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was exhausted and panting for breath. It was as if the mud were actually trying to grab hold of his legs and pull him under.
    The dirty water at the tide line was the same color as the mud itself. It gurgled and wrapped around his legs, pulling him off balance. He staggered, then righted himself, digging himself even deeper into the mud. He looked along the shoreline but could see nothing of interest. He squinted, but the mist—now more of a thick fog—swirled forward like a cloak and blanketed his vision.
    What was that? Grubber leaned forward and peered into the distance. It looked like a pile of clothing washing in and out at the tide’s edge. He lurched forward, fighting with every step to keep his balance. Maybe it was clothes washed overboard from an Indian steamer. He could sell them to Mrs. Mills and get a fair few shillings.
    But his excitement was short-lived. As he drew closer hesaw that the clothes were old—in fact, they looked more like a clump of slimy black-green seaweed than the dyed cotton he had hoped for.
    He splashed to a stop in front of what he now saw was an old dress. It undulated gently on the waves, spread out as if there was someone still filling its shape. There was no point in taking it. As soon as it was out of the water, the material would fall to pieces.
    He was right about one thing, though: there was a lot of seaweed clinging to the dress, especially around the neckline. In fact, the seaweed floating limply in the water looked almost like a head of greasy hair.
    He smiled and shook his head. His ma always said he had too much of an imagination.
    And then, as he watched, the seaweed lifted slowly out of the water.
    Grubber stared in horror as the dress he had thought empty filled out, white-green arms appearing from beneath the water to push the sodden mass upright. The seaweed wasn’t seaweed at all but really
was
hair, hung lank and dripping, framing the pale, skeletal face of a young woman.
    Grubber’s mind raced. Had she fallen overboard? Had she tripped and been washed out with the tide? But then his common sense took hold. This wasn’t an ordinary woman. Her eyes were as black as pitch, her face so thin the skinbarely stretched over her cheekbones. Every inch of her body that he could see was pale green except for her nails. They were long and black.
    And then she smiled, a huge, unnatural grin that cut her face like a rotting wound. Her teeth were black and pointed.
    “Well, well,” said a voice behind Grubber. “If it ain’t Jenny Greenteeth herself.”
    Grubber whirled around to find himself facing a figure in a sodden dark cloak, dripping with water. The apparition reached up and lowered the hood, revealing the cruel, pinched face of an old woman. She stank of stagnant water, and when she opened her mouth—as she did now to smile cruelly at Grubber—murky brown liquid dribbled over her chin.
    “And what have we here, young Jenny?” she asked, staring down at Grubber.
    “Don’t know, Black Annis,” said the woman with the seaweed hair, who was now right behind Grubber.
    Grubber’s eyes widened in fear at the mention of the old lady’s name. He started to shiver violently.
    “Our names are still known around these parts, Jenny.”
    “Our names will always be known, Miss Annis.”
    “Of course they will,” purred Black Annis. She held her arms wide open in a luxurious stretch. “Looks like our services are required again, young Jenny. The Dagda hasbrought us back from our tombs—” Black Annis paused as if she was listening. Then she clapped her hands together softly. “It’s her, young Jenny.”
    “Who, Miss Annis?”
    “Her.
The girl
. We’ve been brought back to make amends, Jenny.”
    “Can I feed first?” whined Jenny Greenteeth. “I’m so hungry.”
    Black Annis waved her hand benevolently. “Go ahead. But keep him quiet.”
    “They’re always quiet, Miss Annis,” whispered Jenny Greenteeth. She placed her two skeletal hands on Grubber’s