Susan and I lean against the railings in front of the old priory, facing Becker & Sons, and already I’m creeped out just by looking at it. Susan straightens up and looks at me keenly.

‘It is all about psychology,’ she says. ‘I have been trying to work out how she will think.’

She’s good, I’ll give her that. She sounds as though she knows what she is talking about.

‘Option one: we could tell Kezia the truth. Say that you need to get the Dreaminator in order to … you know, do what you need to do, and ask her to go into her father’s funeral parlour and take it from wherever it is.’

I don’t have to think about this for very long. ‘Not gonna happen. She won’t believe me for a start, and, even if she does, she’s not just gonna steal something as … what? A favour?’

‘Correct. So we have to use psychology.’

She’s leading me down a certain path – and, better still, she’s making me want to be led.

‘Okay, Einstein. How’s that gonna happen? Just tell me, Susan.’

She holds her chin and taps it with her forefinger as if deep in thought, although it’s an act. She has worked this out already.

‘You told me once about Kez Becker’s “Halloween Challenge” …’

I stare at her, horrified. ‘No, Susan. No, no, no …’

‘It is the only way,’ she says. ‘How else are we going to get in and have a look around to find the Dreaminator? It will be in a box with a label, or on a shelf, or something. We can not go in and ask for it, can we? The place is not even open, and we can’t wait until tomorrow.’ She looks at my face, and I quickly hide my expression of terror. She even laughs a little and pats my arm like she does. ‘Relax, Malky. You will not be in there long.’

‘But … but, Susan, man …’ There is no easy way of saying this. ‘There’ll be … b-bodies. Dead people.’

‘No, there will not. I have done some research. They are not just left lying around, you know. They must be securely stored and refrigerated in a dedicated, licensed unit. It is the law, specifically the Public Health Act of 1984. That building over there is just a showroom and a workshop.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask, a little too anxiously.

‘Almost certain.’

I don’t like the ‘almost’.

‘Half an hour, yeah?’ I say.

‘That is what you told me Kezia said. She is a strange girl, that is for sure.’

‘Ha ha ha! Stranger than you can possibly imagine!’ says Kez, coming up behind us and making us jump. She has Dennis on the end of a long rope, and he sniffs around in the bushes near us. For once, he doesn’t growl at me. Perhaps he’s okay with me when I’m not on his territory.

Kez squeezes in between Susan and me as if the three of us have always been best pals. ‘What’s up, losers? Very intriguing text message, Susan. How’d you get my number?’

‘COMMS contact sheet, obviously. Staying in touch, you know?’

Susan has set this up already? I glance over at her and she catches my eye with a slight smirk.

Kez makes a pffft sound. ‘Oh, that! Ha – you suckers! I managed to get out of that, eh? Told old Farroukh I had “gerontophobia”, didn’t I?’

She smirks when Susan and I both say, ‘What’s that?’

‘It means a fear of old people. It’s a real thing. Said I suffered “psychological trauma” cos of me dad’s business. Made it up, of course, but she seemed to believe me. And now you’re dragging me away from me regular Saturday night horror film, hur hur! Night of the Dead it was, and I tell you …’

‘Cut out the spooky stuff, Kezia,’ Susan says, but not sharply. ‘And let’s just get this done, yes? How come you’ve got good old Dennis, by the way?’

Kez swivels her head between us. ‘Good old Dennis? Are you kidding? Stinkin’ bag of fur more like! Never stops pooin’. I’ve said I’ll look after it temporarily, like. Wish I hadn’t. They found it at old man McKinley’s house. Did you hear?’

Susan nods. ‘Yes. It was very sad, wasn’t it?’

Kez shrugs. ‘Aye, very sad. RIP an’ all that. Didn’t you have to visit him as part of the COMMS thing? Anyway, I’ve only got it until St Woof’s, the rescue centre in Whitley Bay, find a space. They’ve said just a few days. Which is just as well, because it flippin’ reeks and, and … oh no. You dirty, horrible brute!’

Dennis has hunkered down for a poo, and I suddenly feel so sorry for the dog. His sad look is still there, and now he’s getting shouted at by Kez for something he can’t understand.

Kez makes gagging noises and fishes a black plastic poo bag from her pocket. ‘I hate this bit. Really hate it.’

Susan reaches over and plucks the bag from her hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I will do it.’ Quick as anything, she puts her hand in the bag, scoops up Dennis’s poo, turns the whole thing inside out and ties the top. She deposits the bag in a bin on a lamppost and comes back, smiling. ‘There,’ she says. ‘Easy-peasy! Good boy, Dennis!’ The old dog licks her hand gratefully.

Kez grunts. ‘Hmph. Thanks.’

And I think: Clever Susan! Now Kez owes us.

‘Anyway. What was your text all about?’ says Kez. ‘What’s it got to do with my challenge?’

‘Ah yes. Your challenge, Kezia. Let me just reiterate. You say that you will give ten pounds to anyone who will stay alone in your father’s funeral parlour at night for half an hour?’

Hearing Susan say it out loud like that makes my bum clench in fear.

There are dead people there!

Yes, yes, I know. Susan reckons there aren’t. And you can tell me all you like about the logic of it. Dead people are dead: they can’t harm you. There is no such thing as ghosts: I know that too. What possible harm can come to you, just sitting in the dark for half an hour? None at all. You won’t even see a body: they’re all locked away in a huge refrigerator, that is if there even are any.

Still.

Kez says, ‘Ah, I dunno, man. Money’s a bit tight at the moment, you know? I don’t think I have ten quid to me name right now.’

I look at Dennis, and his sad face.

‘I’ll do it for the dog,’ I say. ‘You don’t even have to give me a tenner.’ The words are out of my mouth before I really think about it.

Kez stares at me. ‘Hang on. You’ll spend half an hour in there, in the dark, and I don’t even need to give you a tenner? All I have to do is hand over this smelly old hound that’s going to the rescue home, anyway?’

This is not good. Kez is suspicious. Time for some acting. I stand up from the wall and take a few steps in the direction of home.

‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘It’s a stupid idea, and far too scary. There’s no way I could do that just to own a dog for a few days. Bye.’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ says Kez, and I know then that she’s bought it.

Psychology, Susan called it. Seems like it works.