Free Deadly Games by Anthony Masters Page B

it’s a brilliant idea,” she said.
    Half an hour later, the idea didn’t seem so brilliant. The sun was just a red smear in the sky and the shadows had lengthened so that it was getting hard to see. The moon had risen. “The moon does shine as bright as day,” thought Jenny. Would May and Leslie come out to play if that happened? Certainly it didn’t seem that Sid was having much divining luck.
    â€œWe’ll have to wait,” said David.
    â€œWhat for?” asked Sid, looking depressed.
    â€œMoonlight,” replied David. He and Jenny exchanged a look.
    â€œWhere can we get a good view of the whole yard?” asked Jenny, shivering in her sodden clothes.
    â€œThat’s the only place.” Sid nodded at a wooden signal box. There was a small tree growing out of its roof.
    As they clambered up the rotting stairs, Gumbo scampered into view and sat at the bottom, watching them with beady eyes.
    â€œGlad she’s turned up,” said Sid in relief. “I get nervous if I don’t know where she is.”
    The twins agreed, surprised at how they had come to rely on the rat so much. But now the moon was riding high above the yard, and David and Jenny had the sensation of being watched. The moonlight picked out every blade of grass, each rusting piece of machinery, turning them a livid white as if they were diseased.
    The inside of the signal box was almost intact, except for the large hole in the floor that had been made by the young tree. They all three gazed helplessly out of the glassless windows for a long time before anyone spoke.
    Then David asked, “What are we looking for?”
    â€œMischief,” said Sid bleakly.
    The twins gave an involuntary shudder, which had nothing to do with how cold they were feeling. The word “mischief”, when connected with May and Leslie, had some very black implications indeed.
    The rustling and fluttering grew softly behind them, so softly that neither David nor Jenny noticed it at first.
    â€œWhat’s that?” whispered Sid. “It sounds as if Gumbo’s following us up.”
    But it wasn’t the rat. Instead, the sound was being made by the dry leaves of the tree. They were moving to and fro, rasping gently together.
    â€œLook at that,” whispered Jenny. “There’s no wind in here. Why are the leaves rustling like that?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said David irritably. “Perhaps it’s us – every time we move we start them off.”
    â€œBut we’re not moving,” she replied. “We’re all still – and the leaves are rustling even faster.”
    â€œThey’re making a funny sound.” Sid’s voice trembled. “As if they’re whispering, like.”
    Jenny could hear the sounds distinctly now, and when she glanced at Sid and David, she knew they were beginning to understand.
    â€œCome out to play,” came the whispering. “Jenny and David – come out to play.”
    â€œThey want to kill us,” David said aloud. “They just want to kill us.”
    â€œThen you’ll be dead like us,” rustled the blackened leaves in delight.
    â€œWhere’s Mrs Garland?” asked Jenny with as much authority as she could muster.
    There was a chuckling sound in the leaves, followed by a whispering chant:
    â€œDing, dong, bell,
    Pussy’s in the well.
    Who put her in?
    Little May and Les.
    Who pulled her out?
    No one!”
    The whispering was triumphant now.
    â€œWhat a naughty May and Les was that
    To go and drown poor pussy cat,
    Who never did them any harm
    But chased us both to the railway yard –
    â€œWell, she
was
an old cat,” concluded the rustling leaves, and then the giggling began, horrible to hear in the soft fluttering.
    But it was Sid who intervened. “Look, you two. Just cut it out.” His voice was fierce and commanding.
    The whispering stopped and then resumed without words