The Wooden Mile Read Online Free PDF Page A

middle of one of his funny turns. Bent double, full of hair with huge claws and saliva dribbling down his chin in a fevered hunger. Polished off the lot of ’em, he did. Well … all apart from one, anyway.”
    â€œWho was that?” inquired Stanley, his throat dry.
    â€œMe!” said Flynn. He pulled up his shirt cuffs. A deep scar ran around both of his wrists.

    â€œHad to have these sewn back on,” he continued. “Took ‘em clean off, he did. I’m lucky to be alive.”
    By now Stanley was shaking at the knees. “You, you’re … a pirate, and he’s some kind of werewolf, you say.”
    â€œKeep yer voice down, young ’un. The likes o’ me ain’t too popular round ’ere. They’ll have me off this island before you can say crab soup, and I got plans to stay.”

    â€œHow do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked Stanley, whispering.
    Flynn’s eyes sharpened and his nostrils flared. His face came closer again. Stanley
moved backward a little, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth.
    â€œDon’t just take my word for it, lad. Look around you. There’s an awful lot o’ clues about. This place is empty at night for a start. Nobody wants to stagger home drunk when there’s wolves about. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that bell ringing at dusk, the streets clearing, the villagers in the lookout posts. Ain’t yer seen all those sheep carcasses out on the moor? They weren’t eaten by wild rabbits, y’know. There’s a lady in the village, claims she shot a wolf one night, wandering about in the square. Next morning Cake was limping about like an old woman.
    â€œAnd why do you think all the dogs have got missing legs? They’re the ones that got away!”

    Just then Silver sniffed at Stanley’s leg under the table and touched him with a cold wet nose. Stanley jumped so far he fell backward onto the floor. He made his excuses and left the inn. “Thank you, Mr. Flynn,” he said. “I’ll see you again maybe.”
    Stanley set off across the hill with his head in a spin. He would make his way back to the house across the moor without going down into the village. For once he was keen to get home before the night drew in, and it was nothing to do with Mrs. Carelli.
    And as he walked, he wondered. Something struck him, something the pike had said. “Beware of the lady who lives in the water.”
    And he recalled the mermaid on Flynn’s neck.

6
    Old Sea Dogs
    The more Stanley thought about William Cake and Randall Flynn, the more ridiculous the whole thing seemed.
    Randall Flynn is just a drunkard who wishes he’d been a pirate and makes up tales when he’s had a few and William Cake is just … well, he’s just a funny little old shopkeeper and people always make up stories
about funny little old shopkeepers and that Mr. Flynn should be ashamed of himself.
    This is what Stanley imagined Mrs. Carelli would say about the whole thing—except that he had promised not to say a word about what had been discussed, so perhaps he would never know.
    Up until now Stanley could have chosen to ignore the bizarre incidents that were going on around him and stay out of trouble. But circumstances were about to determine that he would become very deeply involved.
    This is how they unfolded.
    He was looking out over the harbor when Silver appeared with a piece of paper in his mouth and placed it in Stanley’s lap before scampering off.
    The note said:

    Well, it wasn’t a party invite, that was obvious. Stanley decided he had better be there and in the next half hour he was climbing the hill that steered up to the inn.
    The inn was an old building, with beams and a steep roof. The windows were small and the sign that hung over the door bore a picture of a fat-faced pirate. He had a patch over his eye and a large knife held between smiling