Free Shrinking Ralph Perfect by Chris D'Lacey

was halfway through the door when Ralph blurted out: ‘I keep hearing noises. Scratching sounds.’ He hadn’t, of course, he just needed an excuse to keep her talking. Any further escapades at Number 9 would need to involve a witness, an adult. He had to keep Mum on his side.
    Penny half-turned, pinching the neck of her blouse. She looked at the skirting boards and shuddered.
    ‘It’s not rats,’ said Ralph, trying to reassure her. She didn’t like scuttly things with tails. A mouse had pottered across the kitchen once and his mother had actually stood on a chair. ‘It’s like someone trying to dig. Or send us a message. Like, y’know, the Count of Crusty Minto.’
    ‘Monte Cristo,’ Penny tutted.
    Near enough, Ralph thought.
    But his luck was out. His mother raised her hands and flapped away the nonsense. ‘Oh, this is silly. I don’t even know why I’m querying this. Quite apart from the why, how could Mr Bilt have kidnapped or overpowered a man like Tom? Tom’s a whacking great chap.’
    Not any more, Ralph thought.
    ‘Where would he imprison him, for goodness’ sake?’
    In his house, Ralph thought. The one beneath the sheeting. The one…hhh! He gasped in disbelief. The missing house. The one stolen in Yorkshire. It was here. Next door. Miniaturised by Jack.
    ‘Besides, that policeman would have soon sniffed him out.’
    Penny turned to her son and waited for an answer. ‘Hello, Planet Ralph, this is ‘M’ calling.’
    ‘Um?’ he grunted.
    ‘Policeman. I was saying about the policeman.’
    The policeman. Ralph dropped his hands in the water, sending his submarine bobbing towards the taps. The policeman, Bone. He ought to be told. About the van. About the articles. Definitely the articles. And the house. Ralph squeezed his eyes shut and tried topicture the missing property. The paper had shown an inset of it, but that was two weeks past and Ralph couldn’t remember what it had looked like, not enough to know if it matched the one in Jack’s front room. There were ways to find out, though.
    ‘Mum, after my bath, can I use the internet?’
    ‘Ralph, which part of ‘grounded’ don’t you understand?’
    ‘But it’s important. I want to know about that missing house in Yorkshire.’
    ‘I’m going,’ said Penny, losing patience, ‘before you start to tell me Tom’s been miniaturised and kept in an empty crisp packet or something.’
    Ralph opened his eyes very wide.
    ‘Ralph, that’s horribly cruel,’ she said. ‘Even to think it. That poor man…’ She shook her head, struggling to find the right words.
    Ralph gave it one last throw. ‘Why don’t you bake him a cake?’
    ‘Who? Bake who a cake?’
    ‘Jack. Make a cake. We’ll take it round together. You keep him talking; I’ll look for Tom.’
    Mrs Perfect took a slow, conversation-stopping breath. ‘Ralph, will you please stop talking nonsense. This is Midfield Crescent, not a chapter from The  Borrowers. People stoop as they age but they do not get shrunk. Now, when you’re done, it’s straight to your room. Do not watch TV. Do not pass ‘GO’. Do not collect any biscuits from the kitchen.’
    Ralph heard and understood, but he didn’t obey. He put on his dressing gown and tiptoed down the landing, passing his own room, sneaking in to Mum’s. He sat on the duvet and lifted the phone from the bedside table. Quietly and accurately, he dialled seven sevens: the number of the local police station.
    Almost immediately a woman’s voice answered.
    ‘Hello, could I speak to Mr Bone?’ asked Ralph.
    ‘Mr Bone?’ she queried, sounding bored.
    ‘He’s a policeman.’
    ‘We all are here,’ she said. ‘I think you mean Detective Inspector Bone. What’s it in connection with?’
    ‘A missing person,’ Ralph said confidently.
    The conversation paused. Ralph heard a brushing sound and guessed that the woman had covered the mouthpiece – but not very well, as he clearly heard her say: ‘Frank, got some whispering kid on