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Back The Bad Place Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. THE BAD PLACE
  3. Contents
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. Acknowledgements
  71. About the author
  72. An Invitation from the Publisher

And after their initial terror, all the kids could do was sit stunned and bewildered as the road narrowed and the lanes became more twisted and the minibus drove into the countryside, past fields and meadows. Then tall trees loomed on either side of the road, their reflections climbing the windscreen, and a low, red sun emerged from the clouds to flash behind the trunks.

If any of them had been thinking straight, they could have made a note of the few features of the flat landscape, the way the last rays of sun sparkled on the surface of the River Crouch; or the name of one of the country pubs they passed; or they could even have tried to memorize the turns the vehicle made, left and right and left again, down a lane where a tractor was crashed into a ditch, along a bumpy rutted track, past a burbling stream. But everyone was too disorientated to track their progress – and too scared. Not even Simon knew what to do.

And then the minibus swung down a darkened lane barely wider than a pitted pathway. The clawed fingers of the bushes on either side scratched at the windows, pressing so close that it would be impossible to turn the vehicle or even reverse. The kids bumped up and down in their seats as the vehicle hit one deep hole after another, and emerged into a clearing to park outside an old farmhouse at the edge of a thick wood.

The man cranked the handbrake, killed the engine. His neck was slick with sweat, the shoulders of his shirt dark with damp where it pressed against the leather of the seat. The kids watched with a sick fascination as he took off his glasses to wipe them on his shirt.

Replacing the glasses on his nose, he turned to face them – they gasped when he lifted his hand to reveal the blade – and nodded at the door of the farmhouse.

‘I’m going to let you out and you’ll walk inside one by one. But if anybody tries to make a run for it or makes any trouble,’ – he jabbed the knife, making them all scream – ‘I’ll kill every single one of you.’

6

This is how the day always began. With a big, screaming row.

Sasha listened to the yells and shouts, the doors slamming, the floorboards pounding above her head. She was going to get dragged into it any moment… now…

‘Muuuum!’ shouted her daughter. ‘Tell him to leave my stuff alone!’

‘I didn’t take your stupid hairdryer,’ her son bellowed. ‘I don’t want your dandruff blowing all over me!’

Angel screamed in frustration. It wasn’t difficult to light a fire under her fragile emotions and Denny knew how to strike the match. Sasha went to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hurry up, please, I have to go!’