Free The Case of the Haunted Horrors by Anthony Read Page A

quite used to the Dungeon, it still felt spooky. Thinking he could hear a rustling sound behind him, he looked back over his shoulder, and in doing so he bumped into the highwayman’s skeleton, setting it swinging eerily in its gibbet. He hurriedly brushed past it, trying not to look at the grinning skull with its empty eye sockets under the black three-cornered hat. Grabbing the book from the desk, he retreated as fast as he could.
    Shiner woke up with a start to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Bored with sitting alone with nothing to do, he had lain down on the bed and fallen asleep, but now he quickly came to his senses and sat up. The room was dark, but he could see a sliver of light under the door and hear a key being turned in the lock. He thought fast – if he was quick enough when the door opened, he might be able to dive past Blackbeard and make his escape down the stairs. He hopped off the bed to be ready, but when the door did open there were two people standing there, Blackbeard and the chestnut-haired woman. Between them they completely blocked his way, and Shiner knew he stood no chance of getting past. The woman raised the paraffin lamp she was holding, to see better, and stared at Shiner.
    “It is a child!” she exclaimed in a strong foreign accent. “A street urchin. What you do, Ivan, locking up innocent children?”
    “He is no innocent,” Blackbeard spat. “He was following me.”
    “Hah! He probably wanted to pick your pocket.”
    “’Ere!” Shiner protested. “I ain’t no dip!”
    “Dip?” the man asked, puzzled.
    “Cor blimey, don’t you know nothin’? A dip’s a pickpocket. And I ain’t no thief, so you better watch what you’re sayin’.”
    “Hmm,” the woman mused. “He is sharp, this one. You are right, Ivan – perhaps he is not so innocent.”
    She looked steadily at Shiner. “If you are not dip, what are you?”
    Shiner looked steadily back at her, determined to give nothing away. “I’m a shoeshine boy. I clean shoes.”
    “Why you follow my friend? You want shine his shoes?”
    “Well,” said Shiner, looking down at the man’s scruffy boots, “they could do with a good rub up…”
    “Where your brushes? Your boot polish? No, you don’t want clean his shoes. So why you follow him? Someone send you to spy on him. On
us
. Who? Tell me.”
    Shiner shook his head stubbornly. “No,” he said. “Can’t.”
    “Can’t? Or won’t.”
    Shiner shrugged but still stayed silent.
    “Very well,” the woman snapped. “You stay here till you tell. Come, Ivan!”
    And with that, she left the room. Blackbeard followed, slamming the door and locking it.
    Shiner was left alone again, and the attic room seemed darker than ever.
    Glad to be out of the Dungeon, Wiggins hurried back to Mrs Pettigrew’s shop and handed the diary to Murray, who opened the book and began to read.
    “Is it real?” Wiggins asked.
    “Yes,” said Murray, visibly upset. “This is my poor brother’s handwriting. I can hardly bear to look at it.”
    He blinked back a tear. Wiggins felt uncomfortable, watching his distress.
    “Listen,” he said. “It’s getting late. I’m going back to HQ, to see what the rest of the Boys’ve bin up to.”
    “Good idea. I’ll need a little time on my own to read this carefully.”
    Wiggins opened the door and squinted out to make sure the coast was clear. “Right,” he said. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning to put it back afore Madame comes to open up.” And he slipped quietly out into the night.
    When the Boys started getting up the next morning and Shiner had still not come home, Queenie was worried sick.
    “I’m goin’ back to that caff,” she announced. “To see if anybody knows where he might be.”
    “Be careful,” Beaver warned. “It might be dangerous.”
    “I don’t care. I gotta find him.”
    “I’ll come with you,” said Wiggins. “But I gotta go back to the Bazaar first.”
    “We’ll all go to the caff