imageogether you march back down there. You’re being as brave as you can. You get to the graves. And, to your utter amazement, everything’s normal. Impossible but true. The grass is back in the ground, the soil is in place, the grave is undisturbed. How can this be? You and Stacey tiptoe nervously over. The earth looks like it’s been there forever.

Then you notice the old man. He’s leaning over the fence from next door, staring at you. You look back, then you remember your manners.

‘Er, hi,’ you say.

‘Hello,’ he says.

‘We’re just looking at the graves,’ you say.

‘I can see that,’ he replies.

‘Do you know who’s buried in this one?’ you ask. You’re pointing at the middle one, the one that opened up last night.

‘Sure I do,’ he says.

You wait for him to say more, and finally he speaks.

‘It’s Fingers Spratt,’ he says.

‘Fingers?’ you ask nervously, dreading where this might be leading.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Fingers. Funny name isn’t it? You know why they called him that? It’s because he didn’t have all his fingers. He lost one in an accident with a mincer. And then he lost both hands, when he put them . . .’

But you and Stacey don’t hear any more. You’re both running like crazy to get away from there. You don’t care where you go! Anywhere! The tip! The sewerage farm! School! Anywhere, just to get away from there!

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