LITMIR.BIZ

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what your politics are – it’s all on your file now and who’s merrily filled it in for them? You have, like the good little lemming consumer you are.”

      Howie shrugged, “I still get money off,” he said.

      “Peanuts,” Jezza snorted. “They’re conning you into building up a comprehensive database about yourself and paying you in half-price spaghetti hoops to do it. There’s a computer somewhere that can calculate how often you take a dump because it knows precisely how much aloe vera impregnated bog roll you buy and when you buy it. They know everything about you, my son. But you, and millions like you, aren’t even slightly disturbed by that. You’re just happy to get your reduced Hovis and bargain garibaldis.”

      “Jammie Dodgers,” Howie corrected.

      “Are we going or what?” Miller interrupted.

      Tommo laughed. “Don’t talk about food when the gasworks here hasn’t eaten for a whole four hours.”

      Jezza inclined his head – the sermon was over for now – and he herded them through the door.

      “So where we having this barbie?” Tommo asked.

      Jezza beckoned them round the side of the building and gathered everyone in the yard at the rear. Then he gestured to the alien landscape of the immense container port.

      “In there,” he announced.

      No one said anything. They each gazed at the wide prospect of stacked metal containers in the distance.

      “You really have lost it this time,” Howie eventually said. “You’re out of it! Totally out of it. Why in there?”

      Jezza’s eyes remained on the mountainous gantry cranes on the horizon. “Because the reception will be best,” he said enigmatically. “And you’ll be safer.”

      “It’s a mad idea!” Tommo crowed. “And I love it! Let’s go rock that place!”

      Howie tore at his beard in exasperation. “You’re both loonies!” he cried. “For one thing, you’d never get inside in a million years – the security is tight as an airport nowadays.”

      “Then isn’t it lucky we know Tesco Charlie and his big shiny lorry?” Jezza answered. “He’s in and out of there all the time.”

      The tattooist spluttered. “You’re not serious!” he shouted. “Do you know the heavy crap you’ll get into when you’re caught? And you will be caught! They’ve got their own police unit in there. Those guys are all ex-military, there’s no one under six foot five. They don’t play nicey-nicey and accountable like the town regulars. They’ll rough you up, crack your head open – and then throw you in the nick.”

      Jezza put a calming hand on his shoulder. “The port’s pigs will be otherwise engaged tonight,” he informed him. “A lovely diversion has been arranged and they, and the fire crews, are going to be so very busy to even notice li’l ol’ us.”

      “What?” Howie cried. “Even if you could arrange to get rid of them for a while, which I don’t believe, they’ve got top-of-the-range CCTV in there. Those cameras can zoom into bedroom windows across the water in Harwich!”

      Jezza continued to stare at him. “Let this fear go, man,” he said. “Come on, don’t be so uptight. Live a little – or are you really going to miss out on this and stay trapped in your pinball boundaries with your loyalty cards and gas bills? It’s a once in a lifetime offer, Jimmy Boy – come join me. Leave all that just for tonight and follow me… Beyond the Silvering Sea, within thirteen green, girdling hills, come – be a part of something amazing. I promise, tonight will blow your mind.”

      The tension in Howie’s shoulders eased and he nodded slowly. “OK,” he agreed. “But I must be even madder than you.”

      Tommo whooped and grabbed Miller’s hands and the pair of them danced back to the camper van.

      Howie and Jezza followed, leaving Shiela standing alone in the yard, silhouetted against the distant lights that were already coming on over the container terminal. To her, the giant cranes looked like titanic sculptures of giraffes.

      “And me?” she called out. “What’ll I do?”

      Jezza glanced over his shoulder and gave her an empty smile. “You got the most important job of all, doll,” he declared. “You’ve got to guard the books till we get back.”

      “Here, on my own?”

      “But you’re not on your own,” he answered in earnest. “The Dancing Jacks are with you.”

      It was growing dark when the camper van pulled up the overgrown drive for the third time that day.

      “Creepy as hell!” Howie exclaimed, staring up at the louring building. “Who lived here then, the Munsters or the Addams Family?”

      “You raaaaang?” Miller droned in his ear.

      “If I see a hand running along the floor,” Howie informed them, “I’m stamping on the bugger and breaking its bloody fingers.”

      He studied the large house critically. It must have been expensive even back in the day, but it could never have been a handsome building. From a design perspective, it was simply hideous. Still, he knew several goths who would happily spend their holidays here and read gloomy poetry by candlelight.

      “Inside,” Jezza said.

      Slabs of shadow covered the large hall. Miller’s skin prickled as he entered.

      “Don’t tell me,” Howie said, “designed by Tim Burton.”

      “You’ve seen nothing yet,” Miller whispered. “You should go out back. It’d turn Alan Titchmarsh’s hair white.”

      Jezza crossed to the stairs. Howie moved to follow him, but Miller hesitated.

      “Stay there, both of you,” Jezza commanded. “Wait for me and don’t go wandering. This old place can be … dangerous in the dark.”

      Miller shivered. He knew Jezza wasn’t talking about rotten floorboards. He suddenly wished he had stayed behind with Shiela. Besides, he’d like to read more of that book…

      Jezza’s wiry figure disappeared up the stairs, into the impenetrable shadow of the first-floor landing.

      In the spacious hall the two men waited.

      Minutes ticked by.

      “Who’s up there with him?” Howie asked.

      Miller did not answer. He too had heard a muffled voice speaking in one of the rooms above, but he preferred not to mention it. Neither of them could make out what was being said up there, the voice (or was it voices?) was too remote and the creeping darkness seemed to soak up the sound like a sponge.

      “I thought this place was empty,” Howie said.

      Miller looked uneasy. “No one lives here,” he muttered.

      “So is he talking to himself up there?”

      “That’s not what I said.”

      “What’s up with our fearless leader today? He’s been acting weird since you turned up with them first three boxes.”

      “I think it’s going to get a lot weirder,” Miller predicted. He had never been more right in his life.

      Suddenly there was a deafening crash. A tremendous, clanging weight had toppled to the floor over their heads.

      Miller almost jumped out his skin and grabbed hold of Howie.

      “What the hell?” the tattooist cried as plaster flaked from the ceiling and rained on top of them. “Did someone drop twenty pianos?”

      “I’m gone!” Miller declared, heading for the front door.

      Then a different sound commenced: a slow, scraping

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