The cemetery was alive.

‘They’ve gone,’ said Johnny. ‘I can feel them . . . not here.’

The other three found that, quite by accident, they’d all moved closer together.

A rare Scandinavian thrush, unless it was a rook, cawed in the elms.

‘Gone where?’ said Wobbler.

‘I don’t know!’

‘I knew it! I knew it!’ said Wobbler. ‘His eyes’ll start to glow any minute, you watch. You’ve let ‘em out! There’ll be lurchin’ goin’ on before this day’s over, you wait and see!’

‘Mr Grimm said that if they’re away too long, they . . . they forget who they were . . .’ said Johnny, uncertainly.

‘See? See?’ said Wobbler. ‘You laughed at me! Maybe they’re OK when they’re remembering who they were, but once they forget . . .’

‘Night of the Killer Zombies?’ said Bigmac.

‘We’ve been through all that,’ said Johnny. ‘They’re not zombies!’

‘Yeah, but maybe they’ve been eating voodoo fish and chips,’ said Bigmac.

‘They’re just not here.’

‘Then where are they?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘And it’s Halloween, too,’ moaned Wobbler.

Johnny walked over to the fence around the old boot works. There were quite a few cars parked there. He could see the tall thin figure of Mr Atterbury, talking to a group of men in grey suits.

‘I wanted to tell them,’ he said. ‘I mean, we might win. Now. People are here. There’s TV and everything. Last week it looked hopeless and now there’s just a chance and last night I wanted to tell them and now they’ve gone! And this was their home!’

‘Perhaps all these people have frightened them away,’ said Yo-less.

‘Day of the Living,’ said Bigmac.

‘I should have had my lunch!’ said Wobbler. ‘My stomach’s definitely playing up!’

‘They’re probably waiting under your bed,’ said Bigmac.

‘I’m not scared,’ said Wobbler. ‘I’ve just got a stomach upset.’

‘We ought to be getting back,’ said Yo-less. ‘I’ve got to do a project on projects.’

‘What?’ said Johnny.

‘It’s for Maths,’ said Yo-less. ‘How many people in the school are doing projects. That kind of stuff. Statistics.’

‘I’m going to look for them,’ said Johnny.

‘You’ll get into trouble when they do the register.’

‘I’ll say I’ve been doing something . . . social. That’ll probably work. Anyone coming with me?’

Wobbler looked at his feet, or where his feet would be if Wobbler wasn’t in the way.

‘What about you, Bigmac? You’ve got your Everlasting Note, haven’t you?’

‘Yeah, but it’s going a bit yellow now . . .’

No one knew when it had been written. Rumour had it that it had been handed down through the generations in Bigmac’s family. It was in three pieces. But it generally worked. Although Bigmac kept tropical fish and generally out of trouble, there was something about the way he looked and the way he lived in the Joshua N’Clement block that saw to it no teacher ever questioned the Note, which excused him from doing everything.

‘Anyway, they could be anywhere,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I can’t look for ’em, can I? Anyway, they’re probably just inside your head.’