The Beast and the Bethany Read online

  For Maureen Meggitt, a 511-year-old who

  almost certainly keeps a beast in her attic

  —J. M.-P.

  For Amy, my wonderful agent

  —I. F.

  The Purple Parrot

  Ebenezer Tweezer was a terrible man with a wonderful life.

  He never went hungry because all his fridges were piled with food. He never struggled to understand long words, like confibularity or pinickleruff, because he very rarely read books.

  There were no children or friends in his life, so he was never troubled by unpleasant noises or unwanted conversations. There were also no parties or celebrations for him to attend, so he was never hot and bothered about what he should wear.

  Ebenezer Tweezer didn’t even have to worry about death. At the time this story begins, he was within a week of his 512th birthday, and yet, if you were to have bumped into him on the street, you would have thought him to be a young man—certainly no more than twenty years old.

  You might also have thought that he was quite handsome. He had short golden hair, a small nose, a soft mouth, and a pair of eyes which dazzled like diamonds in the moonlight. There was also a wonderful look of innocence about him.

  Sadly, looks can be deceiving. You see, at the time when this story begins, Ebenezer was about to do a very bad thing.

  All Ebenezer did at first was walk into a bird shop. He then patiently waited behind an impatient person at the till. The impatient person was a small, bony girl who was wearing a backpack with two stickers on it. One read BETHANY and the other BOG OFF!

  “I wanna pet!” said the girl to the large, pleasant bird-keeper.

  “What sort were you looking for?” he asked in return.

  “A frog! Or a panther! Ooh, or a polar bear!”

  “ ’Fraid you’re in the wrong place. The polar bear and panther shop is down the road, and the frog market is only open on Wednesdays. We can do you a bird, but not much else,” explained the bird-keeper.

  The girl reached into her backpack and pulled out a flip-flop, a half-eaten cookie, two seashells, and a ruler that said PROPERTY OF GEOFFREY on it. She laid out all the items on the counter.

  “What kind of bird will that buy me?” asked the girl.

  The bird-keeper looked thoughtfully at the items and did some sums in his head. “If you give me the backpack as well, I’ll give you ten worms,” he said.

  The girl was very pleased with this offer. She shrugged off the backpack and handed it over. In return, the bird-keeper took out ten worms from his pocket and plopped them into her hands. The girl barged past Ebenezer and out of the shop.

  “Sorry ’bout that, Mr. Tweezer,” said the bird-keeper. “How can I help?”

  “That’s quite all right,” said Ebenezer. “I’ve come to pick up the Wintlorian purple-breasted parrot.”

  When the bird-keeper brought out the sleeping parrot, Ebenezer did not snatch it away. He waited for the cage to be handed over, and he stayed in the shop to speak for a while even though he was not a big fan of conversation.

  “This is a special one, remember now,” said the bird-keeper. “Only twenty of them left in the world. You ain’t the sorta person to lose him, are you?”

  “I won’t do that,” answered Ebenezer, shuffling where he stood.

  “You don’t get many of these around no more—took me a long time to track one down. Ain’t every shop can get you a real talking, singing parrot. Especially ones that sing proper human songs, instead of those tweety ones. These sorts of birds love an audience. You ain’t that sorta person what’s gonna keep it for yourself, hidden away, are you?” asked the bird-keeper.

  “I won’t do that,” said Ebenezer. He was feeling most uncomfortable under the bird-keeper’s gaze.

  “These sortsa birds need a lotta care and attention. They need love. You ain’t gonna treat it bad, are you?” asked the bird-keeper.

  “Of course not!” answered Ebenezer, in a high and shaky voice.

  The bird-keeper knew and loved each one of his birds, from the aquatic warblers to the yellow-legged seagulls, and he did not want to see any of them go to a bad home. He took a long, hard stare at Ebenezer.

  “I know exactly what sorta person you are,” said the bird-keeper, after a second or two of staring.

  Ebenezer gulped.

  “You’re a great bird owner!” said the bird-keeper. “I can see it in your face!”

  Ebenezer smiled with relief and handed over the money. He paid far more than the agreed price, as a special thank you to the bird-keeper for his hard work.

  He bid farewell and left with the caged and sleeping parrot. He climbed into his car and started the short drive back to his house. Just as he was parking, the parrot woke up with a large yawn.

  “Good morning!” said the parrot, in a distinctly unparroty voice. He spoke in low, chocolatey tones.

  “It’s late afternoon,” said Ebenezer.

  “Whoopsie-poopsie! Well. Good late-afternoon. My name is Patrick.”

  “And mine is Mr. Tweezer. Welcome to your new home.”

  “Whoa and gosh!” exclaimed Patrick.

  The “whoa” and the “gosh” were both the right sorts of words to say, because Ebenezer’s house was nothing short of extraordinary. It was fifteen stories tall and twelve elephants wide. The front of it had been painted red, and the gardens were large enough to host a dozen different tea parties, all at once.

  As Patrick looked up from his cage, he was filled with excitement. He was a well-traveled parrot, having performed singing tours in several countries, but he had never seen anything like this. He wanted to fly around every part of the house and take it all in.

  “Can I come out of my cage now?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” answered Ebenezer. “There’s someone I want you to meet first. Well, something is perhaps a better description.”

  Ebenezer got out of the car and took Patrick into the house. He headed up the stairs, carrying Patrick in his cage.

  “This thing lives on the top floor,” said Ebenezer. “And it’s very excited to meet you.”

  Ebenezer climbed the stairs, while Patrick took in everything around him. The journey up fifteen flights of stairs passed quickly, as Patrick looked around at all the beautiful pictures and antiques that lined the walls.

  “Try not to be scared,” said Ebenezer, once they reached the top floor. “It won’t like you if you are scared.”

  Ebenezer pushed down the handle of the rickety old door at the top of the stairs. It opened with a creak.

  He switched on the light. The room was not like the rest of the house at all. It was damp and smelled strongly of boiled cabbage. It was bare, save for the presence of a set of red velvet curtains and a small, golden bell at the end of the room.

  Ebenezer walked over to the curtains. He paused before drawing them open.

  “Don’t shout and don’t scream. It doesn’t like those sorts of noises,” he warned Patrick.

  Ebenezer drew the curtains open and revealed the beast. The beast was a big blob of gray, with three black eyes, two black tongues, and a large, dribbling mouth. It had tiny hands and tiny feet.

  Ebenezer was pleased to see that Patrick reacted remarkably well. He didn’t scream and he didn’t shout, Ewww, gross!

  After taking a moment to compose himself, Patrick said, “Good morning! My name’s Patrick.”

  “It’s late afternoon.” The beast’s voice was soft and slithery—like a snake made of feathers. “I want you to sing.”

  “What would you like me to sing?” asked Patrick.

  “Sing a song about me!” demanded the beast.

  Patrick paused for a moment. Then, he began to sing.
r />   “The beast has the finest house in the land.

  It’s so tall and long and terribly grand.

  Even the Queen, with her palace so wide,

  Couldn’t compete with the beast if she tried.”

  Ebenezer was impressed. The tune was pleasing to hear, and the lyrics seemed to make the beast happy.

  “The beast has a face, so useful and round.

  With three eyes to make sure lost things are found,

  And two tongues for licking all it can find,

  The beast is quite clearly one of a kind.”

  Patrick stopped singing. He said he was sorry that it was such a short song, and that he would be able to sing something a little longer once he got to know the beast better.

  Ebenezer let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the beast was smiling. The smile was wet with dribble.

  “That was beautiful. Tell me, are there many birdies like you?” asked the beast.

  “Oh gosh no. There are only twenty of us left in the whole world.” Patrick’s eyes filled with purple tears. He tried to distract himself from his own sadness by asking, “How many beasts like you are there?”

  “I am the only one, the last survivor.” The beast smiled as it said this. “It’s good that you’re rare. I like rare things. Come a little closer so that I can see you better, birdy.”

  The beast eyed Ebenezer expectantly. Ebenezer picked up the cage and brought Patrick closer to the beast’s three black, blinking eyes.

  “Closer,” ordered the beast.

  Ebenezer dragged the cage so that it was within three footsteps of the beast.

  “Even closer,” said the beast.

  Ebenezer brought the cage so that it was right in front of the beast’s large, dribbling mouth. The smell of boiled cabbage was now eye-wateringly strong.

  “Can you see me now?” asked Patrick, a little nervously.

  “Oh, I could see you fine the whole time,” said the beast, as it licked its dribbling mouth with its two black tongues.

  “Then… then why did you need me to come closer?” asked Patrick.

  It was the last question that he ever asked.

  The Unusual Request

  A wonderful life can turn someone into a terrible person. It makes you forget that there are people in the world who have problems, and this can stop you from really caring or worrying about others.

  So you can understand how Ebenezer Tweezer came to be one of the most selfish men who ever lived. After spending nearly 512 years without difficulty, Ebenezer had never really learned about pain or sadness.

  He found it impossible to imagine what these things must feel like, and so he didn’t feel guilty about feeding Patrick to the beast. He thought it was a shame that he would never hear Patrick sing another song, but he didn’t waste any time thinking about how horrid it must have been for the poor little parrot.

  Instead, Ebenezer went downstairs—all fifteen flights of them. He opened one of his many fridges and began to make himself a beef and mustard sandwich.

  The bread was made with the finest seeds, taken from the very tops of the Himalayan mountains. The beef and the butter came from Dolly, a charming Welsh cow who had won World’s Loveliest Udders for three years on the trot. Meanwhile, the mustard had been made using expensive white wine and rare black truffles.

  It promised to be a delicious sandwich. However, before Ebenezer could take a bite, the beast rang its bell. Reluctantly, Ebenezer set down his sandwich and made the journey back upstairs.

  The beast was waiting in the damp, cabbagey room. It was humming a song to itself—the same song that Patrick had sung.

  As Ebenezer walked in, the beast let out another happy burp. A shower of purple feathers came floating out with it.

  “Good evening,” said Ebenezer, offering a polite nod.

  “And good evening, Ebenezer! What a very fine evening it is, don’t you think?” asked the beast.

  Ebenezer was thinking about his sandwich, and about how much he was looking forward to eating it. He hadn’t given much thought to the evening and whether or not it was a fine one.

  “I said it’s a very fine evening, Ebenezer,” said the beast in its slithery voice. “Do you agree with me?”

  “Oh yes, it’s a very mustardy evening,” answered Ebenezer.

  “Mustardy! What do you mean by mustardy?!”

  “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to say mustardy, what I meant to say was… was…”

  “It doesn’t matter, Ebenezer,” said the beast crossly. “All that matters is that it’s a very fine evening. Very fine indeed!”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Ebenezer was too hungry to think of anything to say, while the beast was deciding whether it wanted to be in a good mood or not. After a moment or two, the decision was made.

  “Oh, I can’t stay cross with you, Ebenezer. Especially after you served me such a delicious dinner,” said the beast.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Ebenezer.

  “It’s so nice to eat something with personality,” said the beast. “The rusty taste of the cage was also a nice touch.”

  “Sounds like a unique flavor,” said Ebenezer.

  “It really was. Now what would you like as your reward?”

  This was how it worked. Ebenezer would bring the beast various things to eat, and in return the beast would provide presents. Diamond chandeliers, a witch’s broom, giant stuffed teddy bears—there was no object that the beast couldn’t conjure up for Ebenezer.

  “I would like a piano,” said Ebenezer. “And please could I have one of those baby grands—a pretty little one, which I can carry down the stairs. Ideally, one that will grow into a handsome, adult grand.”

  “Well, well, well, Ebenezer. I never thought I’d see the day when you would take such an interest in music. Would you like some piano-lesson books with that as well?”

  “Goodness no!” said Ebenezer, disgusted by the suggestion. “I am not going to play it. I only want to put it in the front living room so the neighbors can see.”

  “What a strange man you are,” said the beast. “But your wish is my command.”

  The beast closed its three black eyes and shut its dribbling mouth. It started to wiggle its blob of a body and made a low humming noise as it moved from side to side.

  Then, all of a sudden, the eyes opened again. The beast stopped wiggling, stretched its mouth wide open, and vomited out a baby grand piano.

  The piano was slimy with dribble, but aside from that, it was perfect. It was just the size that Ebenezer wanted, and it was definitely pretty enough to make the neighbors jealous.

  “Thank you very much,” said Ebenezer. He picked up the piano and marched toward the door. Then he turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s something else I need from you as well.”

  “And what might that be?” asked the beast.

  “A birthday present,” answered Ebenezer. “On Saturday it’ll be my 512th birthday, and I can already feel the wrinkles starting to come back on my face. I’ll need another of those anti-aging potions, please.”

  “No problem at all, Ebenezer. I’m happy to help.”

  The beast closed its three eyes and started to wiggle again. But then it stopped.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Ebenezer.

  “Everything’s superb,” answered the beast. “But I’ve decided to ask you to do something for me, before I give you this year’s potion. I want you to bring me another meal.”

  Ebenezer sighed. He wished he had asked for the potion before the baby grand.

  “I might not be able to get you another Wintlorian purple-breasted parrot,” warned Ebenezer. “There are only nineteen left in the world now.”

  “I don’t want another one of those, so there’s no need to worry,” said the beast. “I already know exactly what I want. And it’s something I’ve never tried before.”

  Ebenezer found this difficu
lt to believe, because he had brought the beast all manner of things to eat. During the last month alone, the beast had feasted upon seven pearl necklaces, an antique chest of drawers, two beehives, and a medium-sized statue of Winston Churchill.

  “Is it something rare?” asked Ebenezer.

  “It’s not rare, but it is rarely eaten,” answered the beast. “It’s noisy, it comes in all shapes and sizes, and it’s something that can be found in every country in the world.”

  Ebenezer thought for a moment, struggling to think what the noisy, common thing might be. He was never very good at figuring out the beast’s clues.

  “Is it some sort of trumpet?” he asked.

  “It is not.” The beast laughed a slithery little laugh. “I am severely allergic to trumpets. That would be the end of me.”

  “Is it a poodle? Do you want me to go to the dog shelter again?” suggested Ebenezer.

  “No, no, no,” said the beast, laughing again. “It’s not an object, and it’s not an animal.”

  Ebenezer was out of ideas. He thought that “trumpet” and “poodle” were both excellent guesses.

  “Let me put you out of your misery,” said the beast. “The next thing I want to eat is… a child.”

  A gleeful and dribbly smile slowly spread across the beast’s face, as it watched Ebenezer come to terms with the suggestion.

  “Sorry, but I think I misheard you there,” said Ebenezer.

  “I said I want to eat a child!” boomed the beast. “I want to know what one tastes like. I want a juicy, plump little child. I want to gobble it up in one oozy, squishy bite.”

  Ebenezer shifted nervously. He suspected the beast wasn’t finished yet.

  It wasn’t.

  “I want to know what a snotty nose tastes like,” it sighed dreamily. “And chubby cheeks, dirty fingernails, and nit-ridden hair!”

  The beast was breathless and sweaty with excitement. It looked at Ebenezer with furious hunger and energy in its eyes. Now, in a much softer voice, it asked:

  “So when do you think you might be able to bring me one?”