Archie was right – Cogswallop was fluttering towards the tower of St Bawgbreath’s Church. They ran through the crooked lanes of Dundoodle, sweating in the late afternoon heat, as the mist thickened into a dank soup. The streets were empty, people either choosing to stay indoors to escape the weather, or wary of being out on this particularly eerie day.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Billy. ‘I don’t like it at all. Going back to the graveyard when the Mirk is about. On Unquiet Night! It’ll catch us, chew us up and spit us out like rancid liquorice! And that’s if the restless dead don’t reach up out of their graves and grab us first!’

They trailed the click-clack of the toy’s wooden wings through the haze. It bobbed unsteadily over the wall of the graveyard. Following as quickly as they could, they just managed to see the dragon land, and scuttle through a small gap in the entrance to the McBudge vault. The green sparkle of the jewel was lost in the darkness inside.

‘A dead end!’ said Fliss, whispering for some reason.

‘Literally,’ said Billy with a nervous gulp. ‘Those coffins are in there! We can’t go back in.’

They stopped at the door. Sherbet sniffed the air, warily.

‘We’ve got no choice,’ said Archie. ‘Without the Treeheart, the Wyrdie Tree can’t renew itself. We’re going in to face whatever’s in there. Those coffins are only boxes of wood, remember.’

They cautiously heaved the door open, its metallic scraping sound all the more ominous in the mist. Fliss switched on her torch and the three carefully trod their way down the stone steps.

‘Silent,’ whispered Fliss, ‘as the grave.’ Annoyed, Billy gave her a nudge in the ribs. It was cold too. Facing them, in the middle of the tomb floor, was Cogswallop. He sat motionless, the Treeheart still held tightly between his clenched teeth.

‘What’s he waiting for?’ said Archie. At that moment, there was an eerie cry from somewhere in the town: long, haunting and inhuman. It echoed amongst the tombs. It was a summons.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

There was a dull clapping noise, a drumming from further down in the vault’s deepest shadows.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

It was getting closer.

‘What is … that?’ squeaked Billy, his throat dry.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Archie dragged the others back towards the steps, just as three hunched figures appeared out of the darkness. Scrawny arms and legs had sprouted like twisted tree-branches from squat, angular, headless bodies.

‘The coffins!’ squealed Fliss. ‘They’ve come … alive!’

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The coffin-creatures stepped jerkily towards them. The drumming sound was made by their lids slamming shut with each step. As the lids closed, the torchlight caught the children’s names scratched on their surface.

‘Coffin creepers!’ said Billy. ‘Like in one of the old Unquiet Night legends! Creepy Scale rating nine point seven! Though I might consider revising that, on the basis of first-hand experience.’

‘They’re after us!’ yelled Archie. ‘We need to get out of here NOW!’

‘What about Cogswallop?’ said Fliss, but Sherbet had already thought of that. The little dog pounced on the toy, grabbing its wings in his mouth. He ran up the steps and out of the door, and the children ran after him, as fast as they could.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The coffin creepers stomped after them.

‘Where do we go?’ said Billy urgently, as they scrambled out of the graveyard and into the town.

‘The Hall!’ said Archie. ‘We need to get to the boat. It’s the quickest way to the Tree.’

They charged through the maze of streets, leaving the creepers behind. But as they turned a corner they found their way blocked by a misshapen silhouette – one of the monsters had got there first! In horror, they retraced their steps, then took as snaking a route as they could, hoping to confuse their pursuers. But somehow the coffin creepers knew exactly which way to go, and always managed to block their path. The children were being herded, hunted relentlessly. The drumbeat of the coffin creepers’ march was all around.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The fog was getting worse, it was difficult to see what was ahead. Dundoodle had sunk into an unnatural twilight, weighed down by the sticky heat.

‘Miss Clabbity’s is this way!’ said Fliss, pointing down an alley. ‘We can hide in there. Quick!’

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The children stumbled along the cobbles; fearful of every shadow, the heat pressing down on them, every footstep a superhuman effort. They saw the toyshop, its welcoming window lights dimmed by the mist.

‘Thank goodness!’ said Fliss, pushing open the door. ‘We can barricade ourselves in with Miss Clabbity whilst we wait for rescue. She’ll know what to do.’

‘No,’ said Archie. Something wasn’t right. The feeling of dread – that he thought he was close to banishing with his newly found determination – was fighting to take over his head again. But Billy had already pushed him into the shop, and slammed the door behind them. Sherbet gave a throaty growl, still holding tightly on to Cogswallop. A figure stepped from the shadows inside. A smile gleamed menacingly.

‘Do come in, children,’ its owner said. ‘I was expecting you, ha ha.’

It wasn’t Miss Clabbity. It was Edward Preen.

‘It’s a trap!’ squealed Billy. ‘Caught between the Dentist of Darkness and the Triplets of Terror!’

‘The creepers weren’t chasing us!’ said Archie. ‘They were forcing us to come here.’

‘Calm yourself,’ said Preen, leaning towards the boy and grabbing his wrist tightly. ‘Emotional agitation is hardly nice behaviour is it? But then you weren’t keen on my Safer Wafer. Such a pity – it would have made things so much easier, ha ha.’

‘The Safer Wafer,’ nodded Archie. ‘We worked it out. Anyone who eats a wafer is on your side.’

‘Correct. The folk of this town need to be kept quiet this Unquiet Night. No music, no songs, no Dance of the Wyrd.’

‘What’s the Dance of the Wyrd got to do with anything?’ said Archie.

‘Quiet, boy! My work here is almost done. I need only to open the door and let in the coffin creepers.’ The man advanced towards them. ‘And that will be the end of you, ha ha.’