s you stand there you feel a slight draught on the back of the neck. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a voice.

‘I came back,’ it whispers.

‘From . . . from the grave?’ you stammer.

‘No, you idiot, I came back to help you,’ the voice says. And laughs. You realise that it’s Stacey.

‘There’s . . . there’s a skeleton,’ you gasp, barely able to get the words out.

‘Oh yes,’ Stacey says. ‘That’s Mr Brennan’s. He was the last owner of this house. He had a lot of stuff like that.’

‘But why?’ you ask.

‘He was a Science teacher,’ Stacey explains.

‘Oh,’ you say, feeling a bit silly. You start to relax a bit. But then you remember something else.

‘What did you mean before about something you should tell me about this house?’ you ask. ‘Just what is wrong with it?’

‘Oh, all right,’ Stacey says. ‘I will tell you then. The place is falling down. It’s the biggest dump in the neighbourhood. Mr Brennan was a real crook. He just did the place up to look good, then sold it to the first suckers, I mean the first people, to come along. I think you should tell your parents to sell it, as fast as they can.’

‘Oh no,’ you think. ‘My parents have done it again.’ You know all too well that they’re not great business people. You’ve known that ever since they invested their life savings in a range of cold-water bottles, for people to take to bed on hot summer nights. They didn’t sell very many.

‘Gee,’ you say to Stacey, ‘I don’t know what we can do about it. The contracts have been signed and my parents have paid over the money.’

Just then you hear a loud crash. You look out the window of the shed. To your horror you see that the house is collapsing like a pack of cards. The roof just slid off, and the walls are falling outwards, one by one. Water is shooting up in the air from broken pipes. You and Stacey rush outside and run up to the house. To your relief you see that your parents are all right, standing there looking at the house. To your amazement you see that they’re actually smiling.

‘What’s the big joke?’ you demand, as the dust and rubble swirl around you.

‘The big joke?’ your mother asks, as she laughs almost uncontrollably. ‘The big joke? That’s easy. Yesterday we insured this old dump for a million dollars.’