Come on.’
Again he led them on, down a maze of corridors that dipped first one way, then the other. To either side, they passed rooms with little or no furnishings: a broken chair here, a leaning wardrobe there. In one room stood an old Victorian bath, with a tap that appeared to be dripping blood. Ralph was relieved to see another decorator pop up behind it, wielding a brush and a tin of red paint. What was going on here? He caught up with Tom and was about to pose the question when he heard a spooky rattle of chains. He stopped with a jolt. Tom and the others, too.
‘What was that?’ asked Penny, lifting her gaze.
The rattle came again, followed by the transiting thud of feet across a ceiling that barely seemed able to support them. Then a wail broke out and a man’s voice cried: ‘Melt the heater!’
Or something like it. That was the best fit Ralph could manage. The voice was far away and woefully distressed. ‘Is that another g-ghost?’ he asked.
‘We’re not sure,’ said Tom, drawing them further down the corridor, until they paused beside a rounded wall. In the centre of the wall was a heavy wooden door. It was smaller than average and arched at its peak. Arm-width bands of rusting metal, each with an iron stud at their centre, criss-crossed over its four main panels. Ralph took it as a sign that he shouldn’t enter and was quietly relieved when Tom said, ‘It’s locked. We don’t have a key. It leads to the tower room, we think. At night, from outside, we can see a candle burning. So there’s definitely someone – or something – in there. Mrs Spink, one of the people you’ll meet in a minute, thinks it might be Miriam’s ‘partner’. She has what she calls ‘psychic intuitions’.’
Penny shuddered. The movement kept a small amount of colour in her face.
‘I reckon it’s a madman,’ Kyle muttered, narrowing his eyes as the manic screech of a madman’s laughter seeped through the door and jangled their bones.
‘Pelt the preacher!’ the crazed voice moaned.
Or something close that rhymed with that. Ralph couldn’t guess and he didn’t want to think. He didn’tlike this place. If his guts weren’t happily twisting with terror, his brain was kicking his stomach into touch. He slumped against the far wall, dizzy with fright, suffering the instantaneous nausea that only a certain kind of dread can bring: the fear of the imagined, the nameless unknown. Darkness swept over him like a cloak. Within five seconds, the surge of panic had become too much, and before Tom could steady him, he’d completely blacked out.
About Miniville
When he came to, he was lying on a mattress underneath a pair of rough cotton sheets. At least, that’s what it felt like at first. A quick dig revealed that the ‘sheets’ were actually tissue paper and the ‘mattress’ was one of the sponge-backed scouring pads Jack had cadged out of Penny’s kitchen cupboards, both shrunk down to a size appropriate for mini-people to sleep on. Looking round, Ralph could see lots of other mini ‘beds’, laid out like graves around the walls of the room. It reminded him of scout camp – the horror film version. Welcome to Miniville, Master Perfect.
He was in a high-ceilinged, rectangular room. Directly above him, a broken chandelier hung down at an angle from a plaster rose. It was cold and the air was ugly with damp. The tall balcony windows were closed, but a draught from a broken pane was clashing with the flames of a small log fire, burning smokily in the large Gothic fireplace. Several miniones were hunkering in front of it, including Tom, Neville and Penny. Ralph sat upright, preparing to call to them, when a younger figure stepped in front of him.
‘Fancy a bite to eat, Rafe ?’ It was Kyle Salter. He broke what looked like the shell of a candy sweet and skimmed it into the middle of Ralph’s chest. ‘Get used to it, old bean . Menu’s kind of limited.’
Ralph let it bounce and refused to pick it
Again he led them on, down a maze of corridors that dipped first one way, then the other. To either side, they passed rooms with little or no furnishings: a broken chair here, a leaning wardrobe there. In one room stood an old Victorian bath, with a tap that appeared to be dripping blood. Ralph was relieved to see another decorator pop up behind it, wielding a brush and a tin of red paint. What was going on here? He caught up with Tom and was about to pose the question when he heard a spooky rattle of chains. He stopped with a jolt. Tom and the others, too.
‘What was that?’ asked Penny, lifting her gaze.
The rattle came again, followed by the transiting thud of feet across a ceiling that barely seemed able to support them. Then a wail broke out and a man’s voice cried: ‘Melt the heater!’
Or something like it. That was the best fit Ralph could manage. The voice was far away and woefully distressed. ‘Is that another g-ghost?’ he asked.
‘We’re not sure,’ said Tom, drawing them further down the corridor, until they paused beside a rounded wall. In the centre of the wall was a heavy wooden door. It was smaller than average and arched at its peak. Arm-width bands of rusting metal, each with an iron stud at their centre, criss-crossed over its four main panels. Ralph took it as a sign that he shouldn’t enter and was quietly relieved when Tom said, ‘It’s locked. We don’t have a key. It leads to the tower room, we think. At night, from outside, we can see a candle burning. So there’s definitely someone – or something – in there. Mrs Spink, one of the people you’ll meet in a minute, thinks it might be Miriam’s ‘partner’. She has what she calls ‘psychic intuitions’.’
Penny shuddered. The movement kept a small amount of colour in her face.
‘I reckon it’s a madman,’ Kyle muttered, narrowing his eyes as the manic screech of a madman’s laughter seeped through the door and jangled their bones.
‘Pelt the preacher!’ the crazed voice moaned.
Or something close that rhymed with that. Ralph couldn’t guess and he didn’t want to think. He didn’tlike this place. If his guts weren’t happily twisting with terror, his brain was kicking his stomach into touch. He slumped against the far wall, dizzy with fright, suffering the instantaneous nausea that only a certain kind of dread can bring: the fear of the imagined, the nameless unknown. Darkness swept over him like a cloak. Within five seconds, the surge of panic had become too much, and before Tom could steady him, he’d completely blacked out.
About Miniville
When he came to, he was lying on a mattress underneath a pair of rough cotton sheets. At least, that’s what it felt like at first. A quick dig revealed that the ‘sheets’ were actually tissue paper and the ‘mattress’ was one of the sponge-backed scouring pads Jack had cadged out of Penny’s kitchen cupboards, both shrunk down to a size appropriate for mini-people to sleep on. Looking round, Ralph could see lots of other mini ‘beds’, laid out like graves around the walls of the room. It reminded him of scout camp – the horror film version. Welcome to Miniville, Master Perfect.
He was in a high-ceilinged, rectangular room. Directly above him, a broken chandelier hung down at an angle from a plaster rose. It was cold and the air was ugly with damp. The tall balcony windows were closed, but a draught from a broken pane was clashing with the flames of a small log fire, burning smokily in the large Gothic fireplace. Several miniones were hunkering in front of it, including Tom, Neville and Penny. Ralph sat upright, preparing to call to them, when a younger figure stepped in front of him.
‘Fancy a bite to eat, Rafe ?’ It was Kyle Salter. He broke what looked like the shell of a candy sweet and skimmed it into the middle of Ralph’s chest. ‘Get used to it, old bean . Menu’s kind of limited.’
Ralph let it bounce and refused to pick it
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