Inside the Worm by Robert Swindells Page A

his balding head. Fliss takes the last slice of toast from the rack and begins to butter it. Her knife makes a scratchy sound on the toast. The
Star
is lowered slightly. Her father glares at her over the top of it. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. ‘Sorry,’ murmurs Fliss. She butters more quietly. The
Star
rises to its former position. Silence, which Mr Morgan breaks with a scornful laugh. His wife and daughter glance up, waiting to know what’s funny. Without lowering the paper, Mr Morgan begins to read aloud. Flisswonders how he knows they’re listening.
    â€˜Park Keeper Percy Waterhouse called the police on Sunday morning when he found his formerly beautiful garden had been wrecked in the night. When the constabulary arrived at the scene, huge reptilian footprints were found all over the Keeper’s tulip beds. A veterinarian who examined the prints dismissed them as a hoax, and a police spokesman told our reporter, “We don’t get a lot of large reptiles in Elsworth.” However, when our reporter spoke with Mr Ronnie Millhouse, a resident of the park, Mr Millhouse claimed to have seen a large dragon there only a few nights ago. Most people would doubtless be inclined to discount this evidence, but before doing so they ought perhaps to consider the following: Elsworth once played host to a very large reptile indeed. This reptile was no hoax – it ate people. The beast was never killed – it was simply banished to the fen. This was exactly one thousand years ago. This week the people of Elsworth are celebrating its banishment.
    Prematurely—?’
    Mr Morgan stops reading. The silence lasts several seconds.
    â€˜Go on,’ says Mrs Morgan.
    â€˜That’s it,’ her husband tells her. ‘There’s no more.’
    â€˜What an odd story,’ says Mrs Morgan.
    â€˜Damned silly if you ask me,’ growls Mr Morgan. They both chuckle.
    Fliss does not.
    Because of the impromptu run-through for the vicar on Monday, Tuesday’s rehearsal was cancelled. Fliss was glad. She couldn’t get the
Star
story out of her head. Common sense told her that Gary and the others must have been on the rampage again, but would they dare do such a dreadful thing? And what about the prints? How had they managed those? She longed to ask Lisa but knew she mustn’t. Lisa wouldn’t tell her anyway. From time to time during that seemingly endless day she watched Lisa and the other three, hoping they’d give themselves away by some word or expression but, though the dragon story was the chief topic of playground conversation, she detected nothing which might indicate their guilt in the affair. She discussed it at lunchtime with Vicky, who said it couldn’t have been them – the footprints would have been far too difficult to fake.
    Nevertheless, Fliss worried. She worried all day at school, and all evening, moping around at home. Finally, at nine o’clock, she could stand itno longer. She should have been thinking about going to bed, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep till she knew what had happened Saturday night in the park. Her parents exchanged glances when their daughter announced that she fancied a pizza takeaway and got into her jacket, but the takeaway was only round the corner. ‘Don’t be long, dear,’ was all her mother said, and her father chipped in with, ‘And don’t talk to any strange men.’
    She reached Trot’s gateway and hesitated. Suppose Trot and the others weren’t here? She knew they met most evenings, but maybe not tonight. Well, she told herself, if they’re not here I’ll knock on the door and ask to see Trot. I’ll tackle him head on – ask him straight out whether he and the others wrecked the Keeper’s flowers, and how they made the prints. It might even be easier if he’s by himself. I’ll swear not to tell on them, if only he’ll set my mind at