fart.’

  Their uniforms changed colour, one was bright red with black stripes, another dull green, and one a shifting rainbow with pink stars. Their pattern of movement changed, they converged and leapt straight towards Fergus.

  If the Olympics hosted synchronised jumping, these lads would put the gold medal winners to shame. From all over the terrace they leapt, one must have gone 30 feet in the air, and they all landed together in a neat rectangle. Every one of them dropped to one knee, bowed, and raised their right forearm to their foreheads.

  Dave Trellis, wearer of the scruffy trousers and owner of the bushy eyebrows strode towards them with half a smile on his face. He glanced at Fergus and the smile disappeared. One of the twelve giant acrobats stood up, rushed forward, grabbed Dave in a bear hug, and swung him around. Dave looked small against the huge man, despite his broad, six-foot frame.

  The rest jumped up and surrounded him, patting him on the head, punching his shoulder and even pinching his bum.

  ‘Bonkah Dave. Happy anniversary. May Rain Gods piss on you consistently,’ shouted the leader and laughed. His voice was deep as an ocean trench with a broken, almost Jamaican lilt.

  ‘Bugger off you bunch of juveniles. Get off me. Who let you lot out again? Can’t you lot learn to knock? I have company - profane company.’ Dave glanced toward Fergus.

  ‘Sorry Dave,’ said the leader, ‘but something coming, something big, we hurried.’

  The leader turned towards Fergus and gave a very slight bow and then said to Dave, ‘want me kill it?’

  ‘What? No, leave it to me.’

  ‘Want knife?’ The leader reached behind his head and from nowhere pulled out a five-foot broadsword. The sword whirled much too fast for its apparent weight and ended perfectly still, pointing directly at Fergus.

  Dave stepped over to Fergus’s side. ‘What’s your name lad?

  Fergus managed to say his name in a cracked voice.

  ‘Good,’ said Dave, ‘Fergus, I wish to introduce Enoch, first of the troupe, a Palaver of great renown.’ Dave turned to face Enoch. ‘This is Fergus, least of all, a human of unknown talent.’

  Dave nudged Fergus in the ribs, ‘Bow lad, don’t they teach you manners these days?’

  Fergus bowed and Enoch nodded in return. The huge sword in Enoch’s hand swept backwards and disappeared.

  Dave dipped his head towards Fergus and said in a low voice. ‘They won’t kill you if you’ve been introduced, well not without asking permission first. So shut up, do nothing and stand a few paces behind me.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ whispered Fergus, ‘This is crazy. Who are these people and where did they come from?’

  ‘I’ll explain later, just don’t go blathering, or running around; you’ll just die out of breath.’

  ‘All very nice Dave,’ said Enoch, ‘But no time, something big coming. Where are doggies?’

  ‘They must have known it were you and scarpered; sensitive noses them dogs.’

  ‘Funny man! I wake them.’ Enoch yelled ‘Arrrooogaaahh.’ It made Fergus’s ears ring.

  From all over the allotments twenty or so dark blue, not-Labrador dogs ran towards the group.

  Enoch burst out laughing. ‘Here little doggy dog dogs.’

  Enoch dropped to all fours and the leading dog ran straight at him, lowered its head, and smacked into Enoch’s helmet with substantial force.

  ‘Bonkah little doggy,’ shouted Enoch. He barked, growled, and grabbed the dog around the middle and they rolled around on the ground.

  ‘I thought you said there was no time,’ said Dave.

  ‘Heh heh, time for friends Dave, else why live?’

  Enoch
stood up and held out his hand to the lead dog. ‘You got it?’

  The dog dropped something from its mouth into Enoch’s outstretched hand.

  Fergus only caught a glimpse; it looked like a small silver cylinder with one end glowing bright red. Enoch handed it to Dave, who stared at it, sighed, and shook his head.

  ‘No. Not again. It’s almost the same day for pity’s sake,’ said Dave.

  Enoch looked at Dave; there was a determined grin on his face. ‘What else is there Dave? And who else decides?’

  Dave glanced at Enoch, who nodded slightly. For a moment Dave hesitated then he shouted, ‘Right. To the pavilion, parade order.’

  Everybody moved, except Fergus. Dave grabbed his arm.

  ‘Run, up there.’

  Dave pointed and pushed Fergus, who lurched into a jog, but soon sped up as Dave shot past him.

  Fergus was amazed. The top terrace was an Edwardian garden with a huge lawn and wide herbaceous borders at the rear. A big green pavilion stood at the back. Dave ran straight to the front door of the pavilion and disappeared inside. Fergus arrived at the veranda out of breath and sat in one of the high backed wicker chairs stood either side of the door.

  The Palavers, their uniforms now dark blue, stood at attention in two neat ranks at each end of the pavilion. All the dogs disappeared, except one that sat staring at the courtyard below.

  Dave re-appeared, dressed in a clean, pressed brown shop coat, grey muffler, and flat cap. There were pens and a small slide rule in the breast pocket, on the other side was a small row of miniature dress medals.

  The beautiful voice started singing ‘Rule Britannia’ again. Dave dropped into the other chair, which creaked.

  ‘Now lad, we are going to do a ‘Queen Victoria’. Sit with your hands in your lap, smile, and say nowt.’

  The courtyard glowed green and the light brightened through the spectrum. The strange floating sensation came and Fergus watched the courtyard below. Something appeared.

  ‘Holy shit!’ said Fergus and started to stand.

  Dave reached over, grabbed him, and stared into his face.

  ‘Sit down and shut up or I’ll get Enoch to cut your balls off.’

  Dave pushed Fergus back into the chair.

  Standing in the courtyard was a vast, demonic creature with two horns ending six feet above its head and green eyes like old glass. It towered over the well and made the courtyard look like a paddling pool. The creature’s skin had a smooth metallic sheen. Heat waves danced above it and there was a smell of burnt wood.

  The huge head turned one way, then the other and back to the group on the top terrace. It carried a box as big as a steamer trunk in one hand. In the other hand was a flag. A white flag.

  Nobody moved…

  The creature bowed slightly, held up the white flag for a moment, and then planted it in the courtyard. There was a sharp crack as a flagstone broke and the flag stood upright, moving slightly in the breeze.

  The creature bowed again and looked at Dave.

  Dave lifted his hand and beckoned. The creature stepped onto the lower terrace, avoiding the ramshackle sheds. Footprints burned into the earth and the air shimmered around it.

  The creature stopped in front of the top terrace, set the box down on the lawn and stepped back. The box opened and the sound of a full orchestra and choir singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ rang out across the allotments.

  Dave shot up, stood to attention, and dragged Fergus to his feet. Dave started singing and nudged Fergus until he joined in. The Palaver sang too; word perfect and with emotion.

  When the anthem finished, Dave sat down and pulled Fergus with him. There was an embarrassing pause while Dave tried to signal Enoch with eyebrows and small nods of the head.

  ‘Oi Enoch!’ shouted Dave.

  Enoch looked over, leaned forward a little, and pointed at himself.

  ‘Yes you, you clod. Perhaps you might want and go and look what’s in the box, being that you are in charge of the ceremonial guard and all.’

  Enoch gave a little nod and marched smartly to the centre, turned and marched right up to the box. He looked in, turned his head round, and with a surprised expression, nodded back towards the box.

  ‘Get on with it,’ said Dave and made little shooing gestures. He muttered under his breath, ‘Couldn’t organise a blow job in a brothel.’

  Enoch took some things out of the box, performed a smart about turn, and marched back. Enoch presented the first item, a case of Irish whiskey. Dave nodded and Enoch placed it next to Dave’s seat. The next item was a box of cigars. Dave placed them on top of the whiskey and took the last item.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Dave.

  Fergus peered at a plain looking book in Dave’s hand, its title ‘One Life, One Woman, One Shed’ by Dave Trellis.

  Dave looked up at the huge creature, still smouldering on the terrace below and mimed writing with his hand. The vast head dipped in a small bow.

  Dave reached into his top pocket drew out a battered biro, turned to the fly leaf and wrote the legend, ‘Best wishes’. He signed it with a flourish and handed the book and the pen to Enoch, who marched back and placed them in the box.

  Enoch stepped clear and the box closed. The creature reached down with one vast hand and picked up the box. It raised its other hand, gave a small wave, and stepped back down into the central courtyard.

  There was a sharp crack, Fergus felt like someone patted him on the back of head, and the creature disappeared. The bright spring day returned and the allotments seemed larger without the vast creature standing there. Fergus noticed the birds singing, smelt the grass and compost perfume, and enjoyed the quiet. He had little choice; he was completely unable to move.

  ‘Well that was a turnout,’ said Dave, breaking the silence.

  ‘What?’ said Fergus, ‘That we all survived?’ His voice cracked a bit.

  ‘No lad, my first book signing. So nice to meet a fan, in its case a huge fan,’ Dave chuckled and lifted up a bottle. ‘Bloody good Irish Whiskey and some top class cigars to match. Good job big fella.’

  ‘Was… Was that real? I mean, did that actually happen right here in Huddersfield? Everything seems like I’m watching a play. I feel like a cow on a motorway.’

  ‘No lad, it’s not real, you’re dreaming. Soon you’ll wake up back in your cosy, warm pit.’

  ‘No need to be sarcastic,’ said Fergus. His face was white.

  ‘You’re in shock,’ said Dave, ‘Hang on a minute.’

  Dave disappeared into the pavilion and returned with two heavy crystal tumblers. He opened a bottle of whiskey, poured two large measures and handed one to Fergus.

  ‘Sláinte, young man, welcome to the allotments.’ Dave beamed at Fergus and took a moderate sip of the whiskey.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Fergus and downed the lot.

  ‘Hold hard there, that’s 40 year old Irish whisky, give it a little respect.’ Dave opened the cigar box and offered it to Fergus, ‘Here, have a cigar.’

  Fergus giggled, ‘Heh, ‘which one’s Pink’.’

  ‘The use of song lyrics as part of civilised conversation is considered jejune in this here neck of the woods. So as I was saying, would you care for a cigar? It just so happens that they are my favourite brand and offering you one is by way of thanking you for not bollixing it all up back there… Actually, this is my favourite whiskey an all… How the hell did it know...? Bugger me.’

  Fergus took a cigar and Dave poured him another, less generous whiskey. A dog trotted over, sat in front of Dave, and yowled.

  ‘Too bloody right,’ said Dave, ‘But luck had nowt to do with it. The pen is mightier than the sword.’

  The dog gave short, low bark, almost a growl.

  ‘Oh aye? Like the ones you spend all morning licking?’

  The dog grinned then barked and yapped for a while.

  ‘Of course,’ said Dave and
reached into his pocket. He pulled out the small silver cylinder. One end still glowed red. He passed it to the dog, which took it in its mouth and trotted off.

  ‘Now lad, are you ok?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Not really,’ said Fergus, ‘All this… It’s real… It’s actually happening. I’m awake and I’ve seen a 40 foot alien monster in Huddersfield.’

  ‘Off world visitor,’ said Dave, ‘We don’t say alien – too emotive.’

  ‘Oh sorry,’ said Fergus, ‘how can you just sit there? We should call the police or the army. The government needs to know about this. We need to call someone. There are aliens, sorry, off world visitors, standing on your lawn.’

  Dave sighed.

  ‘Look lad, this has been going on for a long time and it doesn’t hurt anyone. It works. It may be amateur and disorganised, anarchy even, but it works. So leave it alone, just stay calm, and carry on.’

  ‘How come nobody knows?’ asked Fergus, ‘This is the biggest, most incredible secret in the entire world. Surely some investigative journalist or government department would find out.’

  ‘Firstly, the government couldn’t find its own arsehole with both hands and a hunting dog. Secondly, people do know, just like you. But as I said lad, it works. We can’t come up with anything better, so we leave it alone.’

  Fergus nodded.

  ‘But why here, why Huddersfield?’

  ‘Buggered if I know,’ said Dave.

  Fergus smiled, took a sip of whiskey, and gazed at the courtyard below. The peaceful scenery, warm sunshine, and alcohol worked its magic. His heart rate dropped, calm returned and the warm blanket of acceptance wrapped its self around his troubled mind.

  ‘Here, can I smell curry?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Possibly,’ said Fergus.

  ‘That’s how you got past the dogs.’ Dave glowered at Fergus. ‘Who put you on to that? Never mind, I just hope you didn’t give them too many. It’s bad enough when they get take-away, but those blasted pastilles cause havoc with the atmosphere round here. Mind you, it clears out the sinuses and keeps the greenfly down.’

  But Fergus wasn’t paying attention; he was watching the Palaver on the lawn.

  They were bouncing around and slapping each other on the back. Then Enoch shouted something and the whole troop joined arm in arm. They started high kicking like a chorus line and burst into song.