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place?’
    ‘You’re right,’ Shane sighed. ‘Let’s do it.’
    So we went the same route – was it only recently we’d helped Mister Lewis with his pathetic few things in a supermarket trolley?
    As we walked warily through the field towards the mill, I so wished we were simplygoing to have fun and chat with the old guy, instead of worrying about whether he’d be all scattered bones and rags – that was the image that kept coming into my mind. I didn’t mention that to Shane because he’d freak out. But he had already tuned in to my mind, though not in a nice way.
    ‘Milo,’ he whispered, ‘what’ll we do if we find bits of Mister Lewis all over the place? What part of him would you take to remember him by?’
    ‘Huh? That’s gross!’ I hollered. ‘You’re a sicko.’
    ‘No, I’m not,’ he retorted. ‘Gran told me that years ago when she was young, people used to keep small bones of dead folks and talk to them – the bones, I mean.’
    ‘That’s double gross,’ I snapped and put my hands over my ears. Like I needed that sort of talk when we were hoping to seeour dead friend alive. Well, you know what I mean.
    The door of the mill was open.
    ‘It’s quiet,’ I said, as we tip-toed warily up the winding stairs.
    ‘What did you expect?’ asked Shane. ‘Trumpets and drums, huh?’
    He was still miffed with me over the bones thing.
    The first thing we saw when we went in through the half-open door was Mister Lewis’s hat. But, yet again, no Mister Lewis.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MILO’S PLAN
    N either of us said anything – it was like we were waiting for him to waft along and be glad to see us. The room was pretty messy, which was strange because Mister Lewis is what Big Ella calls a ‘real tidy gentleman’.
    â€˜What will we do, Milo?’ whispered Shane, staying close beside me.
    â€˜Dunno,’ I gulped, picking up the hat.
    We stood nervously together, looking around the room.
    â€˜What’s going on, Milo?’ whispered Shane. ‘Mister Lewis wouldn’t go anywhere without his hat.’
    Then we heard a shuffly groaning sound from behind an upturned armchair, and we both made a dash for the door, me still clutching Shane’s jacket and him hanging on to my Man U sweatshirt.
    â€˜It’s me, boys! And I’m so very glad to see you.’
    We turned to see Mister Lewis’s body becoming visible from behind the chair. I’ve always wished he wouldn’t do that. It freaks me out.
    â€˜Whoo,’ gasped Shane. ‘Are we glad to see you!’
    â€˜Not half as much as I am to see you two,’ Mister Lewis sighed.
    â€˜What’s going on, Mister Lewis?’ I asked as I handed him his hat.
    He sighed again as he wiped the hat with his gloved hand. ‘It’s those women from next door,’ he said. ‘They’re witches!’
    â€˜Witches?’ Shane and I said together.
    â€˜Witches are just fairytale folks, Mister Lewis,’ I said as calmly as I could.
    â€˜Were they wearing pointy hats?’ asked Shane.
    â€˜No,’ Mister Lewis replied.
    â€˜What about big noses and hairy chins?’ I put in.
    Mister Lewis shook his head.
    â€˜What about broomsticks?’ Shane asked.
    â€˜No, nothing like that,’ sighed Mister Lewis. ‘They just barged in and snatched the buns that Big Ella gave me!’
    â€˜Well then,’ said Shane, ‘they’re definitely not witches.’
    â€˜It’s true, Mister Lewis,’ I added. ‘My dad is a Garda and he says times are so bad thatthere are people who can’t pay rent so they get turfed out of their homes and try to find shelter anywhere.’
    â€˜Especially derelict buildings like this,’ put in Shane.
    Mister Lewis sighed again. ‘Well, whoever they are, look what they’ve done to my lovely room. They just barged in without knocking and went around messing with my things. I can’t stay here with shrieking crones