‘Were they from United Consolidated?’

The old man shrugged.

‘Perhaps someone thought everything might be a lot simpler if the cemetery wasn’t worth saving,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a couple of likely lads were slipped a handful of notes to do . . . er . . . a Halloween prank—’

There was a burst of noise from the police radio.

‘We’ve stopped a van on the East Slate Road,’ the sergeant called out. ‘Sounds like our lads.’

‘Well Done, Said PC Plonk,’ said Yo-less, in a hollow voice. ‘You Have Captured The Whole Gang! Good Work, Fumbling Four! And They All Went Home For Tea And Cakes.’

‘It would help if you’d come along to the police station, Bigmac,’ said Mr Atterbury.

‘No way!’

‘I’ll come along with you. And one of your friends could come, too.’

‘It’d really help,’ said Johnny.

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Yo-less.

‘And then,’ said Mr Atterbury, ‘I’m going to take considerable pleasure in ringing up the chairman of United Consolidated. Considerable pleasure.’

It was ten minutes later. Bigmac had gone to the police station, accompanied by Yo-less and Mr Atterbury and an assurance that he wasn’t going to be asked any questions about certain other minor matters relating to things like cars not being where the owners had expected them to be, and other things of that nature.

The sodium lights of Blackbury glowed in the fog, which was thinning out a bit now. They made the darkness beyond the carpet warehouse a lot deeper and much darker.

‘Well, that’s it, then,’ said Wobbler. ‘Game over. Let’s go home.’

The fog was being torn apart by the wind. It was even possible to see the moon through the flying streamers.

‘Come on,’ he repeated.

‘It’s still not right,’ said Johnny. ‘It can’t end like this.’

‘Best ending,’ said Wobbler. ‘Just like Yo-less said. Nasty men foiled. Kids save the day. Everyone gets a bun.’

The abandoned bulldozer seemed a lot bigger in this pale light.

The air had a fizz to it.

‘Something’s going to happen,’ said Johnny, running towards the cemetery.

‘Now, look—’

‘Come on!’

‘No! Not in there!’

Johnny turned around.

‘And you’re pretending to be a vampire?’

‘But—’

‘Come on, the railings have been knocked down.’

‘But it’s nearly midnight! And there’s dead people in there!’

‘Well? We’re all dead, sooner or later.’

‘Yeah, but me, I’d like it to be later, thank you!’

Johnny could feel it all around him – a squashed feel to things, like the air gets before a thunderstorm.

It cracked off the buckled gravestones and tingled on the dusty shrubberies.

The fog was pouring away now, as if it was trying to escape from something. The moon shone out of a damp blue-black sky casting darker shadows on the ground.

North Drive and East Way . . . they were still there, but they didn’t look the same now. They belonged somewhere else – somewhere where people didn’t take the roads of the dead and give them the names of the streets of the living . . .