the attic door.
I used to sneak up there when I was supposed to be doing my homework.
I would press my ear against the door and fiddle with the locks.
I thought I could hear a draggy, floppy kind of sound every now and then, and once I was almost sure I heard a groan.
But the door was very thick.
I could have been imagining it.
The next thing was, the pets in our neighbourhood started to go missing.
First, next doorâs dog disappeared. Then Mrs. Georgeâs streetwise cat, Ragamuffin.
Everyone was worried about it, because you couldnât know whose animal would be next.
For once, I was glad Mum and Dad hadnât let me get a dog of my own. I used to ask for a dog every Christmas, but Santa never brought one.
He must have known something about my family that I didnât know.
One cold, dark night, I woke up frightened.
Iâm too old to creep in beside Mum and Dad like I did when I was little, but that was what I felt like doing.
I kept hearing weird squeaks and thuds â sounds that were not like normal night-time sounds at all.
Like âbumpbumpbumpbumpTHUD!â
Or âSQUEEEEEEEEacckkkkkâ.
I decided to go out and see what the noise-maker was.
If it was something silly, like a radiator, I could go back to sleep.
If it was something like a dinosaur, I could run for my life, but at least Iâd know about it. I would not like to be surprised by a dinosaur in my bedroom late at night.
I know that theyâre extinct and not all of them even ate meat, but still â¦
Sometimes when the lights are out and everything is dim and full of creaks, I forget everything from my big bad book of facts and start thinking with another bit of my brain.
Dinosaurs seem possible and so do vampires and demons and cat-eating monsters with claws where their fingernails should be and bright red flickering tongues.
Thatâs the thing about the night-time.
I didnât get very far that night.
You see, when I tried the handle of my bedroom door, it was locked.
I was trapped inside my own room.
I lay on my tummy on the floor and I squinted through the chink between door and carpet.
Itâs small, but you can sometimes see quite a bit if you squeeze your eyes in just the right way.
I lay there for what seemed like ages, and I think I might have just begun to doze off when Dadâs big feet tramped past me in their slippers.
Someone elseâs feet were there too, in black socks with lots of holes in them.
It looked like Dad was dragging the other person past, because their feet were all limp and pointy, like they were being lifted and pulled at the same time.
There was another âTHUD!â and then I couldnât see anything for ages because something was dropped beside the door.
It smelled of dog-slobber and leather. But of something else as well. Something tinny.
I tried to fit my finger through the chink but it wouldnât squeeze through. I donât know why I didnât shout for someone to please let me out.
Something told me that it wouldnât be a very good idea, I suppose.
After a while, the thing got lifted up, then Dadâs feet went up the stairs, shuffle, thump.
Then came the sound of locking doors, and Dadâs feet went past the other way.
I went back to my bed, hid under the duvet and closed my eyes.
In the morning I tried to pretend it was all a dream.
Even when Dad was so tired that his head tilted right down into his cornflakes.
What was going on?
I mean, was my dad the pet thief?
Or my mum?
Or was it Mr Black Socks?
And why?
Who was Mr Black Socks anyway?
Was it Stephen?
But Dad couldnât drag Stephen.
Stephen was too strong for that.
Way too strong.
Unless he was unconscious or something. Like, if someone knocked him out.
He was supposed to be away at school anyway.
Not that I believed a word of it.
I wanted to make sure that my bedroom door wasnât going to be locked from the outside again.
So I filled
I used to sneak up there when I was supposed to be doing my homework.
I would press my ear against the door and fiddle with the locks.
I thought I could hear a draggy, floppy kind of sound every now and then, and once I was almost sure I heard a groan.
But the door was very thick.
I could have been imagining it.
The next thing was, the pets in our neighbourhood started to go missing.
First, next doorâs dog disappeared. Then Mrs. Georgeâs streetwise cat, Ragamuffin.
Everyone was worried about it, because you couldnât know whose animal would be next.
For once, I was glad Mum and Dad hadnât let me get a dog of my own. I used to ask for a dog every Christmas, but Santa never brought one.
He must have known something about my family that I didnât know.
One cold, dark night, I woke up frightened.
Iâm too old to creep in beside Mum and Dad like I did when I was little, but that was what I felt like doing.
I kept hearing weird squeaks and thuds â sounds that were not like normal night-time sounds at all.
Like âbumpbumpbumpbumpTHUD!â
Or âSQUEEEEEEEEacckkkkkâ.
I decided to go out and see what the noise-maker was.
If it was something silly, like a radiator, I could go back to sleep.
If it was something like a dinosaur, I could run for my life, but at least Iâd know about it. I would not like to be surprised by a dinosaur in my bedroom late at night.
I know that theyâre extinct and not all of them even ate meat, but still â¦
Sometimes when the lights are out and everything is dim and full of creaks, I forget everything from my big bad book of facts and start thinking with another bit of my brain.
Dinosaurs seem possible and so do vampires and demons and cat-eating monsters with claws where their fingernails should be and bright red flickering tongues.
Thatâs the thing about the night-time.
I didnât get very far that night.
You see, when I tried the handle of my bedroom door, it was locked.
I was trapped inside my own room.
I lay on my tummy on the floor and I squinted through the chink between door and carpet.
Itâs small, but you can sometimes see quite a bit if you squeeze your eyes in just the right way.
I lay there for what seemed like ages, and I think I might have just begun to doze off when Dadâs big feet tramped past me in their slippers.
Someone elseâs feet were there too, in black socks with lots of holes in them.
It looked like Dad was dragging the other person past, because their feet were all limp and pointy, like they were being lifted and pulled at the same time.
There was another âTHUD!â and then I couldnât see anything for ages because something was dropped beside the door.
It smelled of dog-slobber and leather. But of something else as well. Something tinny.
I tried to fit my finger through the chink but it wouldnât squeeze through. I donât know why I didnât shout for someone to please let me out.
Something told me that it wouldnât be a very good idea, I suppose.
After a while, the thing got lifted up, then Dadâs feet went up the stairs, shuffle, thump.
Then came the sound of locking doors, and Dadâs feet went past the other way.
I went back to my bed, hid under the duvet and closed my eyes.
In the morning I tried to pretend it was all a dream.
Even when Dad was so tired that his head tilted right down into his cornflakes.
What was going on?
I mean, was my dad the pet thief?
Or my mum?
Or was it Mr Black Socks?
And why?
Who was Mr Black Socks anyway?
Was it Stephen?
But Dad couldnât drag Stephen.
Stephen was too strong for that.
Way too strong.
Unless he was unconscious or something. Like, if someone knocked him out.
He was supposed to be away at school anyway.
Not that I believed a word of it.
I wanted to make sure that my bedroom door wasnât going to be locked from the outside again.
So I filled
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