Free Inside the Worm by Robert Swindells

I mean. Talking like that. Lisa Watmough’s quite a pretty girl. I was at school with her mother and she was pretty too.’
    â€˜Good.’ He looked from parent to parent. ‘Is that it, then? Can we have the telly on now?’
    His father looked at him. ‘Thirteen’s a difficult age, son. You know you can always talk to me and your mum if anything’s worrying you, don’t you?’
    â€˜Sure I do, Dad. Nothing’s worrying me, honestly.’ Quite the reverse, he thought, recalling the expressionon old Ackroyd’s face as he watched the worm mess up his stupid garden. Everything’s fine. And it’s going to get a whole lot finer.
    â€˜Good.’ His father gripped the arms of his chair and levered himself upright. ‘There’s a film on Channel Four you might enjoy. I think I’ll stroll down to the club for half an hour.’
    When her husband had left the room, Mrs Trotter looked across at her son. ‘Are you absolutely sure you’re not fretting about anything, David?’
    Trot grinned. ‘Absolutely, Mum. There’s nothing I can’t handle. Nothing in the world.’ As he said this, something occurred to him which wiped the grin off his face and caused his heart to kick. How is it, he wondered, that I saw the look on Ackroyd’s face when only Gary has eye-holes?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
    FLISS’S MUM LEFT the dress to soak over Wednesday night in a strong detergent, and when she lifted it out of the bowl next morning and held it up to the light, the stains seemed to have gone. ‘We shan’t know for certain till it’s dry,’ she cautioned, but Fliss smiled tightly and said, ‘It’ll be fine.’
    Lisa wasn’t anywhere in sight when she got to the end of the road, but when she was halfway to school she heard someone call her name. She turned. Vicky Holmes was hurrying to catch her up. ‘Hi, Fliss,’ she smiled, falling into step. ‘I – I just wanted to say I think it’s rotten what they did to you yesterday. That lovely dress.’
    Fliss nodded. ‘Thanks, Vicky. My mum washed it. It’s going to be OK.’
    â€˜Yes, but still.’
    â€˜I know. Gary Bazzard’s a pain. He’s always been a pain, but he seems to have got a lot worse since we’ve been doing this play. The others have too. I think they’re trying to get rid of me.’
    â€˜Rid of you – how d’you mean?’ Vicky looked horrified.
    Fliss grinned. ‘I don’t mean murder, Vicky. I mean they want me out of the play.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Dunno. I don’t think they know either.’
    Vicky looked at her. ‘That’s a funny thing to say.’
    â€˜Yes I know, but it’s true. It’s like something’s gotten hold of them since they’ve had that costume. Look at Lisa Watmough – she was my best friend.’
    Vicky nodded. ‘I’ve noticed.’ She laid a hand on Fliss’s arm. ‘I’m your friend, Fliss.’
    Fliss smiled. ‘I know, and I’m glad. I mean it.’
    That afternoon there was a long rehearsal in the double-games period. Everybody was in costume except Fliss, who felt a wally in skirt and jumper, waving her plastic sword. She was apprehensive too but she didn’t let it show, and when Gary reached for her she hissed, ‘You dump me down that bank again and I swear I’ll smash your stupid costume once andfor all. You wouldn’t like that, would you?’ No reply came from inside the worm, but when Gary’s fingers touched her sleeve the creature shrank back in a most convincing way.
    â€˜Begone, foul fiend!’ cried Fliss, pointing her sword towards an imaginary fen. ‘I command you – in God’s name begone, and come this way no more.’ Very quietly, through lips which scarcely moved she added, ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily, Bazzard.’
    The