Colm & the Ghost's Revenge Read Free Page B

used in South Africa to hunt lions. Fintan Wickerly may have been many things, but a lion wasn’t one of them. And he knew just by looking at them that, unlike the dogs back home, these two weren’t afraid of him.
    He gulped. ‘I … I …’
    The dogs bared their teeth and growled. Low and menacing. Fintan’s shoulders tightened and he felt knots of tension popping up at the base of his skull. He dearly wished he’d stayed in the car.
    â€˜Easy, Keyser. Stand down, Moriarty,’ the man whispered.
    The dogs stopped growling immediately and sat back on their haunches. Wickerly said a silent prayer of thanks.
    The man standing before him was tall and pale, his smooth skin almost white enough to be transparent. He was also good-looking, but in that too perfect way that gives you the creeps rather than drawing looks of admiration. There was something too symmetrical about his face. No flaw to draw the eye and make him seem human.
    â€˜You broke into my home,’ the man said.
    His voice was still calm, Wickerly noted. Too calm. Most people coming home and finding a man going through their stuff would either be terrified or furious. This man wasn’t either. A shiver decided to take a jog along Fintan’s spine.
    â€˜Ahm, it’s like this – my car broke down and I lost my phone and it was raining and I was looking for somewhere to shelter. I didn’t know the place was occupied.’
    â€˜I would have thought the fire in the hearth was a clear sign that someone was staying here,’ the man said, his tone only slightly south of freezing.
    â€˜Yes, I, ah, what I meant to say was that I would …’ Fintan realised the sentence had nowhere to go. ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ he added.
    â€˜I don’t care what you want,’ the man said, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He moved towards the wooden box. ‘What did you see?’
    His body language was unreadable. Fintan wondered how he should play this. Apologise? Act tough? It would all depend on whether the man was angry, amused, bemused or concerned.
    â€˜Me? I saw nothing.’
    The man’s eyes suddenly burned with fury. Right, Fintan thought, it’s anger then.
    â€˜Tell me.’
    â€˜Or what?’ Fintan asked aggressively. When all else fails, try bluster.
    â€˜They won’t find your body, you know. A single, middle-aged man. From the south of Ireland judging by your accent. A farmer? No, the hands are too soft. But you do work outdoors, you have a ruddy complexion. A postman, perhaps? Three thousand miles from home. On holiday by himself. That means no family or friends. Nobody who’d care that much anyway. You’re someone who can be disposed of very easily.’
    Fintan knew he’d stepped into the wrong house at the wrong time. That was very clear now. It was just a pity it hadn’t become clear before the arrival of the terrifying man and the dogs with the crazy eyes. He decided that it would be best for him to do exactly what the man said. That way there might be a chance of surviving the night. A slim chance, but that was better than no chance at all. A million times better.
    One of the dogs leaned forward and nuzzled his leg with its wet snout. He could feel its hot breath on the back of his knee. So this is what genuine terror feels like, he thought.
    â€˜I saw a name. And … the thing. The … erm … objects.’
    â€˜What name did you see?’ the man asked.
    â€˜An Irish name. I … it seemed unusual. Here of all places.’
    â€˜Don’t make me ask this question a third time. What was the name?’
    â€˜Colm,’ said Fintan Wickerly.
    â€˜Who sent you here?’ the man asked.
    â€˜No one. I wasn’t lying. My car broke down.’
    â€˜Then you’re just very, very unlucky,’ said the man they called The Ghost.

Two
    T
he library was quieter than usual for a Saturday