
The cold, foggy air hung like a sullen blanket, clinging stubbornly to everything that it touched. Even before he set off on his rounds, Winston Oldspot, the Night-Soil Man, could feel the icy dampness sinking through his clothing and into his bones, but for once he did not care; Mr Squash had returned to Hopeless!
Standing on his doorstep, at The House at Poo Corner, Winston smiled, and his heart gave a little leap, as he watched the huge and familiar figure emerge from between a tangle of twisted trees. It had been no more than a couple of months since the Sasquatch had left the island of Hopeless, Maine, but Winston had missed his company terribly.
“Oh – hello Mr Squash,” he said nonchalantly, “I heard that you were back.”
Being only sixteen, Winston felt that to have shown any semblance of excitement or emotion would have been decidedly uncool.
“It’s darned good to see you, youngster,” boomed Mr Squash. throwing his great arms around the Night-Soil Man, and giving him a joyful hug. When you are more than half a millenium old, worries about trivial stuff, such as appearing to be cool, cease to be an issue.
“Steady on old chap,” said Reggie Upton, who, so far, had remained unseen, standing as he was, quite literally, in Mr Squash’s shadow. “I’ve still got the bruises from when you gave me a hug on Christmas Eve.”
“I’m fine, honestly,” declared Winston, quietly wincing in the darkness.
With the pleasantries over, the three friends set off into the night, their conversation only ceasing temporarily for Winston to service the occasional privy.
Reggie related to the Sasquatch how Philomena had destroyed his mystic portal to Tibet, in her battle with the evil lama, Dawasandup.
“Not to worry, I can always make another portal to the Himalayas, and put it somewhere other than Hopeless,” said Mr Squash. “They’re not that difficult to do. At least Dawasandup wont be able to come back and cause any more mischief.”
“No, he jolly well won’t,” chuckled Reggie. “The blighter was last seen being eaten by a demon of some sort or another.”
“Oh dear. How very sad,” lamented a deadpan Mr Squash.
Winston’s next client was the hermit who lived in a mausoleum-like cottage on Ghastly Green. Long before the trio came within sight of the building, they could hear the hermit’s pet raven, Lenore. She was perched on one of the many statues that stood in the garden, and was raising the alarm by calling the hermit’s name.
“Neville Moore, Neville Moore,” she cawed (though, on second thoughts, she might well have been quothing).
Neville came out onto his doorstep and waved.
“Nothing for you tonight, Winston,” he shouted. “Unfortunately, my old trouble seems to have returned.”
“Hello Neville. I picked some senna leaves when I was in the tropics last month,” Mr Squash called back. “I’ll bring them over in the morning.”
Neville gave a thumbs-up and shuffled back into his cottage.
“By Jove,” said Reggie, admiringly. “The tropics, eh? You seem to manage to get around quite a bit, old chap.”
Mr Squash frowned.
“Indeed,” he admitted, “But I won’t be doing anything like as much travelling in the future.”
After seeing Winston safely back to his home, Reggie and Mr Squash made their way to The Squid and Teapot. It was the wee, small hours of the morning, and they found the inn to be in darkness, and wrapped in a silence that was broken only by the raucous rattle of Drury’s snores, which emitted from the general direction of the snuggery. Even the Tomte was taking a nap.
“Are you sure you won’t come in?” asked Reggie. “It looks as though there’s a storm brewing.”
“I’ll be fine,” replied Mr Squash. “I’ve been living outdoors since before Columbus came to the Americas. Anyway, I feel safer being here than I have for a long time.”
“Really?”
Reggie couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Why on earth would a chap like you ever feel unsafe?”
“I’m being hunted,” said the Sasquatch, after a pause. “Wherever I go, there seems to be someone wanting to trap me. They bang stones on tree trunks, and make unearthly whooping noises. The fools believe that I’ll wander along to investigate, then they can nab me. For reasons that are beyond me, they even take plaster casts of my footprints, would you believe? At least on Hopeless I don’t feel as though I’m being pursued all of the time. This island has become my sanctuary.”
“Dashed scallywags,” fumed Reggie. “Do they never bother your relatives?”
“They would if they could,” said Mr Squash, bitterly, “but my folks all live in the far northwest, deep in forests where few humans have ever ventured.The truth is, they’ve banished me, and said that I would bring them only trouble. It’s my own fault, I suppose – I’ve always had itchy feet and been keen to explore the world. That’s why I made all of those portals, and look what good that has done for me!”
“If it’s any consolidation, old chap,” said Reggie, “we’ll all be more than happy, I’m sure, to have you lying low on Hopeless for a spell.”
“That’s comforting to know,” said the Sasquatch, “but I’ll have to slip out secretly, now and then, for some provisions. To be honest, I don’t like the diet on the island. I’m a herbivore, and there’s not a lot for me to eat here.”
“So you’ll be popping through a portal, now and then, to go shopping?” asked Reggie, suddenly excited.
“Well, not shopping, exactly…” began Mr Squash, wondering where this was going.
“Splendid!” exclaimed Reggie, not really listening. ”I’ll get a list together. There are a few things that we could do with around here.”
Mr Squash sighed.
He hoped that this plan wasn’t going to prove to be more trouble than it was worth.