The children huddled together in a corner, as the monster that had been Miss Clabbity towered over them, glaring at them with its white eyes, its spines bristling. Archie clutched Sherbet to his chest, whilst Blossom seethed quietly from Fliss’s shoulder, holding the Mirk with her golden-eyed stare.

‘Why would you do all this?’ said Archie, his fear momentarily giving way to anger. ‘With Preen, and the N.I.C.E. campaign? Was it just to get rid of the Gingerbread Dragons?’

‘I feed on the dark magic that is set free every Unquiet Night, and my strength grows,’ said the Mirk. As it stepped forward, black fungus and toadstools grew where its claws trod. ‘But only after five hundred years do I have enough to take my true form and act. Preen was my instrument, whilst I was not fully powered. Crafted from enchanted trees that I cut from the forest, he had a useful sorcery of his own that I could manipulate. And the bark became the magic ingredient in his wafers. As well as removing the cursed biscuits, he distracted and dispirited you, weakening your resolve. I am a creature of darkness and decay. I rot people’s souls, corrode their fortitude and consume their happiness. Just like I did with your ancestor.’

‘But Belle McBudge beat you!’

‘At what cost? Her beloved dragon burned itself out defending her. It broke her heart!’

‘You really are not very nice at all,’ said Billy, with some understatement. Archie was raging.

‘But you failed in the end!’ he said. ‘You thought you’d stop her from protecting the Tree, but she did it! And she made the Gingerbread Dragons, as a memento and a warning to the future. It worked, and it’s not too late. We have the Treeheart and we’re going to the Wyrdie Tree, right now.’

He went to grab Cogswallop but the Mirk pointed a bony claw at the toy and it came to life once more, flying to the monster’s feet. The Mirk extracted the jewel from its jaws, then cast the toy aside, where it smashed to pieces against the wall.

‘Now that I have the Treeheart,’ the Mirk said, throwing the jewel on to its back, where it was caught amongst the spines, ‘the Wyrdie Tree is powerless against me. The Dance of the Wyrd shall not take place.’

From all corners of the shop, hundreds of little wooden toys rolled forward – soldiers, trucks and animals, gathering around the evil spirit. They carried saws and axes, ropes and hammers, their clockwork whirring and clicking as they moved. It was the insect-like sound that Archie remembered from their encounter with the Mirk in the forest!

‘My army of helpers,’ explained the Mirk. ‘Useful for cutting down trees, particularly very large trees, so I can get to their roots. And you cannot stop me. You may be protected from my magic by your sweets, but I have ways of keeping you busy.’ It unleased another horrible cry.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Billy, looking out on to the foggy street. Three lumpy outlines were crowded around the shop window. ‘The coffin creepers are here, and they look like they mean business.’

‘We will stop you!’ called Archie, as the snarling monster turned and squeezed its massive bulk out of the shop door, attended by the clockwork army. ‘There has to be a way.’

‘We’d better think of it soon,’ said Billy. ‘As we’re about to be boxed up like a batch of McBudge Fudge – a human-flavoured special edition.’

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The coffin creepers plodded up the steps to the door, ducking clumsily to enter the shop. The children and dog backed away, desperately looking around for a means of escape. Fliss had a grim look on her face. Then she stopped suddenly.

‘That’s it!’ she announced. ‘I’ve had enough. I’ve been bewitched, made to argue with my friends, tricked into helping a jewel thief and chased around town by some fancy wooden crates. It’s time to kick some magical-tree butt! Let’s see what these guys can do with a bit of fire, Blossom!’

The little dragon soared up to the ceiling. Dragon-fire was unleashed on the first of the creepers, singeing the rough wood of its body, and sending curls of smoke into the air. But the monster kept on coming.

‘Try a Fizzfire, Blossom,’ said Archie, throwing the creature a sweet from his bag. ‘It might give you a boost.’ Blossom caught the sweet mid-air and gulped it down, before sending a second burst of fire at the smouldering coffin-man. This time the flames were an electric blue, exploding with a power they had not seen coming from a honey dragon before. The creeper was engulfed in the magical inferno, collapsing to its spindly knees, before falling to the ground with a final THUMP.

‘That’s my coffin taken care of,’ said Fliss, folding her arms and looking at the boys. ‘What are you going to do about yours?’

THUMP. THUMP.

The remaining coffin creepers stepped over the smouldering body of their fallen comrade, closing in on the children. Blossom readied another burst of flame just as Sherbet let out a bark of warning. Archie thought it was aimed at the monsters but the dog was looking beyond them, to a figure in the doorway. A blade of bright silver ripped through air towards them and sliced across the front of both coffin creepers, scoring through the names carved on the lids. Instantly, their arms and legs shrivelled away to nothing, and the coffins dropped to the floor with a harmless clatter. The blade boomeranged back to the figure, who caught it with an arrogance Archie recognised.

‘It seems I’ve arrived just in time,’ said the figure. It was Mrs Puddingham-Pye.