ight in front of you is a statue of some kind, covered with a dustsheet. It seems like a human figure. ‘Hmm,’ you think, ‘looks interesting. Maybe it’s some incredibly rare sculpture, worth millions of dollars.’

You take a step forwards and go to pull the sheet off.

But just then there’s a movement under the sheet. Right where the hand of the statue would be, there’s a tiny movement.

‘Oh no,’ you think. ‘Oh no. I imagined that. I must have. Oh please, please, let me have imagined that.’

You look around at the trapdoor, hoping that a breeze from there might have moved the sheet. But the trapdoor is closed and the attic is completely still.

You turn back to the statue. You watch it for quite a while, but there’s no further movement. At last you persuade yourself that you must have imagined the whole thing. You decide for the second time that you’re going to pull off the dustsheet. Once again you take a step forwards. And once again there’s a movement.

Only this time it’s a violent movement.

The sheet is suddenly thrown off. Someone or something under the sheet throws it off. The sheet goes flying through the air.

You try to scream but the only sound that comes from your throat is the hacking noise you’d get from someone who’s been chain-smoking for thirty years. You don’t stop to see what was under the sheet. You turn and try to run for the trapdoor. But you trip over a roll of carpet and fall heavily to the floor. For a moment you’re winded and concussed, unable to get up. And then suddenly you feel a weight on your back and thin bony fingers tightening around your throat.

Panic gives you new strength. You throw the weight off and stumble to your feet. You stumble across the room towards the trapdoor. You don’t dare look back. But when you’re halfway to the trapdoor a frightening apparition jumps in front of you. It’s a dried human, a sultana human. Like someone who’s been dead a thousand years and has dried out till nothing’s left but the skin and the bones, only the skin’s all yellow and crackly and leathery and there are no eyes and . . .

You scream and race across to the window. You pick up a block of wood that’s lying there and smash the glass out of the frame. You plan to climb out and escape along the roof, but one glance through the broken glass makes you hesitate. The roof’s horribly steep and the rain has started, so it’ll be very slippery. Should you risk it or not? One thing’s for sure, you have to make a quick decision.