The Midnight Gang

This is LORD FUNT HOSPITAL, in London, England. It was built many years ago and should have been demolished many years ago. The hospital was named in honour of its founder, the late Lord Funt.

Have a look inside LORD FUNT HOSPITAL.

Meet the patients in the children’s ward, high up on the forty-fourth floor of the hospital.

This is Tom. He is twelve and goes to a posh boarding school. He has hurt his head.

Amber is twelve. She has broken both of her arms and both of her legs, so has been in a wheelchair for some time.

Robin is also twelve. He is recovering from an operation to save his eyesight, and for now can’t see a thing.

George is eleven and from the East End of London, which makes him a cockney. He is recovering from having his tonsils taken out in an operation.

Sally is just ten and the youngest of the group. Because she is so ill, Sally spends most of her time sleeping.

Downstairs in one of the grown-ups’ wards is the oldest patient in the hospital – ninety-nine-year-old Nelly.

Hundreds of people work atLORD FUNT HOSPITAL. Among them are:

Porter. A lonely figure, whose real name is a mystery. His job is to move people and things around the hospital, which he never seems to leave.

Matron. Despite running the children’s ward, she doesn’t like children at all.

Doctor Luppers has just become a doctor, and is rather easy to fool.

Tootsie is the hospital’s dinner lady. She brings meals round on a trolley to all the patients.

Nurse Meese is the tired-looking nurse, who never ever seems to get a night off work.

Dilly is one of the hospital’s cleaners. You can always tell where she has cleaned as there will be a long trail of fag ash.

Mr Cod is the old chemist. He has a hearing aid and thick glasses. Mr Cod runs the pharmacy in the hospital.

Sir Quentin Strillers is the upper-class hospital principal, and is in charge of everyone and everything.

From outside the hospital there is Mr Thews, the headmaster of Tom’s school, St Willet’s Boarding School for Boys.

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“Aaarrrggghhh!” screamed the boy.

The most monstrous face he had ever seen was peering down at him. It was the face of a man, but it was completely lopsided. One side was larger than it should have been, and the other was smaller. The face smiled as if to calm the boy down, only to reveal a set of broken and rotten teeth. This made the boy even more scared than before.

“Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!!!!” he screamed again.

“You will be all right, young sir. Please try and be calm,” slurred the man.

His face was so misshapen, that so was his speech.

Who was this man and where was he taking the boy?

It was only then the boy realised he was lying on his back, staring straight up. It felt almost as if he was floating. But something was

. He was

. The boy realised he must be lying on a trolley. A trolley with wonky wheels.

His head clouded with questions.

Where was he?

How did he get here?

Why couldn’t he remember a thing?

And, most importantly, who was this terrifying man-monster?

The trolley travelled slowly down the long corridor. The boy could hear the sound of something being dragged along the floor. It sounded like the squeak of a shoe.

He looked down. The man was limping. Just like his face, one side of his body was smaller than the other, so the man was dragging his withered leg along with him. It looked like every movement might be painful.

A pair of tall doors swung open and the trolley trundled into a room and came to a stop. Then some curtains were drawn round the boy.

“I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable, young sir,” said the man. The boy thought it was curious that this man called him “sir”. He had never been called “sir” in his life. He was only twelve. “Sir” was a title reserved only for teachers at his boarding school. “Now you wait here. I’m just the porter. Let me get the nurse. Nurse!”

As he lay there, the boy felt strangely disconnected from his own body. It felt limp. Lifeless.

The pain, though, was in his head. It was throbbing. Hot. If the feeling could be a colour, it would be red. A bright, hot, raging red.

The pain was so intense he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he realised he was staring straight up at a bright fluorescent light. This made his head ache even more than before.

Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

The curtain was whisked back.

A large older lady in a blue-and-white uniform with a hat leaned over and examined the boy’s head. Dark circles framed her bloodshot eyes. Grey wiry hair squatted on her head. Her face was red raw, as if she had scrubbed it with a cheese grater. In brief, she had the appearance of someone who had not slept for a week, and was angry about it.

“Oh deary me! Oh deary, deary me. Oh deary, deary, deary me …” she muttered to nobody in particular.

In his confused state the boy took a moment to realise this woman was in fact dressed as a nurse.

At last the boy realised where he was. A hospital. He had never been in one before, except the day he was born. And he couldn’t remember that.

The boy’s eyes drifted up to the lady’s name badge: NURSE MEESE, LORD FUNT HOSPITAL.

“That is a bump. A big bump. A very big bump. Now, does this hurt?” she said as she poked the boy hard on his head with her finger.