“Sorry, Nan,” said Nat, hastily getting up from the sofa. He spun Apple around to face her away from Woody. “Show me some steps.”

Apple frowned. “Stop taking the mickey,” she scolded. “You hate line dancing.”

“No,” said Nat earnestly. “I love it. I … er … I’m thinking of taking it up.”

Apple narrowed her eyes. “Well, OK, then, but if you laugh …”

While Apple patiently taught Nat her favorite dance, the County Line Cha-Cha, to her favorite song, “Achy Breaky Heart,” Woody took his chance and slunk away to hide in the garden.

CHAPTER 15
OUT OF CONTROL

Later, as Nat helped his mum prepare lunch, he, too, felt a growing sense of unease. Despite the good news in his dad’s letter, he couldn’t help thinking that what Woody had sensed earlier that morning was true: There was something wrong.

When his grandfather burst through the back door brandishing the local paper, Nat was prepared for the worst. He held his breath.

“Look at this,” Mick said breathlessly. “Look at the headline.”

Nat’s insides turned to stone while Mick spread the North Somerset Reveille open on the kitchen table. The headline bounced off the page, hitting him like a smack in the face.

DOG RUNS AMOK AT
TEMPLE GURNEY SHOW

BY DREW HARDING

The photograph accompanying the story would have made a stunning poster for a horror film — a horror film featuring homicidal wolves. It was Woody, mouth frothing, murderous gleam in his eyes, hurtling across the arena with one thought on his mind: to get Teddy Davis.

“Look at the way the camera caught him,” said Mick. “No wonder the Davis kid was frightened!”

Nat said nothing, scanning the story frantically.

The dog, named Woody, was apparently unprovoked and caused damage to many of the exhibits at the fair. One witness told of her terror as the animal ran amok during one of the classes in the dog show. “It was competing in the Dog with the Most Appealing Face category,” explained Miss Alice Throgmorton, 57, a judge at the competition. “I’m afraid it didn’t have a hope of being placed, even before it started to froth at the mouth.”

The dog, thought to be a German shepherd cross, is owned by local man Mick Smith and his family. According to well-known local business owner Mr. Tom Davis, whose son Teddy was attacked, the dog is a menace and should be muzzled in public.

Nat couldn’t bring himself to read any more. He felt his tan fade to white. This was bad. Worse than bad. He imagined what Crescent would say if she knew about it. “What part of keeping a low profile didn’t you understand?” she would hiss.

Low profile? Nat thought to himself. That’s a joke. They might as well have taken out an ad. How long, he wondered, before there’d be a knock at the door? They had to get out.