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as well as his mother.

      ‘Charlie, you’re a wicked boy,’ Maisie said happily as she banged a meat cleaver into a meaty bone.

      Charlie’s mother looked relieved and opened the evening paper. Charlie slipped the photograph back into its envelope. He felt exhausted. Perhaps a bit of TV would help him to relax. But before he could escape, the doorbell rang and Grandma Bone could be heard saying, ‘It’s Benjamin Brown, isn’t it? Charlie’s in the kitchen. And you can leave that mangy Baked Bean outside.’

      ‘It’s Runner, not baked,’ said Benjamin’s voice, ‘and I can’t leave him outside. It’s nasty weather.’

      ‘Dogs like nasty weather,’ said Grandma Bone.

      Benjamin and his dog appeared in the kitchen. Benjamin was a small, pale-faced boy with hair the colour of damp hay. Runner Bean was a large, long-nosed dog also with hair the colour of damp hay. For some reason Benjamin was always being picked on by other boys. People stole things from him, tripped him up, laughed at him. Charlie tried to help his friend but, sometimes, Benjamin was beyond help. Sometimes, in fact, Charlie thought that Benjamin didn’t even notice that he was a victim. He lived in a world of his own.

      Runner Bean, smelling the meaty bone, rushed straight to Maisie and began to lick her ankles.

      ‘Get off!’ she yelled, swiping him on the nose.

      ‘You are coming to my party, aren’t you?’ Benjamin asked Charlie.

      ‘’Course I am,’ said Charlie, immediately feeling guilty about the birthday card.

      ‘Good, because I’m getting a game that needs two people to play it.’

      Charlie realised that no one else would be at Benjamin’s party. This made him feel even more guilty. Runner Bean began to whine, almost as if he’d guessed that he wouldn’t be appearing on Benjamin’s birthday card.

      ‘I’ll be there,’ said Charlie cheerfully. He hadn’t bought a present yet. He would have to rush out to the shops before he began his quest. But what quest was that? Something seemed to be hijacking Charlie’s thoughts.

      ‘Want to come for a walk with Runner?’ Benjamin asked hopefully.

      ‘OK.’

      Maisie shouted something about supper as Charlie and Benjamin left the house, but the wind howled round their heads, and a clap of thunder drowned her words. Runner Bean yelped as a conker hit his nose, and Benjamin managed to smile at last.

      As the two boys and the dog ran into the wind, leaves flew in their faces and stuck to fur and clothes. Charlie felt better in the open air. Perhaps it really had been a trick of his imagination. He hadn’t heard voices at all, it was just some silly nonsense that he’d made himself believe, and Grandma Bone had encouraged him, just to annoy Maisie and upset his mother.

      ‘Yes,’ Charlie cried happily. ‘It’s all rubbish.’

      ‘And leaves,’ said Benjamin, who thought Charlie meant the litter being blown down the street.

      ‘And leaves,’ sang Charlie. He saw a newspaper flying towards him and stuck his foot out to catch it. But the paper lifted in a sudden gust and wrapped itself round his waist. As he pulled it away from him, a picture on the front page caught his eye.

      A mean-looking boy stood on the steps of a grey building. He had a long, narrow face and a whispy moustache grew above his thin upper lip. His dark hair, parted in the centre, had been drawn back into a ponytail.

      ‘What’s that?’ asked Benjamin.

      ‘Just a boy,’ said Charlie, and yet he had the suspicion that this wasn’t just any boy.

      Benjamin leaned over Charlie’s arm and read, ‘Manfred Bloor, aged seventeen was rescued from a fire at Bloor’s Academy yesterday. Manfred said he was lucky to be alive.’

      ‘No, he didn’t,’ said Charlie breathlessly.

      ‘What d’you mean, he didn’t?’ said Benjamin.

      ‘He didn’t say that,’ Charlie murmured, and he suddenly sat on the ground, with his back to the wall. He held the paper at arm’s length, dismayed by the words that were creeping out of the picture.

       Someone’s going to pay for this.

      ‘How’d you . . .?’ Benjamin began.

      ‘Shut up, Ben,’ cried Charlie. ‘I’m listening.’

      ‘What to?’

      ‘Shush!’

      As Charlie stared at Manfred Bloor there came a jumble of shouts and then a woman’s voice broke through the others, Are you accusing someone, Manfred?

      Too right I am, said a husky voice.

       Why d’you think it wasn’t an accident?

      The husky voice again, I’m not stupid, that’s why.

      A man said, The fire service told us a candle was probably blown over. Don’t you believe this?

      ENOUGH! Whoever said this had such a deep and chilling voice, Charlie dropped the paper. It whirled away and flopped into the gutter.

      ‘Charlie, what’s going on?’ asked Benjamin.

      Charlie gave a deep sigh. ‘I’m hearing voices,’ he said.

      ‘Oh, no.’ Benjamin sat beside him, and Runner Bean crouched beside Benjamin. ‘What sort of voices?’

      Benjamin never ever said ‘That’s rubbish’. He took life seriously, which wasn’t always a bad thing.

      Charlie told Benjamin about the photograph of Runner Bean that had got mixed up with a man and a baby. ‘It was going to be a surprise birthday card for you,’ said Charlie, ‘and now it won’t be. I’m sorry.’

      ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Benjamin. ‘Go on about the photograph.’

      Charlie explained that he’d heard voices when he looked at the man and the baby. He’d even heard the baby cry, and perhaps a cat purring.

      ‘Weird,’ breathed Benjamin.

      ‘I made myself believe I’d just imagined it,’ said Charlie, ‘but when I saw the newspaper, it happened again. I could hear reporters talking to that boy on the front page. I could hear his voice, too. He sounded kind of mean and sly. And then someone said, “Enough!” and that was the worst voice I ever heard, in my whole life.’

      Benjamin shivered and Runner Bean whined in sympathy.

      The boys sat, side by side, on the damp pavement, not knowing quite what to do. The wind flung leaves at them, and thunder grumbled in the distance.

      It began to rain. Runner Bean nudged Benjamin and whined. He hated getting wet. And then, during a particularly loud clap of thunder, a man appeared in front of the boys. He was wearing a dark raincoat and his wet hair was plastered over his forehead in wide, black bands.

      ‘It’s raining,’ the man announced. ‘Had you not noticed?’

      Charlie looked up. ‘Uncle Paton,’ he said in surprise.

      Uncle Paton was Grandma Bone’s brother. He was twenty years younger than she was and they didn’t get on. Paton led a secret life, even eating apart from the others. He never went out in daylight.

      ‘You’re wanted at home,’ Uncle Paton told Charlie.

      Charlie and Benjamin stood up and shook their cramped legs. This was the third unusual thing to happen today. It wasn’t nearly dark enough for Uncle Paton to venture out.

      Charlie wondered what could possibly have happened to cause such drastic action.

The Yewbeam aunts

      It

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