There was no sign of Mr Grimm anywhere. Or any of the others. Johnny hung around for hours, with the birdwatchers and the people from the Blackbury Wildlife Trust, who’d found a fox’s den behind William Stickers’ memorial, and some Japanese tourists. No one quite knew why the Japanese tourists were there, but Mrs Liberty’s grave was getting very well photographed.

Eventually, though, even Japanese tourists run out of film. They took one last shot of themselves in front of William Stickers’ monument, and headed back towards their coach.

The cemetery emptied. The sun began to set over the carpet warehouse.

Mrs Tachyon went past with her loaded shopping trolley to wherever it was she spent her nights.

The cars left the old boot works, and only the bulldozers were left, like prehistoric monsters surprised by a sudden cold snap.

Johnny sidled up to the forlorn little stone under the trees.

‘I know you’re here,’ he whispered. ‘You can’t leave like the others. You have to stay. Because you’re a ghost. A real ghost. You’re still here, Mr Grimm. You’re not just hanging around like the rest of them. You’re haunting.’

There was no sound.

‘What did you do? Were you a murderer or something?’

There was still no sound. In fact, there was even more silence than before.

‘Sorry about the television,’ said Johnny nervously.

More silence, so heavy and deep it could have stuffed mattresses.

He walked away, as fast as he dared.

Chapter 9

‘This fuss over the cemetery’s certainly breathed a bit of life into this town,’ said his mother. ‘Go and give your grandad his tray, will you? And tell him about it. You know he takes an interest.’

Grandad was watching the News in Hindi. He didn’t want to. But the thingy for controlling the set had got lost and everyone had forgotten how to change channels without it.

‘Brought you your tray, Grandad.’

‘Right.’

‘You know the old cemetery? Where you showed me William Stickers’ grave?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, maybe it won’t be built on now. There was a meeting last night.’

‘Right?’

‘I spoke up at the meeting.’

‘Right.’

‘So it might be all right.’

‘Right.’

Johnny sighed. He went back into the kitchen.

‘Can I have an old sheet, Mum?’

‘What on earth for?’

‘Wobbler’s Halloween party. I can’t think of anything else.’

‘There’s the one I used as a dust cover, if you’re going to cut holes in it.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘It’s pink.’

‘Aaaaooow, Mum!’

‘It’s practically washed out. No one’ll notice.’ It also, as it turned out, had the remains of some flowers embroidered on one end. Johnny did his best with a pair of scissors.

He’d promised he’d go. But he went the long way round, with the sheet in a bag, just in case the dead had come back and might see him. And there was Mr Grimm to think about now.

After he’d been gone a few minutes, the TV started showing the News in English, which looked less interesting than the Hindi News.