Allie bust into Charlie’s room the next morning like she was there to arrest him. “Get up. Hurry. We have to get into town. You’ll never believe what happened.”

Diluted light made it through the gaps in the blinds, and the air through the window felt early morning crisp, which meant he wouldn’t get to sleep in for the second day in a row. He needed to get a paper route so he could check himself into a motel for the holidays. “Oh, I think I may,” he yawned, knowing that whatever she was about to tell him couldn’t possibly be any weirder than the last two days.

“What? Have you heard?” She looked at him quizzically.

“No. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Okay shut up and listen.” She dropped onto his bed alongside him excitedly. “So a truck lost control, and it hit into the side of the Campton bridge smashing it to little matchsticks, and then it drove through about ten cars parked on the side of the road, just scattering them, like, everywhere, and then it went straight through Bertha’s front door. They say her place is wrecked.”

“What?” Charlie felt the cold wind blowing down his neck and wondered if it was the wind after all. The bridge smashing... cars scattered everywhere... Bertha’s front door... That seemed hauntingly similar to the damage caused by the ogre. That couldn’t be a coincidence, surely not. Charlie got shakily to his feet. “Is Bertha okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, I mean, nobody died or anything. And uh, you may want to put some pants on.”

Charlie remembered he had slept in his underwear and snatched up the blankets, blushing furiously.

She threw his jeans at his head. “Hurry. I’ll wait outside for you.”

It looked like a hurricane passed through Bertha’s place. Cars lay on their side scattered across the street. Two were nothing more than burned-out shells.

Bertha paced through the chaos yelling at people and telling the police how to do their jobs, while they patiently ignored her. The truck driver sat on the side of the road holding an ice pack to his head.

“Can you believe it?” Allie said, taking it all in excitedly. She snapped a few photos on her phone and cupped her hand to the display to make sure they were good. “What happens if someone was crossing the bridge at the time? Can you imagine!”

“They would probably dive into the river,” Charlie said, dryly.

“Oh yes, I forgot about that,” she laughed. “Now that would have been a much better reason to swim in the river, you idiot.” She snapped a few more photos and zoomed in on Bertha who had turned her anger on the poor truck driver and was calling for someone to hold her back or so help her, she’d pull his fingers off like phone number tags on a noticeboard.

This was way too much of a coincidence. He had to find out what was happening. He had to know once and for all that he wasn’t crazy. Dalia knew something; he was sure of it, and he had to find out what. “Listen, I’ve got to go,” he said, backing away.

“Where’re you going?” Allie shouted after him. She threw up her hands and turned back to her photos.

Charlie ran all the way to the old Manor house and only slowed when he approached the massive gate. He made sure to keep a wide berth of the dogs. They weren’t moving, but he was still wary of stepping between them. He drew off the ring and slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t want to give her an excuse to use those dogs again.

He couldn’t find an intercom, and a chain kept the gate shut.

Now that he was here, he had no idea what he could possibly say; that a truck lost control smashing through all the things that an ogre had smashed through only the day before? He realised how ridiculous it sounded. Then again, she had come around the night before with giant stone dogs and threw green light at his head, so he wouldn’t make a complete idiot of himself.

He found a stone and with one last look at those dogs, gave a quick tap on the gate. He tapped it softly at first like a bell on a cat’s collar, but he didn’t want to startle anything. When nothing moved, he gathered up the nerve and tapped a little harder—perhaps as loud as an ice cream bell. If she didn’t come out for him, she may come out for a double toffee with caramel sauce. He called her name, but with his mouth so dry, it sounded like he had been smoking for fifty years.

Normally he would have lost his nerve after two taps, but his need for answers forced him to keep going, and it took at least ten minutes before Dalia finally came out.

She wore a long black dress with her hair gathered up in curls like she was going to a ball. She stopped when she saw who it was and folded her arms angrily.

“Please, I have to speak to you,” Charlie shouted.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“I’ve brought the ring.”

“That’s useless to me now. I told you that last night. Just go away.”

So last night had happened. Charlie was beginning to wonder. He couldn’t say if knowing was a relief or if it made it all the more terrifying. “Please, I just need to talk. I saw an ogre, and this morning a truck crashed through a girl’s house, and those lights—what were those lights?”

She shook her head in irritation and marched to the gate. “Agora tae maar,” she snapped. The chain slid away like a snake, and the gates creaked open.

Charlie took a few steps back.

“Um, gate open. That means you don’t have to stand there anymore.” She spun and headed for the house without waiting to see if he followed.

He stepped through with his legs turning to jelly, and the gates swung shut behind him. With a final clank, the chain slid back into place. Stories of the manor came flooding back, and Charlie hoped he had done the right thing. He wouldn’t get back through those gates in a hurry if he needed to. He wanted answers though, and that gave him a much-needed flicker of courage.

During the day, the house was even more neglected. The path had crumbled and weeds grew thick between the stones. It must have been spectacular back in the day, back when movies were only ten minutes long and horses hadn’t been invented yet. Charlie took his time, taking in the tall spires and the ancient stonework, and Dalia had to come back for him and jerk him on by the arm. “Yes, it’s a house. Can we please get this over with? We’ve got important guests arriving, and I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

She halted outside the front door and pointed a finger at his nose. “You don’t touch anything, do you understand? Apart from all the things that can kill you—and I don’t have time to mop pieces of you off the walls—there’s nothing here that concerns you.” She squinted up at him. “And if you try to take something else, so help me...”

Charlie shook his head quickly. “I won’t touch anything, I swear.” What did she mean by things that could kill you?

“Good, because you’re wearing these.” She lifted two pots off of the porch, shook out the soil and handed them to him.

“What am I supposed to do with these now?”

“Put them on.”

“On what?” They seemed a little small for his head, but he tried anyway.

“Your hands you goob. Put them on your hands. That way you won’t be tempted to steal anything else.

“Is that really necessary—” Charlie began, but at her glare, he quickly slipped them on. They fit like oversized lampshades, and he had to keep his hands up so they wouldn’t fall off. He felt like a right halfwit wearing pots on his hands.

“There, a perfect fit. It’s almost like they were made for you.

When Charlie stepped through the front door into the entrance hall, his whole body tingled like he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. Once the door shut, there’d be no turning back.