Inside the Worm by Robert Swindells

appear.
    There was a scraping, crackling sound like something big in the shrubbery. Whatever it was, was coming up the slope pretty fast. Ronnie pressedhimself more closely to his tree and peeped round, and it was then he saw the dragon. He screwed up his eyes and shook his head and looked again but it was still there, coming off the slope on to the footpath. Its teeth gleamed white and its eyes blazed red. He couldn’t make out its colour in the dark, but as it crossed the path and headed for the playground he saw that it was incredibly long. He stood absolutely still and held his breath as the monster’s whiplike tail hissed across the tarmac. He hugged his tree while the great shape crossed the playground, nor did he stir for some time after darkness swallowed the beast and all was quiet.
    When Ronnie finally let go of the tree and resumed his journey it was twenty minutes before midnight. Half a mile away, Fliss had just woken from her nightmare. It was still drizzling.
    Ronnie reached the bandstand and got into bed. He lay on the dusty boards and thought about the dragon. For a while he told himself he’d report what he’d seen. He’d tell the police or the local paper. His fuddled brain created a fantasy in which for once, people were interested in him. A fantasy in which he was somebody because of what he had seen.
    It soon faded though. He’d had a good day. A two-bottle day. Who needs fame when there are bottles waiting to be drained? And what’s a dragon, compared to some of the creatures RonnieMillhouse had seen? Pink lizards. That kangaroo in pinstripe suit and bowler who’d tipped him a fiver. The bright green ants who sometimes ate his hands. No. He’d not tell. Why should he? Waste of time.
    Drizzle fell endlessly. Wind lifted a corner of his paper blanket. Ronnie Millhouse slept.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    â€˜MORNING, MUM, DAD.’
    Lisa sat down, reached for the packet and sprinkled cornflakes in her bowl. She’d overslept. Dad was halfway down his second cup of coffee and Mum had had to call her twice. She avoided their eyes, hoping they’d say nothing, but it was a forlorn hope.
    â€˜Tired, are we?’ her father enquired.
    â€˜She ought to be,’ said her mother, ‘coming in at midnight, bold as brass, saying she’s been busy. I’ll give her busy if it ever happens again.’
    Her husband nodded. ‘Where was she, that’s what I’d like to know.’
    Lisa sighed. She hated it when her parents discussed her as if she wasn’t there and besides, they’d been overall this last night. ‘I told you,’ she mumbled. ‘I was at David Trotter’s, working on the worm.’
    â€˜Till midnight?’
    â€˜Yes, Mum. It was a big job.’
    â€˜It must have been. I’m surprised at the Trotters, letting kids your age stay out till that time. Didn’t they realize we’d worry?’
    Lisa shook her head. ‘They were out, Mum. I told you.’
    â€˜We know what you told us, young woman,’ rapped her father, ‘and now I’ll tell
you
something. If anything of this sort happens again I’ll be along to school to see Mr Hepworth, and we’ll have you out of that play. I’m not having a daughter of mine staying out all night at thirteen years of age, no matter how busy she is. Do you understand?’
    â€˜Yes, Dad.’
    â€˜Well, I certainly hope so. And I hope you can attend to your lessons today without falling asleep at your desk.’
    It was nearly ten to nine when Lisa finally got out of the house. It was still raining, and she wasn’t surprised to find no Fliss waiting at the end of the road. She wasn’t surprised, and she didn’t care. She didn’t want to talk to Fliss. It would be no use talking to her. Fliss didn’t know. She hadn’t been there. You had to have been there to knowhow it felt, running through the dark. The dark in the park.