Inside the Worm by Robert Swindells Page A

She smiled briefly at the unintentional rhyme. The park after dark, where you’d hardly dare venture in ordinary circumstances because of the hooligans and the glue-sniffers and the funny men Mum was always on about. You’d stay away if you’d any sense, unless you were part of the worm.
    Part of the worm! She laughed out loud, remembering. What a fantastic feeling, running through the dark, fearless because you are part of the most fearsome thing in the park. Fearless because nothing exists which can harm you. There is nothing which wouldn’t run screaming and blubbering at your approach. Hooligans, glue-sniffers, funny men. All fleeing, fleeing before – before ME! Lisa’s exultant laugh turned a few heads among early shoppers as she ran with her head thrown back and her hair flying, to recapture a scrap of last night’s fierce, narcotic joy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
    â€˜â€œ THE TIME – A little over one thousand years ago. The place – Elsworth, then a mere village, set in the midst of—”’
    â€˜Can’t hear him!’
    â€˜Speak up, you mumbling creepazoid!’
    â€˜OK, you lot, you’ve made your point.’ Sarah-Jane looked across the field to where Andrew Roberts stood between the goal-posts, clutching his script. ‘You’ll have to project a bit, Andrew. Remember we’re outside and there’s a bit of a breeze.’
    The narrator nodded. ‘Shall I start again, then?’
    â€˜Please.’
    It was lunchtime. Year Eight, resplendent in full costume, were rehearsing on the school playing fieldbefore a packed audience. It had stopped raining only an hour before and the grass was wet, but Sarah-Jane had been determined and so here they were, Vikings and villagers, saint and serpent, in full regalia, hoping to get through the whole thing before the bell.
    â€˜â€œThe time – a little over one thousand years ago. The place – Elsworth, then a mere village, set in the midst of misty fenland. Elsworth, a once quiet village where terror now reigns, for the nearby fen has become the dwelling-place of a monster – a monster known to every terrified inhabitant as THE WORM.”’
    Behind the narrator and his goal-posts, the field fell away in a steep grassy bank to the stone wall which at this side marked the boundary of school property. After rain, the strip of land between the foot of the bank and the wall became waterlogged, forming a moat of brown water and sticky mud. As Andrew spoke the worm appeared, lurching up the bank to the cheers and whistles of the watching multitude before trotting the length of the field on eight muddy feet to assault the goal-mouth at that end, which was crammed with villagers. This time, Joanne O’Connor was selected as the creature’s first victim and pushed out towards the penalty spot. The worm ran at the girl as if it meant to boot her into the back of the net, but at the last moment Gary reached outand grabbed her. The crowd roared, drowning Joanne’s half-genuine scream as she was hustled over the halfway line with her feet off the ground.
    â€˜Right!’ Sarah-Jane flapped a hand at the worm. ‘You can put her down now, Gary – we get the idea. Brilliant solution by the way, but time’s short. Can we go to Ceridwen please?’
    Fliss, who’d been standing on the touchline trying to keep the hem of her dress clear of the mud, felt her heart kick. She’d known this moment would come, but had expected Sarah-Jane to allow the worm a few more victims before calling on her. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and stepped forward, holding a plastic sword, hoping nobody would notice her nervousness.
    â€˜Gary.’ Sarah-Jane gestured towards the banking from which the worm had made its entrance. ‘Out of sight, please. Fliss – you walk out of the village while Andrew’s doing his next bit and stand on the halfway line. When the