Even in my semi-wakeful state, wrapped in my tangled duvet, I know that if I close my eyes I can re-enter the dream I was in. I’ll be back asleep. And a crocodile’s teeth will be tearing into my foot, and I’ll wake up again …

The thought of it all makes me wake up more, and a few seconds later there is no going back. I’m wide awake. I can see Seb’s empty bed, the moonlight coming through the thin horse-pattern curtains, the blue circle of Kenneth’s Dreaminator shimmering above me, the digits on my phone saying …

04:28

My mind’s still fuzzy. I can’t remember exactly when I fell asleep, but it wasn’t all that long ago. I was reading Kobi the Cave Boy and I drifted off.

I’ve missed my chance, haven’t I?

Even though I am exhausted to the point of feeling sick, I’m not confident I’ll get to sleep again. And, if I do, then what? It doesn’t seem as though my dream-controlling is working at all any more. I lift my aching foot out from under the duvet. It feels wet from sweat … only wetter than that. It is also a bit sticky, but it’s too dark to see anything so I turn my bedside light on and let out a gasp of horror.

Blood is oozing from three deep, triangular puncture wounds in my ankle, exactly matching where Cuthbert bit me. The blood is dripping down my leg and on to the sheet, so I get up and limp to the bathroom.

I’m feeling pretty alert now, and I figure the best way to clean up is to use the showerhead that’s connected to the bath taps. Then I’ll take a towel and wrap my foot tightly.

I see that I’m leaving a trail of crimson drips wherever I move. The shower curtain is pulled closed, concealing the bath. I pull it aside swiftly, and that’s when I actually

SCREAM!

Out loud, and long.

Lying in the bath, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a bright blue-and-green kilt, is the body of Kenneth McKinley, who opens his eyes and rises slowly up from the waist, turning his head until he faces me.

‘Och, forgive me, laddie. Is this a private dream, or can anyone join in?’

My mouth is flapping but no words are coming out.

‘False awakening,’ says Kenneth. ‘Again. You’re having a dream-in-a-dream. Again. I’m surprised you fell for it a second time. Did you not spot the signs?’

‘No … no. I … I … My clock! The time, the numbers … they were fine.’

‘Oh dear, laddie. That’s definitely not good.’ He shakes his head. ‘Yer mind is losing touch with reality. Ooh, it’s a wee bit cramped in here. Like being in a blasted coffin.’ He stands up and stretches his back, his ornamental dirk clanking against the taps.

‘Aren’t you …’ I stumble because it’s difficult to find the right words. It’s not a question I have ever had to ask anyone before. ‘Aren’t you dead?’

He looks at me, a strange half-smile on his face. ‘Och, yes, Malcolm. I’m afraid to say I am. Dead as a dodo.’

‘So … you’re a ghost?’

He steps out of the bath and stands next to me. ‘Go on … touch my hand. See? If I was a ghost, your hand would go straight through mine, wouldn’t it? No, you’re having a dream, laddie.’

‘But … you don’t look dead.’

‘Don’t I? I’m glad to hear it, lad, glad to hear it.’ He leans past me to check his reflection in the bathroom mirror and smooths down his hair. Then he grins at me, looking over the top of his purple glasses.

‘Are you all right? That is …’

‘All right? I’m dead, Malcolm! I’m about as far from all right as it’s possible to be.’

‘I … I don’t understand.’

‘Of course you don’t. It’s a dream! Where logic, rationality, sense and good order take second place to strangeness and improbability. But here’s the thing, Malcolm – we’re in Dreamland. And in Dreamland I’m as alive as can be. Just because you’re dreaming it doesn’t mean it isn’t real, Malky lad.’

‘Mola said almost the same thing!’ I say.

He doesn’t seem impressed. ‘Hmm. Did she now? Remember, though, Malcolm: this is your dream, not mine. The only problem is, it seems as though you can’t control it any more. That was always the difficulty with the Dreaminator: the control element never lasted long. Try telling your leg to stop bleeding. Go on.’

I look down at my still-dripping leg. ‘Stop bleeding!’ I say, softly. It doesn’t.

‘See? You’re in your own dream, that’s for sure. But you’re now at the mercy of your subconscious.’

I tear a strip off a towel and dab it round the bite wound. ‘Is that a bad thing?’ I say.

Kenneth sighs. ‘It’s definitely not a good thing. I’m sorry to say that, owing to my demise coming a wee bit earlier than I expected, I never got to warn you about it. On a happier note, your subconscious has brought me along for a last visit to the mysterious dimension of Dreamland, so it can’t be all bad. I think you may just have to let go and see where the ride takes you. Now come on, we haven’t got a lot of time left before you wake naturally, so we can’t stop here bletherin’.’

He makes a move towards the bathroom door. ‘Wait!’ I say, and he turns back. ‘We are going to succeed, aren’t we? I mean, in rescuing Seb?’

He moves his glasses down his nose to look at me over the top. ‘That, Malcolm, is entirely down to you.’

He opens the bathroom door and beckons me through, and I’m back in Kobi’s cave. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘follow me and get ready to meet that crocodile again.’

I feel sick. ‘Cuthbert? Why?’

‘Because I’ve a feeling that until you kill him, you’ll never be rid of him.’