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The Uninvited

The Uninvited

The Uninvited

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grow fainter as I plunge into thewoodland, shucking off ProfessorWhybray’s jacket as I go. No sign ofFreddy.I need a system. Trackers look fordamaged foliage. I get to my knees. At theboy’s eye level, I spot a tunnel-likeentrance in the bushes to my left. <strong>The</strong>stalks have been trampled. I enter andstumble through, my sleeves catching onbriars. After a few metres I am standing atnormal height again, scratched andbloody, in a waste tip. A rusted car, blackplastic bags, old washing machines, apunctured Spacehopper. Nearby is astagnant pool rainbowed with oil, full ofhalf-submerged shopping trolleys andswathes of sooty bulrushes. My phonevibrates: it’s Ashok.

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