ou’ve always been scared of heights, so even in this extreme situation you can’t bring yourself to get out on the roof. Instead you turn and face the terror that’s been pursuing you through the attic.

It’s stalking slowly towards you, and somehow that makes it even more frightening than before. It’s so cold, so menacing, so relentlessly deadly.

And suddenly it farts.

There’s no mistaking the sound. It’s a real rattler that goes for about twenty seconds. Like a machine-gun. And it stops the creature dead in its tracks. Almost at once you realise why. It’s embarrassed.

You take full advantage of the situation.

‘Pooh,’ you say, waving your hand in front of your face. ‘What a stink.’

You’re bluffing, but then a moment later you’re not bluffing, because the smell does hit you. And it’s an A.S., an Absolute Shocker. No longer can you divide farts into ‘Silent but Deadly’ or ‘Noisy but Friendly’. This is Noisy and Very Unfriendly. It’s like this ghost thing has been saving it up for about five hundred years. It’s the smell of mould and decay and death and rotten seaweed and the grave. You buckle at the knees and nearly pass out. ‘That is revolting,’ you exclaim when you get your breath back. ‘That is very antisocial. Can you give me about a week’s warning next time you think you’re going to drop one like that?’

The corpse takes a step backwards. He looks completely disconcerted. You follow up your advantage. ‘I’m getting out of here,’ you say. ‘This attic isn’t fit for human habitation.’

Walking steadily, determined not to show any panic, you go to the trapdoor, open it, and climb through. Your last glimpse of the corpse, as you pull the trapdoor shut above your head, shows him back in his place, pulling the sheet over himself.

‘Thank goodness,’ you think. ‘I’m not going up there again.’

At the bottom of the staircase you run into your father. ‘Where have you been?’ he asks. ‘Exploring? Oh phew! What’s that awful smell? Have you been rolling in something? Go and have a shower, for heaven’s sake.’

And he’s gone, before you can even begin to explain. Though, as you think about it later standing under the shower, you decide it might be better that way. After all, who’s going to believe you?