Dicing with Death by Beth Chambers

Chapter One
    â€˜Mummeeee!’ Amy screamed.
    Max winced. His little sister had the ability to reach a glass-shattering decibel level.
    Amy stood in the doorway, her mouth open, her eyes wide.
    There were bits of doll everywhere. A severed head swung gently from the light shade.
    Max snapped his fingers at their dog Toby, who was playing catch with a plastic leg. Toby ignored Max completely and trotted over to Amy. Saliva drooled from his mouth as he proudly spat out the torso of a well-chewed doll.
    Max covered his ears as Amy gave another scream. This one wouldn’t stop at shattering glass – it could probably bring down entire buildings.
    â€˜I’m telling Mum!’ Amy stamped hard on Max’s foot and marched out of the door. Max didn’t bother going after her. He knew without fail that hewould get the blame for Toby sneaking into Amy’s room and decimating her dolls. Whatever he said, his mother would take Amy’s side.
    Max was more wound up about it than usual because so far he’d babysat every day of the Christmas holidays.
    A door banged somewhere downstairs.
    â€˜Maximus, you get down these stairs right now.’ His mother sounded beyond annoyed. ‘I’ve only got a half-hour lunch break. I’m going to be late back to work. The last thing I need is you winding up your sister!’
    Max ran his fingers through his short black hair to flatten the spikes that had a mind of their own. He had a quick peek in the mirror to check that he was wearing his most innocent expression. He had a range of them – this one was called,
Who me? Never!
    Twenty minutes later Max headed down the street with Amy in tow. His sister had refused to go anywhere near Toby since the doll incident, so he’d had to leave the dog at home. He walked quickly, knowing that Amy’s little legs would have to jog to keep up.
    â€˜What’s the matter, Max?’ Amy called.
    â€˜Everything,’ he said shortly.
    Angry thoughts zoomed around his head. He could pinpoint exactly when everything had started to go wrong. It had been seven years ago, when his dad had walked out.
    No, slunk out
, Max thought, kicking a stone,
and not just down the road. Ooh nooo. Dad’s got to head off to New Zealand on my fifth birthday. While I’m at Nan’s blowing out candles, he’s at home, packing his bags and blowing out his family
.
    Max had only ever seen his mother cry once, and that was when she had read the note his dad had left on the kitchen table. After that she had put on a brave, although frequently stressed, face, and they had got along just fine.
    That was before she had met David.
    â€˜Where we going, Max?’ Amy tugged on his coat.
    â€˜The woods,’ he muttered.
    â€˜Can I go piggy bank?’ she continued, undaunted by his mood.
    â€˜I told you before, it’s called a piggy back,’ snapped Max.
    â€˜Can I go piggy back then?’
    â€˜No.’ But he slowed down so that she no longer had to jog to keep up.
    He had been seven when David had barged into their lives. By the time he was nine his mother had married David and, if that wasn’t bad enough, delivered Amy as a small, mewling rug-rat.
    Reaching the end of the street Max squeezed through a hole in some old fencing and scrambled down an overgrown bank into the forest. He turned to wait while Amy slowly inched her way through the gap.
    â€˜Hurry up,’ he urged as she caught her pink jacket on a splinter.
    â€˜Max, it’s torn!’ she wailed.
    â€˜No it’s not. Look, if I just snap the thread like this…’ he began. What had been a small snag in the sleeve suddenly became a hole large enough to wiggle his finger in.
    Amy shrieked.
    Max hid a grin. ‘Whoops!’
    â€˜I want to go to the den.’ Amy sniffed.
    Max pretended not to hear. He turned and crunched along the pine needle strewn path. The den was his private place. He’d built it deep in