Snuff Fiction Read Online Free PDF Page B

had been curtained off from the rest by a greasy damask tablecloth. The uncle stepped to this and flung it aside with a theatrical flourish.
    ‘Wallah!’ went he.
    ‘Stone me,’ said I, in the manner of Tony Hancock.
    On a cast-iron pedestal stood an ancient aquarium and in this some of the queerest plants that I had ever seen.
    I was not at first sure that they were plants. They had much of the reptile and some of the fish. They were scaly and shiny and all over odd and they made me feel most ill at ease.
    As with all normal children, I harboured a healthy fear of vegetables. Cabbage put the wind up me and I lived in terror of sprouts. Parental assurances that they were full of iron had been tested with a magnet and found to be naught but lies. Exactly why parents insisted upon piling vegetables onto their children’s plates had been explained to me by Billy. Vegetables were cheaper than meat and times were ever hard. When, later in life, I briefly rubbed shoulders with folk of a higher social bracket, I was amazed to discover adults who ate nothing but vegetables. These folk, I learned, were called vegetarians and although they had enough money to buy meat, they actually
chose
not to do so.
    As one known for his compassion, I naturally felt great pity for these sorry individuals, who clearly suffered some mental aberration that was beyond my power to cure. But ever philosophical, I looked upon the bright side. After all, the more vegetarians there are in the world, the more meat there is left to go round amongst us normal folk.
    ‘My beautiful boys,’ cried the uncle, startling me from my musings. ‘Bring the bucket over here and we’ll serve them up their supper.
    I hefted the bucket and cautiously approached. Scaly, shiny, reptile and fish and with more than a hint of the sprout: whatever they were, they were clearly alive, for they quivered and shivered and shook.
    ‘Are they vegetables, sir?’ was my question.
    ‘Mostly,’ said the uncle, peering in at his ‘beautiful boys’. ‘Mostly sprout, but partly basilisk.’
    ‘Chimeras,’ said the Doveston.
    ‘Chimeras,’ the uncle agreed.
    ‘And they’ll eat this meat in the bucket?’
    Uncle Jon Peru Joans dug into his jacket and brought out a pair of long-handled tweezers. Passing these to me he said, ‘Why don’t you see for yourself?’
    The Doveston nodded encouragingly. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘it’s a big honour. Bung them a gobbet or two.’
    I clicked the tweezers between my fingers. Sweat drip-dropped from my eyebrows and I felt far from well. But I
had
paid my shilling and this
was
what I’d come for, so I plucked some meat from the bucket.
    ‘Arm’s length,’ the uncle advised, ‘and don’t get your fingers too near.
    I did as I was told and lowered a chunk of tweezered meat into the aquarium. It was as if I had dropped a dead sheep into a pool of piranhas. Nasty little hungry mouths all lined with pointy teeth came snap-snap-snapping. I fell back with big round eyes and a very wide mouth of my own.
    ‘What do you think?’ the Doveston asked.
    ‘Brilliant!’ said I and I meant it.
    We took it in turns to feed the plants and we emptied the whole of the bucket. The uncle looked on, nodding his head and smiling, while his crazy eyes went every-which-way and his fingers danced with delight.
    When we were done he said, ‘There now then,’ and closed the tablecloth curtain.
    I handed the uncle his tweezers. ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ I said to him. ‘That was jolly good fun.’
    ‘Work can also be fun,’ said the uncle. ‘Even Great Work.’
    ‘You were going to tell me all about that.’
    ‘Maybe next time,’ said the Doveston. ‘We have to be off now, or we’ll be late for Cubs.’
    ‘Cubs?’ I said.
    ‘Yes,
Cubs.’
The Doveston gave me a meaningful look. Its meaning was lost upon me.
    ‘I’m in no hurry,’ I said. ‘Good,’ said the uncle. The Doveston groaned.
    ‘Are you all right, Charlie?’
    ‘I am,