Billy’s entire body was shaking and Doogie could see ice crystallizing around his nostrils and across his eyelashes. The detective opened his mouth as if to scream, but the inside of his mouth was frozen too – tongue, cheeks, lips – everything that was soft and wet inside Billy’s mouth was covered with jagged spikes of ice.
That awful sight snapped Doogie back to his senses and he remembered the bag that Billy had given him. He pulled out the bell. He gave it a vigorous shake. No sound came. Doogie shook it again and then realized that the brass clapper was frozen to the inside of the bell! Doogie banged the bell on the table, trying to jolt the clapper free.
Billy’s back arched and long icicles began to erupt from his body, like the spines of a hedgehog…
Time was running out; Doogie smashed the bell down, turning his fear into brute strength – and the clapper broke loose! With a sense of triumph, Doogie rang the bell for all he was worth. It made a beautiful sound, although he couldn’t understand how it could be a weapon. He rang it again, louder and harder.
Somehow it did the trick. The ice started to thaw, the icicles shrunk.
“The book,” Billy gasped. “Open it, then slam it shut.”
That made even less sense, but Doogie did as he was told. He took out the prayer book, opened it at the middle, and then snapped it shut as hard as he could. It closed with a bang! as solid and heavy as a prison door being slammed. Doogie could feel the vibrations it sent out and when the sound hit Billy, the effect was instantaneous. The last of the icicles which had impaled the detective melted away and Billy slumped to the floor.
Doogie ran to his side; Billy was unconscious and as cold as stone. Quickly, Doogie thought of what Mr Cowley would do – and he slapped Billy hard across the cheek.
Billy groaned but remained unconscious. Doogie was about to slap him again when he remembered the third piece of emergency equipment – a candle, to guide me back.
The blue glimmering of the ghost girl had retreated to the corner of the tavern, but it was still there, flitting back and forth. Was Angry Annie preparing to strike again? With shaking fingers, Doogie got out the candle and fumbled to light a match… But what if Angry Annie blows it out? Doogie rang the bell again, and it seemed to keep the ghost at bay…for now.
With the candle lit, Doogie brought it close to Billy’s face. “Come back,” he said. “Please!”
Billy started to cough; then his eyes fluttered open.
“Well done, mate,” said Billy, struggling into a sitting position. “I owe you one.”
“Ye mean like a reward?” said Doogie, beaming.
“I was thinking more like my deepest thanks,” said Billy.
“Oh,” said Doogie, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. “That’s nice too.”
“Right,” said Billy, all business again. He took the candle in one hand and the bell in the other. “You stay ready with that book, Doogie. I’m going to try again.”
Doogie saw the ghost-glow spin frantically, like a bird trapped in a cage hurling itself against the bars in an attempt to get free.
“Are all the English as mad as ye?”
That had been close. Angry Annie lived up to her name and Billy now knew that she was able to channel all of that pent-up fury into devastating power. He wouldn’t tell Charley that he had nearly died; she’d be ever so cross with him.
However, now that Annie had been restrained by the combined effect of the bell, book and candle, Billy had to try to get through to her again. This was not just about his life. The Sandman was after a human heart – he had to be stopped.
Billy picked up a stool that hadn’t been broken and set it upright at a table, as casually as if he were meeting an old friend for a chat and a laugh. He kept his eyes fixed on Angry Annie the whole time. The ghost was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, wary of the power of the bell, book and candle – but not tamed, not safe.
Billy held up the bell for Annie to see. The ghost flinched back, fearing that it would be rung again. “Look,” said Billy, quietly and calmly, “I’m putting down the bell. I’m sorry that we had to use it.” Doogie shifted uncomfortably, obviously less convinced that Angry Annie could be reasoned with.
“Let’s start again, shall we?” Billy continued. “My name is Billy. I’ve not come here to hurt you…” Inside, Billy’s stomach was churning as if he had swallowed a live eel – Annie had nearly frozen the blood in his veins! But outside, he was as calm as a millpond, not a ripple of fear showing on the surface. Annie floated closer…
“I need your help, Annie,” said Billy.
Annie’s black eyes flared. “Why should I help you?” she snarled.
“I can’t make you help me,” said Billy honestly. “But I can help you.”
“You can’t do anything for me!” shouted Annie, her anger building again.
“I can set you free,” said Billy quietly. “You’ve been here for such a long time, wouldn’t you like to go…home?”
That small, simple word had a powerful effect on the ghost girl. It was as if it was Annie’s turn to freeze. She said nothing. Her black eyes were unreadable. She didn’t move at all and after the constant restless movement, the ghost’s sudden stillness scared Billy. What would Angry Annie do now?
“Home?” she repeated slowly. “You mean that I could be free from all this?” Her eyes darted furiously around the Last Drop Tavern, her prison for hundreds of years.
Billy nodded. “Would you like that, Annie? Would you like to be at peace?”
“Peace?” Annie’s lips curled back like a dog about to bark, showing her small sharp teeth. Billy took a step back, ready to grab the bell again if Annie went for him.
But she didn’t.
Billy sensed the air begin to warm ever-so-softly, as if Annie’s endless anger was beginning to thaw.
“Could you really do that?” she breathed.
Billy nodded again. “It would be my pleasure,” he said. In that instant Billy saw Annie as if he was seeing her for the first time; not as a vicious wraith but a little girl. A girl who was lost and so very alone. His heart went out to her…even if she had just tried to murder him.
“And if I don’t help you? Are you going to make me stay here for ever? Punish me more?” The temperature started to drop again.
“No,” said Billy, quite calm. “I’m still going to set you free, whether you help me or not. I promise.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“But you don’t know me. You don’t know what I did.” Annie’s voice was filled with remorse.
“I don’t need to know. I’m sure that whatever it was, it was a long time ago and I can see from your eyes that you’re sorry now—”
“More than anything,” said Annie, fat tears rolling down her face and freezing on her cheeks like diamonds. “Billy, how can I help you?”
“There is a man – an evil man, who calls himself the Sandman – and he has to be stopped, Annie. I need a description if I’m to have any chance of tracking him down.”
“I know the Sandman,” said Annie. “I’ve heard his whispered plans, his monstrous desires.”
“Did you see his face?”
The ghost girl shuddered “I’ll never forget it.”
“Why?”
“Because the Sandman scares me, Billy. And you should be very afraid too.”
Billy had left the tavern with a description of the Sandman, and the repeated promise to Annie that he would return to keep his half of the bargain.
He ran through Annie’s words over and over, trying to picture the Sandman clearly. Cold and hard, like a rock. Chiselled features, nose like a hawk. Tall. Lean. Dark eyes. Very controlled, precise in his movements. Smartly dressed in a black suit. Not a hair out of place. And he carries a wand made out of bone.
The description reminded Billy of someone but he couldn’t quite place who. It would come to him. For now Billy was exhausted. So tired he could har
dly walk, so drained he couldn’t think straight. Although he and Annie had parted as friends, her ghostly touch had been so cold, Billy wondered if he would ever feel warm again.
The day was fading and Billy shivered all the way back to 44 Morningside Place. Doogie didn’t say a word, but as soon as the carriage arrived he jumped out and ran on ahead. “I’ll get Beth to run a bath for you,” he called back. “It might take some of that chill off.”
Following slowly after Doogie, Billy entered the great house. Wellington was waiting in the hallway, his claws clicking on the polished tiles. The dog seemed jumpy, but he was pleased to see Billy and came scampering over. “I feel it too,” whispered Billy, scratching behind Wellington’s ears. “You live in a strange house, don’t you, boy?”
Just then, a sharp trace of supernatural energy hit Billy in the nostrils. It rocked him back on his heels and made his eyes sting as if he had stuck his nose in a mustard jar and had a good sniff. Billy wobbled and flung out a hand to save himself from falling over, almost knocking a plant from its pedestal.
“Are you all right?” said Charley, coming to greet him. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Billy honestly, the dizziness passing as quickly as it had come. “This house, this case.” He gave a shrug. “It’s gone now, anyway.”
“Wellington has been going mad for the last half-hour or so,” said Charley.
“We both know that animals can be more in tune with the spirit realm than humans sometimes,” said Billy.
“Back at the railway station, it was Wellington who noticed something lurking before any of us,” said Charley. The Scottish terrier had stopped pacing and was curled up in his basket by the door. “He seems happy enough now though.”
“Like I said,” said Billy, “it was probably nothing. I’m fine.” He slapped his legs to demonstrate their sturdiness.
“How did your investigation go?”
“I’ve got a description of the Sandman. I’ve written it all in my notebook,” said Billy, handing it over. “How about you?”
“I’m close to cracking those hieroglyphs, I think,” said Charley. “Get warmed up and then we can compare notes.”
Charley set off for the crime lab and Billy climbed the stairs to the bathroom. When he’d been growing up the only bath he knew was a tin one that his mother put out in the kitchen and filled with kettles of water from the stove. The bathroom at 44 Morningside Place was not like that.
Billy opened the door and was immediately enfolded in a warm cloud of steam. The air smelled of lavender and soap. Tiny bubbles floated all around. Billy walked over to the bathtub. It was filled almost to the brim and Beth had used bath salts which turned the water cloudy but would ease away all the frost that still clung to his bones.
Billy quickly undressed and then lowered himself into the hot water. A wave of dizziness came over him again, but quickly passed. He dismissed it as a combination of tiredness and the heat of the water – almost too hot, but not quite. Billy let his head fall back and slid in up to his shoulders. He was suddenly so relaxed, he could almost fall asleep right here, wrapped up in this blanket of warmth and bubbles. Heaven.
Something rough bumped against the inside of his calf. Beth must have put in a sponge or a loofah. Very kind of her. Billy smiled. He could get used to this.
His shoulders really did ache and he couldn’t wait to give them a good scrub. The loofah had floated further up the bath now; it was touching his thigh. It really was very rough as sponges went. Still, all the better to rub away every trace of the Last Drop Tavern. Too tired to even look at what he was doing, Billy groped blindly in the water.
And the sponge bit him!
At least that was what it felt like. Billy whipped his hand away and sat up to examine his stinging fingers. Sure enough, there was a trace of blood. What the…?
He peered through the haze of steam, trying to make out what had been sharp enough in the bath to slice through his skin. Billy could see the long, thin shape of the loofah. It was scaly, it was moving, and it had a mouthful of jagged teeth.
Billy froze for a second before he realized what it was – the mummified baby crocodile! Only it wasn’t in Sir Gordon’s Egyptian hall any more. It was in Billy’s bath, and it was very much alive. Between Billy’s legs. And its jaws were opening wide!
Billy shot up in the air just as those horrible jaws snapped shut.
He winced as he thought of what he could have lost. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the bath was so slippery that he slid down, giving the monster a second chance. His head went under the surface, sending water sloshing everywhere, and when he came back up again, gasping, he was face-to-face with the bizarre crocodile mummy. Billy noticed that someone had cut the bandages along its scaly mouth, freeing up those savage jaws. Free to make a meal out of him!
Snap! Snap! Snap! The jaws crunched together again and again and Billy struggled backwards, clinging to the sides of the bathtub for dear life while his feet struggled to get a grip on the soapy enamel. The mummy’s bandages were falling apart now in the hot water, revealing more of the undead reptile inside. The leathery hide had turned from green to brown, and the eye sockets were empty, giving Billy a view of the hollow skull inside. Somehow Billy managed to half fall, half throw himself out and tumbled to the bathroom floor in a naked heap.
His heart pounding wildly, Billy looked around for something – anything – he could use for protection. Billy had hoped that the crocodile mummy would stay in the water and enjoy a little swim. But one look at those scrabbling dead claws told Billy that he wouldn’t be so lucky. The crocodile hadn’t eaten for thousands of years and had woken up hungry! Although it only had short stubby legs, it clearly had an enormously powerful tail of mummified flesh and to Billy’s horror it used all that brute force to hurl itself over the edge of the bath.
Billy backed away into the corner of the bathroom while the crocodile mummy scurried across the floor towards him, tail flicking. In desperation Billy put his fingers behind the bathroom cabinet, a tall and ugly piece of furniture laden with bottles of medicine and lotions. The cabinet was incredibly heavy but the fear of being eaten alive was just the sort of motivation that Billy needed to summon up enough strength to send it toppling over.
It fell like an oak tree, smashing down on the crocodile mummy and showering it with a thousand pieces of broken glass, which covered the bathroom floor like lethal confetti. On top of that, the cabinet had also fallen across the door, blocking his only escape. The window was tiny, and even if he could slip through, the bathroom was on the second floor – the drop could kill him. The crocodile mummy was stunned but not defeated. Its tail continued to twitch and Billy could hear its claws ripping at the floor as it tried to free itself.
Billy looked at his bare feet and the broken glass. He snatched his shirt off the floor where he had dropped it and quickly ripped it in two, then wrapped it round his feet. It wasn’t much protection, but it would have to do. Meanwhile the crocodile was almost free. Running out of options, Billy grabbed the largest towel that he could find. Holding it up like a bullfighter with a red flag, Billy advanced on the crocodile, just as it broke loose with a final swipe of its tail.
The crocodile seemed to be preparing itself for another assault, but Billy knew that he had to act first. Before the animal was able to leap at him, Billy threw himself down on top of it with the towel spread wide. The creature was caught by surprise. Billy could feel its raw strength – a supernatural strength – rippling through its long-dead muscles. It was only now, up this close to the crocodile, that Billy could sense the aura of magick that had been used to animate it.
All this time Billy had thought that 44 Morningside Place was so cluttered with bizarre objects that his sixth sense was clouded out, but now he wondered whether it had been blocked deliberately. He could worry about that later though. He had an undead crocodile to deal with now. Still lying flat on top of the creature while it bucked and thrashed beneath him
, Billy did his best to work the towel underneath it. The idea – and it wasn’t one of his best – was to wrap the crocodile in the towel. If he could do it quickly and as tightly as possible then it should be enough to restrain the beast. At the very least he hoped to be able to wrap up those savage jaws.
He knew that working for S.C.R.E.A.M. was a dangerous job, but he’d never imagined that it might end like this: attacked by an undead crocodile; naked and armed only with a towel. What would Charley say?
“Blast!” said Charley. “Damn and blast with shiny knobs on!”
S.C.R.E.A.M. was at the cutting edge of modern policing. The methodical approach which Luther Sparkwell had taught them, the minute examination of crime scenes for traces which might identify a perpetrator or reveal vital clues as to their whereabouts, the groundbreaking use of science as an instrument of detection – not to mention Billy’s special spiritual gift – all these were streets ahead of most local police work.
So with all these modern advances at her disposal, Charley found it especially annoying that at that precise moment her investigation was being hampered by an interfering parrot.
There she was, working her way through a mountain of reference books and trying to work out what the Sandman’s grotesque shopping list was for, when Queen Victoria had swooped down from the branches above and snatched Charley’s silver fountain pen out of her hand. And now the dratted bird was sitting overhead and laughing at her.
“God save me! God save me!” Queen Victoria squawked, her head bobbing up and down. “We are not amused!”
“I’m not amused either,” muttered Charley. For about the hundredth time that day she hated being in a wheelchair. Charley made a point of never complaining, never making a fuss, but, honestly, it would be so much easier if she could walk. Queen Victoria had stashed her pen in the crook of a branch – if Charley could climb she would have got it back in seconds. But of course, she couldn’t climb. Normally she wouldn’t have been bothered about a stupid old pen, but it was her favourite one, with a personal inscription from the Prime Minister after S.C.R.E.A.M. had sorted out a little problem with an actual skeleton in his cupboard. So here she was, searching around for something to throw at the pen in the hope of dislodging it.
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