Dancing Jax

The tension in Howie’s shoulders eased and he nodded slowly. “OK,” he agreed. “But I must be even madder than you.”

Tommo whooped and grabbed Miller’s hands and the pair of them danced back to the camper van.

Howie and Jezza followed, leaving Shiela standing alone in the yard, silhouetted against the distant lights that were already coming on over the container terminal. To her, the giant cranes looked like titanic sculptures of giraffes.

“And me?” she called out. “What’ll I do?”

Jezza glanced over his shoulder and gave her an empty smile. “You got the most important job of all, doll,” he declared. “You’ve got to guard the books till we get back.”

“Here, on my own?”

“But you’re not on your own,” he answered in earnest. “The Dancing Jacks are with you.”

It was growing dark when the camper van pulled up the overgrown drive for the third time that day.

“Creepy as hell!” Howie exclaimed, staring up at the louring building. “Who lived here then, the Munsters or the Addams Family?”

“You raaaaang?” Miller droned in his ear.

“If I see a hand running along the floor,” Howie informed them, “I’m stamping on the bugger and breaking its bloody fingers.”

He studied the large house critically. It must have been expensive even back in the day, but it could never have been a handsome building. From a design perspective, it was simply hideous. Still, he knew several goths who would happily spend their holidays here and read gloomy poetry by candlelight.

“Inside,” Jezza said.

Slabs of shadow covered the large hall. Miller’s skin prickled as he entered.

“Don’t tell me,” Howie said, “designed by Tim Burton.”

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” Miller whispered. “You should go out back. It’d turn Alan Titchmarsh’s hair white.”

Jezza crossed to the stairs. Howie moved to follow him, but Miller hesitated.

“Stay there, both of you,” Jezza commanded. “Wait for me and don’t go wandering. This old place can be … dangerous in the dark.”

Miller shivered. He knew Jezza wasn’t talking about rotten floorboards. He suddenly wished he had stayed behind with Shiela. Besides, he’d like to read more of that book…

Jezza’s wiry figure disappeared up the stairs, into the impenetrable shadow of the first-floor landing.

In the spacious hall the two men waited.

Minutes ticked by.

“Who’s up there with him?” Howie asked.

Miller did not answer. He too had heard a muffled voice speaking in one of the rooms above, but he preferred not to mention it. Neither of them could make out what was being said up there, the voice (or was it voices?) was too remote and the creeping darkness seemed to soak up the sound like a sponge.

“I thought this place was empty,” Howie said.

Miller looked uneasy. “No one lives here,” he muttered.

“So is he talking to himself up there?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“What’s up with our fearless leader today? He’s been acting weird since you turned up with them first three boxes.”

“I think it’s going to get a lot weirder,” Miller predicted. He had never been more right in his life.

Suddenly there was a deafening crash. A tremendous, clanging weight had toppled to the floor over their heads.

Miller almost jumped out his skin and grabbed hold of Howie.

“What the hell?” the tattooist cried as plaster flaked from the ceiling and rained on top of them. “Did someone drop twenty pianos?”

“I’m gone!” Miller declared, heading for the front door.

Then a different sound commenced: a slow, scraping noise. Something unbelievably heavy was being dragged across the floor. Miller paused and lifted his face upwards. They could hear Jezza’s grunts and shouts as he strained and pulled whatever it was on to the landing.

“OK,” Howie murmured. “I’m officially freaked now – and this close to soiling myself.”

“I think I already have,” Miller breathed.

The scraping continued – down the length of the landing, to the top of the stairs. They heard Jezza struggling and swearing with exertion. Then there was a calamitous din that echoed through the house and shook the banisters.

Something large came smashing down the staircase, thudding and banging with a dull metal clash, like the chiming of a huge leaden bell. It slid like an avalanche of old bedsteads down to the small landing where Miller had experienced terror earlier that afternoon and thundered into the wall beneath the partially boarded window.

The two men stared, open-mouthed, and waited for the echoes, that were bouncing through every room and vibrating the broken glass in the window frames, to ebb away.

Then Jezza’s sweating, ghostly-white face appeared over the banister above and he laughed softly.

“Dear God!” Howie gasped, pointing at the great shape that had crunched into the wood of the half-panelled wall. “What the hell is that?”

Chapter 6 (#ulink_8bb088bc-ff93-56a4-a62b-3434962df94c)

And when the Dawn Prince was in exile, he sent neither message nor sign back to his Kingdom. So, whilst the Ismus and his subjects waited, they filled their days with merrymaking and happy pleasures. But every party has to end when the revellers grow weary, yet still the throne remained empty and no word came to Mooncaster… O how they longed for tidings.

“I’VE HAD MY identity stolen!” Carol yelled at Martin Baxter as soon as he opened the front door.

“Who are you now then?” he asked.

“Some scumbag has been using my credit card details to get flights to Barcelona, a huge flat-screen TV, a tumble dryer and God knows what else in Comet – and a massive shopping spree in Homebase. The best part of four grand they’ve rinsed me for!”

“Hello to you too,” he greeted her.

“I’m furious!” she seethed, brandishing a statement she’d printed out from her online banking.

“And I’m Martin. Shall I go out and come in again?”